Barack Obama's Crime

A saloon in the Old West hires a Shakespearean actor to declaim a few lines from Othello. He arrives on the noon stage; a pair of town drunks waylay him immediately. They fire their guns at his feet and order him to dance while the whole town looks on. Through no fault of his own, the actor becomes the lead player in a demeaning spectacle. This pretty describes the gravitas level at Wednesday night's Pennsylvania primary debate.

Especially ridiculous was George Stephanopoulos' question about Barack Obama's connection to the Weather Underground:

"A gentleman named William Ayers, he was part of the Weather Underground in the 1970s. They bombed the Pentagon, the Capitol and other buildings. He's never apologized for that. And in fact, on 9/11 he was quoted in The New York Times saying, "I don't regret setting bombs; I feel we didn't do enough."

"An early organizing meeting for your state senate campaign was held at his house, and your campaign has said you are friendly. Can you explain that relationship for the voters, and explain to Democrats why it won't be a problem?"

An incredulous Obama protested that "the notion that somehow as a consequence of me knowing somebody who engaged in detestable acts 40 years ago when I was 8 years old, somehow reflects on me and my values, doesn't make much sense, George."

Needless to say, Hillary Clinton disagreed, adding that "I also believe that Senator Obama served on a board with Mr. Ayers for a period of time, the Woods Foundation, which was a paid directorship position."

Who is William Ayers? Today, he is a Distinguished Professor of Education at the University of Illinois-Chicago. He's also an advisor to Chicago Mayor William Daly on education issues. He was once a member of the Weather Underground, and actually went underground after an accidental explosion at his apartment killed his girl friend and two others. Ayers and his new wife -- fellow radical Bernadine Dohrn -- surrendered themselves to authorities in 1980. All charges against them were dropped owing to prosecutorial misconduct. Unlike David Horowitz, another Sixties radical, Ayers retained the courage of his convictions while channeling his considerable intellect and energies in more constructive directions. For example, Mayor Daley selected him to lead Chicago's highly regarded school reform effort.

Let's take a close look at the exchange between Stephanopoulos, Obama, and Clinton. The September 11, 2oo1 edition of the New York Times did contain Ayers' provocative statement. However, for inclusion in that day's paper, Ayers must have made the statement prior to 9/11, when neither he nor anyone else outside of the Oval Office had advance warning of the attack on the World Trade Center. Moreover, the Times would have put the edition to bed prior to the bombings. As someone who has spent his career in or working with the news media, George Stephanopoulos knew this. Thus, he deliberately framed his question to inflame and mislead. This kind of juvenalia one expects from Fox News; it's a broach of the public trust that it came from one of the most recognizable members of ABC News. Why is it a broach of public trust? ABC may be a business, but we own the airwaves.

We now know that right-wing talk show host Sean Hannity virtually spoon-fed the question to Stephanopoulos on his radio program: Stephanopolous dutifully informed Hannity that he was "taking notes." (You can listen to the actual exchange here.) ABC claims that they were researching the matter anyway, but neither they nor Stephanopoulos must have been taking very good notes. For if they had, they'd know that Ayers clarified his remarks as referring to the Vietnam war and that he should have worked even harder to oppose it. They would also have known that -- far from being unrepentant (as Hannity would have it) --Ayers told the the Times in the same interview that he was "embarrassed by the arrogance, the solipsism, the absolute certainty that we and we alone knew the way. The rigidity and the narcissism..." As Stephanopoulos failed to include this context, he was either ignorant of it or again deliberately chose an intellectually dishonest way to raise the matter.

I lean toward the latter explanation, as he took his cue from a leading light in a club of dissemblers with such members as Rush Limbaugh, Bill O'Reilly, and Ann Coulter. Utterly without scruples, Sean Hannity and his ilk treat journalism like professional wrestling. Hannity would become a liberal tomorrow if he thought it would increase ratings and book sales. That Stephanopoulos would lend credibility to this person by appearing on his program makes one wonder about the man's own scruples. Or at least his self-respect.

As for the actual fundraiser at the Ayers home, it seems that Obama's predecessor in the Illinois State Senate knew William Ayers and Bernadine Dohrn and asked them to host a fundraiser for Obama. That's it. That's the extent of this particular sinister nexus.

