Oh, just shut up

John McCain abandons any true sense of honor:

QUESTION: The chair of the Republican Party in Virginia has said, quote, in Time magazine, "both Barack Obama and Osama Bin Laden have friends that have bombed the Pentagon. That is scary." Is that appropriate for a state party chair to be saying?

MCCAIN: "I have to look at the context of his remarks. I have always repudiated any comments that have been made that were inappropriate about Senator Obama. The fact is that William Ayers was a terrorist and bomber and unrepentant. I don't care about that. But Senator Obama ought be the candid and truthful about his relationship with Mr. Ayers in whose living room Senator Obama launched his campaign and Senator Obama said he was just a guy in the neighborhood."

John Lewis hits a nerve

"Rep. John Lewis On Hostility of McCain-Palin Campaign"

As one who was a victim of violence and hate during the height of the Civil Rights Movement, I am deeply disturbed by the negative tone of the McCain-Palin campaign. What I am seeing reminds me too much of another destructive period in American history. Sen. McCain and Gov. Palin are sowing the seeds of hatred and division, and there is no need for this hostility in our political discourse.

During another period, in the not too distant past, there was a governor of the state of Alabama named George Wallace who also became a presidential candidate. George Wallace never threw a bomb. He never fired a gun, but he created the climate and the conditions that encouraged vicious attacks against innocent Americans who were simply trying to exercise their constitutional rights. Because of this atmosphere of hate, four little girls were killed on Sunday morning when a church was bombed in Birmingham, Alabama.

As public figures with the power to influence and persuade, Sen. McCain and Gov. Palin are playing with fire, and if they are not careful, that fire will consume us all. They are playing a very dangerous game that disregards the value of the political process and cheapens our entire democracy. We can do better. The American people deserve better.

Sen. McCain, not surprisingly, resents the implications, as well as the direct accusations, of this statement:

Congressman John Lewis' comments represent a character attack against Governor Sarah Palin and me that is shocking and beyond the pale. The notion that legitimate criticism of Senator Obama's record and positions could be compared to Governor George Wallace, his segregationist policies and the violence he provoked is unacceptable and has no place in this campaign.

I am saddened that John Lewis, a man I've always admired, would make such a brazen and baseless attack on my character and the character of the thousands of hardworking Americans who come to our events to cheer for the kind of reform that will put America on the right track."

I call on Senator Obama to immediately and personally repudiate these outrageous and divisive comments that are so clearly designed to shut down debate 24 days before the election. Our country must return to the important debate about the path forward for America.

A campaign that has prompted those attending McCain/Palin rallies to shout "Terrorist!," and "Traitor!," and one woman to call Obama, obviously disparagingly, an "Arab," a campaign where McCain's attempts to say anything about the quality of Mr. Obama's character was roundly booed, is not a campaign that is engaged in "legitimate criticism of Senator Obama's record and positions." By now, does that really have to be spelled out? The only difference between McCain's campaign now, and Wallace's campaign against desegregation then, is that Sen. McCain has not yet provoked any violence. That is a very thin distinction, indeed. Sen. McCain clearly doth protest too much.

Sen. Obama doesn't have to denounce and reject these remarks (the favorite phrase earlier in the campaign, when Rev. Wright's comments were so controversial). Rep. Lewis' moral gravitas allows him to stand alone in both his opinions and his responsibility for them. Sen. Obama can simply leave them be.

John Lewis has long ago earned the right to speak for himself, and to speak to these kinds of issues with an authority that deserves our respect. If John McCain has lost any moral authority to be outraged by such comments, he need only look in the mirror to see who took it from him.

Irony update: Sen. Obama is responsible for what Rep. Lewis says, but Sen. McCain is not responsible for the emotions he whips up in his crowds:

“I think there have been quite a few reporters recently,” said Mr. McCain’s closest adviser, Mark Salter, “who have sort of implied, or made more than implications, that somehow we’re responsible for the occasional nut who shows up and yells something about Barack Obama.”

The comment about Obama being an Arab (apparently she said "Arab Terrorist") is the first time McCain actually responded to these outrages. Earlier, he'd merely grinned and gone on. This isn't lost on anyone, despite Mr. Salter's attempt to blame the messenger.

And if that isn't enough, POW:

"Look, Chris, I think we have to take this very seriously," [McCain campaign manager Rick] Davis told Fox News Sunday host Chris Wallace. "And the kind of comments made by Congressman Lewis, a big Obama supporter, are reprehensible. The idea that you're going to compare John McCain to the kinds of hate spread in the '60s by somebody like George Wallace is outrageous. Where was John McCain when George Wallace was spreading his hate and segregationist policies at that time? He was in a Vietnam prison camp serving his country with his civil rights also denied."

I think this is where we all came into this movie. And, of course, Obama is still responsible for what Lewis said, but McCain isn't responsible for what his crowds say:

"Nobody knows sacrifice like John McCain does," said Davis. "And the idea that Barack Obama didn't address this issue directly, had his campaign walk out there with a half-baked statement that didn't even address the comments made by Lewis as related to John McCain. Barack Obama should apologize to John McCain directly for the kinds of comments made by John Lewis yesterday and that should be the end of this sordid affair."

Can we go now?

Derivatives of the Postulates

I've mentioned the power of the "Big Idea" before. It's basically the lure of thinking you speak for the god, whatever "the god" is:

William F. Buckley called them the "postulates." Follow the postulates, and all is well. Failure to follow the postulates, the law, is the cause of sin, and the only reason allowable for failure. It is never the law that fails, but only the people who fail to meet the law's standards. It is an inhuman and unreal demand; and it always, as Gregg Mitchell notes, absolves the one relying on this argument, from responsibility.

But "religion is responsibility, or it is nothing at all." If we are going to draw from Christianity the notion that an idea is all we need to save us, then we had better at least take responsibility for drawing that lesson in the first place. No one can be allowed to build a system they are not willing to live in. No one can escape responsibility by pointing to the weakness of the other to live up to the requirements of a system they do not hold themselves accountable to. The Deuteronomists did not hold Israel accountable any more than the prophets did. They spoke for God, and stood under judgment and accountability and responsibility along with all the members of their nation. David Brooks, and William Buckley and Frances Fukuyama before him, want to speak for god, too. But their god is the "big idea" they have fashioned from reason and comfort and easy occupations lived out among people amenable to their ways, or at least agreeable to being of aid to them.

Alan Greenspan is at it today:

George Soros, the prominent financier, avoids using the financial contracts known as derivatives “because we don’t really understand how they work.” Felix G. Rohatyn, the investment banker who saved New York from financial catastrophe in the 1970s, described derivatives as potential “hydrogen bombs.”

And Warren E. Buffett presciently observed five years ago that derivatives were “financial weapons of mass destruction, carrying dangers that, while now latent, are potentially lethal.”

