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Richard’s Forewards

A cousin in California has been sending out forewarded emails from the internet and other friends of his for years of left news, opinion, and commentary. Some of it leans libertarian, some leans socialist, and some might reflect a conservative talking point in good light. Friends reading his emails knew the Iraq invasion would stir up a hornet’s nest, that the Bush administration was screwing the U.S. and the world up on a daily basis, and we heard Roubini forecasting the economic collapse early in 2008. I have encouraged Richard to start his own blog and post his own gleenings and commentary from the internet himself but he is content with his small but loyal mailing list.

So instead of letting most of his emails lie fallow in my in-box, I will occasionally be forewarding Richard’s forewards here with links and synopsis or maybe just a headline. Feel free to discuss anything posted here below or at the sources.

  • It’s Time to Break up the Big Banks. Richard Whitney on bank nationalization and “soaking the taxpayer.”
  • A Pandemic of Economic Violence. Michael Klare claims we’re “A Planet on the Brink.”
  • Iran and the IAEA. Gordon Prather on the marginalization of the IAEA and the U.N.
  • Continued Military Occupation in Iraq. A socialist critique.
  • Irish kids everywhere (again).

All Tomorrow’s Mayonnaise

And what sandwich shall the poor girl eat
For all tomorrow’s mayonnaise
A BLT from who knows where
For all tomorrow’s mayonnaise

And what will she eat and what will she drink
When lunchtime comes around
She’ll turn once more to mustard’s clown
And maybe some diet coke

And what sandwich shall the poor girl eat
For all tomorrow’s mayonnaise
Why crab and tuna of yesterday’s salad
For all tomorrow’s mayonnaise

And what will she do with Thursday’s chips
When Monday comes around
She’ll turn once more to mustard’s clown
And maybe some diet coke

And what sandwich shall the poor girl eat
For all tomorrow’s mayonnaise
For Thursday’s chips is chicken’s clown
And eggs no longer served

A turkey sub, a bacon cheese
With buns and rye, and wheat
Fit for one who hungers still
For all tomorrow’s mayonnaise

Another City Beautiful Project: 125th Street Pier

The development talked about here is mostly done. Riding your bike around down by the Hudson River when it’s still this cold is kind of insane and lonely.

Ferries are supposed to service this pier but I don’t know if it’s happening yet. I’m not seeing New Jersey hopping on a boat to hit up Fairway when they’ve got giant A&Ps and Shop Rites — or even the rest of 125th Street when they’ve got Walmart but perhaps I’m wrong.

Elevator Walls

One day a big rain will come and wash all of the elevator pad nuisance out of every elevator in New York City that doesn’t have people moving in or out. That will be the day. I am already forming the memorial committee. I will post a community bulletin: “Elevator Liberated from Padded Cell Look.” Gotta apply for that stimulus money and I’ll be set.

Where I Got the PA From

I have mixed feeling about this place but I mostly love it because it reminds me of the Brothers Quay. I have to spend this afternoon here putting the PA back together.

Post About Post-Pagoda

Having been in a few bands, I know how clubs can rip off the artists and keep most of the door money. Knowing that I probably didn’t do all I could’ve to promote the show, I gave almost all the money to Pagoda and Investigative Reports. So much for being a promoter. Seriously though, we’re going to get the Sunday matinees going one of these days.

Talking to people later, some people liked Pagoda more and some people liked Investigative Reports more. (By the way, if your band is hard to find on the internet, you need a new name.) Different strokes for different folks as Mom and Grandma used to say. I liked them both. Hanging out with Michael Pitt afterward was pretty cool. I forgot my camera but got a kick out of some Columbia kids getting their picture with him. Rather disappointing that he threw his voice out so soon and played such a short set. I know someone was shooting video and taking pictures so as soon as I find those, I’ll update this.

Playing Ping Pong for the Coach

I learned how to play ping pong on a permanent metal table bolted on a deck in the park behind my house. At night, the sprinkers would leave puddles of water on the table causing the table top to rust and blister. When it got bad enough, a new sheet of metal would be installed with a fresh coat of industrial paint. While the ball didn’t bounce exactly like it does on a wood table (or sound the same), I got good enough at it to where I came in fourth place in the city ping pong tournament. Okay, table tennis, whatever.

The paddles and the net for table provided by a park director who all the kids called “coach.” Coach also provided crayons, construction paper, popsicle sticks, Carroms, chess, checkers, backgammon, playing cards, cribbage, Parcheesi, Trouble, Sorry, basketballs, kickballs, four-square balls, softballs, bats, bases, footballs, flags (tackle football was frowned upon), frisbees, and sometimes donated tennis balls and rackets. I remember the mildewy smell of the coach’s office like Marcel Proust and a lot of the coach’s names: Curt, Pam, Karl, Gary, Jan. My family went to one of their weddings.

When Proposition 9 passed (California) and all of Coach’s salary went kaput, I lost a small piece of faith in humanity.  I couldn’t understand how my city would get rid of all of the city park’s coaches. I felt like my city and state didn’t care about kids. That ping pong table is gone and the city doesn’t even hold ping pong tournaments anymore. You can still be a ping pong champion out of your own pocket, I suppose.

With all of the handwringing over Obama’s stimulus package, get over it. It will be stimulating.

Update: Jay breaks it down in hard numbers.

See also this debunking of the right’s perpetual FDR myths.

Spring Is Here


cuz i posted it.

Jimmy Stewart, Duke Ellington

I really like this shot and the fifties hipster text.

That’s a crazy name for a crazy lawyer. Hey man, you’re not splitting the scene are ya? I mean, you’re not cutting out?

From Otto Preminger’s Anatomy of a Murder… Lee Remick here too.