Your daily mob boss affirmation #1

"Vote against the president, and your head will be on a pike"

President Donald J. Trump participates in a bilateral meeting with Ukraine President Volodymyr Zalensky,
Wednesday, Sept. 25, 2019, at the InterContinental New York Barclay in New York City.
(Official White House Photo by Shealah Craighead). Public Domain. Via Wikimedia Commons.

As originally reported via the CBS News Twitter feed, 23 January 2020 

Ruby Manila

Author's note: I've written about this song before, a little more than five years ago. Nice to see that this song has become ever so slightly less obscure--even if it still only has 5 YouTube views at the  moment (at least one of which belongs to me).

This is probably more moi than I care to admit. Actually, fuck that, I'm happy to admit that I think this Filipina-German chanteuse Ruby Manila singing "Fly Butterfly" is one of the most exquisite gems of late 1970s pop, and in 2020 I remain flummoxed as to why others don't view this song in the same way.

• Thumping base line? ✓
• Orgasmic moaning that turns into a very lovely, surprisingly strong vocal? ✓
• Clicketty-clacketty synthesizers? ✓
• Deep male vocal counterpoint? ✓
• Catchy Euro chorus that doesn't require you to know more than three words of English? ✓

It's all here. You just have to open your third eye (or whatever) and embrace it.

The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire

Swifts Creek bushfire, 14-12-2006, by Fir0002.
Via Wikimedia Commons. CC BY-NC.

On New Year's Eve, I received an email from an Australian colleague today. She is home for the holidays in Melbourne and on her family's sheep farm in western Victoria.

She said there had been smaller bushfires near where her parents live, but they had been brought under control quickly. However, some friends of hers had had to take cover on the beach in eastern Victoria in order to escape the fires.

My colleague also said the she and her husband had driven to Adelaide, South Australia, recently. Temps had risen to 48C/118F while en route. Mind you, that part of Australia isn't desert--although it's somewhat dry. Think California or South Central Texas.

I loathe offering just "thoughts and prayers" when so many people and so much nature is under threat. But other than recycling better and reducing my carbon footprint, what can I do? Not to go all drama queen on you, but it feels as though the world is catching fire, climatically, politically, and socially, and there seems to be little that an individual can do to remedy it.

Perhaps, then, collectively we can do more--but that assumes that our political and business leaders are listening and understand the need to make swift, significant, unpopular changes. And that we the people will accept such changes readily. And that such changes are proposed from a place of the common good, rather than just to maintain the hegemony of government and business.

You're no good, you're no good, you're no good, baby, you're no good

"Linda Ronstadt performing at a WPLR Show
in New Haven, Connecticut in the New Haven
Veterans Memorial Coliseum" (1978) by Carl Lender.
Via Wikimedia Commons. CC BY-SA 3.0 Unported.

My brother telephoned me on New Year's night. I was glad to hear from him, but I was surprised he called me 10 minutes into the airing of the Linda Ronstadt documentary on CNN. He was always a HUGE Ronstadt fan back in the day.

I didn't think he'd miss that show for anything, and I can only assume he forgot that it was on. And I admit I didn't mention it to him for a couple of reasons--I didn't want to interrupt the conversation, and I didn't want to upset him that he'd already missed part of the program.

This takes me back to a minor, yet still significant (at least for me), event during our shared childhood.

One early evening I came home from playing outside and sat down to watch TV. This was around 1971 or so. I was probably no more than 10 at the time; my brother, 15.) My brother quickly engaged me in conversation and kept talking to me, asking me questions about my day and my interests while we watched a show he liked. I don't remember which show it was, other than to note it probably wasn't one that I enjoyed. I have the vague sense it was Gunsmoke, a show with an appeal I never fathomed, but if I did the math and went back to TV schedules in 1971, that might just not work out.

I didn't think much of this until after a half hour or so, and the next TV program began. All of a sudden, my brother stopped talking, smiled coyly and said, "Well, I guess you missed your show."