One prominent financial figure, however, has long thought otherwise. And his views held the greatest sway in debates about the regulation and use of derivatives — exotic contracts that promised to protect investors from losses, thereby stimulating riskier practices that led to the financial crisis. For more than a decade, the former Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan has fiercely objected whenever derivatives have come under scrutiny in Congress or on Wall Street. “What we have found over the years in the marketplace is that derivatives have been an extraordinarily useful vehicle to transfer risk from those who shouldn’t be taking it to those who are willing to and are capable of doing so,” Mr. Greenspan told the Senate Banking Committee in 2003. “We think it would be a mistake” to more deeply regulate the contracts, he added.

Today, with the world caught in an economic tempest that Mr. Greenspan recently described as “the type of wrenching financial crisis that comes along only once in a century,” his faith in derivatives remains unshaken.

The problem is not that the contracts failed, he says. Rather, the people using them got greedy. A lack of integrity spawned the crisis, he argued in a speech a week ago at Georgetown University, intimating that those peddling derivatives were not as reliable as “the pharmacist who fills the prescription ordered by our physician.”

The Big Idea is always sound, always true, always inviolable. It is only the priests of the Big Idea who can fail.

Had Wall Street only not been greedy. Yeah, that was the problem!

Someone really needs to introduce Mr. Greenspan to the Christian realism of Reinhold Niebuhr. But who could do that...?

Holy Cow!

David Brooks:

Obama has the great intellect. I was interviewing Obama a couple years ago, and I'm getting nowhere with the interview, it's late in the night, he's on the phone, walking off the Senate floor, he's cranky. Out of the blue I say, 'Ever read a guy named Reinhold Niebuhr?' And he says, 'Yeah.' So I say, 'What did Niebuhr mean to you?' For the next 20 minutes, he gave me a perfect description of Reinhold Niebuhr's thought, which is a very subtle thought process based on the idea that you have to use power while it corrupts you. And I was dazzled, I felt the tingle up my knee as Chris Matthews would say.

And the other thing that does separate Obama from just a pure intellectual: he has tremendous powers of social perception. And this is why he's a politician, not an academic. A couple of years ago, I was writing columns attacking the Republican congress for spending too much money. And I throw in a few sentences attacking the Democrats to make myself feel better. And one morning I get an email from Obama saying, 'David, if you wanna attack us, fine, but you're only throwing in those sentences to make yourself feel better.' And it was a perfect description of what was going through my mind. And everybody who knows Obama all have these stories to tell about his capacity for social perception.

Hmmmm...maybe he is the One.

Habeas Corpus is not dead yet....

but the Bush Administration is determined to bury it anyway. Via TPM:

Yesterday, a federal judge ordered the release of 17 detainees -- ethnic Uighurs from western China who were captured during fighting in Afghanistan -- being held at Guantanamo Bay. It was the first time a court had ordered the release of any detainees from Guantanamo.

But in a statement released last night, the Department of Justice said that the ruling "presents serious national security and separation of powers concerns" and announced that DOJ is filing an emergency appeal to ensure the men stay behind bars.

This much was known, actually. The New York Times mentioned the appeal in its article on the issue. But read the statement from the DOJ:

“Today, the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia ordered that 17 Uighurs detained at Guantanamo Bay— individuals who have admitted to receiving weapons training at camps in Afghanistan— be released into the United States. Today’s ruling presents serious national security and separation of powers concerns and raises unprecedented legal issues.

And then consider this:

Judge Urbina’s decision came in a habeas corpus lawsuit authorized by a landmark Supreme Court ruling in June that gave detainees the right to have federal judges review the reason for their detention. Speaking from the bench in a courtroom crowded with Uighur supporters of the detainees, Judge Urbina suggested that the government was seeking a stay as a tactic to keep the men imprisoned.

“All of this means more delay,” he said with evident impatience, “and delay is the name of the game up until this point.” The centuries-old doctrine of habeas corpus permits a judge to demand production of a prisoner, a power Judge Urbina sought to exercise with his order that the men be brought to him.

“I want to see the individuals,” he said.

This is, in other words, a straight up habeas case, one the courts have been guaranteed authority over since Magna Carta. What is the Bush Administration response? Fear, fear, fear:

The White House press secretary, Dana Perino, said the administration was “deeply concerned by, and strongly disagrees with” the decision. She added that the ruling, “if allowed to stand, could be used as precedent for other detainees held at Guantánamo Bay, including sworn enemies of the United States suspected of planning the attacks of 9/11, who may also seek release into our country.”

And that's it; that's the basis for the "separation of powers" issue the DOJ is claiming. The Administration, not the courts, gets to decide who has access to American courts. Or it could be simply pique; it could be they simply didn't like the judge's ruling:

Judge Urbina, an appointee of President Bill Clinton, underscored the significance of his ruling with repeated references to the constitutional separation of powers and the judiciary’s role.

He rejected Justice Department arguments as assertions of executive power to detain people indefinitely without court review. He said that “is not in keeping with our system of government.”

The DOJ response is: "Change the system of government."

I wish it were unbelievable. But it will only be that if an appellate court sides with the Administration. In the meantime, we can't get rid of these yahoos fast enough.

The Wild Goose

Something about 9/11 made some people crazy. Or maybe this is just the American character, and we have always needed an "Other" to define ourselves against. First it was Britain, then it was Europe (we've always had a love/hate relationship with Europe). For most of the 19th century it was the natives who where here before us, when it wasn't the slaves we imported to serve us, or the immigrants who were making this country what it is (and isn't) today. Then in the mid-twentieth century it became the Nazis and Japanese (mostly the Japanese; as Paul Fussell pointed out, no American went into battle in World War II crying "Remember Poland!"). After the war, of course, it was the Commies; and when the USSR collapsed, we went in search of a new enemy, and found it (or it found us) on 9/11.

Interestingly, during the Cold War the problem with the enemy was that they were "godless." Now the problem is the enemy has religion. Apparently one condition is as bad as the other, where the US is concerned. Which brings me to "Religulous."

I haven't seen the movie, and I'm not really interested enough to try to. But it raises interesting questions, little related to religion (from what I gathered in the Fresh Air interview with Bill Maher and Larry Charles, there's little in the documentary related to religion, either), but directed more at the question of the relationship of documentaries to truth.

It was Harlan Ellison who first pointed out to me (the thought may not have been original with him) that people had already decided that if it was on TeeVee, it was real. He recounted an experience with Dan Blocker when "Bonanza" was on the air: a fan came up to Mr. Blocker and began berating "Hoss" for the state of the "Cartwright" home. She couldn't be convinced that "Family" was not real. It's a short step from that confusion to confusing what's on a TV screen with what's "more real." An experience is now "more authentic" if it gets on TV: the traffic accident, the disaster we just lived through, the political rally or appearance of a celebrity: if you see it on the news, even though you were there, it's authenticated. Even in left blogistan, when the topic du jour is mentioned, even in passing, by Keith Olbermann or on "Saturday Night Live," it vindicates our interest and validates our concerns. If it's on a screen, it's "true."

