Wondering if you heard the quote from a pollster that EJ Dionne mentioned on (I think) the Rachel Maddow Show. Anyway, the pollster, according to Dionne, said, “When I come out with a poll with bad news for Republicans, they want to kill me. When I come out with a poll that’s bad for Democrats, they want to kill themselves.” I think that comes really close to explaining the difference between the two parties and what has been happening since that first disastrous debate.
October 14, 2012
funny
more Sunday reading . . .
Elections are supposed to give us choices. We can reward incumbents or we can throw the bums out. We can choose Republicans or Democrats. We can choose conservative policies or progressive ones. In most elections, however, we don’t get a say in something important: whether we’re governed by the rich. By Election Day, that choice has usually been made for us. Would you like to be represented by a millionaire lawyer or a millionaire businessman? Even in our great democracy, we rarely have the option to put someone in office who isn’t part of the elite. If millionaires were a political party, that party would make up roughly 3 percent of American families, but it would have a super-majority in the Senate, a majority in the House, a majority on the Supreme Court and a man in the White House. If working-class Americans were a political party, that party would have made up more than half the country since the start of the 20th century. But legislators from that party (those who last worked in blue-collar jobs before entering politics) would never have held more than 2 percent of the seats in Congress.
Sunday reading . . .
...what separates successful states from failed ones is whether their governing institutions are inclusive or extractive. Extractive states are controlled by ruling elites whose objective is to extract as much wealth as they can from the rest of society. Inclusive states give everyone access to economic opportunity; often, greater inclusiveness creates more prosperity, which creates an incentive for ever greater inclusiveness. The history of the United States can be read as one such virtuous circle. But... virtuous circles can be broken. Elites that have prospered from inclusive systems can be tempted to pull up the ladder they climbed to the top. Eventually, their societies become extractive and their economies languish. That was the future predicted by Karl Marx, who wrote that capitalism contained the seeds of its own destruction. And it is the danger America faces today, as the 1 percent pulls away from everyone else and pursues an economic, political and social agenda that will increase that gap even further — ultimately destroying the open system that made America rich and allowed its 1 percent to thrive in the first place. Even as the winner-take-all economy has enriched those at the very top, their tax burden has lightened. Tolerance for high executive compensation has increased, even as the legal powers of unions have been weakened and an intellectual case against them has been relentlessly advanced by plutocrat-financed think tanks. In the 1950s, the marginal income tax rate for those at the top of the distribution soared above 90 percent, a figure that today makes even Democrats flinch. Meanwhile, of the 400 richest taxpayers in 2009, 6 paid no federal income tax at all, and 27 paid 10 percent or less. None paid more than 35 percent.
October 13, 2012
the truth will out . . .
Anyone who tells you the vice presidential debate was a tie, or that Mr. Ryan prevailed, is trying to sell you a diamond mine that ain't worth a dime. The ultimate impact and import of what went down during Thursday's debate won't be immediately known, but the simple fact is beyond dispute: Joe Biden owned the night, and owned his opponent, in a way rarely seen in modern debate history. It was, in every respect, just what the doctor ordered for the Democratic presidential campaign: a high-energy, aggressive and fact-laden stand taken by a battle-scarred party elder who, for all time, dispelled any and all preconceived notions that he is some half-addled gaffe generator who cannot be counted on when the chips are down. Joe Biden came to play Thursday night, and the public works employees of Danville, KY, will be spending the next couple of days sweeping up little pieces of Paul Ryan because of it. Biden—at times laconic, at times incredulous, at times simply pissed—gave a clinic on debate management over the course of 90 minutes. He left no stone unturned in attacking the weak points of his opponent's arguments and general philosophy, handily managed to make Mitt Romney the absent and hopeless star of the show, and in the process delivered a rousing defense of both the Obama administration and Democratic Party principles that was deeply reminiscent of Bill Clinton's speech at the Democratic National Convention. Mr. Biden's presentation was, like Clinton's, both folksy and factual, and—most important of all—he did not allow Mr. Ryan to slip even one lie into the conversation without covering it with bite-marks, bruises and blood. [...] This much is certain: what took place on Thursday night in Kentucky was a clinic, a deconstruction, a masterpiece, a thunderclap. The sun came up on Friday morning to shine upon a world that will never, ever underestimate Joe Biden again. For those who needed what he gave, it was a joyful noise indeed.
