Finally, a reason to pay attention to the Super Bowl, America’s most stultifying TV sporting event.
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That Idaho mother shot to death by her 2-year-old son in a Walmart store? Judging by Veronica Jean Rutledge’s biography, you can be just about certain that she’d driven to the store wearing a seat belt, with her little boy buckled carefully into his car seat.
Since the election, Barack Obama apparently doesn’t care whom he offends. In a TV interview with Barbara Walters, the president-elect insulted her dog, a Havanese named Cha Cha.
Sometimes a tragedy is just a tragedy, and not necessarily a melodrama pitting good against evil. No heroes, no villains, just a terrible misfortune and a damned shame.
Here in the United States of America, we’re not supposed to have political show trials. People should be put at risk of felony conviction only if evidence clearly supports a criminal indictment — not to solve political problems, provide weeks of suspenseful cable TV news programming, or to pacify mobs.
As I write, the love of my life is off to the state penitentiary. I expect her back at the farm in late afternoon. She’s a volunteer with Paws in Prison, an organization that matches homeless dogs with inmate trainers.
This too shall pass. In the bipolar gong show of Washington politics, it’s the Republicans’ turn. Count on them to opt for televised spectacle over governing. It’s what they do.
Look at it this way: At least the 2014 midterm elections are over.
Upon first venturing to write about politics 20 years ago, I held naive views about political journalism. Specifically, I imagined that factual accuracy mattered as much as it did in the kinds of books and magazine pieces I’d written on nonpolitical topics: opinionated, yes, but grounded in careful reporting.
“First of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself — nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror …”
When we moved to our Arkansas cattle farm, a friend lent us a book titled “A Straw in the Sun.” Published in 1945, Charlie May Simon’s beautifully written memoir of homesteading here in Perry County, Arkansas during the 1930s was long out of print — maybe because the hardscrabble life it depicts is too recent for nostalgia.
Tell your Mama
Long ago and far away, a woman we hardly knew presented herself bruised and weeping on our doorstep one night. She told a vivid tale of woe. An old friend of our family she’d been dating had supposedly beaten her and thrown her down the stairs. Why she’d come to our house instead of police headquarters wasn’t entirely clear.
I once knew a curmudgeonly physician whose wife practiced family therapy. In her off hours, she often counseled a small army of girlfriends through romantic entanglements. One evening at dinner, the grumpy doctor decided he’d heard enough secondhand tales of woe.
If one believes even a significant fraction of the horror stories in the national news media, beastly male behavior has become almost epidemic on American college campuses. Tales of drunken sexual assaults and worse multiply from sea to shining sea.
Remember the Iraqi journalist who threw his shoes at President George W. Bush? It happened on Dec. 14, 2008, near the end of the president’s second term. Bush had traveled to Baghdad for a press conference with Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki. The two announced the signing of the U.S.-Iraqi Status of Forces Agreement promising that all American soldiers would leave Iraq by Dec. 31, 2011.
Here’s an amazing fact that most of the Chicken Little rhetoric about the crisis in Iraq fails to take into account: The city of Mosul, population 1.5 million, fell to ISIL insurgents because two divisions of Iraq’s army (30,000 soldiers) shed their uniforms, abandoned their weapons, and fled from 800 Sunni religious extremists in pickup trucks.
Earth to Glenn Greenwald: If you write a book slamming the New York Times , it’s naive to expect favorable treatment in the New York Times Book Review. Been there, done that. Twice, as a matter of fact.
Another week, another disturbed young man, another mass killing spree. It’s come to where episodes like Elliot Rodger’s murder of four men and two women near the University of California, Santa Barbara campus have become so frequent in America that the crime scene tapes have hardly been removed before people turn them into political symbols.
Supposedly, students at some of our most prestigious universities find themselves confronted with existential challenges. Some are required to read books and watch films that could conceivably upset them emotionally. Hence many campuses are considering “trigger warnings” to alert the more delicate flowers against getting their little feelings hurt.
“Some of you may feel that the cormorant does not play an important part in the life of the school, but I would remind you that it was presented to us by the corporation of the Town of Sudbury to commemorate Empire Day, when we try to remember the names of all those from the Sudbury area who so gallantly gave their lives to keep China British.” — from Monty Python’s, “The Meaning of Life”
You like potato and I like potahto
First comes the melodrama, next comes the killing. Good vs. evil, suffering innocents vs. swaggering bullies, heroes vs. villains. The “Two Minutes Hate,” Orwell called it — the way of the world since the invention of mass media.
So it turns out that millions of people dealt with the Affordable Care Act enrollment cutoff pretty much the way they habitually deal with the April 15 income tax filing deadline: procrastinating until the last minute to ensure maximum stress and standing in line. Like mobbing shopping malls on the day after Thanksgiving, it’s the American way of life.
Let’s put it this way: If the Koch Brothers were Russians, we’d call them oligarchs: grasping barbarians exercising crude political power.
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