The Roving Storm

The Blog Is Over (If You Want It To Be)

2010-09-16T14:40:00.000-07:00

RovingStorm has already made one comeback, but with Wordpress's superior capabilities and access to the domain name "LivingtheDream.org", this moment was inevitable. All future posts of politics, the open road, the wild frontiers, glitz and gloom in Gotham and much, much more will be going on at LivingtheDream.org. I'll keep this site around for archival purposes, but make your way across the web to an exciting new venture that I hope is the culmination of my years of stop and go in the blogging world.

Peace out,
-Nos

That Time Of Year: Endorsing Eric Schneiderman for Attorney General

2010-09-08T10:49:00.000-07:00

Dear friends,

On next Tuesday, September 14, it is once again time to forget about the ugliness of politics and head to the voting booths. Even though New Yorkers can do little to stem the Republican onslaught across the country this November, on Tuesday’s primary, New Yorkers have the opportunity to nominate an excellent candidate for New York State Attorney General by voting for State Senator Eric Schneiderman.

You may not have heard of this guy- in fact, you may not have heard of this race. A Daily News poll showed that when not offered specific choices, only 20% of registered New York Democrats could name who they supported for Attorney General, and a leading 8% chose someone not running! But toiling away in the savage trenches of New York state politics, Eric Schneiderman has demonstrated himself to be a smart, progressive leader- someone who doesn’t just check the right box when he votes, but leads the troops into battle on the major issues of the day.

To back up, what does the Attorney General do? The Attorney General is a prosecutor, empowered to enforce state and federal law within the jurisdiction of New York state. Attorneys General Eliot Spitzer and Andrew Cuomo wielded this role effectively to crack down on Wall Street. The Attorney General directs approximately 500 lawyers who handle everything from organized crime to political corruption to white collar crime to non-profit fraud. The AG also must defend the state and its agencies when they are sued by individuals or the federal government. It is a great office that I sought the opportunity to work for, unsuccessfully, due to a recession-induced hiring freeze.

Eric Schneiderman spent much of his early career at a private firm, though he was an attorney or legal advisor to many progressive causes, including the “Clean Money, Clean Elections” campaign and the subway rider advocacy group, the NYPIRG Straphangers. Elected to the State Senate in 1998, Schneiderman immediately distinguished himself as a major defender of the environment, the right to choose and the right to organize. He spearheaded the successful legislative efforts to overhaul the draconian Rockefeller drug laws. He has been a major advocate for campaign finance and ethics reform, though he clearly faces strong opposition from his Albany colleagues. After the throat-slashing State Senator Hiram Monserrate became an embarrassment to the state of New York, Schneiderman oversaw the legal process to have Monserrate expelled from the State Senate.

More so than any of these individual policies or achievements, however, I respect Schneiderman's intelligence and convictions. Having met him in person and listened to many of his interviews, Schneiderman has always come across as too good for the zoo that is the New York State Senate. He is calm and thoughtful under pressure, and while virtually every politician claims to "fight for the little guy", he actually means it. Witness his incredibly strong support from New York City’s minority population and labor unions, and his opposition to corporate financed elections.

Every candidate agrees that this race is about reform in New York state politics, and there is little dispute that Schneiderman has the longest history of fighting for the reforms we need. Schneiderman’s opponents for the Democratic nomination range from decent to strong, but they fall short of his record of accomplishment, and kid themselves by suggesting the person known as the strongest reformer in the State Senate (Citizens Union, NY Times, etc.) should be disqualified simply because he is an elected official. If he was really "part of the club", he wouldn’t have been targeted for redistricting in 2002, though he won his absurdly shaped district in subsequent elections.

Eric Dinallo, the former insurance superintendent did well under Attorney General Spitzer, but has brought little energy to this race. Sean Coffey presents an interesting bio- working class kid becomes rich lawyer after serving in the Navy, but the “outsider” label is more helpful is you want to make speeches in Congress than if your job is manage 500 lawyers in a highly political position. Richard Brodsky has had a strong career in the State Assembly investigating corruption, including the Yankees Stadium deal and unaccountable public authorities like the MTA. He would probably be my second choice, though his crass political handling of the Islamic Center issue shows that he may be as vulnerable to caving as anyone when the stakes get high.

Nassau DA Kathleen Rice, the perceived front-runner, did not cast a vote until her late 30s, including a failure to vote in the 2000 election, when she lived in the battleground state of Pennsylvania. For someone aspiring to public office to think such little of civic duty astounds me. She did not declare herself as a Democrat until running for DA in 2005, which says more about her ideology than her carefully scripted campaign message. During the WNYC debate this morning she embarrassed herself by twice misstating the contours of the Attorney General’s authority. Backed by Cuomo to bring geographic and gender diversity to the ticket, she has been thoroughly unimpressive as a candidate.

Some candidates, in desperation, are accusing Schneiderman as being unelectable against Republican AG nominee, Dan Donovan. Renowned Village Voice investigative reporter Wayne Barrett has suggested that Mayor Bloomberg is strongly pushing the socially moderate Staten Island District Attorney because he wants the next Attorney General to take the heat off of Wall Street after 16 years of Spitzer and Cuomo. The Bush years taught us that Democrats are at their weakest when they sacrifice their principles for nebulous “electability”, and this race is no exception. Furthermore, this is New York, and I will not shiver in my boots over Dan Donovan.

Lest anyone think me overly effusive in praising a liberal legislator who votes the right way, actually legislates and stands up for his convictions, those traits should not be considered exceptional. In New York state politics, however, they are, and hopefully the election of Eric Schneiderman for Attorney General and Andrew Cuomo for governor can not only bring good policies to Albany, but restore dignity to its politics.

On September 14, vote Eric Schneiderman for New York State Attorney General.

…………….

Unfortunately, the deadline to register to vote has passed, though my hope is that nearly everyone on this list would have registered for the mayoral election last year.

You can find your polling place here: http://vote.nyc.ny.us/pollingplaces.html

The Sad Men

2010-08-17T09:12:00.000-07:00

If I told you about a show that would be painful to squirm through, which would leave you feeling hollow and sad, would you watch it? Another summer of hype for Mad Men persuaded me to Netflix it up, but the result has been disappointment, or worse. The show, for the uninitiated, follows the professional and personal lives of marketers at Sterling Cooper. The show is set in the early 1960s, the calm before the storm, the last gasp of unfettered white, male privilege. Social conservatives often lament this “simpler era”, though the simplicity of rigid social castes is not appealing to most Americans today.

Mad Men’s star is Don Draper, a man of mythical statute both on the show and among its followers. The man has charm and good looks, seduces attractive women with relative ease, and from what one can gather, is one of the only talented people at Sterling Cooper. He has a “girls want him and guys want to be like him” quality, but his brooding nihilism is tiring. Like most of the characters, he is torn between loathing his daily existence and quietly accepting it, rarely cracking a smile. The show may have permanently lost me when Draper, who has shown little remorse for his rampant philandering or wretched treatment of his brother, has a near break down when the firm has to cut ties with a mid-sized airline company in order to pursue a bigger one. He feels anguished, even though the mid-sized airline company can just get a new PR firm. Not really a big deal, dude.

Despite his melancholy, Draper is the star around which the rest of this mid-sized firm orbits. Sterling, a partner, showers him with hyperbole that feels completely unsubstantiated for most of Season 1. The women of Sterling Cooper hammer away at typewriters (what could so many of them be typing?) while men smoke cigarettes, drink whiskey and sulk in their private offices. The show insists on creating a “Masters of the Universe” aura, which falls exceedingly short.

With the exception of Sterling, who at least has an entrepreneurial spirit to him, the grunts at Sterling Cooper think of themselves as “ad-men”, big time hotshots, without anything to show for it. As they clutch onto accounts they always seem to be on the verge of losing, worrying about making enough money to pay the family bills, they don’t realize how small and insignificant they are. People who work in advertising and marketing are, as a breed, highly replaceable, especially in an era where most advertising was just print copy. Their meetings, which often last mere seconds, produce nothing, and are followed by bouts of whiskey drinking which makes one wonder if any actual work is getting done at Sterling Cooper. I suppose this is the golden era people talk about, where sons of privilege get paid for doing nothing, where men have secretaries take off their hats, place their phone calls and hide their affairs for them. These men aren’t impressive, they’re pathetic.

The notion of a show about “ad-men” turned me off from watching Mad Men when it first began airing. The slovenly beatniks from Season 1 are meant to look and act like losers, but their withering critique of what advertisers really do- peddle lies- is rebutted meekly by Draper. There is little honor in selling worthless products, though so many of us are forced to do so at one point or another. This show does little to make advertising seem hip or worthwhile, even for its time. I mean, this was the freaking 1960s, and these guys are coming up with tag lines for lipstick.

Obviously a TV show is more than its premise- Arrested Development wasn’t incredible because it was about housing developers. Unfortunately, the characters that make up Mad Men’s core are a tortuous lot. Pete Campbell, a bratty looking fellow, is eminently unlikeable, and it is often difficult to tell the mediocrity you see before you stems from the actor or the character. Peggy Olson, the only female character to break the secretarial mold, is similarly awkward and difficult to root for. The much hyped Joan Holloway, she of the dazzling curves, has little to say beyond what you’d expect from the power crazy office manager we’ve all had to deal with.

The personal storylines in Mad Men are no more gripping, a cross between Desperate Housewives and the old high school drama Fifteen. Like the show’s in-your-face sexism and racism, the painfully repressed sexuality is a paean to a different era, but that doesn’t make it fun to watch. The most overused line from Season 1 is either “I should go” or “You should go.” The way characters drunkenly make out at parties reminds me of junior year of high school. Everyone is lonely and wishes they got laid more, but can’t, because they married young and are unhappy in marriage. What a downer.

The saddest of all is Betty Draper, a ray of sunshine in a sordid cast. Beautiful, a little weird, and one of the few sympathetic characters in the show, Betty is an example of a woman trapped by her time, destined perhaps for great things if she hadn’t resigned herself to being a housewife in her young 20s. Her yearning leads to some of the few poignant moments on the show, as do Sal Romano’s tribulations as a closeted gay, fitting for a show that peddles sadness.

One can watch entire episodes without so much as a chuckle. I can’t remember the last time I watched a show in which I laughed so rarely at explicit jokes made by the characters. Am I supposed to? I never know what emotional chord this show is aiming for. Is the constant cigarette smoking and whiskey drinking supposed to be comical? Are the racist and sexist jokes “edgy”, a way to make the script accurate, or what?

Finally, what is with the grandeur? Mad Men has been talked about as one of the best shows of the decade, but in what ways is it great? It’s a good drama, but it’s not even in the same conversation as The West Wing, let alone The Wire. The characters are largely mundane and unlikeable, the plot grinds along tediously, the wit is sparse, and most fundamentally, it doesn’t really matter what happens. Oh, they are bought up by a British parent company? They split away and form a small boutique firm? Jesus, how can anyone care?

This was written after battling into Season 2 out of some hope that I needed more than 12 hours to warm up to the show. It ends with a warning for those on the fence about whether to commit their Netflix queue to Mad Men:
Ultimately, this is a show about mediocre men and fake women sleepwalking through their depressed, unimpressive lives, lying and scheming to get one extra rung up the endless ladder. Unfortunately, we already have seen this show- it’s called life, and it’s kind of a downer. Let’s stick to putting something better on television and the internet.

The Madness of King James: Why America Can't Handle Its News Anymore

2010-07-08T11:02:00.000-07:00

When Lebron James announces his new basketball home on a maudlin hour-long special, live from Greenwich, Connecticut, he will end an ugly saga that betrayed how brutally unprepared our country is to deal with matters of consequence as technology uncontrollably lurches forward.

On July 1, Lebron James became a free agent. In the preceding weeks (if not months and years), speculation had run rampant, but on that day his free agency became one of the biggest news stories of the Twitter era, rumors exploding from every corner of the internet. Journalists, fellow players, anonymous front office executives, friends of restaurant owners- anyone who could claim a degree of separation from the Source, advanced definitive clues to where Lebron was heading. No entity was more crippled by this phenomenon than ESPN.

ESPN’s embarrassing coverage demonstrated that despite being one of the world’s major news organizations, it was unprepared to handle a mega story that it has known was coming for two years. Desperate not to be scooped, its writers displayed a complete inability to decipher fact from rumor, or fact from relevant fact. Writers lunged from theory to theory- 'Lebron is going to Chicago', 'Lebron is going to New York', 'Lebron is going to Miami', often without any actual developments to bolster their case. One tweet lamented the news that Lebron’s agent had changed his LLC address to Chicago. Another gushed of Lebron’s reservation at a steakhouse in New York.

Information on flights, meals, hotel bookings and phone calls were bandied about, along with deep ruminations on Lebron’s inner psychology. Aware of the tenuousness of their claims, writers deftly pulled Orwellian hijinks with each new 'development', reflecting, 'Lebron was always going to stay in Cleveland', 'Miami was a done deal from the beginning,' 'the Knicks were never in play', only to discard such claims in subsequent posts. During rare, sane moments, a writer would admit that Lebron probably hadn’t made up his mind at all.

There are at least two reasons the complete botching of this story is more important than basketball.

First, we have long recognized that in most news reporting, the immediacy of the 24 hour news cycle is dangerous, allowing for little fact-checking. This problem has only been exacerbated by explosion of Twitter and the increasing number of professionals religiously consulting their iPhones and Blackberries. If the whole world can learn the one sentence synopsis of a story as it is happening, news agencies must have some substance to offer immediately as well. News organizations were all over the Stanley McChrystal story- before the Rolling Stone story was fully published. Most were reacting to excerpts or paraphrased summaries of the article. That is how the important point of the article- the collapse of our Afghanistan war strategy, got lost in the shuffle.

A less recent but even more poignant example would be the ‘balloon boy’ story, during which television news converged on live coverage of a boy in a runaway balloon- only there wasn’t any boy in the balloon. The rush to war in 2003 was bad enough. Can you imagine if rumors related to Saddam Hussein and weapons of mass destruction had proliferated more quickly and more wildly than they had? But examples should not even be necessary in stating a most obvious principle- a world in which newsmakers have no time to reflect before speaking, and policymakers have no time to reflect before acting is highly dangerous.

Our faith in experts is equally misguided, and in the case of 'political analysts', equally dangerous. In sports, inaccuracy is usually of no consequence. Neither the passive fan nor diehard junkie really cares whether someone on NBA.com accurately predicts the outcome of a game. It can be startling to see so-called experts predicting NFL outcomes with the same accuracy as a coin toss or doing worse in fantasy sports than the average online participant. But because such few figures in sports can tell longtime sports fans or former athletes information they don’t already know, the ‘experts’ main role is entertainment rather than analysis.

In theory, the purpose of political analysts is also entertainment. Listen to someone like ‘strategist’ Donna Bazile, for example. Has she ever said anything particularly insightful? In truth, anyone who reads history, frequents multiple new sources daily and owns the right make-up kit could make at least a guest appearance on a cable news show. Analysis is generally trite, with even smart guests stunted by the short, adversarial format. Yet, in contrast to their mastery of sports, most Americans are tragically dependent on the political news establishment. More Americans can debate Federer-Nadal on their own than critique Thomas Friedman’s inane observations on globalization. That is why Friedman is read all over the world as an economic and foreign policy expert despite being wrong with confounding frequency.

It is too late to wish for a world in which people do not crave penetrating analysis of events that have just taken place or hunger for further information that simply does not exist. As sports fans, our shortcomings in this regard have made the Lebron James saga particularly painful. Even as I write this, I peruse Twitter for clues that I know are ultimately meaningless. But at least basketball fans understand the sport well enough to ignore the chatter and make their own reasoned predictions. In politics, most Americans lack the educational background and interest to inform themselves. And so they recline on the couch, and let the talking heads yammer away.

Images of an Epic Summer to Come Part II

2010-04-18T10:03:00.001-07:00

Images of An Epic Summer To Come

2010-04-18T09:40:00.000-07:00

There’s So Much to Look Forward To: 20 Reasons Why This Will Be An Epic Summer

2010-04-18T07:36:00.000-07:00

Being in Liberia, for all its wacky adventures, has properly served its purpose as a self-imposed exile from the daily grind of New York City life. Things had hit the wall by January, when I could be found cursing loudly on subway platforms every time I narrowly missed a subway. I needed to get away and think, recharge, and pick up some good stories. So far, all has gone according to plan, sense of purpose is renewed and all that. But, like Dylan once sang, “I’m going back to New York City; I do believe I’ve had enough.” That’s from “Just Like Tom Thumbs Blues,” a stellar track of Highway 61 Revisited. When I was in the band George Carlin Must Die (don’t worry, he was already dead), we covered the song for our album, Jesus Freak Meth-heads. The band was only together for about six hours, but man did we rock.

I can’t wait to stomp through clouds of volcanic ash to get back to the New York scene. New York usually does the whole late spring/ early summer thing with superb gusto, and 2010 will be no different. My perspective on the local and national mood might be a little warped, but thanks to the magic of the internet I am probably reading the same garbage that you are, and I too live in fear of coming face to face with an earnest looking Wolf Blitzer every time I flip on my television.

Because lists are ideally suited for the 140 Characters or Less Era, I’ve compiled my “Reasons the Summer of 2010 is Going to Awesome.” My own biases shine through- I’m not sure how many of you will really stand to gain much from my high school reunion, for example- but this list ought to fire up any soul who just lived through an urban winter.

20. Midnight Spin (all summer): One of Brooklyn’s most rocking new bands, these guys are going to have a big 2010, and this summer you can catch them on the rise in NYC, Boston, D.C and wherever else. I’ll be road-tripping with them for at least one weekend this summer to write a dispatch on the dudes, who know how to have a good time on stage and off it.

19. Williamsburg (all summer): While Wburg is always intriguing, the lack of accessible subway stops can make it a brutal winter destination. Action spills onto the sidewalks, fun things go down in the parks, and Williamsburg is positively hopping and full of energy during the summer. After two summers as a resident, it’ll be a sweet homecoming.

18. The Flaming Lips (July): They are touring this summer. If you don’t know why this is so exciting, do yourself a favor and hit the Youtubes to see why they are considered one of the bands you have to see before you die (or, I suppose, before they die).

17. Financial Reform (May-June): Really, Republicans? The party of corporate thugs has always had masterful snake oil charmers, but this May we’ll have the pleasure of watching Republicans trying to fundraise on Wall Street while simultaneously blocking financial reform as a “giveaway to the banks.” The mental gymnastics required to execute this strategy are simply beyond the abilities of this Republican leadership, and should lead to some entertaining moments, provided corporate Democrats don’t ruin the fun like they always do.

16. All Good Music Festival (July): The preeminent jam-band festival for the laid-back, hang-out scene, this festival brings bands like Parliament and the surviving members of the Greatful Dead to the mountains of West Virginia. West Virginia is one of three states east of the Mississippi River that I have not partied in, and I’d like to check it off the list this summer; I’m currently 35/50, and #14 on this list will bump me up to 37.

15. West Coast Road Trip (August): For someone who loves the open road and adventures away from home, I’ve been shielded from the Left Coast for years by some mystic force. Other than a single night in Los Angeles on a 2007 wedding trip, I haven’t been to the West Coast since 2004. I haven’t been to Portland or Seattle at all, to my great regret, though in my defense, that is only because my car broke down on the 2004 Great American Road Trip. This lazy August jaunt should be a chance to reconnect with peeps, see some great progressive work happening on the ground and soak in two of America’s top cities for the first time.

14. Baseball Season (all summer): Baseball games have gotten too expensive, plain and simple. I’ll still try to get out to some good matchups this summer, but gone are the days of hopping on the subway spontaneously with a friend and grabbing an Upper Deck ticket to see the Mets battle whoever was in town. At Citi Field, a stadium name I won’t ever get over, the cheapest seats are called “The Promenade”, and they are not cheap. Nevertheless, baseball is still the ultimate background television dive bars, and it’s good to have it back. On the heels of my fantasy basketball success, I declined to enter a fantasy baseball league, and will thus be able to relax and enjoy, instead of being glued to my laptop to make seismic roster moves every few hours.

13. High School 10th year reunion (May) : Has it really been ten years? Yes, it definitely has. A full decade has passed since the Collegiate Class of 2000’s reign of terror ended with a wild and tumultuous spring of WWF-inspired populism and Gatsbyesque parties. If Facebook profiles are any indicator, the fifty some boys who made up that graduating class have largely gotten their shit together, which will make for a great contrast with the fifth year reunion, which was something of an unemployment bash.

12. Silk Road Palace (all summer): It’ll be another summer at the Silk Road Palace, one of my very favorite New York institutions. A Chinese restaurant that serves unlimited free boxed wine with every entrée, this place has been the bedrock of many a Friday and Saturday night for the crew over the last decade. I’ve celebrated at least part of my birthday there in 2001, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2008 and 2009. The typical Silk Road dinner involves 12-18 people from all different circles coming together to bond over a raucous dinner, replete with fun toasts and boat races. What makes it particularly fun in the summer is that when pre-seating gets too crowded you can wait outside, and likewise, once the meal is over, the buzz-killing cold doesn’t rush you into a hasty post-Road decision. This summer the Road will once again be the place to be, particularly with me moving within closer striking distance to the Upper West Side restaurant this June.

11. The U.S Social Forum (June): On June 22nd, progressive groups are gathering en masse for an organizing conference in Detroit. I could not be more fired up. Activism has deservedly taken its lumps for its disorganization and fractured nature, but thanks in no small part to online organizing, an enormous roster of standout local groups is getting together in one of America’s most beleaguered cities, one I’ve been meaning to visit for years. Did you know that New York to Detroit is only a ten hour drive? And that large organizations attending are told to consider buying a house rather than renting a lot of hotel rooms? This is a rare conference actually worth going to.

10. Sandinista (always): The Clash’s fourth album is so drenched in epic music and context that it remains one of the best things about the coming summer, thirty years after its release. Thirty years ago, Joe Strummer and Mick Jones spent much of the spring and summer throwing together 36 bewildering tracks that became the greatest triple album ever, and my favorite album, which Mick Jones called “a good choice.” The opening track, “Magnificent Seven”, is probably the first “white rap” song ever released. The album dabbles in dub reggae with Mikey Dread at the helm. It rocks out with “Police On My Back” and goes into a “Revolution #9” like sound collage on “Mensforth Hill”. It goes super political with “Charlie Don’t Surf”, a song that predicts September 11th, “Something About England”, which documents the collapse of national morale in England during the 20th century, and “Washington Bullets”, a song about American Cold War imperialism in Latin America, with a simultaneous rejection of Soviet, Chinese and British foreign policy. I mean, honestly, who the fuck writes songs like this anymore? And don’t say Immortal Technique. Titus Andronicus is only two albums into their young careers, so they could conceivably dig deep down the road and make an album this deep and spectacular. The Clash released Sandinista as a triple album (36 songs) so that they could escape their terrible record contract faster, a move that did not escape the record label. In the eventual compromise, the Clash gave up a large percentage of their royalties in return for the label’s pricing it like a double album, to make its purchase accessible to Clash fans. One of the disappointments of 2009 was our failure to put together a proper tribute concert for the 30th anniversary of London Calling. Well, we have a shot at redemption on December 12, for Sandinista’s official 30th. It’ll be a weirder, but more magical show, and we have a summer to plan it.

9. The U.S Open (August): It feels weird to rank a single tennis tournament over the entire baseball season, but the U.S Open has a trump card- the chance to see Roger Federer in his prime one more time. In the last twelve months, Federer has resolved the question of whether he has bested Sampras for the title of best tennis player ever (Yes, see French Open, 2009) and has set his sights on the next level, “Greatest Athlete of Our Time”. Federer’s prime has already lasted at least a year longer than most expected, and in a sport like tennis, you have to wonder how much longer R-Fed will be out there, now that he has statistically nothing left to prove. The heroics that the great ones summon at this stage of their careers, slightly past their physical peaks, are sometimes the most memorable- think Jordan’s Finals performances against the Utah Jazz.

8. Pick-up Basketball (all summer): Between devastating injuries, the bar exam and assorted trips abroad, I haven’t been in a regular pick-up basketball groove in years. While part of me feels that I’ll never be quite the same player post-knee surgery, I’m still not a guy you want guarding you. Sippy and I first took the street-ball court together fifteen years ago, and its long due we racked up some wins on 76th street along with the surviving members of the Hung Jurors, and whoever else is around.

7. The Death of Conservatism (all summer): Conservatism is wrecked. A total joke. Remember when conservatives you knew would bask in their intellectual superiority, snide oozing with every painful conversation. Unfortunately, a combination of world class bumbling by President Bush (How’s that Project for a New American Century going?) and the recent decision to sell their intellectual capital for some short-term Tea Party outrage has left the conservative movement bankrupt in every sense of the word. Now I’m no fool, please don’t mistake my claim to suggest that Republicans will never return to power. Massachusetts voters elected Scott Brown to “break the gridlock in Washington”, when the strength of the Republican opposition is the source of gridlock, a lapse of rational thinking that just makes you have to sigh and get back to work on that civic education. But when the Republican base is a throng of backwards, bigoted fanatics, driven by irrational fear and dare I say, loathing, their days as a majority party are forever threatened.

6. The NBA Play-offs (May and June): The caliber of play in the NBA right now is simply at a level unmatched since I became a fan of the game in 1992. Everyone is hoping for the Kobe v. Lebron matchup that Nike promised us with its incessant commercials last year, but there will plenty of intrigue on the way, including the last gasps of the 2008 champion Boston team and the 2007 champion Spurs team, and the post-season debut of Kevin Durant, perhaps the most prolific young scorer the league has ever seen, and the captain of my 2009-10 championship winning fantasy basketball team. Ultimately, however, the biggest spotlight will be on Lebron. The chattering classes have been waiting two years for this moment (See #4 below).

5. Marathon Day III (May): This twenty-six drink romp through all five boroughs of New York is a day absolutely unlike any other. Conceived of as a way to celebrate my 26th birthday, the tradition is now in year three. There is nothing like the anticipation of the Staten Island Ferry Terminal at 10:45am on a Saturday as the team, a mystery till boarding time, assembles for the first leg of the journey. Did you know that not only is the Ferry free, but you can buy cans of beer for $2 and drink them on the deck? Marathon Day takes about 14 hours, and it has only been completed by three people, but the ebb and flow of merry travelers is part of what makes it special. Sign up to join here!

4. Lebron Lebron Lebron!!! (July): On July 1, Lebron James will become an unrestricted free agent for the first time in his career, giving him his first opportunity to escape the dregs of Cleveland and make his mark as the biggest sports icon in the world, holding court at Madison Square Garden 41 nights a year (plus playoffs) and single-handedly save the Knicks franchise. Nor is this just a sports story- the allure New York has on Lebron has little to do with basketball; in fact, joining the Knicks would probably be a career setback. But at the last Cavs-Knicks game at the Garden, Jay-Z, Spike Lee and Chris Rock schmoozed with members of the championship Yankees team, which was honored during the first quarter, with Grand Master Flash dj’ing. You just can’t have moments like that in Cleveland, and Lebron knows that. When he visits New York this July, he will be a highly sought after recruit for the whole city, which is guaranteed to put on a spectacular show for him.

3. The World Cup (June-July): Part of me is shocked and disappointed that I won’t be in South Africa to witness this spectacle in the flesh. South Africa, aware of its product, has priced people like me out of attending, but no matter. The quadrennial event that pits nations against each other with much more nationalistic potency than the Olympics will be coming to a local pub screen near you. There will be a lot of subplots at work- for Americans, the desperate need to atone for our dreadful performance in 2006, and a spotlighted June 12 match against England that hundreds of millions around the world will be watching. The World Cup also always has its share of the “traditional powerhouses” vs. “upstart nation” subplots, and with the Cup being hosted in an African country for the first time, a run by Ghana or Cameroon would be particularly awesome. South Africa is expected to fare worse than any host country in the Cup’s history. Even from our far away perch in New York, the World Cup will be thrilling to watch. I’ve even imported a Brit from Liberia to educate us on the finer points of the game. Cheers!

2. Bonnaroo (June): I assume folks have had at least had the decency to ogle this year’s lineup. It actually be less impressive than last year’s unhuman roster, which included an evening of watching Al Green, the Beastie Boys, Phish, Nine Inch Nails and MGMT back to back. It wasn’t even fair. When you’re too wiped out from watching Wilco and Bruce Springsteen to finish watching Public Enemy perform “It Takes A Nation of Millions”, it’s time for karma to spread itself more equitably. This year the headliners include some busts (Kings of Leon?), but it’s hard to argue with Stevie Wonder, Jay-Z, Weezer, and, wait for it- the Flaming Lips, who will be performing their own set and also covering Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon in its entirety. If that’s not the place you want to be on Earth, I don’t know what is. It makes the entire festival worth it, even if you aren’t sold on the best punk act of its era, the Dropkick Murphys, one of the best young bands in America, the Gaslight Anthem, or John Fogerty, all of whom will be there. Even Conan is listed as a headliner, though I don’t know what he brings to the table. Maybe they’ll pair him with Dave Matthews Band, though in fairness to the long loathed dudes of DMB, we’ve all grown up a little, and I just might give ‘em a look from the back of the crowd. I am sure that some of the Roo faithful will read the previous paragraph with some disgust. After all, Bonnaroo was supposed to be the mecca of jam bands, where people in tie-dyed shirts got stoned and nodded their heads every now and then to 15-minute cover songs (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Things were awkward for a few years- did Radiohead really make sense as a headliner? Rap, too, was brought in gingerly. But all things must pass, and ‘Roo is not really a jam band festival anymore. It is, however, a great time with great people, with enough great music that everyone in attendance will find a reason to make it one of the most memorable experiences of 2010.

1.Bull Moose Movement (all summer): Zombie parades, working with community groups, generating camaraderie across the digital divide…there is so much to look forward to in the nascent Bull Moose Movement. The project is a collaboration of progressive activists across the country, centered in Brooklyn, which seeks to empower communities against corporate influence through civic education. And it will be epic- as any group named for Teddy Roosevelt’s renegade third party candidacy would be. Did you know that the Wizard of Oz is an allegory for 1890s anti-corporate populism? Come find out when we screen it at the Bull Moose Tavern, our hub pub in Hell’s Kitchen.
Progressives are back in a big way right now. We all stumbled a bit in the transition for George Bush to Barack Obama. But the this summer should feature some strong activism, including the teachers movement, which is pushing back hard against the ridiculous charter school impositions from on high, and the citizens united against Citizens United, who are calling on Americans to rethink how corporations should be treated under our laws while they seek to undermine our democratic process. The Bull Moose Movement will be partnering with plenty of sweet groups along the way, and celebrating an optimistic future along the way. Dear Summer of 2010, Let’s do this. Sincerely, Janos and Friends

The Enemy is Everywhere: Review of new Titus Andronicus album

2010-04-01T04:33:00.000-07:00

"From whence shall we expect the approach of danger? Shall some trans-Atlantic military giant step the earth and crush us at a blow? Never. All the armies of Europe and Asia...could not by force take a drink from the Ohio River or make a track on the Blue Ridge in the trial of a thousand years. No, if destruction be our lot we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of free men we will live forever or die by suicide."
Abraham Lincoln, Address to the Young Men's Lyceum of Springfield, Illinois on January 27, 1838.

The crucial element missing from the progressive resistance to the George Bush era and the rise of the corporation was a meaningful soundtrack. Titus Andronicus, a fiery punk band from New Jersey, may not define themselves as activists (neither did Bob Dylan), but their second album, The Monitor, delivers a much-needed blistering rebuke to contemporary society.

For those of you who missed their 2008 debut, An Airing of Grievances, Titus Andronicus’ debut was packed with anthems about finding purpose in the doldrums of New Jersey. In their second record, they revisit that idea through the prism of the U.S Civil War. The album is fantastically ambitious, an adjective used to describe few major bands today; in fact, when asked to describe the album, front-man Patrick Stickles offered, “Through and through, it is a whole-hearted and potentially ill-advised grab for some sort of imaginary brass ring, the sound of a band desperate for success and defiantly unafraid of failure.”

The opening song, “A More Perfect Union” unleashes a torrent of emotions- distaste with culture, the depressing escapism of alcohol, and the difficulty of figuring out what exactly you’re looking for: “I didn’t want to change the world, but I’m looking for a new New Jersey,” to a musical background dripping with influences from Bruce Springsteen to Civil War melodies.

The second track, “Titus Andronicus Forever,” ends with a passage from a letter Lincoln wrote to his law partner in 1841: “I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheer face on earth.” This is a striking quote. First, you would think Lincoln said it during the Civil War, as the Union’s exhausted Commander-In-Chief. In fact, he was simply another 30-something lawyer struggling for meaning. Lincoln was deeply melancholy for much of his life, and was subject to tremendous mood swings even as president. Depression, when it strikes, is a major obstacle to most of us achieving our goals, as it often leads to unproductive feelings of self-pity and nihilism. Yet the same man who expressed his own sadness so dramatically went on to become not only a great president, but one of the most important figures in American history. It makes my own bouts with dark moods feel petty by comparison.

I love this album as a history lover and an activist. Nearly every sprawling track on the album starts or ends with a quote from Shakespeare, Lincoln, or Jefferson Davis. The album is titled after the U.S.S Monitor, the first ironclad ship commissioned during the Civil War. The fourteen-minute closing track, “The Battle of Hampton Roads”, is named for a naval battle involving the U.S.S Monitor in 1862. Who still writes fourteen minute epics? Who references history so effusively in their garage rock song? Who asks this much of their fans to simply get through the album? One terrible review I read didn’t even realize it was a Civil War concept album- I guess singing “Glory, glory, hallelujah” and tracks called “A More Perfect Union” and “Four Score Part Two” didn’t ring a bell. I think it’s great to ask people to think harder, and the demands of this album, musically and lyrically, are refreshing.

I agree with the album themes to an extent. On “Four Score Part Two”, Stickles rails,
“It’s still us against them, it’s still us against them, it’s still us against them, and they’re winning.” So true, but it’s not over yet, Patrick, it’s not over. Modern history has been a constant struggle for fulfill Tennyson’s exoneration, “Tis’ not too late to seek a newer world.” In the last century we as a people have emerged from the wreckage of the worst war in human history to expand the rights, opportunities and comforts of men and women all over the world. None of it is has come easy- the civil rights movement, the women’s movement, the liberation of Africa and fight against apartheid, acceptance of gays, social welfare for the poor, a new middle class all over the world, medical and communications advances. ‘You’ve got to admit it’s getting better, all the time,’ as the rarely profound Paul McCartney would tell you. That’s why no matter how ‘bad’ things are, I tend to believe they will eventually get better, even if it very much still is us against them, and they’re winning.

During “No Future Part Three: No Escape From No Future”, the band harshly chants, “You will always be a loser!” a thematic reprise from their first album, though this time Stickles ends with a piercing yell, “And that’s ok!” Not only is it ok, but I’ll re-raise Stickles- the era of the loser is on its way out. Kurt Vonnegut’s fantastic campaign theme from Slapstick, “Lonesome No More,” has been realized in the internet era. Never has it been easier in the history of human history to find people who look like you, think like you, share your values, enjoy the same music, root for the same teams, and just generally like you. Perhaps I’m conflating being a loser with isolation, but inasmuch as I’ve ever associated the link, we are entering a true “Lonesome No More” era.

If Titus Andronicus could pick one quote to define the album, it would probably be the chorus line from “Titus Andronicus Forever” (incidentally, also written on their t-shirt): “The enemy is everywhere, the enemy is everywhere. No one seems to be aware or care, but the enemy is everywhere.” They are right, of course, as cynics often are. But I’m simply not going to leave it at that gloomy message; I’m just too pumped up after listening to album. So I’ll counter with a verse that we all know and love, which just as easily could have fit with the spirit of the album, and which speaks to the effort we need to make as a society each day:

“Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world.”
Robert Kennedy, Indianapolis speech, the night of Martin Luther King’s assassination, April 4, 1968.

Pick-up in Liberia

2010-03-20T06:24:00.003-07:00

March 18, 2010
Amos, my government driver, had just sped away with my laptop and clothing in the backseat, leaving just me and my $15 dollar supermarket-purchased basketball on the side of the road in Monrovia, Liberia. I laced up my sneakers on a rock, trying to look inconspicuous and unattached to the Amos’s SUV, which had disrupted the local pick-up basketball game.

There is a dearth of pavement in Monrovia, and as a result, basketball courts are scarce. This hoop, on Ninth Street in the relatively middle-class Sinkor neighborhood, rose out of the dirt above the road that took people from main drag on Tubman Boulevard to the residential compounds by the swamp. The road was wide enough to accommodate a good half-court, about as deep as the three point line; the catch is that the game had to stop every time a car or motorcycle comes down the road.

I approached the court with some trepidation. Rolling up to a pick-up game by yourself is always a little butterfly-inducing. People on the court could be way better than you. The teams could be set. Calling ‘next’ is always awkward when no one has your back. Here, of course, those concerns were magnified, because I was the only ‘white’ guy on the court. Liberia is the only place in the world I’ve been called “white.” It used to throw me off, but after a trip to up-country, where little kids shrieked “white man” everywhere I went, I’m getting used to the social experiment.