I don't remember which show it was, The Brady Bunch, UFO, The Partridge Family (yes, I've consistently had questionable taste in entertainment), but at that moment, I realized my brother had purposefully kept me talking, knowing that I'd forgotten about my show--a show he disliked immensely, as I recall--distracting me so that I wouldn't remember it was on.

Keep in mind, this occurred in the early 1970s: We had one large console TV and no VCR because, well, they likely hadn't been invented yet. There weren't regularly scheduled repeats of shows. You couldn't watch it on demand or stream it online because those things didn't exist either.

Which brings me back to my conversation with my brother and these burning questions:

How long do I wait before I call him up and say, "Well, I guess you missed your show"?

And should I FaceTime him so he can see me smile when I say it?

Online streaming notwithstanding, revenge nearly 50 years in the making is still sweet.

I definitely want to

I seek out and share new music from Argentina so you don't have to. "Quisiera" translates as "I would like," using the subjunctive "mood" of the verb "querer." Except for me there's no subjunctive about it--I definitely adore this song and the performance by Argentine performers Natalie Pérez and Coti. ¡Viva la Argentina!

Five years and counting

Heinitz coal mine, Europe, before 1930. Public domain. Via Wikimedia Commons.

I finally figured out what I want my next big accomplishment at work to be before I retire.

To not die.

Third time's a charm

Quid pro quo. Via Wikimedia Commons. Public Domain.

Il Douchey is so pathetic that he's not even the 1st president to be impeached. He's a lowly *3rd*.

Mofo can't even fuck up with distinction.

You bet your life

Source unknown

The not-so-secret word is "plague."

The generational divide

Headline, News24.com, 12 December 2019

I have a strange sense of humor, a strong sense of the absurd, and I am not always appropriate in public or private. But these days I try to embrace it.

This image is a pretty solid example of all of the above, a headline from the South African news site, News24.com. It's a horrible thing to happen, a family is murdered in their own home. And it happens all too often, in the U.S. as well as in other countries.

But the thing I just can't wrap my head around is why the headline notes that the family was watching Generations, a very popular South African soap opera, when they were murdered.

I'm just having trouble understanding why this point is germane. Would it have been more or less horrible if they were watching 7de Laan, Isidingo, or The Bold and the Beautiful instead?

I'll see myself out now.

Jaundice is the new black

Melania: I need new dress to meet Queen on big London trip. I am bored of these clothes.

Stylist: Mrs. Trump, perhaps your dresses could reflect a theme, such as the success of American industry and brands across the globe.

Melania: Yes, that is good idea.

Some time later ...

News anchor: First Lady Melania Trump appeared today in London wearing what was described by her stylist as her tribute to French's yellow mustard.

Music Togo

I don't understand any of this, but I love it just the same.

Impeachy keen

Fat, dumb hicks

1967 Elcona Mobile Home by M. Thivierge. CC BY-SA 3.0 Unported.
Via Wikimedia Commons.

Word to the wise and not so wise: You should avoid pissing me off online.

[Not me]

"In both states [Alabama and Mississippi], the primary product is fat, dumb hicks, with substance abuse problems, who live in rusty single wides, and who hate everything and everyone."

[Me]

"Why is it bad to be fat? Why is it bad to live in a trailer? Why do you think people in these states have substance abuse problem[s]? And even if they [do], shouldn't we as a society be more compassionate toward those with addictions, especially since those addictions are often facilitated by poor or nonexistent medical care?

"Statistics might lend credence to your general observations about weight and substance abuse, but they can't explain away the need to insult people who may not have had your advantages (I'm assuming) in education, income, and technology.

"I also wonder, is it helpful to disparage great swaths of the population whom you might like to agree with you on social issues or political matters at some point? Or is there room for collaboration--or even just coexistence?

"I feel rage and spew vitriol toward the willfully ignorant as much as any liberal, but I don't think 'fat, dumb hicks' are the problem. I think it's more down to the willfully ignorant upper classes either not caring about the challenges faced by those 'fat, dumb hicks' or eagerly manipulating those 'fat, dumb hicks' into doing what keeps the upper classes happy.

