Pope Francis vs. Bill Maher, pope of snark

Posted on January 18, 2015 by oddmanout215

Pope Francis in the PH

Poor Pope Francis, cast into eternal darkness by comedian Bill Maher, host of Real Time and unofficial head of the Church of the Latter Day Snarks:

“I was starting to really like this pope,” Maher said during his monologue on Friday. “He’s dead to me now. Oh yeah, f*ck the Pope. Look, George Bush said it: you’re either with us or against us. Apparently the Pope is not with us.”

Maher was disappointed that the Pope said religion should be off-limits for insults at the same time that he condemned the attack against the French newspaper Charlie Hebdo that left 12 staff members killed.

I say, f*ck Bill Maher. He prides himself on being politically incorrect but his knee-jerk rejection of ideas that clash with his point of view is just the opposite — politically predictable. His snarky act has gotten old.

I don’t agree with Pope Francis on this one — no institution should be “off-limits for insults” — but most of his other social criticisms are on target. Bottom line, he always takes the side of the poor against the obscenely wealthy, the oppressed against the oppressors. Which is more than you can say for Maher and his fellow limousine liberals, who have more in common with hardcore Republicans than with progressives.

Credit where it’s due: Swamp Rabbit just reminded me that Maher’s golden moment as a social critic came soon after 9/11, when he told Middle America that people who crash airplanes into skyscrapers are anything but cowards — that we were the cowards for “lobbing cruise missiles from 2,000 miles away.” “Now that was politically incorrect,” the rabbit said.

Correction: When Francis became pope, I thought he’d turn out to be another corrupt figurehead who wore funny hats. I was wrong, except for the hats.

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Seeking disaster’s bright side in Atlantic City

Posted on January 17, 2015 by oddmanout215

Atlantic City Mayor Don Guardian is like Voltaire’s Pangloss, or Eric Idle in Life of Brian. He always looks on the bright side of life, even life in Atlantic City, which has been in a downward spiral for years thanks to corrupt and incompetent public officials and casino executives.

In his State of the City speech this week, Guardian argued that A.C. could get back on the winning track by diversifying its economy instead of continuing to depend almost entirely on revenues from crumbling casino businesses. Fittingly, Guardian made his speech in the ballroom at Caesars, whose parent company had just filed for bankruptcy protection.

Smart people warned A.C. to diversify decades ago, to make it more “family-friendly” before casinos became legal in nearby states and drew away a large percentage of the gamblers. It didn’t happen. Four of 12 A.C. casinos went dark in 2014, throwing thousands of people out of work. Gaming revenues have shrunk to almost half of what they were eight years ago. You might say Guardian is planning radical surgery for a patient who has already been wheeled to the morgue — unless you look on the bright side.

Give the mayor credit for appreciating the absurd and for giving a good pep talk, even though he hit a sour note when he said, “At least we are not Detroit.” This was like saying we are not London during the plague years, or Dresden after the fire bombs.

Atlantic City is many times smaller than Detroit and should have been much easier to fix. It has a beach and a boardwalk and an ocean, and it once had legions of chumps journeying from far and wide to blow their money on games of chance. It was a test case for the argument that legalized gambling was a good way to jump-start depressed communities.

So much for that argument. Casinos care about casinos, not communities. When they can no longer plunder, they run.

Posted in arts, casinos, down and out, economic collapse, humor, movies, pop music, unemployment | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Cat Stevens still can’t abide ‘blasphemy’

Posted on January 14, 2015 by oddmanout215

He didn't mean to hurt you... He's just a zealous guy.

He didn’t mean to hurt you… He’s just a zealous guy.

The hippie-era troubadour and Muslim convert Yusuf Islam, aka Cat Stevens, is on the comeback trail and already putting his foot in his mouth. For a recent Rolling Stone article, Yusuf was asked about his declaration that “[Salman Rushdie] must be killed. The Quran makes it clear: If someone defames the prophet, then he must die.” He said this way back in 1989, shortly after the Ayatollah Khomeini declared a fatwa against Rushdie for blaspheming the prophet Muhammad in his novel The Satanic Verses.

