Think Again...Or Even For A First Time

Writing to his usual standards of incomprehensible Latinate, George Will yesterday laid this egg:

The public sector's involuntary tendency to become, regarding productivity, a concentration of stagnation...

George, have you read your own column lately? You've been intellectually and stylistically stagnant for years. Moreover, you work for a newspaper still coasting on the Woodward-Bernstein Watergate investigatory reporting of the early '70s.

I hate to disillusion you (o.k., not really), but the private sector is as subject to stagnation as the public sector. Why do you think Toyota and Nissan kicked Detroit's ass? Why do you think the BP/Halliburton catastrophe happened? Why do you think that Apple ambushed every recording label in the world and took over the music distribution business? Should I go on?

What a minute...think...I guess I'm not being fair: I shouldn't expect thinking from someone who hasn't had a new thought in thirty years.

Low Country Blues

The pipes may not quite be what they were, but look at it this way: When Usain Bolt is 62, he'll still run faster than just about anyone else. On Low Country Blues, Gregg Allman covers mostly obscure blues songs, material he mastered back in the Truman Administration. Plus, it's good to hear him singing something besides the standard Allman Brothers repertoire, as great as it is. 




Allman reflects on Low Country Blues, his long-time love of the form, working with T-Bone Burnett and Dr John, and past drug use:

More Responses to My Request for Conservative Input on Health Care Reform

This morning, I made a comment similar to this one on a story about House Republican plans to vote to repeal the Affordable Care Act. By 10:00 last night, I had received these proposals:












On another topic, what can I fairly say about Holy Joe Lieberman without copying every page of the Inernational Dictionary of Obsenities?

David Corn on the 'Baggers

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

I had the pleasure of meeting David some years back. In person, he is as he comes across here: Thoughtful, considerate, and articulate.

A Healthy Debate

Last night, in a comment on a story about attitudes softening toward the Affordable Care Act, I invited conservative commenters to propose an alternative. Read on...

There's no shortage of nay-saying here. So, those of you who favor repeal, what do you replace it with? Repeal, and we'll return to this situation:

* 45,000,000 uninsured. Number increasing as businesses withdraw health insurance because of medical inflation and because of high unemployment. As many as 60,000,000 at any one time lack insurance.
* 15,000,000 underinsured. Number increasing as businesses reduce benefits because of medical inflation.
* Future Medicare financing in question because of increased number of retirees and because real wages have not kept pace with medical inflation since 1980
* People with pre-existing conditions cannot buy health insurance
* Insurance companies can withdraw individual or family coverage when claims get too high for their liking
* Benefit caps, impeding the care available to anyone with co-morbidities
* Shortage of primary care physicians (somewhat alleviated by the ACA)

Question #1: Is this a problem?
Question #2: How do you address it?

Since Republicans spent over a year complaining that the ACA had been crammed down their throats, your solution must be credibly bipartisan.

Hint: The CBO estimates that selling insurance across state lines will allow 3,000,000 more people to have access to insurance.

Have at it.

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#512 - Sun Jan 16, 2011 9:08 PM PST

Curdtz

Easy enough to fix. Rid us of all the ileagle Mexicans,then drop all of the wellfare leaches. If you want to give to the mexicans and leaches then do it at state level. The lib states can have them all.

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#512.1 - Sun Jan 16, 2011 9:12 PM PST

Brian777

Seems much better than ObamaCare. It's been working great so far.

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#512.2 - Sun Jan 16, 2011 9:20 PM PST

The New Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

As always, click to enlarge...

IN this book a number of dialects are used, to wit: the Missouri negro dialect; the extremest form of the backwoods Southwestern dialect; the ordinary "Pike County" dialect; and four modified varieties of this last. The shadings have not been done in a hap- hazard fashion, or by guesswork; but painstakingly, and with the trustworthy guidance and support of personal familiarity with these several forms of speech.

Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollars apiece -- all gold. It was an awful sight of money when it was piled up. Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year round -- more than a body could tell what to do with. The Widow Douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't stand it no longer I lit out. I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again, and was free and satisfied. But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and said he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I would go back to the widow and be respectable. So I went back.

WELL, three or four months run along, and it was well into the winter now. I had been to school most all the time and could spell and read and write just a little, and could say the multiplication table up to six times seven is thirty-five, and I don't reckon I could ever get any further than that if I was to live forever. I don't take no stock in mathematics, anyway. 

"Who dah?"

"Oh, yes, this is a wonderful govment, wonderful. Why, looky here. There was a free nigger there from Ohio -- a mulatter, most as white as a white man. He had the whitest shirt on you ever see, too, and the shiniest hat; and there ain't a man in that town that's got as fine clothes as what he had; and he had a gold watch and chain, and a silver-headed cane -- the awfulest old gray-headed nabob in the State. And what do you think? They said he was a p'fessor in a college, and could talk all kinds of languages, and knowed everything. And that ain't the wust. They said he could VOTE when he was at home. Well, that let me out. Thinks I, what is the country a-coming to? It was 'lection day, and I was just about to go and vote myself if I warn't too drunk to get there; but when they told me there was a State in this country where they'd let that nigger vote, I drawed out. I says I'll never vote agin. Them's the very words I said; they all heard me; and the country may rot for all me -- I'll never vote agin as long as I live."

"Oh, well, that's all interpreted well enough as far as it goes, Jim," I says; "but what does THESE things stand for?" It was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar. You could see them first-rate now. Jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trash again. He had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he couldn't seem to shake it loose and get the facts back into its place again right away. But when he did get the thing straightened around he looked at me steady without ever smiling, and says: "What do dey stan' for? I'se gwyne to tell you. When I got all wore out wid work, en wid de callin' for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz mos' broke bekase you wuz los', en I didn' k'yer no' mo' what become er me en de raf'. En when I wake up en fine you back agin, all safe en soun', de tears come, en I could a got down on my knees en kiss yo' foot, I's so thankful. En all you wuz thinkin' 'bout wuz how you could make a fool uv ole Jim wid a lie. Dat truck dah is TRASH; en trash is what people is dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren's en makes 'em ashamed." Then he got up slow and walked to the wigwam, and went in there without saying anything but that. But that was enough. It made me feel so mean I could almost kissed HIS foot to get him to take it back. It was fifteen minutes before I could work myself up to go and humble myself to a nigger; but I done it, and I warn't ever sorry for it afterwards, neither. I didn't do him no more mean tricks, and I wouldn't done that one if I'd a knowed it would make him feel that way. It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened. Jim he allowed they was made, but I allowed they happened; I judged it would have took too long to MAKE so many. Jim said the moon could a LAID them; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so I didn't say nothing against it, because I've seen a frog lay most as many, so of course it could be done. We used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them streak down. Jim allowed they'd got spoiled and was hove out of the nest. I went to the raft, and set down in the wigwam to think. But I couldn't come to nothing. I thought till I wore my head sore, but I couldn't see no way out of the trouble. After all this long journey, and after all we'd done for them scoundrels, here it was all come to nothing, everything all busted up and ruined, because they could have the heart to serve Jim such a trick as that, and make him a slave again all his life, and amongst strangers, too, for forty dirty dollars. It made me shiver. And I about made up my mind to pray, and see if I couldn't try to quit being the kind of a boy I was and be better. So I kneeled down. But the words wouldn't come. Why wouldn't they? It warn't no use to try and hide it from Him. Nor from ME, neither. I knowed very well why they wouldn't come. It was because my heart warn't right; it was because I warn't square; it was because I was playing double. I was letting ON to give up sin, but away inside of me I was holding on to the biggest one of all. I was trying to make my mouth SAY I would do the right thing and the clean thing, and go and write to that nigger's owner and tell where he was; but deep down in me I knowed it was a lie, and He knowed it. You can't pray a lie -- I found that out. I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time I had ever felt so in my life, and I knowed I could pray now. But I didn't do it straight off, but laid the paper down and set there thinking -- thinking how good it was all this happened so, and how near I come to being lost and going to hell. And went on thinking. And got to thinking over our trip down the river; and I see Jim before me all the time: in the day and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a-floating along, talking and singing and laughing. But somehow I couldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. I'd see him standing my watch on top of his'n, 'stead of calling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when I come back out of the fog; and when I come to him again in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and such-like times; and would always call me honey, and pet me and do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was; and at last I struck the time I saved him by telling the men we had small-pox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was the best friend old Jim ever had in the world, and the ONLY one he's got now; and then I happened to look around and see that paper. It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a-trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: "All right, then, I'll GO to hell" -- and tore it up.

