Bullies, sadists, and the right-wing

It’s still difficult for many on the left to come to terms and fully understand the hijacking of their country by right-wing zealots, even after three decades of lies, misinformation, and the ever-present shroud of fear that now blankets the nation. Max Blumenthal has written a guidebook for you and anyone else that would like to get at the true root of what ails America.

Terry Gross interviewed Blumenthal about the new book, Republican Gomorrah: Inside The Movement That Shattered The Party, a week ago. I highly recommend that interview as a starting point, although I’m hoping ultimately that those that really care about changing the direction of the country will buy the book. Heck, wouldn’t it be nice if Blumenthal’s book woke people from their slumber and stopped the downhill slide to the right once and for all?

It’s interesting to hear Blumenthal speak (during his interview with Gross) and tick off details that constitutes a who’s who of right-wing Republicanism, many of them born-again evangelicals, and their strangely twisted theology and personal mistreatment of scripture. One of these figures is Sarah Palin. Blumenthal writes about going undercover at gathering at a small house, with members of the Wasilla Assembly of God, the church where Palin was baptized and spent 20 years as a member. Blumenthal is there when Thomas Muthee visited the group. Blumenthal actually feigns speaking in tongues to get inside and get a bird’s eye view of the bat shit crazy fringe element that is part and parcel of who Palin really is (quite funny, really and worth finding on the Fresh Air clip, around the 31:00 minute mark). Strangely, while this information was available briefly, it never gained much traction, or was widely disseminated even by the “so-called liberal media” during the presidential campaign of 2008, when Palin came close to being vice president of the U.S.

Blumenthal talks about “fringe elements,” which control large portions of the AM dial, talkers like Alex Jones, who spews conspiracy theories so whacked that it really makes me wonder whether or not we haven’t descended into a kind of bipartite seperation in the U.S. between not right and left, but sane and insane.

Jones warns listeners that President Obama is going to “create concentration camps for right-wing dissidents,” and “implement massive gun seizures,” which Blumenthal contends is all designed to create fear and mobilize grassroots opposition to all things Obama (like healthcare reform) support for far right Republican causes, and fill the coffers of right-wing organizations that have become depleted during the eight years of GW Bush.

While both Blumenthal and others use the term “fringe” to describe many of these elements of the right, they are, however, not unpopular. Talk radio figures like James Dobson, Michael Savage, and even Jones, command enormous audiences of several million Americans, and regularly influence mainstream reporting on news and aspects of the Obama administration, and the Democratic party.

Blumenthal delves into the psychology that is part and parcel of the right-wing playbook and in fact supports its framework. Jane Smiley’s review of Blumenthal’s book gives considerable space to this element of the book, and I think it is an important aspect of understanding how all the various elements and the vast network of seemingly disparate organizations connect.

From Smiley’s review:

Blumenthal does two things that no one else I have read manages to do–the first of these is that he organizes the network. He shows how Ted Bundy is connected to James Dobson is connected to Gary Bauer is connected to Erik Prince is connected to Ralph Reed is connected to Jack Abramoff is connected to Tom Delay is connected to Tony Perkins is connected to David Duke is connected to Mel Gibson, and so forth, and in the course of tracing these connections, he informs us, or reminds us, of the crimes and misdemeanors these people have committed.

It appears that Blumenthal deftly connects the dots and ties this “vast right-wing conspiracy” (sorry, couldn’t resist Hillary’s terminology on this) to the Christian Dominionists, a group that almost no one on the left knows anything about, but wield power and influence, followers of the late RJ Rushdoony, and Gary North.

More from Smiley’s review regarding this movement, which Blumenthal details in his book, whom he equates with the Taliban, quite accurately, I might add:

Many of the Evangelicals Blumenthal discusses are Christian Dominionists–that is, they differ from the Taliban only in their choice of doctrine. Their uses of that doctrine (to dehumanize women and other groups, to never share power, to control every aspect of every life within their power, and to create society as a steeply hierarchical structure with them at the top) are those of the Taliban.