One might assume that the 2015 version of Cat Stevens, singing and playing again in the secular world, would unambiguously disavow his old statements about Rushdie, who was forced into hiding for many years because of the fatwa. But one would be wrong. Instead, Yusuf told RS:

I’m a firm believer in the law… I was never a supporter of the fatwa [against Rushdie], but people don’t want to hear that because they keep saying that I believe in the law of blasphemy. All I’m saying is, how can you deny the Third Commandment? It’s an Islamic principle that you must follow the law of the land where you reside.

Swamp Rabbit and I scratched our heads when we read this. Was the Rock & Roll Hall of Famer saying that Rushdie shouldn’t be killed, period, or that he should only be killed in countries where Islam and the law are the same thing?

The rabbit took a swig of Wild Turkey — to help him think more clearly, I guess. He said, “Sounds to me like Yusuf ain’t honest enough to admit he talked like a jackass back in the day. He should apologize to Rushdie, or keep his yap shut.”

I almost agreed with the rabbit. Yusuf should be able to say whatever he wants to say, but no way would I ride the peace train with a guy who can’t quite renouce the ultimate form of censorship. Even if I could afford the ticket.

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Notes on Anita Ekberg, ‘sex goddess’

Posted on January 13, 2015 by oddmanout215

News of Anita Ekberg’s death at 83 got Swamp Rabbit and I and other Federico Fellini fans thinking of Ekberg’s small but memorable role in La Dolce Vita (1960), her only good movie and one of the greatest movies ever shown at my shack in the Tinicum swamp.

I liked the photo of Ekberg in People magazine’s obit, but I took issue with how the writer described La Dolce Vita:

In the Fellini classic, which starred Marcello Mastroianni in what was essentially one long hedonistic romp through the Eternal City, Ekberg ignited her own eternal sex goddess image when she alluringly waded through the Fountain of Trevi in a black, strapless dress.

Calling La Dolce Vita a hedonistic romp is like calling Hamlet a revenge thriller — the description is reductive, to say the least. The movie’s anti-hero, Marcello, is an exceedingly charming fellow who parties non-stop because he can’t think of anything meaningful to do with his talents. His misery is compounded by the fact that he works as a journalist/publicist at a time when the media is evolving into an all-seeing monster that trivializes people, ideas and institutions.

“I don’t like that cat on her head,” the rabbit said as we watched Ekberg in the movie’s famous fountain scene. “But she’s one of them sex goddesses, for sure.”

I explained to the rabbit that Ekberg’s Sylvia is more than a sex goddess to Marcello. She’s the great novel he’ll never write, the undying love he’ll never experience, the faith — and faithfulness — that will forever elude him. Ultimately, she’s like the other loves in his life, in that she embodies his dread as well as his aspirations.

“Whatever you say,” the rabbit said. “But if she ain’t no sex goddess, I don’t know who is.”

Posted in arts, fiction, humor, mainstream media, movies | 1 Comment

Ivan Klima covers the NFL playoffs

Posted on January 12, 2015 by oddmanout215

klima

Swamp Rabbit and I were hungry, so we took a two-day job — strictly commission, unfortunately — peddling magical electricity in a suburban mall. There were flat-screen TVs and football fans all over the place. We caught some of the New England Patriots-Baltimore Ravens playoff game as we worked. The rabbit had bet on the Patriots to win by seven points, but they only won by four, so he lost his bet and was in no mood to join the Patriots fans as they cheered.

But the fans quickly shut up and went back to gawking at the shiny toys in the mall. Tom Brady is a great QB, I told the rabbit, but who really cares about the Patriots where we live, in Philadelphia Eagles country? In fact, who cares about the Eagles? They’re done. Show me the next distraction, please.

“In the end, it’s all garbage,” I added.

