Does this mean we get to buy CCCP jerseys now?

Here was what was going to be my dyspeptic post of the day:

Hey, it's May 1! What better day to just up and decree that today we
must proclaim our love for our contry. Man, who else used to do that
shit?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iF1LvSlx6MM

I hope everyone who voted for George W. Bush is happy.

Then I found out that, despite what Wonkette implies by heaping sarcastic praise on Tony Snow, Loyalty Day appears to have been around since the 1930's. Who knew?

This doesn't make Bush any less of a despot. Under a president who respected the rule of law, Loyalty Day would be a curiosity, a reminder of worse times. Under this one, it totally seems like some sort of Rovian fever dream cooked up to supplement the pre-emptive wars, fear-mongering and presidential power grabs that have tainted our country for the past five years.

Yes, it's still our country. When do we get it back?

Apropos of almost nothing, remember when the media could get outraged about stuff? Like, say vandalized keyboards?

Stephen Colbert's big balls

Unless you spent part of Sunday reading left-wing blogs (and seriously, you have no excuse, because the weather in New York sucked) you might have missed the buzz about Stephen Colbert's Saturday night face-to-face takedown of President Bush. It brings to mind Rodney Dangerfield's days at Bushwood Country Club, except that in this Bushwood, Colbert is the one who gets all the respect. Here's the video of his monologue:



Here's the clip of Colbert's tryout as White House spokesman. It starts benignly before turning into a cutting riff on Iraq.

A late-night plea

Click here and listen to Neil Young's new album "Living With War." Right now.

I don't care if you're not a fan. Your last five years of pain have been released. Music has never been so cathartic.

Click the link and turn up your speakers. Loud.

This will keep me up all night.

Ain't no party like a frat party with, uh, a member of Congress

I would now consider voting for that man in the tie.

Scandal-plagued Republican Rep. John Sweeney recently unveiled an excellent new campaign tactic -- getting drunk in a college town and showing up at a frat party.

Maybe I'm jaded by overmanaged politicians, but I find this kindasorta likeable.

I mean, not every day. Not by a president, a defense secretary, or a secretary of state, because those fuckers either have a finger on the button, or could get called in the middle of the night by Vladimir Putin. But by a member of Congress from upstate New York? Once in awhile? Maybe the world would be a better place if Congressmen spent more time drinking with frat boys.

So long as they're not date-raping, fancy, pretty-boy frat boys -- the kind that like SoCo and lime ads and gangbang a Tri Delt only to deny the inherent homoeroticism.

Congressmen should only party with the dirty-cap, beer-pong frat boys who throw shit off the roof and listen to the 2006 equivalent of DMB.

Here's how the incident was reported in Union College's student newspaper, The Concordiensis:

The New York politician was barraged with a multitude of political questions and lighthearted comments from Union students when he arrived at the party. His attitude was described as cordial, and Sweeney was observed joking around with the students, sometimes even using profanity. It was reported that one student approached the Congressman with drug paraphernalia and asked to take a picture. The Congressman refused.

Refused? I once refused such an offer from Marc Price, who played Skippy on TV's Family Ties. To this day, it's my deepest regret.

But blogging over at TPM Muckraker, writer Fusty O'Crustyman observes:

A reportedly inebriated Rep. John Sweeney (R-NY) took a break from kissing babies last Friday to hug some frat boys. I wonder if they're of drinking age?

Clearly, O'Crustyman never went to college. And never enjoyed himself. Ever.

There are too many lame-ass, churchy, bug-up-the-ass Republicans. I want more P.J. O'Rourke and Andy Ferguson Republicans. Dudes with gin blossoms and stories about blacking out in the '70s. Those are people we can work with.

John Sweeney is a dumbass for different reasons. To all of the Fusty O'Crustymans sneering at this -- we've got a war on, assholes, and enough corrupt cronyism to make a member of the Politburo blush. No need to bash on a dude who's hanging out with real people and reliving better days. Hopefully, he remembered to shout, "I am a golden god!" before belly flopping into a kiddie pool filled with beer.

Drink up, John Sweeney. We'll fight it out in the morning over black coffee and fried eggs.

Pardon our inactivity

Flop and I took the night off from posting to attend a Yankees-Devil Rays game. Yankees lost 4-2 in 10 innings. Among other highlights, we watched Devil Rays superstar Seth McClung carry a no-hitter into the fourth; concluded that the Christian name for someone named Bubba is Rubbart; and looked at Flop's new packet of floss.