It’s an eye-opener to read about R.J. Rushdoony, son of Armenian immigrants who fled the Armenian genocide of 1915. You would think that a man whose family escaped mass murder would go on to espouse peace, love, and understanding, but Rushdoony went the other way, taking literally the 613 laws in the Book of Leviticus. In his book, The Institutes of Biblical Law, he advocates capital punishment for “disobedient children, unchaste women, apostates, blasphemers, practitioners of witchcraft, adulterers,” and homosexuals. Gary North, the Presbyterian Christian Reconstructionist, is his son-in-law, and, while not backing down on the mass death penalty, advocates stoning rather than burning at the stake, because stoning is cheaper (and of course that is a factor, because there would be a lot of people to exterminate). As for who would be doing the killing (of you and me, if they could catch us), well, Christians would, but not because they wanted to. Ever unable to accept responsibility, they assign agency to God, who wants us killed, who will beat us until we “crumple” on his “loving” breast, a God who has given us all sorts of talents, skills, and interests, but is, like these Christian Dominionists, interested only in power. I believe his motto is “Adore me or I will hurt you.”

I think one reason that the right continues to gain support and that those who don’t subscribe to their doctrine underestimate their staying power, is that they have never been up close and personal to this craziness and succumbed to its power, even for a short period, like I have.

Having seen its darkness, and been in its clutches, and broken free, might be one of the reasons why it concerns me so much and continues to motivate me to warn others.

I’ll be picking up Blumenthal’s book sooner, rather than later. I urge others to do the same.

Shuffle play Friday-Songs about superheroes

It's time for another Shuffle Play Friday, my weekly homage to a handful of songs that I’ve discovered, or become reacquainted with over the previous seven day. I try to keep it light, or lighter via these posts.

This week, I was thinking about leadership, and the lack of it wherever you look—locally, at the state level (the two areas where I get to stare this paucity in the face), and following the healthcare debate, it’s quite apparent that the election of Mr. Obama hasn’t done anything to change the corporate stranglehold on power and politics. If you aren’t one of America’s elite powerbrokers, you are SOL and without an advocate for the things that matter to the working or middle classes.

We need Superman in the worst way, but he seems to be unavailable at the moment.

Larry Norman-Reader’s Digest/Only Visiting This Planet

I’ve written about Larry Norman before. This morning, I heard another song that made me thing about this track of Norman’s from a 1973 album.

Norman sang, “It's 1973, I wonder who we're gonna see
Who's in power now? Think I'll turn on my TV,
The man on the news said China's gonna beat us,
We shot all our dreamers, there's no one left to lead us.
We need a solution, we need salvation,
Let's send some people to the moon and gather information.

spoken: They brought back a big bag of rocks.
Only cost thirteen billion. Must be nice rocks.

Things haven’t changed much since 1973 in that while we haven’t had a major leader gunned down recently in the U.S., we still have no one left to lead us.

Who can we call upon, if as Norman sings, we have no one to lead us out of the wilderness.

Crash Test Dummies-Superman's Song/The Ghosts That Haunt Me

I remember when this song first made its way onto the playlist of our local adult ontemporary station, WCLZ. The lyrics painted Superman as a world weary everyman, albeit one with extraordinary powers. It was an interesting twist on the superhero take coming from Hollywood.
Brad Roberts’ signature voice singing the song’s quirky, but outstanding lyrics make one pine for someone with super powers.

Our Lady Peace-Superman Is Dead/Clumsy

Another Canadian band with a song about Superman—is there something in the water supply to the north that promotes songs about superheroes?


I read that the song was making a statement about television, and the influence that it has on children, and the unrealistic expectations that it engenders. The band’s lead singer, Raine Maida hearkened back to the simplicity of the television he remembered—black and white images of the original Superman, and then, he contrasted it with the two popular cartoon morons of the moment, Beavis and Butthead.