Magical electricity sales were a bit slow, so I pulled from my backpack a dog-eared copy of Czech novelist Ivan Klima’s Love and Garbage and read to Swamp Rabbit a relevant passage about consumers:

They fill the streets, the squares, the stadiums and the department stores. When they burst into cheers over a winning goal, a successful pop song or a revolution, it seems as if that roar would go on forever, but it is followed at once by the deathly silence of emptiness and oblivion.

“Don’t give me no high-falutin’ lectures, I ain’t in the mood,” Swamp Rabbit replied. “I just lost fifty bucks on them freakin’ Patriots. Now I gotta stand here and watch these here consumers consume all them toys I can’t afford.”

I told him all is good, the toys won’t make the consumers any happier than he is, not for more than a few minutes. “What these people need, they can’t buy at the mall,” I said.

I added. “You’re just looking to fill the void inside you where your soul should be.”

“You got that right, Odd Man. Any liquor stores in this dump?”

We folded up our table and left the mall, still hungry. On the way back to the swamp I stole some wieners at the SuperFridge and a liter of Wild Turkey at Tinicum Beer & Spirits.

“Here you go, Swamp Rabbit,” I said, handing him the bourbon when we were back at the shack. “But this poison won’t fill the void.”

He guzzled straight from the bottle and said, “Maybe not, but at least it’ll stop the shakes.”

Posted in fiction, humor, life in the big city, Philadelphia, sports, The New Depression, unemployment | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

The provocation game in France

Posted on January 8, 2015 by oddmanout215

Juan’s Cole’s analysis of the bloody assault on the office of the satiric magazine Charlie Hebdo wasn’t as stirring as Salman Rushdie’s, but Cole got to the heart of the matter:

This horrific murder was not a pious protest against the defamation of a religious icon. It was an attempt to provoke European society into pogroms against French Muslims, at which point Al Qaeda recruitment would suddenly exhibit some successes, instead of faltering in the face of lively Beur youth culture (French Arabs playfully call themselves by this slang term).

The strategy was akin to that of the planners of the much more audacious and deadly 9/11 attacks. Let’s hope the French reaction (and the French media’s reaction) to this dirty deed is nowhere near as colossally stupid and disastrous as the American reaction to 9/11.

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Regarding Rushdie and the limits of satire

Posted on January 8, 2015 by oddmanout215

Salman Rushdie has issued an eloquent denunciation of the fanatics who slew 12 in Paris in the name of their god:

I stand with Charlie Hebdo, as we all must, to defend the art of satire, which has always been a force for liberty and against tyranny, dishonesty and stupidity. ‘Respect for religion’ has become a code phrase meaning ‘fear of religion.’ Religions, like all other ideas, deserve criticism, satire, and, yes, our fearless disrespect.

I showed Rushdie’s statement to my friend Swamp Rabbit and said, “That pretty much sums it up, don’t you think?”

“Almost,” the rabbit said. “But this story ain’t about old-school religion — Muslims and Christians and whatnot. It’s about somethin’ bigger.”

We talked it out. The rabbit’s point was that the murderers in Paris are political ideologues more than they are religious fanatics. Their religious convictions, if they have any, are bound up in their socioeconomic grievances. They and their fellow fanatics want to punish the West — not so much for disrespecting Muhammad as for disrespecting them. They profess to be killing on the behalf of the powerless. Religion isn’t really the primary issue in this story, any more than it was in Northern Ireland during the time of the troubles.

The rabbit noted that old-school religions have run out of steam in the West, except among Bible-thumping Republicans in red-state America. That the dominant religion in the modern secular West is free-market capitalism. That hardcore capitalism continues to widen the gulf between the world’s haves and have-nots, setting the stage for a large-scale backlash on the part of the have-nots.

“Yes, but at least we Westerners are free to criticize, satirize and disrespect capitalism and its high priests,” I said. “Capitalist fanatics don’t shoot people for making fun of the Koch brothers or Wall Street or ExxonMobil.”

The rabbit opened the door of my shack, letting in the cold air. “Wake up, Odd Man,” he said. “Capitalists run the government. They own the TV and newspapers and all that. They ain’t gotta shoot no critics. They just drown ’em out with propaganda and use the propaganda to start wars against the have-nots.”