Flop adds: We also discussed possible uses for air horns and wheelchairs at a friend's (purely hypothetical) wedding; discussed the quality of relief pitching in Hillsborough County, Florida; and deplored efforts to make fans sit down and quietly watch sporting events, wherever they may be.

I also just realized that St. Petersburg is in Pinellas County. This shouldn't bug me but it totally does. Please don't tell anyone at EDSBS.

CrimeNotes amends: I believe the airhorn use was targeted toward New Year's parties. The wheelchair routine synchronized to Blondie is for wedding purposes.

I also suspect EDSBS has much bigger fish to fry than our retarded knowledge of Florida counties and their relief pitchers.

Baby speaks out

Baby's tired. It's 3:30 a.m. He just finished his tenth pint and the last Marlboro light. His eyes are glassy. One foot's in the gutter and the other is stumbling toward the men's room. Baby doesn't need another for last call. Going home at 3:30 isn't a failure. When Baby gets cajoled, he gets annoyed, and there's nothing as unpleasant as a big, drunk, annoyed Baby.

At this time of night, Baby might not like it if you poke, prod or shove him. He'll probably respond with his favorite piece of dialogue from Rainman: "Hot water burns Baby."

Baby doesn't take his cell phone to work. He already struggles to remember his keys, wallet and iPod. Throwing a cell phone into the mix will only mean one thing: a lost cell phone.

Baby doesn't like personal calls at work to begin with. That's why we have e-mail. Baby has to keep his head in the game. One phone call, and a productive afternoon morphs into a free hour at high school. As much as Baby likes to get silly on the weekend, he also needs to be an intense bad-ass at work. Baby will not react well when you call to tell him a funny story or try to get him to go out for a beer after work. His reaction will be similar to a hyena interrupted in the middle of tearing into a wildebeest carcus. That's one fierce Baby!

Speaking of which, Baby almost never drinks on weeknights. Not even two or three. Because he'll still wake up with just a little of that hoppy paste in his mouth, and feel dry enough that he'll want to drink a little extra juice or water before heading out. This will fuck up Baby's entire day. Baby's morning priorities are limited: sleep in as late as possible and still get into work at a reasonable hour. Hence, Baby shaves before bedtime, leaps up at 9 a.m., runs into the shower, pounds some orange juice, brushes his precious baby teeth, and runs out the door. Hopefully, he remembers everything. Maybe he won't. If Baby's too slow, he'll be even grumpier. He'll rub his precious baby eyes and not want to go out in the world at the outrageously early hour of 9:25 a.m. Baby will blame himself, and he'll blame you.

Thanks for the invitation, though. Maybe I'll meet up and guzzle some Sprite.

Baby picture from bigandlittle's photostream. The baby in the picture is cuter than the one who wrote this, but their attitudes are similar.

Sorting through the muck so you don't have to

Sometimes I have to scratch around to find subjects or links I want to write about about. Lately there's been so much, I feel like I have ADHD. Only without all the Flop-like cognitive clutter.

First, the excellent Dahlia Lithwick at Slate writes about how the Duke lacrosse story has tapped into people's ids and personal agendas. Her attitude about the attorneys' spin is appropriately skeptical:

One might hope that all this evidence, and the unambiguous legal charges, would lead to reasonable legal inferences and unequivocal legal conclusions. But that is where we'd be dead wrong. Because the so-called objective "evidence" currently being meticulously weighed and evaluated by the media is no more "objective" or "conclusive" than the rank speculation by the pundits. Everything we are hearing about the DNA tests and the photos is selective, secondhand, and anecdotal. We are being played by the lawyers, with leaks and well-chosen sound bites.

Less convincingly, Slate's Jack Shafer questions whether the Times has been biased against the lacrosse players. Idiotically, he thinks that press coverage should closely mimic the rules of evidence and burdens of proof of a courtroom.

The fairness of a trial-by-newspaper, of course, depends on how closely a news organization apes the practices of official courts. Fairness requires it to consider not only the statements and evidence of the accuser, but that of the accused, no matter how heinous the charge. By that measure, the New York Times has failed the two Duke University lacrosse players who were indicted Tuesday of raping a woman during a party in an off-campus house on March 13.