October 11, 2012
Who's this dude (reprise)
Bill's been posting quite prolifically since I joined up, and because it is, after all, his blog, I've kept quiet, except to comment a little. But my soap-box sap is rising, so here I am again; what I'd like to do this time is try to give a better sense of where I'm coming from.
The short version: By nearly all lights, conventional or non, I am a specimen of that variety of American most to be despised and/or pitied by all decent Americans: A Loser. I am both a high-school and a college dropout (though I did, at age 28, get a useless GED certificate). I never had anything resembling a career, rather a "careen," jumping from one low-wage job to another (well over 50, all told), punctuated by long periods of unemployment, nearly all my life (my total lifetime earnings, from age 16, when I started working, until I finally "retired," as calculated by the Social Security Administration, came to slightly over $150,000). I am a convicted felon: Bail Jumping, a Class D felony in my state, punishable by up to 5 years in prison (I got 2 years, probated for 5 years, to time already served in the county jail), for failing to show up in court on a bounced rent check charge (if you are a low-life, like me, disrespect for the court is the most serious mistake you can make, regardless of the original charge). I was a serious pot-head (or, these days, I guess it's "stoner") for 15 years, until the cost of my habit became too prohibitive. For over 20 years I experienced numerous episodes of homelessness, at first on the sofa circuit, in the back seats of cars, and in hospital lounges and waiting rooms, later in homeless shelters, after they became fashionable (and available). Today, I'm what some would call a "fat old fuck," living in a housing development for the elderly poor, surviving only on a Social Security check that puts me at 77.8% of the poverty level, waiting to die from lung cancer.
But there's more to it than just that. As Terry (Marlon Brando) said to Charley (Rod Steiger) in On The Waterfront, "I coulda been a contender." I was certainly bright enough: IQ 135 (for whatever that's worth), full 4-year scholarship to a parochial high-school, National Merit Scholarship Semi-Finalist my junior year in high-school; perennial teacher's pet (I learned in the 3rd grade how to snow the teachers), junior class treasurer, debate team, drum-major in the band, starting offensive and defensive tackle on the football team (linemen were never "stars" in those days, or nowadays, either, at least not as unlikely as in the days when a 6'0'', 205-pound boy could play tackle). But a deteriorating domestic situation (I was a product of a single-family household, with 2 siblings, as a result of my father's death in 1954, when I was 8 years old), the cold realization that even a full 4-year scholarship for tuition, books, room, and board, which I was virtually assured of by dint of the National Merit program, wouldn't cover the full costs of college, and, frankly, an overpowering distaste for the idea of even more schooling, forced me (at least, as I saw it) to take another course. So, shortly after turning 18, I joined the Army.
I've never regretted that decision. I unequivocally assert that no institution of higher learning in the United States - not Harvard, not UC Berkeley, not Northwestern, not Vanderbilt, not Notre Dame, not Columbia, all of which I'd been considering in high-school - could have come anywhere near, at any price, to providing me the kind of education, a true liberal education, that I got thanks to Uncle Sam. Eight weeks of basic combat training in the sandy hell of South Carolina (though I detested it at the time) threw me for the first time into intimate contact with people with wildly varying backgrounds and abilities, and forced me as near as I've ever been to my physical and emotional limits, not to mention impressing on me the value of cooperation, of covering your buddy's ass, and of making enough effort to keep your buddy from having to cover your ass (which I appreciate more and more the older I get). Then nearly a year's intensive (and I mean intensive) study of a non-Indo-European language (resulting in real fluency, not just touristy passability) in the northern California Big Sur Coast setting of Monterey, once again surrounded by people from varying backgrounds - except that we were almost all National Merit people, or very near. Then several months in the nation's capitol, at last learning what Uncle had in mind for us to do. Finally 2 1/2 years in rural Bavaria, surrounded once again with people like Bill Boydstun - intellectual equals, if not superiors, all - with ample opportunity to absorb, not just sample, the cultural riches of continental Europe and a way of life, while not totally alien from the American way, at least different enough to provide an illuminating perspective on both. In short, I consider my Army experience priceless, and if I had my life to live over again 20 more times, I'd repeat it each time.
