arse poetica

Mardi Gras Wishes (+ Blogger Love Moment)

If there is someone on your blogroll who makes your world a better place just because that person exists and who you would not have met (in real life or not) without the internet, then post this same sentence on your blog. [via]

Now, this is a perfect segue into my Mardi Gras post. In true big-hearted Weezianan fashion, one of my fave bloggers, Diane at The Dees Diversion, whom I had the pleasure to meet in real life -- all because of these wondrous internets! -- sent me and db a King Cake in celebration of Mardi Gras. Witness its delicious green and purple frostinged beauty!

Friends, I am here to tell you that gifts from almost-strangers (but not really because so much of who Diane is -- fiercely intelligent, filled w/ compassion, righteous, funny, wry, indignant -- comes through in her words) can be so touching. db and I were so moved to receive this gift from afar, in celebration of New Orleans, a city for which we have a special fondness, and at a time when we could see first-hand that this gubmint doesn't seem to want NOLA to thrive. And it felt extra special that we were able to share the cake w/ friends and tell them the story of a friend's generosity and how it was entirely possible to forge bonds via a system of 1s and 0s, and didn't this show that there was hope for the world?

Diane certainly makes my world a better place, and I don't mean the King Cake, though that certainly brings a smile to my face. Hers was one of the first blogs I read on a regular basis, because it made me feel less crazy. I love her POV, her style, her unwavering dedication to justice (for all creatures), her choice of topic. I'm inspired to do more, to be better, to think more clearly by Diane's example. This is a must-read blog, friends. Enjoy. And thank you, Diane! You are one of the reasons the internets are worthwhile!

Apparently Every Song I Like

sounds like this* or, in a certain mood, this**.

[*Mazarin, "Louise"]
[**Goldfrapp, "Number 1"]

Out of My Head!

[I can't get.]

Flit, flit, flit:

anonymity, blogular
introversion, general, and as possibly related to above, and as related to recent homebodyness (homebodiness?)
sweet jesus, i detest donald rumsfeld
condi is incompetent, cheney is evil, dumbyass is, well, a dumbass, democracy is failing, and what of the Arc of Progress??
PT and progress of bum wing
pets' needs
our needs
house needs
White Trash Mound o' Dirt (tm) needs (grrrrrrrr)
j-o-b, disinterest in
money, lack of
south.fucking.dakota.
all the music i'm not listening to
all the pals i'm not writing/seeing/talking to
thinking/reading/creating (File under: Not bloody likely.)

Grass is Greener Moment: Life would be a lot easier if I were extroverted (or even had the capacity to play at it), trust me.

[photo credit: ae | Faulkner House Books, New Orleans, LA | July 2005]

Holy God, It's Come to This

For the women of South Dakota: an abortion manual.

[via]

What It Means To Be A Republican

Well, when you put it that way.

What It Means To Be A Republican.

The vice president shoots you in the heart and in the face. Then you apologize for all the trouble it’s caused him. That’s what it means to be a Republican.

Despite almost hysterical warnings the president stays asleep at the wheel. He does nothing about terrorism and 9/11 happens. He responds by running away to Nebraska. Three days later he makes a supposedly impromptu speech with a bull horn on the rubble of the World Trade Center. He is universally cheered as a hero. That’s what it means to be a Republican. The president puts together false claims to go to war with the wrong country. His party universally supports him. That’s what it means to be a Republican.

The administration mismanages the war in Iraq so that it creates chaos, a breeding ground for terrorists and political opportunities for Islamic fundamentalists. Along the way, the reasons for going to war are exposed as false. The president runs on national security as his main issue. He is re-elected. That’s what it means to be a Republican.

The president cheerfully gives away the surplus to the richest people in the country. Then he runs up record debts, just to throw more money their way. He claims it has helped America’s economy. People act like they believe him. That’s what it means to be a Republican.

The administration continues it’s magnificent tradition of going to sleep when it is warned of disaster. It does nothing when Katrina is coming. It continues its record of doing nothing when disaster arrives. As New Orleans was lost, just as when the World Trade Center was lost, the president got as far away as possible. But he can’t be blamed for what nature did. That’s what it means to be a Republican.