I stood by the court watching what appeared to be some kind of shooting contest. Various players asked to mess around with my ball, which was clearly the best one available. One dude practicing post moves with it reminded me of a young Kevin Garnett. I began to question whether I was ready to play with these guys. But judging by their appreciation for my ball, I figured I would be on the court soon enough, an assumption that proved correct.

After the shooting contest ended, though, a man came out with a broom, barked at the kids to get off the court, and started sweeping around the free throw area. I thought maybe he owned the store the court was in front of or something. Soon two teens were joining him in the sweeping process, and it became clear they were clearing enough dust from the road to create a half-court, no small task. During dry season, everything in Liberia is just caked in dust, and the pavement was slippery in areas that weren’t swept.

After about ten minutes they were done, and we were ready to play. Left open for a mid-range jumper, I knocked down the second basket of the game. It was 3 on 3. I did not know my teammates’ names, what we were playing to, or why they wouldn’t give me the ball after I made my shot. It turned out this court practiced “loser’s ball”- giving the ball to the team that is scored on, rather than the team that scores, as is the universal streetball practice in the United States.

Basketball is basketball, and for most of the afternoon I was able to contribute with my usual strengths, and was held back by my usual weaknesses. There are a couple things that make Liberian pick-up a little different than New York pick-up, however.

First, loser’s ball makes the pace of the game very frenetic. As soon one team scores, the other rushes to inbound the ball before the scoring team can set defensively. This leads to a lot of scrambling, and you often end up picking up the guy closest to you at the time of the basket, rather than guarding a specific opposing player. The play was made no less frenetic by the panoramic nature of the inbounds pass, which could come from any sideline, including right underneath the basket. When things settled down, however, like after a foul, we could make more appropriate defensive assignments.

Second, defense was very lax. There was decent one on one defense, in order to respond to the flashy, show-em-up one on one offense. Team defense was non-existent however, so you had to make sure not to let your man beat you off the dribble. I didn’t mind the lax defense, of course. It gave me plenty of open looks near the basket, and as people got tired later in the afternoon, even clear paths for driving lay-ups. I learned to drive from the right side when possible; the blackboard was tilted such that any attempt to bank a lay-up from the left side would send the ball sailing past the rim. The lack of defense also didn’t prevent me from playing defense, and given the sizeable community crowd that had gathered to watch, I wasn’t about to let everyone watch the white man get showed up.

While my defense was solid, I was called for a lot of fouls. A lot of fouls. If ever asked to define street ball, I’ve always cited its rough and tumble nature- a system in which you call your own fouls leads to more bumping and grinding, hand checks, over the backs and loose elbows than a regulated game. It’s just something everyone lives with, unless the situation gets egregious. One of the main reasons New York pick-up games get ugly is the perception that a prima donna scorer is calling too many fouls. Not an issue here. One player I was constantly matched up with was quick off the dribble with a low center of gravity. Whenever we made any kind of contact, even if there was no way I ultimately altered the shot, he’d raise his hand to signal a foul call.

This was not the first time that foul calls had befuddled me in an international pick-up game. I played several times in a small gym in the basement of my student dorm in Hungary back in 2000, and was straight-up astonished the first time I was called for an offensive foul. I am not a big guy, and back at age 17, I was rail-thin. Nevertheless, Hungarians would perfunctorily stop playing to call me for a charge, over the back or offensive hand check. At least in this Liberian game the foul calls were not personal- I was whistled no more or less than anyone else, whereas a Hungarian box score would have made me seem like some Shaq-like menace.

The games were up to five, a quick and preferable option to the New York style seven or eleven given the hot African sun. The second game in particular dragged on and on, as foul calls by both sides on nearly every play were driving me to the point of exhaustion. It wasn’t just the heat- I’m also in terrible shape, a function of my reluctance to go running when it’s too hot out, which is often. On and on the foul calls went, and I wondered how I’d play another game if we won.

Finally, we lost, and I was sitting on a stump nursing my water when Amos’s SUV rolled up. He handed me my laptop bag and was off to further errands. I announced my impending return and sauntered up to Jung’s apartment to drop off my laptop bag. The AC felt great, and I slumped to her flooor, drenched in sweat, mumbling to myself. I hope I didn’t freak her out.

I dragged myself back to the court, and soon was in another 3 on 3 game. Our heavily favored team fell behind 4-1 due to a complete lack of defensive effort, rallied to tie it at 4-4, only to have our dude have his behind the back pass in traffic intercepted for the game-clinching lay-up. I was displeased, but also ok with the prospect of more rest.

At this point I was asked to referee the following game. Referees were generally players waiting to play next, who would watch the game from below the basket. The referee’s primary function was to keep track of the score and make decisions on foul calls. Reffing was no joke. Even though I kept score quite loudly to avoid protest, my announcement of ‘3-1’ brought howls from one player, even though his team was leading. I think some of them just wanted to howl. A major shouting match over the score occurred nearly every game, actually, usually at moments so early in the game that anyone paying the slightest bit of attention would have known what the undisputed score was.

Players from both sides muttered at me all game to ‘keep my eyes open’ because the guy defending them was ‘shoving them around.’ I’m sorry, but this is still street ball, and I was not about to call away from the ball fouls. I called what I felt was an appropriate share of shooting fouls, let the boys play a bit, and kissed the sky when a deep jump shot ended my stint as referee.

I don’t like reffing at all. Over the years I served as a soccer line referee a few times, and it was most unpleasant. Some plays just happen so fast that you have to go with your gut and know you’ll be wrong a decent amount of the time. Things are particularly brutal for refs in pro sports that provide all their television views multi-angled instant replay, but don’t allow the access to refs, except in a few circumstances. Basketball and football both seem to be managing this process better than they used to, while baseball not so much. The moral of the story when it comes to refereeing mistakes is that any team that puts itself in a position where a single incorrect call from a ref can cost the game has to acknowledge their own complicity in creating the situation. A football drive that comes down to a single catch, a basketball game that comes down to a single shot, or a tennis ball grazing the line on a tiebreaker only matter because the two sides have basically played to a draw. It is a rare call that actually “cost them the game.”

During my first three games I had scored several baskets, but as the afternoon sneaked into evening, the already lax defense had pretty much conceded me any shot outside of 8-10 feet, sometimes from even closer. Sticking with straightaway shots, which minimize the rim situation, I began draining mid-range jumpers with ease. No one seemed interested in stopping me. Some players had decent skills, but low basketball IQs, refusing to use pick and rolls offered to them or box out properly. The same player who’d work himself into a frenzy to beat me off the dribble would let me coast deep into the paint without much resistance.

It was getting dark, close to the pointing of calling it a day, but we were using my ball, and I didn’t want to be the guy that shut things down. All of a sudden, midway through a game, a ruckus broke out on the court. Shouting angrily in Liberia seems like a national pastime, and given the track record of violence, it is quite unsettling to be in the middle of. My teammate, Pacy, explained that a group of players on the sidelines wanted to start gambling on the games, while one of our opponents, the original court sweeper, was yelling about a pact they had made not to gamble on the 9th street courts. Hessen, the sweeper, later explained to me that gambling on the games had led to police crackdowns before. That is not a crime I expected to get in trouble for in Liberia, so I appreciated his desire to keep things clean.

We finished the last game some time after the sun had set. I shook hands with a few of the guys, including Hessen, who I had been guarding for the last two games. Even though he called me for about a half dozen fouls, he expressed his wish to play as my teammate next time. Maybe he wants someone else to guard him. I appreciated the perhaps compliment.

I wandered to the local supply store and picked up a coca-cola. Glass bottle. It was great. I knocked on the compound door, and soon I was on my way up the stairs to air conditioning, a shower, work clothes, 30 Rock, and the memories of my first day of Liberian street ball.

Check out the Bull Moose Movement

2010-03-09T03:35:00.000-08:00

Dear Roving Storm readers,
Please check out a new project I've been working on, the Bull Moose Movement. The group and site are both new, and "pre-launch," but we'll be doing a lot of interesting work in the months and years to come.
-Janos

Liberian Dispatch 4

2010-03-08T09:55:00.001-08:00

February 14, 2010
Last night was the ragey release I’ve been looking for. Elena, an expat with USAID, was throwing a party at her place on Mamba Point, which has an awesome covered deck overlooking the ocean. We watched the sunset sipping on scotch and coke. The expat crowd was slightly different from the Lonestar party- this time there were plenty more short-termers, which made me feel more relaxed- some of these people knew fewer people and less about Liberia than I did. I also got to DJ for over an hour, mostly to acclaim, though Elena’s roommate yelled at me to change the music when a Dirty Projectors song came on. One dude observing smiled and shook his head, “You aren’t in Brooklyn anymore.”
Definitely good people all-round. One fellow named Barrie works for the Carter Center, and I’ll be meeting some of his peeps next week. Given the omnipresence of the Carter Center and the Clinton Foundation, one can only imagine what the Obama Institute will look like. I hope to work for it one day- no matter how much I sour on his presidency, I’m sure his post-presidency will be an inspirational one.
…
As the party broke up I jumped into a car heading to De Ja Vous, one of Monrovia’s premiere nightclubs, along with 69. It was surprisingly not crowded for peak Saturday night hours, and also surprisingly sweet. I could see myself hanging out there any time with the right mix of people. It looked swank, but was fairly priced, had delineated dancing and hanging out sections, and was not so loud as to overpower conversation- my main dig against clubs.
…
This morning I was far too hungover for golf, and spent much of the day in various forms of recovery. The practice of cooking pasta in a water boiler is starting to go awry, as pasta stands are getting tangled in the heating rods. Alas, pasta it will be for dinner tonight, as it was for lunch. I took an extended stroll through my neighborhood, and it’s a quiet Sunday, the market was relatively empty, stores closed. I usually just walk down Old Road, the hub street in Congo Town that I live off of, but today I did some exploring through the comparatively middle class area off of Old Road. On a side street not far from my compound I found a solitary basketball hoop. No one was playing, but if I can somehow find a basketball in town, that little court could be my salvation. The most useful spot I found during my wanderings was a gas station that sells beans, cereal, and other necessities, along with beer and liquor, should I hear the calling.
…
Good lord, why is Jerry Springer on?! Is this program really still on the air? This is unbelievably trashy. Still, it was exciting to discover that I have another channel. So far today I’ve watched some weird soapy show about Greek gods set in the present and about ten minutes of American Idol, a show that I cannot even remotely get into, erecting another small hurdle between me and mainstream America. Jerry Springer definitely has that car crash quality; I’ve survived one commercial break. The crowd just started chanting “take out the teeth,” and the woman, who had only been on stage for three minutes, responded by taking them out and waving them around. Springer himself seems like a pretty smart dude. Between the days he gets his paychecks, he must have many moments where he is just disgusted with himself. I mean, he’s the former Mayor of Cincinnati. “Throw your teeth at her! Throw your teeth at her!” That’s enough of that.
…
With access to some rare downloading capabilities I’ve been getting Kings of Leon, Norah Jones and Dead Weather tunes. Did you know that the Dead Weather was Jack White’s new band? Just learned that. They will be three of the headliners at Bonnaroo that I’m less acquainted with. In case anybody out there is on the fence about going to ‘Roo, this is really a no-brainer. Plan for the vacation days now, you’ll need two or three.
…
Tonight is the NBA All-Star game, which I enjoy watching more than the Superbowl. In all my years as a fan, this is about as good as the NBA has been, the woes and misfortunes of the Knicks notwithstanding. As fans we are blessed to watch Kobe and Lebron, two of greatest to ever play the game, in their primes. The talent at the top of the league, on L.A, Boston, San Antonio, Cleveland and Orlando is just ridiculous. We still have Shaq around as the old man of the league, for perhaps his last one or two years. He is one of the most colorful personalities to emerge out of this drab cultural era, and I hope he stays in our lives after he retires. The league is chalk full of young stars waiting to claim to take on the incumbent generation, just in time to replace iconic stars on their way out, like Kevin Garnett, Tim Duncan and Allen Iverson. As the motto goes, “I love this game,” though I think marketers have replaced the motto with “where amazing happens.” That works too.
…
I wish every news host was as knowledgeable as Fareed Zakaria. His command of history and current events seems to startle his guests. For example, an American journalist, who, along with Richard Haass, the president of the Council on Foreign Relations, is pushing for a preemptive strike on Iran, citing their refusal to have uranium enriched abroad as an example of their recalcitrance. Zakaria interrupted, “In the 1990s, Pakistan rejected overtures to have its uranium enriched abroad, as did India.” I was impressed! Prior to having these warmongers on his program, Zarakia interviewed Paul Volcker, a brilliant economist crying out in the wilderness about the need for meaningful financial regulation. Volcker, who is now in his 80s, says that he has never seen Washington this dysfunctional, using as an anecdote the fact that even in the midst of this recession, two major leadership positions at the Treasury Department are still vacant because the nominees have not been approved by Congress. He said that when he joined the government in 1969, he was at his desk the day of the inauguration, and was confirmed a week later.
…
The power just went out in the building, plunging my world into darkness, save for the dim light of the laptop screen. Ah, it’s back, a few minutes later. Being way out here in Congo Town, it’s a little freaky to be without power. Zakaria is a rare “centrist” that I’ll begrudge, because his clarion call is a courageous one: Zakaria believes that addressing the deficit is so important that we need to raise taxes and cut spending. Governors across the country, including New York’s embattled chief, David Paterson, are well aware of this problem as they address state budgets that are not permitted to go into the red. Zakaria decries the political cowardice of Republicans (always the main deficit hawks) who refuse to concede that tax increases, or simply the expiration of the Bush tax cuts, will be part of the deficit solution. Hey, I’m down for working on this issue- but the place to start has to be military spending. When 50% of the discretionary budget gets virtually no scrutiny, it seems like the right place to trim the waistline.

February 15, 2010 What a strange morning. I was awaken by shouting and screaming, like a domestic dispute going on in my hallway. Annoyed, I rolled over and checked the time. It was 7am, almost time to get up. After some tossing and turning, I got up and flung the curtains open to reveal…darkness. That’s odd. Usually when I leave my curtains open I’m awoken by the sunlight. I made myself some cereal, but when I tried to wash the bowl, there was no water. No sink water, no shower water. Plenty of bananas though. In the market they were selling them by the branch, like $5 for fifty bananas. I only wanted a dollar’s worth, so she pointed me to a fly-ridden stack. I thought I had bought like eight, but I’ve been eating them with most meals for three days and still have five left. And guess what? Now it’s almost 8am, time for pick up, and it’s still dark outside. I heard a rumor that this might happen occasionally, dust storms from the Sahara or something. I’ll get back on it when I know what’s really going on.
…
Ah, yes, ladies and gents, it has begun. My first rainfall in Liberia. That explains the darkness- as George Bush would say, it’s “the dark storm clouds gathering over me.” It does rain fucking hard here, it really bits down on the earth. The downpour makes the complete lack of water in my apartment more ironic, I suppose. I’ve been told it’s an absolutely fiasco when it rains here, and a cursory look out the window gives me no reason to believe otherwise. From my balcony I can only see dirt roads, and they have all been badly flooded within fifteen minutes. I hear the gentle ‘thud’ sounds of things collapsing. Hopefully words can express the ferocity of this rain- it’s as if God is trying really hard.
…
Standing at my window buttoning the cuffs of my shirt I feel like one of those people getting dressed up for the day they commit suicide. Venturing into this madness is crazy. If Amos is picking up Genevieve first, he won’t be here for well over an hour. If he’s picking me up first, he would be here by now, but for the roads. Too many variables already, this early in the day. Pink Floyd is an appropriate and coincidental soundtrack, adding to the dark madness. At least the power is still on. Upside: it’s the first time the temperature has felt physically comfortable without the AC on. Downside: mosquitoes and a still partially broken screen door. Secondary upside: think I just heard a bird.
…
The rain is just regular now, and I’m getting the sense that Amos is picking me up second. Water still not working though, which is quite lame. I always wake up feeling especially like I need a shower after wild dreams, and last night’s included a vision of working with Hands On in Haiti. There were non-literal aspects to the dream, but it came right on the heels of a release I read from ole’ David Campbell announcing the HODR project being set up there. I would like to go for 10 days or so, possibly in late May, depending on flight costs, which have derailed my joining other Hands On since Biloxi.
…
The hardest rain I’ve ever driven through, not including the terrifying 2006 quasi tornado of Kansas had to be the drive home from Saratoga Springs after the bar exam. Finch and I couldn’t wait to get back to the city to celebrate, but nearly died on the way, as we were hit with rain far beyond the capabilities of our fastest wipers. We had no visibility at all, and we pulled over as soon as the shoulder allowed it. When the rain had slowed slightly, we saw that every single car on the road had done the same thing, a rare occurrence. It was a jittery ride the rest of the way. Oh, and there goes the power. Still haven’t from Amos, so just gonna kick it and read the paper. …
I am happy to finish this box of cereal. It is Golden Crunch, a Liberian cereal, and it tastes like cardboard. Just awful, though bearable with the right amount of milk. The milk, by the way, is not refrigerated until it is opened. Some weird chemical contraption. So it’s not really milk in the conventional sense, but given how expensive other dairy products are, this seems to be a fair tradeoff. As for the cereal, I bought another Liberian cereal, possibly because it seems absurd to spend $7.50 on a smallish box of Frosted Flakes.
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Ran into the super downstairs as I was headed to the car. Apparently something about a rock and the pipes…he was working on the water situation. On the ride in Amos and I listened to talk radio, where they were bashing the president again. Amos told me about how popular the footballer and presidential candidate George Weah had been back in the day: “When he came to the city to play soccer, crowds would line up in the street all the way from Robertsfield (the airport) to downtown to cheer for him. Those soccer matches were the only entertainment we had, the only things to make us happy during the war. At the games you could just think about the game, and not worry about the war at all.” Weah cashed on his popularity to run a strong campaign for president in 2005, winning the first round, but losing decisively to President Sirleaff in the run-off. Amos scoffs that Weah thinks he should be president. “He did not even finish high school. And even the high school he went to is not known for its academic achievement, but for the scholarships it gives to soccer and basketball players.”
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The Minister of Social Welfare is in the house, and he has the most bizarre ringtone I’ve seen in some time: a beeping sound, followed by a computer-like voice stating “Excuse me, boss, you have a text message.” Mind you, that is his ringer when he is getting an actual call, not just a text message.
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I got some leads on where to find a basketball, and will explore those possibilities as soon as possible. A random conversation on how money changers actually make money led the topic back to Myles, a well-respected journalist in these parts sort of run out of town after the Vice scandal. He had been writing a series of pieces on the Liberian economy, about how characters like fishermen, charcoal producers and money changers got by day to day. Though I don’t have the journalistic talents (or time) to bring characters to life like he did, I would like to learn more about the people in the neighborhood when I get home. I’ve often engaged cart vendors and MTA employees in conversation, being as they are a captive interviewee most of the time. The old Sesame Street tune, “These are the people in your neighborhood” needs to be updated for modern times.
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Wow. What a day. Our office had been called down to the police headquarters to process paperwork in the arrest of two check forgers from the Ministry of Health rank and file. We followed these young men from the custody of the police Montserado County Court was like regular court tripping on mushrooms. I sat in the spectator pews, waiting for the case of the Ministry of Health v. check forger dudes. They were only being arraigned, so I figured we wouldn’t be there that long, but I was about to be privy to a land dispute dating back to prewar times, a squatter’s rights case.
Arguing on one side, on behalf of “Princess”, was a short lawyer who I had been talking to in the hallway only minutes before he began his disastrous opening statement, in which he tripped himself up so badly his opposing counsel, a boisterous woman flush with attitude, got up from her plastic chair and yelled, “Your honor, counsel does not know the facts of this case!”
Neither lawyer lacked showmanship, the short lawyer pacing the courtroom like a pro, with a movie-like cadence. The problem was that he didn’t seem to know what he was doing half the time. The boisterous woman thundered at the crowd, this of course, not being a jury trial, while the judge tried to rub the migraine out of his head. At issue was some property that had fallen into dispute years before, though evidently they had all the paperwork right in front of them. A former Associate Justice of the Supreme Court who looked like Morgan Freeman was somehow involved in the case, and he wandered in and out of the courtroom grinning at people.
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Other random, unidentified people approached the bench at various moments to chat with the judge who fanned himself with a notepad, taking his glasses on and off for dramatic effect. At one point the symphony of cell phone rings, background chatter, gavel pounding, oration and typewriter banging gave you the feeling of a Chumbawumba concert, or some bizarre off-Broadway musical. Once the daze of the disbelief wore off, and the heat and smell started getting to me, I wondered when our case would be up. There was no docket, but our defendants did sit handcuffed about twenty feet from me. I stepped into the hallway to take a breather when BAP!! A loud sound thundered in the courtroom, causing dozens of people loitering in the hallway to rush for the courtroom entranceway. Turns out no one was shot, one of the lawyers had just reclined too far in his plastic chair, causing it to snap.

February 16, 2010
Oh well, turns out the basketball hoop is too small. The hoop earned a revisit after a trip to the sporting goods store, where the cheapest basketball was a staggering $45. The store owner treated the balls like pieces of art, or perhaps hookers, spreading them in a fancy layout and saying things, “this one’s lovely, you can have her for $50.” Even the cheapest option required more cash than I carry on me in Monrovia, so I pledged to return the next day. Before committing such an extravagant purchase, I decided to go back and look at the ‘court’, mostly to ensure that the rim was stable and that the pavement wasn’t being used exclusively as a parking lot. It sort of was, and while the rim was surprisingly unbent, it was also super small. Picture a double rim, but just smaller. If a regulation sized ball was dropped from directly above it, the ball would go in, but it would be frustrating and embarrassing to shoot around and miss at least 95% of my non-lay-ups.
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Last night, beaten up as usual from the day, I resigned myself to two mindless tasks- exploring my new TV channel and downloading songs and coming to understand where the expression ‘surfing the internet’ came from. In places where internet reception is really spotty you have to quickly rush to take advantage of bursts of internet, using them to log-in to sites, downloads things and send emails. Then you coast on that wave of internet until it dies. Reminds me of how a surfer swims manically into a wave, and rides it down, ending up afloat in calm waters. Some American TV is unacceptable even in Liberia, but House is kindof borderline. I’ve never gotten into any medical show, even as a guilty pleasure, even though my teenage years were the peak of E.R. After last night, House will not be in the rotation. On the other hand, I hope and pray that West Wing is on every night, because that would rock my world.
A masterfully written show, it appeals to a lot of people, but irresistibly to political junkies, specifically Democrats who came of political age during the Bush years. Alternate universes are sweet, although perhaps we thought President Obama would be a bit more like Martin Sheehan and less like Hillary Clinton. The West Wing is one of my ten favorite shows ever, a list that will be potentially challenged if I get into Mad Men over the summer (not sure I will- kind of loathe marketers). In reverse order, my ten favorite shows of all time:
10. Saved By The Bell
9. West Wing
8. Aqua Teen Hunger Force
7. Family Guy
6. It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia
5. Simpsons
4. Thirty Rock
3. Seinfeld
2. Arrested Development
1.The Wire
I decided in the end to not count favorite TV shows from my childhood- that’s a whole separate category, with Saved By The Bell and The Simpsons serving as something of a bridge.
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The downloads tonight went great. I’ve always liked Joni Mitchell’s voice, but I never really got into her songs. Turns out I was missing out. “Both Sides” and “Circle Game” were among the excellent tunes I picked up, but the real treat was “Angel in the Morning.” That songs got something. And to think that all these years I’ve loved the Shaggy hit “Angel”, not realizing it was sampling Joni. What really makes “Angel” is the chorus line, “closer than my peeps you are to me.” For Shaggy, or any guy, to say that to a girl, is quite meaningful. As dudes are pretty serious about our peeps- I know I always have been, and I would not say such a thing lightly.
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Another download tonight was the 2003 Nas hit “I know I can (be what I wanna be)”, his gushingly uplifting anthem for inner-city children. The irony of that song for me is that I’m unable to displace it in my memory from the place where I used to hear it- the weeknight Chi Gam basement scene. If there was any place that epitomized the death of dreams and being whatever you wanted to be, it was the Chi Gam basement after midnight on a Tuesday.
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I may be a complete amateur at this writing game, well short of Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 genius hours, but I share something in common with one of my all-time favorites, Kurt Vonnegut, in the tremendous difficulty I’m having in writing down the pieces I care about most, the one that’s been rattling around my head the longest. In his case it was Slaughter House Five, the deeply person, largely non fictional account of his World War II experience, which he spent tens of thousands of discarded words on before settling down to publish a version that satisfied him more than two decades after the experience. Hopefully it won’t take me that long to right something compelling about Biloxi.
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Had lunch at Evelyn’s, so far the best upscale restaurant that I’ve been to. When it comes to food I'm more quantity than quality anyway. The idea of spending $25 at a New York City restaurant and leaving hungry has always struck me as preposterous. The downside of Evelyn's is that it is on Broad Street, which is just a hellish place at mid-day- hot, packed, and full of the busiest traffic in Monrovia. Finally had my Bong Fries. They look and taste sort of like French Fries, but are drier, more substantive, and feel healthier. They’ll never hit the spot like McDonald’s fries, and frankly I prefer plantains as a side. Going “into town” for lunch is such a trial that I’ll probably stick with my three-meal rotation of the cafeteria, the Liberian café up the hill and falafels for a couple more weeks.
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Major news on the post-Liberia front. As some of you know, few things have stirred the blood than the Supreme Court’s ruling in Citizens United. I’ve decided that upon returning, the ideal work to occupy my time from May until I return to Hogan in December is to work on litigation and organizing in response to this case. Until today my main lead was a project the NLG was doing, but I imagine that will be part-time work. Public Advocate DeBlasio’s office is allegedly doing something around the issue, but I haven’t heard back from them yet. When I have more regular phone access I will reach out to Congressman Grayson- it’s long overdue that he and I got together. Today, however, I made some true forward progress. Last night I emailed three top attorneys leading the fight against corporate influence, all of whom are now spearheading the response to Citizens United. One of them is the Legal Director of the Free Speech for People Campaign, and he got back to me this morning. I forsee myself doing a lot of work with that group, as they are into both the legal and organizing response needed for this counter-attack to have any chance. Another, an American University law professor, wrote me back an equally helpful message, and I’ll soon be in touch with him as well. If anyone has suggestions, as in, specific contacts, working in this area, would love to follow up with them too.
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By the way, the air conditioning has been broken all day, again, here at the office. Everyone is asleep again. I haven’t had a truly productive day in a week, though tomorrow promises to be busier. Captain Jack will get me high tonight.
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February 17, 2010
During Richard Nixon’s historic visit to China, it is untrue that he remarked, “This really is a Great Wall,” but the apocryphal story is too good to die. I took my own trip to the Great Wall last night, to check out one of the main Chinese digs in town. The food was excellent, and the best bang for buck I’ve found among the upper end eateries. It was no Silk Road of course, in that the white boxed wine did not flow freely, but I’ve stayed away from the grape juice as much as possible in Liberia, because wine hangovers are no fun in 90 degree weather.
I learned a new phrase on the radio today. During a surprisingly erudite debate on the need for a full constitutional convention, one Liberian Senator tried to interrupt the other, but she pleaded, “I’m coming,” meaning that she was almost finished with her statement. Within an hour of being at work, someone used the phrase on me. Instead of being perplexed, since we weren’t going anywhere, I just waited for him to think about my question a little longer.
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This morning was agonizing, as we got stuck reviewing a befuddling legal document. Every time he wanted to make a point, John would say, “but listen to this,” and then read entire passages out loud very slowly, perk up and raise his eye brows, then make the point he could have made from the beginning. The whole reason we were stuck on this project was that some Dutch doctor had dropped this project in our laps with almost no notice and no clue. John remarked, “She is paid well, and so people expect her to do things she does not know how to do.” He didn’t mean it as a maxim, but the longer I live the more I see how human and flawed everybody is. Our expectations of another person should never be much higher than what we’d expect of ourselves, especially when you factor in for everyone’s inclination for self-preservation.
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I spent much of the day actually working on said project, with detours to flesh out my Bull Moose project, which everyone will be hearing heaps about quite soon. There was a bit of a fiasco this afternoon when a truck arrived at the Ministry, allegedly with a bunch of computers, photocopiers and other machinery. However, it turned out to be almost completely empty, suggesting foul play at customs (it was shipped from the U.S). Apparently Customs here is notorious for stealing shit. All-round it was not a great day for the government, which is already facing a myriad of corruption scandals, and was slammed today by a U.N report declaring that 75% of Liberians lack access to clean drinking water, and that much of rural Liberia faces a drastic shortage of teachers. Several schools cited in the report had hundreds of students being taught by two volunteer teachers who survived off donations from thankful parents. I can understand criticizing a developing government for corruption, but stuff like this is tough to slam President Sirleaff for. I find it hard to believe that she would not deploy more water piping and teachers to the rural areas if she had resources.
Money is tight around here though, especially when your computers are being stolen. John told me today that he hasn’t had a vacation in four years, since he started working for the government. He technically has a month of vacation, but he says work is too intense to take so much as a week off at a time. He’s going to love the LLM program if he decides to do that in a year. Even the hapless sidekick earned some sympathy today. The “attorney” who cannot be bothered to put down his newspaper or stare absent-mindedly into space during meetings apparently is no longer being paid by the American Bar Association. That’s not to say he’s a deserving hire in these hard times, but there is a limit to what you can expect out of an unpaid middle-aged lawyer.
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The good life is picking up a little bit. I headed to Boulevard Café after work, which I’ll probably do again tomorrow. Decent internet, cheap beer, premier league soccer. It’s like going home without the commute. Hung out there for an hour before Monrovia Trivia Quiz, which is THE expat place to be. Over a dozen teams crammed into Taj’s restaurant, where an assortment of questions were shot onto a projector, booze and Indian food abounding. It was healthily competitive, and I enjoyed my team, which consisted of young lawyers from the ILO and the Carter Center. We hope to reassemble some of it tomorrow night at Boulevard Café for some Olympics watching. I’m more of a Summer Olympics guy myself, but I could use a change of place. I almost vomited when I came home to Wolf Blitzer. Better no TV at all than hearing him speculate on “the rise of the new conservative ascendency.” He does remember that the conservatives who drove the country into the ground have been out of power less than two years, right? Wait till he sees what we have in store for him. …

Liberian Dispatch 3

2010-02-18T15:51:00.000-08:00

Dispatch 3
February 10, 2010
Folks, I write this morning with great joy in my heart. It’s not for the internet access that I should always have from this point forward, $130 later. No, I celebrate this morning because Bonnaroo announced the lineup for its 2010 festival, which will be from June 10 to June 13 in Manchester, Tennessee. Last year’s event was one of the highlights of the year, four days of awesome music and hanging out with some of the chillest strangers around, living the dream in a tent under the hot Tennessee sun. The marquee acts for this year include Jay-Z, Stevie Wonder, Weezer, the Gaslight Anthem, LCD Soundsystem and most awesomely, the Flaming Lips performing the Dark Side of the Moon album. The announcement of the lineup spurred me into having an old fashion music tournament, which after this morning is in the quarter finals. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, that’s when I pit my favorite songs of the month against each other in a single elimination tournament. Don’t worry, most people think it’s weird. That won’t stop me from announcing the results.
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Went on a big water shopping run yesterday, and should have enough to last me a while. I was drinking a bottle of water last week in Mamba Point when I noticed some Arabic writing on it. Curious, I read the label, which said the water was “Naturally filtered through the geological layers of the Sannine mountain of Lebanon.” Lebanon? “It’s sad,” my roommate commented. “We live in one of the wettest countries in the world, but we have to import our bottled water from a landlocked country in the desert thousands of miles away.” In general it’s a depressing fact, but partnering with Lebanon is not a coincidence. The Lebanese are big players here, controlling much of the real estate and supermarkets. This is a source of some tension in the community. There must be a healthy number of Liberians who think at first glance that I am Lebanese, but no Lebanese think so. This recalls my summer in India, where foreigners thought I was a local, but locals knew I was a foreigner, leading to periods of isolation.
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A word about the roads in this country, which until very recently all dirt. In fact, a word about “this country.” As you read the passages in this dispatch, please keep in mind that Monrovia, the capital city, 30-40% of the population, is by far the most developed party of the country. The rural areas are on tough times in every quantifiable sense. That said, Monrovia’s system of paved roads has dramatically improved in the last few years, and worker downtown are working feverishly to finish a couple new ones before the start of raining season this spring. I’d approximate that over two-thirds of the roads I use on a daily basis are paved, and since most of them were paved relatively recently, they are smooth and pothole free, if not very crowded during rush hour. In contrast, the dirt roads are full of pits and stones that jostle you cartoonishly whether you drive fast or slow. President Johnson Sirleaff is proud of her roads- the main thoroughfares in town are peppered with signs boasting of new, taxpayer supported roads. Unfortunately, there is reason to believe that her road anthem is falling on deaf ears. “Most people simply don’t have cars,” someone explained to me. “They don’t see how roads affect them.” Interestingly, the local paper this morning suggested just the opposite. In an article on the used t-shirt industry, many local business owners praised roads for bringing commercial goods into the countryside, allowing economies to grow. Whether the poor folks who buy goods transported by roads make this connection is unclear. When I was in Panama I learned that the president was riding a wave of populist support over his paving of roads, but Liberia makes most of Panama look affluent by comparison.
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‘Be a good citizen pay your taxes’ billboards messages are another ubiquity on these roads, a necessary motivator in a country desperately in need of revenue but low on regulatory ability. To some extent we face this vicious cycle in the United States- when government funding is cut at regulatory agencies due the economy, many financially or socially damaging activity is able to flourish, at a greater net loss than the cost of regulation. The consequences can range from petty street crime to financial charlatans sending the entire economy into a recession. Anyway, these highway posters speak for themselves- I’ll take pictures before I’m through.
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John is putting his foot down- we need a new air conditioner. Our little unit cools the room decently to start the morning, but the relentlessness afternoon sun wears it down. By the end of the day the mugginess is so pervasive that it’s hard to tell if the unit is working at all. This is what drives John to sleep, me to spider solitaire, his administrative assistant to another room, and his alleged lawyer sidekick to read the newspaper till he too falls asleep. That character, whose name I still don’t know, is comically averse to work. He comes to work without a laptop or a notebook, and spends the little time that he’s not on the phone or reading the newspaper questioning why an assignment John gives him is necessary. John frequently has to tell him to pay attention during meetings, like some aloof ten-year old. Oh, sweet, here comes a request. It’s about air conditioning…nah, the admin assistant has been sent to do it instead. That guy is a solid dude who sometimes picks me up my breakfast of fish, yams and plantains. He has the same last name as John, Wilson, which is convenient, because it means “Wilson” is usually around.
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Alright. All three other people in the office are asleep, and the internet is down “because it is the afternoon.” Back to spider solitaire. Hope I’ve still got the skills that carried me to a 60% winning percentage on “medium” difficulty. Yep, still do. Three in a row, son. It looks like things have broken up here an hour early, the heat is just too much, and tomorrow is a national holiday- Armed Forces Day. Tonight I’ll be heading to the Boulevard Café, one of the premier expats digs in town, with good wireless and pizza. I have plans to actually hang out with someone, so that’ll be a refreshing change.
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I have military spending on the mind this afternoon. We all recognize that Ronald Reagan’s “God, guns and lower taxes” mantra was political gold in the 1980s, and he made it easy for all subsequent politicians to hold the military as a sacred cow outside the normal debate over taxing and spending. This is folly, of course, what Brett Martin would call a classic example of politicians being incentivized to do the right thing for their reelection prospects rather than the right thing for their country. In 2010, the United States will spend $657,000,000,000 in military expenditures, easily than more than the rest of the discretionary budget combined.
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We all know these are hard economic times, and that our government needs to watch its spending, but President Obama ludicrously suggested that his gimmicky three-year spending freeze not apply to the Pentagon. He must not have noticed the exorbitant and wasteful military contracting taking place in both Iraq and Afghanistan. He probably is well aware of the wasteful weapons programs around the country- when he tried to slice a couple of particularly useless ones a few months ago he was accused of ‘ravaging the military’ by Republicans, even though his Pentagon budget was still the most expensive ever. Military spending has been hammered in as a third rail in American politics, but that has to stop. Surely some more sunlight and scrutiny would yield tremendous savings without altering military strategy in the slightest. Think of the prevalence of no-bid contracts during the Bush years, many of which are still in place. There is nothing fiscally responsible about a no-bid contract. Another issue is the hundreds of military bases the U.S have around the world. As ludicrous as it seems to have major bases in Japan and Germany, I understand that the military wants to have regional bases to facilitate transporting troops in and out of combat zones. But when you have 737 overseas bases, NOT including Iraq and Afghanistan, surely they are not all necessary. As a final thought on military spending, it’s worth noting that the military is also the largest government sponsored jobs program we have. When President Bush, yes, that President Bush, tried to close down a useless navy shipyard in Massachusetts and an equally useless plane manufacturing base in South Dakota, Ted Kennedy (D) and John Thune (R) mounted a successful bipartisan offensive to stop the closings. No one wants his state to lose jobs, even at the cost of billions to United States taxpayers. I would love to hear back from people on this issue. As Obama would say, from my friends on the left, I would love to hear where they would begin in slicing and dicing this monstrous budget, and what sources they rely on for Pentagon monitoring. From my friends on the right, I’d love to hear first a single argument for why military spending should not be subject to the same “freeze” and general scrutiny as the rest of the non-discretionary budget, and second, how your fiscal principles apply to the bloated military budget.