Problem is, it ruined me forever after for living anything resembling a normal life. Thanks to learning how to think in Magyar, talking with and learning from people like Bill, and getting inside an "un-American," if you will, way of life, I have never since been able, as Hank Jr. put it, to "go for that old stuff anymore." If I'd been able to make the right contacts, and to screw up my courage to a high-enough level, I'd have been one of the hippies who moved to the hills. Instead, I spent my life trying to make a go of it from where I was at the time, constantly struggling, constantly "failing," and progressively painting myself into a tighter and tighter corner.
The upshot is that I've lived life from the very bottom, or quite near it, and I think I've got a pretty good handle on how it looks from down here. Most of all, I see that there's not much being heard from us low-life folks about what it looks like, and I see that as a situation that needs rectification, whatever little I may be able to offer. Testimony from any other Losers out there would be most welcome. Let's start talking about this shit, people - that's the absolute first step in changing it. Whaddya say?
The short version: By nearly all lights, conventional or non, I am a specimen of that variety of American most to be despised and/or pitied by all decent Americans: A Loser. I am both a high-school and a college dropout (though I did, at age 28, get a useless GED certificate). I never had anything resembling a career, rather a "careen," jumping from one low-wage job to another (well over 50, all told), punctuated by long periods of unemployment, nearly all my life (my total lifetime earnings, from age 16, when I started working, until I finally "retired," as calculated by the Social Security Administration, came to slightly over $150,000). I am a convicted felon: Bail Jumping, a Class D felony in my state, punishable by up to 5 years in prison (I got 2 years, probated for 5 years, to time already served in the county jail), for failing to show up in court on a bounced rent check charge (if you are a low-life, like me, disrespect for the court is the most serious mistake you can make, regardless of the original charge). I was a serious pot-head (or, these days, I guess it's "stoner") for 15 years, until the cost of my habit became too prohibitive. For over 20 years I experienced numerous episodes of homelessness, at first on the sofa circuit, in the back seats of cars, and in hospital lounges and waiting rooms, later in homeless shelters, after they became fashionable (and available). Today, I'm what some would call a "fat old fuck," living in a housing development for the elderly poor, surviving only on a Social Security check that puts me at 77.8% of the poverty level, waiting to die from lung cancer.
But there's more to it than just that. As Terry (Marlon Brando) said to Charley (Rod Steiger) in On The Waterfront, "I coulda been a contender." I was certainly bright enough: IQ 135 (for whatever that's worth), full 4-year scholarship to a parochial high-school, National Merit Scholarship Semi-Finalist my junior year in high-school; perennial teacher's pet (I learned in the 3rd grade how to snow the teachers), junior class treasurer, debate team, drum-major in the band, starting offensive and defensive tackle on the football team (linemen were never "stars" in those days, or nowadays, either, at least not as unlikely as in the days when a 6'0'', 205-pound boy could play tackle). But a deteriorating domestic situation (I was a product of a single-family household, with 2 siblings, as a result of my father's death in 1954, when I was 8 years old), the cold realization that even a full 4-year scholarship for tuition, books, room, and board, which I was virtually assured of by dint of the National Merit program, wouldn't cover the full costs of college, and, frankly, an overpowering distaste for the idea of even more schooling, forced me (at least, as I saw it) to take another course. So, shortly after turning 18, I joined the Army.