"Cuss the doctor! What do we k'yer for HIM? Hain't we got all the fools in town on our side? And ain't that a big enough majority in any town?"

Tom's most well now, and got his bullet around his neck on a watch-guard for a watch, and is always seeing what time it is, and so there ain't nothing more to write about, and I am rotten glad of it, because if I'd a knowed what a trouble it was to make a book I wouldn't a tackled it, and ain't a-going to no more. But I reckon I got to light out for the Territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she's going to adopt me and sivilize me, and I can't stand it. I been there before.

Words Have Consequences

“You’ve got to think about it, our democracy is a light, a beacon, really, around the world because we effect change at the ballot box, and not because of these outbursts, of violence in many cases. Change is important, it’s a part of our process, but it’s really important that we focus on the fact that we have a democratic process.”

-U. S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords (D-AZ)

“I think it’s time as a country to do a little soul-searching. The anger, the hatred, the bigotry that goes on in this country is getting to be outrageous.”

-Clarence Dupnik, Pima County Arizona

Today, Gabrielle Giffords fights for her life, one of 19 victims of a political assassination that include a federal judge and 9-year old girl. The shooter is undoubtedly an insane man who acted on the murky motives of psychosis. Another time, another day, that may have been explanation enough. In 2011, it is not.

Over the next few days, conservatives will condemn these political assassinations in stentorian tones, repeating over and over that they do not condone violence. John "Hell No" Boehner, who must no doubt be pleased with the media stock photos of him and Giffords sharing a laugh, tells us that "Acts and threats of violence against public officials have no place in our society." (Apparently, those of us who are not public officials are out of luck.)

But that isn't the issue.

The question isn't whether conservatives condone murder. Few people do. But they have fomented it with their unveiled threats to water the the tree of liberty with blood of supposed tyrants; with their dark talk of a second civil war; with their wild accusations that anyone not like them is a dangerous socialist; with their portrayal of President Obama as a psychotic villain; with their threats and calls to arms; with their advocating the lynching of US senators; and with their use of rage and lies as a substitute for the honest debate that they cannot win. And for some, though the Susan Collinses and Olympia Snowes will deny it, it has come with their silent acquiescence to behavior that one hopes troubles them deeply.

Sarah Palin has reportedly removed the above graphic (the emphasis on Rep. Giffords is mine) from her web site while at the same time denying that it in any way signifies the culture of violence adopted by the extreme right and encouraged and exploited by establishment Republicans. Giffords' opponent last fall, one Jesse Kelly, disputes that campaign commercials depicting him with a gun and wearing hunting fatigues were in any way relevant to the actions of a madman. Others urge us not to jump to conclusions about causality and gather their guns around them as if the Second Amendment had been assaulted and not nineteen innocents at a Tucson shopping mall.

There is a place in our political culture for anger and outrage: Both have fueled movements for justice. But that's just the point: They were means -- and not the only ones -- to humane ends of extending the blessings of liberty. They weren't expressed through intimidation and terror with the intent of silencing and disenfranchising the Not Like Us.

These people are nothing but thugs. They should be treated as such. Palin's graphic has one thing right: It's time to take a stand.