All posts by Joe

Meet the jerks.

First there is a planet, then there is no planet, then there is. Or was that mountain? No, no… that’s planet, sayeth the booking agent. And we feasted on crow, and feces, and fillet of sole (the kind that’s glued to the bottom of your sneaker). And there was much rejoicing… not!

Well, friends… it’s only when you start thinking you’ve been fucked every way from Tuesday that they come up with three or four other days of the week you’ve never even heard of. What the hell am I talking about? Well, I’m gonna’ tell yuh. (Whoops… I’m reverting to my Warren Oates impersonation…. give me a minute. Mmmmph. Okay, that’s got it. Ahem. ) Now you may recall my account of how Quality Lincoln, our de-facto (or as we now call him, “de-FUCK-to”) booking agent, signed us up for a package tour of every planet in the solar system. And in his infinite wisdom, he accepted one flat fee for all performances on (and this is important) EVERY planet in said solar system. Then of course, moments after the toner was dry on the faxed contract, those mother-fucking snakes (i.e. space scientists) on the mother-fucking plane (i.e. planet Earth) went and added not one, not two, but THREE new planets to the solar system, obligating us to play twelve worlds for the price of nine. Remember? (Sure you do – it’s one or two entries down… have a look.)

Okay, now I will revert to 1970s-80s teenspeak to relate the subsequent developments. So we’re like, “What the fuck, Lincoln, we’re getting totally ripped off, here!” And he’s like, “No way, dude. This is great exposure.” And I’m like, “Way, Lincoln! How are we gonna’ make money here?” And he gets all, “I got it worked out, dudes… honest.” (All right…. you’ve suffered enough. ) So Lincoln suggested that we start with the outer most planets in the solar system – Charon, Pluto, and that other one… Sedna, or whatever. He said that those planets were so cold and sparsely populated that there was no way in hell we would spend more than one or two nights on any of them. Well, I should have thought better of this when I saw Marvin (my personal robot assistant) emit a strange green glow and start klanging like a steam engine. But did I listen? Did I? Now ask yourself… do I ever? (You’ve got your answer.)

Okay, so we lit out for Charon first and played three of the most bone chilling sets I can remember. We were set up on this glacier of frozen nitrogen, playing for a gaggle of stalagmite-looking shards of ice that looked… well… indistinguishable from the rest of this desolate landscape. Marvin froze in position like the tin man on the Wizard of Oz. Even sFshzenKlyrn — a denizen of deep, deep space with no body heat to speak of — was moving slower than what was common for his guitar-slinging, bound-about stage routine. Still, we turned up the thermostats on our rented spaceman suits and ground our way through the tunes, jumping up and down to keep the blood in our toes, wrestling with hypothermia while our audience stood in rapt silence. (Okay… just silence. Frankly, I think they’re really only icicles sticking out of the glacier.) Bad gig, man. And then Pluto…. you think Charon is bad, book yourself into a club called “The Cooler” on Pluto. (My shoes are still frozen to that stage, actually.)

Okay, so here’s the kicker… the thing that makes this GET ME THE HELL OUTA HERE Big Green Tour 2006 such a total bust. Now those fucking scientists are thinking about lopping Pluto and Charon off the end of the solar system again. So all that frozen-ass performing was for nothing! And that’s why we’re eating crow, sole, feces, etc. “Play the outer planets first,” he says! Blast you, Lincoln! There are going to be some changes around here, mark my words!

Trial by partner.

Even as the U. S. media gears up for what promises to be the “trial of the century” of the year (that Jon Benet Ramsey murder case they’re obsessing about now), our trusty hometown newspaper found space on the front page (way below the fold) for one story coming out of Iraq — that of another “trial of the century”. Namely, Saddam Hussein’s second, at which he will answer charges of genocide against the Kurds during the Anfal campaign of 1987-8. Conspicuously absent from the stand, of course are Saddam’s and “Chemical” Ali’s co-conspirators in the Reagan administration, as well as much of the congressional leadership at the time. Sure, Reagan’s dead, but many of his top people are still with us (particularly his special envoy to Baghdad, Donny “by gosh” Rumsfeld), some of whom have made their way back into the White House in the intervening years. At the very least, the full history of U. S. cooperation with Saddam up to, including, and well beyond the gassing and bombing of Kurdistan should be brought forward at this trial. But any such suggestion is merely laughable in the context of the U.S. occupation of Iraq.

This trial isn’t about justice, it’s about public relations. This is the closest thing to good news our government can muster out of the disaster they have created in Iraq. It is very likely that upwards of 200,000 people have died in that country since our invasion of March 2003. Add that to the 300,000 to 500,000 who died because of the 12-year sanction regime (imposed by the U.S. and Britain) and we’re putting Saddam’s grisly numbers to shame. Though it isn’t reasonable to set our death toll against his, since we are also morally and materially culpable in the mass killings for which he is being held responsible. No one talks about it now, but Saddam received billions and billions in aid and war materiel from the United States during his 8-year war against Iran. His regime received logistical support and satellite intelligence, much as was provided to the Nicaraguan “Contra” terror army at about the same time. He received components for WMD’s from U.S. and European suppliers with a nod from their respective governments. He enjoyed considerable diplomatic support as well, particularly in the wake of the Halabja attack, which we tried to hang on Iran, if memory serves. Indeed, our support for the bad boy went on until days after he invaded Kuwait in 1990, fully two years after Halabja.