In other Times news: if Flop and I were continuing our beloved (reviled?) scorched-earth policy toward that paper's Styles sections, this week's would have been a killer. First came an appalling story about a new crop of tux-wearing Manhattan male socialites -- sexually ambiguous (or apparently, non-threatening) dudes who take rich ladies to charity benefits. It's a story relevant to fewer than 1,000 people, and wasted the Times's precious column inches with this shit:

Male socialites enjoy playing the same game women traditionally have, seeking the limelight at charity galas, parties for new perfumes and store openings. Some men are even dressed by designers, lent free clothing for their public strut, an ancient measure of whether a socialite has truly arrived.

The Russian Revolution happened for less. To the barricades!

On Sunday I also received an outraged e-mail from Flop, who thought it was misogynist that the Styles section featured a piece about ladies who don't like the NFL draft but put up with it. Horrible and stupid, but I experience the same thing whenever a new season of Entourage airs, so I'm not too exercised.

Today, however, the Times's review of a play called The History Boys was sufficiently interesting that I immediately bought two tickets. I'm not much of a theater guy -- once or twice a year, usually when a friend has a spare ticket -- but two-and-a-half hours about academic jealousy and the right approach to teaching history? I'm there. This proves that I'm much more boring sober than drunk.

The Hold Steady's fall release is no longer my most anticipated album of the year: Hello, Neil Young's Living With War. The album will be available for streaming and download in early May, with CD sales breaking shortly thereafter. I'm not unbiased. I follow Neil Young the way a creationist follows a school board meeting. This time, it's extra-special.

On my bookshelf I've got a collection of Rolling Stone articles about Neil. The magazine makes itself required reading with a kick-ass cover story by Princeton historian Sean Wilentz. Wilentz puts forth a careful case for why George W. Bush may be the worst president in U.S. history. It will be hard to knock James Buchanan off that hill, but Wilentz (whose recent book The Rise of American Democracy is on my summer reading list) is pretty persuasive:

Calamitous presidents, faced with enormous difficulties -- Buchanan, Andrew Johnson, Hoover and now Bush -- have divided the nation, governed erratically and left the nation worse off. In each case, different factors contributed to the failure: disastrous domestic policies, foreign-policy blunders and military setbacks, executive misconduct, crises of credibility and public trust. Bush, however, is one of the rarities in presidential history: He has not only stumbled badly in every one of these key areas, he has also displayed a weakness common among the greatest presidential failures -- an unswerving adherence to a simplistic ideology that abjures deviation from dogma as heresy, thus preventing any pragmatic adjustment to changing realities. Repeatedly, Bush has undone himself, a failing revealed in each major area of presidential performance.

In Vanity Fair, Watergate reporter Carl Bernstein lays out the case for why a bi-partisan impeachment proceeding is necessary. Right away:

The first fundamental question that needs to be answered by and about the president, the vice president, and their political and national-security aides, from Donald Rumsfeld to Condoleezza Rice, to Karl Rove, to Michael Chertoff, to Colin Powell, to George Tenet, to Paul Wolfowitz, to Andrew Card (and a dozen others), is whether lying, disinformation, misinformation, and manipulation of information have been a basic matter of policy—used to overwhelm dissent; to hide troublesome truths and inconvenient data from the press, public, and Congress; and to defend the president and his actions when he and they have gone awry or utterly failed.

Flop-o-rama

I haven't been posting much lately, but that's been because real life has intervened -- in positive ways, to be sure. Fortunately for our readers, the adderall I've been mashing up and sneaking into Crimenotes' applesauce has paid dividends; dude is on fire.

I've had plenty of blog stuff I wanted to post, but time (and a balky laptop) have foiled me. So I present to you a brief look at what I've been up to in the past week.

• My Easter Sunday consisted of 5:30 mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral, then a cheesburger and a pint of Harp at Baker Street pub. Was this how a resurrection really feels? I wouldn't know, but it certainly made my day.
• I went to the Mets game on Monday with a friend who is a lifelong fan. In his honor, and because I couldn't find my Indians cap, I sported my Mets one. Put me on the bandwagon with everyone else. I saw Pedro get his 200th win along with 36,000 or so other fans who were as loud and boisterous as I've ever seen fans at Shea. I've never been part of such a happy crowd at any New York sporting event. There's a real optimism amongst the Mets' fan base this year. Also, just tonight Julio Franco, a player whose distinctive batting stance I used to emulate when playing Wiffle Ball in my friends' back yard, became the oldest player to homer in the big leagues. And Kaz Matsui homered in his first at-bat of the season. For the third time in a row. This one was an inside-the-park job. I know the airliners make Crimenotes into an independent, omnidirectional, inscrutable, moss-repellent, roughly spherical object, but how can you not like this team?
• Tuesday and Wednesday were spent doing stuff that's in the part of my life kept separate from the blog, but I can tell you this much -- I wore out the needle on my iPod listening to my favorite new band, The Black Keys. I downloaded their most recent album "Rubber Factory" (they're from Akron, Ohio) on the recommendation of a friend who basically threatened to terminate our friendship of 12-plus years if I didn't buy it. Having listeend to it about 10 times in less than a week, I have to say he'd have been justified. Think the White Stripes with, you know, actual other instruments, plus about 100 percent less preening. It's blues-based rock and/or roll, and I can't get enough. At one point, I was thinking to myself how clear it was that these guys grew up listening to the equivalent of 98.5 WNCX and 97.5 WONE, the two classic rock stations in Cleveland. Then I remembered: They did. And they took all the right lessons to heart, letting the Bad Company and the Eagles and all that other shit go in one ear and out the other. These guys might become to me what The Hold Steady is to C-notes. Or I might choose the path of sanity. It's too soon to tell.
• Speaking of Akron's contributions to my happiness, let's discuss LeBron James and the NBA playoffs. Wait, no. Let's not. I want to savor the anticipation for a while. I'll report back after watching him in action.
  

A tale of two blogs

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

A one-man dialogue on the Duke scandal

Why the hell am I so interested in this when I'm usually so hostile toward tabloid stories? It's an intersection of a lot of broad topics that interest me: college sports and the culture they foster, race, entitlement, law (I'm CrimeNotes for a reason), elite universities, and press coverage.

Why is it my inclination to be so hostile toward the defendants? At first, it was because the allegations were so heinous, and they sounded in character. Most of us who attended universities with majors sports programs at some point brushed up against these kinds of cultures, even if obliquely. The allegations are sort of the worst-case projection of what those kinds of guys are like. A few years back I read a book by Bernard Lefkowitz called Our Guys, which depicted the criminal investigation into a similar incident among wealthy high school athletes. These allegations had (and have) the ring of truth.

They didn't subsequently help their case by behaving in a way that spoke to secrecy and entitlement. Assuming that nothing fishy happened here, and their knee-jerk reaction was to dismiss the allegations as insanity, 48 hours into the case it should have been clear to their parents and attorneys that this wasn't the time for righteous indignation. Somehow, the lawyers representing these guys continue to make press statements that border on inflammatory. Consider the following quote from Collin Finnerty's attorney:

"It's just mind-boggling," Osborn said. "In my 32 years of experience, it's just hard to believe that anything like this [the felony charges] could happen."

Here's what a more press-savvy lawyer would have said:

"We are of course disappointed that these felony charges have been brought, and are confident that they are without merit. I look forward to clearing Mr. Finnerty's name and proving that he has no relation to these truly horrifying allegations."

See? Much easier, much less inflammatory, as well as clearer, concrete, and unemotional.

Aren't they innocent until proven guilty? Yeah, of course -- although I wish you luck in finding that phrase in the Constitution. Like everyone, I'm just taking in the information and giving it my best guess.

What about the lack of DNA evidence and the receipts and records that establish an alibi? This is all coming from the defense attorneys. These are risky statements. For their clients' sakes, these representations better be ironclad. I've also got to think that unless this DA is completely abusive of his power, he's got evidence that's more solid than what he's showing in the press. It's possible that he's playing to the media and his constituents, but indicting these two guys for political reasons would be the worst kind of evil, as well as potentially ruinous to his career. For pragmatic reasons, I'll guess he's got a trump card.

You just hate rich kids. Oh, hell yes, but I still think they should be treated fairly. It's tough to understand why these guys were indicted if there isn't something solid to back it up.

Yet you like Duke people. I can't think of a single person I know who went there that I dislike. I feel bad for the school. If this happened to my university, I'd be devastated.

Where is this headed? The new O.J. Apparently, everything is a battle in the culture wars. Check out Media Matters to see how this shit's getting handled on right-wing radio. Michael Savage, for example:

The Durham dirt-bag case disgusts me to my core. Here, you have a drunken slut stripping whore accusing men of raping her when there is absolutely no evidence of such a rape other than what comes out of that filthy mouth of hers.

Classy.

Meanwhile, Jesse Jackson is pledging to fund the college tuition of the alleged victim. That'll turn out to be a great move if, in the end, she's a liar. But it's been a few years since the Tawana Brawley disaster, so what the hell.