February 11, 2010
Last night was great- hung out with a great, eclectic crew, my first weeknight session since arriving in Monrovia. We were at the Boulevard Café, a well known western haunt that has good pizza, decent internet, Premiere League soccer, and plenty to drink. I was working the local Club Beer, the only one at the table doing so. At $2 a bottle it seemed hard to pass up, but I didn’t have to wait till this morning for the sluggish headache I was warned about. I’ll see those folks again on Saturday night, and pending the outcome of that, we have plans to hit up the golf course outside the Firestone Rubber factory on Sunday. It’ll be my first time on the course in many years, which is a shame, because golf is one of those rare sports that are fun both to suck and excel at.
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Today is National Armed Forces Day, and that means the day off. Ah yes, the first national holiday. My predecessor said she experienced five during her two months here, and though I’m not certain how many I have, I know there are two in mid-March that I’m trying to convert into a roadtrip with some peeps to Free Town, Sierre Leone. Free Town is apparently as dangerous as Monrovia, as Sierre Leone was pretty much roped into this civil war at various points, but its supposed to have some of the most immaculate beaches in Africa, and we know people there. I mean, clearly “I” don’t know anyone there, but I’ve got people who have people.
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I felt like garbage when I woke up this morning, not just hungover (I didn’t have many drinks), but like some kind of fever was coming on- you know, the kind you can put down if you treat your body responsibly the first day you feel it, or totally exacerbate by ‘pushing through it.’ Must be the Club Beer
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New York is legendary for its ability to convince people that going to work and half assing a day is more important than resting in bed, even for a few extra hours in the morning. I set out my solitary goal for the day- to be a lighter so I could cook some pasta. It was an innocuous enough assignment. I’ve never been one for big military parades, and I didn’t know how I’d get to that part of town anyway. Plus, I’ve been meaning to check out the Congo Town market for a few days now. As it turns out, not one street vendor or local store within walking distance of me sells lighters. I have to admit, that was a little surprising. It turned out not to matter- I acquired matches, and then attempted to light my stove, which did not work. The rest of the shopping adventure was quasi-eventful. The market was crowded and photogenic for the enterprising among us, but everyone was selling the same thing, and it didn’t look that appetizing. Outside the market I reaffirmed my belief that the biggest threat I face to my safety in Liberia is reckless driving. Ok, so all this pasta, and no stove. I do have a water boiler, it comes with the room and is surprisingly effective. I dumped some dry pasta into the water boiler, and that cooked it decently enough for sauce and oregano to obscure the difference.
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By late afternoon I was feeling a little bit better, and got to working on this big progressive treatise I’ve been dabbling with since the flight over here. I won’t say much about it now, but if these entries are any indication, on some topics I have a lot to say, and this treatise will be something of a cathartic culmination, a decade of successes and, more often, failures in the progressive movement. In doing background research I came across Teddy Roosevelt’s “Standing At Armageddon” speech, which I consider one of the best political speeches ever given. I’ll write at greater length about it some other time, but his candidacy was unique to American history: he was running as a third-party outsider taking on the system, but this only a few years removed from being one of the most popular presidents in American history. His criticisms of the system come not “from closet study, or as a mere matter of theory; I have been forced to it by a long experience with the actual conditions of our political life.” I’ve also reread Dr. Martin Luther King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” which is a stark reminder about how controversial and daring a man he was, and how hard the civil rights struggle was before it cozied up in American history books as a pleasant march down the street.
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Here are the results of the music tournament for the songs that placed 20-9: 20. Strange Overtones (David Byrne) 19. Walk of Life (Dire Straits) 18. Heart’s a Lonely Hunter (Thievery Corporation) 17. Growing Up (Bruce Springsteen) 16. ’59 Sound (Gaslight Anthem) 15. Come Sail Away (Styx) 14. New Slang (Shins) 13. Gone Daddy Gone (Violent Femmes) 12. Werewolves of London (Warren Zevon) 11. What a Wonderful World (Ramones) 10. Radio Nowhere (Bruce Springsteen) 9: You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth (Meatload)
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Needless to say, these music tournaments involve a lot of rules, but for your purposes, the two governing rules about participation are that the songs must have been on my playlist with some frequency in the last month, and no former tournament winners can participate, which explains the absence of songs from bands like Arcade Fire, the Talking Heads and the Clash. Today I held the quarter finals, and following songs, all excellent contenders, were taken out: 8. Time to Pretend (MGMT) 7. Electric Avenue (Eddy Grant) 6. Modern Love (David Bowie) 5. Bad Days (Flaming Lips) The four songs left in the semifinals are Running on Empty (Jackson Browne), Fight Test (Flaming Lips), Paper Planes (M.I.A) and Miles Davis and the Cool (Gaslight Anthem). There’s a back-story to each of these songs- “Running” is a rock classic that somehow escaped my playlists all these years, and it’s a real get you going in the morning tune. I’ve been on something of a Flaming Lips kick lately, and with them starring at Bonnaroo, it would be fitting for one of their one to take home the win. “Paper Planes” would be the first song by a female vocalist to win one of my tournaments since 2005, when the Sugarcubes “Birthday” (Bjork’s band) dominated the field. Ever since my friend Jodie pointed out that my Itunes collection contained very few female artists I’ve been working on it, but outside the pop scene, which doesn’t interest me, I could stand to get a few recommendations from people. The Gaslight Anthem is one of the best young bands in America, and I started listening to them on the strength of their two great singles, but like most bands you start digging, it’s this more developed sleeper song I’ve really gotten into.
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The power in here just went out, plunging every direction into total darkness. It’s for this reason that I packed a flashlight. Now that the power’s back on I’m also charging up this computer- it may be called on down the road to provide an additional source of light. Tonight I ordered from Mona Lisa, the best pizza place in town. The same person I ordered from on the phone personally delivered the pizza on his motorcycle, so I don’t know how big an operation it is. The pizza was good- cheese in this country is so expensive that I can’t drench every meal of the day with it like I do back home. In fact, other than the three pizza-based meals I’ve had since arriving, I don’t know if I’ve had any cheese. Mona Lisa was pretty damn expensive, but pizza is a privilege I will pay for. People say the easiest way to save money is to cook, but you need to have an established kitchen for that. I look forward to getting a new apartment back in New York that I can call home for at least 2-3 years, because this practice of needing to buy cooking materials, cleaning materials, spices, etc., etc., really reduces the financial efficacy of cooking.
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February 12, 2010
I write this the next morning, having crashed hard at 10pm and slept for 12 hours, catching up on hours of rest for the first time. Talking about work has become more difficult in this setting, as I engage in two projects full of intrigue that confidentiality requires I not discuss. Attorney-client confidentiality is one of the perks and annoying temptations of being a lawyer. In one of the cases, the relevant paperwork simply cannot be found. Though I am well aware why, John constantly feels the need to remind me that during the war, all paperwork was lost, destroyed or stolen. “After the war sometimes you could find it lying around on the ground outside of government buildings, or just go to the market and buy it by the bundle. The government needs to offer rewards for people to bring it in from their homes. That’s what private lawyers have been doing for a long time to complete their records,
…
This Ministry, it was empty when we showed up after the war. It was like the whole building, the whole country was turned upside down. Feces everywhere. Wires pulled out of the walls. Pipes destroyed. It was nothing but an empty, dirty set of walls.” … Now that I am in Liberia, I can discuss Norman Siegel’s client, State Senator Hiram Monserate, aka the Face Slasher. Norman is defending him on the grounds that the New York State Senate doesn’t have the right to expel someone from their midst just because he is a terrible person for a variety of reasons. On the other side of the argument is State Senator Eric Scheiderman, a progressive who I have tremendous respect for, and will support in his effort to replace Andrew Cuomo as Attorney General. Though the two argue about the constitutional right for the State Senate to expel its own members, it seems like Norman has the stronger legal argument. This will be, in the words of the District Judge assigned to it, “a fascinating case.” I don’t have time to lay out the full details here, but google it- it’s a juicy situation.
…
After work a co-worker and I went to the Golden Beach, a trendy, pricey restaurant-bar on the Sinkor beach. After almost two weeks in the country, it was the first time my toes had touched the soothing beach sands. It reminded me of an ill-fated 2006 expedition. My brothers and I were in Germany for the World Cup, and were taking side-trips to neighboring countries on our Eurorail pass, including Italy. After fun times in Rome and Florence, we decided to part ways for a day. They would stay in Florence, and I would head down to San Viscerno. We had stayed with the same hostel company in both Italian cities, and on a poster I saw a third location on the Mediterranean. The poster show a guy and a girl talking through the window of a little hut on the beach. Having never set foot on a Mediterranean beach, running low on funds, and itching to get out of the hot city, I jumped on the next train to San Viscerno, with plans to rendezvous in Venice 36 hours later.
…
Other than excursions into the Hungarian countryside, where I speak the language, this was about as off the beaten track as I’d been in Europe. No one at the sparsely populated station spoke English or had heard of this hostel. I wrote out the address to shove in peoples’ faces, and finally someone in broken English explained that I would need a taxi, and that it was about 12 kilometers away. I was incredulous. “No bus?” “No bus on Saturday.” Upset that paying for a taxi would partially defeat my thrifty goals, but without much choice, I hopped in a cab, and pulled into the outdoor hostel. The scene was grim. This place seemed to be a vacation spot for middle-aged, overweight, working class Italians, hardly a single young person in sight. A sad receptionist gave me the key to my hut. The hut was dark and windowless, problematic, as the light was busted- the only way to see anything was to prop the door open, letting in bugs and preventing privacy. No worries, I would just check out the beach. It turned out the beach was not on the hostel property at all, but a 15 minute walk across and down the road. Seething, but what could I do? I set off, determined to reach the water before sunset. After a while the woods cleared, and the splendor of the Mediterranean lay before me. It wasn’t the prettiest beach I’d ever been on, and the sandy was rocky and uncomfortable beneath my bare feet, the water too cold for swimming, but no matter. This was the famous ocean where Romans did once tread. Overwhelmed with history, I dove into the ocean, and as I dried myself off, I watched the fishermen down the beach reel in their lines for the day.
…
That night I watched World Cup soccer with the hostel’s partisan clientele. This was before the ugly and awesome battle between Italy and the U.S, and obviously before people suspected that Italia would win the whole thing. In the morning I checked out about as fast as possible, and asked when the next bus was coming. “No bus?” “No bus. It is Sunday.” Livid, I refuses to call another cab, which would have upped the cost of my excursion to Florence-level prices. Having finished my bottle of water in the morning and skipped breakfast, I slung my duffel bag on my shoulders and marched in the direction of San Viscerno, twelve kilometers away, on the wet, rocky sand of the beach. If Roman soldiers could so march, so could I. By the time I go to town, dehydrated and drenched in sweat, it took my last reserve of energy to fish for the change necessary to buy and down the biggest carton of juice they had at the gas station on the border of town. One of the adventures you try to only have once.
…
As you can tell, my arrival at Monrovia’s beach was not so fraught with drama, but rather, amusement. When it came time to order food, I was feeling like my first Liberian burger, so I asked the waiter what the “Golden Beach Burger” was. He replied, “Well, it’s the beef…and an egg on top. Pretty much everything…bacon…tomato…cucumber…” I interrupted, “Does it have cheese?” “Oh yeah, cheese, whatever you want, it has everything.” Suspicious, I greenlighted the order, and my coworker went with fish samosas. A few minutes later, a second waiter popped over. “Hi, this is my section. The waiter told me you ordered.” “Yes, did he tell you what we ordered?” “No, he just said that you did, and that I should check with you.” Somewhat amused, we repeated our orders. “Wait,” I quipped as he began walking away. “What is on the Golden Beach Burger?” “It’s ground beef, with ham and cheese.” “That’s it? Just ham and cheese?” “Yes, ham and cheese. That is why it’s called a Golden Beach Burger.” I decided to downgrade to a simple cheeseburger, which they cooked about right.
…
For some reason Michael Jackson came up in conversation. “It was crazy in New York,” I explained. It might have been the biggest news story of the year- we were all glued to the TV.” “It was huge here too,” my coworker replied. “People were mourning, blasting his music in the street for a whole week.” That’s pretty crazy when you think about it. I’ve been pondering fame ever since I heard Lady Gaga on the radio within an hour of landing in Liberia. Whether we’re talking about musicians, athletes or political figures, it’s pretty wild how a certain amount of talent and skill will fall short of a recording contract or a chance to play in the big leagues, but a few notches up you have fans literally all over the world. Sometimes the adulation is more warranted than other times. President Obama is not only of African descent, but he is the leader of the free world, so bumper stickers on local taxis bearing his name are at least partially warranted. And Michael Jackson did spearhead the concerts for Africa, so I can see why he’d be a hero over here. But Lady Gaga and Sarah Palin- what strange pretenses brought them to these shores?
…
Amos had been waiting for us to finish dinner. We dropped off my co-worker first. She lives by the bridge that takes you out of downtown Monrovia into the ramshackle suburbs, and there is usually a huge crowd of people waiting for the bus to take them across the bridge. I saw the bus coming, and noted that they clearly wouldn’t all fit. “They’ll catch the next one,” Amos replied. “It will come in about an hour.” Damn. An hour between buses meant the madness of India was coming. People would hang out of doors and windows. I told Amos about my experiences on the Mumbai trains, including the first time a dude casually sat in my lap when he couldn’t find space. He laughed, “Yeah why not sit on someone’s lap, it’s better than standing.”
…
Soon after getting home I got a text inviting me out clubbing. Clubbing is really not my thing, but maybe it would be different in a foreign country. But I rarely enjoy dancing at clubs with friends, and I certainly didn’t have the energy or interest to dance with strangers. I almost got a second wind when I saw on Facebook that my friends, Midnight Spin, had played a show with Guns and Roses. Maybe I can have a crazy night too! Nah, I’ll wait till tomorrow. To bed I went. February 13, 2010 The trial of Charles Taylor is coming to an end. The war criminal is being tried for acts committed in Sierre Leone, rather than crimes in his own country, where he is still popular enough that his wife is being considered as a VP choice on the opposition party’s ticket. There have been several articles about the Liberian community, both here and in the U.S, showing a lack of interest in the trial, partly out of frustration that only crimes committed in Sierre Leone were charged, partly because people want to move on, and partly because The Hague is a somewhat ridiculous institution. I am all for providing fair trials to all accused, including war criminals and terrorists, but when Slobodan Milosevic’s trial went on for so long that he died before a decision could be rendered, you have problems. How long does it take these whiz-kid prosecutors to prove genocide? This is the 21st century- there is no lack of evidence.
…
A friend commented about the Taylor trial while we were driving: “The Taylor trial fits really oddly with Liberian history. The revolution started against President Tolbert, who is on the currency. He was overthrown by Samuel Doe, who has the country’s main stadium named after him. Doe was opposed by Prince Johnson, who is now a Senator, and Charles Taylor, who is being prosecuted for war crimes. Is he really the only bad guy?”
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Multiple people have suggested that Charles Taylor would be a legitimate contender for the presidency if he ran, even though he overthrew one government, engaged in two bloody civil wars and is on trial for war crimes. The opposition party to President Sirleaff has not put forward an agenda of its own, but instead is banking on dissatisfaction with the incumbent and the empty charisma of their candidate (sound familiar?). In their case, that is embodies by former soccer star George Weah. Amos shook his head as we listened to the radio. “This country has so many problems, what we don’t need right now is a soccer player in charge of the country.” Especially a soccer player who has openly discussed putting Charles Taylor’s wife on the ticket as his VP. She’ll make Sarah Palin look peace prize worthy.
…
That’s some heavy stuff for a pleasant Saturday afternoon. How about hearing the results of the Music Tournament? Fight Test (Flaming Lips) and Running On Empty (Jackson Browne) both went down in the semifinals. In the finals, Miles Davis and the Cool (Gaslight Anthem) triumphed pretty easily over Paper Planes (MIA). On an unrelated note, I was listening to the Clash song “Straight to Hell” this afternoon, and found its intro very similar to “Paper Planes”. If you have both songs, check it out. These music tournaments were for many years a monthly occurrence. How often I do them these days is dictated by the influx of new music I listen to, which will probably be limited in a country where downloading is nearly impossible. Though they are usually solo affairs, I have partnered with multiple people over the years, most notably with Guillermo in the Great Indiana Road Trip Tournament of 2006.

View from our balcony in Mamba Point

2010-02-13T06:06:00.001-08:00

Liberian Dispatch 2

2010-02-13T05:11:00.001-08:00

Thank you for your responses to Dispatch 1. I'll address a couple of them in a separate post. Below is the next set of reports- as always, questions and comments welcome.

February 6, 2010
For assistance, contact the person who manages your network. Who the hell would that be? They don’t exactly provide you their contact numbers. What a dumb error message. … Drinking sangria on the porch with some expats last night, I saw a bird fly by and commented that I had seen virtually no animals of any kind since arriving on Sunday. The reply: “There are a lot of hungry people in Monrovia.” This spawned multiple stories of expats as passengers in cars deliberately aiming for animals on the road so locals would have something extra to take home to dinner. “I stopped my driver from hitting a chimpanzee once,” one said. “And everyone gave me dirty looks for the rest of the ride.”
…
Last night my roommate and I went to Mamba Point Hotel, one of the three luxury hotels in town. We ate sushi in a restaurant that felt like a retro diner. The bill came out to $26 a person, including a glass of wine, not bad for the fanciest restaurant in town. The scene in the restaurant was odd, but not as odd as the casino, which was a tacky little scene (aren’t casinos always adorably so?) filled with Chinese businessmen who have come to take over Liberia. As someone explained to me, “There’s only 3.5 million of us, and most of us are poor. It will not take very much effort for China to control everything.” “Taking over” Liberia is clearly within the United States’ capability too- for a sneak preview there’ the Firestone Rubber Plantation. For those who don’t know, we get much of the rubber for our tires from rural Liberia. After decades of human rights abuses, Firestone has consented to provide education, running water and a hospital to the workers there. For the more affluent they have also opened a golf course and a nice restaurant. Generally, however, we don’t have China’s zeal for exploiting third world mining opportunities, that was so last century.
…
We live in a secure compound, but random Liberians have been waltzing in and out of here all day. Six so far. I presume the most recent wave are here to fix the washing machine, which for the last three weeks has apparently made everyone’s clothes wet, but not clean. I had envisioned Saturday as a serene day of respite, but the sound of loud drilling and a heat that overpowered my AC drove me to the living room, which is the latest frontier in the ants’ war to take over this apartment. The last thing I need is for these critters to fuck up my laptop all crawling up inside it. My roommate gave me a book on Liberian English, which I’ll study tomorrow morning before I move into my new digs. It’s still astonishing that I can understand such a low percentage of a typical conversation between two Liberians.
….
February 7, 2010
Last night was an epic rage, and a slightly risky one in that I don’t really know anyone in this country. As I write this, a movie is playing on the TGH lounge TV in Hindi, with Arabic subtitles. I don’t think any of the employees here know either language, and I’m the only customer, but when you only have four channels your options are limited. This Bollywood channel exists to serve the middle-class Lebanese. The other three channels are CNN International, which is heaps superior to CNN in terms of delivering quality news programming, a sports channel that plays mostly soccer, and a music video channel that plays predominantly Christian reggae music. It is highly disappointing that the internet is down here. I’ve already come to terms with it not working in my room, which is a bummer, but it worked so well in the lounge when I visited the compound. Sending out the Dispatch will have to wait until tomorrow, which is just as well, because it allows time to generate the content for Dispatch 2. Interesting, the Bollywood movie, otherwise entirely in Hindi, uses English only in the courtroom scene for motion procedures (“Objection sustained!”). I have just ordered the $10 pasta, which will be a quite common dinner for me unless I learn to cook. Depending on the quality, it could be a pretty strong motivator.
….
The occasion last night was a going-away party for an ex-pat, held at the beautiful abode of the CEO of Lonestar, the primary cell phone service network in the country. It was as pimp a place as I’ve seen yet in these parts. His compound has a house, a garage, a pool, a partly enclosed patio with a full bar and a great outdoor speaker system, attended to by a retinue of servants. We were among the first guests, and got to take in the bar in its full glory, which was an awesome spectacle. There were about ten bottles of gin, twenty bottles of whiskey, forty bottles of wine and three coolers of beer. It was more stocked than our humble Brooklyn parties, to be sure, even though it ultimately ending up having the same number of attendees, if not fewer. … I made small talk with a couple peeps, including a South African working in hospitality willing to discuss World Cup strategy. He scoffed at the sensationalized Western media, reporting on only the bad in South Africa, reporting that European tickets for the Cup were still not sold out. “South Africa is a modern country, go around and it’s like any European country,” he confidently asserted, before conceding that he had never been to Europe, or any other country besides Liberia
…
So when you typically hear about an afternoon pool party, you imagine it dying down by the evening, an assumption that caused me to calculate the pace of intake quite erroneously. But when you are in a pool under the hot African sun, sipping scotch from a floating table, you are living the dream and kicking your cares away. It wasn’t until quite late in the evening that I realized I was one toke over the line, throwing ice at people, creating all kinds of splashes, twirling the floating table like a French waiter. Really though, with the possible exception of a thrown beer can, which I’m not sure I actually did, most of my antics were pretty harmless, but I got a stern talking to from one of the hosts, who stressed that he was “going to ask me once nicely to tone it down.” I guess you are a true rager if you’re raging too hard for a South African party stocked with twenty bottles of whiskey. What did they think was going to happen? I left the pool in search of food, but it had all been eaten, at which point it occurred to me that I had had nothing but a bowl of cereal all day. I soon fell asleep in a poolside chair. When I woke up and made the rounds, multiple people chuckled that “people had taken pictures that would wind up on the expat listserv.” To this I retorted, “If the best picture people can get of me after eight hours of drinking whiskey is me asleep in a chair, I’ll count that as a win.” Ten of us piled into an NGO vehicle for a bumpy ride home, and I curled into bed for a peaceful final night of sleep in Mamba Point.
…
I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating: soccer will never truly catch on as a spectator sport in America because unlike all other popular American sports, it lacks signature moments of drama that you can hone in on. Spectacular moments can happen in any moment of any sports match, but in football when a team is in the red zone, in a basketball game’s final two minutes, when there are runners on base in baseball, during a tie break in tennis, that’s when you stop everything you’re doing and tune in. In soccer, goals can be scored at seemingly any time, but they almost never are. The closest thing they have to a ‘stop what you are doing’ moment is the corner kick, but these are very frequently unsuccessful. And while football TV timeouts, basketball end of game fouls and baseball pitching changes can annoyingly drag thing out, you need to have some breaks in a game to do things like answer the phone, go to the bathroom, get another beer, etc. In soccer, doing any one of those things could cause you to miss a goal, and that goal, in turn, maybe the only goal of the entire game. Incredibly, at the soccer game I went to in Argentina the jumbotron did not show replays, even of goal scored by the home team. Note that I am not knocking soccer. I loved playing it for many years, and should I deem myself in good enough shape, I’ll try playing some pickup here. Bill Simmons believes that two things will make soccer more popular in the next five years: American access to Premiere League games and high definition television, and on the latter point I tend to agree. Watching a soccer game, even with the improvements of the last few years, is like playing one of those old Nintendo games- all the players are miniature and the ball seems to ping off them. Though the ball frankly just travels too far and fast for great camera angles some of the time, I’m sure watchability will only increase. Why is drinkability a real word but watchability not?
….
Breaking GREAT news. The Superbowl will be shown in my compound. The owner of the compound seems to have a part American part Liberian accent, so he’s probably repatriated. He’s hooked the TV up to ESPN. I’m pretty sure that in the states you can only get the Superbowl on CBS or whatever major network owns the rights these days, but it’s on slight delay, so maybe that’s how its broadcasted internationally. By the way, the pasta was ok, but was it worth $11? I’ll give cooking a try…
…
Lest anyone chalk up these constant refrains about internet connectivity to whininess, as there are clearly bigger problems in third world countries, even for Westerners, let me explain. If you had told me that I would be stuck on a random island with no internet access, a ala my friend Anna in the Marshall Islands (she was limited to one hour a day for two years), that would probably be ok. I’d get into a rhythm about how to constructively use my time. Heck, brutal as access could be in India, wandering the dusty roads in search of a reliable internet café, when you finally sat down it usually worked good, and you could count on it as long as you could stand the sweltering basements filled with sixteen year old boys playing video games and downloading porn next to you.
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The problem is that the internet is constantly supposed to be working, when it isn’t. You stare at a page trying to load for five minutes before it fails completely. Whether at work or at home, much time is wasted trying to connect or reconnect, and approaches to the day are predicated on false assumptions. Unlike in the U.S, where the computer or home connection might have something screwed up, here the service itself can go awry, which leads to this icon in the corner taunting me that I am connected at a high speed, when nothing of the sort is true. It’s the same phenomenon that makes spending 14 hours in a New Orleans jail cell incredibly miserable. If someone tells you, ‘Hey, get ready to spend 14 hours in jail,’ you can brace yourself for an unpleasant day, but knowing only that you are in jail, with no idea when you will get out, or who knows you are there, that is what sucks.
February 8, 2010
Worn out from a long, hot weekend, I slept through the first half of the Super Bowl. For me the Super Bowl is about 50% about the social ritual, the same crew getting together at my friend Adam’s place like a mini New Years party. Another 25% is the commercials and the half-time show, and the final 25% is the football game, with exceptions, like Giants-Patriots. ESPN was broadcasting the game internationally, and while I could have had some company in the lounge, I was so wiped by the time the game started (close to midnight) that I was content to watch it from bed. The ESPN broadcast did not have sweet commercials or a halftime show; they instead had endless ESPN promos for other programming. Among these were advertisements for Wednesday and Friday night basketball, which I’ll definitely rearrange my sleeping schedule to watch at 2am Liberian time. Don’t know if Mr. Outland has committed to ESPN for the rest of the month tho…
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The game itself was a pretty good one- Drew Brees and Payton Manning were both impressive, Brees considerably more so in the second half. The game was remarkably devoid of flags, which can really break the flow of a game, and bad turnovers, until the final three minutes. Like a majority of the country, I was rooting for the Saints. A political poll I saw the game had Democrats supporting the Saints by a wide margin, Independents by a small margin, and Republicans by a single percentage point. … In 2005-2006, when I was working in Biloxi, I listened to 870AM New Orleans Radio when I was driving around, which was quite often. The New Orleans Saints lifted the spirits of a totally beaten city on their shoulders when they went 10-6 and battled into the second round of the playoffs that winter. They and LSU, which had an incredible football season that year (attending their homecoming was one of the wildest days I ever had in the south), gave people hope and something to rally around. When the cameras flashed to celebrators rejoicing the Saints victory on Bourbon Street I had to look away- the emotion still run very deep for me in those parts.
…
There are minor problems in my new apartment: lack of hot water, a terrace door that doesn’t completely close (worry is mosquitoes), a closet that is locked with no key, and of course, the usual lack of internet access. John laughed when I recited this list. “This is Africa…this is Liberia!” “I know,” I replied. That’s why I said they were minor problems.” I hope to resolve these problems when I get home and still have time to hit up the Congo Town market while there is still daylight. It is a bustling hub near my compound, and I get the sense that if I spent an afternoon there I could find a lot of useful groceries and appliances on the cheap. However, the area is very poor, and I would feel uncomfortable traipsing around, flaunting my relative wealth after sunset.
…
Woop! There goes the power. The power here shuts down at exactly 5pm. This is to tell government employees it’s time to go home. The power eventually comes back on for the busybodies who want to press on through. I’m still waiting for Amos to come get me. Today’s legal work involved some heavy lifting. I’ve been preparing a training workshop in administrative law for rural health administrators, but found out today that the 1976 Health Law, the main statute we use in our work, may have been superseded in this particular area by the 1983 Civil Service Act. Usually it is clear when laws supersede each other, but the latter law was passed under dictator Samuel Doe, with no regard to existing health law, and it is quite poorly written (in contrast to the 1976 law, which looks to have been penned with serious Western training or Western assistance). Meanwhile, another project that I thought involved routine contract drafting is actually a foray into a major political hornet’s nest. John explained the hornet’s nest to me, and it seems that for now I can be rest assured that I work for the hornets.
…
Amos was kind enough to show me to the closest grocery to my place in Congo Town. Don’t let the Banking Center written outside it deceive you- this Indian run establishment is the place where I’ll be getting my goods from now on, though I lack many of the cooking utensils needed to make anything besides insta-stuff. The Congo Town market embodied the wheelbarrow scene Carrie Stanley had told me about- available for purchase on the barrows were t-shirts, soap, bananas, sunglasses, pretty much anything you need. Amos is legit, and we made plans to check out some restaurants in the future, at least that’s what I gathered. Tonight I’m going to try a Bangladeshi restaurant in Sinkor; am pretty hungry after I showed up to lunch late only to find that they were out of fish in the cafeteria. Deep down it was something of a relief- skipping lunch is irrational, but my stomach would probably come out net even on this situation. I try to eat lunch as late as possible as a matter of course, as it makes the afternoon ‘half’ of the work day shorter. This logic will not work at law firms, where any given evening can morph into an all-nighter, but it does just fine at the Ministry of Health and Social Welfare.
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First time hearing that song “In the Moonlight,” since I left India. The soundtrack, décor and ceiling fans all take me back. The food was so-so, but I ate a lot of it, and will be content to pass out and enjoy the AC back home, clearly the highlight of TGH, which by the way, is commonly known as The Guest House. I had been misled by the signage, which is apparently just an acronym. I deduced this with Alpha, who got slightly lost finding the place, as there are two American schools (the landmark of choice) in my immediate neighborhood. I wonder what about the schools make them American. You’d think it would be the presence of diplomat and U.N kids, but all the little Liberians I saw leaving the school compound this afternoon were walking back to their homes in the neighborhood. … There are actually many similarities between Monrovia and a number of Indian cities. The informal economy dominates, with little shops and street peddlers the place to go for most food and goods. Both have their share of corrugated shacks lining nearly every street and every dusty alleyway. By the way, I don’t think I really know what corrugated means. I know that a corrugated roof or a corrugated shack when I see one, but take away roofs and shacks and I don’t think I could use the word corrugated in a sentence. Can you? Send me your best corrugated sentence.
…
Indian cities are very slum-heavy and poor, and in both the Indian and Liberian socio-economic hierarchy, the government-bureaucrat class not only has much of the wealth, but flaunts it quite lavishly in the form of chauffeured cars and fancy housing in prominent places. This couldn’t be more different in the United States, where talented people often have to be persuaded out of private practice to work in government, while lifelong government workers hardly rock out like high rollers. India has a pretty impressive public transportation system, but in cities like Mumbai and Delhi there are simply too many people for the busses and (in Mumbai’s case) trains to handle, which leads to a heavy reliance on auto-rickshaws, where are cheap and easy. In Monrovia, there are virtually no busses, and the vast taxi fleet transports everyone, not just Westerners. While I ride solo when someone like Alpha picks me up, the locals generally ride four or five strangers to a cab, which goes in a straight line up and down Tubman Boulevard for a fixed fee.
…
Storytelling has been a bit of an issue here. At the pool party I went with a classic and a quickie but goodie- the Indian murder story and the lesson about how South Americans speak in rhyme. The response to both was quite muted. Having participated in a small handful of kicking back spinning the yarn sessions, it’s not that my stories aren’t good enough for the expat community here. Yes, most of the expats here have worked in an average of three other African countries, and have their own crazy shit to throw back at me, but it’s more in the delivery. The school of storytelling I come from, the Chi Gam stage, is an unforgiving place, where action is around every corner, questions seek answers, crescendos build, the actors bow and the curtain swoops in. The expat school of storytelling is deliberately nonchalant, touching down with a spoken or implicit, ‘yeah, pretty crazy, but you know, whatever, that’s New Years in Rwanda for ya,’ celebrating disengagement like the old school indie rock scene. I haven’t really tried out any of the great Rage stories, but I usually hold back on those stories unless I’m talking to friends or complete strangers. The expat scene here is finite, and I don’t want to come off like a jackass, especially to people who may have been hit with the far flung ice cubes launched from my shallow end of the pool bunker.
…
Almost everywhere you go around here you can hear the hum of generators. They power nearly all the power in this country, if not all of it. The cost of buying and providing fuel for generators is one of the main reasons for the expensive state of the housing economy; most Liberians live without power of any kind. Most of the neighborhoods in Monrovia are truly painful to look at, because not only are the shacks hot, dusty and crowded, but there is garbage strewn about everywhere. Little canal boast not water, but a gross green sludge full of trash. The exhaust of cars and smoke from fires fill the air, rendering it almost unbreathable in certain places. Men, women and children lug around heavy loads on their heads. I’m always on the move, so I can’t answer this yet, but I’m curious how many goods any of these families sell in the market. Everyone seems broke, and the ratio of customers to vendors is not ideal. I’m sipping Club Beer, the official local brew of Monrovia, as I write this. It is not bad. Not bad.
….
February 9, 2010 I am reading over the 2007 National Health Plan, which provides some background on the Liberian economy. Per capita GDP fell from $1,269 in 1980, right before the start of the civil war, to $163 in 2005. That is staggering, or, to use a word commonly employed in this report a precipitous drop. From 1991-2006 there was “virtually no public source of electricity or piped water.” People fleeing the war in the countryside flocked to Monrovia, which has grown from a prewar population of 500,000 people to roughly 1.3 million today. The literacy rate is less than 40%, and by 2004 only a third of children starting first grade made it to fifth (a number that I’m sure has improved considerably in the last few years). I could go on and on with depressing statistics, but I think that’s enough for now. On a positive, healthcare related note, this report, published in early 2007, had a goal of raising healthcare spending from $12 per capita to $18 per capita, but in a briefing last week we were told that spending is up to $29 per capita. You are reading those numbers correctly, by the way. Here is a sentence that applies to my particular line of work: “Drug regulation is deficient, and private dealers freely import, distribute and sell medicines. The circulation of counterfeit, substandard and expired medicine considerable.”
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The president is sinking in the approval polls. Can’t create jobs for the unemployed masses. The radio hammers at the president all day. An opposition party’s unlikely recent senate election victory has bolstered their belief that that they can take out the president in the next presidential election. One supporter pleads to me, “Under anyone else, it would be a million times worse. This is just a very, very difficult situation.” As you probably guessed by now, I am talking about President Ellen Johnson Sirleaff, Liberia’s embattled incumbent. She is bright, charismatic and hardworking, no question about it. Every day you can see new roads being paved, electric poles erected, hospitals and other building under construction. Unlike some presidents, she has a solid PR effort, with billboards constantly reminding voters of these achievements. Unfortunately, by all accounts, little of what she has done has trickled down to the poor Monrovians and the country people, who formed the base of opposition against her in 2005, and will again in 2011. Yesterday I had a meeting with an old Ministry official with a reputation for hostility, which was on display until I noticed the painting behind me- a mural of Ellen and Barack side by side. Under Ellen it read, “Liberia’s First Female President,” with her date of election, and under Barack it read, “America’s First African-American President.” I told her about my work on the Obama campaign and that seemed to soften her. “He’s having it so hard right now,” she sighed.
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“What did Sarah Palin have written on her hand?” Startled, I look at John, who smirks. “Here in Liberia we pay more attention to American politics more than you think we do.” I suppose any amount of attention paid to American politics is surprising, as Liberia is a complete non-issue in American politics. It’s not like Cubans, Israelis or Brits paying attention. I shiver to think that Palinism, even as a concept, has permeated foreigners impressions of us, though I suppose every country has its national political embarrassments; see Le Pen, France. A sometimes amusing cartoon strip at Dartmouth had Le Pen as one of its recurring characters, and of course he was a living, breathing, right-wing pen. That was a different cartoon strip then the one that mockingly depicted me as “President Che.” Sadly, I never met the kid who wrote that cartoon, but if the general tenor of his strip was any indication, he was a bitter person, who may or may not have clung to his guns and religion.
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An American girl and I were looking to order lunch, which is always a trial for her in Monrovia, since she is a vegetarian. We found a place that’s supposed to have good food, so we ordered to grilled cheeses with Bong fries. I was stoked to see what Bong fries looked like. A seemingly simple order, but she texted me “Somehow that was the most complicated order I’ve ever placed.” About ten minutes after that she called to let me know that the order had been canceled. The restaurant was out of bread.
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Cell phone etiquette in this country is worse than in the United States. There people still don’t know how to turn their cell phones off before theater performances, meetings and lunches. And by “off” I mean “on vibrate,” of course. Here, however, there is no meeting too important to be interrupted by an obnoxious ring. Between the poor reception and loud noise everywhere, the whole room can hear a cannonball of static from the other line, and the recipient has to shout back to make himself heard. The polite folks will yell “in meeting! In meeting!” before hanging up. I suppose part of the problem is that no one (literally no one) has voice mail, but you’d think peeps could put their phones on silent and returned their missed calls after.
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In studying up on the issue of corporate regulation I came across this fantastic quote from President Lincoln: The money powers prey upon the nation in times of peace and conspire against it in times of adversity. It is more despotic than a monarchy, more insolent than autocracy, and more selfish than bureaucracy. It denounces as public enemies, all who question its methods or throw light upon its crimes. I have two great enemies, the Southern Army in front of me and the Bankers in the rear. Of the two, the one at my rear is my greatest foe.. corporations have been enthroned and an era of corruption in high places will follow, and the money powers of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of the people until the wealth is aggregated in the hands of a few, and the Republic is destroyed."
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I watched a soccer game tonight on ESPN. It looks like Mr. Outland is keeping the channel, which is essential. As legit as Cristiana Ananpour’s show is, CNN International is not much for entertainment. I did learn on her show that the Nigerian president had apparently gone missing for weeks in Saudi Arabia, leading to power struggles and limiting the country’s ability to deal with rebel fighters. Tough times. The other functioning TV stations are a Lebanese controlled station that shows Bollywood movies and soap operas, and a music video channel that plays uplifting Liberian Christian music. As for the soccer game, Barcelona won its Spanish League match easily despite picking up two red cards. Days after making my disparaging remarks about soccer on television I will have it thrust upon me, but after tonight I stand by my original assertions. One of Barcelona’s two goals was scored during a two minute break I took from the game to check on my insta-ready Indian food. I am not a sweet cook yet. …

Liberian Dispatch 1

2010-02-08T05:04:00.000-08:00

These are the thoughts of a young lawyer in Monrovia, Liberia. I'll be here for three months trying to help the country fix its healthcare system... feel free to email me questions and comments.