You’ve heard me say all this before (those who’ve been reading this blog for a while), so forgive me for repeating myself. It is just that the entire history of our relationship with Iraq (and, indeed, with every nation in the greater Middle East area) goes unmentioned, unreferenced, and unremembered in the mainstream press. Those of us who do recall what happened end up sounding like Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner, but I suppose that is the only way to keep history alive — by utilizing this modern equivalent of an oral tradition. To listen to our leaders and our network newscasters, we are living in a world of clearly defined “good” and “evil”. But the definitions they offer do not hold an ounce of water, once you scratch beneath the surface a little bit (Olmert and Nasrallah come to mind). If Hussein belongs in the docket, then we should be standing right beside him, for the people who died twenty years ago… and for the people who are dying today.

The king is mad. Pass it on.

luv u,

jp

Twelve planets?

Let’s see… five from twenty-seven is twenty-two. Carry the nine. Multiply by the square root of Chicago. Now check your work. Wait for it, wait for it… okay. Pencils down!

Jeezuz. Just try to get a straight answer around here! I even get prevarication with math questions, for chrissake. Let me tell you, friends – this is one disgruntled shipload of bandmates, and it isn’t just because we spent the better part of the last week clearing unexploded ordinance from the minefields of Borax 19, a grisly little world locked in mortal combat with its near-space neighbor, the planet Calgon (not to be confused with the laundry detergent). No, sir… we’ve just come to a very disturbing realization, thanks to the Univac-like brain of Marvin (my personal robot assistant). It’s just a good goddamn thing we insisted on taking him along with us on this tour. (Actually, he insisted, but what the hell… the effect is the same).

Anyway, here’s what we’ve worked out in mid-voyage. It seems our agent-of-the-week, former president Lincoln, signed us up for one of these package promotional tours where we agree to play every planet in the solar system for a single, flat fee. Old “honest” Abe was real proud of himself on this one – we actually stood to make some money on the deal (unlike every other venue he’s booked so far). Of course, while we were away, slogging through insufferable engagements in some of the galaxy’s most undesirable backwaters, the Earthbound science community decided to reclassify several asteroid-like bodies as planets.So now, instead of playing nine planets for X level of remuneration, we’re going to have to perform on twelve planets for the same bloody money. That’s like getting docked 25% before you even show up. (We haven’t even had the chance to suck yet!)

Okay, so ask me if we’ve groused at Lincoln yet today? Now ask me again. Answer? Stand back from the monitor for a moment, this may be a little loud. FUCKER!!!!! Ahem… I feel much better, now. Yes, we’ve had a few words with the ex-president. Suffice to say we have provided his tour management career ambitions with complimentary tickets to Ford’s Theatre. (Can you say “useless?” Very good.) As a consequence of this monumental blunder, I have asked all hands to work out a formula by which we might actually come out of this 12-planet marathon with more than a few cents in our pockets.

So far, Mitch Macaphee’s formula is way out in front — we create holographic images of ourselves and project same onto several stages at one time. Same Big Green, same boss tunes, same ludicrous side-kicks… only a whole lot thinner. Like maybe one zillionth of a micron thick. (Hey, you know what they say… you can never be too thin.)

Anyway, this is how our vaunted GET ME THE HELL OUTA HERE Tour 2006 will conclude — with a relentless march to the sea, a la Sherman. Who was, of course, the commanding general of Lincoln’s army. Whose wife was Mary Todd Lincoln. Whose middle name is also the first name of Todd Rundgren. Who must surely have something in common with Kevin Bacon. Blast you, Lincoln!

luv u,

jp

Killing hope.

The cease fire in Lebanon appears to be holding at this moment, thank God. Just a Goddamned shame it couldn’t have been called a month ago before well over a thousand people were killed in Lebanon (Robert Fisk reports the number at around 1,300 as some of the collapsed buildings hit by the IDF are excavated) and more than 140 in Israel. Did I say “couldn’t”? It’s really more a case of “wouldn’t”. Bush, Cheney, and pals were anxious to see the birth of their “new Middle East,” after all, so many more hundreds of men, women, and children had to die needlessly, many more had to be grievously wounded, lose their homes and livelihoods, etc., before the administration and the Israeli government chose to accept virtually the same terms as they could have had shortly after the conflict began. It looks as though Olmert and Peretz had had enough, realizing that victory does not come easy in southern Lebanon even with vastly superior military technology and a strategy that involves massive civilian casualties and collective punishment. Well, it was gripping while it lasted, eh, fellows?