But what about the sinister Woods Fund? By eagerly associating it with Ayers, Clinton connected the Fund -- and by extension former board member Obama -- with the violent activities of the Weather Underground. For starters, the Fund's Board of Directors is comprised mainly of such dangerous characters as educators and business executives. (That Hillary Clinton, for six years a paid member of WalMart's Board of Directors, tut-tuts Obama because Ayers may have held a paid board position with the Woods Fund is downright comical.)

As for its mission, it turns out that the Woods Fund "is a grantmaking foundation whose goal is to increase opportunities for less advantaged people and communities in the metropolitan area, including the opportunity to shape decisions affecting them." And perhaps this is Barack Obama's crime in the eyes of the media elite: Telling the disenfranchised that their voice counts as much as anyone else's and that they must make it heard.

Coach Gibbons Friday:

3 rounds of:

10 squats

10 sit ups

10 push ups

4 rounds of:

21 kettlebell swings (36 lbs)

18 lunges

15 dumbbell thrusters (2x20-lb)

Sunday Funny, Etc.

Q: What is the difference between Vietnam and Iraq?

A: Bush had a plan to get out of Vietnam.

Citizen K. Read: What The Dead Know, Laura Lippman. IMHO, mystery/suspense writers don't come any better. Lippman consistently achieves the Holy Grail of mystery writers: Intricate plots supported by characters constructed with depth and humanity. If you haven't discovered her, WTDK is a great place to start.

Coach Gibbons Friday:

1000m row

Four sets of

250m row

15 Hang Power Cleans (50 lbs)

15 Overhead Squats (45 lbs)

Sex Wars

Sex Wars: A Novel Of Gilded Age New York, Marge Piercy. Piercy's novel explores the formative years of feminism through the intersecting lives of four characters. Three of them -- proto-feminist Elizabeth Cady Stanton, free love advocate Victoria Woodhull, and moralist Anthony Comstock -- were pivotal players in the gender wars of the late 19th Century. The fourth character, the fictional Freydeh Leibowitz, is a young Russian-Jewish widow searching among the tenements for her lost sister while trying to make a life for herself and Sammy, the street urchin who attaches himself to her. Other historical figures come and go, including Cornelius Vanderbilt, Susan B. Anthony, and Henry Ward Beecher. At all times, Piercy demonstrates command of the era, as her characters find themselves involved in everything from unregulated financial shenanigans to the manufacture and selling of condoms.

While Piercy is no F. Scott Fitzgerald as word smith, she paces her story effectively. Her genius lies in making debates over the nuances of 19th Century feminism compelling as fiction, as alive as the rough-and-tumble of tenement life. As a consequence, her characters thrive in the imagination, as does Gilded Age New York as witnessed by them. The fullness of their lives also conquers the light narrative: You're so interested in finding out what they will do next that you don't mind a thin plot. The people and the times are more than enough.

The monstrous Comstock, progenitor of the Religious Right, is perhaps the most memorable character -- a twisted fusion of sexual repression and perversion who takes pleasure in the suicides he causes. Even in his case, though, Piercy plays fair: She shows how Comstocks' disastrous childhood left him with a penchant for control and authority combined with a fear and awe of women.

Woodhull and Canton receive more sympathetic treatment. As a pair, they stand for a femme ideal of intellectual attainment, free thinking, and liberated sexuality. In constrast lies Comstock's notion of the ideal woman: His quiet, compliant, mildly retarded daughter. Better a little slow than too quick, he tells his wife.

Piercy is especially strong on the debates and competing personalities with the feminist movement. She contrasts Stanton's broader vision with Anthony's single-minded dedication to gaining the right to vote, a cause Stanton eventually loses interest in. Who will care about voting when their immediate worry is food for their family, Stanton wonders. We see this perspective embodied in Freydeh, who achieves independence without even thinking about voting and despite running afoul of Comstock.

Stanton and Anthony's complex and conflicting responses to Woodhull also illuminate the differing perspectives of the political and personal. Fascinated by Woodhull's spiritualism and personality, the prim Anthony is nonetheless repelled by Woodhull's frank advocacy of women's sexuality, believing it will slow the progress of the movement. Stanton disagrees. How can anyone claim progress for women if obtaining the vote means behaving the way men want them to? Isn't Woodhull in effect living the dream, doing as she wants and encouraging other women to do the same without worrying about what men think about her? Anthony dominates the movement, though, and when Comstock trains his sights on Woodhull, the suffragists who once embraced her turn away.