But that's the working assumption of documentaries: if they can get it on the screen, it's "real." If you can't get it on screen, conversely, it must not be real. Seeing has truly become believing; and believing has boiled down to simply what we accept as true. (In a clip from the film played on Fresh Air, Maher asks a U.S. Representative if he "believes" in evolution. I didn't realize scientific theories were the subject to acceptance on the basis of belief; but such is the nature of our public discourse.) Most of life, of course, is not visual. It's too complex to boil down to a narrative that fits within 90 minutes of narration and visuals and "live dialogue." Funny how transcripts of a meeting or public event, or even the reconstruction of them, is valid in print reports, research papers, or any historical archive; but a "re-creation" on film, even with actors, seems less "authentic" and is always suspect when used for a documentary. The documentary is based on a simple assumption: seeing is believing, and what is seen is true. But is it? Is that how we conduct our everyday lives?

Larry Charles made a telling statement in the Terri Gross interview: he said they tried to contact the Pope and the head of the Mormon church and other religious leaders (all Christian, interestingly, or Western. No mention of Orthodox leaders, Buddhist monks, Hindu priests, Taoists, etc.), but there were "layers" (his word) of people designed to keep such persons from contact with the public, or at least Messrs. Charles and Maher. I wondered how many people I'd have to go through to get in touch with Mr. Charles, or the head of the studio distributing his film, or the heads of the TV companies who have broadcast his work; or the President of the United States, or any head of government or any major corporation. It was, in other words, a pretty mindless and petty complaint, and revealed more about Mr. Charles than about the religious leaders he sought out.

Mr. Maher followed the theme, pointing out that they had no trouble getting American religious leaders (of some stripe; I've seen no mention of the leaders of any of the mainstream Christian denominations being in the film) or simply believers, to talk to them. Mr. Maher explained that religious people in America are "media whores" (again, his term). This sets up a curious and convenient paradox: those who don't want to be on camera with Mr. Maher for this documentary are insulated cowards who won't face the "common man;" those who do are "whores" willing to do anything for attention. Hmmmm.....

Mr. Maher and Mr. Charles both say they consider religion dangerous. We've had this discussion before, and it really isn't worth belaboring, especially because of this documentary. The question now is: can a documentary document that danger? Can a documentary show the "true" face of religion in human experience, such that its risks and benefits can be considered? In the interview, Mr. Maher echoes the sentiments of Mahatma Gandhi, that the basic teachings of Christianity: respect the powerless, not the powerful; care for the poor, not the wealthy, are radical teachings (they are also fundamentally Jewish, though Mr. Maher doesn't seem to realize that), are good, and it's a pity they aren't more widely adhered to by Christians. How that adds up to religion being dangerous is a bit unclear, but apparently Mr. Maher equates "religion" with "Christian fundamentalists" (and I freely admit I'm basing that on Mr. Maher's comments and the Fresh Air interview with Stephen Waldman), and by some extension, Islamic fundamentalism. I understand Mr. Maher focusses his attention on Christianity, though, and apparently nowhere in his documentary can he consider that violence in the name of Islam is prompted as much by the foreign policy of America and Europe as it is by religious impulse. It's understandable, though, that Mr. Maher would consider Christian fundamentalists, rather like Sam Harris does, as the "true Christians." After all, they make such good subjects for a documentary. You can get them on film saying and doing outrageous things, usually quite unapologetically.

And if you can get it on film, it must be true, right?

So how would you make a compelling documentary about spirituality? How would you film charity, forbearance, tolerance, kindness, humility, hospitality? How would you film the quotidian faith of the average believer? Could you film the religionless religion of Dietrich Bonhoeffer? The ultimate concern of Paul Tillich? The pragmatic Christianity of Reinhold Niebuhr? And if you couldn't, does that mean they are not real?

Could you film the faith of Kathleen Norris, or Annie Lamott? Is their faith, then, false? Canyou put on film the spirituality of a Buddhist monk in meditation, a whirling dervish in ecstasy, a Muslim at prayer, a Trappist monk keeping a vow of silence, an observant Jew keeping kosher or observing the requirements of Torah? Or do you just show us something that keeps us at arm's length, something we see without feeling experiencing spirituality? How do you film this without simply showing pictures of people, and what meaning do such pictures have? Are they as compelling as interviews with mockable figures whom you strive to make foolish? According to the Fresh Air website, Mr. Maher "pos[ed] undercover as a man seeking spiritual guidance from various religious groups." Is that how you discern and film spirituality? By deception?

I can show you the actions of a person, and tell you what those actions mean: but I have shown you spirituality? I can show you the actions of a generous, caring, kind-hearted atheist, and of a deeply spiritual person, a Dorothy Day, a Thomas Merton. On film, will they look any different? How does one film motivations, interests, beliefs? Have I captured the truth and put it on the screen? Can I show you, or do I have to tell you? And if I don't discern a difference myself, is there no difference there? Or am I just missing something? If I miss it, is that the truth? Or am I misleading myself? Is seeing always believing? Or does seeing depend on something other than my eyes?

But the question of the documentary is the question of our devotion to the screen as the arbiter of what is real: If I can't get it on film, is it not true? Is it not real?

Maher says he admires the teachings of Jesus about poverty and powerlessness and the poor. What if he had gone looking for that, instead? What if he had tried to capture those teachings in a documentary? What would that look like? And would that, then, be real to the rest of us?

Gratias tibi ago

I actually have two of these (one large; one small. I have an embarrassment of coffee makers, truth be told). Who knew it dated back to WWII, or had such importance in the brewing of coffee?

Deep Thought

Bill Maher is no William James.

The gyres! The gyres! Old Rocky face, look forth!

Sombeody's gonna have to explain it to me, I'm not sure what it means. Fortunately, the NYT is available to do just that:

Though financial markets around the world plunged on Monday after the rejection, the American markets rebounded Tuesday with both the Dow Jones industrial average up 2.5 percent and the Standard & Poor’s 500-stock index up 3.2 percent. The Dow was up 260 points in early afternoon trading.

Investors seemed to be optimistic that Washington may still approve a financial rescue plan, after the House’s defiance of the president and party leaders left lawmakers groping for a resolution. While the markets were calmer, overnight lending between banks was stalled, analysts said, exacerbating the tight credit market.

That was the version posted earlier in the article. Since then, the market has simply gone up:

Though financial markets around the world plunged on Monday after the rejection, American stocks rebounded Tuesday. The Dow Jones industrial average was up more than 300 points in early afternoon trading, and the broader S.&P. 500 and New York Stock Exchange indexes posted solid gains on renewed optimism that the bailout would eventually be enacted, though the gains were not enough to retrace Monday’s sharp losses.

Credit markets continued to tighten, however, with investors continuing to shun risk in favor of Treasury securities. Overnight lending between banks remained stalled, analysts said.