January 31, 2010 The possibility that at least a few nights a week will end as this one did, in my room alone, with slow to nonexistent internet and one television channel, certainly increases the possibility of healthy writing sessions. Then again, a first night in a dingy hotel room is not the best indicator of things to come. In Las Vegas I rolled into town cashed from a 12 hour drive following a four hour sleep (not unlike today!) and barely had time to glance around dodgy downtown Vegas before calling it a night. Hartford was no better (or cheaper). And of course, don’t even get me started on India, the single most terrifying introduction to a place possible, from the beggar children chasing our cab to my maniacal driver to the complete slum I was dumped off at. I believe my first meal in India was room delivery, so as to afford those cruel streets of ghetto Mumbai. Liberia has yet to offer me its delicacies, and while a dinnerless night was disappointing, credit to my semi-satisfied state of affairs must go to Brussels Air, which provided the heartiest airline food I can remember. Grilled fish with salmon salad? Bid them up! …
Initial impressions on this country are colored by the darkness of night, but it’s easy to tell that there are a lot of scam artists, some of whom, though not abject criminals themselves, will take advantage of the crime to make a quick buck. Internet will never be faster than ‘pretty slow,’ and in the case of my host, the Corina Hotel, insufferably brutally slow. I will have to relinquish complete control of my fantasy basketball teams until I can find a steady source that allows complex pages to load. …
The streets were filled with hitchhikers and loafers, with occasional bodegas and bars dotting the surprisingly well-paved road into Monrovia. Glamour hotels conspicuously rise out of the shacklands every few miles, as do impressive office spaces like the Ministry of Justice and the U.N headquarters. The U.N even has a radio station that plays Lady Gaga and 50 Cent, with bulletins between songs reminding people to stay “United in peace” and to “Celebrate love, not AIDS” by abstaining from sex until marriage. I wonder if this is what radio free Europe was like, broadcasting blunt messages to teenagers bopping to the hits of the day. …
I take great pride in my ability to travel light, but with a duffel bag and two suitcases it’s not a talent I’m showcasing. It is my first time carrying either work clothes or my laptop overseas. The former is nothing but a necessary inconvenience, while the latter is something of a trade off. Right now, for example, I am rocking out to some Pink Floyd as a write this, and frankly, I am not in the mood, given this nation’s computer resources, to transcribe anything from a notebook to a laptop. Over the years some great gems (and some major duds) have collected dust or been lost completely after being passionately jotted down in some travel notebook. At least now I can take the better chunks of what I churn out for group emails. …
Oh, Europe was a nice layover. Michelle persuaded me to come out to Ghent, where she has a cousin working for a mining company that currently has a major contract in Liberia. Small world. It was good raging, and Ghent is quite beautiful, as is the countryside on the train ride from Brussels. The cobblestones, canals and architecture drip with history- indeed, we visited, and were promptly kicked out of the building where the Treaty of Ghent was signed in 1815, ending the war between the U.S and England. Unfortunately, news of the treaty did not reach American shores till several weeks after General Andrew Jackson commandingly defeated British forces at the Battle of New Orleans, becoming an American hero and eventual two-term president. In signing the treaty, the U.S surrendered its goal of conquering and annexing parts of Canada. Canadian schoolchildren are taught about The War of American Aggression. They were the first, but not the last…
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While on a beer run for a surprisingly tame Brazilian birthday party, I engaged the man behind the counter, who turned out to be from Afghanistan, hailing from near the Pakistani border. I asked him what he thought about what was going on, and he replied, “American fights the Taliban on the battlefield, America pays for Taliban to work in government. What’s the point?” Somewhat drunk, the best thing I could think to say was, “It’s all about the money.” “Yes,” he agreed. “It’s all about the money.” Then he gave me a free chocolate bar.
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By the way, where the hell is Abidjan? It’s a little disconcerting to fly via a destination you’ve never heard of. I eventually determined that it is a city, perhaps the capital, of the Ivory Coast. Passengers from Brussels to Monrovia were told we needed to stop for an hour in Abidjan to refuel. Passengers who boarded in Abidjan bound for Brussels were told they needed to stop in Monrovia for an hour to refuel. Somebody is being lied to (or not, which would be tough times). In Abidjan I saw my first African sunset, that famous orange ball in the sky.
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February 1, 2010 Remember how Bob Graham, Florida’s three-term Senator and two-term Governor, kept a running journal for many decades breaking his day down into increments of fifteen minutes? How did he have the time to do that? It’s possible that prior to the internet there were fewer ways of killing dead time. At least, that much I surmise from the lack of ways to kill time right now. In preparing a memo on the Administrative hearing process for health officials I found that the governing law is the Administrative Procedure Act, a statute that no one in our office knows where to find.
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The real shame of Bob Graham’s journal is that a part of him probably kept the damn thing going because he thought posterity would care for it after he served as the nation’s 42nd, 43rd or 44th president, not an unreasonable assumption based on his distinguished resume, which included never losing a political race till The Big One. Maybe I’ll try to get my hands on it. It could be candid window into the life of a major league political figure. In fact, a retrospective article called him the first Twitterer, though that’s hardly a compliment.
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This morning I was fiending for a way to get out of the Corina Hotel. Blessed with undoubtedly fleeting wireless access, I found a journalist named Glenna to sublet me her room for a week while she was abroad. After being driven to the comparatively swinging Mamba Point neighborhood by a delightful taxi driver named Alpha, I settled into my new temporary home, a chill Western hangout full of NGO workers who love surfing and are opening a bar next month. Can’t wait for the opening. It’ll be like showing up to Bocas de Toro in 2005.
… My stay at the Corina Hotel wasn’t all bad. I slept pretty peacefully despite a terrifying screaming incident in my hallway in the middle of the night. I had two great bucket showers. I legitimately love bucket showers, and may switch to them when I get back to the U.S. It’s the added water pressure that feels so good, like the difference between a bong hit and a joint that slowly burns even while you aren’t hitting it.
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From 11pm last night to 8am this morning I saw CNN International run the story of the failed Haitian missionaries no fewer than four times. Apparently some American Baptists thought God wanted them to rescue orphans from Haiti, but instead they took a bunch of kids without any paperwork across the border, where the officials who intercepted them found out that many of the kids were not actually orphans. To confuse matters further, one girl crying that she wanted to go back to her mother, with mother’s cell phone number in hand, turned out to have been relinquished willingly by her mother, who wanted her to have a better life in America, or the Dominican Republic, or wherever. At the end of the day, the Baptists were charged with kidnapping and trafficking. Tough times.
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I also got to see the highlights of the Lakers-Celtics game, which was a treat. Kobe is still amazing, and while the old and battered Celtics may live to fight for one more title, their window is rapidly closing, while Kobe’s looks wide open. Kobe’s nickname, incidentally, is “Black Mamba,” a reference to the world’s most dangerous snake. That also happens to be what Mambo Point, Monrovia’s most tony neighborhood, is named after. With or without the Bynum for Bosh deal, the Lakers should compete for the title at least for the next three seasons. What they really need is a point guard.
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Speaking of sports, at the Brussels airport I caught some of the Federer-Murray match. It felt like mid-decade, when Grand Slam Finals were merely a formality for Federer to toast some hapless also-ran. Andy Murray clearly has skills, but he seemed, like Andy Roddick, to play without confidence of eventual victory. Federer hadn’t even really broken a sweat by the beginning of the third set. With Woods in turmoil, R-Fed is officially the world’s premier athlete. He’s reached 19 out of the last 20 Grand Slam finals, an almost incomprehensible streak, especially when you consider that his only semifinal loss in a Grand Slam since 2005 was during a bout with mono. Last season, by winning the French Open, Federer put to rest any notion that Pete Sampras was the greatest tennis champion of all-time, but there was still that annoying asterisk- Rod Laver. Laver utterly dominated tennis in 1962 and 1969, but got no ‘credit’ as far as tennis statistics go, because he spent 1963-1968 on the professional circuit, making cash, and rendering himself ineligible tournaments like the U.S Open and Wimbledon. There has always been a lingering sense that as Sampras and Federer chased records, they were chasing a false target, as Laver finished with “only” 11 Grand Slam titles for his career despite being the best tennis player for a decade. Federer has now been the best or second-best player in the world for eight years, in an obviously far more competitive era. This durability at the top sets him apart from other top modern tennis players, and puts him in the pantheon with Ali and Jordan, though what really set those two apart is that they were not only the best, but they changed their sport culturally forever, which Federer has decidedly not done. This is completely speculative, but I’d wager that Federer is the favorite of the lowest percentage of fans in his sport of any top-ranked athlete in recent memory, except obviously Barry Bonds.
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Just got back from lunch. Whew! That was some spicy fish stew. The meal cost 150 Liberian Dollars, or $3 USD. Someone will have to explain currencies to me some time. Is inflation the reason that a small bottle of Coca-Cola costs fifty dollars? Was there a time when the Liberian currency rates were normal, or is it culturally insensitive to ascribe some sort of normative logic to having inconsequential items costs small increments of money? At least we aren’t in Zimbabwe, where inflation is so out of control that day laborers hand cash to their wives during lunch breaks so the wives can use the money before it becomes worthless.
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Have had a pretty productive run considering the sweltering heat and not having any idea what I’m doing. Also, spider solitaire is a pretty sweet game. I work with the Ministry of Health’s General Counsel, John Wilson. He is a smooth operator who does not like the heat either, yet manages to wear a suit to work every day.
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Tonight I had dinner alone, alone, that is, until I was joined by DJ Billy D. Brother to the restaurant owner (I ate fish again, this time one of those whole cooked one, with the charred mouth still visible and tail inedible), Billy D started off on a positive note, explaining his grant proposal to the U.N for funding to DJ and perform hip hop in Liberia’s rural counties on behalf of peace and unity. He was a lowtalker, though, and over time it became clear that I would have to ask him questions to have any idea what we were talking about. So far I’ve found that I understand between 40% and 70% of what Liberians are saying when they speak English, excepting of course those who were educated abroad. My happy go lucky taxi driver Alpha, who I found out later tonight is from a neighboring country, was the easiest to understand, except when he became excitable. It boggles my mind so far that when two Liberians are speaking to eachother I’ll be convinced that they are not speaking English until a full English sentence will come out of nowhere. This is actually called Liberian English. Billy D did not respond well to my question about President Johnson Sirleaff, rambling about American imperialism, how weak and corrupt the government is, how the President is weak, probably because she is a woman, which is completely unjust, that is, a woman president in Liberia, how money controls everything, how government employees hog all the money, and how he could electrify Monrovia in 3 hours. He left when the fish arrived. I relearned the lesson not to eat bony fish in the dark. When I got home I popped the Jack and listened to my roommates explain Liberia. It’s a messed up place, but they are happy here. Three months will seem short. Hopefully.
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February 2, 2010 Woke up to the rooster crow and the power out. The power is on for ten hours a day, and that does not include the wee hours of the night, where your body is expected to coast on the air conditioning accumulated in the previous hours. That didn’t quite work for me, and I was wide awake well before 6:30am, when the power kicked back on. Making lemonade and such, I went to Limewire and downloaded a dozen or so songs to start the day.
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Fish and rice for the third meal in a row- I suppose there are worse things in life, though lest anyone get envious, the fish have been more bony than mouth-watering. Still have not had a fishless meal in Liberia, unless you count the pastry I had for breakfast at the Ministry of Health senior director planning meeting. I mostly went to see the good Doctor Gwenigale in action. He is the stuff of legend, having operated hospitals during much of the Liberian civil war. At the helm of a meeting he is a commanding but soothing presence, demonstrating a sharp command of all topics, mixing in specific details with broader commands: “don’t come to this meeting with complaints, come to this meeting with solutions,” “this is why I have department heads, so I don’t have to decide everything. Tell me what your recommendation is- don’t just bring me information and ask me to make a decision.” … A couple nuggets of interest from the meeting: The Liberian government just had a business fair for high school seniors and college students. The concern is that students are overwhelmingly choosing to pursue business degrees, at the expense of the hard sciences, engineering, and other skills needed in the mining and drilling industries the country wants to develop. Corruption is endemic among the lower ranks of the Ministry of Health. The Ministry has hospitals all over the country, including rural areas that cannot be accessed by car. This makes it easy for rural government officials to fabricate payrolls and milk money out of the government. Periodic attempts to cleanse the payroll have only worked in the short term. It’s a problem that is hard to fix logistically and culturally. It would take an exhausting and perhaps unrealistic internal audit to actually figure out who was a real employee and who wasn’t.
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Man, in a way I can’t wait for the next two hours and forty five minutes to go by, and I am so tired, but on the other hand, the AC at home won’t be on till six, rendering that 30-40 minute gap utter misery. Oh yes, a Gwenigale anecdote. So some legislator has been harassing him to build a clinic in a town in his district. Gwenigale won’t do it, both because the allocated funding is insufficient ($50,000) and because building the clinic in that location would violate the protocol determining clinic locations. Gwenigale has rejected the legislator through a variety of channels, but now has found a compromise: “I told him, I will go with you to your district. I will tell the people, ‘you have a good, persistent representative in the legislator. I, on the other hand, am obstructive, and will not grant his request to build a clinic.’ Then I will tell them why, while at the same time do this fellow’s campaigning for him.” Though it is, of course, inferior to actually getting something done, but it’s a nice quid pro quo, the equivalent of the old school days when the Senate Majority Leader and Senate Minority Leader would campaign for each other come election time, with one saying what a worthy foe his adversary was.
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Does anyone understand the purpose of ties- or at least, can someone make the argument that the marginal aesthetic enhancement that a good looking power tie can bring to an outfit outweighs its noose-like qualities. Perhaps the tie’s worst quality is its implication of the top button. This is a torturous button, the subject of the allegorical White Stripes song, “The Hardest Button to Button.” Jack White telling a girl she’s like the hardest button to button is one of the great rock and roll exasperations, along with Jimi Hendrix telling a girl, “You’re just like cross-town traffic, it’s so hard to get through to you.”
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For a tie to fit snugly and look proper, one must suck in his neck and clasp a button that no one would ever wear tieless on a casual day. There is no other aspect of the male wardrobe for which this is true- blazers, dress shoes and even suspenders make the rounds more casually than the hardest button to button. Yet, there it is, keeping the tie looking sharp, tight like a noose. What’s remarkable about ties is that if they are not expensive looking power ties, they are just as likely to make you look stupid as better. If a cheap tie looks no better than no tie at all, it befuddles the mind why someone would wear one. People wear the tie solely to look formal, and that’s quite a lame reason to do anything, especially when it seems like all of male society is playing one big joke on itself by enforcing this rule, a rule we foisted on ourselves during an era when we were clearly calling the fashion shots. … The three hour nap was bliss, and according to the expats I spent some time chilling with tonight, it could be the first of many. Apparently, the strand of malaria here is extremely powerful, such that everyone gets it eventually, and no medicine can properly prevent it. No one looks forward to getting sick in a foreign country, but I do hope that if and when it happens I am in an air-conditioned apartment with working internet. I went on a long walk after my nap to find dinner, but ended up at the same damn restaurant as last night, this time sans DJ Billy D. Once again I got stuck with fish, the only thing left on the menu. I have officially had nothing but fish since landing Sunday night, though I got the scoop on some expensive restaurants down pass the embassy that I’ll hit up if I keep feel the current quasi queasiness. As for this restaurant, the friendly waitress who speaks little English has on both nights significantly overcharged me on the bill, but then given me even more change back than if the bill had been correct. I have a hunch that her conception of the exchange rate is inaccurate, and on both nights I’ve gone from slightly aggrieved to mildly amused, which is the better post-dinner feeling.
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There’s apparently a daily pick-up basketball game around the corner from my place- a rim bent at about a thirty degree angle on an inclined hill, with the court a thru street that requires stoppage for traffic (that’s how they solved the lack of pavement problem) but still a basketball hoop all the same. If I sleep well tonight I’ll check it out tomorrow. Perhaps the most awesome thing about living here is that two of my roommates are opening a dive bar on the beach in a few weeks, and I have little doubt that it will become my primary hang out spot. Wow, it got late in a hurry. I have a long list of things to do on the internet, but the damn thing is down again. I should learn to capitalize while I can.
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February 3, 2010 John hosts a steady stream of visitors seeking his counsel, and every now and then he’ll engage me on the issue after one leaves. Apparently Europe has been getting barraged with snow, and as a result, a private mail delivery service was delayed in delivering a bid on a contract, which arrived two days late. Liberian procurement policy requires rejecting all bids that arrive past the deadline. Both the U.S and Liberia use the “mailbox rule” in legal proceedings, such that you have subpoenaed someone, for example, from the document’s postmarked date. Liberia makes no mention of postmarking in its procurement law, but John is wondering if a judge would impute the mailbox rule should the failed bidder take the issue to court. My rebuttal was that the person who loses this bid to the late bidder would similarly take the issue to court, seeing as he was the one who followed the rules. The plain language of the procurement policy should control. I don’t think John bought into that. Oh well. I will say that being a general counsel seems pretty interesting, as the work is eclectic and more fundamental than the hairsplitting of most corporate litigation. Then again, I don’t know most American generals counsel have people walking into the office complaining about adverse possession- first year property law comes to life!
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I finally ate chicken and rice for lunch, ending my exclusively pescatarian diet. Have been working decently hard today, which is good- with as few distractions as I have to operate with, it’s important to feel productive, though I clearly recognize the irony of taking time out of my day to ramble on about how productive I’ve been. Got a lead from a dude named Abdallah on a place in Mamba Point. It’s a two-bedroom, which probably means it is pricey, but at this point, anything $1400 or below for a hooked up two bedroom in Mamba Point is worth it, because despite having spent nary a minute there, I am hardening against living in Sinkor. My sketchy feeling walk in the hood last night really did nothing to bolster Mamba Point, being as all the so called bars were just empty shells blasting loud music, and the restaurant selection offered nothing but fish, but some combination of Nate and Ellie’s bar, the American Embassy, the opportunity for pickup basketball, the proximity to Randall Street and the general safeness of the neighborhood point to finding a place there, and Abdallah, renowned in the town, has got a place. It’s amusing to consider, however, that while I once thought my roommates’ reinforcing of Carrie Stanley’s observations spoke to their validity, it now seems they are based on the fact that they hung out together, like when many blogs that cite to the same, hopefully accurate news article.
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In any case, $1400 may sound like a lot to spend on my own bedroom, considering that is the price range I’ll be gunning for when I get home, but the flexibility to room with someone short term or long term and halve that cost is a good one. No idea what I’d do with all that space, though having a sweet pad, full bar set up in a foreign country could be amusing. Do we ever grow up?
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John gave me a little Liberian history lesson today. He is from the county of Maryland, which was founded, as you might expect, by freed slaves from Maryland. He says there are towns named Baltimore, Philadelphia and Bunker Hill, for settlers’ towns of origin. It was apparently a center of great learning, with multiple colleges and even a legal training center until the 1960s. The major post-war president of Liberia, President Tubman, was a Marylander himself, the first president not to hail from Monrovia, considered a bush-man. John compared that to someone from the South moving to New York, but a more apt comparison might be an idiot named Bush moving to Washington. Tubman felt isolated in Monrovia, looked down upon by the elites, but Maryland was too far from Monrovia for him to use it at as a presidential retreat. Instead, he brought Maryland to him, uprooting its major college and placing it Bong County, just outside of Monrovia. This led to the slow deterioration of Maryland, as the other college and legal center soon skipped also. When he was a young man, John says, the high school graduation rate was 97%, but the students simply had nowhere to go, so they passively slowed their poverty at home, or alternatively, brain-drained it to Monrovia, where they lived as second-class citizens. The same way, John pointed out, he would live in the ghetto if he moved to America. When you think about all the remarkable people who left behind comfortable gigs back home to scrape by in New York, you realize that while America may or may not have talent, New York has it in spades. Yep, in spades.
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The countdown begins- we are 40 minutes from a joyous ride home. Honestly, if I could surf the internet or have a single person to humorously banter with, I wouldn’t be itching so badly. This is why I don’t forsee Hogan being quite the graveyard corporate law firms are supposed to be. Panarchy it is not, but as long as I have people down the hall who can bitch about work, tell jokes, discuss politics and/or sports, etc., it kills the long hours. During the corporate recruiting process people stressed that once you are in the interviewer’s door, particularly in the second round, they have made peace with your academic qualifications, and are assessing your personality, including the legal world’s variation of the 3am phone call- when you are working on a stressful brief at 3am, who do you want to see across the table? Some annoying d-bag or someone who can smile in the face of such tough times? That’s probably 40% of the reason I got so many offers. I’d guesstimate that another 40% was based on my dynamic resume, 10% on being a racial minority, and 10% on random factors like needing a weirdo in the office. For example, at our acceptance dinner, I asked Oleg about Ed Koch’s role at Bryan Cave, since he is a “partner” who does nothing but publish articles and movie reviews. Oleg explained that when an important client or opposing counsel is on their way out the door, a Bryan Cave partner will ask, ‘By the way, do you feel like meeting Ed Koch?’ Oleg continued, ‘Why do you think we hired you?’ It was a mildly flattering rib, and I don’t mind the Ed Koch comparisons, even if he did vote for George Bush. I’d chalk up almost no points to my in person interviewing skills, which are still pretty shabby. I’m not a professional bullshitter yet when it comes to expressing passion for jobs I have no long-term interest in, and my lexicon is so overrun with clichés for such occasions that when I actually am interviewing for a job I’m passionate about, I can’t find the right words to sound legitimately sincere.
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February 4, 2010 I have 21 minutes to pound out half asleep type until the juice runs out and I’ll be left to lie in bed listening to someone else’s BBC News, just loud enough to hear the British accents, but too far away to hear the news, and the roosters crowing. I thought roosters were supposed to crow when the sun rose, but the sun is nowhere in sight at the moment. It’s 5:19 in the A.M and it’s too hot to sleep. The power won’t be turned on for more than an hour. In theory I could go for a jog at 6, coming back just in time to shower, but that proposition strikes me as a little crazy- it’s still pretty damn muggy, and being out alone late at night is the one safety rule I’ve been strongly encouraged to observe. Running at 7am, when the sun is out, lacks the allure, as I could be enjoying precious internet minutes by then. … I received a peculiar offer on the housing front yesterday afternoon involving 19 Nigerian doctors. Hm. Now I have 25 minutes left. It goes to show you never can tell. Apparently only six of the doctors have shown up so far, and while there are rumors of more coming, no one seems to really know. You may remember this theme from my first day, when we realized the importance of the Administrative Procedure Act, which we still cannot find. If the nation’s only law school does not have it on the books, it may be time to sign its epitaph and rewrite the damn thing. In any case, the Ministry of Health has already prepaid the apartments these Nigerian doctors were going to live in, including a studio apartment that John Wilson suggested I could live in for free.
…
Sweet deal, right? There are two catches. One is that I would be bounced as soon as the doctors showed up, which could be, remember, at any time. This isn’t a huge concern, because free is free as long as it lasts. That reminded me of “Me and Bobby McGee,” which really has great lyrics. Janis’s voice is so good that you don’t really think about them, but in the Greatful Dead cover they pronounce them slower and more clearly. Ok, running Itunes just cost me precious minutes, I don’t know what I was thinking. We’ll look at the lyrics later. Nine minutes to go. … The point is that I don’t think I’d be kicked out right away, and saving even a month would be good pocket cash. The more important issue is that the apartment is in Congo Town, which from my very crude map of Monrovia appears to be 10-15 minutes past Sinkor in the out of town direction- as in it would be a mammoth taxi ride to Mamba Point. Who knows how much I’d go out during the week anyway, so far it’s been zero times, and taxi rides are universally $5, but there’s no doubt it would kill the social life. Not hurt, kill. When searching for the calculus, it might be the same question as living at home after college. In exchange for saving a ton of money, what do you really get? The opportunity to have loud sex, smoke whenever you want, stock booze, invite friends over without being embarrassed, maybe hold a party now and then. For that I and others pay exorbitantly, and we lose homecooked meals in the process. Well, I guess that goes to the heart of the question about why we earn money and what we live to spend it on. Saving for tomorrow at the expense of today doesn’t sound much like living the dream. Maybe I’ll follow up with Abdallah about the pricey but sweet Mamba Point apartment he showed me today. Unless Congo Point has internet and 24 hour power.
…
Oh man, so yeah, the computer died and I was still wide awake. So wide awake, in fact, that I decided to do some yoga. My lack of flexibility stunned me, and I resolved to do yoga every morning that I woke up with such time on my hands. It felt good, and by the time I finished and bucket showered the power was almost back on. The AC was particularly welcome, because opening the windows had not only brought in the sounds of screeching roosters, but the suffocating polluted Monrovia air. The most disappointing aspect of living on Orchard Street last September was realizing that opening my window for fresh air was a fiction, that it inevitably smelled stuffier and more like garbage when the window was open then when it was closed, and the same holds true in Monrovia.
…
More wired than I remember being at 6:30am in possibly years, I had just enough internet juice to check my email, read the news, and mess with my fantasy basketball team. Leaving the fantasy teams vulnerable to flaky internet was a huge concern, as I have been coasting in first place in one league and in playoff contention in the other. Sippy has graciously agreed to look after my roster in case I’m not able to adjust it. My calculations project me as a lock to make the playoffs in one league, where I am commissioner, and about 50/50 in the other league, where I am a guest among largely strangers. I have absolutely loved doing fantasy basketball this year, and will host an even larger league next year.
…
Amos and I were listening to “Coffee Talk” on UN radio on the way to work, and we heard a segment on the Haiti Relief benefit a few Liberian performers have put together. You know you are on tough times when Liberia is holding a fundraiser in your behalf. A coworker, Genevieve, scoffed that no Liberian should donate a nickel while Liberia is in such dire economic straits, but she missed the U.N radio program’s look back at the historical relationship between Liberia and Haiti. Haiti was a French colony of liberated slaves, pulling off an impressive revolution against Napoleon that Pat Robertson can only attribute to a pact the people of Haiti made with the devil. Liberia was founded a few decades later by freed American slaves, and so the two countries became early beacons in the black liberation movement. Liberia was for many decades the only African country completely independent of European colonial rule or influence. In the 1930s and 40s, Haitians celebrating this independence spawned a movement to relocate there. The descendants of Haitian-Liberian mixes went on to become some of the leading figures in Liberian government. Thus, the Liberian benefit for the people of Haiti.
…
Did you know that polio and the measles are major problems in Liberia? I went to a planning meeting today at the Ministry of Health, and there is a major outbreak of both, leading to a day of national immunizations in March. … Just got back from taking a piss. No Microsoft Word, I did not just get back from taking a pass. We have a regular enough looking toilet here at the General Counsel’s office, but it does not flush. Instead, you get rid of your waste by dumping a bucket of water into the toilet until it looks watery again. There were two variations of this in India- one was the hole in the ground toilet, which employed a water bucket mainly for self-cleansing purposes, and then one apartment I lived in had a regular toilet that used this bucket method. The advantage in India was that the bucket was underneath a faucet, whereas here you dip the bucket into a larger vat of water to fill it, which feels dirtier, even though it probably isn’t. … Have been invited to pizza, drinking and games night by a fellow Hungarian in town. I wrote back enthusiastically that I am a fan of all three, and it may even be an occasion to bust out “Catch-phrase,” perhaps the most fun party game ever- think better than Twister in the late 90s. During lunch today I munched on an excellent falafel and chatted with a fellow ex-pat, but was completely distracted by a thin dude pumping water in the 90-degree heat the entire time we were lunching. By the end of lunch, all he had to show for it was a medium-sized filled bucket. Can we get this guy a working well? What the fuck? The expat missed her boyfriend, and mentioned that she spent nine bucks calling him the other day. “Wait,” I interrupted, “on that LoneStar phone?” Mine won’t even call certain numbers in Monrovia, but apparently it’s as easy as 001-area code-number. Just tried. Not as easy as it sounds.
…
John Wilson just asked me if I’d had a plantain before, as a woman into our office bearing them. I chuckled and said, “Plantains? I had my first plantain many years ago in the Dominican Republic. I love plantains.” The Dominic Republic is on the island of Hispaniola, and in an arrangement unique within the Caribbean, it shares the island with Haiti, the subject of tonight’s Liberian benefit. Or when is the benefit? I don’t suppose I can find out on the internet… There’s a flickering light- access seems palpably close. I’m having one of the few people in the city with heady IT skills take a look at the situation tomorrow.
…
I’ve studied my very crude map of Monrovia and determined that if it is at all to scale, then parts of Congo Town are really not that much further from Mambo Point or the Ministry than the parts of Sinkor where I was considering living. Thus, if these apartments are even moderately sweet, I’m greenlighting this operation. Wow, just as I was writing this, who popped in but the good Doctor himself. Dr. Gwenigale personally offered me a Nigerian apartment, obviously frustrated that he was not only short a bunch of doctors, but had unnecessarily paid for their unused digs. Another Ministry worker who overheard our conversation said with some confidence that even if they were to show up during my three months here, it is highly unlikely that I would be bounced; they would just find another arrangement, and that it was similarly unlikely that all nineteen would show up during the three months I was here. Later I stopped by Deputy Minister Cherue’s office to get directions, and found out the apartment complex is across the street from the American School. Sometimes you have to go a long way to come a short distance!
…
What an absolute slam dunk. The room is clean, comfortable, has a balcony overlooking Congo Town, is not that far from where I want to be (think Bushwick) and the compound has a bar- dude, the compound has a bar. The Guinness I’m drinking now is downright terrible, and an inspection of the label reveals it was brewed in Liberia, but hell, we’ll take it.
…
February 5, 2010 Even though I was completely cashed when I got home (those bumpy roads take a lot out of you), I felt compelled to rally and not disappoint the Hungarian who had invited me to pizza, drinking and games night. I called Alpha, who was more unintelligible than usual and had immense difficulty finding the compound we were looking for. The scene was three European couples, shooting a mixture of English, French and Spanish across the table at each other. They were friendly, but the drinking was light and tame. We played a sweet German card game. Expats are very coupled up here, and for good reason. As expected, the expat scene here is full of globetrotters, salaried by high profile NGOs like MERLIN to roll up on third world countries and stick their fingers in bursting dams. … One of the girls playing cards was about to deploy to Haiti, where the group surmised the internet connection would be better than it is here. As the night wound down I bantered in Hungarian with the host, my first extended conversation in Hungarian with someone besides my mother since 2008. It felt good, though our own bump occurred when I did not know the word for law firm. Alpha was quite late picking me up. The road was littered with hitchhikers male and female. I joked about whether he wouldn’t be more likely to pick up a cute woman and he launched into not one, but at least three rambling stories about taxi drivers who had been either extorted by women faking rape assaults or hookers calling their pimps. “That is why I pick up no women, but maybe sometimes a man. If he looks like a good dude.”
…
This morning I miraculously power slept through the heat, waking up just in time to appreciate the cool AC, like a waterfall on my bed. My sleeping woes are in their last days. At the TGH compound I’ll have air conditioning all night, and at the Old Radio Star building it’s supposed to run all weekend. I had been trudging a long at work, getting shit done, and rewarding myself with occasional spurts of Level 2 Spider Solitaire, which I’ve mastered only in the last day, when John engaged me on Barack Obama and the healthcare bill. After I explained to him that no, Scott Brown’s election had not cost Obama his Senate majority (I wonder how many Americans think this), John asked about ‘the opposition position’ that the government should enforce mandates. This question makes me seethe, because any idiot could have seen that mandates without a robust public option is not only political suicide, but terrible policy. I will not forgive Obama’s team for not pushing the public option, even though it was so watered down by the time it came out of the House that I probably wouldn’t have been eligible for it anyway. John said that Americans, like Liberians, are too impatient. ‘Change doesn’t happen overnight.’ But he sighed, ‘At the same time. People want jobs. They need money to bring home to their families.’ On this point I sympathize with our embattled sell-out president. Though the number one issue in America, according to every poll, is “Jobs,” there is precious little the president and Congress can do in one fell swoop to remedy the lack of good ones out there.
…
The unemployment issue in America right now is triple wedged. First, manufacturing jobs are totally screwed, and they aren’t coming back, except in the form of very local green technologies that the government has, to some extent, gotten behind. Too bad they fired Van Jones just because Glenn Beck told them to. That’s when we realized Obama might be a weak president. Second, small businesses can’t get credit and expand, because the banks, for all the trillions we gave them, don’t feel like it. The government should do something here, though this topic is obviously beyond my expertise. Third, we will continue to hemorrhage, either slowly or quickly, ‘middle-class jobs’ to India in fields like software. Globalism is a bitch. Nothing Obama can do about that.
…
In the long run, of course, there are many things the government can do. At the core of long-term job creation is a strong national educational program that produces a workforce than can read, write, do math and think analytically. We need strong high schools so that kids from low income communities can have a shot at getting into good colleges. We need to completely overhaul college, though that is a different discussion, and one that will involve the private university sector. Fuck it, I’ll start it now.
…
The primary problem with the liberal arts educational system is that it is predicated on an anachronistic model that can never apply to society as a whole. Back in the heyday of the liberals arts ideal, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Princeton, for example, the few colleges that did exist in this country were for the wealthy elite, whose children could spend four years reading the classics and pondering, knowing with certainty that graduate school or a job in the family business was waiting around the corner. Back then you didn’t have to do well in college to get in to Harvard Law School, you just had to have the right father.
…
Today, the notion of college as some philosophical laboratory must be dismissed. College is now exclusively a place to get a job, and it better be a good one, with the massive amounts of cash parents (and some students) are pouring into it. Employers care about grades and internships, and have to put aside that students at top colleges develop few skills beyond basic analytic writing. Grades can easily be manipulated (taking only easy classes) and many of the most prestigious internship don’t pay, putting less affluent students at a disadvantage. Shouldn’t $35,000 a year for college at least include a summer housing voucher? That’s not to say people can’t have a lot of fun and grow in college, but we have to have deliverables on the investment, you know? …
Next, let’s talk about this pathetic excuse for a faculty system we have in American higher education. Research is valued over teaching, plain and simple- no university president would dispute that. The reason is that good researchers publish articles, mostly in journals that no one except other academics read (with the exception of the very select group of academics that have national prominence) and thus bring prestige to the school. I would just once like to see a college already ranked in the top 20 or so announce that the main criteria it would employ for selecting faculty was teaching ability, and see how that helped or hurt their prestige within five years. Wouldn’t that be a school every top high schooler would want to go to? By the way, how is an “all-star researcher” any different than an all-star football player? Both contribute to the school’s prestige without improving its education. …
You know…there is a lot to unravel here, and I can’t be rambling about the broken university system all day, nor do I know if I want to. It’s Friday afternoon, when blood pressures should be going down, and I have a big conference call in fifteen minutes. Also, I feel like I have carpal-tunnel syndrome (sp?). Has anyone had it before? If so, please email with remedies (though with the weekend coming up, I’ll assume “stop typing so much” is one of them). … We got way off track here- we were discussing Obama’s hands being tied with respect to jobs. The stimulus bill, as anyone who works in local government can attest, saved a huge number of local government programs, but it probably didn’t create a lot of new jobs. While the pain still burns for the unemployed, a job saved is the same as a job created as far as the big economic picture goes.
…
Just returned from picking up a coke. Struck me as weird while walking up the ramp that I was drinking something so unhealthy at the Ministry of Health. Don’t coke trucks have “stay back 100 feet, explosives on board” sign or something? Probably an urban legend. Have urban legends generally lost their luster since Google allowed everything to be fact-checked so easily? The internet is clearly loaded with misinformation, but in the case of urban legends, what searchers are really looking for is a single credible person to step up and say, ‘no, no, that is ridiculous, here’s why.’ Speaking of urban legends, I was once told by someone in artistic design that Coke had patented the color Coca-cola red. Is that true? Coke is not a healthy product, but over the years I’ve come to love it. If you held a gun to my head and forced me to endorse one corporate product, it would be always the real thing, always coca-cola (great song!). Nevertheless, should we really be selling this stuff in the Ministry of Health?
…
This is like the Bloomberg administration having soft drinking vending machines, and Bloomberg pouring salt onto his plate while trying to regulate intake for everyone else. If you ever check out the comments section at a right-wing rag like the New York Post (I assume everyone does this in their spare time), they love pouncing on examples of political hypocrisy, like John Edwards’ $400 haircut, Al Gore’s giant house, Bloomberg’s private jet, Spitzer’s prostitute, sometimes even going after their own like Christian philanderers Gingrich, Ensign, Vitter, Sanford, etc. And while many of these posters are crazy and have depressingly poor spelling skills, I agree that hypocrisy has no place in the public arena, as cozy at is hanging out there. Once again a tangent has taken me way off topic, but it is very humid in hear, and did I mention it was Friday afternoon? Christ, I can’t even spell ‘here’ correctly. The day is unraveling. The loopiness is kickin’ in.
…
The Ministry of Health should not sell soft drinks! There, I said it. They should sell coffee made from the coffee beans of local farmers, which I assume they have here, even if the coffee is terrible. This is the federal government, and it should be buying local, supporting the workers, growing the economy. I wonder how much shit in the White House and on Capitol Hill was made in China...