The parallels to today are obvious, and Piercy doesn't try to hide them. Comstock not only stands for the religious right in America, he stands for the Taliban. Some women and some societies may have progressed, Piercy reminds us, but women around the world remain oppressed by poverty, ignorance, and religion. And the forces arrayed against them haven't changed much at all.

Coach Gibbons Friday:

1000m row

5 sets of:

15 wall balls (16 lb ball at 8' high target)

21 sumo dead lifts (53 lbs kettlebell)

250m row

Stuff White People Like

This morning's Seattle P-I alerted me to a hilarious web site called Stuff White People Like, which is "devoted to stuff white people like." Each entry explains something that white people like and why. Examples include shorts, difficult breakups, t-shirts, Apple products, and "The Idea of Soccer." The list to date is here. Just off the top of my head, I'd add the following:

• Bumper stickers
• Bruce Springsteen
• The Grateful Dead
• Oldies stations
• Prairie Home Companion
• Sweaters (allowing for the Bill Cosby Exception)
• Designer whey protein fuel
• years of therapy

Your thoughts?

I found out this week that my Friday workout regimen stems from a cult in which uncontrollable vomiting is a badge of honor and death from working out is the first step on the path to canonization. The New York Times has the story.

Coach Gibbons Friday:

1000 meter row

10 squats

5 push-presses

(15 times, every minute on the minute. Simple yet diabolic.)

1000 meter row

In theory, I finished the squats and push-presses in 15 minutes; in practice, I needed a break whenever my inner thighs turned to jelly. So, the actual routine was 6 sets-break-4 sets-break-3 sets-break-2 sets-near death experience.

The Original Texas Guitar Hero

Before there was Stevie Ray Vaughan, there was Johnny Winter, the original Texas guitar hero. Sometime in 1972, I went to a garage sale down the street from my parents' house. I had gotten word that the neighbors who lived there were selling some records their kids had left at home after moving out. And so, for 25 cents, I got the first album by a guy I'd heard of but never heard. Honestly, my 17-year old ears had trouble grappling with the rawness of Johnny Winter. I knew Winter was a terrific guitarist because a guitar-playing friend of mine had told me so. But I'd never heard a serious blues album before -- I lived in Kingsville, Texas -- and Winter's approach was a lot different than Simon and Garfunkel, the Moody Blues, and Black Sabbath. I can hear now what I couldn't hear then: That his playing came from within, from lived experience rather than detached observation or showmanship. In any case, something about the record kept calling me back, especially the rough acoustic blues of "Dallas" (listen to it here).

"Dallas" threw me for a loop. The throaty, rasping vocal was all wrong and yet it came out all right. The blunt, violent lyrics had nothing to do with my life or the way I wanted my life to be. But they bespoke a swaggering independence and readiness to stand up for oneself that anybody wanted. And the confrontational guitar playing -- nothing like the smooth filigrees of Carlos Santana that I loved and still love -- glued together a 2:45 paean to male youth, vitality, and nerve unlike the sensitive, "meaningful" lyrics of James Taylor. I'd never heard anything like "Dallas," and it scared me a bit that it resonated so personally.

Thirty-six years later, I hear "Dallas" and understand that Johnny Winter wanted to write a Robert Johnson song. Now I can hear a 25-year old white guitarist with an atypical knowledge of and respect for blues history. I can also hear a young performer brimming with so much confidence that he didn't want to merely cover the master's work, he wanted to recreate it in his own image. The ultimate brilliance of "Dallas" is that Johnny Winter succeeded in doing just that.

So why did it take me so long to see the guy perform? I dunno. But for whatever reason, it took until last night at Seattle's Showbox, where PK, my friend Mark W., and I took in a tightly packed and exceptionally played 75-minute set by Winter, accompanied for the most part by a bassist and drummer. Time has not been kind to Johnny Winter. The ravages of a devastating mid-70's heroin addiction have left him hunched over and unable to stand while performing. (PK remarked that, in photos, Winter looks like a "human syringe.") His voice, while it can carry a tune, no longer rumbles from the back of a throat that must be raw by now. But that guitar playing...