“They’ve done a good job of that,” I conceded. “But I think you underestimate the power of satire.”

Maybe so,” he said. “But not as much as you underestimate the power of money.”

Posted in arts, fiction, history, humor, mainstream media, plutocracy, terrorism, Wall Street | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Outlaw bikers with badges and benefits, aka NYPD

Posted on January 7, 2015 by oddmanout215

swamp-rabbitIs it possible to be paranoid and arrogant as hell at the same time? Sure it is, if you’re a cop.

Swamp Rabbit asked me how I could say such a thing. I told him to check out the NYPD goons who turned their backs to dis New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio at the funerals of their two slain comrades. As if the mayor somehow inspired the loony who killed the cops. As if he was expressing solidarity with cop killers when he addressed the concerns of people who feel victimized by city employees who’ve sworn to protect them.

The rabbit tossed some twigs into the wood stove and said, “Git a grip, Odd Man. Screamin’ at me ain’t gonna stop cops from killin’ guys who sell loosies, or bring back the kid with the toy gun who got blown away at the playground by some Barney Fife.”

I slammed the wood stove door and said, “I know that, you stupid rodent. All I’m saying is it shouldn’t surprise anybody when cops turn their backs. That’s what most cops do.”

The rabbit took a swig of Wild Turkey and tried to pass the bottle to me. I shook him off. He said, “I still don’t get your drift, Odd Man.”

“Well, get this. You ever call the cops when there’s a domestic dispute? When your bike or car is stolen? When some nut job down the block threatens to stab your first-born? Cops take two hours to show up. Then they laugh at you. Then they threaten to lock you up if you make a fuss. Then they turn their backs and walk.”

He accused me of exaggerating. “You’re just talkin’ about that rotten neighborhood in Philly where you grew up. Most people like havin’ a police department.”

I threw an empty can of black-eyed peas at him. “Cops aren’t a department, they’re a tribe. They’re like outlaw motorcycle gangs. They don’t rat on their brothers. They watch out for each other. They think it’s us versus them. They exist outside the law.”

“You make it sound like all cops are bad guys,” the rabbit said. “That’s like sayin’ all bus drivers is bad.”

“Bus drivers can’t shoot you for looking at them funny.”

“Them’s just the bad apples,” the rabbit insisted. “Most cops ain’t like outlaw bikers.”

“Right again,” I said. “Cops shave more often — the males, at least. They wear shiny shoes. They have badges and great benefits and pensions and can retire before their hair turns gray. Bikers don’t get benefits.”

I would have kept my rant going, but the rabbit turned his back on me and hopped out to the swamp.

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Black-eyed peas at New Year’s, and other superstitions

Posted on January 6, 2015 by oddmanout215

osborne bookSwamp Rabbit and I didn’t do Christmas 2014, we were too beat down by the solstice blues. We agreed to exchange gifts at New Year’s but didn’t get around to it until Sunday. I gave the rabbit two cans of black-eyed peas and he gave me a novel.

“I gotta eat these here peas to have good luck in 2015, right?” he said, clutching the cans. “It’s one of them New Year’s superstitions from down South.”

I told him I didn’t know anything about southern superstitions. “I got black-eyed peas because they were the only thing I could steal today at the SuperFridge. Security at that dump is getting pretty tight.”

He shrugged, probably because I’d already stolen from the liquor store in Tinicum the one item that makes him smile — his monthly supply of Wild Turkey. I don’t count the bourbon as a gift. It’s more like medicine.

The novel was The Ballad of a Small Player, by Lawrence Osborne, about a lawyer/gambling addict called Lord Doyle who has swindled a very large sum from a client in England and is slowly losing it at the baccarat tables in Macau, the former Portuguese colony in China that years ago surpassed Las Vegas as the casino gambling capital of the world. Macau is where the casino magnate and evil gnome Sheldon Adelson has made much of his ever-growing fortune.