Chasing a Fantasy

2009-12-22T13:57:00.000-08:00

I silently fume at the ESPN stat line for Mario Chalmers. The young Miami Heat point guard has just dropped a total dud of a game: 5 points and 1 assist. The one assist roiled me, because going into the final game of the week I was behind by only two assists against my fantasy basketball opponent. At the very moment I had counted on him, Chalmers had choked and cost me a category. That was the final straw- after weeks of watching Chalmers play poorly or disappear during crunch time, I dropped him from my fantasy basketball team, the Roving Storm.

In these dark and desperate times, few things bring me greater joy than managing the Roving Storm in the online fantasy league, When The Garden Was Dead, where I double as commissioner, competing against eleven friends in a 20-week season. The league’s name refers to the moribund Madison Square Garden crowd, which has had to endure the worst run in Knicks history at the same time it has had to weather the Bush presidency, two wars and an economic collapse. Yes, it’s been a tough decade. In the world of fantasy basketball, however, those problems melt away, replaced by the headaches that come with running a basketball team.

It starts with underperforming players. I curse loudly as I watch Baron Davis shoot 1 for 14, again. The bastard just doesn’t know when to stop! Of course, if he doesn’t respond to his real-life coach, he’s not going to respond to his fake coach yelling at the TV screen. But I can dream.

I make trades to bring balance to the team, including one controversial swap (Ben Wallace for Paul Pierce) that leads to a massive email war over the definition of collusion. I ultimately rework the trade (Marcus Camby for Paul Pierce), placating the more hostile opponents of the trade, who had been rallying other team owners to veto it. I feel like Barack Obama, ending with a lesser deal than I would have liked, but so winning the votes required for passage. My sympathy for the Senate healthcare plan momentarily increases.

Making trades is hard. My opponents are not stupid- no one wants a washed up, injured Tracy McGrady, his impressive career be damned. I am forced to drop McGrady for nothing. Knicks General Manager Donnie Walsh has no such option in dumping his worthless hacks, who are under multiyear contracts.

Sundays, the Lord’s day of rest, are particularly anxious. In fantasy basketball leagues people field their thirteen-player teams against opponents for one week, Monday through Sunday. The teams are matched up according to eight categories: points, rebounds, assists, steals, blocks, three pointers made, field goal percentage and free throw percentage. Each of these categories can be won or lost in a given week, and these results are compiled over the long season. Most teams are evenly matched in at least some of these categories, and until the final NBA game ends Sunday night, the results for the whole week hang in balance.

Fantasy basketball fundamentally changes the way a fan watches NBA basketball. Other than the Knicks, I now rarely root for any team to beat another, far more concerned with the individual players on the court. Hardly any NBA game being played at a given moment does not involve either one of my fantasy players or one of my opponent’s. This makes rooting during games a truly absurd exercise. When Kevin Love is guarding Carl Landry (both are my players), I root for Carl Landry to score, or, in the alternative, for Kevin Love to block the shot or get the rebound off Landry’s miss. During one very close game between the Bobcats and the Knicks, I was schizophrenically rooting for the Knicks to win, but for the Bobcats’ guard Ray Felton to score as many points as possible in the process.

I worry sometime that all NBA players are becoming a series of statistics, the way insurance companies think of patients or military commanders deploy soldiers. One of the keys to fantasy success is the ability to remove conceptions you may have of a player (“he’s clutch under pressure,” “he’s a good defender,” “he’s an all-star”) with more perfunctory questions: “what is his field goal percentage?” “How many blocks a game does he get?” “How has he played in the last thirty days?”

ESPN pits the four best fantasy teams in each league against each other for four weeks of playoffs, which in turn end with the conclusion of the NBA regular season. That is good. Whether or not I win the “Living The Dream Cup,” I’ll be able to kick back and watch the NBA playoffs like a normal fan, appreciating the beauty of the game, without stat lines racing through my head.

The Fear Behind The Fear

2009-12-19T11:32:00.000-08:00

Would Jack Kerouac kick back and hammer out his poems in smooth jazz café? Maybe, if it had wireless internet. My current dig has everything you want- great coffee, reliable wireless, plenty of seating, and a happy little collection of local Brooklyn newspapers that old men ingest while they sip tea and watch the first snow of the year fly by their windows.

There are a lot of things that you used to make me afraid of getting old. Doesn’t it make ya wince when you watch an old flick and think, "Man, he used to look like that? And now he looks like this?" It’s bad enough to watch relatives age, but seeing it happen to impregnable famous athletes and movie stars is more sudden dispiriting. Yes, yes, looks are superficial and all that, but what about brains? Until I saw Guido Calabrese majestically and literally hold court in the Second Circuit, I was having trouble wrapping my head around the older and wiser concept. Then you’ve got health issues, oh man, the health issues. It’s pretty easy to picture that part of the journey. Long gone are the days when I would knock myself unconscious diving into a brick wall playing Chinese handball. Recently I pulled a muscle while I was sleeping. Tough times indeed. Nobody ever is what he used to be. But now there’s a new cause for agingaphobia, and it has to with Sergei Brin, Steve Jobs and all the other techno mad men.

Watching a sexagenarian open an attachment is painfully unfair. They worked all their lives to get this far, and now they can’t even open the modern envelope. I gasp- that could be me one day. After all, I declared boldly in 1998 that email would never take off. I was the last guy to get a cell phone, preferring to memorize numbers in my head or scrawl them on my hand as I marched into the night with quarters in my back pocket. I didn’t send a text message till 2006, and learned how to upload pictures what seems like yesterday.

As we get older and stop making sense, our children and grandchildren will play with toys that seem like magic, and young associates will roll their eyes every time we say, “the what?” or “how/where?” Every step you fall behind now is two you’ll have to make up later. Lyndon Johnson knew this- that’s why the Great Society begat Head Start. Every runner knows this- that’s why you’ve gotta work the hills. The internet is no information highway, my friends, it’s a raging river, and all boats are sinkable. My new year’s resolution is to keep my head above water, fear of technology trumped by fear of falling too far behind to enjoy the future milk and honey years

Tiger and Me

2009-12-19T11:12:00.000-08:00

“Sometimes I wish I was Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Sometimes I wish I was Tiger Woods.”

- Dan Bern, “Tiger Woods”

Sports fans don’t care about athletes’ personal lives. Especially golf players’ personal lives.

Recently, people have been questioning why it took so long for the public (or for that matter, his wife) so long to find out about Tiger Woods’ string of extramarital affairs, even though it was common knowledge on the PGA Tour.

Some have even accused the reticent sports reporters of perpetuating male chauvinism by not considering it news.

In contrast, sports reporters are far more respectable than their political peers, who love pursuing gossip rather than put in the hard time learning about policy and how it affects our country.

Sports reporters operate under two assumptions:

1) Sports fans care more about how an athlete performs than his personal life;

2) An athlete’s personal life rarely, if ever, has a bearing on how he performs.

Believe it or not, sports columnists are evaluated by their readers on the strength of the breaking news and sports analysis they bring to their columns, and only the sharpest writers, like Bill Simmons or the late Hunter S. Thompson, are permitted to deviate into side tangents.

If a sports reporter’s livelihood depends on earning the trust of the players and the franchises he is covering, it is of little interest to that reporter to get 15 minutes of fame (or less) talking about an affair, a drug problem, or a gambling addiction.

These “‘Former Player X’ Hits Rock Bottom” stories usually only surface when an athlete is no longer of use to the reporter for sports-related journalism.

Political reporting used to operate in this way too. It was presumed that serious newspapers had a serious readership.

Reports appropriately calculated that rather than break a story of Marilyn Monroe leaving the White House at three in the morning, they’d rather stay in the good graces of the Kennedy administration long enough to properly cover the Cuban Missile Crisis.

President Clinton’s affairs were the perfect storm- a charismatic leader facing his Achilles heel (adultery), an ideal nemesis in the hysterically hypocritical Republican leadership, and the carefree emptiness of the go-go late 90s.

Soon after, newspaper sales started to sink, and editors realized covering a sex scandal was a lot easier than covering climate change or the Stupak amendment, and less controversial than covering gay marriage or the Stupak amendment.

Playing to the lowest common denominator is fun and easy in America. Look at Huffington Post, which has become a gossip magazine with occasional political analysis. It’s how you bring in the bucks.

Sports, incidentally, will never face this problem, because there will always be a market of (mostly) men willing to pay money for good sports analysis.

I just dropped $26 to buy Bill Simmons’ Book of Basketball, even though I can read his articles for free online and I already know a lot about basketball.

Except for hipsters, guys can kick back with friends or strangers, drinking beer and talking sports. And sports fans know A LOT about sports.

Guys who are complete idiots in life- nearly failed out of school, can’t hold a job- they will know the history of a sport.

They will successfully debate you on the fine points of whether a certain shot-blocker is actually a good defender or whether it is possible to compare baseball players from different eras.

It can break your heart to think about what a better country we would live in if sports fans knew a third as much about American history, civics and public policy as they do about sports.

As for Tiger Woods, this is what sports fans know about Tiger Woods.

When he was a teenager, golf reporters were hyping him as potentially the coming savior of golf- the greatest of all time.

Few people under the age of 40 like watching golf, but we were in the halo of the Michael Jordan era at that point, and watching “the greatest” in any sport was a worth a look.

And Tiger Woods delivered.

In a sport that’s incredibly hard to “dominate” in the same fashion as other solo sports like tennis or boxing, Woods in his prime cowered his opponents before demolishing them.

At the 1997 Masters, the 21 year old tied or broke 26 records en route to winning the prestigious event by more shots than any player in history.

From 2000-2001 he became the first modern golfer ever to hold the Tour’s four major championships at the same time (the “Tiger Slam”).

In 2008 he won the U.S Open with a torn ACL, clearly playing with agonizing pain as he labored to a one-shot win. Friends and I watching that called it perhaps the most impressive performance in the history of sports.

I’ve never been remotely interested in Woods’ personal life. He has always struck me as unflinchingly boring, which I had just chalked up to him being a golfer.

It wasn’t until I heard about the four and fifth cuckolder of this unending saga that I started reading about it.

Honestly, it is a fascinating scandal. He seems to have a taste for cocktail waitresses and porn stars.

Rather than a ‘mea culpa’ fling, he seems to be a serial cheater, before and after his marriage to a gorgeous Swedish supermodel. “What hope is there for the rest of us?” one of my female friends sighed.

When I read about him doing it in the back of his car with a pancake house waitress, it occurred to me that maybe something was up.

Maybe the lifelong prodigy, always under the tight supervision of his loving dad Earl (who passed away in 2006), playing in top ranked tournaments since he was nine years old, missed out on a regular youth.

Maybe he was never able to party in clubs and hook up with girls in the back of his car when he was in high school or college (Stanford alums, feel free to comment).

Maybe this is like Michael Jackson’s rebellion at a repressive youth, only instead of taking advantage of little boys, he’s taking advantage of adult women.

His wife has left him, just as Michael Jordan’s wife left him.

Next year he will win the Masters, and in a few years he will pass Jack Nicklaus for the most all-time major championships.

It will be taboo to bring this whole debacle up, kind of like how no one in sports talks about Kobe Bryant’s alleged rape charge anymore.

So there it is. That’s about as much thought as I will put into the Tiger Woods scandal. Back to taking care of my fantasy basketball team.

Reform the Democratic Party- ban conflict of interest donations for Committee Chairs

2009-10-09T09:25:00.000-07:00

Corporate money corrupts politicians, and and corporate money follows them up the ladders of power. That’s why the Max Baucus is controlled by the health "insurance" companies, why energy lobbyists control climate change reform, and why Wall Street always get its way. I have a modest proposal for a reform that is both practical and difficult to assail: prevent Democratic committee chairs from receiving campaign contributions from the industries they have jurisdiction over.

THE PROBLEM

In life it is sometimes difficult to separate cause and effect, but in Congress it is pretty easy. Once a person is on a committee, he or she immediately becomes shark bait for the corporate interests regulated by legislation coming out of that committee. So the donations roll in.

The most notorious example of money for hire is Montana's own Max Baucus, who took in $1.17 million from the healthcare industry during the 2008 election cycle.
Blanche Lincoln has already taken in $353k from the healthcare lobby this cycle.
Money from the defense industry flows in for Rep. Ike Skelton.
The financial sector is already throwing big money at three Democratic challengers, Ginnoulias (IL), White (TX) and Fisher (IL), ensuring another wave of corporate Democrats.
John Dingell, the House Chair of the Energy Committee until Waxman iced him this year, took in $493k last election cycle despite cruising to re-election.
And agribusiness, sweet Jesus, they just throw a lot of weight around.

Advantage, corporate fatcats.

*Anyone clicking on these links will recognize that I am a huge fan of Open Secrets- those folks deserve a tremendous amount of credit for creating such a vast, user-friendly database.

THE SOLUTION

The answer is easy, we should just have publicly financed elections. Election seasons will be six weeks long, we'll vote on Saturdays, corporate influence will be curtailed, and.....
Wait, what? Sorry, I must have dozed off. If we are talking about solutions for right now, fall of 2009, we need a reform that will meet at least two criteria:

The reform cannot be unconstitutional. That is problematic, since right now we have the most conservative, pro-corporate judiciary since the 1920s, at least. Fortunately, parties are allowed to govern their own affairs. If this reform is a rule promulgated by the Democratic party, their members can be made to follow it.

The reform cannot paralyze Democratic fundraising. Ideally, no Democrat would take money from corporate interests. Unfortunately, the wee little people on this site and elsewhere do not make up strong enough warchests...yet.

Using these two criteria, banning committee chairmen from receiving funds from the corporations their committees oversee is a good first step. We learned from BaucusCare that committee chairmen still have a lot of power, decades after James Eastlandhung his hateful hat up. Making them take an objective stake in these issues will help usher progressive issues through tremendously. The rule would be in effect for as long as they remained chairs of their committees. The rule could apply to subcommittees as well.

THE OBSTACLES

There are, of course people who would not be down with this. And I use the term "people" loosely, as I am referring to members of Congress. You might here this kind of pushback:

Lame Response #1: Committee chairs run for re-election too! They need those funds.
Rebuttal: No they don't. If they need untold millions, there are other places to find it. Jeff Bingaman , chair of the Senate Energy Committee, got twice as muchfrom lawyers (450k) as the energy industry (220k) last time he ran. So he wouldn’t exactly starve to death without the company of his ConEd and Exxon friends. And if the chairs are really in a pinch, grassroots volunteers and institutions like organized labor and the DNC will fight for them. If they are good Democrats, of course.

Lame Response #2: The money's not for me! It's so I can dole it out to helpless little freshmen members running for re-election in swing districts. I rake in the money for them.
Rebuttal: One friend on the Hill told me that junior members of Congress live in fear of crossing Charles Rangel, who in 2008, donated or channeled money to 156 of them. That's why his ethics investigations will never cost him his seat. It's true that big dogs like Rangel, Frank, and others do channel money to their members. But presumably the corporations are still waiting with those paychecks, and they have to go somewhere. (I finished this diary before the frontpage post on Rangel, and for the record I completely agree with that post).

Lame Response #3: But I get money from the good guys who happen to be under my jurisdiction. If I chair education, are you gonna stop the Teachers Union from giving me money?
Rebuttal: Sorry bro, if they are a "good group", they can spend the money helping other members good on their issues. If you're as good as you say you are, your coffers will fill up, just without the conflicts of interest.

Lame Response #4: I mean, dude, how do you even define "my jurisdiction." If I chair the Judiciary Committee can I take money from a law librarian?
Rebuttal: Now you're just grasping. This is a Democratic Party rule, not the law, so it will only work if people follow it in spirit. It's not like how you spend the rest of your day, nervously skirting around the precipice. If you flagrantly break this rule, you will be stripped. If you accidentally take a contribution from an otherwise legal source, whatever.

IN CONCLUSION
Let's discuss this idea, and other ways to clean up the party. We may not have a lot of heroes in Congress, but as they say...

We do have some good people, like Henry Waxman, who as a major committee chair, could set a good example.
So let's throw out some ideas. Let's get some party reform going now. We don't have to wait for an election. Hell, it just might even look nice to voters heading into 2010.

The alternative is to throw our hands up in despair about our corporate masters. But if you're gonna do that, at least do it George Carlin style.

New York City Democratic Primary Endorsements: September 15th Primary

2009-09-11T08:58:00.000-07:00

This has been a painful year to watch in New York politics. Between the Kennedy/Gillibrand appointment fiasco, the travesties at the New York State Senate, and the barrage of scandals at the City Council, this year has done much to discredit New York public officials at all levels. Fortunately, the 2009 elections will allow some new blood to move into office. These people might shake things up, and begin repairing the train wreck that is New York governance. Having canvassed a number of neighborhoods, watched debates, and spoken to a number of people inside and outside the following races, I am prepared to endorse a set of candidates for the September 15th Democratic Primary.

Not everyone who reads this is a registered Democratic voter in New York, but please pass this on to friends, family, neighbors and roommates who are. Local elections are hard to pay attention to- the issues may seem provincial, the differences between candidates less than seismic, and media coverage scant. However, I make these endorsements with the confidence of having measured the people and their districts in person. I am only one person, but unlike unions, newspapers and other interest groups, you can be rest assured that these decisions were made on one basis- who is the progressive who can best represent his or her constituency. Any affiliation I have with any of these candidates began only after properly sizing up the field, and if I have respect for one of their opponents, I will so indicate.

I have listed the neighborhoods corresponding to each district.
The races are listed in order of importance to me. I am not addressing the Democratic Mayoral Primary, as Bill Thompson will win easily. More on the general election between him and Mayor Bloomberg to come at a later date.

Norman Siegel- New York City Public Advocate: All registered New York Democrats can vote in this election.
This is the race I am most passionate about this cycle. The Public Advocate position, created sixteen years ago, seems almost tailored to Norman Siegel, who has spent his career fighting for civil rights and free speech. You read his bio here:
http://normansiegel.com/bio . This is the only political office Siegel has ever run for, and would ever run for. The Public Advocate is a watchdog office, designed to serve as a bulwark against corruption and shortcomings by the Mayor and City Council. Events of the last eight years, like the corrupt Yankee Stadium deal or City Council slush fund, underscore the need for a strong and effective fighter in this position.
Siegel’s opponents, former Public Advocate Mark Green, Councilperson Bill DeBlasio and Councilperson Eric Gioia, all have strong resumes as reformers. However, each also nakedly betrays their ambitions for higher office. Green has lost almost every race conceivable in New York politics, and should he win this race, will be running for Mayor in four years. DeBlasio was running for Brooklyn Borough President before switching to a race without an incumbent. Now, there is nothing wrong with ambition in politics. But the Public Advocate should be someone who is ready to stand up to the Mayor or City Council when the cause is right, not just politically popular. Incumbent Betsy Gotbaum tried to focus on children’s hunger, which is great, but politically easy.
We need a public advocate who is not afraid to go after corrupt politicians and local party bosses, regardless of political affiliation, ideology, or popularity. We need a public advocate who will fight for the rights of the homeless, stand up to police brutality when it occurs, and investigate conditions at Rikers Island. We need a public advocate who will stand up for poor and disempowered people, even if they won’t deliver votes for him during the next election cycle. Siegel’s opponents are on the right side of most issues, but when the going gets politically unpopular, they will choose their careers first, and the people second. Norman will never have any trouble making that choice. That is why I support him for Public Advocate.

Swaranjit Singh- City Council
Queens (23rd Council District): Hollis Hills, Queens Village, Little Neck, Douglaston, Bayside, Bellerose, Floral Park, Glen Oaks, New Hyde Park, Hollis, Hollis Park Gardens, Holliswood, Fresh Meadows
Swaranjit Singh is a personality and a half, and he would bring a much needed perspective to the City Council. This winter I was looking at fundraising numbers (I know, I’m that cool), and found that Mr. Singh, a political unknown, had suddenly raised more than any non-incumbent running for City Council. I soon met with him in person, and found him to be incredibly engaging and passionate. In the aftermath of September 11th, Mr. Singh was one of the leading Sikhs spreading a message of tolerance and raising awareness, running workshops at schools, police stations and synagogues. Mr. Singh constantly and accurately stresses that he is not a career politician, and though he occasionally will lapse into political incorrectness, he is bursting with integrity, and is deeply concerned with the issues facing his neighbors and would-be constituents. His full bio is here: http://www.singhforcitycouncil.com/meetmrsingh.htm.
Mr. Singh would be the first South Asian elected to New York City or New York State elected office. That is startling, given that New York City houses a quarter of American South Asians, several hundred thousand legal immigrants and citizens. Watching Mr. Singh engage the local South Asian community at events in the Bellarose area was inspiring, as the district has never had a serious candidate of South Asian origin.
Mr. Singh’s race and personality would not be enough to merit full support for him, but his stand against the local Democratic machine seals the deal. Singh is running against the Weprin family. The local political club is named for Saul Weprin, the incumbent councilman’s (David Weprin) father. David Weprin is now running for Comptroller, and his brother, Assemblyman Mark Weprin, is running to replace them. Should David lose his race for Comptroller, he will presumably run for Mark’s Assembly seat. This is the kind of gross family politics that even the Kennedys can’t get away with anymore. If the Weprins were progressive, that would help, but since they are not, its all the more reason to support Mr. Singh.
“I’m not Barack Obama,” Mr. Singh concedes. “But this would still be historic.”

Evan Thies- City Council
Brooklyn (33rd Council District): Brooklyn Heights, Greenpoint; parts of Williamsburg, Park Slope, Boerum Hill
Incumbent: David Yassky, running for Comptroller
I had the privilege of meeting Thies early during this campaign cycle, and was immediately convinced that he would be an excellent fit for this district, both respecting the needs of the longstanding community, and welcoming the hipster crowd that has brought a lot to these neighborhoods. His main claim to fame is serving as Chief of Staff to incumbent David Yassky, which only gets you so many points. As indicated by his lack of a Yassky endorsement, however, Thies is very much his own man.
Thies is a tireless policy wonk, something needed in a City Council full of blow-hards. He knows the issues inside out, and is brimming with ideas to introduce in the Council, including much needed election and ethics reforms. Thies is not exactly an electrifying personality, but in this quirky Williamsburg district, his sanity was refreshing during the debate I attended. While running for office is inherently an exercise in vanity, this is particularly true in the 33rd District, where four of his opponents are either ornery old men or slightly (to significantly) off their rockers. A fifth, Steve Levin, is a pawn of Brooklyn political boss, Vito Lopez. See the always excellent Tom Robbins article on Williamsburg/Bushwick politics here: http://www.villagevoice.com/2009-09-01/columns/power-plays-by-party-boss-vito-lopez/. The final candidate, Joanne Simon, is a perfectly fine disabilities rights lawyer from Park Slope. However, Thies is more attuned to issues in the Williamsburg/Greenpoint area, which is undergoing rapid and important change. He is also, at the risk of sounding agist, younger and more in tune with the changing electorate itself. We need competent, fresh blood in City Hall.

Josh Skaller- City Council
Brooklyn (39th Council District): Cobble Hill, Carroll Gardens, Columbia Street, Park Slope, Windsor Terrace, Kensington, Boro Park.
Incumbent: Bill DeBlasio, running for Public Advocate
This is the kind of districts that progressives dream about, a mega-liberal bastion within the generally liberal Brooklyn political community. Such a community deserves someone who will unapologetically stand up to corporate interests, and that candidate is Josh Skaller. Skaller recently served as president of the Central Brooklyn Independent Democrats, one of the strongest progressive political clubs in the city, and has been involved in a number of grassroots campaigns in the area.
I canvassed with him twice, and two things about him stood out. First, he is a genuinely great guy. No sleaze, no fake smiles. You will never wake up to news about him being caught in a corruption scandal. Second, his strident anti-developer beliefs are sorely needed in the City Council. Developers provide tons of money to campaigns, including liberal Democratic campaigns, and thus exert enormous influence in shaping city policy. Skaller will not let them run rampant in Park Slope, and hopefully, will stand up to them throughout the city. Finally, Skaller has been endorsed by Norman Siegel, who makes very few such endorsements.
A former councilmember, Steve DeBrienza, and Brad Lander are Skaller’s two major opponents.

Diana Reyna- City Council (Incumbent)
Brooklyn (34th Council District): Williamsburg and Bushwick, Brooklyn; Ridgewood, Queens.
Reyna is a good councilperson under attack from the Brooklyn political machine. I’ll direct you to the same article that I linked to for Thies above. Reyna is by no means perfect, but she is a good fit for the district, and is worthy of another term. She has appeared engaged in local concerns, and her politics are good, particularly her work on affordable housing. She has the capacity to handle a district undergoing significant change. Additionally, her opponent is worrisome.
Among progressives in Brooklyn, it is essential to recognize that Brooklyn will always be a Democratic county, which makes machine politics more dangerous. Plus, as we all know, not all Democrats are created equal. Those in the legal profession should be particularly concerned with the Kings County machine’s approach to boosting under qualified judges as political patronage. Reyna’s main opponent, Maritza Davila, is another Vito Lopez protege, and a director at a non-profit that Lopez has been funneling money through both legitimate and more questionable purposes for years. See article: http://www.villagevoice.com/2009-09-01/columns/power-plays-by-party-boss-vito-lopez/ .

John Liu- Comptroller: All registered New York Democrats can vote in this election.
This is an eminently boring race, so don’t worry if you’ve tuned out. The Comptroller invests the City’s massive pension funds, an audits city agencies. It’s an important position that requires hard work, but also the ability to make yourself relevant to city government, something Bill Thompson, the incumbent failed to do. I support John Liu largely by process of elimination after watching a listless debate a few months ago. Melinda Katz, a former Republican, should not hold city-wide office in New York. David Weprin is a little too pro-Wall Street for my tastes, based on his conduct at the debate. David Yassky is an ever-calculating pol who will probably do the job competently, but he does little to inspire. Experience is a wash, all four of these candidates have roughly equivalent qualifications for the office.
Liu was originally running for Public Advocate, a race in which I would not have supported him. He is a bit of a grand-stander, and is a typical New York politician who would rather be seen than get things done. A recent flap with his mother over whether he worked in a sweatshop as a child has been embarrassing. However, Liu also made history as becoming the first Asian-American elected to office in New York when he became City Councilperson in 2001. Today there are several districts where Asian-Americans have a shot. His politics are good, and he is both relentlessly energetic and optimistic. His clamor for attention will be helpful under a Bloomberg mayoralty that is so good at drowning out dissent. Finally, Liu is simply a likeable guy. If he can use his personality to bring some attention to the role of the Comptroller in running a city and holding the Mayor’s office accountable, that will be a win in itself.

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Manhattan District Attorney: All Democrats registered in Manhattan are eligible to vote in this race.
Candidates: Richard Aborn, Leslie Crocker-Snyder, Cy Vance
People shouldn’t make endorsements unless they feel strongly about a race, an intuitive but often violated political principle. I studied the Manhattan District Attorney’s race pretty closely, and though I will probably cast my vote for Richard Aborn, it is not without some hesitation. Of the three candidates, I am most opposed to Leslie Crocker Snyder. She has an impressive resume as a former prosecutor under Morganthau, and is something of a trailblazer as female prosecutors go. But she is also vigorously “tough on crime”, using that playbook against Morganthau in the 2005 DA race, which of course she lost. There are few things that annoy me more than scoring cheap political points at the expense of the criminal justice system, which is already heavily skewed against defendants. One particularly tasteless episode featured an “endorsement” from the victim of a heinous crime who claimed that Snyder would more vigorously pursue justice than Morganthau had been, as if the current Manhattan DA’s office were weak-kneed on crime issues. I have also seen Snyder up close during a panel discussion, which has only reinforced my impression that she lacks the compassion to wield so much power in the New York criminal justice system.
In contrast, both Cy Vance and Richard Aborn speak at great lengths of the need to focus on alternative sentencing, rehabilitation, and prevention, rather than punishment. Aborn is unapologetically to the left of Vance on some of these issues, and if you are voting purely on ideology, Aborn is your guy. What bothers me about Aborn is not his politics, but his qualifications. Though he was an Assistant District Attorney many years ago, his main claim to fame is being a leading advocate for the Brady Bill. Taking credit for an anti-gun bill that passed last century (1993) might mean something if you’re running for Congress, but it has limited utility in a District Attorney’s race. As Norman Siegel likes to point out, different jobs require different skill sets. Nothing in Aborn’s background makes me think he can run the massive operation that is the Manhattan DA’s office, though to his credit he has stayed involved in criminal justice issues as a consultant for various candidates and agencies. One need only go to his website and check out his endorsements to get a sense of how much better the DA’s office would be if Aborn ran it. My question is, can he run it?
Cy Vance is a completely different animal. This guy is pure political pedigree, the son of Jimmy Carter’s Secretary of State, Cy Vance. I volunteered at a fundraiser for him at a fancy hotel in Union Square. The guest list was a whos-who of aristocratic New York families, including the Morganthaus. Vance’s politics are perfect for the Manhattan electorate, particularly the elite electorate- moderately progressive policies and tempered rhetoric, behind a clean cut handsome face. He is no threat to the status quo- he is the status quo, which in New York fortunately allows him to talk about the poor and the misguided war on drugs without being labeled a radical or a socialist. He is the most likely of the three candidates to run his office exactly as Morganthau does- so if you’re happy with the way things are, vote Vance. He is not as progressive as Aborn, however. His anointment is also jarring- Vance had lived in Seattle for 16 years before moving back to the city to run for this office. Cy Jones or Cy Smith could never run for DA if they had spent the majority of their careers three thousand miles away. If political nepotism makes you uncomfortable, Vance is not your choice. There is little doubt that he will keep the trains running on time, however- he’ll have the right people holding his hand to see to that.

Mad Hatters and the MTA

2009-07-17T10:57:00.000-07:00

“There aren’t enough opportunities for civil discourse like this,” Assemblyman Richard Brodsky beamed as he began his opening remarks Wednesday. The Museum of the City of New York was partnering with former Parks Commissioner Henry Stern’s good-government group, New York Civic, to host a discussion called “The Future of the M.T.A.” “Civil discourse” is one of Brodsky’s favorite phrases, along with “Soviet-style bureaucracy” and “fiduciary duty,” but this panel and audience was the wrong place to find it.

Stern prides himself tremendously on his non-partisanship, though like former Mayor Ed Koch, his neutrality often manifests in defining anything remotely left of center as extreme liberalism. To his credit, the panel he put together ran the political spectrum. Unfortunately, the ideologically disparate panelists were all well-versed on different topics, leading to a wildly disjointed conversation, and a painful Q ‘n A follow-up.

The first speaker, Councilmember Gail Brewer is an oddball by reputation. She is on the right side of tech issues, like expanding wireless access in New York City, but her impact on the panel was minimal. Her main idea seemed to be putting cameras on buses to take pictures of cars blocking bus lanes, an idea rejected by the State Assembly last year.

The second speaker was Assemblyman Brodsky, who I was looking forward to liking, given his work bringing attention to the outrageous tax subsidies Michael Bloomberg gave away for Yankee Stadium and Citi Field. Brodsky decried the lack of political and public will supporting improvements in the transportation, routine stuff. He obviously does not know Henry Stern (aka “Starquest”) all that well, because when Brodsky paid homage to two former state senators in attendance, Stern totally interrupted his flow to ask if he knew their connection to history. Rebuffed by Brodsky, who wanted to finish his prepared remarks, Stern later took the time to explain that the former legislators were responsible for New York City’s “pooper-scooper” laws in the late 70s, eliciting a round of applause from the audience. “We all owe these men gratitude for our streets being as clean as they are today.” Starquest at his best.

The third speaker, Nicole Gelinas of the right-wing Manhattan Institute, vomited five minutes of misleading statistics into the microphone, slamming educational spending, healthcare for government workers, and most importantly, labor unions. Stern loathes the Transit Workers Union, and blames them for most of the MTA’s ills. I can see why he wanted Gelinas on the panel. The two engaged in a decent amount of old-fashioned union-bashing till Brodsky thankfully stepped in, to another round of applause from an increasingly beleaguered crowd. Gelinas fumed that due to rush hour, many subway track inspectors don’t work hard for their entire 8-hour shift, unlike, say, think-tank writers. The vitriol with which she went after “blue-collar workers” was very un-Reaganlike.

The final speaker, Paul White, from Transportation Alternatives, seemed aware by the time things got to him that he was visiting the wrong zoo. He helpfully listed some MTA history, attributing much of the authority’s woes to city and state budget cuts in the early 90s, which led to an increased debt load, which everyone now agrees is the MTA’s biggest problem- the MTA is $28 billion in debt, spending $2 billion a year just on debt service. White also blamed the Feds, noting that federal highway programs requires as little as 10% in local matching funds, while local transit systems had to pay as much as 40%. Michelle Young, of Untapped New York, pointed out to me that there is no hard rule dictating these percentages, and that they are the result of competitive bidding, but that still means the federal government is clearly making local transit systems claw harder for smaller scraps of federal funding than rural highway programs.

Much of the crowd seemed unfamiliar with Stern, which is too bad, because golden moments, like his citing of Rule 18X6 (“The Devil Made Me Do It” – 18 letters, an excuse, 6 words) make absolutely no sense to someone unfamiliar with his Parks Department practice of proliferating dozens of insights to live by and codifying them as rules. After bizarrely attributing the MTA’s woes to the TWU, a union still weak and reeling from getting its ass kicked during the 2005 transit strike, he tried to be more even-handed, going after the corruption of the Pataki administration appointing Al D’Amato hacks to the MTA board. Man, what a sad state we live in.

Starquest's most charming anecdote involved his visit as a young councilman to Deputy Mayor Stanley Friedman’s office. Friedman apparently had a poster reading “Crime Doesn’t Pay… As Well As Politics” on his wall, and had his initials carved into the lenses of his glasses. Friedman, the notorious future Bronx Borough President, was eventually sent to jail for corruption. Starquest has more interesting anecdotes about New York City politics than anyone I know, but the crowd was not in the mood, hissing for him to let the ever growing line of audience members ask their questions.

The disappointing panel was followed by a more depressing question and answer period. I had assumed a certain level of intellectual self-selection for people attending this event, most of whom either are on the New York Civic mailing list or members of the Museum. Indeed, many of the audience questioners were well-dressed folks with lofty titles, or bizarre ones (“I own the air rights under the 148th street 2-train station.”). One questioner proposed that the MTA be placed under the control of the Port Authority. Another asked why there weren’t more bikers in Westchester County. Honestly, this is why we have such few “forums for civil discourse.” The fact is, most of our elected officials are either corrupt or incompetent, and the citizenry they represent is largely apathetic or crazy.

My friend Rachel once expressed disappointment that her computer repairman was having trouble fixing a hard drive issue. The repairman solemnly looked up at her and remarked, “It’s pretty amazing that this computer can work at all.” That’s how I feel about New York City and the United States of America, but so it goes, so it went, and so it keep going and going, all of us just keep trucking along.

When a short, wide-eyed gentleman took the mic, he finally added some common sense into the discussion, asking why New York City couldn’t take control of the subway and bus systems and regulate them as city entities, noting that Councilman Tony Avella has introduced such a bill in the City Council. Unfortunately, even the most rational question had to be asked by a man shouting into the microphone at the top of his lungs. It was jarring.