The Rosebuds-In The Backyard/Lifelike

One of my favorite online stations that I listen to is KEXP, out of Seattle. This station is a great example of what FM radio should be, a freeform station hearkening back to the days when the FM dial was about unpredictability, and catching music that you weren’t expecting. It’s all so predictable today, by-and-large, as corporations have wrung most of the vitality from the radio band.

Quilty 3000 does a great Sunday afternoon show that I try to catch every week. The KEXP site allows me ease of access of Q3000’s shows as they archive the streams and I usually go back and listen.

I liked this one by Raleigh, North Carolina’s, The Rosebuds, a band I had never heard of before last Sunday. They also happen to be on Merge, which is always a positive endorsement in my book.

Mason Jennings-The Field/Blood of Man


The first Mason Jennings song I ever heard wasn’t played by Jennings, but by my niece’s husband, at the Tarazewich (Mary’s family) Christmas gathering two years ago. He and I had our acoustic guitars out late at night in front of the fireplace, alternating takes on songs we could play. He began picking out the chords to “Forgiveness,” an extremely poignant song about family relationships.

Jennings new album is getting solid reviews and I think I’ll end up picking it up. Jennings plays all the instruments himself, and it represents Jennings stripped down and raw, which is how I like him best. He is also scheduled to play Portland in October, I think.

This particular track is about a soldier in a war far away (Iraq?) who loses his life and the perspective of a parent’s sense of loss and memories that remain. It also touches on the responsibility of our leaders (“If I was the president…”) and how they’ve failed our lost sons and daughters. The father goes out to “the field,” a place that obviously holds meaning according the Jennings, and tries to connect with the disappeared son.

Five more tunes for this week are now in the can, and another SPF is posted for readers that love music. Long live rock!

Leading with my chin

I’m proud of the weight I’ve lost (36 pounds), as well as ramping up my fitness routine and achieving some positive gains from the lifestyle changes I’ve made.

Over the past 13 weeks, I’ve gone from being someone who never walked away from a plate of nachos, an extra cheeseburger, or a second helping of ice cream, to exhibiting the kind of discipline I once had, but had set aside once I segued into my 30s and 40s.

I’ve been talking about “losing 20 pounds” to anyone that would listen for about 10 years. Making the shift from talking about it to doing something about it puts me in select company in America, because we’re a country of whiners who rarely do more than sit on our fat asses and complain about _________________ (fill in the blank), without doing a goddamned thing to change the mix, or play a different hand.

For the past two months, I’ve upped my training from 3-4 days per week of 12-15 miles on my bike, to where I’m now biking five days/nights per week and logging over 100 miles weekly. Usually, Saturday, and/or Sunday involve rides of 25+ miles. I’ve also signed up to participate in The Dempsey Challenge, a member of Team Tarazzmatazz.

Given my newfound fitness focus, and given the very demanding work schedule staring me in the face for the week, with three events scheduled beyond my normal 8:00 to 5:00 daily routine, I knew I had to get out on my bike early, pre-work, if I was going to get in five days on the bike this week.

This morning, I was on my Diamondback at 5:45 a.m. just prior to sunrise. I was well equipped with a bright fluorescent vest, and two new lights that cost me about $70 last week, to aid in visibility now that I am battling shorter days for road time.

About 45 minutes into my ride, an awesome early morning with the sun just coming up on the horizon, my front tire caught one of the ubiquitous pavement fissures that populate Maine’s back roads. Our roads are a mess, as the cash-strapped legislature and our do-nothing governor continue cutting corners on road maintenance in order to deal with budget woes. In a matter of seconds, my front fork had been spun around and my 223 pound frame was being hurtling over the handle bars. I think I hit my right knee first, and then began a bumpy landing, first touching down on both hands, then my elbows, and finally coming to a rest on my chin. As I lay on the pavement, I was afraid to reach up and feel my throbbing chin, thinking that I’d be feeling stands of shredded skin.
Gingerly hoisting myself up and on my feet, moving my neck and flexing my wrist and arms, I knew I was sore and banged up, but it didn’t seem as though anything was broken. My biggest concern was my chin at that moment. I grabbed a paper towel stained with chain grease out of my gig bag on the back of my bike to dab my chin. After putting pressure on my scraped chin and pulling it away, I was surprised that there wasn’t much blood at all. I was a afraid to glance in my rearview mirror, however, not sure what horror I’d come face to face with.