I've never regretted that decision. I unequivocally assert that no institution of higher learning in the United States - not Harvard, not UC Berkeley, not Northwestern, not Vanderbilt, not Notre Dame, not Columbia, all of which I'd been considering in high-school - could have come anywhere near, at any price, to providing me the kind of education, a true liberal education, that I got thanks to Uncle Sam. Eight weeks of basic combat training in the sandy hell of South Carolina (though I detested it at the time) threw me for the first time into intimate contact with people with wildly varying backgrounds and abilities, and forced me as near as I've ever been to my physical and emotional limits, not to mention impressing on me the value of cooperation, of covering your buddy's ass, and of making enough effort to keep your buddy from having to cover your ass (which I appreciate more and more the older I get). Then nearly a year's intensive (and I mean intensive) study of a non-Indo-European language (resulting in real fluency, not just touristy passability) in the northern California Big Sur Coast setting of Monterey, once again surrounded by people from varying backgrounds - except that we were almost all National Merit people, or very near. Then several months in the nation's capitol, at last learning what Uncle had in mind for us to do. Finally 2 1/2 years in rural Bavaria, surrounded once again with people like Bill Boydstun - intellectual equals, if not superiors, all - with ample opportunity to absorb, not just sample, the cultural riches of continental Europe and a way of life, while not totally alien from the American way, at least different enough to provide an illuminating perspective on both. In short, I consider my Army experience priceless, and if I had my life to live over again 20 more times, I'd repeat it each time.
Problem is, it ruined me forever after for living anything resembling a normal life. Thanks to learning how to think in Magyar, talking with and learning from people like Bill, and getting inside an "un-American," if you will, way of life, I have never since been able, as Hank Jr. put it, to "go for that old stuff anymore." If I'd been able to make the right contacts, and to screw up my courage to a high-enough level, I'd have been one of the hippies who moved to the hills. Instead, I spent my life trying to make a go of it from where I was at the time, constantly struggling, constantly "failing," and progressively painting myself into a tighter and tighter corner.
The upshot is that I've lived life from the very bottom, or quite near it, and I think I've got a pretty good handle on how it looks from down here. Most of all, I see that there's not much being heard from us low-life folks about what it looks like, and I see that as a situation that needs rectification, whatever little I may be able to offer. Testimony from any other Losers out there would be most welcome. Let's start talking about this shit, people - that's the absolute first step in changing it. Whaddya say?
maybe not too much . . .
Much has been made in this election cycle of the “too much government” argument from voters who believe we are over-regulated at every level. This past week underscores the need for government to intervene in our lives. The nation’s health care system was mobilized this week after doctors, starting with an alert Vanderbilt physician, reported mysterious illnesses that have now been determined to be a rare outbreak of fungal meningitis. It’s made more than two dozen people sick in nine states, killing several. It was a government agency that connected the dots. It was a government agency that already had cited a Massachusetts specialty pharmacy that produced the medicine for regulatory violations. That pharmacy has now surrendered its license.
October 10, 2012
October 09, 2012
right on . . .
For weeks many Beltway insiders had written off the Romney campaign as dead, saying the candidate had dug himself into too deep a hole with too little time to recover. However, with a month to go before ballots are cast, Romney has pulled even with President Obama, and the former Massachusetts governor credits his rejuvenated campaign to one, singular tactic: lying a lot. “I’m lying a lot more, and my lies are far more egregious than they’ve ever been,” a smiling Romney told reporters while sitting in the back of his campaign bus, adding that when faced with a choice to either lie or tell the truth, he will more than likely lie. “It’s a strategy that works because when I lie, I’m essentially telling people what they want to hear, and people really like hearing things they want to hear. Even if they sort of know that nothing I’m saying is true.” “It’s a freeing strategy, really, because I don’t have to worry about facts or being accurate or having any concrete positions of any kind,” Romney added. Romney said he is telling at least 80 percent more lies now than he was two months ago. Buoyed by his strong debate performance, which by his own admission included 40 or 50 instances of lying in one 90-minute period, the candidate said he will continue to “just openly lie [his] ass off” until the Nov. 6 election.
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