Brodsky, who chairs the Transportation Committee in the Assembly, readily promised to hold hearings on the matter, should it pass the City Council, calling it a “reasonable question.” This startling concession could be chalked up as typical political blow-hardism, but Brodsky is one of the few people in the state with the clout to make this idea move. Since only one reporter and very few of his constituents were at the event, I doubt he’ll ever follow up on it. Plus, having Avella sponsor the bill won’t exactly endear it to the Bloomberg/Quinn cabal. Oh well, I’ll bring the issue up if I ever see him around. Thank you New York Civic, for a bizarre evening. Democracy is entertaining, just don’t expect too much from it.

Oh, and the future of the MTA? I suppose it too will keep trucking along, carrying its mad hatter passengers, operated by its unwieldy union, managed by its incompetent political hacks, criticized by rabid ideologues, discussed by New York’s mad hatter citizens, and still standing, always barely, forty years after it was created by the Rockefellers to stop Robert Moses. Like the War of the Titans that consumed Mount Olympus, the MTA was born out of a power struggle beyond the grasp of regular citizens, and if anyone wants real MTA reform, they need to wait for the participants of that next great struggle to declare themselves. I’m guessing State Senator Pedro Espada will not be one of them.

Check out new Janos blog!

2009-07-01T17:50:00.000-07:00

Dear all,
I know this site has been dormant forever. There are good reasons/excuses for that. I've been heavily involved in a few local campaigns, to the point that I wouldn't feel sharing information that the campaigns might consider internal. Clearly that was not a problem on the Obama campaign. I've also been evaluating options for livingthedream.org, which should go live this summer. Finally, I have started a new site that will feature daily posts, GeneticsLaw.blogspot.com. I encourage you to check out the intro post. The opportunities to foster discussion about some critical issues that affect all of us are limitless. I hope to see you all there.

Again: GeneticsLaw.blogspot.com

And should the muses give me a kick in the ass, you may see a dispatch down the road. It's not as if Michael Jackson coverage, Obama's broken promises, the future of the NBA and the situation in Iran don't stir the blood!

Janos v. Kos

2009-04-16T21:37:00.000-07:00

Earlier this evening, Kos, founder of DailyKos, one of my favorite sites for several reasons, launched into this misguided screed: http://www.dailykos.com/storyonly/2009/4/16/720821/-Why-yesterdays-protests-were-stupid
It slams the tea-baggers, which we all know was a tough journalistic assignment, but also totally disses Code Pink and street protesting generally in the process. Why Kos felt compelled to rip apart another aspect of the same broader movement he's part of is beyond me, but my response is below, and cross-posted at DailyKos here:
http://www.dailykos.com/story/2009/4/16/721107/-Tirades-against-Code-Pink-wrong-and-unhelpful
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Why Tirades Against Code Pink Are Wrong and Unhelpful

While I back Kos about 95% of the time, his bizarre screed against Code Pink makes no sense. Kos should not belittle activists who work towards the same causes he does, but if he is going to slam two organizations whose anti-Bush opposition predated DailyKos, I’d like to at least rebut with what street protesting has meant to me, and the specific experiences I’ve had with these organizations.

I’ll start by agreeing with Kos on a couple key points. Street protests often accomplish little individually. They are sometimes poorly run, and the messaging can be very muddled. ANSWER peddles simplistic and trite anti-imperialism lines that no one takes seriously. This much I’ll concede.

In mid-September of 2001, when like most New Yorkers, I was shell-shocked from 9/11, I trudged up to Dartmouth to begin my sophomore year of college. The country was rumbling towards war in Afghanistan. Something in my heart told me that it wasn’t right to bomb a destitute country “back to the stone age” over the actions of terrorists hiding out in caves. With some effort I tracked down a group of students going down to Washington to protest the war. Twenty of us in two vans drove through the night to attend the ANSWER-led protest rally, joining between 10,000 and 15,000. We were a proud part of the 9% that did not support a reckless invasion and a lengthy occupation.
I can speak to the sentiments offered by Cas2 in response to Kos, part of the benefit of the trip was a “feel-good/solidarity” notion. But it was more than that.

When we returned to campus, the core from that trip formed the Dartmouth Progressives. Over the next three years (and beyond, though I graduated), this group published our campus liberal newspaper, hosted speakers, and led efforts in local and national activism. To this day, I can count several close friends from that van ride. Stepping back more generally, protests are a chance for people to see, not just hear, but to see before their own eyes, that there are thousands of people who think like them, who are passionate about the same causes as them (at least!). That was truly eye opening for me at that first rally, and lord knows how many of my friends had similar experiences during the protests leading up to the war in Iraq, which featured thousands of “normal” people marching in the streets.

They felt GOOD at those rallies! And why not? There is an empowering feeling to walking down Pennsylvania Avenue, chanting “whose streets? Our streets!” Sometimes, sorry, almost all the time, America has to be woken out of its slumber. Why did it take Camp Casey to wake people up to the war, Katrina to expose the Bush administration, the AIG bonuses to get people asking questions about bailout money? A good protest is like a strong cup of coffee in the morning.

Would I ever suggest that marching up and down a pre-selected march route will change a policy by itself? Of course not. Neither will blogging. Would I prefer that a different group than ANSWER run these big protests? Probably. And I will show up when well-organized, on message, politically pragmatic people start regularly organizing major demonstrations. But I won’t hold my breath waiting for that to happen.

Now on to Code Pink. Kos laid out four principles for protests to live by, based on his vast experience/observations.
1. Be novel or unexpected
2. Have a sympathetic, singular, and media-friendly message
3. Provide great visuals
4. Tap into a hot-button and timely issue

1. How often do you see old women leading a protest movement? Or even women, which is part of their point.
2. Say what you want about Code Pink, but they have a simple message (end the war) delivered by sympathetic (ok, sometimes sympathic) women. Code Pink also delves into other tangents now and then, but war is their bread and butter. No more wars. Simplistic, but right more often than not looking at the past fifty years.
3. Um, they are DRENCHED IN PINK.
4. Even though this answer applies more to ANSWER, any issue that can get thousands of people in the streets is a hot-button and timely issue. And the war in Iraq is a timely issue. People are still there dying. The escalation in Afghanistan is timely- it was just ordered. I actually admire Code Pink, both for taking off Inauguration Day from protesting, and for continuing the protests the next day. It will be untimely for Code Pink to protest war when we don’ have any more war.

In the interest of full disclosure, anyone who clicks on my profile will see that I helped put together weekly events in Union Square, NYC, from February-April called “Make Out Not War”, which were affiliated with CodePink. Though Make Out Not War never garnered many spontaneous make out sessions like we envisioned, we handed out hundreds of Make Out Not War stickers, posed for many photographers, from amateurs to local media, and we spoke to primarily young passerbys about the war. We had regulars who joined us, and of that group, few had any serious activist history. And as far I know, we followed the Four Kos Principles. It wasn’t the best protest ever organized, but if it reminded even a few people that we are still fighting a senseless war, campaign promise or not, then it was worth it.

In closing, I’ll say this- it takes all kinds to make a progressive movement. We all know this. That’s why we donate money to our favorite progressive candidates. That’s why we knock on doors. That’s why we stop work to read a diary post by a blogger we’ve never met or heard of. I’ve been reading DailyKos since 2003, and touting it since I first laid eyes on it. But some people just want to march in the streets. I, for one, think every part of the movement helps it move forward, and at different times have contributed to as many parts as I can. So thank you, Kos, for helping keep this excellent site running, and let’s please not pretend we can get anything done without being in the streets, where all the people are.

Fear and Loathing in the Graveyard of Empires

2009-04-07T23:28:00.001-07:00

I have always appreciated the freshness that President Obama brought to a broken, artificial political process. Only a few years removed from anonymity and relative powerlessness himself, Obama understands and fears the power of the mainstream media and special interest groups to shape and drive debate in this country. Throughout the campaign, particularly the more intimate settings of early primary season, I saw Obama plead for us, the Democratic primary voters, the progressive supporters, to hold him accountable once he won. He does not want people like me to support him blindly, he wants us to tug on him to the left, make some noise, and raise some hell, because God knows how many insidious forces will give no quarter in dragging him in the wrong direction.

That is why my honeymoon period with the President is over. Let’s start with the first issue to ever move me to the streets, the senseless war in Afghanistan. From the beginning it was a misguided adventure, where we sent 15 year old boys with pitchforks and rifles as proxies to fight the Taliban on the ground, carpet bombing and incinerating the already devastated countryside with 15,000 pound Daisy Cutters and dropping yellow cluster bombs that looked tragically like yellow food package drops. Children continued to be maimed by cluster bombs that failed to diffuse on impact long after our initial invasion. And despite the death of as many Afghani civilians as died on our soil on September 11th, we had little to show for our effort- most of Al Qaeda’s leadership had escaped, along with one-eyed Taliban leader Mullah Omar. We installed an oil hack, Hamid Karzai, as the glorified mayor of Kabul. Seven years later, the Karzai presidency faces its first serious electoral test, facing Haji Baryalai, whose main platform is reconciling with moderate members of the Taliban. Yeah democracy! That was worth it! Can we leave now?

Unfortunately not. President Obama wants to double-down, sending at least 30,000 more troops to a land that is actually called “the graveyard of empires.” It’s funny, during general elections all candidates are expected to make promises they don’t keep- just part of the game. When Obama would constantly bring up sending more troops to Afghanistan, it seemed like a pretty transparent ploy to make him seem tough, given his very well known (some chicken hawks would call it ‘weak’) position on withdrawing from Iraq. Especially when the recession could have given him an economic excuse, or at least sufficiently distracted the public, it seemed like the Afghanistan troop surge would quietly exit. And yet, here he is, sending more troops without any political demand whatsoever. It’s one of the few campaign promises he’s been able to follow through on. This insistence not only surprised me, but probably our European allies, who probably also thought he had been bluffing all along. When he went to Europe last week to ask him for more troops, the main response was, “No, are you joking?” Italy, France and Germany may send something like 2400 troops to help monitor elections, but then they’ll bounce. No, it will just be us, hanging out, living out a wretched, doomed plan.

Shockingly, the American people may actually come around on Afghanistan faster than the President. A USA Today/Gallup poll released on March 17 showed that 42% of Americans thought the U.S “made a mistake in occupying Afghanistan”, a number so mind-blowing that I did a triple-take when I passed a newsstand that morning and saw it. The recession is clearly a factor- the number was only 30% a year ago, and has been on a steady trajectory since its all-time low of 6% in January of 2002, back when we “won.” Maybe Americans don’t see the point in propping up a corrupt government in a country that exports 75% of the world’s heroin (though not 75% of the world’s heroines). Whatever the reason for the change of heart, I’ll take it, because that’s a number that will only go up.

I’d feel worse about opposing the troop escalation if it had any logical basis to it. Apparently, the current problem in Afghanistan is our troops are too centralized, and when we raid outposts in the countryside, extremist groups/Taliban/Al-Qaeda/local tribes tend to regroup as soon as we leave. Our solution is to send these reinforcements to stay at the outposts, so these enemies can’t regroup. And I imagine that these people, who have lived in the area for thousands of years, will eventually be discouraged by our makeshift barracks and surrender, bringing true democracy to Afghanistan. Assuming our presence in those regions last…forever?
Oh, and how could I leave out the “training”? You know, training the troops and the police officers. The thing we were so good at in Iraq. I’ve actually spoken to someone who had to train cops in Afghanistan, who told me the biggest problem he faced was illiteracy. “You can’t even give them a manual, assuming you had one in their language in the first place.” I understand that Obama is genuinely nervous about that region of the world imploding. After all, Pakistan is a deeply unstable nuclear state, and Waziristan is truly a threat to regional and global security. Sending unmanned drones in to blow up wedding parties and civilian homes isn’t going to solve the terrorist recruitment problem, though. The solution lies in partnering with India and Pakistan, both of whom have serious concerns about Waziristan-driven terrorism.

The politically savvy-to-the-point-of-cynicism in me says that perhaps Obama is only out front on Afghanistan to neutralize Republicans on the only issue that they could even lay a glove on him for in the ’08 elections, which is national security/foreign policy. Republicans have completely lost the battle on social issues (See Iowa) and Obama’s domestic plan, including the stimulus, is extremely popular. Cut off on foreign policy, Republicans will likely turn to nativist anti-immigration screeching and try to tie Obama to the bailout crisis, the latter being Obama’s biggest political vulnerability today. If all this ruminating is correct, Obama will turn around once his cute little “Afghani-surge” is over and bring the troops home.

On a related note, please continue to join us for Make Out Not War on Saturdays, 4pm-5pm, in Union Square. In my mind, this is the war I am making out against.

On a happier note, please enjoy David Bowie and Bing Crosby singing Christmas carols: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-OTQmVOqJU
I know. It’s been a weird day.

Make Out Not War!

2009-03-08T22:02:00.000-07:00

This was cross-posted over at dailykos.com . Hopefully I'll get to posting the photos here too, not just providing links...
..................................................

Yesterday the latest CODEPINK production, Make Out Not War!, celebrated its third session in Union Square, New York City. Merging with Free Hugs movement and a few anti-war musicians, we had an absolute blast, and can't wait to return in ever greater numbers until the war comes to an end. More below the fold, including pics.

*

CODEPINK women and men believe that it is important to create a visible reminder that the President has to stick to his promise to end the war. Therefore, we are launching a new campaign: Make Out Not War!

Here are a few pics from first two MONWs:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/36147705@N08/3334632668/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/36147705@N08/3334632656/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/36147705@N08/3334632656/

Union Square is always full of activities on sunny Saturdays, and one steady presence is the delightful Free Hugs Movement. Yesterday we realized how much we had in common, and initiated one of the more successful mergers of 2009:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/36147705@N08/3339647907/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/36147705@N08/3339688105/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/36147705@N08/3340546308/
Hopefully the Free Huggers will be a permanent part of our coalition!

The festivities will continue every Saturday from 4pm-5pm, in Union Square, underneath the George Washington statue, around the inexplicable lifeguard chair- until the war ends. So BYO lovers, friends, kissing partner or find a friendly peacemaker in the street! Also, while making out is encouraged, you can also hand out stickers, or just engage passer-bys about the war. As if you need more of a reason to come, we have wonderful after-parties.

Sign Up For the Facebook Event:
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/event.php?eid=55630255853

Feel free to start your own MONW chapters around the country. We had some friends in Miami kicks things off this weekend. We can send you MONW stickers to pass out in the streets.

If you want to let us know about a branch you're starting, or send us fun pictures, just email makeoutnotwarnyc@gmail.com .

Everyone have a great week, and do your part to make out, not war.

A Tale of Two Hearings

2009-02-18T23:42:00.000-08:00

A Tale of Two Hearings

The desperate attempts to salvage New York City’s public transportation have led to a convoluted political chess game, theater and reality hopelessly blurred together. The fourth wall is down. A few weeks ago I had the immense privilege of attending the Brooklyn Borough MTA Public Hearing at the Brooklyn Bridge Marriot. Still stinging from being shut out of the Manhattan hearing, I showed up especially early, and even got myself on the speakers list, representing the Williamsburg/Greenpoint community group, Neighbors Allied for Good Growth. A friendly woman handed me a placard that said, ‘Speaker.’

“You’re one of the first people not on the pre-registered list!”

I frowned. “How many people are on the pre-registered list?”

“About 100. Maybe more. But you’re probably tenth on the second list.”

I churned the math real quick. Three minutes per speaker, give or take 100 speakers- that had me speaking at 12:30am, assuming the meeting started on time and ran smoothly.

I took a seat in the fifth row. My section was about as diverse as a New York City subway car. Behind me were a few angry black women holding signs. To my right was an old Russian man missing most of his teeth. Next to him were several blind women and a Marxist MTA union organizer. In front of me was a Hasidim crew, surrounding the bubbly Councilman Simcha Felder. I was with my friend Rachel and a journalist from the Williamsburg Courier.

It was 7pm, a half hour late, when the meeting was finally called to order. The Marriot ballroom was filled with hundreds of rambunctious subway and bus riders ready to make hell. They got their chance right away as the MTA Board Members took their seats. These politically appointed hacks, mostly from the Pataki administration, were seated across a long table facing the crowd, about thirty feet from a velvet rope line, reminding the audience that they were very different people. On our side of the rope line was the podium, equipped with a little scoreboard to let speakers know how much time they had left. I thought that was neat.

The MTA Executive Director, Lee Sander, introduced each of the 12 Board Members present one by one. Each name was greeted by a tremendous round of booing.

“Andrew Saul.”

“BOOOOOOO!”

“David Mack.”

“BOOOOOOOOOO!”

“John Banks.” Mixture of booing and scattered applause.

“Carl Wortendyke.”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The Courier journalist turned to me. “This is like going to a Knicks game- booing the home team before we’ve even started.”

Having just been booed for several minutes, Sander announced that despite the 200 person waiting list of speakers, the evening would begin with testimony from elected officials. Felder and I later shared our discontent about this policy in the men’s room, agreeing that elected officials had ample platforms to make statements, and should not cut into the only time allotted to regular citizens to address the MTA Board. Felder has a good sense of humor, and had declined to sit with his City Council colleagues so he could heckle them from the peanut gallery.

Things started off with a thunderous tongue-lashing from Brooklyn Borough Prez Marty Markowitz to the Board, who are legally not allowed to respond during these hearings. Things were uneven thereafter- the parade of City Council members, Assembly members, and State Senators included the shrill, the redundant, and the hopelessly inarticulate. We were awakened from the soporific drone when fierce Bloomberg critic, Councilwoman Letitia James, got to the mic and began, “I’m just gonna throw this out. This is a racist board!”

At that point I looked up and realized that, in fact, on the stage in front of me were ten old white men, a white woman, and a black man. Of course 11/12 doesn’t mean the Board members themselves are racist- there probably just weren’t a lot of minorities who donated heavily to the Pataki re-election campaigns.

The accusation did stir the room up though. The Marxists went back to distributing their literature (their main argument was that the subway should cost a dollar per ride, which seemed ridiculous until I realized that their plan also called for a revolution, at which point subway costs would probably not be the most pressing issue). Staffers for elected officials distributed little placards reading “B75”, “B48” and such, so that when their boss railed against “the service cuts to the B25”, audience members with B25 placards would wave them and shriek. Many of the speakers ended their rants with “Praised be to our President Barack Obama!” at which point the whole gallery would burst into cheers. Supporting “change, like our great President Barack Obama” seemed to be the only thing the whole crowd could agree on besides how much they hated MTA Board Members. I kicked myself for not having a flask so I could take a swig every time a speaker used the word “Draconian” to describe the budget cuts. It was the most fun I’d had on a weeknight in a while.

After about 55 speakers, however, no theme seemed novel anymore. When even the sun-glass toting Mr. X couldn’t get me fired up, I knew it was time to go. The momentum in the room had discernibly shifted from tirades about bus and subway lines to the topic of Access-A-Ride. This little known service essentially runs semi-regular van routes for disabled persons. The disabled community had come out for full force, at least 100 deep, and they were PISSED. Apparently, the MTA fare hikes included a proposal increasing Access-A-Ride from $3 to $6 in some areas, and from $3.50 to $7 in others. This was bad enough to elicit gasps of horror, since most of Access-A-Ride riders are on fixed income due to their age or physical handicaps. But their point went beyond that- Access-A-Ride is also apparently a disastrously run operation at its current cost. One after another, individuals told horror stories of waiting in the cold, or waiting in the dark for hours, waiting for their van ride that never came. If the imagery of an old blind woman waiting on a dark street by herself in the middle of winter for three hours isn’t bad enough, imagine telling that woman that now she’ll have to pay 100% more for the same service.

The Brooklyn public hearing may have been fun, but its usefulness as anything but a ventilation of frustration was questionable. That’s why this afternoon I braved the rain to Borough Hall, Brooklyn, where my own State Senator Martin Milave Dilan, the Chairman of the State Senate Transportation Committee, was holding hearings on the Ravitch Report. Also in attendance were my former State Senator Bill Perkins, the new political hotshot, 29 year-old State Senator Dan Squadron, and the gay-bashing State Senator Ruben Diaz, who left about ten minutes into the second presentation. With all due respect to the State Senators, who I’m sure had fundraisers to attend to later, 1:30pm-4:30pm seemed like an inconvenient time to have a hearing of this importance. It turned out that the room could only hold about 60 people, however, so between staffers, press, speakers and one curious law student, everyone was accounted for, and there was no room for the public anyway.

The hearing was scheduled for 1:30pm, with twenty minutes allotted per speaker. Aware of how local New York political events operate, I arrived at 2:30, having missed only one speaker, Comptroller Bill Thompson. We actually bumped into each other rounding a corner. We made weird eye contact, and I was going to tell him that whoever is running his Mayor’s race volunteer operation is terrible at getting back to people, but I didn’t feel like getting an underpaid campaign worker in trouble. Besides, Richard Ravitch, the illustrious maven of New York transportation, was about to begin his testimony.

Ravitch is one of those people who just exudes gravitas. He’s been around the political block- after starting his career in affordable housing development and working on an Urban Problems commission under LBJ, Ravitch worked for Governor Carey during New York’s budget crisis in the late 70s, was credited for salvaging the MTA as its Chairman from 1979-1983, and ran for Mayor in 1989 Democratic primary, where he got swamped by Ed Koch and the victor, David Dinkins.

Last year, when it dawned on elected officials and MTA leadership that their budget was a train wreck, they created the Ravitch Commission, so that the aging former chairman could take the heat for making the unpopular proposals that the politicians were too cowardly to make themselves. To cushion the blow Ravitch was sure to deliver, the MTA released its own “solution”, which called for 23% fare increases and massive service cuts. Seeing Ravitch and MTA CEO Sander speak back to back clarified it all of for me. All the wild public hearings, which I had suspected were just a ruse to for the legislature to give Sander more money to play with, were more specifically a ruse to make the Ravitch Report seem like a more palatable alternative. Sander, after all, is on the Ravitch Commission.

For fifty minutes, Ravitch hammered home the major findings of his report, which, by the way, clocks in at a bathroom reading-worthy 19 pages. Apparently 19 pages are all it takes to solve the biggest budget deficit in MTA history. You can read it for yourselves here: http://www.ny.gov/governor/press/pdf/press_1204082.pdf

The proposal has a few key recommendations.

First, a payroll tax in all 12 MTA-serviced counties. This would raise $1.5 billion.

Second, toll the currently free East River bridges: the Brooklyn Bridge, Manhattan Bridge, Williamsburg Bridge and 59^th Street Bridge.

Third, raise tolls and fares by 8%, and raise fares by smaller amounts on a steady basis, so we don’t need a major one-time hike like this in the future.

That’s essentially it. They got the best minds on this issue into the room together, and they solved it- raise taxes, charge tolls on free bridges and raise fares. That’s how you avoid cutting services, Ravitch proudly proclaimed. The report has been endorsed by Governor Paterson, Mayor Bloomberg, environmental groups and construction groups.

Ravitch made a strong case for his report. The elephant in the room, of course, is that Dilan’s district is home to several of the bridges that would suddenly face these tolls. It is a sensitive issue. To some extent the free bridges symbolize New York as one city, as opposed to the gilded isle of Manhattan and its ugly step-brothers. I’ve certainly driven across the Williamsburg Bridge to take care of errands in Manhattan that required a car, and more often I’ve shared inexpensive cab rides home across the bridge from the Lower East Side, in no small part because of the L Train’s pitiful late night performance, especially on weekends. But I ultimately agree that it is not fair for one random community of New York to have access to all of these free bridges, when all City taxpayers are billed for its maintenance. As the Environmental Defense Fund later pointed out, the ratio of Brooklynites who use public transportation over driving to work in Manhattan is 17 to 1, and the tolls come with a promise of increased bus service over the bridges. Oddly, the toll proponents are quite insistent that the tolls be unmanned and cash free, a system that has been enacted many places, but certainly not in New York. They didn’t have time to explain how that detail would work or how long it would take to set up in the confines of the 19-page report.

Among Ravitch’s most interest revelations was that his group had considered Comptroller Bill Thompson’s idea to raise revenues by increasing car registration fees based on car size. The Commission had not pursued that lead after learning from Governor Paterson that he completely supported the fees, but wanted to use them to pay for the costs of state bridge and highway repairs. If Paterson follows through on that plan, it will strip Thompson of one of his most potent issues, one of the few ways he has articulated how a Thompson administration would handle a major issue differently than a Bloomberg administration.

Next up on the bill was MTA CEO Lee Sander. He was generally smooth and in sharp control of his presentation, beginning with a recitation of how sweet the MTA’s progress had been over the last 27 years. Ridership is up 50% in the last ten years. Crazy! We should give these guys a medal. How did they pull it off? Oh wait, that’s when Sander dropped the first of his dreary states.

Today, the MTA faces at least a $1.2 billion budget gap. The MTA has always spent some money on debt servicing, but it seems that in the 90s the Board got a little carried away, borrowing heavily to pay for capital improvements. While ten years ago the MTA was paying $500 million for debt servicing, that figure has tripled to $1.5 billion (hence the payroll tax) and will soon reach $2 billion, accounting for 17% of the MTA’s entire budget. This places the MTA as the fifth largest debt holder in the United States, behind California, New York, Massachusetts and New York City.

That’s just the beginning. Another way the MTA has traditionally stayed afloat has been taking a percentage of tax revenues, including the real estate transaction tax. The lost revenues for the upcoming year figure close to another BILLION dollars.

In the face of these calamities, Sander essentially went on the record today saying that if the Ravitch Report was not adopted, New Yorkers should get used to a $3 single ride, $7 tolls, and the elimination of the free subway to bus transfer, in addition to a “drastic reduction in non-peak subway services” and the laying off of 1100 MTA employees, or “as many as civil service laws will permit.”

Somehow this wasn’t the worst news. Sander then explained that the $30 billion capital budget, separate from the $11 billion operating budget, was completely unfunded. He broke down the capital budget as follows: $22 billion was needed to replace buses, train cars, fix station platforms, train signals, etc. Approximately $5 billion was needed to continue the Second Avenue line, which has run out of federal grant money. Another $3 billion was needed to plan for future growth to meet growing demands in burgeoning communities. Apparently, out of that $30 billion, Sander is sure that he has secured… zero dollars.

At this point, Senator Perkins asked the question on everyone’s mind: “Can we expect some help from Obama’s stimulus? How would that affect his numbers?”

Sander explained that he was expecting a little over $1 billion in aid from the federal government. Of that amount, $500 million would go to the Fulton Street Transit Center, which won’t even begin construction until 2010.

The next time you hear Republicans bemoaning all the “pork” in the stimulus, thank them and those heralded “moderate Senators”, because the compromise bill that was practically written by Arlen Spector and Susan Collins cut three BILLION dollars from the House bill that would have been directed to fixing New York City’s transportation infrastructure. Congressman Nadler has been legendary for years for his ability to secure New Yorkers transportation funding, and he probably lies in bed every night, staring at the ceiling, wondering where that three billion ended up.

When the Ravitch Report was released in December, Ravitch warned ominously that if the legislature did not act immediately, the dreaded fare hikes could begin as soon as January. Today, Sander warned the Senators that if they did not act quickly, they could see fare hikes and service cuts as soon as March. We’ll see.

I left Borough Hall a little overwhelmed, but also feeling a sense of deja vous. If our public officials have learned anything, it’s that the American people are extremely reluctant to embrace big change unless they are scared to death. Invade a country halfway across the world? That’s absurd. Throw in some terror-mongering, and we support invading Iraq. Spend money on healthcare or education? Never! Henry Paulson says he needs $700 billion TODAY or the financial system collapses? Oh, ok! For better or worse, it seems like the Ravitch Report is our only option. But that is, of course, what we have been trained to believe.

Thus, after all that, the MTA, already a tragically unaccountable institution, has placed its entire future in the hands of two men, one of whom hasn’t held a government position in decades, another who was appointed by Eliot Spitzer. No accountability, just a lot of money, and no clear way out. Mark my words, friends, New York City public transportation is about to get a lot worse. Take a good look around your next couple commutes. Breath in your surroundings, so you’ll always remember what moderately decent service was like.

But I won’t let this end on a “the economy is doomed forever” note. The economy actually might be doomed forever, who knows, but the MTA- it will eventually turn around.

It’s like George Harrison said, “It’s not always gonna be this grey, all things must pass, all things must pass away: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vm_N3bjqlr4&feature=related .

No, I’m not worried about New York City. This city will always be destination for the third world immigrant who can take the low paying job we don’t want and still find a way to send money home. New York will always have an apartment for purchase from a trust-fund baby who loves the city as much we do. New York will always welcome the gorgeous aspiring theater girl, the starry-eyed poet from the Midwest, the rock and rollers who hop on a Greyhound bus with a duffel bag, a guitar and a pair of forties. People will come from across the country and world to study at our incredible colleges and graduate programs. Scientists will work in our labs. Star athletes will play on our fields and in our arenas (Hi, Lebron). Tourists will always visit us to see the sites and buy cheap electronics. People will always pursue their dreams in this city, and hopefully enough of them will swipe their Metrocards to turn this MTA crisis around.

For now, we’ll just need to wait a little longer for the next train. My advice: for the next couple years, when you’re using public transit, always have something to read. If you’ve been reading this, I hope you’re enjoying your ride.

Some 2010 Senate analysis

2009-01-29T22:30:00.000-08:00

A little something I posted over at DailyKos, my first "Diary" there, in fact:
http://www.dailykos.com/story/2009/1/30/0424/77019/794/690776

These are my initial observations on the 2010 New Hampshire Senate race. I'll concede that my conceptions of New Hampshire are colored in part by my experiences there 2002-2004, which is before the Democratic revolution of 2006. I have done my best to keep up with the times though. Since this was an intro to a different blogging community, it's heavy on analysis and light on wild anecdotes, but that will change in time.

Gregg as formidable 2010 foe

by janosnation [Subscribe] [Edit Diary]

Thu Jan 29, 2009 at 09:59:02 PM PST

In light of the Gregg for Commerce Secretary rumors, this is a narrowly tailored diary addressing the 2010 NH Senate election. It seems that some in the community have shown commendable, but perhaps misguided optimism about our chance to take this seat in 2010. If this seat is as unlikely a takeover as I suggest it is, then appointing Gregg and leaving Gov. Lynch to appoint the magical #60 may be in our best interests. This diary does not consider what Gregg would be like as Commerce Secretary, which Black Mage covers here: http://http://www.dailykos.com/story... . So for a crash course on dealing with Rethug Empires in New Hampshire, check out below the fold.

First, Judd Gregg is from one of the three titan families of New Hampshire Republican politics. Jeanne Shaheen took down the scion of the Sununu family, Sen. John Sununu, last year, and Paul Hodes took out Rep. Charlie Bass in 2006. It would appear fitting to knock out Senator Judd to complete the tri-fecta. But Judd is not as much of a lightweight as the other two.

John Sununu was a lame creature, with zero charisma, who would never have been able to match the record of his father. John H. Sununu had been a three-term governor, and George H.W's Chief of Staff. Little John barely beat Shaheen in the 2002 "national security" elections, a race that will always be remembered for the phone-jamming scandal that led to the imprisonment of multiple Republican Party operatives.

Charlie Bass was a third-generation pol who rode the 1994 landslide to victory over the colorfully-named Democratic incumbent, Dick Swett. He held his seat with numbers that rarely left the mid-50s, despite his very moderate positions. As a personal anecdote, I was able to visit his office as a member of a college delegation, and when I asked him what his favorite thing about being a Congressman was, he answered, "It's really fun when the Speaker gives me the gavel and I get to sit up in that big chair and run the show." Cute, but typically lightweight. Still, count me as among the surprised when Hodes, who had lost by 20 points in 2004, knocked him out in 2006.

Judd Gregg is the son of Hugh Gregg, a former governor and powerful leader of the business community and the Republican Party in NH for decades. He is known for his zealous defense of NH's first in the nation primary status, as bi-partisan an issue in the state as any. Judd has far surpassed his father's record, however. After spending four terms in the House, Gregg was twice elected Governor, from '89-93. In '92, Gregg won election to the Senate, and has cruised to re-elections twice since. He is without a doubt the most powerful political institution in the state. Which is not to say, of course, that he doesn't suck, and we shouldn't take him down. I'm just here to point out that it will not be easy.

Paul Hodes is a great guy. He is also coincidentally one of the few people I know who shares my high school and college alma mater. I had the privilege of sharing the stage with him on a panel about the 2004 election (I worked as a Kerry staffer) at our old high school, and he was very friendly. He is a good rep for the 2nd District, and would be an easy candidate to get behind in 2010. But let's be clear- he is not the rising star of the Democratic Party that some on this site, including Kos, make him out to be. He is only four years younger than Gregg (57 and 61, respectively). His candidacy would also certainly throw the 2nd district into toss-up status.

An ARG Poll from a few weeks ago showed Gregg leading Hodes 47-40, which is encouraging (Shea-Porter was also polled, but forget about her winning this seat).
Poll here: http://www.bluehampshire.com/...
I am absolutely not saying that this seat is 'unwinnable'. But having observed the last few cycles pretty closely, this race seems most similar to Susan Collins v. Tom Allen in Maine. Unlike Conrad Burns, George Allen and Rick Santorum, Gregg is neither a crazy old man, a racist, nor a right-wing lunatic. He is more savvy than the many Republican deuschebag Senators who were too cocky to listen to the rumblings on the ground. Gregg will likely continue to vote here and there for headline-grabbing Obama bills that make him look accommodating.

In conclusion:

If Hodes chooses to run, we should absolutely support him to the fullest.

This Senate race will be a tough, uphill battle.

If people really, really want this Senate seat, either right now, or in 2010, the Commerce Secretary offer seems like a decent trade off.

Whether that trade-off is something that can be morally or pragmatically stomached, I'll leave to all of you.

Fear and Loathing in the Purple Tunnel of Doom

2009-01-23T15:20:00.000-08:00

It was fitting that we ended the last hours of the Bush administration in a cold, dark tunnel, being fed misinformation. Kate Gage had delivered us three elusive Purple tickets the midnight before the inauguration. Purple section tickets, and their blue counterparts, got you into a viewing area in front of the Reflecting Pool, well in front of the Mall. Weary of possible long lines, despite D.C relative tranquility in the days leading to the Inauguration, we had arrived at the Purple Gate at 7am, two hours before it was set to open. We were greeted by the longest line I have ever seen in my life.

The line flowed about two city blocks before a parked bus wreaked havoc, splintering the official line into a series of hydra-like offshoots. We followed one of these off-shoots for two more blocks before a group of policemen shuttled us, and our purple-ticket bearing brothers and sisters, into the 3^rd Street Tunnel. We marched into the abyss, finding the end of the line 20 minutes later. It was now 7:30am. We shivered for the next few hours, finally emerging into the sunlight at 11am, only to realize that there were no longer any policemen in the area, and that people had been cutting the entire tunnel line for hours.

The Purple Tunnel of Doom has become something of a legend, spawning a Washington Post article and a Facebook Group (I Survived the Purple Tunnel of Doom). Nothing awful happened down there, and there was even occasional happy chanting. But Dianne Feinstein’s Inauguration Committee really, really dropped the ball on this one. For hours, there were 20,000 people in a freezing tunnel, where cell phones don’t work, without any police supervision or staffers providing instruction. There was definitely a risk of a stampede or medical emergency, two of the many morbid scenarios we discussed to pass the 3.5 hours we spent down there. The steady flow of people joining the line (masochistically having to push through the packed tunnel crowd only to get in the very back of it) and our slow but sure advancement had convinced me that we were in at least a real line, but alas.

When we got out of the tunnel, and realized our 3.5 hours of waiting had been in vain, we charged towards the Purple Gate, still three blocks away. Thousands of other people had the same idea, and by 11:15am a giant mob had amassed on First and C, where it turned out that the Purple Gate wasn’t even open. Ticket-holders were told to go to another location, which was impossible, because no one could move at all. At this point, we made an executive decision. We are mobile, resourceful, and not afraid to push, so we probably could have made a last desperate effort for the remaining open gate. Even if we succeeded, however, we would probably have terrible spots, lacking proper audio, visual, or both. Bewilderingly, there were no speakers or screens outside Capital Hill, so if we were going to find another location, we’d have to book it.

The first three bars were full or reserved, and by 11:30am we had resigned ourselves to trekking back to Carrie Chess’s apartment, where we could at least watch the Inauguration on television. On the way, however, we spotted an old church with a banner reading, “Inauguration Welcome Center.” Old ladies were selling Obama buttons outside of it. We thought, ‘what the hell’, and asked if they had a TV. It turned out that they were having a viewing party, and had erected a big-screen at the front of the basement. The room was decorated with Obama paraphernalia, festooned in red, white and blue, and about 100, mostly elderly, African-American church members sat watching the ceremonies. There was also free tea, and a handful of soldiers who had come off of their street duties to watch the ceremony. Nearly delirious with cold, fatigue and emotion, this felt like the warmest place on earth. We were settled with our tea just in time to catch the beginning of the ceremonies, including MC Feinstein.