I dialed my cell phone (which I always carry) and called Mary.

“Mary, I just took a bad spill off the Shiloh Road. I’m pretty banged up and shaky,” I stammered. “Can you come pick me up?”

Mary had just left the house for work, but she immediately turned around and motored my way.

I managed to work up the courage to look at my chin. Amazingly, there was no fragmented laceration, or jagged gash—just a nasty looking case of road rash—a serious abrasion. I was lucky!

I twisted my front fork back around and into place. My bar ends on my handle bars were badly bent. My hands were shaking, but I got on my bike and started cycling towards the intersection where I’d eventually rendezvous with Mary and her Rav 4.

I was never so glad to see her vehicle when she turned the corner and I dismounted near the lighthouse, just off east of Route 125 in Durham.

We managed to wedge my bike into Mary’s SUV, after removing the front tire and doing a bit of tugging to fit it into the back.

Arriving back home around 7:30, I began peeling off my biking attire and apprising the damage. Beside my asphalt-stained chin, my right knee was badly bruised, with some abrasions and showing signs that it was beginning to swell. Fortunately for me, the weather was cold enough that I donned a windbreaker and as a result, my only injuries were a few abrasions on my left elbow, and a very sore neck and back. After calling into work letting them know of my incident and that I wasn't going to be in for the day, I spent the rest of the morning icing my knee, and trying to lose the shaking in my hands.

Twelve hours removed from my brush with a serious injury, I’m pretty sore, slightly bruised, and my chin is already scabbing over. It certainly could have been much worse.

[Bike helmet and gloves--don't leave home without them!]

In addition to escaping a brush with broken bones and something even worse, my bike was virtually unscathed. Feeling a bit better this afternoon, I was able to make adjustments to my bar ends, putting them back in place. My front tire needs to be re-trued, as it was slightly warped, but other than that, I think I’m ready to get back out on the road, although I may take tomorrow off for some recovery time.

Writing prompt

Successful authors routinely find their way into elite MFA programs. At least that's what I've been told. My son is now at Brown, enrolled in their MFA program for writing so I guess he'll become a successful author. Even better--he's blogging about the process, at least the first 10 days in.

Apparently other Brown MFA'ers blog, as evidenced by this blog by Amish Trivedi, a poet who comes to Brown by way of Iowa City. He occasionally displays a political side, weighing in on Glenn Beck, healthcare, and capitalism.

Ah, to be young and enrolled in an MFA program, instead of hopelessly wedded to work and the daily saga of the adult treadmill/hamster wheel.

Here's a list of some of the more prestigious writing programs, from Atlantic Monthly.

Shuffle play Friday-forget the past

[I’m getting this week’s musical post up a tad early (yes, Shuffle Play Friday is back for another week).

On Sept. 10, 2001, which is now eight years ago, I started work at UnumProvident Insurance (now just plain UNUM). The next day, during training class, the Twin Towers came down and they sent all us trainees home, as well as the rest of the training department. People were freaking out, crying hysterically; I was glad to be home, processing all of the news coverage by myself, and later, with Mary, when she came home from work.

In many ways, I had hit a wall at that point in my life, knowing that I had to make some different choices. Since then, I've in embarked on a new path, in essence, reinventing myself. It's been a long arduous journey and I've done things in parts/sections. My physical transformation/metamorphosis has been the last to arrive, lagging far behind the other changes. My weight ballooned, even while other aspects (my soul/spirit/intellect) had gone through some serious growth and development. It feels good to experience some sense of completion nearing, and have equilibrium restored.—JB]

This week, I discovered that Canadian rock is more than The Tragically Hip and Bachman Turner Overdrive. Actually, I already knew that, but I’ve been listening to CBC Radio 3, and a host of new music that’s from our civilized neighbors to the north after being linked there through an interesting web search journey one night, a journey that reconnected me with Julie Doiron, former singer for Eric’s Trip, a band I was a fan of during my WBOR days.