"While 'fat, dumb hicks' have agency, let's not pretend the deck isn't [heavily] stacked against them [as it is, all poor people]. Let's not pretend that sitting back in our liberal cocoons and insulting people does either them or us any good."

***

Lordy.

The thing is, I get the sentiment, I feel the frustration, and I'm sure I've been as uncharitable as this poster to an article in The Washington Post that I read earlier today. Seeing people repeatedly vote against their own interests, watching people react to cheap patriotism, witnessing people toast and adore a treasonous Soviet asset, a mean-spirited jerk, a willfully ignorant, screw-the-little-guy president is maddening and enraging.

But it's not just the "fat, dumb hicks" who do these things, even though they're trotted out at every rally President Slimeball conducts (and then quickly leaves town without paying his bills, much as he's done his entire trash-strewn life). There are plenty of middle and upper class people who have done the same--and they influence or control the flow of money in my home country more than the "fat, dumb hicks."

How are we ever gonna fight the good fight if we turn against one another? How are we going to lift every one up by pushing down further the people we think are already beneath us, lower than the low, and deserve it for being born economically or culturally poor or poorly connected? How are we going to get people on our side--or, more appropriately, how are we going to get on their side--by constantly signaling through word and deed that they are not worthy or worthwhile? Why would anyone want to side with a liberal if you can only be a liberal on someone else's terms, not your own? I think we have to ask ourselves, is the point of all this to give the "fat, dumb hicks" agency--or is it just to make them bend to our will, just as conservatives have tried to do to the rest of us?

I think I know the answer to this last question, and it's not good. Maybe we should study hard and take the test again.

Tickle your fancy

Are we not men? No! We are Jermaine Jackson and DEVO! performing together in a Halloween special in 1982!

Honestly, back in the day, I never understood why this song was not a number 1 in the U.S. Instead it had to "settle" for top 20 pop/top 5 R&B. Nothing to be ashamed of but a chart ranking middling enough to guarantee obscurity within just a few years.

Get this: You had a member of the Jackson mafia family, which was everywhere in the early 1980s. You had the ultra hip new wave band DEVO, which was probably at the peak of its alternative popularity. (At least if memory serves from my college days.) You had an incredibly catchy hook ("Let me tickle your fancy/let me excite your soul") and a highly danceable beat. And you had a very adorable and sexy Jermaine doing his best work, a few years before he'd crash and burn his credibility with a duet with Pia Zadora.

In essence, you had 1982 in a 3-minute pop nutshell.

Maybe it was racism--"black people don't play rock 'n' roll" and all that bullshit. Maybe it was a less popular Jackson in the spotlight (neither feast nor fowl, neither Michael nor Janet). Maybe it was a song stuck between worlds, not R&B, not rock, attempting to appeal to too many audiences through the talents of two slightly less than high profile performers. (How is this that different to "State of Shock," the Michael Jackson-Rollling Stones hit from 1984?) Maybe it was danceable but not in the right way - too alternative, not Hi NRG, disco's cheap, tacky, easy little sister. Maybe it was too perfect of a song and sounded like a lot of other stuff on the charts at the time. Which maybe it did, maybe it didn't.

Regardless, I thought this was a perfect pop gem at the time and still do nearly 40 (!!!) years later. Frankly, as old as it is, it still seems more exciting, entertaining, and authentic than every piece of pop pablum on the scene at this time.

Yeah, I'm *that* old.

March of the Faucettos

I ain't tappin' that: "My Faucet" by Marcus Quigmire.
CC BY 2.0 Generic. Via Wikimedia Commons.

I have a dripping faucet in my bathroom. Maybe it only needs a washer, maybe it's something more. I do not know. I'm not a plumber. It's been like this for a week. The whole week, in fact, has been like this for a week.