To Feinstein’s credit, she has offered an apology for the debacle, and in doing so, at least acknowledged that it happened. The same cannot be said of the Capital Police, who declared that everything ran smoothly except for the “4,000-5,000 discombobulated people.” That line is deeply insulting to the thousands of people who had flown in from all over the country to see the Inauguration, only to be stuck in a tunnel for the historic moment, at an event where there was no correlation between when you joined the line and whether you’d get in. Additionally, purple ticket-holders included many of Obama’s staffers, who sacrificed a year of their lives to savor this very moment. Just because the Capital Police were either too disorganized or too lazy to run the lines properly does not give them the right to mock all the people who went through that awful experience. Lord knows how angry I would have been had we not found that church. And to people who ask how the Inauguration Committee could have done a better job given the number of people, how’s this?

Have a police or volunteer/staffer presence at least at every block to direct the line.
Make periodic announcements, through those people or others, on what is happening.
Post signs!
Open the gates at 6am, when there was already a huge line, instead of waiting until 9am.
Open all the gates! Why have a gate if you aren’t going to use it? It’s a one-day event….
Observe the madhouse at the Sunday free concert, and note that maybe extra preparations should be taken for Tuesday.
Don’t give out so many tickets! I realize that I may not have gotten a ticket myself had this idea been implemented, but someone really fucked up here. I totally understand the logic of overbooking an event, especially one where the televised visual will be so pronounced. The Committee could probably have overbooked tickets by 10-15% and had certainty that the Purple section, and others, would fill up. Instead, they overbooked by way, way more than that, perhaps 100%. Especially when combined with the other cited failures, that was a recipe for a fiasco.

The people who ran the Inauguration are not fit to run a high school dance, much less a foreign war. I was relieved to find out that Feinstein and the Congressional Inauguration took responsibility, but Obama’s team is in charge now, and this is their bad too. I hope they have learned from this mistake.

Since we all saw the Inauguration itself, I have little to add about its substance. Rev. Warren stuck out like a lame sore thumb, Aretha was wonderful, Yo-Yo Ma and his crew were fantastic, Justice Stevens looked like the most relieved man on earth, and Rev. Lowry just kicked ass. Justice Roberts may have looked like a fool screwing up the oath, but the only person who deserves vitriol is Justice Alito, who arrogantly skipped the traditional meeting between the President and the Supreme Court earlier in the week, the only Justice in recent memory to pull such a stunt. To this day, Alito childishly refuses to walk on the sidewalk in front of the Senate Office Building because of his disdain for the Senators who votes against his confirmation.

When PRESIDENT Obama stepped up to the podium to face the largest crowd in Inauguration history, he seemed like a man calm and poised, ready to lead us through rough waters. It seems the nation agrees with me- his current approval rating stands at 77%, a level surpassed only by President Truman as World War II drew to a close, Obama’s speech echoed his campaign themes: restoring America’s position in the world, respecting the Constitution, and working to help Americans suffering here at home. The church crowd rallied behind him with affirmative exclamation of “yes”, “that’s the truth” and “tell it!” The most touching moment came when Obama spoke of a segregation policy that only fifty years ago would not allow his father the chance to be seated in a restaurant. An old man with gray hair raised his hand, and slowly rose to his feet. He doffed his cap at the television, and sat back down.

When I first began working on the Obama primary campaign in South Carolina, a group of volunteers were scattered across the Charleston area to reach out to churches. Shilpa and I were assigned to a small United Church of Christ congregation, where the pastor eschewed our pre-written statement and spoke of what an Obama presidency would mean to her, the congregation, and the country. The Charleston church also had a small, elderly, African-American congregation, and as I sat in that D.C basement I thought of them, and all of the incredible people I have met since this journey began more than a year ago. For at least a day, the whole world believed that democracy had delivered as a man ready to lead us together. There were no protesters, and the pundits shut up for a few precious hours. Less than an hour after the speech, the Mall seemed almost empty. D.C was still, and the Obama administration went to work.

It's Hard to Stop a Moving Train- 2009 Edition

2009-01-16T13:49:00.001-08:00

6pm, January 13, 2009. Overcrowded, dysfunctional, with poor, inaudible communications? If you guessed the MTA, you are absolutely right- but this was no subway ride. I was standing on line for the first of eight public hearings on the proposed fair hikes and services cutes. After scheming my way into over a dozen Obama events over the past year, there was simply no way I was going to penetrate these lines to see the MTA Board of Directors- it was the hottest ticket in town. Hundreds stood outside of the Hilton Hotel ballroom with me, while hundreds more were giving the MTA a piece of their mind inside, after braving metal detectors, armed guards and bomb dogs. I wondered if this level of security was required in years when the MTA wasn’t advertising fare hikes and service cuts. The Gothamist reported that the hearings went on until 1:26am. Their excellent coverage of the event can be found here: http://gothamist.com/2009/01/15/hundreds_give_mta_piece_of_their_mi.php?gallery0Pic=2

I was part of the 6:45pm crowd, which, exiled outside, had started chanting, “Let us in! Let us in!” A group of cops, MTA and regular, spread out along the line, silently shepherded by an extremely overweight man with a mustache and a cowboy hat. He was the head of the Hilton security, and his police spokesman announced that protesting was not allowed inside the Hilton. “You are going to have to take your chants outside,” he said. “The Hilton is a protest-free zone.” Leave it to the MTA to hold their hearing at a luxury hotel, pick a room too small to accommodate the crowd, in a building designated as protest-free zone. For future occasions, I don’t think the MTA or any public agency should be allowed to hold public hearings in such environments. Of course, the upcoming Brooklyn meeting will be at the Marriot, which I imagine walks the Big Hotel line on protesting policy. That hearing, which you should show up early for, is on:

Wednesday, January 28^th, is at 333 Adams Street, at the NY Marriot under the Brooklyn Bridge. The hearing begins at 6pm, and registration ends at 9pm.

Elliot Sander, the Executive Director of the MTA, is taking heaps of abuse, and for a while I began to pity the man who has little role in the fate of his agency. It’s worth backing up and thinking about how the MTA was created in the first place. Created in 1965, the Metropolitan Commuter Transportation Authority was responsible for overseeing state-run commuter rails. It was one of the few state institutions untouched by Robert Moses, whose power was then in decline. Public transportation did not interest Moses anyway, and he is in many ways the biggest culprit of today’s woes for his relentless advocacy for expressways in lieu of public transportation investment. As Robert Caro lays out in The Power Broker, Nelson Rockefeller was the politician finally capable of toppling Moses, who survived five New York City Mayors and six New York State Governors, due to his independent financial and political power base. Rockefeller knew that Moses’ chief source of his power was the Triborough Bridge and Tunnel Authority.

In the 1930s, Moses had concocted a brilliant scheme: while public authorities had traditionally existed so that municipalities could raise money for individual projects, with the intent of turning the projects over to the city once bonds were paid off, Moses designed the TBTA to use its enormous revenue flow to cover ‘any corporate purpose’, which meant he literally had to keep building with the vast sums of money New York City bridges and tunnels were bringing in. That money could not be touched by the Mayor, Governor, or anyone except people accountable to Moses. Governor Rockefeller moved to merge the MTCA with the TBTA, promising Moses a significant role in the new entity. Normally, the TBTA bondholders, who were still owed $367,000,000, would have sued to block such a merger, especially the chief stockholder, Chase Manhattan Bank. The Bank, however, was controlled by Nelson’s brother, David Rockefeller, and the arrangement was made. So, in essence, the newly formed MTA, which to this day controls bridges, tunnels, subways and commuter rails, was created to defeat the tyrannical reign of Robert Moses. As politicians learned, however, there was a tremendous side benefit.

The MTA, as a public authority, effectively shields the Governor, Mayor and legislature from blame with respect to the finances and functionality of this enormous transportation infrastructure. One of my first political memories, from the 1990-91 recession, is Mayor Dinkins explaining that the city had no responsibility for the subways, which confused the hell out of me as a nine-year old. The MTA Board is comprised of 17 members, all appointed by the Governor. ‘Recommendations’ come in from the Mayor, suburban counties and unions, but ultimately donations to a governor’s campaign are prospective Board members’ best bet.

New York had the unfortunate distinction of being governed for 12 years by George Pataki. It hurts a little to criticize him, both because of his Hungarian ancestry and because his son Ted is a great guy I used to attend summer camp with. But those things don’t make up for, among other things, stacking the MTA with Board members who couldn’t take advantage of boom years in the late 90s and earlier in this decade to shore up the MTA’s finances. While leaving Republican appointees in charge of any public work is inherently dangerous, I am not sure what interests the Spitzer and Paterson appointees serve, including Spitzer’s man, Mr. Sander.

Individual legislators can denounce the MTA, but they collectively can supplement its funding. A subsidy from the government is absolutely not unwarranted- New York transit users pay a higher percentage of their transportation budget in fare costs than riders in any other major American city (approximately 80%). If Pataki were still around, I’m sure this would all be a lost cause. But David Paterson is from Harlem, he is supposed to be as good a public transit governor as anyone. Sure, he could try to pass the buck to Obama, but one would think that public transportation would be an issue he might try to tackle head on, rather than punting.

Wishful thinking, I’m sure. The MTA for too long has been an offensive line, shielding political figures from their duty to make public transportation work, while allowing them to criticize it as perpetual outsiders. This system works particularly well in New York City, where everyone is hungry for power, but no one wants to take any responsibility.

The entire premise of the MTA needs to change. These crazy economic times represent the strongest arguments for and against overhauling a massive system. I’d argue that if we are going to have major transportation disruptions anyway, we might as well rethink how the city and state operate the business of transit.

First, the New York City subway and bus lines, which only service New York City, should perhaps be returned to City jurisdiction. Second, other facets of the MTA, should they remain under state jurisdiction, should be established as an agency directly under the governor's control, to create accountability.

All of this brings me back to the genius of Sander. He knows who he is. He knows he pulls no strings. Perhaps the most useful thing he can do is stir the furies. Why else would you announce that a public hearing is “about fare hikes and service cuts?” Perhaps so that every public figure in attendance can go on record recording his outrage, demanding and promising an increase in MTA funding? If Sander gets enough legislators outraged, we’ll pretty much have to see the legislature propose more funding. Or at least whine that Obama is not giving enough federal aid. So it goes. So it went. And so it will keep going and going... Join us again, as we continue our investigations into the MTA, and cover the Battle to Save Public Transit. Semper Fi Subway.

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Digging through the inter-webs for an article to verify some of my facts, I stumbled on a fantastic 2003 article by the then little-known Matt Taibbi, writing at the time for the New York Press. If any publication could bring together Taibbi, Wayne Barrett and Frank Rich, they would be able to do to the media world what the Allen-Garnett-Pierce-led Celtics did to basketball in 2008. You can read Taibbi’s article here:

http://www.coffeepulse.com/articles/mta/2/New%20York%20Press.htm

More Than a Bike Lane

2009-01-15T21:39:00.000-08:00

I was bringing it all back home. After a road trip that took me and Kittens Ablaze through nine southern cities in nine days, the goal was to dive back into the local political scene. The recession has had a pointed impact on the Greenpoint/Williamsburg area, halting the ooze of gentrification dead in its tracks, leaving unfilled condos floating empty in the sky. The rapid integration of weird-looking young people into an old Catholic community has often felt unnatural, but at least with the flow of the people slowing down, those already here will all get to know each other a little better. After all, we share the same concerns- affordable housing, reliable transportation services, and the survival of small businesses. I decided to check out the Community Board 1 meeting this past Tuesday night to see what was going down these days. I had heard that there was some dispute over the bike lanes on Kent Avenue…

Community Boards are a New York institution long responsible for politically organizing the City’s many neighborhoods. There are 59 Community Boards throughout the City, with limited powers designated by the City Charter. Up to 50 voting members serve on each board, appointed to two-year terms by the Borough President, usually upon recommendations from the relevant local City Council members. Some complain that this renders them simply tools of machine politics, but when it comes to local issues, community members are generally on the same page in politically opposing City Hall, Albany or the Feds. When it comes to corporate interests, of course, things get more complicated. Incidentally, some credit the expansion of Community Board powers in the late 1960s and early 70s as a direct backlash against the Robert Moses era. And though Community Boards are often criticized for their ineffectiveness, Community Board 1 has a particularly strong reputation for organization and clout.

The meeting took place in a cafeteria on Ainslie street, and despite the innocuous-looking agenda, you could hear many of the 120 residents present whisper, “Stick around, it’s gonna be an interesting night.” After a laborious 45 minute presentation from the Parks Department and City Planning about a new riverfront policy, which apparently won’t affect CB 1 at all, since they pioneered the model being used, we were on to the main event, the public session.

My friends, it is hard to give a short version of the facts here, but it starts with a bike line.

Kent Avenue, which runs along the East River, is a widely used transportation belt on Brooklyn's western perimiter. When bike lanes appeared on Kent Avenue, to large community support, bike riders throughout Brooklyn rejoiced. Despite its convenience, connecting Greenpoint to Forte Greene and the Williamsburg Bridge through Williamsburg, Kent Avenue had been labeled a “death trap” for bikers, who shared the road with cars driving up to 50mph. Data supports the intuition that painted bike lanes significantly increase biker safety. One casualty of bike lanes, however, was parking spaces in the largely Hasidic Kent Avenue community. There was also an argument that small businesses were having trouble having supplies unloaded, but the obvious remedies to that problem, like replacing the “No Stopping” signs with “No Parking” signs,lead me to believe the real issue is parking. There is also a rumor that some Hasidic leaders were offended by scantily clad women riding past their community on the bikes, but I likewise find it hard to imagine that such a side-issue could generate such a furious policy argument.

Look, parking in New York is tough, even in Brooklyn, so the Hasidic community was understandably frustrated. And in their frustration, they pulled what seemed to be their considerable political strings, and convinced Borough President Marty Markowitz and Council Member David Yassky to send a letter to the Department of Transportation in early December to paint over some of the bike lines and reinstitute parking. Theoretically, bike lanes and parking can coexist on the same street, but bikers argues that the twin flanking dangers of people opening car doors and fast speeding cars make that an untenable remedy on Kent Avenue. When the public session began, nearly fifty people were lined up to testify on behalf of their bike lanes. They had another cause too.

Soon after the Markowitz/Yassky letter, CB 1’s Chairman of 30 years, Vinnie Abate, and his top deputy, Gerald Esposito, sent a letter, on CB 1 letterhead, seemingly in their official capacity, concurring that the bike lines had to be amended, in contravention of CB 1 vote that had been taken in November. When that letter and an accompanying article ran in the Brooklyn Eagle, CB 1 Transportation Committee Chair, Teresa Toro wrote to the paper to clarify that Abate had spoken for himself, and not for the Community Board. As her punishment for going to the press without coming to him first, Abate fired Toro, within his legal right, though on ethically questionable grounds, given that he was firing her for committing essentially the same infraction he had- going to the press without Board authorization. Additionally, Abate's transgression seemed worse, as it publicly altered CB 1's stance on the bike lanes without a proper Board vote.

Person after person testified to what a great leader and visionary Transportation Chair Toro had been. I have to confess I was a little taken aback. There was more testimony about how great she was than you are likely to come across at most weddings. Her accolades include serving as a liaison between the community and the MTA during the subway strike, working for the expansion of parking spaces in Greenpoint, and leading the proliferation of bike lanes throughout Williamsburg. I have met Toro once, and found her both friendly and incredibly knowledgeable on transportation issues. That Abate remained steadfast in his decision to fire her means that either there is some ego thing going on between them, in which case staging a Community Board meeting coup could not have helped her cause, or this stuff between the Hasidim and bikers is heavier than I originally thought.

For those of you who do not live in Williamsburg/Greenpoint, this story might have been about as interesting as one of my Student Assembly war stories. Indeed, the similarities were tremendous, and having been both the berated Chair and the angry dissident, it was not only fascinating to be the objective observer at this meeting, but also amusing to sit through an argument fueled entirely over the organizational consequences of airing disputes and grievances to the press, when in fact multiple members of the press sat there for THREE HOURS while CB 1 members essentially aired their disputes and grievances. I guess the nice thing about being a blogger ( a word still not recognized by this edition of Microsoft Word) is that while you aren’t given the status of being press, that lack of status can get you closer to the action than you might be otherwise allowed.

Anyway, this dispute is bigger than just the personalities involved for two reasons. First, the argument for more bike paths will continue to gain momentum, especially if service cuts make public transportation less attractive. Second, the meeting was an eye-opening introduction to the inner-workings of Community Boards, the New York City unit of governance that is closest to the people. While I understand the importance of organizational discipline in regard to contacting the press, the real question is whether it is appropriate for such an institution to mask its discussions and dissents. After all, if we don’t know what our own Community Board members are up to, who can we hold accountable in a democratic system? I feel privileged to live in CB 1, where most of the Board members seem to be good, progressive people, with an eye towards both the short-term and long-term needs of the community. But if the Obama campaign taught us anything, it is that our communities can always stand to be organized a little better.

The decision to fire Toro will not fade gently into the night. At its worst, it could fissure CB 1, perhaps reopening the wounds between the old guard and the new wave (though it should be noted that Toro and many of her allies are longtime residents). And, after all that, the Kent Avenue bike lines remain an unresolved issue in the fast-moving politics of Brooklyn, in the crippled New York City transportation infrastructure, another dagger threatening the quest for unity in the Age of Obama.

Roving Storm Returns

2009-01-13T21:52:00.000-08:00

The Roving Storm: Straight to the Source

It’s 2009, and the fear is back, bigger than ever. 2008 was the “Year of Hope” and the “Year of the Underdog”; from the Giants victory of pompous Patriots, to President Obama’s historic triumph in November, it was truly a year to not stop believing. In contrast, 2009 will be the “Year of the Survivor.” Things have been brutal recently for Governors, NBA coaches and young Wall Streeters, and soon enough you can add 2009 college graduates and MTA riders to the top of the list.

After a year of writing political dispatches on the presidential campaign, I’ve decided that instead of scouring the country for meaty 2010 Senate races (as usual, keep your eyes on North Carolina, Ohio and Florida) or speculate about what slaughtered lamb the Republicans will offer up in 2012, I am taking things back to the streets of New York City, where clearly not all is well. Think of RovingStorm as channeling the “Powers of Ten”, covering events from the Presidential Inauguration to a dispute over bicycling lanes in South Williamsburg. I’m telling you now, reading some of the new dispatches might remind you what it felt like to hear “Everything In Its Right Place” after you’d waited three years for a new Radiohead album. That’s because we are going Straight to the Source.

In “More Than a Bike Lane” (coming tomorrow) and “Cash or Credit” (written by guest columnist Zaid Hydari), we are going to be doing the best we can to bring information to the community with as much first-person investigation and reporting as possible. In future Dispatches, you can expect significant coverage of the MTA Crisis, the 2009 New York City elections, and the rise of the progressive movement in Brooklyn. And, of course, we’ll keep our eye on the big stage, because any politico will tell you that unlike a sports season, campaign season never ends. Ironically, the first political team to grasp the concept of a ‘permanent campaign’ was Jimmy Carter’s administration (Pat Caddell, Hamilton Jordan and Jody Powell), but its best efforts were not enough to spare the peanut farmer four brutal years in the White House.

In recognition that this is, above all other things, The Brief Age of Transition, below are my thoughts on New York’s search for a Senator. Incidentally, if you want to get to deep into the Caroline Kennedy saga and read a staggering journalistic tour de force, see the iconic Wayne Barrett’s take on the topic here:
http://blogs.villagevoice.com/runninscared/archives/2008/12/okay_it_would_b.php

“Hi, I’m Caroline Schlossberg, and I’m interested in your open Senate position”

As I write this, NPR is broadcasting Senator Clinton cruising through her confirmation hearings, which means the hour of Governor Paterson’s choice is upon us (Chairman Kerry implied that the Senate vote could come on Thursday). As much as Paterson would love to answer clamors for a Hispanic, female or upstate appointment, and pick someone who can win a 2010 race, there is no prominent political figure who can kill all of those birds with one stone. That leaves Caroline Kennedy, Andrew Cuomo, Kristin Gillibrand and Brian Higgins as the leading candidates. Despite Kennedy’s media blitzkrieg, her verbal stumbles have catapulted Attorney General Andrew Cuomo to the top of the list, as far as New York voters are concerned. The selection of Cuomo, my potential employer next year, would be politically safe and sound. Though Paterson and Cuomo are often talked about as rivals, they both have what they want for now: Cuomo is most likely weighing whether he’d rather run for Governor as the favorite in 2014 (leaving Paterson to cruise in 2010) or head down to Washington as a Senator.

And while I never thought the day would come that I’d actively oppose a Kennedy, Caroline’s coming out party has been a big disappointment. First, her non-answer to whether she would support the Democratic candidate against Mayor Bloomberg this year calls into question whether the party should give her its most coveted appointment. Sure, Democratic leaders like Ed Koch have crossed party lines in the past, but as much I hold my nose at such actions, at least those individuals can contrast such endorsements to a history of working for the party. Kennedy, who until this year has done almost nothing to help the Democratic Party, has no such capital. Her support for Bloomberg bothers me because much of her allure seems to be based on the notion her voting and legislative record will mirror that of her uncles, former Senator Bobby Kennedy and Senator Ted Kennedy, despite a complete lack of transparency about where she stands on issues and which issues matter to her.

Second, there’s this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XfpqMfCs8lU&feature=PlayList&p=7794F2BC02247B72&playnext=1&index=2
The “you knows” avalanche in Caroline Schlossberg’s first interview about being Governor Paterson’s Senate appointee is revealing. Not because it suggests she is unintelligent (she is a Columbia Law grad), or even unable to articulate when she has to be (her stumping for Obama on the campaign trail went fine). The “you knows”, the refusal to disclose her finances, the terse and rehearsed press statements are all signs of someone who has never had to prove herself before. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, as jealous as the rest of us might be, but the fact is, those privilege will not follow her to the U.S Senate. As one of 100 Senators, you bet she’ll have to prove herself. Starting with the day she is appointed, she will have to prove herself to a vicious press. And most of all, her Republican opponent, likely the class-warfare hawk Peter King, will make her prove herself. Are we, as New Yorkers and/or as Democrats, ready to take the chance that Kennedy doesn’t have the stomach, toughness or ability to handle the rigors of being the Junior Senator from the Empire State?

Given the lack of upstate representation in the higher ranks of New York’s elected officials and the dire economic problems that have pained upstate New York even before this recession, I think it would be a slight (yeah, short of an injustice) to pass over two qualified Congressmen in Brian Higgins (Buffalo) and Kirsten Gillibrand (Gerrymandered district on the east border from the Catskills past Saratoga Springs) in favor of someone who steadfastly refuses to provide her critics, the press or prospective voters with anything except her name. Plus Gillibrand graduated from Dartmouth in the 80s, so she will know how to bring good times to the Senate.
Enjoy 2009, my friends. Things look bleak, but in our dreams even slumdogs can become millionaires. Oh yeah, and the MTA is shutting down the Z-line, to the chagrin of Jay-Z historians everywhere. The JM line, however, remains. Does that mean I can take my place as the new king of Brooklyn?

Cash or Credit?

2009-01-13T21:03:00.000-08:00

A Guest Column by Zaid Hydari

Over a year ago, there was buzz around the city about ‘GPS’ and credit card machines in yellow cabs. Word on the street was that drivers were upset about the new technology, which lead to a series of strikes. Many people didn’t think twice about the issue – they either didn’t take cabs or found one pretty easily on the strike days, comforting themselves with what their scab told them about the new imposition of gadgets – the minority driver view that it’s fine, it may even increase business. The press, as usual, claimed to uphold journalistic integrity by presenting the issue neutrally – a concept that those of us born before yesterday know is unlikely, improbable, and almost never actually achieved. Instead, the press started writing stories about dishonest cabbies who would lie to passengers – saying the credit card machine doesn’t work or that there is a surcharge for using it. Anthony Ramirez of the Times wrote a piece detailing his experience trying to use a card in 92 cabs – of which 10 cabs allegedly made excuses and resisted. None of the press had the courage to tell the whole story – that drivers are getting screwed by the machines.

And then, after a few weeks, everyone pretty much forgot about the whole thing. GPS….credit cards….cabbies…whatever. If you don’t have cash, just swipe – all the hoopla is over.

Well, its not. To this day, drivers have suffered hardship due to the credit card machines. And this week, the City Council may take a very initial step in addressing the problem. Intro 705, which was first introduced in 2008, would allow for drivers to be merchant account holders.

You see, when a business wants to accept credit cards, they have to have a merchant account, which allows for the payment to be processed by the credit card company. A number of fees are involved, including a discount rate which is usually a percentage of each transaction. So a business actually gives up a small percentage of sales when someone uses a credit card– that’s why most bodegas and delis have a minimum – so they don’t have to give up a portion of the $2.80 you spend on Vitamin Water and a bag of the newest ‘Doritos Collisions’ flavor.

Most drivers lease their cabs from garages – and up until now the garage has been the merchant account holder for the credit card processing. So when you swipe in a cab – the garage gets the money – then takes 5% out of it and gives it to the driver. The 5% includes tip and tolls. They say 5% is for all those fees. But the reality is the fees don’t really amount to 5%. And the fees are only a percentage of the fare amount – not the tip and tolls.

Such small margins may seem negligible – but any hard working person knows that it all adds up. To a lot of money. And its not like Obama is about to hike drivers’ taxes because they make over $250,000/year. These are guys who drive 12 hours a day to make little money – the lease system is such that they pay the garage upfront – somewhere around $100 per day, and pay for gas themselves. What other jobs can you think of where you start off the day in the red? Their first few fares of a shift are just to break even.

Intro 705 won’t overhaul the whole industry and make the unjust system fair for drivers. They’ll still be disrespected public servants – not provided the benefits of city employees, like bus drivers and MTA workers. They will continue to be without health insurance. It will still NOT be a felony to assault a cab driver, resulting in continuous violent actions taken against these vulnerable workers. But Intro 705 is a baby step in the right direction.

The Transportation Committee will be having a public hearing on Intro 705 on Wednesday, January 14th at 12:30. Its on the 2nd Floor of City Hall. If you can – swing by and show the City Council that you support this initiative. Or call your Council Member. http://council.nyc.gov/html/members/members.shtml

Support Intro 705 however you can – because it’s the first step being taken to give drivers what is rightfully theirs.

Last Dispatch

2008-11-03T21:49:00.001-08:00

The Last Dispatch

A Tribute to Terence...Obama and the Age of Inclusiveness...Joe the Plumber seals the deal...Predictions!...the Round Mound of Governance...A Farewell to Dispatches...

This is the last dispatch of the 2008 election season, and it begins with a heavy heart. This morning I learned that Terence Tolbert, a friend, and my boss from the 2004 election, passed away from a sudden heart attack at the age of 44. Terence had returned to Nevada to serve as State Director for the Obama campaign, taking a leave of absence from Mayor Bloomberg’s Department of Education. Terence was the second person I met upon arriving in Las Vegas in the summer of 2004. My first full day he took me out to lunch, and struck me as an extraordinarily easy-going man in what was already, and would very much continue to be, a stressful and chaotic election. Soon the weight of campaign hours ended adventures like trips to the Rum Jungle, but in an office full of egos, stress cases and young people who weren’t 100% sure what they were doing, he was always smiling, unwilling to let his world collapse over a missing van, overbooked hotel rooms, or an uncertain volunteer capacity. Despite his ’04 and ’08 stints in Las Vegas, Terence was a New York City boy, and his presence will be missed most in the Big Apple, where he was a long-time fixture in the political scene. For him to die only a day before he could have seen the first African-American president elected is heart-breaking. Hopefully Terence was able to enjoy the victory just a little as he saw it on the horizon, and hopefully he was able to reap the satisfaction of finally turning Nevada blue. There is no question in the online political community that all eyes will be on Nevada tomorrow, as the staff and volunteers hit the pavement not just for Barack, but for Terence too.

The other tragic death that took place yesterday was the passing of Obama’s grandmother. There is little more than one can achieve in life than having raised young Barack to be the man he is today. Watching Barack grieve over her illness, and ultimately her passing is one more reminder of how human he is. Many months ago, being able to look into his eyes and see a person, not a robotic politician, is one of the main reasons I initially supported the Senator. His empathy is strong and real, and it has constantly reminded him of the causes that got him into politics and into this campaign.

Senator Obama reminded us of the people this election is really about in last week’s infomercial, which was watched by 26 million people. I teared up during when he spotlighted the man who has to keep working with a torn ACL and Miniscus because his disability benefits during the surgery process couldn’t support his family. What slaves have we become that we subject our proud working citizens to endure that kind of physical pain? After weeks and weeks of nervously making phone calls and searching the web to see if my worker’s compensation will cover my $25,000 ACL surgery, and whether that coverage extends to the hospital room, the anesthesiologist, and the necessary rehab, I can truly relate.

Like many of my fellow students I go through the constant ritual of donning a suit and tie and spending 20-30 minutes explaining my qualities strangers, grasping for a job that will justify 21 years of education. Like most young people, I grimace at the cost of rent, medical bills, and every last confusing credit card charge that plunges me closer to an empty checking account. I know I’m blessed, and have had great opportunities in life. But in these challenging times, feeling blessed and worried are less mutually exclusive than ever. In large measure, Obama has gotten as far as he has because he is the one man in 2008, Democrat or Republican, who has demonstrated that he can make people hope again, that can make people believe in a brighter tomorrow.

I’ve written before about the buoyant optimism of the Obama campaign, the place I call Obamaville. I’ve noted that it’s unlike any other place I’ve seen, except for Biloxi, Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina. In Biloxi, there were no questions about who you were or where you came from, only if you were willing to help. Soldiers and hippies literally worked side by side, fixing houses and eating Salvation Army meals. Catholics, Baptists and atheists sat together in damp meeting rooms for hours figuring how to help rebuild a city. There was no barrier- race, religion, age, or class, that could get in the way of the solidarity.

I hesitate to use the rebuilding of the Gulf Coast as to broad an example of the change we need. After all, much of the coast is still in tatters, especially New Orleans, which very much did fall to the pernicious influence of racial, class-based and territorial factionalism. In Biloxi that great progress of the early years has hit a standstill precipitated by low funds, massive burnout, and short memories. After all, as I sit here writing this, it occurs to me that not a week has gone by when I don’t wonder if it was a mistake for me to leave Biloxi before the job was done.

But for all of its flaws, the passion of those early Gulf Coast days was America at its finest, reacting to crisis with a unity of purpose. And the reason I believe Barack Obama can turn to governing with those same winds of common goals and dreams behind him is that he has blown the passage to the American Dream wide open, and in doing so, inspired untold millions. Not just African-Americans, though there is almost no way to underestimate the significance of having our first African-American president. In 2001 I helped my friend Emily write and produce a play for young students at a public school in Manhattan. The play, The Land and the Sea, was about how the people of the land came to find peace with the creatures of the sea, a plot the students created. In a performance before ours, another group of students enacted a skit in which they represented their role models. We’ve all heard the importance of young African-American having famous role models to aspire to, but it was powerful to see in person that these were 11 year-olds who could only imagine a destiny extending as far as hip-hop or basketball. The lamentations of the older black gentry like Bill Cosby has been only half helpful, because the clarion call to turn off the TV and take school seriously was coming from a man who built his career on telling jokes and starring in a sit-com. Now when they turn on the television, African-American children, and all minority youths, will see one of their own in the most powerful office in the country.

I mention other minorities because to me Obama’s candidacy spoke particularly loudly to three other demographics, or at least three demographics that touched me personally. One is to bi-racial people. Despite Loving v. Virginia, the Supreme Court case that invalidated laws against interracial marriage in 1967, five years after Obama was born, and fifteen years before I was, interracial marriage is still unspokenly taboo across the country, and not just by conservative whites. Minority groups themselves can be tremendously insular, be they Jewish, Korean, Hindi or others. Turn on any TV show, or watch any movie. Hollywood is happy to put minorities in positions of prestige (like president on “24”), but they are far more reluctant to show cross-racial coupling. If there’s a new hot black girl in town joining the all-white cast, you can bet a fine-looking black boy will pick her up soon.

Now Obama’s bi-racialism has not exactly been a major talking point, and I’m not arguing it won or lost him many votes down the stretch. But you might remember back to the pre-South Carolina days, when the pundits were still wondering if he was “black enough.” There was a reason to that. 'If you are black,' political players posited, ‘we generally know where you come from. You might have been one of the young lieutenants of MLK’s civil rights movement, or Jesse Jackson’s Rainbow Coalition. You might be one of those smart guys who rose from the projects that we built for you, and built your career as the mayor of a predominantly black city like Newark or Richmond.’

That Obama was not one of these people confused and worried the political establishment, black and white. How could they trust a man if they didn’t know the predictable story of where he came from, what his base was, and were his political limitations laid? Bi-racial people don’t make sense in the linear American narrative. What Barack Obama has done since 2004, in his constant refrain that his mother is a white woman from Kansas, and his father a black man from Kenya, is remind us that the American Dream applies to literally everyone, no matter how crazy his or her fairy-tale story of success might be.

That brings me to the third realm of his inspiration which is to immigrants, both here and abroad, and foreigners. Addressing the latter groups first- Obama actually explicitly reaches out to them in his speech, challenging America to live up to the standards of those who yearn to reach our shores for our freedoms and opportunities, those who see America is their great last hope. During these hard times, it can be difficult to remember that even through the Bush years, America has remained a beacon of freedom to those who struggle around the world. In New York City, one can recognize this most easily among the taxi-driving population, which is full of proud men who work ungodly hours to send paychecks home to third-world families, in the hope that maybe they can one day be reunited on our shores. And to our old friends in Europe and elsewhere, it will feel good to say, “America is back!” We have all been reluctant ambassadors during the Bush years. Lord knows I've seen things get ugly in America’s defense, from Belgium to Costa Rica, but as Americans ‘we believe in our country, even if we don’t believe in our government.’ I think George Bush said that in Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay. Above all, we say “we” when referring to our country, even when talking about things about our country we oppose, like invading Iraq. I was at a German dive bar in 2003 when my new drinking buddies explained how unique that really was. United “we” stand. It’s a concept that feels strange after these last eight years. Let’s just say Obama will bring back the “we”, stronger than ever.

The second group of immigrants, which may indeed include a fair amount of New York City taxi drivers as well, are those who have planted their roots in the United States for a generation, and raised their children as first-generation Americans. This group came here seeking opportunities unavailable back in their home countries, worked hard, paid taxes, and sent their children to the best schools they could get into. They may have been naturalized, that is, awarded legal American citizenship. But whether they were ‘real Americans,’ is a question many would insist upon those with different skin tones, strange accents, and unfamiliar customs. I am of such immigrants, from a mother who was raised in Stalinist Hungary, and a father who came from a region of India so poor and wild that when I tried to visit it two summers ago, my trip was cancelled by Maoist rebels who blew up the train tracks in their guerilla effort to return the land to the people (and they call Obama a socialist). I have never doubted MY American-hood. I’ll out-American anybody. But Obama’s message is to my mother and all other immigrants, that there is no hierarchy and no tiers as to who is a real American. The first ever son of immigrants to be elected president is sending a message to all immigrant parents trying the best they can to raise their children that there truly is no limit to their children’s futures. One wonders if even a dreamer like Barack Obama, Sr., could have imagined sitting in the White House one day, watching his son at work.

The final group that has been inspired, and perhaps had their conception of politics changed forever are progressives. Progressives have been lonely outsiders looking in, in perpetuity. Their fleeting moments of glory, the Progressive Era, the early New Deal, and the Great Society, are so long ago that today’s leaders have long ago retreated to non-profits and academia, where their brilliant ideas and energy are obscured from the greater public eye. This is particularly true for the young progressives who came of age in the Bush years. The thought of the federal government as an agent of change is beyond the realm of possibility. Before we go any further, people will fairly ask whether Barack Obama really is a progressive, and where the proof lies after a general election campaign that stressed his centrism and post-partisanship.

First, let’s revisit the Democratic primary. Obama defeated Hillary Clinton, who was not only the institutional candidate, but the NAMED successor of the man who defined the Democratic party during his right by lurching to the right and clutching dearly to the middle. When Bush won re-election in 2004 despite displaying a clear allegiance to conservatism, Clinton’s centrism suddenly revealed itself for what it was- not a political necessity, but either an act of political expediency, or true belief in those values. That Obama beat the Clinton machine is no small feat. The more progressive candidate has lost the Democrat nomination in every primary since George McGovern in 1972, and we all know how that one turned out. Is Obama the most liberal member of the Senate, as Republican talking heads claim? Of course not- that’s just crazy. Bernie Sanders from Vermont actually IS a socialist. But he’s up there.

Think about his campaign. He wants to end the war in Iraq. He wants universal healthcare. He wants to focus on climate change. He wants to raise taxes on the wealthy to pay for programs that will help the poor. These are all things our ilk have protested in the streets for. Now we’ll have a president who actually agrees with us on our core values. That’s crazy, just nuts. Who ever thought that would happen so soon? As for his post-partisanship, that too is real. It doesn't mean he's going to split the baby on every issue, it simply means that he will change the tenor of Washington, to limit slash and burn politics, erode the influence of lobbyists, and return civility to discourse on critical issues. Post-partisan is an approach to governnance not an ideological position.