So the DJIA is an economic indicator; or it doesn't really mean all that much. And the movement of the market clearly tells us something; if we fit that interpretation into the narrative we've all agreed upon.

You see, the market is "up" because the market expects that Congress, leaderless and divided and harried by the electorate and facing re-election in five weeks and shocking everyone by refusing yesterday to panic as the market dropped, will panic on Thursday and make everything alright. And the market "knows" this because....well, because the priests of the Oracle say so. Or something.

Anyway, the only possible explanation for a rise of 300 points after a fall of 777 points is that the market knows it will be bailed out by Thursday. Right? I mean, it couldn't be anything else. The causal relationship is so clear. After all, if it wasn't news, the Times wouldn't print it, right?

Watch the Donut, not the hole...

This is likely my second and last post on what's going on in D.C. at the moment. I fired off this screed at First Draft this morning:

I listened to FDR's inaugural speech yesterday, from 1933, when he said "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." And I realized the reluctance of the Dems to do anything is not a bug, it's a feature.

I'm supporting Obama for the same reasons Athenae* is, but I'm not hopeful he'll bring any real difference to the table. When Lloyd Doggett and Dennis Kucinich and John Culberson agree on something, I expect to see pigs flying. Instead, I get the still, calm voice of Obama arguing for the status quo, which is to give Paulson essentially what he asked for so there are no political repercussions that Dems have to deal with or worry about or politic on, so they can win the White House and then....do what? Do what, except continue to promote the status quo because that's what the people want? (Except they don't, which is the House voted against the bill yesterday, albeit barely.) Do what, except continue to be in the pockets of Wall Street (yeah, the Dow dropped almost 800 points yesterday. It's a marketing gimmick, not an economic tool. Hell, even the GOP Representative on NPR this morning understood enough nuance to argue that Dow had no relevance to the issue of legislation, and he wouldn't be scared or buffaloed by it.)

FDR took on the status quo, because he knew it was needed. He had fights in his own Cabinet over what to do, and despite the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, he had a fight in the first 100 days to get his New Deal enacted, a fight that lasted long after the 100 days, and included a battle royal with the Supreme Court. Can you imagine any Democrat, even Obama (especially Obama!) doing that come February?

I can't. Still, McCain would be so much worse....

James K. Galbraith reassures me that Doggett and Kucinich and even John Culberson (blind pig finds acorn! Film at 11!) were right in their votes: we don't need this. There are better ways to react to this problem, and there is time to find those solutions. If that happens, it will be in spite, not because of, the leadership of both parties.

I would only add that the DJIA was up 235 points 15 minutes after opening today. But like the wheel of fortune, where it stops, nobody knows.

So it goes.

*What Athenae said:

That I am supporting Obama, is in the hope that with a White House in their control, they'll be less cowed. That with the example of what someone can do to inspire Americans to move, they might realize we're all here, we're all ready, we're all hungry for it. We're listening. All they have to do is speak. That I am supporting Obama, it's in the belief that the simple "whoa, holy, shit, look at all those people who are fucking pissed off at stuff" will finally sink in.

Let's not kid ourselves, though. This isn't exactly the first big opening they've had to do something. This isn't their first chance to fail. They've had chance after chance, and they've never missed a single one yet.

Run in circles, scream and shout!

Even the local NPR station broke in to tell me this news, which puts it on par with a declaration of war, or another major terrorist attack. Most likely it is not as consequential as either. According to that graph the New York Times had up as I write, the DJIA started dropping before the vote, and has already risen again (though not, admitedly, above where it started). I'm sure the High Priests of the Market can explain the Delphic utterances of the Dow tonight, but for the moment, I can't follow the narrative. (I don't place as much value in an index created as a marketing gimmick, personally. But then again, I'm no economist, either.)

Paul Krugman probably thinks this is bad news; Nouriel Roubini probably thinks it's good news; Warren Buffet is probably selling short, or whatever it is he does at times like this. My 2 cents? This is probably a good thing. Democracy Now! played an excerpt from FDR's inaugural address (his first one), where he famously said "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." He wasn't addressing Germany and Japan, he was talking about the US economy in 1933. In 2008 we get George Bush, who is all about fear:

Working closely with my administration, congressional leaders from both parties produced the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act -- a bold bill that will help keep the crisis in our financial system from spreading throughout our economy.

...

The bipartisan economic rescue plan addresses the root cause of the financial crisis -- the assets related to home mortgages that have lost value during the housing decline.
...

Now that this legislation has been agreed to by leaders of both parties, it must be passed by houses -- both houses of Congress. And I fully understand that this will be a difficult vote. But with the improvements made to this bill, I'm confident that members of both parties will support it. Congress can send a strong signal to markets at home and abroad by passing this bill promptly. Every member of Congress and every American should keep in mind: A vote for this bill is a vote to prevent economic damage to you and your community.

This has been a volatile time for our financial system and our economy. Even with the important steps we're taking to address the current crisis, we will continue to face serious challenges. The impact of the credit crisis and the housing correction will continue to pressure our financial system and impact the growth of our economy for some time. But I'm confident that this rescue plan -- along with other measures taken by the Treasury Department and the Federal Reserve -- will begin to restore strength and stability to America's financial system and overall economy. And I'm confident that in the long run, America will overcome these challenges and remain the most dynamic and productive economy in the world.

Thank you.

Small wonder the Dow declined, huh? As Adam Cohen said to Amy Goodman and Juan Gonzalez:

ADAM COHEN: Absolutely true. The parallels between then and now are very strong. The contrast, I’d have to say, between that speech and the speech we heard from President Bush this morning was also quite stark. That speech, the inaugural address, was one of the great speeches in American history, but one of its great themes was “nothing to fear” and an explanation of the problems and a commitment to change the fundamental underlying principles of American government.

From President Bush today, we got a lot of fear—you know, unless you act quickly, everything’s going to fall apart—no explanation about exactly what’s going wrong—and I think the American people still don’t really understand that—and no commitment to change fundamentals. It’s all about, let’s pump more money into the system; don’t ask any questions.

Which is where I draw my comfort, for the moment. This time, finally, democracy worked. Maybe Wall Street does need an RTC to take over the investment banks and make them solvent. Maybe we don't need the brutal corrections of the marketplace. We certainly don't want to willingly put ourselves in the position FDR addressed in 1933.

But maybe the sky isn't falling, and maybe the political restrictions aren't quite as tight as Paul Krugman thinks (he's a fine economist and social critic, but I find he leaves much to be desired as a political analyst). Maybe the Congress doesn't need to do this before it recesses; or maybe it doesn't need to recess until something is done, but in a more orderly manner.

This much is known now: another vote is anticipated, and this may yet pass the House. Then again, it may not. Either way, this is the way the system is supposed to function. And Representatives respond to their constituents, who may not know much about econmics, either: but they know when they're being panicked. And this time, finally, at long last: they don't like it.