The president orders wiretaps without warrants, a straightforward violation of the constitution. When the Attorney General is called to testify, the head of the Judiciary Committee insists that his testimony not be under oath. The head of the intelligence committee suggests that the law be changed, now, to make it legal after the fact. That’s what it means to be a Republican.

Alberto Gonzales helped come up with the program that rejected the Geneva Conventions, that permits torture, that says that the president is above the law and that “I was only following orders” should be a defense against a charge of war crimes. Ah, if only the Nazi war criminals who were hung at Nuremberg had Gonzales there to defend them. The president nominates Gonzales to be his new Attorney General. He is confirmed with little debate and no outrage. That’s what it means to be a Republican.

This needs to be understood.

What it implies is that Republicans can’t be dealt with as if reason and facts will sway them. Because it wont. It’s hard for reality based people, regular Democrats and Liberals to understand that.

What it let’s us know is that reality based people, Democrats, Liberals, real Conservatives, old-fashioned Republicans and non-profit Christians have to take more vigorous and rigorous stands. Or reality and real American values and the American landscape will disappear, not just temporarily, but forever.

-----------
Larry Beinhart is the author of Wag the Dog, The Librarian, and Fog Facts: Searching for Truth in the Land of Spin.

[I am copying the whole thing here because I must keep this for posterity in the event that lily-livered yella bellies ever dare claim that they did not know what was going on. It has been staring you in the face for 6 years, you spineless, no integrity-having, poll-watching incompetents.]

This Is How to Do It

Attack, counterattack. That's the name of the game, friends. This is the best thing I've seen in ages. We cannot let hatemongering go unchecked.

[via]

P.S. The spray-painted text in the 2nd pic reads: Right-wing scum, your time has come!!! Yeah, it has.

Saturday To-Dos

We are tackling the White Trash Back Yard (tm) today. Lord, the leaves! The sticks! The tarp covering the woodpile! Help! Also on the list...

wash/vacuum car
bring plastic furniture and grill to community shed
recycle propane tank
buy pansies
plant pansies
blow leaves
pick up sticks in the backyard (ongoing; lord, is it ever ongoing)
power wash picnic table
power wash deck chairs
find a cleaner that will work on the deck chairs
laundry
cup of tea
Harper's article (Lewis Lapham, "The Case for Impeachment") (sorry, no link, but do read it! those in NYC can head to the discussion on March 2)

Sunday:
Tackle the White Trash Mound o' Dirt (tm) in the driveway. Heaven help us, we're going to try to make lemonade out of this molehill. Or something. This WTMo'D has been sitting in our driveway for a year, I'm embarrassed to say. In our lame-ass defense (not that anyone cares, really), the Mo'D looks like it could be a part of the woodsy section bordering our driveway. The tarp covering the last delivery of mulch tho' ain't helping the ambiance. The goal is to flatten and redistribute the Mo'D so that we're looking at a flower bed (wildflowers?) and not the White Trash Mound o' Dirt (tm) that it so obviously is and which puts me into a bad mood everytime I pull into the driveway.

It being a Sunday and a rare one at home, we couldn't possibly tax ourselves too greatly w/ more than one activity, so the museum I have yet to visit and the photography exhibit I want to see will have to wait for another day.

Truth-Defying, Beauty Mythifying

Dammit, Janet! Was it my imagination, or did I just see Susan Sarandon on a Revlon commercial hawking some magical potion meant to erase away the years?

For the love of olay! A woman all about social justice, rabblerousing, speaking up, the celebrity poster woman for strong, political, feminist women, shilling for the Fashion Industrial Complex. Say it ain't so. I mean, she was Louise, ferchrissakes! I can't stand it.

Friends, don't let your babies grow up to be beauty industry spokesmodels. This bald-faced, cynical lie told to millions of women to part them from their hard-earned millions of dollars and keep them in a perpetual state of anxiety, inferiority, and need is a scourge upon the earth. Perpetrating the fiction that slopping some creme on one's eyelids will generate "age-defying" results should be a punishable offense, not least because it is patently false. This snakeoil will work as advertised when swine take flight, sisters. In light of this porcine premise, it's not surprising that Americans spend more on beauty per year than on education. Feh.