There is no doubt that in the coming years Obama will be hammered for the left- his budget options simply leave him too small a window of escape. Today I overheard multiple people knocking Governor Patterson for his budget cuts, as if there’s something a governor can do about a budget billions of dollars in the red during a recession. There’s no way Obama or our local officials will be able to deliver on their promises in these economic times. The best we can hope from our elected leaders is that they will show strong judgment in how what they cut, what they preserve, and what they strengthen. And for that, there is no better indicator than their core values. I’ll take my chances with the Senator from Illinois.

If Barack Obama has taught us nothing else, it is to stay calm in the eye of the storm. As the McCain camp turns to Joe the Plumber to close out their campaign like a bald Brad Lidge, Obama closes with the same message he started with, “the same message we had we were up, and the same message we had when we were down.” It is a basic message of hope, an affirmation of the best America has to offer. The campaign was historic. The Democratic field was its finest since 1960, maybe ever. Hillary Clinton not only proved to be a bruising campaigner, but her supporters’ loyalty ran deeper and wider than anything I could have imagined. Obama is the first nominee in generations who truly left nothing on the table- the electrifying Convention, the speech on race, the fundraising machine, the immediate response media team. He has set such a colossal standard for future Democratic candidates that one wonders how anyone, sans the built-in stature of a Hillary Clinton, could ever expect to even approach it.

And in their final days, the McCain campaign thought they could bring the whole thing down with ‘socialism.’ The charge wouldn’t be worth addressing if here if there weren’t a need to expose it for what it really is- a racially charge proxy for “the other”. The subject of “socialized medicine” notwithstanding, Bill Clinton, Al Gore, John Kerry and Hillary Clinton would never be pilloried on charges of socialism in this manner. No self-respecting reporter would dare ask those Democrats to respond to similar charges. And yet, here’s Barack Obama with a bi-partisan stable of highly respected economists, his University of Chicago influences, and a tax plan extensively borrowed from the Clinton Era, and yet he might be the one to realize Eugene Debs economics? What the McCain camp is really saying is, ‘Obama is a socialist. How much do we know about people like him? After all, brown people (Chavez, Castro, Nassar), yellow people (Mao, Ho Chi Minh, and Soviet enemies (Krushchev and Breznev) have always been socialist enemies of the United States, so why not Obama too?’ The attack ultimately won’t work, largely because of the aforementioned ‘proof’ Obama can trot out. It’s just sad that he has to. Perhaps the best line of all came from the great Stephen Colbert, who pressed a Republican pundit, “So if Obama wins, is this an electoral mandate for socialism?” Somewhere Debs was chuckling at that one.

Speaking of mandates, Obama will enter office with the most favorable Congress since LBJ’s Great Society, and the most momentum since the Reagan Revolution. The House Democrats, already in charge, ought to pick up a net of 20-25 seats, which means they won’t have to treat Blue Dog Democrats as gingerly. In the Senate, where Dems have 51 seats now, my predictions are as follows:

Udall (New Mexico), Udall (Colorado), Warner (Virginia) romp to victory.

Shaheen (New Hampshire), Begich (Alaska), Merkely (Oregon) and Hagan (North Carolina) will win somewhat convincingly.

That puts as at 58. Toss-ups will include:

Franken (Minnesota), Martin (Georgia), Musgrove (Mississippi) and Lunsford (Kentucky). Those last three are important to keep an eye on, along with Hagan’s race. No Democrat has won an open Senate seat or Republican-held Senate seat in the former confederacy since John Edwards in 1998. The Democrats putting the most conservative part of the country in play has been one of the underreported stories of the 2008 election.

The culmination of the new southern revolution will be the 2014 election of Charles Barkley as governor of Alabama. Barkley, a recent convert from Republican to Obama Democrat, is poised to be the nation’s fourth African-American governor, and lord knows that will be one hell of a campaign to work on. I’ll close out this dispatch with his words to CNN’s Campbell Brown:

"I can't screw up Alabama. We are No. 48 in everything and Arkansas and Mississippi aren't going anywhere."

Sometimes, reflections on moments of passion yield the old refrain, “I said a lot of things I didn’t mean.” Well, I’ve said a lot of things, my friends. About 60,000 words on this election, straight from the heart of a man who doesn’t know a damn thing about journalism, except what he reads in the papers. I said a lot of things that were mean-spirited, sappy, even factually questionable. But I meant every word when I said it, even if my brain gave it only Keruoacian consideration on its way from my fingertips to the page, and even if I’ll be apologizing for it in front of some special interest group years from now. We all had a lot of fun, tortured ourselves with the ups and downs that make politics so riveting and addictive, and generally lived the dream. Tonight we’ll sit in living rooms, bars and burlesque halls, watching the results pour one more time. Watching John King play with his fancy CNN map one last time. Watching the weird banter between Chris Matthews and Keith Olberman one last time. Watching the networks call the presidential race for a progressive for the first time in most of our lifetimes.

I’ll be thinking of Barack, who is about to spend eight years feeling the weight of the world of his shoulders. I’ll be thinking of Michelle, who will bear these challenges with him. I’ll be thinking of my friend Carrie, working in 85 degree Texan heat re-electing Nick Lampson, one of the finest men in Congress, fighting for his political life down in Sugarland. I’ll be thinking of my friend Lis, trying to get Dan Seals elected to Congress from Illinois to replace an incumbent known for confusing ‘Obama’ and ‘Osama.’ I’ll be thinking of my friend Pat, who left his job behind to follow the Obama campaign, and has wound up, of all places, in Las Vegas- avenge me, Pat. I’ll be thinking of my friend Russ, who is helping run that union machine up in New Hampshire. I’ll be thinking of Terence Tolbert. And I’ll be thinking of all of you out there in Philly and Virginia and Ohio doing your thing, while I sit here on my wrecked knee, an untimely gimp in Brooklyn, which probably hasn’t voted Republican since Teddy Roosevelt was on the ballot 100 years ago. But I’ve had my run, and I’ll always come back for more.

“I have not yet begun to fight,” said John Paul Jones.

“The sun also rises,” said Ernest Hemingway.

“Sometimes…there’s a man,” said the stranger.

Thank you for reading, responding, and hanging out during these amazing times. I’ll see you all on the sunrise side of the mountain.

Dispatches, Volume 16

2008-10-14T19:28:00.002-07:00

"They were discussing the international situation, which was desperate, as usual."

- Tom Robbins, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues

These are fast and heady times, and keeping up with the McCain meltdown, the spasms of the stock market, and the annual collapse of the New York Mets leaves little room for reflective dispatches. I am, after all, just one man in search of a story- like the time I met President Bush in 2006 and gave him a presentation on the dangers of toxic black mold in the Gulf Coast. That story wowed the crowd at Comix a few weeks ago, though it still left me short of the Moth Storytelling GrandSlam. But after a whirlwind spell away from the keyboard, it is, as Joe Biden would say, "literally great to be here."

If 2008 was the year of change, September was definitely the month. The stock market proved, once and for all, that no one can understand it, except perhaps Mad Money Jim Kramer, who on Friday practically grabbed me through the television to buy, buy, buy on Monday. "These are great times," my friend Will noted, "for those who still have any money left to invest." It is out of lack of knowledge, rather than interest, that Roving Storm has been silent during the last few turbulent weeks. The extent of my usefulness on the bailout and its aftermath was limited to explaining the irrational votes of Congressmen to bewildered Wall Street friends who couldn't believe that the Republican leadership was willing to play politics with the entire international finance system. "Break out the vodka," Will added. "And look at the bright side. Things are going to get much, much worse." The wheels have completely come off, and no one really seems sure what's going on anymore.

At least not in the economic world. The political world makes a lot more sense. The message-disciplined, well-funded, enthusiastic campaign for change seems to be slowly pulling away from an erratic, feuding campaign based on appealing to Americans' lowest common denominator through lies and fear. At another time, perhaps even a month ago, the tactics of the McCain campaign would have induced me to rage (see my Joe Lieberman rant). But at this late stage of the game, Obama has revealed himself the consummate cool hand at the tiller that McCain said we should be looking for in a president. He showed in the debate that he understood America's problems, and he was already hard at work trying to come up with solutions requiring shared sacrifice for a shared purpose. At this point the worst thing Obama could do is get dragged down to the mud, especially since his campaign has lasted 20 months without needing to. It is unrealistic to expect all of his supporters to remain as calm while Sarah Palin incites rabid conservatives to mob violence against him, but I'll try my best. Starting November 5th, after all, the serious business of unifying a broken country begins.

"So don't call me part of the Washington elite, because I come from the absolute worst place on earth."

If nothing else, the wild last few weeks have brought out the best in our nation's bards. Jon Stewart, particularly his coverage of McCain (who he once publicly admired) and Congress during the bail-out crisis, is doing his finest work in years, albeit with a darker hue than usual. He is a man badly in need of a vacation. Saturday Night Live, which somehow mis-lampooned the entire Bush years, has hit its groove again. These two clips are the must-sees:

First, the Vice-Presidential Debate. Tina Fey has deservingly won tremendous props for her Sarah Palin, but the fellow playing, Joe Biden, Jason Sudeikis, is similarly hilarious. Maybe the best SNL skit of this century.

http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/clips/vp-debate-open-palin-biden/727421/

Second, watch the incredible Darrell Hammond (of Bill Clinton, Al Gore, and Jesse Jackson fame) as John McCain, challenging Obama (Fred Armisen) to suspend his campaign and engage in a series of pie-eating contests across America.

http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/clips/presidential-debate/704121/

Rolling Stone's vicious unveiling of the real John McCain showed that the magazine can still be politically relevant, outside, of course, the continually brilliant work of Matt Taibbi. Taibbi's transparent power grab to assume the New Hunter S. Thompson mantle led to an uneven debut, Spanking the Donkey, but he has come into his own considerably with his 2006 work, Smells Like Dead Elephants, and his new book, The Great Derangement. He certainly has the Gonzo sense of tortured desperation down pat; observe the following passage from his recent article on Ms. Palin:

Sarah Palin is a symbol of everything that is wrong with the modern United States. As a representative of our political system, she's a new low in reptilian villainy, the ultimate cynical masterwork of puppeteers like Karl Rove. But more than that, she is a horrifying symbol of how little we ask for in return for the total surrender of our political power. Not only is Sarah Palin a fraud, she's the tawdriest, most half-assed fraud imaginable, 20 floors below the lowest common denominator, a character too dumb even for daytime TV – and this country is going to eat her up, cheering every step of the way. All because most Americans no longer have the energy to do anything but lie back and allow ourselves to be jacked off by the calculating thieves who run this grasping consumer paradise we call a nation.

I thought it would be interest to dig up some vintage Hunter, god knows he would have something to say right now. In the interest of parallelism, I found this passage about Nixon's VP, Spiro Agnew, taken from Hunter's not so kind eulogy for Richard Nixon:

Not even Spiro Agnew was that dumb. He was a flat-out, knee-crawling thug with the morals of a weasel on speed. But he was Nixon's vice president for five years, and he only resigned when he was caught red-handed taking cash bribes across his desk in the White House.

Unlike Nixon, Agnew didn't argue. He quit his job and fled in the night to Baltimore, where he appeared the next morning in U.S. District Court, which allowed him to stay out of prison for bribery and extortion in exchange for a guilty (no contest) plea on income-tax evasion. After that he became a major celebrity and played golf and tried to get a Coors distributorship. He never spoke to Nixon again and was an unwelcome guest at the funeral. They called him Rude, but he went anyway. It was one of those Biological Imperatives, like salmon swimming up waterfalls to spawn before they die. He knew he was scum, but it didn't bother him.

Agnew was the Joey Buttafuoco of the Nixon administration, and Hoover was its Caligula. They were brutal, brain-damaged degenerates worse than any hit man out of The Godfather, yet they were the men Richard Nixon trusted most. Together they defined his Presidency.

It would be easy to forget and forgive Henry Kissinger of his crimes, just as he forgave Nixon. Yes, we could do that--but it would be wrong. Kissinger is a slippery little devil, a world-class hustler with a thick German accent and a very keen eye for weak spots at the top of the power structure, Nixon was one of these, and Super K exploited him mercilessly, all the way to the end.

Kissinger made the Gang of Four complete: Agnew, Hoover, Kissinger and Nixon. A group photo of these perverts would say all we need to know about the Age of Nixon.

There are two key differences between Taibbi and Thompson. First, Taibbi may be as skilled a writer as Thompson was, or at least has the potential to be, but whereas Hunter could effortlessly inject himself into a story as a thrilling main character madman, Taibbi the Person comes off as plain and cold, his boring façade perhaps the reason he was able to blend into John Hagee's congregation, a truly terrifying chapter of his most recent book. The second point is related- whereas Thompson also used titled like "Songs of the Doomed" and "Fear and Loathing", his despair was never permanent. For all his despondency about Nixon, he saw a ray of light in Jimmy Carter, who he helped launched to the national spotlight in "Jimmy Carter and the Great Leap of Faith." Taibbi, in contrast, considers Obama a less destructive empty suit. Thompson could get depressed as hell about the political state of affairs in America, but he would still get amped for the Sunday football game, and his constant adventures in alcohol and drugs were rooted in his prankish upbringing in the Ken Kesey-era counter culture. Taibbi, to cite a phrase, hardly seems like the kind of person you'd like to have a beer with. Hopefully he'll lighten up a little when the Age of Change begins.

A Farewell to William Shea Stadium…

This was not a Mets team that deserved to make the playoffs. Their bullpen was the laughing stock of the league, and there were no tears in Mudville when Scott Schoenweiss gave up the season-ending home-run (except from Schoenweiss, later found weeping by his locker), only an avalanche of boos from the stadium faithful that did not end until the game had long ended, and the Shea Stadium farewell ceremony was well underway. To be clear, to make the playoffs the Mets only needed to win two out of three games at home against a dismal Florida team that my roommate ran into wasted and in costume on the subway late before the last game of the series. The only thing that could stop the booing was a tribute to the 1986 World Series-winning team, the only Mets champions in the last 39 years. Hopefully the impressive young core of the team- Jose Reyes, David Wright, Carlos Beltran, John Maine and Johan Santana- can leave the ghosts of Shea behind as they head to their new taxpayer funded stadium.

Though I shed no tears for the hapless 2008 Mets, my heart does grieve a little for the loss of Shea, the stadium that anchored my baseball fandom for so long. Few know that the stadium was named for the lawyer who brokered the deal bringing National League baseball to New York. Romantic a story it is not, but it's better than "Citi Field." My dad took me to my first Shea game sixteen years ago. He knew nothing about baseball, and groaned with exasperation every time the scoreboard flashed "Let's Make Some Noise!!" "You can't get any peace here," he'd mutter. He was a dignified-looking man, and when we accidentally wandered into the field-level seating area behind home plate, the security people didn't even ask to see our tickets. It was from that vantage point that I watched the Mets beat the St. Louis Cardinals 1-0 in 13 innings, when pinch-hitter Daryl Boston was hit by a pitch with the bases loaded, forcing in the winning run. It remains to this day the oddest conclusion to a baseball game I've ever seen.

King Bloomberg Seeks Third Term to Speculate About Future Run for Higher Office…

Much has already been written about Mayor Mike's quest for a third term as mayor. For a well-written and even-handed coverage by someone who understands New York City politics to the core, check out the articles from Parks Commissioner Henry Stern at NYCivic.org, specifically, "Let the Voters Decide" and "Keep Us Employed."

I share Starquest's disdain for Bloomberg's tactic to use a pliant City Council, full of term-limited members themselves, including 8 members only in office because their own relatives were term-limited. It's bad for democracy to have one-party towns, but it's far worse to have one-family districts and counties. Bloomberg's desire for a third term has been driven largely by vanity and a growing appetite for the power he now realizes comes with politics. Many business-types frown upon politics as provincial, even irrelevant in the face the power of the markets. Teddy Roosevelt, for example, was shunned by his family after he forwent his lucrative options to enter into the dirty world of local New York politics.

Bloomberg likely felt this way until 2001. He now recognizes that having yourself identified as "Hizzoner" in newspaper headlines on a daily basis is way cooler than an occasional byline on how much money your company is worth. This obsession with glamour has been distracting the mayor for some time now. His flirtations with running for president loomed over local news, as well as flirtations with running for governor now, or in 2010. Which is not to say he has been a bad mayor; I'd probably rate him a B plus, noting that any mayor who can prevent New York from descending into madness and chaos deserves at least a B. His administration has been capable on bread and butter issues like crime and education. The impending budget doom is not his fault, though frankly my question is this:

If Bloomberg is so brilliant that we need to rewrite the law to let him serve again, overturning a referendum passed only 12 years ago, why wasn't he brilliant enough to see this crisis coming, or do anything about it now, or be able to do something about it in the remaining 15 months he has in office?

Doing anything constructive in the wake of an international fiscal crisis is a tall order, I know, but what I don't understand is how someone with past, present and immediate future control of a disastrous situation has earned the right to keep being in charge of that disastrous situation. Additionally, why is he the only person who can lead us in these times? Despite the talk of a weak 2009 mayoral field, upon inspection the field looks about average- the leading contenders are the City Council Speaker, a Borough President, a Congressman, and the Comptroller.

Though the Comptroller position has not traditionally been a successful electoral stepping stone, this might be the year for two reasons. First, Bill Thompson, who has earned good marks through his two terms, has a job primarily focused on fiscal oversight. Given that the next Mayor will sadly have a job mostly consisting of making a series of incisive budget cuts, we need someone who can do this carefully, without seriously lowering the quality of life for middle class or poor New Yorkers. Second, Thompson is an African-American, and in New York's tribal political scene, that will at the very least give him a shot at winning, depending on how charismatic he is in expanding his base.

Incidentally, if Bill Thompson is elected Mayor, come November of 2009, citizens of New York City will proudly be under the leadership of a black Mayor, Governor and President. Crazy how things move in the Age of Change.

Notes on the State of Virginia…

Our crew has road-tripped to Virginia for two out of the last three weekends. Virginia is the ideal destination, going on offense in Republican country, but within striking distance of the D.C nightlife and friends.

The Democrats have not won an open or Republican-held Senate in a former Confederate state since John Edwards won his North Carolina seat in 1998. The solidity of the Southern voting bloc, which empowered the Democratic party for decades, has now done the same for Republicans. When Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act and voti, he famously sighed, "We have lost the South for a generation." It's been a little longer, but those days are finally over. Virginia has not voted for a Democratic Presidential candidate since LBJ, and Loudon County, the swing county where we were out knocking on doors, hasn't voted Democratic since then either. But change is on the way.

When LBJ pushed the Voting Rights Act through Congress in 1965, enfranchising black voters and giving teeth to the 15th amendment, passed nearly a century earlier, Mississippi Senator John Stennis balled like a baby on the floor of the Senate. In southern Mississippi they have a space center named after the last Democrat to ever hold the position of Senator in Mississippi. Now, change is on the way. Former governor Ronnie Musgrove is running neck and neck with incumbent Roger Wicker, who was appointed by Governor Haley "Now, Guillermo, we're not gonna talk to the President about microcosms" Barbour to replace Trent Lott, who retired a year after re-election to take a lucrative lobbying position. If you are looking to donate your last $25, forget the Obama campaign, give it to Musgrove, and his band of brothers, Rick Noriega and Jim Martin.

Lt. Col. Noriega, a decorated soldier in Vietnam, commander in Afghanistan, and director of Houston's post-Katrina operation, is becoming a tough opponent for the Texas Senate seat held by top Bush cheerleader John Cornyn. In Georgia, Republican Saxby Chambliss, who six years ago won his seat with ads comparing Max Cleland, who lost three limbs in Vietnam, to Saddam and Osama, is only up a few points against a progressive Democrat named Jim Martin. Add Kay Hagan's dismantling of Liddy Dole in North Carolina and Obama's numbers in Florida and North Carolina, and suddenly great reign of the southern strategy, founded by Goldwater, secured by Nixon, and used to create a Republican safe zone for decades, is completely unraveling.

But back to Virginia. For the second time, we canvassed Loudon County. Even after six years of steady canvassing, I've always treated the undecided voter as something of a mythical creature. But this weekend I sensed the reality of the undecideds of Loudon County- these were people who had always voted Republican. Now they knew in their hearts that they should vote for Obama- they wanted to, their neighbors and family were going to, and the Republicans just flat didn't deserve their votes or share their values anymore. But change is not easy. And I will grant them time to think it over. I can't dream of the day I'd vote a Republican for president, and I have to respect the leap of faith they are making right now, even in just spending time in the undecided camp. And when they do pull that lever for the Democratic Party, the man we'll have to thank most of all is Mark Warner, who single-handedly rebranded Democrats in the state of Virginia. He is now up 23 in his Senate race, and we will welcome him to that hallowed hall come January.

We knocked on hundreds of houses this weekend, and returned to New York exhausted and satisfied. Driving by the lights of the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue, I turned to the backseat and wondered aloud, "How great this will it be when you know the Obama family is behind those gates." Peace, hope and justice will be home in 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue again. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68KLZCVFDQI

Later I read Time Magazine's Karen Tumulty recount her trip to the Republican headquarters, which included a volunteer prep session led by state GOP Chairman Jeffrey Frederick explaining the talking point linking Obama and Osama bin Laden: "Both have friends that bombed the Pentagon," he said. "That is scary." Indeed. I think he's just terrified to be the state GOP Chairman during the three years that the Virginia GOP lost a governor's race, both their Republican senators, and their ability to keep Virginia red in a presidential election.

"No more cigarettes, no more having sex, no more drinking till you fall on the floor…"

I returned from Virginia weary, but the show raged on. Last night it took us across the river to Hoboken. As we walked block after block away from the Path Train, it felt like a weird death march into Jersey, but it was worth it to see one of the great new bands of the Age of Change, Titus Andronicus, a band with a Shakespearian name that rocks like the Clash and other heroes of late 70s garage punk. You can check out their myspace site here:

http://www.myspace.com/titusandronicus

They play fast and hard and loud and with the angst of a bleak future, with song titles like "No Future", and repeating choruses of "your life is over!" What makes them not trite is that this dark vision of the road ahead seems to actually bother them, torture them, even make them furious. Plus they scored points with me for calling the first track on their album, "Fear and Loathing in Mahweh." "Fear and Loathing" is a term that gets thrown around a lot these days, but if it's a reference to growing up in Jersey, I can see it.

Being good New Jersey boys (and infallibly polite with family members in the audience), they covered the Boss, going with a bruising rendition of "Badlands." You can tell a lot about a band by who they cover, and the choice was fitting for the band whose "Airing of Grievances" is the most exciting debut rock album to come out of New Jersey since "Greetings from Ashbury Park." New Yorkers can next see them in New York on November 9th, at Santos Party House, and others can check their touring schedule off their myspace page.

…..

Man, that is all for now. This week will feature a canvassing trip to New Hampshire, where the motto is "Live Free or Die," the leaves are in full autumn plume, and the great Senator's lead is too close for comfort. It will be my last canvassing trip of the 2008 Election Season. On Monday, October 20th, I will undergo reconstructive knee surgery for the ACL I tore at the end of this summer. It will keep me in bed for a week at least, but my goal is to be back for Election Day for some voter protection

As our friends at Defiance Ohio would say, "This time, this year, is bigger than us, it goes on and on after this town has taken it all out of us…"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VYcQobeySN4

Have a good night, and keep living the dream. Ask not for whom the bell curves, it curves for thee...

Katie Baron on Sarah Palin (As Hot As It Sounds)

2008-09-09T20:15:00.000-07:00

Sarah Palin

By Katie Baron

What’s the difference between a hockey mom and the second in command to be leader of the free world? I can tell you for damn sure, it’s more than lipstick.

I consider myself more of a pop culture critic than a political aficionado, so I’ll stick to what I know. If I didn’t hate Sarah Palin so much, I would love her. In fact, I love to hate her. She has emerged onto the political scene as a true star. “Babies, Lies & Scandal”, that was the headline on the cover Us Weekly Magazine. Celebrity gossip junkies like myself live for this stuff-- scandal, scandal, scandal-- it’s so irresistible! The whole can’t-turn-your-head-away-from-the-car-wreck phenomenon that leads the public to watch Amy Winehouse’s drug use spiral out of control or Britney Spears’ demise into mental illness fuels much of the interest into Sarah Palin. Bristol Palin is the GOP’s very own Jamie Lynn Spears! How better to draw attention to a lackluster campaign than bringing it to the forefront of the pop culture dialog? The Republicans can no longer criticize Barack Obama for being the biggest celebrity there is. I personally have a little more faith in the Republican Party than to believe that Sarah Palin wasn’t properly vetted. I wouldn’t be surprised if the McCain camp was telling the truth when they said they knew of Bristol’s pregnancy before they chose Palin. Under investigation for trying to get her ex-brother-in-law (a violent drunk who tested a taser on his step-son) fired? Come on, how could they have missed that? By adding to the ticket this no name Governor from Alaska, a state with a population less than one-third that of Brooklyn, the Republicans have inserted themselves into the minds of more Americans by appealing to the lowest common denominator among us. It’s the same reason reality TV dominates programming and radio stations all play the same shitty songs. We are an over-mediated society and Sarah Palin is easy on the eyes.

In the words of Peggy Noonan, speech writer for Ronald Regan, the Republicans have gone for this narrative bullshit- whether Noonan is right in saying that it doesn’t work for the GOP is yet to be seen. The choice of her as John McCain’s running mate says so much about what is so wrong with Americans today. She epitomizes the “candidate that you’d most like to sit down and have a beer with” factor. “Sarah Palin: Mother. Moosehunter Maverick.” This video put out by the RNC pretty much sums it up. With a tune highly reminiscent of the theme song from the prime time soap opera Dallas playing in the background, the Republicans paint a picture of a small town girl who rose through the ranks. From the PTA, to the City Council, to the Mayor’s Office, to the Governor’s Mansion, and all this while popping out FIVE children. The McCain camp definitely went “all-in” with this one, attempting to appeal to disaffected Hillary supporters and their conservative base at the same time. Sarah Palin resonates.

Never mind the facts. Never mind the fact that she took a $600,000 loss for the state of Alaska by “putting that corporate jet on eBay.” Never mind the fact that she straight up lied about her stance on the Bridge to Nowhere and stance on earmarks. Never mind the fact that she didn’t have a passport until 2007. Never mind the fact that being in close proximity to Russia doesn’t actually give you ANY foreign policy experience. Never mind the fact that she thinks global warming is not caused by humans. Never mind the fact that thinks abortion should be illegal, even in cases of rape and incest. Never mind the fact that she is such a poor decision maker she changed colleges six times, often because she didn’t like the weather.

In 1984 Barack Obama had graduated from Columbia and was taking on his first job as a research associate at Business International Corporation. That same year Sarah Palin was coming in runner-up at the Miss Alaska Pageant! From a McCain camp whose biggest knock against Obama was his lack of experience and over-hyped celebrity status, this choice of Sarah Palin has proven that the GOP has subscribed to the philosophy that if you dominate the public discourse and win over the hearts of Americans the rest will follow. After all, whatever it is that the VP does all day wouldn’t we have fun watching Sarah Palin do it?

A Way Worse Than Michelle Quote

2008-09-09T15:06:00.000-07:00

"No one knows what war is like other than my family. Period."

-- Meghan McCain, daughter of Sen. John McCain, on the Today Show.

Let's see if the media treats this like a misstatement, or if it spends the rest of the campaign harping on it like it has ever since Michelle's 'proud of my country' comment.

Denver Dispatch, Part 2

2008-09-09T10:23:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, from the DNC...

I’m John Kerry, and I’m Reporting for Breakfast!

Wednesday morning was the toughest of times, the point in the Big Weekend where only the indomitable nature of the human spirit allows you to carry on after your body says no. Cursing myself as I narrowly missed multiple buses, I rushed as fast as my gimpy legs could carry me to the Tent. The day’s main attraction was T. Boone Pickens, an old deuschebag, a right-wing Texas billionaire oil man. He was sharing the Big Tent stage with Sierra Club Executive director Carl Pope and Center for American Progress (moderate left) founder, John Podesta. Pickens is long-time oil and gas speculator who has made literally billion dollars in the oil industry. He played a big role in the Swift Boats debacle, and has been a big financial backer of true right-wing idiots like Senator James Inhofe of Oklahoma, who thinks global warming is “a giant hoax.” Podesta and Pope seemed in utter awe that they were sharing a stage with an old foe like Pickens. Pope even made the alliterative and probably correct comment that, “You know our politics is broken when Podesta, Pope and Pickens agree on something, and it’s still not getting done.” Pickens seemed unfazed, even annoyed. He knows these stooges on stage with him will last as long as he needs them, at which point he’ll eat them alive.

You see, Pickens has this thing he calls “the Pickens plan.” Though couched in a lot of talk about wind energy and solar energy, where Pickens perhaps believes he can make his next billion dollars, what the plan actually amounts to is putting Pickens in charge of our country’s energy policy. Picking a convenient time to go ‘non-partisan’, Pickens insists he has met with both Obama and McCain, and is willing to be appointed energy czar no matter who is elected president. How thoughtful! A snake in the grass is a snake in the grass. I’ll trust this septuagenarian oil mogul with our renewable energy policy like I’ll trust Paul Wolfowitz with running Dennis Kucinich’s Department of Peace or Ricky Martin with getting Pink Floyd back together.

I was dithering on the stairs a little later when I heard the booming voice of Dan Rather coming from the upstairs stage. Rather was engaging in the most typical mainstream media self-flagellation. The crowd hissed as Rather went through the mainstream media’s complete failure to focus on substantive stories, its subservience to the Bush administration in the lead-up to the War, its lack of fortitude in the face of “access-restriction” threats. Indeed, today’s mainstream journalists are complete wusses and worthless lemmings at the very least. The crowd gave Rather no credit for his periodic, “I do no except myself from this statement.” After all, the damage was done, and giving self-loathing talks on the academic cocktail circuit won’t repair it. One novel reason (at least to me) Rather gave for the media collapsing on itself was the diversified holdings of major media companies, which cause them to act profitably with respect to the media channel, which but also answer to a larger company that doesn’t really care about its news content at all. These mega companies leave ownership too diffused for someone like Anchor Rather to have an individual he can point to as “running CBS.” It was sad, sad but boring. I agreed to meet Paul on the street.

MSNBC was doing its best to make its “live studio” sitting in the middle of nowhere, a mile from the Convention, interesting. As it turned out, the Roll Call vote was going down, so we stayed to watch on the big screen. My friends, let me tell you something. I’ve worked on two presidential campaigns, and run meetings with Robert’s Rules of Order for two years as Student Body President, but the Roll Call vote was one of the strangest procedural events I’ve ever witnessed. First of all, each state gives its “Chamber of Commerce” pitch:

“The great state of New Jersey, home of Thomas Edison, inventor of the light bulb, with its gorgeous beaches and green mountains (??), home of our great Senators Bob Menendez and Frank Lautenberg…” This goes on for a maximum of 45 seconds, though that self-promotional rule is constantly violated. At the end of the pitch, the state declares, “the State of New Jersey proudly casts its 126 delegates for the next president of the United States, Barack Obama!” Now imagine that, for every state, in alphabetical order. And Guam. At one point, California passed. No one was sure why. Then Illinois passed. Then, for the grand finale, New Mexico deferred to Illinois, so that Mayor Daley could take the mic and defer to New York, where the delegation marched into the room, with Hillary leading the way. I have to admit welling up in pride a little bit- we have a damn fine delegation: Governor Paterson, Attorney General Cuomo, the dean, Congressman Rangel, Senator Schumer…these guys aren’t perfect, but they are tough as nails, and I’m happy they’re in office to stand up for our interests. Somehow Shelley Silver ended up with the mic though, and as he nasally crooned for Hillary, Chris Matthews interrupted to observe ‘how amazing it was that we all have such different accents in America.’ Hillary then motioned to suspend the rules and make Obama the nominee, cool pageantry, if not rendering the whole exercise something of a waste of time.

We were about to walk away when I spotted a costumed representative of Nos Energy Drink. It was like Red Bull, but grosser, and I had discovered it on my last trip to Canada. You don’t get your nickname in a can every day, and I’ve become a volunteer endorser of the product. Perhaps sensing this, the Nos representative handed me a few cans, and asked if I could pose for a picture holding them. Clint, ever the thorough journalist, lined up to take one as well. Then a random dude, sensing that this was a picture worth taking, lined up his camera too. This caught the attention of random journalists, not wanting to miss out on the Big Photo, and the bored crowd, who by this assumed the recipient of all this attention must be celebrity. I was wearing a silver shirt, after all.

Lesson learned. Paul and I made a pact that next Convention we are bringing a video camera and taking turns pretending to follow the other one around. Washington has always been called “Hollywood for ugly people”, and in this environment, it’s pretty easy to convince people you’re important just by acting like it- there’s no People Magazine to verify who’s who in politics.

After the Roll Call, I met up with Brett, who had also acquired a free bike, and was casually following a massive anti-war protest, taking pictures. The protest had been declared by Rage Against the Machine, who were holding a concert several miles from the convention. The band, forming an intimidating alliance with Iraq Veterans Against the War, descended on downtown D.C, with an army of anarchists, hippies and Code Pink demonstrators in tow. It was an impressive show, and reminded me of the old days past. Outgrowing the spirit of the movement is one thing, but the chants you just grow sick of. There’s only so many times you can yell “Who’s streets? Our streets!” into a megaphone. Sally said her least favorite is the inane, “If the people are united, they will never be divided.” It’s largely incorrect, and it doesn’t even rhyme. My favorite was always “money for schools, not for war.” Keep it simple and on message. In my attempt to meet up with Brett during this circus I had found an embankment near a bank, and yelled, “I’m on the grassy knoll!” over the phone several times before I realized that might send the wrong message to the hundreds of cops standing near me.

All the energy drinks in the world couldn’t help me get through Evan Bayh’s speech, but sleep was impossible, as the loud drone of speakers introducing speakers introducing speakers wore on and on. Markos Moulitsas gave me a supportive high five when he saw I was fading- by the way, the DailyKos founder is one of the nicest famous people I’ve ever met, straight up. At this point the line-up for National Security Night came into focus. Evan Bayh. Jack Reed. John Kerry. Bill Clinton. Finally, Joe Biden. Apparently, in the Democratic Party, as in the rest of America, “having national security credentials” is just another phrase for being a bellicose old white man.

John Kerry was speeching like it was 1971, thundering, “patriotism is not love of power, it is love of country” before delving into a great flip-flopping routine. Flip-flopping, of course, is the dirty word Republicans came up with to describe John Kerry’s ability to change his mind when the circumstances around a question evolved. In contrast, Stephen Colbert notes, “George Bush believes the same thing on Wednesday that he believed on Monday, no matter what happened on Tuesday.”

Nevertheless, flip-flopping has been with us ever since, and John Kerry was more than happy to lay into the many, many occasions in which John McCain has changed his positions (sucks to have the paper trail of a longtime Senator, doesn’t it?). Kerry took McCain for violating his own campaign finance reform bill- “Talk about being for it before he was against it!” Kerry ended, “Before he ever debates Barrack Obama, John McCain should finish the debate he started against himself!” In 2010, after 26 years as an understudy, Kerry will finally become the Senior Senator from Massachusetts.

Next up, Bill Clinton. He may have been an SOB this primary season , but it’s hard not to get teary-eyed when Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow blasts out the speakers and President Bubba takes the stage to a sea of flags. The applause was epic, second only to Obama’s, and unable to talk over the wild cheers, Bill smiled, put his head down and muttered, “God I love this” into the microphone. Bill’s message that night was simple:

1. Rebuild the American Dream

2. Restore American Leadership in the world

“The world has always been more impressed by our power of example than the example of our power,” he preached. So simple: American can do better. After eight years, who would you rather trust to rebuild the American dream and restore American leadership in the world? A war-monger who admits to not understanding the economy, or a post-partisan leader who thinks in 21^st century terms

“They actually want us to reward them for the last 8 years by giving them four more years,” Clinton continued. “Let’s send them a simple message: thanks, but no thanks, this time the third time is not the charm.” Having once again simply thrown down the Democratic Party’s core principles and why we must support Senator Obama, Bill ended with his classic line, “America Must Always Be a Place Called Hope.”

Closing out the night, even Joe Biden, who I’d always kind of regarded as kind of a tool, was searing with emotion, reminding people of the values his parents taught him, “that everyone is equal to you, and you are equal to everyone.” It seemed an odd line, almost socialistic. Biden also has a shelf-life at which point you just want him to stop talking, but near the end of his speech he nailed this line:

“In all of my years in the Senate, Washington has never seen so many people get knocked down, and do so little to help them up.” After the speeches we all met up at a dive bar and took in the events of the day. A lady offered us Joe Biden paraphernalia, including the big red signs you wave on a stick. I accepted. Joe is on the Moving Train now, and we’re going to ride this train together to the very end.