UPDATE: This is the kind of thing you just keep updating. Take this, for example:

When the critical vote was tallied, too few members of the House were willing to support the unpopular measure with elections just five weeks away. Ample no votes came from both the Democratic and Republican sides of the aisle.

Bush and a host of leading congressional figures had implored the lawmakers to pass the legislation despite howls of protest from their constituents back home.

The vote had been preceded by unusually aggressive White House lobbying, and spokesman Tony Fratto said that Bush had used a "call list" of people he wanted to persuade to vote yes as late as just a short time before the vote.

Lawmakers shouted news of the plummeting Dow Jones average as lawmakers crowded on the House floor during the drawn-out and tense call of the roll, which dragged on for roughly 40 minutes as leaders on both sides scrambled to corral enough of their rank-and-file members to support the deeply unpopular measure.

They found only two.

Like I say: this is how democracy works. Fear is not the tool of a democratic state. According to the NYT, it came down to this:

Early in the House debate, Jeb Hensarling, Republican of Texas, said he intended to vote against the package, which he said would put the nation on “the slippery slope to socialism.” He said that he was afraid that it ultimately would not work, leaving the taxpayers responsible for “the mother of all debt.”

Another Texas Republican, John Culberson, spoke scathingly about the unbridled power he said the bill would hand over to the Treasury secretary, Henry M. Paulson Jr., whom he called “King Henry.”

A third Texan, Lloyd Doggett, a Democrat, said the negotiators had “never seriously considered any alternative” to the administration’s plan, and had only barely modified what they were given. He criticized the plan for handing over sweeping new powers to an administration that he said was to blame for allowing the crisis to develop in the first place.

LATER:

And it just kept going, bottoming out at 777 points down.



Time to buy shares in Theology of Abundance! Elijah! Elijah!

Letting the Days Go By

This old town should have burned down
In nineteen twenty-nine.
That's when we stood in line,
Waiting for our soup,
While swallowing our pride.

This old town should have burned down
In nineteen thirty-one.
When the rain refused to come.
Air filled up our bellies,
Dust filled up our lungs.
And we thought our time had come.

But this old town was built by hand,
In the dustbowl of the motherland.
There must be rock beneath this sand.
I'll be damned, this town still stands.

This old town should have burned down
In nineteen forty-four,
When the last man went to war.
They came back different,
If they came back at all.

This old town should have burned down
In nineteen fifty-six.
That's when the twister hit.
And all our hopes lay buried
Beneath the boards and bricks.
And we almost called it quits.

But this old town was built by hand,
In the dustbowl of the motherland.
There must be rock beneath this sand.
I'll be damned, this town still stands.

Somewhere in the distance,
The city lights do shine.
Sidewalks gleam with neon dreams,
That call from time to time.
When my children's children ask,
Why I didn't go, I'll say,
"The heart of any town
Is the people that you've known,
And they always call you home."

This old town was built by hand,
In the dustbowl of the motherland.
And there is rock beneath the sand,
I'll be damned, this town still stands.

--Janis Ian and Jon Vezner

This song has been going through my head, and I've been meaning to post it. But after watching the local news last night, I'm not sure I can share this song's sentiment anymore.

I don't watch local news, mostly because I don't watch the broadcast networks anymore. Now that all I can get is the local stations with very poor reception because new TeeVees presume a cable connection and don't come with an antenna (O machine! O machine!), I'm stuck with local news and really, really, I mean excruciatingly bad, broadcast network TeeVee shows. "The Unit" stands out as an example of creeping militarization in our culture: the country is under attack by "bad guys" (probably "terrorists," but I didn't pay enough attention to find out) and only the military can save us. I.e., in order to preserve democracy, we really do have to destroy it.

I needed a bath after 10 minutes of that. It's a sad irony that CBS comes in much better than PBS. I finally put in my DVD of "A Prairie Home Companion," the Altman film, and enjoyed it so much I've sworn off broadcast TeeVee for good. Comcast can call me when my cable is reconnected. In the meantime, I'm counting days to get credit on my next cable bill. If it wasn't for "Mad Men" and "The Daily Show" and TCM....

But local news is even worse. I had that on, too, while I ironed shirts last night. "APHC" was too interesting; I sat down to watch that, so I had to turn it off to get the work done. Before that it was the news, and I was shocked at how chauvinistic local news coverage now is. Not the news coverage per se, but the station's attitude about its news coverage. To hear them tell it in their commercials (and they ran one during every commercial break, which made me wonder about their revenues), they are the glue holding the Houston community together, and without them, we would all being living blighted and benighted lives, and the despair after Hurricane Ike would have driven us all out of town. But thanks to the local station, which always cared about us and was always "with us" and "stood right beside" us, Houston was going to be okay. Check that: I can't stop thinking in terms of "Us" (the citizens) and "Them" (the TeeVee station). But the grammar of the ads was clear: it was "me" they were talking to. The TeeVee station was there for "me." Yeah, and this Bud's for me, too.

Set aside the irony that, at one point, 3 million people in their viewing area were without power (and so not viewing them), the local CBS affiliate insisted they were "standing with" me (me, mind you; not a collective "you," but me individually) throughout the assault of Hurricane Ike and after. They even had audio clips of callers telling them how much the local station meant to those callers (which was even sadder, actually.) I've heard such language used by churches trying to promote themselves (which is yet another sad song to sing), so it struck me that the TeeVee station was thinking of itself as a church now, as the community group that made community possible (yet another reason to doubt the ecclesiology I was taught in seminary; but that's still another topic!). The station insisted they were "standing by me" through this "crisis." And all I could think was: where were you when I was cleaning my yard for three days? Where were you when I was lifting the generator out of the car, with my strained back? Were you the one running an extension cord across the street so I could have a light and an electric fan? The one who loaned me the tree saw? The one who told me what gas stations were open?

But I thought, too: this is the language of the church, and weak language it is, in the modern context. We say God is the one standing by us, not a TeeVee station that couldn't find my home address without MapQuest and an editorial directive. But what is that supposed to mean, that "God is with me" in a crisis? I know what it means in a very well defined context, but remove the idea from that context and it's cold comfort, indeed. Replace the noun with a local TeeVee station, and it' s just flat bizarre.

Once again I questioned the language of the church I am a representative of, but once again I looked at the culture most people live in (and I do, too, though too seldom do I recognize it) , and thought, to paraphrase David Byrne: "My God, what have we done?!"

Paul Newman, R.I.P.

And while everyone remembers "Cool Hand Luke," this is still one of my favorite Newman films:

We're all French Now

When the sight of trucks lining your street, trucks with cherry pickers on them and labels that indicate they are from power companies, not tree trimmers, when that vision makes you feel like it must have felt to be in Paris for the liberation, you really know you're on the Gulf Coast. You want to run into the street and throw your daughters at them, shower them with champagne, beg them for chocolates, weep openly and unashamedly.

That's when you realize technology has you by the short hairs; but you just don't care. You want lights at night. You want to watch television. You want air conditioning. Most of all, you want refrigerated food again, in your own kitchen, cooked on your own stove. You want to go the store and buy all the ice cream your freezer will hold, and then go buy another freezer, and fill that one, too. And stuff your refrigertor with eggs and milk, and maybe get a second, bigger refrigerator to just stock with beer so you can share it with guys like this. And when they restore the shattered poles and restring the drooping power lines in only one day, a job you were sure would take weeks, you briefly consider marrying your teenage daughter off to them right then and there, so profound is your gratitude. But then they stand by their trucks for an hour or more, and nothing happens; and then they drive away. And you understand that, like a watched pot, nothing will come to a boil, no consummation will be observed or televised, and you must leave and let them return when you aren't watching, when you aren't even capable of watching.

So the next day, while you are gone, while you are at work, they return. You see them early in the morning, collected in a massive huddle of trucks at the end of your neighborhood: one man high in a cherry picker bucket, working with hand tools; the rest standing about their trucks, waiting for orders or something to happen. You leave, and when you come back, they are gone. You scarcely dare believe the miracle has occurred, especially since all the lights are still out in the houses around you. But maybe that's just because it's dusk...maybe that's because it isn't fully dark yet, or people have not yet come home to see, or they haven't thrown all their breakers either.

You step out to the two breaker boxes in the back yard; the old, original one, the newer one that replaced it, but didn't, and curse once again the former owners and their strange remodeling ways. Nothing to do for it but start throwing switches and hope new energy to the crumpled garage doesn't spark a fire in the night. No lights are on, all major appliances have been unplugged, so you have to go inside to see if the genies have returned, if the magical elves of entertainment and the pixies of refrigeration once again dwell beneath your roof. You are almost afraid, almost tentative to reach for a light switch. You feel for a moment like someone in rural America in the '30's who has just had his house wired for electricity thanks to FDR's "New Deal."

And then the lights are on and two weeks of 19th century living fall away as if they'd never been, and you remember how good it is to have light and air conditioning and TeeVee and, most of all, refrigeration. The hum of the freezer is like a chorus of angels; the purr of the refrigerator is the loveliest sound you've heard since your honeymoon, when you just listened to your wife sleep beside you, in awe and wonder at the miracle of it.

By the next day, it's off to the grocery store to restock and replenish, and plan meals. Already you wake up wondering where you put normal, so you can slip back into it.

Hunker Down

You know you've been through a hurricane when you sink to posting chain e-mails.

You know you're from the Gulf Coast if:

1. You have FEMA's number on your speed dialer.

2. You have more than 300 'C' and 'D' batteries in your kitchen drawer.

3. Your pantry contains more than 20 cans of Spaghetti O's.

4. You are thinking of repainting your house to match the plywood covering your windows.

5. When describing your gutted house to a prospective buyer, you say it has three bedrooms, two baths and an open air feel to it.

6. Your SSN isn't a secret, it's written in Sharpie on your arms.

7. You are on a first-name basis with the cashier at Home Depot.

8. You are delighted to pay $4.00 for a gallon for regular unleaded.

9. The road leading to your house has been declared a No-Wake Zone.

10. You decide that your patio furniture looks better on the bottom of the pool.

11. You own more than three large coolers.

12. You can wish that other people get hit by a hurricane and not feel the least bit guilty about it.

13. You rationalize helping a friend board up by thinking it'll only take a gallon of gas to get there and back.

14. You have 2-liter coke bottles and milk jugs filled with water in your freezer.

15. Three months ago you couldn't hang a shower curtain; today you can assemble a portable generator by candlelight.

16. You catch a 13-pound red fish - in your house.

17. You can recite from memory whole portions of your homeowner's insurance policy.

18. You consider a vacation to stunning Tupelo, Mississippi .

19. At cocktail parties, women are attracted to the guy with the biggest chainsaw.

20. You have had tuna fish more than 5 days in a row.

21. There is a roll of tar roofing paper in your garage.

22. You can rattle off the names of three or more meteorologists who work at the Weather Channel.

23. Someone comes to your door to tell you they found your roof.

24. Ice is a valid topic of conversation.

25. Your drive-thru meal consists of MRE's and bottled water.

26. Relocating to South Dakota does not seem like such a crazy idea.

27. You spend more time on your roof than in your living room.

28. You've been laughed at over the phone by a roofer, fence builder or a tree worker.

29. A battery powered TV is considered a home entertainment center.

30. You don't worry about relatives wanting to visit during the summer.

31. Your child's first words are "hunker down".

32. Having a tree in your living room does not necessarily mean it's Christmas.

33. Toilet Paper is elevated to coin of the realm at the shelters.

34. You know the difference between the Clean side of a storm and the Dirty side.

35. Your kids start school in August and finish in July.

36. You go to work early and stay late just to enjoy the air conditioning.

37. You are prepared to wait in line at Starbucks for 2 hours to get a cup of coffee.

A Method of the Discourse

Good sense is the most evenly distributed thing in the world; for everyone believes himself to be so well provided with it that even those who are the hardest to please in every other way do not usually want more of it than they already have. Nor is it likely that everyone is wrong about this; rather, what this shows is that the power of judging correctly and of distinguishing the true from the false (which is what is properly called good sense or reason) is naturally equal in all men, and that consequently the diversity of our opinions arises not from the fact that some of us are more reasonable than others, but solely that we have different ways of directing our thoughts, and do not take into account the same things. For it is not enough to possess a good mind; the most important thing is to apply it correctly. The greatest minds are capable of the greatest vices as well as the greatest virtues; those who go forward but very slowly can get further, if they always follow the right road, than those who are in too much of a hurry and stray off it.

For myself, I have never presumed my mind to be any way more accomplished than that of the common man. Indeed, I have often wished that my mind was as fast, my imagination as clear and precise, and my memory as well stocked and sharp as those of other people. And I personally know of no any other mental attributes that go to make up an accomplished mind; for, as regards reason or good sense (insofar as it is the only thing that makes us human and distinguishes us from brute beasts), I am ready to believe that it is altogether complete in every one of us, and I am prepared to follow in this the agreed doctrine of those philosophers who say that differences od degree apply only to accidents, and not to forms or natures of individuals of the same species.

Rene Descartes, A Discourse on the Method of Correctly Conducting One's Reason and Seeking Truth in the Sciences, tr. Ian Maclean.

Sometimes I think I should just post quotes from what I'm reading, and leave it at that. I've always studied Descartes as the "father" of modern philosophy, but I hever fully appreciated that phrase until I finally started reading the Discourse (two weeks without power has a wonderful way of focusing the mind. You can do so much more without distractions!). I'd taken the claim philosophically, and understood it to refer only to Descartes's ideas, especially the cogito that makes it's appearance in the Discourse. But nobody ever mentioned how much of a stylist Descartes was, or what a revelation the Discourse is.

First, it was written to make his ideas popular, so it's not a text just for philosophers. Ironic, since it is widely reported as the seminal philosophical text of Cartesianism. And he sets a tone, one almost lost since Plato's dialogues (which Hume tried, unsuccessfully, to resurrect.): he makes his ideas personal, to you and to him. Sartre wandered back and forth between these realms: the literary and the philosophical, and frankly his better philosophical work is not the technical Being and Nothingness (which is pretty much a response to Heidegger's Being and Time), but his essay on existentialism, a lecture given later in life. He shines in that, and his philosophy takes on the virtue of something worth contemplation. But I don't think of Sartre when I read Descartes: I think of Kierkegaard.

It's almost impossible for me to read the Discourse and not hear the voices of the psuedonymous writings: here is the earnestness and passion of Johannes de Silentio or Anti-Climacus. In fact, I can't read Kierkegaard's pseudonymous works now without thinking he was consciously emulating Descartes (take that, Georg Wilhelm Friederich Hegel!). Certainly the model was available. Certainly S.K. so avoided the scholastic dryness of the Germans that he is still not commonly regarded as either a philosopher or a theologian, but as a "writer." Of course, Descartes wrote few books for a wider public audience, but the Discourse is the one everyone talks about; it is the common touchstone of Cartesianism, of modern philosophy. And that opening, one at once flattering and seemingly sardonic, one that approaches wry sarcasm but just as wryly pulls away with sincerity, sounds almost like the pseudonymous voices of Fear and Trembling or Stages on Life's Way. You can almost hear Kierkegaard reading it and thinking: Yes, yes, this is how you present ideas. Not to mention how much closer to S.K.'s thinking Descartes is than Hegel or Kant. And Descartes, from all accounts, is creating a persona here, a humble and modest philosopher, when the truth is he was (like S.K.) quite convinced of his intellectual gifts, and quite acerbic toward those who didn't understand as he did (even if they were right).

Besides, the guy's just got a nice sense of style.

It Sounds Worse Than It Is

What is a poet? An unhappy man who in his heart harbors a deep anguish, but whose lips are so fashioned that the moans and cries which pass over them are transformed into ravishing music. His fate is that of the unfortunate victims whom the tyrant Philaris imprisoned in a brazen bull, and slowly tortured over a steady fire; their cries could not reach the tyrant's ears so as to strike terror into his heart; when they reached his ears they sounded like sweet music. And men crowd about the poet and say to him, "Sing for us soon again"--which is as much to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul, but may your lips be fashioned as before; for the cries would distress us, but the music, the music, is delightful." And the critics come forward and say, "That is perfectly done--just as it should be, according to the rules of aesthetics." Now it is understood that a critic resembles a poet to a hair; he only lacks the anquish in his heart and the music upon his lips. I tell you, I would rather be a swineherd, understood by the swine, than a poet misunderstood by men.

"A" in Either/Or.

In the Dead of Night

You wake up too early, using your cell phone as an alarm clock. Nothing jerks you out of bed as fiercely as a few bars of "Werewolves of London" playing as a ringtone. Nothing else quite sets the tone for the day, either. The first thing you remember is the neighborhood scuttlebutt that the damage to the lines is so severe it will be another 7-10 days before power is restored. At that point you stopped thinking about High Priests on Gods of Electricity, and just started mumbling about human folly and the foolishness of a system of so many conveniences which become necessities, and how stupidly fragile they are.

"Weather," you tell yourself. But it isn't what you mean.

You fell asleep wondering what technology would reach deep into fenced off backyards guarded by stands of trees and perimtered by houses and garages, and pluck up and place in new telephone poles, or whatever Tinker-Toy structure is needed for something that always looked as solid as granite, and now seems as flimsy as a house of cards.

And then, after driving to work and standing in the crowded coffee shop because you couldn't face making another pot of coffee all for yourself this morning (you spent the morning wandering in to dark rooms, barely suppressing the reflex to reach for a light switch. Two weeks of this and still old habits recur.), you get out of the car and a lone mockingbird high on a power wire (after all, it's why you are here so early; it's lit, it's air conditioned) is throwing out so many gay songs you realize nothing is really so wrong with your world that birdsong can't cure it.

Ars Lyrica

I sing the Body Electric

Have you ever seen that Three Stooges film where they are living in a "house" that is entirely outdoors? My memory of it is vague, and perhaps your youth was not as ill-spent (one can only hope), but walking around the backyard littered with the stuff (all of it so essential to suburban existence!) removed from the wreckage of the garage (and none of the stuff wrecked, miracle of miracles!), the pleasures of living outdoors suddenly became clearer. It is life without electricity; and it is good. Not quite the garden of Eden, but close. Maybe the Garden after the expulsion, but with gardening tools and birdsong and no angel with a flaming sword looking menacingly at you. Although that flaming sword will come along soon enough. That's why you're out watering the pot plants that have wilted again in yesterday's heat. Life within walls has its drawbacks, but at least it keeps away the flaming sword.

Hello, walls

Walls are only good for keeping bugs out and the roof up, which keeps the rain off. They also decrease the noise of generators, roaring in the night like so many insane lawn mowers left running. Windows are the enemy. They let only sound in, not air. Air stays outside and cools. Miasma and humidity stay inside. Outside in the morning just after sunrise the air is pleasant, the grass green, the light good: you can actually see without artificial illumination. Later that same light will drive you indoors, but in the morning you think you could just move your "house" outdoors, and it wouldn't be so bad. A tree for the mirror, so you could shave. An air mattress on the ground where you could sleep. And where to put the kitchen sink? No matter, you aren't cooking anything anyway. You still haven't broken the habit of "leftovers," but you can't have those, so you avoid meals altogether. Life outdoors might not be so bad after all; and then you remember the mosquitos.

Love at First Bite

Mosquitos love hurricanes; this much is apparent. They socialize in the eye, copulate in the winds, lay eggs in the raindrops, and each drop explodes into a thousand new mosquitos each fully grown and ready to use the energy of the winds and rain to do the whole thing over again. It is the only explanation. They also have an insatiable thirst for human blood and, though as large as dachsunds and aggressive as ravenous wolves, they shrink themselves to microscopic size and swarm invisibly upon you. Only walls and windows seem to confuse them, but they wait for you just outside, they know where you are in the house, and they are always ready when you come outdoors. Whenever you begin to think again that "outdoors" and "indoors" are artificial distinctions created solely by air conditioning salesmen and the purveyors of electricity, you remember the mosquitos. And you light another citronella candle, hoping the aroma will be pleasing to the Electricity God.

Of Electricity and the Lines I Sing

"Generator" and "generous," you come to realize, sound like almost the same word. You notice this because the neighbor across the street asks if you have enough extension cords to run a line from his generator to your house so you can light a lamp or power a fan or run the television set. This is generosity beyond measure, the supplying of power which the System, upon which you so rely, has so thoroughly failed you. When you finally plug in the TeeVee, you watch the local news and hear beleagured (but not beleagured enough, you feel) leaders of the System explain their failures and their lack of foresight and the collapse of their wisdom in the face of something no more remarkable than weather. When you realize he sounds just like the people on Wall Street and in the Treasury Department and those who run the Federal Reserve, you put down the shoe you were about to hurl. It isn't the TeeVee's fault, after all. No reason (yet) to shoot the messenger.

The Other Other Glass Teat

The TeeVee is the last thing to plug in; that comes days after the line was stretched across the street. Days later, because plugging in the TeeVee is an admission that the High Priests are not going to visit anytime soon. It is a sign of defeat. It is the acceptance that hope is lost, at least for this week. The TeeVee is plugged in on the night you declare, over yet another meal at yet another restaurant (the one meal of Li'l Smokies cooked on the stove top on barbecue sauce and a can of peas for a vegetable is still with you, and not just in memory. Everything had to be eaten as nothing can be saved. The horror! The horror!), you declared that you had been abandoned by the God of Electrical Power, forsaken by the High Priests of the Power Lines, and so you, too, would buy one of the gas burning, exhaust belching, static motorcycles that generate electricity: at least enough to light a lamp, power a fan, run a TeeVee. You have had enough, you tell the family. You are going into the wilderness of the marketplace tomorrow and coming back with the kill. You are going to provide for your family, and damn the cost. You will send the bill to the insurance company anyway, and you sternly insist they will pay it, too!

So that night, in celebration, you plug in the TeeVee. Wiser and younger heads insist the DVD player should be plugged in, too; for it turns out that not only as the God of Electrical Power abandoned you in your time of need, but the Panjandrum of Entertainment has also left the building, left, indeed, every building. The cable is out. All the TeeVee will show is PBS (very fuzzy), CBS (not fuzzy at all; perhaps because old people would just turn their sets off if the picture was any worse), ABC (fuzzy), and, oddly, a Spanish language station on a triple digit channel. You shrug: it could be worse.

You are, you think, reconciled to watching even what network TeeVee has to offer, though you haven't watched network TeeVee in decades. And you try to watch. You devote yourself to it. You are sure that, having been starved for 10 days of anything approaching a televised image, except occassional glimpses of cable news in some restaurants (why do they have cable, and not me? When the thought finally occurs to you, it's too late to do anything about it; in fact, you don't even care), you will watch anything, and enjoy it. You are wrong: profoundly, awfully, mind-numbingly wrong.

Or is that just the programming? Everyone speaks in cliches, and every police team or FBI team devotes untold hours to just one case (as if the world were that simple, and any one individual really was the center of the universe and the sole concern of everyone. This Bud's for you!!!!), every plot point is predictable and telegraphed from ten miles away and every look of concern, every change of scene, every possible image, right down to the "sexy" FBI agent who dresses more like a Hollywood starlet than Dana Scully (or anyone you ever see in any office anywhere), is so bad that even after 10 days in the dark and being cold turkey from Ellison's "glass teat," you can't take it. The battery powered radio tells you the High Priests of the Power Line have announced a promise to have "almost everyone" restored to the graces of the GEP by the end of the coming weekend. You know that might not mean you, but aside from the air conditioning (which no generator will power), you decide you aren't missing that much after all, and you cancel the trip to the generator store.

When would you use it again, anyway? This'll never happen to you again and, if it does, it'll be your own damned fault for staying in a town where hurricanes happen.

He ain't heavy, he's my...well, one of them is!

In the Dark Period, I received good wishes from many, all of whom have gone unacknowledged. I wish to correct that oversight now:

Grandmère Mimi --Thank you.

Bluemeadow--Thank you.

Jubilation T. Cornpone--Thank you.

dej--what are you doing here? I owe you a phone call, too, don't I? And what is this family predilection for initials? Perhaps there is some counseling in our future.... Thank you for keeping people informed that I was still alive and well.

RglrLrkr--Thank you.

ProfWombat--Thank you.

Catalexis--Thank you.

Phila--Thank you.

Irony of ironies that technology makes all this possible, and that it can all be taken away just as easily. (If my power is ever restored, it doesn't mean my internet access is back as automatically. That's up to the Supplicants of Ma Bell.) Still, the failures of technology do not defeat the friendships, do they? The machine may be powerful, but the machine is not all. There is, indeed, great power in powerlessness.

Blest Be the Ties that Bind

To spend a week in the fourth largest city in the country after a major hurricane has just walked all over it (it stomped all over Galveston Island and Bolivar Peninsula; whatever else Ike did, nobody got it worse than those poor folk; and they are mostly poor folk. There is no Riviera or Miami Beach or Carmel on the Texas Gulf.) is like waking up as Gulliver on the beach in Lilliput, only what has you tied down are not a strange new race of beings, but the strange new race you realize you have become. In an instant of weather (as one tree company employee from Wisconsin (God bless Wisconsin!) said knowingly as they came to clear the 80 pine from the power lines: "Weather, huh?") all those lines that tied you to the 20th century have now tied you down to the 19th, and you have a taste of what life was like for people who grew up in this area when it was farmland, some of whom still live here now.

And you realize you aren't really all that old, but even you aren't old enough to remember life without electricity. Your children may not know a world without an internet, but neither of you know a world without electric lights or washing machines or refrigerators..

Work, for the night is coming, wherein no man may work

You are like Gulliver, tied down by a thousand tiny strands, but the irony is not in the image but in the reality. Where those strands once liberated you, once set you above and apart from the rest of human history, once elevated you to places you took for granted as your birthright, as your due, as what made life livable (and mere loss of power can, in the U.S., render an otherwise sound house "unlivable." What, then, do we make of stone and concrete huts, of yurts, of the shanties so much of the world lives in?), now they tie you to comforts you can only wish for. The lines mock your memory, whisper of a promise in the future when life will be "normal" again, when you will turn on lights and fans and televisions without a second thought for how it happens, for what makes it possible.

But not today; today you lie tied down to the beach for another 24 hours; today you wonder where the magic went, and when it will come back. O machine! O machine!

The wires! The wires! Old Rocky Face, look forth!

One thing you forget about night: it is dark! There is a reason people used to work from sunup to sundown: when the sun goes down, there's nothing else to do but sleep. Candles don't dispel the dark, they mock the sunlight. You also forget that houses used to be designed to circulate air; but since the invention of air conditioning, that is actually an undesirable feature of housing design. So much better to let the technology (read: energy from electricity) do that for you! So much better, that is, until it doesn't. And then you step outside every morning only to realize that while the air temperature outside has actually dropped to a comfortable coolness for the Texas Gulf Coast (which would be considered stiflingly hot anywhere further north of the equator), inside your four walls the air is still as muggy and grim as the sub-tropic torpor it was when you went to bed. And the only fan you have (thanks to the generosity of a neighbor with a generator) simply recirculates what's trapped indoors. So night means sleep and another fervent prayer to the High Priests of the God of Electric Power, and day begins with once more cursing them for failing to respond to your petitions.