Saving Democracy

The inimitable Bill Moyers.

Saving Democracy.

The Vice President was hunting on a 50-thousand acre ranch owned by a lobbyist friend who is the heiress to a family fortune of land, cattle, banking and oil (ah, yes, the quickest and surest way to the American dream remains to choose your parents well.)

The circumstances of the hunt and the identity of the hunters provoked a lament from The Economist. The most influential pro-business magazine in the world is concerned that hunting in America is becoming a matter of class: the rich are doing more, the working stiffs, less. The annual loss of 1.5 millions of acres of wildlife habitat and 1 million acres of farm and ranchland to development and sprawl has come “at the expense of ‘The Deer Hunter’ crowd in the small towns of the north-east, the rednecks of the south and the cowboys of the west.” Their places, says The Economist, are being taken by the affluent who pay plenty for such conveniences as being driven to where the covey cooperatively awaits. The magazine (hardly a Marxist rag, remember) describes Mr. Cheney’s own expedition as “a lot closer to ‘Gosford Park’ than ‘The Deer Hunter’ – a group of fat old toffs waiting for wildlife to be flushed towards them at huge expense.”

At the heart of this story is a metaphor of power. The Vice President turned his host, the lobbyist who is also the ranch owner, into his de facto news manager. She would disclose the shooting only when Cheney was ready and only on his terms. Sure enough, nothing was made public for almost 20 hours until she finally leaked the authorized version to the local newspaper. Ms. Armstrong suggested the blame lay with the victim, who, she indicated, had failed to inform the Vice President of his whereabouts and walked into a hail of friendly fire. Three days later Cheney revised the story and apologized. Don’t you wonder what went back and forth with the White House that long night of trying to agree on the official line?

We do know someone from the hunting party was in touch with Karl Rove at the White House. For certain Rove’s the kind of fellow you want on the other end of the line when great concoctions are being hatched, especially if you wish the victim to hang for the crime committed against him.

Watching these people work is a study of the inner circle at the top of American politics. The journalist Sidney Blumenthal, writing on Salon.com, reminds us of the relationship between the Armstrong dynasty and the Bush family and its retainers. Armstrong’s father invested in Rove’s political consulting firm that managed George W. Bush’s election as governor of Texas and as president. Her mother, Anne Armstrong, is a longtime Republican activist and donor. Ronald Reagan appointed her to the Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board after her tenure as Ambassador to the United Kingdom under President Ford, whose chief of staff was a young Dick Cheney. Anne Armstrong served on the board of directors of Halliburton that hired Cheney to run the company. Her daughter, Katherine Armstrong, host of the hunting party, was once a lobbyist for the powerful Houston law firm founded by the family of James A. Baker III, who was chief of staff to Reagan, Secretary of State under the first George Bush, and the man designated by the Bush family to make sure the younger Bush was named President in 2000 despite having lost the popular vote. According to Blumenthal, one of her more recent lobbying jobs was with a large construction firm with contracts in Iraq.

It is a Dick Cheney world out there – a world where politicians and lobbyists hunt together, dine together, drink together, play together, pray together and prey together, all the while carving up the world according to their own interests.

More, more, more.

Friday Beastie Blogging

It's beastie blogging day! These big-eared brats loooooooove the bed, because they are beasts of discriminating taste. Why shouldn't they be comfortable? Carpet is scratchy, and their dog bed is so, so far away. And being heat-seeking beasties, they go where we go. You can see that duvet. It's down-filled, people! Why would we ever expect the beasties to eschew down? Ha. I laugh in your general direction. The Dingo sleeps w/ us; Finny in her crate. The Dingo, and this is not an exaggeration, takes up as much of the bed -- namely half -- as you see in the picture. That, btw, is my side of the bed. I am not pictured, because, well, I would be a speck in the far right corner of the pic where I am usually squished as the night rolls on. Zzzzzz.