So I called maintenance for my building, but they can't--or won't--do anything about the problem. I do not know why.

They tell me to call a plumber. Which is complicated by the fact that I don't own but rent a condo, so I have to get my landlord's permission to call a plumber.

And why do I rent a condo and not own one or rent an apartment instead, you ask? Because I live in a city that dreams of being socialist but is actually quite the capitalist--or perhaps is just shitty at and indifferent to both, like it is at pretty much everything service-oriented, transportation-based, or creative and inspiring. (Worst public art ever.) And thus there's no money in apartments, and only the wealthy can afford to own the condos. And while I do ok, I'm not at the "I just spent a million maple leaves on a 300 square foot condo" level of income. Maybe in another year. Or fifty.

Anyway, the landlord is cool, go ahead call the plumber, and I'll reimburse you, no problem. She's like that, and I believe her.

So I call the plumber and am asked what kind of faucet is it? As in what brand.

And I'm like, I don't know, it's in the bathroom, it's a bathroom sink faucet and there's no brand name on it. (I double-checked.)

"We only service Moën faucets." You know, the expensive, stylish ones, that emit a stream of lukewarm water onto a flat rock. The water glides from the flat rock into a tray, then dribbles into a minuscule drain, and eventually plunges into Lake Ontario or some such. And somehow you're supposed to shave in this sink, the Rube Goldberg machine of modern plumbing.

Well, hunh, I'm pretty sure there are other types of faucets out there, not just Moën, but never say never. You live in Canada, you get used to fewer retail options. (Really, are Grape Nuts that hard to import?) I'm guessing because it's a small country that, as mentioned, has a peculiar, middling, I dunno what do you wanna do? I don't know what do you wanna do? relationship with socialism, capitalism, and pretty much everything animate or inanimate.

"Do you have the parts?"

Well, no, because I don't know what the problem is, so why would I have the parts? It's probably a washer, and if it is, I'm sure you could spare one, but, honestly, I'M NOT A FUCKING PLUMBER SO HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW?!

Interior monologue only, I promise.

"Well, we'll replace it with Moën and charge you for it if you don't have the parts."

Seriously, is Moën the Faucet Mafia and if you don't use them, you end up with a dead horse in your bed?

"Send us a picture of the faucet, try to identify it, and we'll get back to you next week."

Oh, I'll get right on that.

I suspect that if I were to do business with them--which I won't--they'd replace the entire sink, maybe even the cabinetry and the mirror, even though the faucet only needed a washer, because they feel impelled to make everything Moën.

(Or as one of my friends said when I related this story to him: "Sorry, you're going to have to move.")

I know Greta Thunberg won't be pleased with me, but I'm thinking of letting the faucet drip until it becomes a water feature or a fountain. (It's dripping hot water, so let's call it a hot spring or a thermal bath. Les Bains au Harbourfront peut-être ....) Then maybe I can build condos and retail around it, make lots of maple leaves, and retire early.

Screw librarianship. I think I should have become a plumber. I would have made a lot more money and get away with baring my teeth and my ass to the world for fun and profit.

¿Qué será mi vida?

Like I said, always choose disco.

Choose disco

This is probably way too much yellow fabric and blue eyeshadow for a rainy October morning, but some of us choose to jumpstart the day with drugs while others, like me, choose disco.

The Gibson Brothers (who, despite the Anglo sounding name, were actually Francophones from Martinique) represent a phase of late 1970s French/Belgian pop hitmaking that no one other than me would possibly be interested in. Long live the production team of Daniel Vangarde and Jean Kluger!

From this era and from this production team, I am particularly fond of "Cuba" but also of another Gibson Brothers' hit, "Qué Será Mi Vida (If You Should Go)," which was popular the year I made my debut at the cotillion of publicly acknowledged homosexuality. That is to say, bounded out of the closet and into the hearts and minds of a small but highly valued group of family and friends.

Cuuuuubaaaaaa, quiero bailar la salsa ....