Whatever disappeared with youth is more than made up for by experience. Performing is still a labor of love for the man, and through his guitar he channeled 50 years of playing the blues. He knows the genre and his instrument like the back of his hand and he plays them like what they are: The true love of his life. One perfectly developed solo after another spilled forth, and although he favored mid-tempo numbers, it was the slow blues like "Red House" that shined brightest. For "Red House," he strung a series of six solos together, one progressing naturally to the next and each impossibly improving on the one before it. It was as pure a display of sheer virtuosity as I've seen. Mark turned to me to say that "We're in the presence of the gods." No argument from me.

Winter reached back to the beginnings of his estimable career and delivered fresh renditions of old songs. He played new stuff and it sounded great. I never heard a superfluous of self-indulgent note. His tone has softened: He's largely abandoned his stinging, air-puncturing style for a slurred, warmer approach that seems better suited to middle age while conceding nothing to it. For the encore, he played slide for the first time and finished up with a blistering version of Bob Dylan's "Highway 61 Revisited," a song he perfected back when Nixon was president. As Johnny Winter has had occasion to remind us through the years, he's still alive and well.

Coach Gibbons Day:

3 times:

250-meter row

10 squats

10 push-ups

3 times:

.5 miles on stationary bike

12 Sumo dead lift high pulls at 65 lbs.

12 push presses with 20 lb. dumbbells

1000 meter row

Valediction?

If you watched the Clinton-Obama debate last night, you saw Hillary Clinton's graceful and gracious closing. If not, it's here, at the 7:oo mark. There's a great deal of debate and spin as to whether or not she in effect conceded the battle last night. I heard it as a message to her supporters and to all Democrats that her opponent has been a worthy adversary behind whom she will close ranks should it come to that.

Joyce Marcel explains here why she supports Obama despite the sexist muck that Clinton has always had to wade through. Even so, Marcel points out that Clinton has been her own worst enemy in critical ways, starting with her decision to staff her campaign with long-time party power brokers. Marcel draws an interesting parallel between Obama's success and Howard Dean's 50-state strategy. 

She also mentions a recent screed by Robin Morgan, whose 1970 "Goodbye To All That" is one of the seminal documents of modern feminism. Morgan revisited the same themes in a January 2008 sequel. Sadly, "Goodbye to All That (#2)" is a bitter yowl that ignores Clinton's limitations and that in effect tells an African-American man that he should wait his turn. Morgan makes Clinton out as a powerful woman who is nonetheless entrapped by the vicious coils of sexism. She makes some fair points, but it's impossible to imagine Clinton seeing herself as a victim to the degree that Morgan does. After all, Clinton is a United States Senator with vast support and a powerful organization.

BTW, the actual first Good-bye To All That was Robert Graves' classic memoir of his very British upbringing and service in the savagery of  World War I trench warfare. The book has an interesting history, here. 

Coach Gibbons day! Three sets of--

200-meter run

21 thrusters (45-lb bar)

21 sit ups

The sound of the leaves, the cry of the river...

Last night's Valentine's dinner at Cafe Juanita was, hmmm... Exquisite? Edenic? Exalted? Erotic? You get the idea. Suffice to say that the execution of the menu was as flawless as the menu was inspired. For Valentine's Day, C Juan offered this tasting menu:

Local Spot Prawns, Butter Poached with Prawn Bodetto and Kaffir Lime Leaf

Rising C Ranch Citrus with Avocado and Hearts of Palm

Raviolo of Sky Valley Pastured Egg and Celeriac with Parmegiano Reggiano

Wagyu Tenderloin with Foie Gras Sauce

Praius Chocolate Souffle with Vanilla Crema and Candied Citrus

or

Carmelized Meyer Lemon Tart with Blood Orange Marmallata and Creme Fraiche

Plus, an optional and superbly chosen wine flight culminating in a Vin Santo paired with the Chocolate Souffle. The Italian Chardonnay paired with the citrus salad just about revised my disenchanted perspective on Chardonnays. (They inevitably taste as if they've been kept in oak for the better part of century. Not this one, though.) More about this meal and the nature of food and cooking tomorrow.

