It’s Bigger Than NPR’s Katherine Maher
1 day ago
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Your Sunday free tune
Jeff Bridges sings The Weary Kind from his new movie, "Crazy Heart." Damn I miss Waylon! Gotta see the movie. Here's the trailer, which has a fine Steve Earle vocal over it.
'Dandee could sell a snowball to an Eskimo'
My story from The Summerville News. I knew Dandee from when I was a kid, He was a legend in Summerville and a lot of people loved him. The town is poorer for his loss.
My Sunday column
In search of the American Tiger. One of my periodic depressed-about-politics-and-the-decline-of-the-country columns. From The Summerville News.
Friday, January 29, 2010
History
G.I. returns the Hitler book. Photo collection was liberated from Hitler's private collection. From the BBC.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The John Edwards Affair
It just keeps getting better. New books shows the jackass for what a cretin he is.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Obama in action
Following the Hugo Chavez lead, Congress wants to nationalize student loans. Meanwhile, Hong Kong gets it right.
'Dazed Democrats'
Politico looks at Massachussets. My favorite moment last night was when Howard Dean was asked what single individual could be blamed for the special election debacle. The interviewer was looking for some soul searching by a plain talking Democratic bigwig. Fat chance.
Was Obama to blame after waiting until the last minute to get involved in the race? Nope.
Was Martha Coakley to blame for running a lousy campaign? Nope.
Instead, Dean blamed ...George Bush, you know the man who left the White House a year ago.
I laughed out loud.
Apparently Dean was dumping all the blame for the crappy economy on the former president and not just instinctively blaming Bush for all the world's problems, as is the Democrats' automatic response these days. As nifty a solution as that might seem, it isn't flying with the American electorate anymore, not even in a hard core liberal state like the People's Republic of Massachussets.
The Blame Bush routine is worn out.
Bush helped make a mess of the economy by refusing to rein in federal spending. Democrats gave lip service to spending cuts, but offered few. They were willing to "enhance revenues" by targeting the rich, but to Bush's credit he didn't fall for that lousy economic argument.
Independents who flocked to Obama in 2008 no longer are accepting Blame Bush as the answer to the nation's problems. But for the mement it seems to be all the Dems have to offer, even when looking at their own political failures.
Was Obama to blame after waiting until the last minute to get involved in the race? Nope.
Was Martha Coakley to blame for running a lousy campaign? Nope.
Instead, Dean blamed ...George Bush, you know the man who left the White House a year ago.
I laughed out loud.
Apparently Dean was dumping all the blame for the crappy economy on the former president and not just instinctively blaming Bush for all the world's problems, as is the Democrats' automatic response these days. As nifty a solution as that might seem, it isn't flying with the American electorate anymore, not even in a hard core liberal state like the People's Republic of Massachussets.
The Blame Bush routine is worn out.
Bush helped make a mess of the economy by refusing to rein in federal spending. Democrats gave lip service to spending cuts, but offered few. They were willing to "enhance revenues" by targeting the rich, but to Bush's credit he didn't fall for that lousy economic argument.
Independents who flocked to Obama in 2008 no longer are accepting Blame Bush as the answer to the nation's problems. But for the mement it seems to be all the Dems have to offer, even when looking at their own political failures.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Robert Parker, RIP
At the top of his game the Spenser creator was a terrific genre writer. Many of the Spenser novels are terrific reads and his westerns are rightfully gaining fans every day. Parker helped reinvigorate the genre when it really needed a champion.
My Uncle Gene said Parker was the fastest autographer around as well. He should know; he has 58 signed Parkers in his collection.
My Uncle Gene said Parker was the fastest autographer around as well. He should know; he has 58 signed Parkers in his collection.
Haiti
One would thinkthe French would know something about occupation of a country. But this fool seems confused. Meanwhile, every Haitian I have heard interviewed is asking for more U.S. help, more U.S. troops.
Massachussetts
Obama dove in and made it about him. That may not have been the smartest political decision, but at least he should more guts than he did in Georgia last year when Jim Martin needed his help against Saxby Chambliss. Of course, losing in the People's Republic of Mass. would be a shocking blow that Obama would have a tough time blaming on "eight years of George Bush and failed Republican policies."
Monday, January 18, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Politics and health care
It's not what you know ...it's who you voted for! If it's good for "the working class," then why limit it to union members? I hate these Democrats.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Katt Williams
He's a very funny comedian, but methinks Katt Williams may have some problems. I still love his bit on Shaq's son.
AP : Stimulus a bust
Henry Hazlitt explained why in less than 200 pages. Check out the AP story and then buy a copy of Economics One Easy Lesson.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
My new column from the Summerville News
“SOUTH CHILLED by Arctic winds”
That’s not a headline I want to see, but that’s the one that greeted me on Tuesday morning.
I have an urge to track down Al Gore and punch him in the nose. How dare he try to derail global warming when it’s obvious we need as much of it as we can get?
It’s so cold that I finally wore the big, white sweater my wife gave me early this year. It was made on an island off the coast of Ireland where they know a thing or two about the cold. I visited the Emerald Isle a few years ago. It rained … every day. And it wasn’t the kind of gentle rain that brings steam off the hot pavement. No, it was the kind of sticky, frigid rain that works its way past your clothing and attaches to your shivering soul.
The weather has been lousy in Ireland forever. After thousands of years of grinning and bearing it the Irish came up with a wonderful invention to help them deal with ill-tempered Mother Nature. It’s called drinking.
One day several hundred years ago a famous Irishman named Mick Somethingorother got up early one chilly morn, looked outside and saw buckets of cold, clammy rain falling from a dreary sky. Then and there he uttered one of the most famous remarks in Irish history.
“Mudder McCree! It’s a bloody mess out there. I t’ink I’ll hang aroun’ me house and get drunk!”
Word of this innovative strategy quickly spread through the Irish countryside and the rest is well-documented history … at least for the purposes of this blarney-filled and meandering column.
Speaking of meandering, I don’t do much of it when the weather turns cold. My life becomes a series of short bursts of activity aimed at accomplishing the basic tasks of survival with as little exposure to the elements as possible. (If I had my way, I’d lie down in a warm cave and hibernate, returning to activity just in time to see the Braves head to spring training.)
On the days I pick up my four-year-old from her pre-school, I try to get her in and out of the car as efficiently as possible. That way we get into the house or the school quickly and avoid freezing. Dear daughter, however, seems determined to have me end up like Jack Nicholson in “The Shining” – frozen stiff and deader than the Falcons’ playoff hopes.
On Monday, as we sat in the warmth of the vehicle before going into the house, I explained to her. “Rowan, I am going to get you out of the car quickly. Have all of your stuff in your hands when I open the door to get you out. It’s very, very cold and Daddy is about to cry.”
She nodded in agreement. I jumped out into the arctic gusts, opened her door as the frigid wind ravaged my legs and said “Let’s go.”
“I dropped Gibby, Daddy.”
Ahhhhhhh!
I found the baby doll named Gibby on the floorboard and said “C’mon.”
“But I can’t get loose, Daddy.”
I put the doll down and undid her seat belt.
“Don’t forget Gibby, daddy.”
Ahhhhhh!
I picked Gibby up and took my daughter’s hand.
“I forgot my pictures, daddy.”
Ahhhhhh!
An especially cold wind cut through me as I gathered my daughter’s “art” from the seat.”
“C’mon kid,” I said. Then I dropped the doll.
“You dropped Gibby, daddy. Pick her up or she’ll freeze freeze!”
“We’re all going to freeze to death,” I responded, frantically trying to hold the “art,” Gibby and my daughter’s little hand.
Her hand?
“Rowan, where are your mittens?”
“I dropped them in the floor, daddy.”
Ahhhhhh!
We finally made it into the house where we were promptly met by our three cats who angrily demanded I turn up the thermostat. I guess I should have been surprised that the cats had mastered human verbal communication. But the cold was playing tricks on my brain and after all, they had a point. It was chilly in the house.
Jimmy Espy is a staff writer for The Summerville News. He can be reached at Hoodcsa@aol.com or at 706-857-2494. He blogs at Espysoutpost.blogspot.com
That’s not a headline I want to see, but that’s the one that greeted me on Tuesday morning.
I have an urge to track down Al Gore and punch him in the nose. How dare he try to derail global warming when it’s obvious we need as much of it as we can get?
It’s so cold that I finally wore the big, white sweater my wife gave me early this year. It was made on an island off the coast of Ireland where they know a thing or two about the cold. I visited the Emerald Isle a few years ago. It rained … every day. And it wasn’t the kind of gentle rain that brings steam off the hot pavement. No, it was the kind of sticky, frigid rain that works its way past your clothing and attaches to your shivering soul.
The weather has been lousy in Ireland forever. After thousands of years of grinning and bearing it the Irish came up with a wonderful invention to help them deal with ill-tempered Mother Nature. It’s called drinking.
One day several hundred years ago a famous Irishman named Mick Somethingorother got up early one chilly morn, looked outside and saw buckets of cold, clammy rain falling from a dreary sky. Then and there he uttered one of the most famous remarks in Irish history.
“Mudder McCree! It’s a bloody mess out there. I t’ink I’ll hang aroun’ me house and get drunk!”
Word of this innovative strategy quickly spread through the Irish countryside and the rest is well-documented history … at least for the purposes of this blarney-filled and meandering column.
Speaking of meandering, I don’t do much of it when the weather turns cold. My life becomes a series of short bursts of activity aimed at accomplishing the basic tasks of survival with as little exposure to the elements as possible. (If I had my way, I’d lie down in a warm cave and hibernate, returning to activity just in time to see the Braves head to spring training.)
On the days I pick up my four-year-old from her pre-school, I try to get her in and out of the car as efficiently as possible. That way we get into the house or the school quickly and avoid freezing. Dear daughter, however, seems determined to have me end up like Jack Nicholson in “The Shining” – frozen stiff and deader than the Falcons’ playoff hopes.
On Monday, as we sat in the warmth of the vehicle before going into the house, I explained to her. “Rowan, I am going to get you out of the car quickly. Have all of your stuff in your hands when I open the door to get you out. It’s very, very cold and Daddy is about to cry.”
She nodded in agreement. I jumped out into the arctic gusts, opened her door as the frigid wind ravaged my legs and said “Let’s go.”
“I dropped Gibby, Daddy.”
Ahhhhhhh!
I found the baby doll named Gibby on the floorboard and said “C’mon.”
“But I can’t get loose, Daddy.”
I put the doll down and undid her seat belt.
“Don’t forget Gibby, daddy.”
Ahhhhhh!
I picked Gibby up and took my daughter’s hand.
“I forgot my pictures, daddy.”
Ahhhhhh!
An especially cold wind cut through me as I gathered my daughter’s “art” from the seat.”
“C’mon kid,” I said. Then I dropped the doll.
“You dropped Gibby, daddy. Pick her up or she’ll freeze freeze!”
“We’re all going to freeze to death,” I responded, frantically trying to hold the “art,” Gibby and my daughter’s little hand.
Her hand?
“Rowan, where are your mittens?”
“I dropped them in the floor, daddy.”
Ahhhhhh!
We finally made it into the house where we were promptly met by our three cats who angrily demanded I turn up the thermostat. I guess I should have been surprised that the cats had mastered human verbal communication. But the cold was playing tricks on my brain and after all, they had a point. It was chilly in the house.
Jimmy Espy is a staff writer for The Summerville News. He can be reached at Hoodcsa@aol.com or at 706-857-2494. He blogs at Espysoutpost.blogspot.com
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Heck of a job, Pannie
Panetta skis and fights terrorism at the same time. (Hopefully he's a better skier.)
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Chris Dodd quits (And take Dorgan with you!)
Maybe he'll go into banking or real estate. The race to replace him. Even the Obama Administration couldn't save his sorry butt. Byron Dorgan packs it in as well. Who knows what will replace them but it's good to see these hacks hit the bricks. A lot Dems are probably thrilled to see Dodd drop out. He was probably going to lose and even if he won he was a continuing ethical embarrassment ... not that that kept the president from supporting him. And
here's one last swift kick from NRO. Enjoy.
here's one last swift kick from NRO. Enjoy.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Lewis Grizzard remembered
The show goes on. I saw this entertaining one-man show about the famed newspaper columnist in Dalton several years ago. It's funny and worth a trip out on a cold night.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Rick Bragg's new book
(This story appeared in The Summerville News on Dec. 31.)
By JIMMY ESPY
Staff Writer
Rick Bragg’s slender new book “The Most They Ever Had,” is a less-than-fond remembrance of the Old Industrial South, an era not so long ago when every country crossroads town seemed to have one or more local mills making products people used in their everyday lives.
Yarn. Carpet. Gloves. Cloth.
Summerville is such a town, as are Lyerly, Menlo and Trion.
Bragg’s book is set in the Jacksonville, Ala. area. That’s where members of his family joined other poor southerners in their flight from farm life to the promise of something better in the factories of a rapidly industrializing south.
For many, their lives did improve, but not without cost.
Mill workers toiled long, hours for meager pay. Often, what they made wound up back in the company’s coffers, by way of rent on a small, company-owned house or the cost of groceries bought at “the company store.” The labor could be back breaking. Worst of all, work conditions were often abysmal.
Bragg writes:
“Others perished more slowly, choking on the cotton they breathed in the unventilated, oven-like rooms. The mangling of fingers, hands and arms was routine. The plant kept no records of such things, so there are no statistics, only grim memory. But you do not imagine a missing hand.”
In his previous books, especially the stunningly good “All Over but the Shoutin’” Bragg writes bitterly, yet perceptively of the economic deprivation which settled like the dew over his beloved southland. Poverty is always a character in the Rick Bragg canon. In “The Most They Ever Had” he charges headlong at that subject, blasting away at those in power – the politicians, the mill owners and operators, etc. – who shamelessly profited at the expense of their fellow man.
Yet, Bragg also recognizes, if only grudgingly, that the economic system he abhors WAS the best chance most of these people had to live better lives.
How does he know this? Because they told him so and if Bragg is anything, he is a great listener.
“An inch at a time it pulled him into the teeth of the machine. He was alone in the big room – there were always supposed to be two men there but the other one had gone to talk to the bosses – and the rollers, with their saw teeth, pulped his arm but would not let him go. He fought it; beat it, but it just kept grinding. The blood ran into the gears, onto the floor. ‘It took three minutes to take my arm,’ he said. He finally jammed it with a broomstick.”
Recognizing how much “the mill people” have contributed to his success as a writer, Bragg pays his debt to them in carefully chosen words, often their words. Not all of the words are pretty. Many of the stories told in “The Most They Ever Had” are bittersweet at best. Some are tragic. But they all ring true to the times they evoke and to the people who truly lived lives of quiet desperation, but did so with a dignity and tenacity that demands respect.
Much of what we take for granted today, these people’s blood and sweat made possible.
“The Most They Ever Had” by Rick Bragg is published by MacAdam Cage. The cover price is $23.
By JIMMY ESPY
Staff Writer
Rick Bragg’s slender new book “The Most They Ever Had,” is a less-than-fond remembrance of the Old Industrial South, an era not so long ago when every country crossroads town seemed to have one or more local mills making products people used in their everyday lives.
Yarn. Carpet. Gloves. Cloth.
Summerville is such a town, as are Lyerly, Menlo and Trion.
Bragg’s book is set in the Jacksonville, Ala. area. That’s where members of his family joined other poor southerners in their flight from farm life to the promise of something better in the factories of a rapidly industrializing south.
For many, their lives did improve, but not without cost.
Mill workers toiled long, hours for meager pay. Often, what they made wound up back in the company’s coffers, by way of rent on a small, company-owned house or the cost of groceries bought at “the company store.” The labor could be back breaking. Worst of all, work conditions were often abysmal.
Bragg writes:
“Others perished more slowly, choking on the cotton they breathed in the unventilated, oven-like rooms. The mangling of fingers, hands and arms was routine. The plant kept no records of such things, so there are no statistics, only grim memory. But you do not imagine a missing hand.”
In his previous books, especially the stunningly good “All Over but the Shoutin’” Bragg writes bitterly, yet perceptively of the economic deprivation which settled like the dew over his beloved southland. Poverty is always a character in the Rick Bragg canon. In “The Most They Ever Had” he charges headlong at that subject, blasting away at those in power – the politicians, the mill owners and operators, etc. – who shamelessly profited at the expense of their fellow man.
Yet, Bragg also recognizes, if only grudgingly, that the economic system he abhors WAS the best chance most of these people had to live better lives.
How does he know this? Because they told him so and if Bragg is anything, he is a great listener.
“An inch at a time it pulled him into the teeth of the machine. He was alone in the big room – there were always supposed to be two men there but the other one had gone to talk to the bosses – and the rollers, with their saw teeth, pulped his arm but would not let him go. He fought it; beat it, but it just kept grinding. The blood ran into the gears, onto the floor. ‘It took three minutes to take my arm,’ he said. He finally jammed it with a broomstick.”
Recognizing how much “the mill people” have contributed to his success as a writer, Bragg pays his debt to them in carefully chosen words, often their words. Not all of the words are pretty. Many of the stories told in “The Most They Ever Had” are bittersweet at best. Some are tragic. But they all ring true to the times they evoke and to the people who truly lived lives of quiet desperation, but did so with a dignity and tenacity that demands respect.
Much of what we take for granted today, these people’s blood and sweat made possible.
“The Most They Ever Had” by Rick Bragg is published by MacAdam Cage. The cover price is $23.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Your Sunday free tune
It's very cold outside. So, you get a groovy cover of California Dreaming by the MonaLisa Twins. Add Donovan and Sunshine Superman And a great acoustic tune from Bill Withers.
Another Top 10 list
From Big Hollywood. The 10 most overrated films of the decade. I don't agree with all these choices but he makes some interesting points.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Ten really, really good books I read in 2009
I seem to have lost the first part of my list which means this is a very incomplete article. But, there's still some good stuff on here. If I ever find the rest of the list, I'll update.
Among the best books I read in 2009:
Public Enemies by Bryan Burroughs is a very good look at the famous Depression era bandits like Pretty Boy Floyd, Bonnie and Clyde and John Dillinger. It's a long book, jammed with facts but the story never gets tiresome. Best of all, Burroughs shatters the myth of the heroic, brilliant FBI investigators hot on the trail of the bad guys. He details the incompetence of both Hoover and Melvin Purvis, while pointing out the unknown agents who really deserve the credit. The Johnny Depp movie that came out this year was based on this book, but don't blame Burroughs. His work is a lot more interesting than the film.
If Public Enemies puts you in gangster mode, then follow up with Go Down Easy, Jeff Guinn's highly-detailed review of the short lives and colorful times of Bonnie and Clyde. Again, many of the popular myths are exploded by Guinn's research. Bonnie and Clyde were small-timers compared to the Dillingers and Pretty Boys of the era, but their story is in many ways just as fascinating.
I was in the mood for some spooky short stories and dug the collection Night Freight by Bill Pronzini out of a stack. Touchdown! It's a great selection of tales from an author I had never read before. They'll be some more Ponzini on my 2010 reading list for sure.
The Eternal Prison by Jeff Somers is the third "Avery Cates" novel. In a high-tech, Blade Runnerish world of the future, Avery is a perpetual bad boy, constantly in trouble with both the law and the lawless, not that there is a lot of difference in the two. The action comes fast and furious and Somers isn't afraid to ratchet up the body count. I read this installment within days of its arrival and am already looking for the next in the series.
For years I've said I was going to write the first great novel about moonshining. But Matt Bondurant beat me to it with The Wettest County in the World. It's a fictional story allegedly based on true events involving Bondurant's own family. It's a brutal revenge story and an accurate look at the hardscrabble existence of the mountain people who hoped "shine" business would help them scracth a little bit better life out of the land.
With Wings Like Eagles is Michael Korda's myth-shattering look at the Battle of Britain. Korda cuts through he usual BS and tells the real story of the strategy, tactics, technology and personalities who combined to help Britain survive those most trying of times. An excellent work.
Another history book I enjoyed a lot was Manvell and Frankel's biography Heinrich Himmler. It's an older book, but probably still a first rate best bio of that savage little man.
My Civil War pick of the year is Richard McMurry's biography of John Bell Hood. It's an older book and has some holes it it, but McMurry does a better job than most looking at the complexity of Hood and the strategic situation he faced as commander of the Army of Tennessee. McMurray is no apologist for the Texan, but he also isn't afraid to make a case for Hood's generalship when the case is there to be made.
Larry McMurtry brings the saga of Duane Moore to a lovely end with Rhino Ranch, the fifth novel to feature Duane and other characters created 40-plus years ago in The Last Picture Show. As always, Duane is a charmer and a magnet for the oddballs McMurtry brings to life with such precision.
James Crumley was a terrific writer and The Wrong Case is one of his best novels. Milo, the alcoholic, druggy detective stumbles into a case that could bring him love and redemption. Fat chance. It's down and dirty business and nobody does it better than Crumley. I plan on reading the rest of Crumley's crime stuff this year
Among the best books I read in 2009:
Public Enemies by Bryan Burroughs is a very good look at the famous Depression era bandits like Pretty Boy Floyd, Bonnie and Clyde and John Dillinger. It's a long book, jammed with facts but the story never gets tiresome. Best of all, Burroughs shatters the myth of the heroic, brilliant FBI investigators hot on the trail of the bad guys. He details the incompetence of both Hoover and Melvin Purvis, while pointing out the unknown agents who really deserve the credit. The Johnny Depp movie that came out this year was based on this book, but don't blame Burroughs. His work is a lot more interesting than the film.
If Public Enemies puts you in gangster mode, then follow up with Go Down Easy, Jeff Guinn's highly-detailed review of the short lives and colorful times of Bonnie and Clyde. Again, many of the popular myths are exploded by Guinn's research. Bonnie and Clyde were small-timers compared to the Dillingers and Pretty Boys of the era, but their story is in many ways just as fascinating.
I was in the mood for some spooky short stories and dug the collection Night Freight by Bill Pronzini out of a stack. Touchdown! It's a great selection of tales from an author I had never read before. They'll be some more Ponzini on my 2010 reading list for sure.
The Eternal Prison by Jeff Somers is the third "Avery Cates" novel. In a high-tech, Blade Runnerish world of the future, Avery is a perpetual bad boy, constantly in trouble with both the law and the lawless, not that there is a lot of difference in the two. The action comes fast and furious and Somers isn't afraid to ratchet up the body count. I read this installment within days of its arrival and am already looking for the next in the series.
For years I've said I was going to write the first great novel about moonshining. But Matt Bondurant beat me to it with The Wettest County in the World. It's a fictional story allegedly based on true events involving Bondurant's own family. It's a brutal revenge story and an accurate look at the hardscrabble existence of the mountain people who hoped "shine" business would help them scracth a little bit better life out of the land.
With Wings Like Eagles is Michael Korda's myth-shattering look at the Battle of Britain. Korda cuts through he usual BS and tells the real story of the strategy, tactics, technology and personalities who combined to help Britain survive those most trying of times. An excellent work.
Another history book I enjoyed a lot was Manvell and Frankel's biography Heinrich Himmler. It's an older book, but probably still a first rate best bio of that savage little man.
My Civil War pick of the year is Richard McMurry's biography of John Bell Hood. It's an older book and has some holes it it, but McMurry does a better job than most looking at the complexity of Hood and the strategic situation he faced as commander of the Army of Tennessee. McMurray is no apologist for the Texan, but he also isn't afraid to make a case for Hood's generalship when the case is there to be made.
Larry McMurtry brings the saga of Duane Moore to a lovely end with Rhino Ranch, the fifth novel to feature Duane and other characters created 40-plus years ago in The Last Picture Show. As always, Duane is a charmer and a magnet for the oddballs McMurtry brings to life with such precision.
James Crumley was a terrific writer and The Wrong Case is one of his best novels. Milo, the alcoholic, druggy detective stumbles into a case that could bring him love and redemption. Fat chance. It's down and dirty business and nobody does it better than Crumley. I plan on reading the rest of Crumley's crime stuff this year
The Jihad
Muslim nutjob attacks cartoonist. I guess there wasn't a girls school handy he could blow up.
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