The party's over (or at least in the minority)

Justin Trudeau in 2019. Public Domain.
Via Wikimedia Commons.

I have a lot to learn about the Canadian political mindset. Despite having to form a minority government, the Liberals and Justin Trudeau really didn't take that much of a hit, losing fewer than 20 seats since the 2015 election. Every Toronto riding was won by the Liberals.

And yet, especially over the last two years, the bloom has definitely been off the Justin Trudeau rose, at least if you were to believe comments made in public news forums and by opinion makers, ethics review boards, and non-Liberal politicians. 

I'm not sure what my lessons learned are. The Doug Ford Conservative government in Ontario hurt Conservatives overall? The opposition choices were unappealing (Conservative Andrew Scheer), untested (NDP Jagmeet Singh - or "too ethnic"? Something few Canadians would confess to, at least in public), or region-specific (Bloc Québécois Yves-François Blanchet) to make much of a difference? Canadians aren't as progressive as they virtue signal? (Poor showing by the Greens, lacklustre showing by the NDP.) Or people voted strategically for the Liberals to block the Conservatives?

I know Justin Trudeau plays very well outside Canada, but I've had an increasingly hard time taking him seriously over the last year, after some broken promises, fake virtue signaling, and fratboy douche privilege displaying. (Blackface, brownface, and a certain smugness papered over by nice hair and a good complexion.) When your alternatives are Doug Ford, Boris Johnson, Donald Trump, and Mauricio Macri (Argentina's current failed-state leader), I guess you can't help but look good to the world. Nevertheless, the world deserves better.

Surprisingly, I've sort of overlooked his ethics violations in the SNC-Lavalin affair: I thought that was more a tempest in a teapot, perhaps a disappointment to some but seeming more like an example of honest/dishonest politicking than anything else. At least it was real if not necessarily ethical.

One thing I hear a lot about here is about the "failure" of the U.S. political system to have more than two parties. Well, in this election, we had six vying for a majority in Canada, and I can't say that the results were all that different than with just two. It's a parliamentary system, so it's different from the outset--technically, you're voting for the party representative for your riding, not for the prime minister. And yet there are still some of the same challenges - uninspiring leaders, tepid voter turnout (about 66%, still much better than in the U.S.), middling results, and the reality that the Conservatives won the national popular vote, yet still are in the minority parliament-wise.

So maybe the lesson learned is that politics and governance suck everywhere, even in the most "enlightened" of spaces?

Oh, sooorry you had to read all the way through for me to reach that conclusion ....

* * *

The outcome of the Canadian election tells me that I am actually not a Supposed Former Drama Junkie after all. (Alanis Morissette reference, y'all. #CanCon)

Seriously, I find myself somewhat disappointed, even aggravated by the rather drab outcome--even though I should be pleased with the outcome, at least in theory.

"Rob Ford at the 2013 Beaches Easter parade" by
Bruce Reeve. CC BY-SA 2.0. Via Wikimedia Commons.

Mulling it over today, I kept thinking where is the drama? Where is the marching in the streets, setting couches on fire, and breaking storefront plate glass windows? Where is the plan to start campaigning beginning one minute after midnight on the day after election results are announced? Where is the name-calling, whining, and stamping of feet? Where is the endless dissection of results, the ad nauseum ruminations the election's Deeper Meanings, and overwrought analyses of the thoughts and feelings of white working-class voters?

My goodness, last week there was a 24-hour period in which President Shitstorm (aka Mussoleaky aka Il Douchey aka Donald Trump) and his mobster cabinet messed up more than all six Canadian political parties have done in the last four years. Hell, probably in the last four decades, given how the national ethose appears to be "safety first."

Maybe I need to detox for a while from the clusterfudge that is U.S., U.K., and Argentine politics. Or maybe Canadian politics need to be crazier. we hardly knew ye!
Rob Ford,

Maybe I need to sit down, shut up, and be careful of what I wish for?

Yeah, that, too.

Two can play

Governor Goodhair goes down