I read the novel and caught up with the rabbit the next day in my shack as he was eating black-eyed peas from my frying pan. I told him Osborne’s examination of the gambler’s mindset is in the same league with Dostoevski’s. His suave, self-destructive Lord Doyle is as finely drawn a protagonist as any of Graham Greene’s. And Osborne rivals Hunter S. Thompson in his talent for describing opulent hellholes full of middle-class schmucks — Chinese, in this case — “losing their life savings with a smoldering fag in one hand, a plastic cup of punch in the other… Thirty years of miserable slog and labor tossed down the maw of the casino in seven minutes.”

“I ain’t surprised you like it, the book got good reviews,” the rabbit said. Then he asked me if it was better than Good Sal/Bad Sal, my unpublished novel set in casino-era Atlantic City.

“Osborne’s book is different,” I said, dodging the question. “It’s about the intersection of luck and fate. It’s about the thrill of riding a good-luck streak until it consumes you. Osborne is obsessed with the mystery of luck.”

“Luck is the residue of design.” the rabbit said. “Ain’t that what they say?”

I laughed. “Sounds pretty, but 99 percent of the people who swarm casinos don’t believe in design. They only believe in luck, even after they throw away all their money.”

The rabbit chewed his peas and said, “Shit, Odd Man, you gotta believe in somethin’. How else you gonna get through hard times?”

I considered quoting to him one of the existentialist philosophers — Camus, maybe — but I changed my mind. “I don’t believe in luck, or even in probability. But I do believe in food. Pass me those peas, rabbit.”

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Get 700,000 e-books for $9.99, then an Amazon crock-pot

Posted on December 31, 2014 by oddmanout215

buffet-2

Swamp Rabbit and I were eating collard greens — the new kale! — and reading about Amazon’s all-you-can-eat strategy for handling books:

…For much of the last year, mainstream novelists were furious that Amazon was discouraging the sale of some titles in its confrontation with the publisher Hachette over e-books.

Now self-published writers, who owe much of their audience to the retailer’s publishing platform, are unhappy.

One problem is too much competition. But a new complaint is about Kindle Unlimited, a new Amazon subscription service that offers access to 700,000 books — both self-published and traditionally published — for $9.99 a month.

It may bring in readers, but the writers say they earn less…

“You may as well put that book you wrote on Amazon,” the rabbit said. “None of them agents gonna waste time lookin’ at it.”

“Can’t you read, rabbit? It’s becoming harder every month for novelists who publish on Amazon to get paid. Customers can rent e-books by the ton instead of buying them one at a time. Why should I bother with Amazon? I might as well give my latest novel away.”

“Might as well. How much money you gonna make waitin’ for one of them real publishers to sign you up? A big fat zero, is all.”

I started shouting about the sorry state of the publishing industry and the plight of artists who are being not only ripped off but impoverished by the sharks who control the increasingly sophisticated digital systems that “stream” books, music, movies, etc., to consumers. It’s beyond commodification. It’s as if works of art — I used the term loosely — are nothing more than collard greens, delivered by the truckload. Put a few leaves in your Amazon crock-pot and throw the rest out.

The rabbit gobbled a big bunch of collards and washed them down with a snoot full of Wild Turkey. “Art ain’t what it used to be, Odd Man,” he said. ‘You gotta roll with the times.”

He pointed to the key paragraph in the article:

Amazon, though, may be willing to forgo some income in the short term to create a service that draws readers in and encourages them to buy other items. The books, in that sense, are loss leaders, although the writers take the loss, not Amazon.

I reread the passage and asked the rabbit if he thought Amazon founder Jeff Bezos was the devil, or merely the devil’s instrument.

He spit in the swamp and said, “Don’t matter who the devil is. The question is, who are you? How you gonna survive if you don’t adapt?”

I crawled into my shack and slammed the door behind me. Once again, the pesky rodent’s words had rendered me speechless.

Posted in down and out, economic collapse, fiction, food, humor, mainstream media, The New Depression | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments