There is a further irony here: How can a nation like the US, which expresses such powerful outpourings of patriotism and ubiquitous unfurling of the flag on all occasions, seem quite obtuse to the existence of nationalism and patriotism in other countries? Washington never fared very well in the Cold War in understanding the motives and emotions of the nonaligned world; it dismissed or even suppressed inconvenient local nationalist aspirations, thereby ending up pushing a large grouping of countries toward greater sympathy with the Soviet Union. This was a kind of strategic blindness ...
What? America's not "obtuse to the existence of nationalism and patriotism in other countries," America pisses its fucking pants at "the existence of nationalism and patriotism in other countries." Gleefully.
America adores rabid nationalism and patriotism in The Other, and here's the thing, it does exist. Charles World's Shittiest Human Krauthammer should be scared of the Iranian Charles World's Shittiest Human Krauthammer who's scared of ours, and both are just motherfucking propagandists who believe the other is every bit as shitty as himself and !!!, maybe more! Corporate may not weep at the crude sentimentality of their marketing (I think they do), but they're pantsful convinced of the assholosity of their opposite assholes, and they're certainly correct to fearmonger the other camps' nationalism and patriotism to their camp's sanctimoniously fearmongering nationalists and patroits as compliance grease.
Possibly the worst team in MLS history will finish their season this Saturday night in Jaime Moreno's last game for United and I'm getting one of those posters and I have every intention of framing it and hanging it and who am I kidding, I'll rediscover the rolled-up tube crumpled and water-damaged under my front-seat sometime in late March, two weeks before the home-opener, the first ticket in next year's season's happily purchased coupon book. I know how I'm worked, and if I don't like it it seems I don't not like it enough. I'll be wearing black. No one asks me anymore how I separate my politics and my soccer.
- I read the introduction to the Fuller yesterday (the post started Sunday), and my take is his take is, OMFG! there are geopolitical power struggles both sides hide behind rabid nationalism and patriotism. Good work if you can get it.
- Your stakes.
- Coping with anti-anxiety.
- Anarchy in the blogosphere. Read the comments too.
- On the above.
- Daily obamapostasy.
- Fine, politics then.
- Speaking of authoritarianism.
- Morning in America.
- Play it again, Sam.
- Village of the damned.
- Almost an obamapostasy.
- Krugman dispatched from the Right.
- Krugman dispatched.
- Pastor Sanctimonious' most sanctimonious column ever. Fuckstick.
- Breakfast Club, part eight.
- Hot damn.
- 10K ways for banks to say Fuck you!
- Understanding kleptocracy.
- When blog overlords quarrel.
- Budapest and anti-Semitism. I forget which soccer team's fans, but one of Budapest's big team's fans, when playing another of Budapest's big teams which is owned, connected, associated with Jews, makes gas-hissing sounds throughout the game.
- Snoburbia and race.
- Bethesda is not like most of America.
- Great Seneca Science Corridor!
- Fairground not for sale?
- Red Line is crumbling.
- On blogging.
- Blogging and the Literary-Industrial Complex.
- Die, bookstore, die.
- Dead markets.
- Annals of unawareness: I’ve really been longing for a lighter heart in American literature. Dickens, Fielding and Twain were all great writers who could write with humor. We’re at the point now where Dostoevksy is funnier than the average American novel. It’s always possible to be perfectly serious and also humorous. I’ve been reading firsthand accounts from survivors of Battle of the Little Bighorn, both white and American Indian. Even in the worst of times, there were bursts of comedy in what they wrote. Um, I know he's dead, but Thomas Berger's Little Big Man is one of the funniest novels I've ever read. And Pynchon's not funny?
- Life and Fate. Read and loved ten or so years ago, tried again about six months ago and couldn't get going. Will try again in a year or so.
- What you can buy me for Giftmas!
- Yay! When we first wrote about Bryan Ferry’s forthcoming solo effort Olympia, I put the “solo” in square quotes because the 10-song collection includes a number of guests — Nile Rodgers, David Gilmour, Groove Armada, Scissor Sisters, Marcus Miller, Flea, Mani, Jonny Greenwood. That, and old Roxy Music folks Brian Eno, Phil Manzanera, and Andy Mackay. You get some of those bigger names on this pretty cover of Tim Buckley’s “Song To The Siren.” There are plenty of guitars — Manzanera, Gilmous, Greenwood, and Oliver Thompson all contribute. You’ll also spot Eno, with Colin Good, on synths. Then come the strings. Kate Moss on the cover. And, impressively, none of this feels overdone. Hear that new song at link! Love love love. Love.
- Capitalism. I guarantee that in seven years of blegging I've never - and will never - post a Rolling Stones song.
- In which Alton Brown and Kings of Leon simultaneously forfeit my good will and win my good will.
- All stood still.
- Return of Darkblack's Sunday Overnight.
- Gonna get along without you now.
- Our riotous defects.
GREEN SEES THINGS IN WAVES
Green first thing each day sees waves— the chair, armoire, overhead fixtures, you name it, waves—which, you might say, things really are, but Green just lies there awhile breathing long slow breaths, in and out, through his mouth like he was maybe seasick, until in an hour or so the waves simmer down and then the trails and colors off of things, that all quiets down as well and Green starts to think of washing up, breakfast even with everything still moving around, colors, trails, and sounds, from the street and plumbing next door, vibrating—of course you might say that's what sound really is, after all, vibrations—but Green, he's not thinking physics at this stage, nuh-uh, our boy's only trying to get himself out of bed, get a grip, but sometimes, and this is the kicker, another party, shall we say, is in the room with Green, and Green knows this other party and they do not get along, which understates it quite a bit, quite a bit, and Green knows that this other cat is an hallucination, right, but these two have a routine that goes way back and Green starts hollering, throwing stuff until he's all shook up, whole day gone to hell, bummer . . . Anyhow, the docs are having a look, see if they can't dream up a cocktail, but seems our boy ate quite a pile of acid one time, clinical, wow, enough juice for half a block— go go go, little Greenie—blew the wiring out from behind his headlights and now, no matter what, can't find the knob to turn off the show.