Death of the American middle class

Republicans want the middle class dead. After all, they're a nuisance that wants so many damn things from government such as mortgage relief, consumer protection, unemployment benefits and who knows what. What today's Republican Party really wants is a managerial elite as described in James Burnham's book "The Managerial Revolution". Orwell reviewed the book in 1946 and points out that WWII produced a new
type of society in the west that wasn't capitalist or socialist and in no sense of the word, democratic. The rulers of this new society will be bureaucrats, technicians, business executives and soldiers. Burnham predicted that this new elite would crush the working class and reorganize society so that all power and economic privilege would remain in their own hands. Political activity, therefore, is a special kind of behavior, characterized by its own unscrupulousness. The great mass of the people would always be unpolitical. That means the self-seeking tribe would rule over the brainless mob. So we discover the political inspiration for "1984". General McCrystal, being part of the managerial elite, could look down on the community organizer in the White House. Joe Barton, R of Texas, can apologize to BP for having to pay for the oil spill they caused. (Notice he didn't apologize to the fishermen facing ruin.) Senate Republicans have no use for the unemployed or their benefits. They're not part of the military-industrial complex that Eisenhower warned us about. The banks are bailed out but not the homeowners. Now we have a really weird Republican candidate for Senate in Nevada named Sharron Angle. She is all full of conviction that we should eliminate Social Security and Medicare. Luckily, these Tea Party types are not likely to govern. They are the inarticulate voice of a middle class that is losing ground and wants to return to the old America, preferably 1945 to 1949 when we were the only ones who had the atomic bomb. Meanwhile, two wars rage on with no end in sight. Orwell said that the quickest way to end a war was to lose it. What politician is going to endorse that? The opium of the people continues with televised sports. Thousands cheer a mediocre soccer team in the World Cup for the simple reason that it represents the US. This has to be the last refuge of the young and restless. Once upon a time I came up with a formula for changing America: No drugs, no guns and no divorce. I couldn't get a single person to agree with me. The Constitution, you know.

The Mental Energy Crisis

Instead of Drill Baby Drill, how about Think Baby Think? The oil spill is teaching us a lesson at this very moment and it is giving us a D minus in prudent energy use. OK, it is not going to be possible to slip the surly bonds of gas-powered transportation, but perhaps we can liberate our state of mind and come up with a more thoughtful plan to serve our own needs. Can't we go back to driving more slowly? Can't we bundle our errands so we make one or two trips instead of five or six? And please, no valet parking; you can walk a few feet. Of course it seems impossible to liberate ourselves from the psychology of the SUV and the burly truck. When I worked in the GM building in Detroit I drove a used VW bug since it worked better in snow and ice. Our little group was very cynical about the GM cars in the main floor showroom. "No car can take you where you want to go", was one of our mottos. There was also the medically important question, "Like to enlarge your penis non-surgically? Buy a Corvette!" I saw a Ford commercial last night that wants it both ways. It opens by thumbing its nose at the gas station owner. It then says that their F150 truck will give you great mileage (but doesn't specify what) and then closes in front of a bank of wind energy towers. I also saw another commercial for dear old, sane , Swedish Saab, the brand that America turned its back on. The copy line was: "Move your mind". If only we could.

The remorseless oil spill

Once upon a time we could put our dinner on a little TV tray and watch the news, and all for free. The halcyon days. The global village. Pretty soon we got more channels, cable, 24 hour news and a violent, pointless war with napalm and death. That wasn't much fun. Now we come to the Age of the BP Oil Spill, our Chernoble.
Want to see it? There's a camera on it 24/7. The country is up in arms--dinner is ruined. Poor Obama is not a wartime orator like Roosevelt; "A day that will live in infamy", or Churchill, "We shall fight on the beaches, we shall never surrender". He is the cool, articulate leader who patiently explains complex events to us, the antidote to the histrionic Tea Party rallys that look ominously like the book burnings of the Third Reich. Meanwhile, the chaps at BP take time out from lunch at Claridges to OK bland full page ads and soft corporate TV commercials telling us that everything's OK. No real words in them like death, chaos or pollution. This is the equivalent of the Luftwaffe taking ads in the Times apologizing for the destruction of London saying, "gosh, if only the English were not so darn obstinate". When will it end? Only CNN knows. Perhaps it's when the audience moves on to the next visual narcotic: Armenian Idol, Dancing with Dentists or the disasters sure to come. So, the oil spews on relentlessly. The pelicans still don't have lawyers, and the shrimpers are being paid off in chicken feed. And so we beat on, boats against the tide, pushing us backward, ever backward.

Chicago has the best parades

This week over 2 million people lined the streets of Chicago to hail the new Stanley Cup champion Blackhawks. I call that real fan support and a city that deserves its champions. It was said to be more than the crowd that cheered the White Sox who won the World Series a few years back. What is it about Chicago that makes a great parade? Watch the movie "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and you'll see why. They're joyous and fun. Not only did Ferris sing a terrific version of "Danke Schoen" but his buddy Cameron wore a wonderful (to me) jersey. Do you remember it: Gordie Howe's No. 9 Detroit Red Wings jersey. Now that's class.

James Joyce's Perfect Game

Sure and he was out and he was out and I called him safe and what in all of God's holy creation was I thinking when I called him safe and doing such hurt to that fine boyo on the mound and here I am Jimmy Joyce, an umpire all these 20 years and I make a real boner of a goat of a call that I can't recall and now we have a 28 batter perfect game and I'm still weeping I am and I can't show my face at O'Donnells, O'Connells, O'Leary's and O heaven help me I'll be roasting in hell one day with them other Irish boneheads and Hitler, even though he only had one ball I hear. Oh Anna Livia Plurabelle I'm so, so, so sorry.
(With apologies to Finnigan's Wake and all Joyce scholars)

The Great American Disaster

That was the name of a trendy restaurant in 1970 Swinging London. It was the Ur American hamburger place and a precursor to the Hard Rock Cafe which opened a year later on Picadilly (and the Disaster closed). It was always packed, with lines around the block, and if you had ever tasted an English Wimpy Burger you'd see why. The place had framed pictures of things like the Hindenberg crash, the Lusitania sinking, Custer at Little Big Horn, that kind of fun stuff. Today, it would probably give a whole wall to the BP Oil Spill and keep CNN on all day. American disasters seem to come along quite regularly, such as 9/11. What can we do about it? Nothing, as far as I can see. I don't know anything about deep water drilling and I don't have my own private foreign policy. We are just horrified onlookers like the radio announcer who saw the Hindenberg crash, repeating: "Oh the humanity, the humanity!" And so we echo him with, "Oh the plume, the plume!"