Quote of the Day: 

"The mountains were tumbled about, in a thousand fantastic ways."

-William Makepeace Thackeray, writing of Connemara in 1842

You can see what he meant here. And if you haven't read Vanity Fair, what are you waiting for?

Ever since Foxessa put me on to WWOZ last week, I've been investigating their DJ's recommendations of the top New Orleans' CDs of 2007. I've got some stuff on order that should start trickling in next week. Stay tuned!

He's red and she's blue. Diane Mapes explains the pitfalls of dating someone who is your political opposite. Hey, we knew all along that liberal girls were more fun.

It's Friday, so it's also Coach Gibbons day. Today's routine:

1000 meter row

------

Five sets of:

15 dumbbell dead lifts (two dumbbells @ 35 pounds each)

15 kettlebell swings (35 pounds)

100 feet of lunges

------

Three sets of:

Row sprints designed to maximize power generated. Four strokes to build power, then five, six, and seven strokes at at least 200 watts.

Three dive bomber pushups

I'll leave you with the lyrics to Bruce Springsteen's "Valentine's Day." It's a beauty.

Killian Heard: Sound Grammar, Ornette Coleman. 78 years old and the guy hasn't lost a thing, either as a composer or as a musician.

Killian Heard

Bridge of Sighs, Robin Trower (EMI-Capitol 50999 5 01845 2 1). Like thousands (millions?) of us, Jimi Hendrix changed the way Procol Harum guitarist Robin Trower heard music. Unlike the rest of us, Trower has the hands to go with his ears, and in 1974 he came up with Bridge of Sighs, a post-Hendrix classic that goes heavy on the blues and easy on the psychedelia. Now, EMI has released a remastered version of Bridge, and it's a dandy. Besides cleaning up the sound, they've added eight live tracks from two BBC sessions. Trower wears the Hendrix influence on his sleeve, but what an influence! And in any case, he has the chops to pull it off. 

Primavera En Nueva York, Martirio (Norte 8869 705293 2). Spanish singer Martirio performs a gorgeous set of mostly Cuban boleros in a jazz setting. A terrific band (including Kenny Drew, Jr., George Mraz, and Paquito D'Rivera) provides perfect accompaniment to Martirio's husky, sexy vocals. Romantic and pleasurable from beginning to end.

Just A Little Lovin', Shelby Lynne (Lost Highway B0009789-2). It takes a lot of balls -- and I mean big brass ones that clank when she walks -- for a woman to record a CD of Dusty Springfield covers. (Watch this to get a load of what Shelby was up against.) Lynne resists what must have the awful temptation to sing straight, heavily orchestrated covers and instead explores the country, blues, and folk roots of the material. In the end, she finds all of Dusty's pain and uncertainty; she just gets there by a different road.

Well, Coach Gibbons really had it in for me today:

1000 meter row

-----

15 dead lifts at 88 pounds

50 jump ropes

10 push-ups

(repeat two times for a total of three sets each

-----

500 meter row

Purist Nuns, etc.

This morning, I received email from Nannie I. Cope with the following subject line: Re: Priant Sungus lingel. Feeling that there had to be more to this than a spam come-on for cheap prescription drugs, I ran the subject line through a handy anagrammer. It turns out that there are at least 56,500 anagrams of "Priant Sungus lingel," although the anagrammer returned only the first thousand. None of which shed much light -- if you don't believe me, check out this sampling for yourself:

 

A Plungers Insulting

A Lingering Sluts Pun

A Gelling Purist Nuns

A Gruelling Snips Nut (sounds like a vasectomy)

A Niggle Sunlit Spurn

A Gunslinger Lip Stun

A Niggler Lupin Stuns

A Ginseng Unlit Slurp

A Snigger Inputs Null (unless you snigger last: Then you snigger best)

A Listening Gulp Runs (if it knows what's good for it)

A Penning Guru Stills

A Penguins Gill Turns

See what I mean?

On another front, it was back to Coach Gibbons this morning for the first time in over a month. Today's workout:

500 meter row

10 squats

10 push-ups

10 sit-ups

(Repeat four times for a total of five each)

5 Push Presses on the minute, 15 times (45-pound bar)