Back when I was doing my radio gig, I often stopped by the station mid-week after working my day shift job for the local power company. I’d want to preview new stuff that always seemed to arrive around Wednesday. Seeing that my shows were usually Saturday nights and wanting to be the freshest DJ on the air, I’d spend a couple of hours going through the “new” CD bin. It was usually a night when student DJs like Colin Decker and Alec Thibodeau (from Car and later, Lincolnville) had their shows. I’d gotten to know them and we’d talk music and I’d get a sense about what they were digging. Pete Hodgin, who is now a teacher and not long ago was still DJ’ing on WMPG (Portland’s stellar community station), with a Friday rock show supreme. Hodgin was another student that I enjoyed trading music preferences with. He’s the DJ that got me into some great Midwestern rock on the Faye Records label, like Ditchwitch. He also turned me onto the lo-fi geniuses, Guided by Voices, circa Vampire on Titus, and before Spin and other indie rock mags picked up on the Bob Pollard story.

Those were good times!

Doiron, btw, is now performing solo and has been putting out stuff for a decade after Eric Trip’s demise.

Grand Analog-I Play My Kazoo/Metropolis is Burning

In an age where there seems to be so little that’s new and wondrous, I’m really enjoying a whole new batch of artists that I’m not familiar with, via the world of new Canadian music. As a big fan of all things Canadian, having someone like Grand Analog pounding in my headphones, while writing late at night has been one of this week’s guilty pleasures.

The Junction-My Love Was There For Me/Another Link in the Chain

Another Canadian artist that I’ve been grooving to this week; when The Junction sing the refrain, “In a time of doubt, it’s easy to feel sorry for yourself,” I say “fuckin’ yeah,” as I nod my head to the frenetic beat of the tune and the chorus of “sing along, sing along.”

Tune in, tune out the sorry world, and push the problems of the world outside the cocoon of sound emanating from my computer.

Sometimes all we can hope for in this world of disappointment is that one person who “is there” for us. Check out the YouTube video and have a get happy moment.

Superchunk-100,000 Fireflies/Incidental Music 1991-95

It was the summer of 1994. WBOR usually was off the air during the summer months when most students returned home. For whatever reason, the 50 watt college blowtorch stayed on the air most of the June, July, and August. I happened to have the Brunswick/Bath area for my service area as CMP’s meter installer extraordinaire, which meant that my improvise sound system in my truck (a cheap Sanyo AM/FM cassette deck stayed tuned to indie rock all summer, as I completed my orders, which included disconnecting the power for many of the area’s low-income residents that had failed to pay their utility bills. What can I say—it was a host of shitty jobs I held for much of my 20s and 30s as I struggle to locate a truer path.

Almost every DJ on ‘BOR played this killer Superchunk (originally penned by Stephen Merritt and recorded by his band, the Magnetic Fields) track that still packs a wallop and sounds great a decade and half later.

It’s debatable if there was a band more emblematic of American indie rock during the early to mid-90s than Chapel Hill’s Superchunk.

Julie Doiron-Heavy Snow/I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day

A member of the aforementioned Eric’s Trip, a Moncton, New Brunswick four-piece named after a Sonic Youth song.

Eric’s Trip were one of a slew of lo-fi, four-track wonders that populated the indie scene during the early 90s. Doiron played bass, guitar, and sang.

Doiron, who veered away from electric music for a period after Eric’s Trip broke up, choosing quieter melancholy arrangements, has again embraced elements of electric guitar, the pace changes, and the more stripped down sound that her first band was known for—oh, and that voice!

Keep on rockin’ in the free world!