So what does this new Middle East look like? Well, let’s see. From the wreckage of Lebanon, Hezbollah has emerged as a world-class fighting organization, able to hold off one of the most sophisticated military machines in the world — a feat which has earned them the admiration of virtually the entire Arab world, including sectarian communities in their own country who were their sworn enemies not so long ago. The craven Bush administration, apparently high on the latest round of strategic Kool-Aid being ladled out by the likes of Iran-Contra felon Elliott Abrams, was expecting Christian, Sunni, and Druze Lebanese to turn on the Shi’a community as a result of Israel’s savage attacks on their country. Perhaps they were stoked up by memories of last year’s “Cedar Revolution” and the ejection of Syrian troops from Lebanon. If so, they severely miscalculated… yet again. Hezbollah may receive arms and support from Iran and Syria, but it is an indigenous force with its loyalties fixed firmly in the soil of southern Lebanon. You don’t fight that fiercely for something that isn’t yours. So this entire exercise simply entrenched Hezbollah more deeply in Lebanon’s political and cultural life, enhanced their reputation as a resistance movement, and demonstrated that the concept of mutual assured destruction now applies to local, non-nuclear conflicts between Israel and its immediate neighbors.

This brings us back the the “vision” thing, as pappy Bush used to say. What is Lebanon’s role in America’s grand strategy? Pretty simple. Disarm the one force capable of deterring a neighboring power that has attacked invaded their country half a dozen times in the last 25 years. Let Western capital roll over their economy. And keep their mouths shut. That was the plan for Iraq, as well — in fact, that’s the goal for every nation in what’s referred to as the “developing world”. The model is to have formal democratic institutions in the sense that there will be elections every few years. But all the key decisions regarding the ownership and distribution of national resources, public services, and trade and investment policy, will be made by bankers and investors in the “developed” world. This is what Bush calls “freedom” — for the impoverished majorities in these countries, it means abandoning hope of a better life and resigning oneself to penury in a global consensus built to benefit multinational corporations. It’s the “freedom” you find in Guatemala and Nicaragua.

My guess is, that’s part of what makes people fight so damned hard. They can see where this is headed.

luv u,

jp

No kill I.

There once was a planet named Borax, a land of all head and no thorax…. That’s all I’ve got so far. What do you think, stuffed chef? Is it lacking a certain, well, goodness? How about you, plastic ficus tree?

Man oh Manischewitz, I have never seen a place as uptight as this hideous little orb! A big cowboy howdee of thanks to honest Abe Lincoln for booking us into this hell hole. Not for nothing, as they say in the vernacular, but from the moment we crash-landed into their luxurious nightclub, the people who hired us have been… well… more than a little hostile, if you want to know the truth. As I mentioned in my previous entry, we were held at scrootch-gun point as we descended from the wreckage of our space vehicle. A fine how do you do! We were then marched off to a reception area that look suspiciously like the local drunk tank. Ever spent a night in an 11 by 14 foot cell with several disgruntled band members and a drunken Boraxian? Well… just don’t.

The next morning, we were brought before the local magistrate and ordered to explain ourselves. Unfortunately for us, the Boraxians look uncannily like our companion, the man-sized tuber, (except that they have two antenae on their heads with a little purple spark that shoots between them). This meant, of course, that they insisted on addressing all of their comments to tubey, who (as you know) is not fully checked out on the lingua franca of the galaxy. Even sFshzenKlyrn couldn’t get a decent hearing in that courtroom (and he’s such a cosmopolitan fellow of infinite jest and undeniable charm… cretins!). So there we were, standing like statues as the Boraxians babbled incoherently at our mute vegetable companion. This was not going well.

As luck would have it, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) as able to act as the man-sized tuber’s “translator,” so we could feed Marvin lines and attempt to steer the proceedings to our favor. How did it turn out? Man, I’ll tell you – magistrates get very touchy during war time. We were stuck not only with damages on the luxury night club, but also a stint of community service… which in this war-torn world meant mostly digging trenches and removing unexploded ordinance dropped the night before. Hey, what can I tell you? They treated us like immigrant labor, giving us the jobs they least wanted to do. None of those tuber-like Boraxians were lining up to yank 500 pounders out of the ground, believe you me. (When I told Mitch Macaphee about the verdict, he turned green as a Martian.) Worse luck, our performance was cancelled, so we were forced to work off the damages with pick and shovel.

So what the fuck. Do any of you know what the code number 76-OX9-NL stands for on a laser guided missile? I know it means turn the cylinder either one click to the left or three click to the right, but I don’t remember which. Mitch! Come on and take a look at this thing, will you? I’ll just finish this trench. Pharaoh… Let my people gooooooo!!!

Near hit.

Yes, friends, we do still have a color coded terror alert system (not heard from since just after the 2004 Democratic National Convention) and it’s cranked up to red after this week’s thwarted terror plot in Britain. Another hijacking plan involving long-distance flights, this time apparently focusing on ten aircraft, though I believe the 9/11 strategy originally called for more than 4 or 5 planes. Bush’s comments following the announcement seemed particularly rambling and incoherent, covering the usual talking points about those who “hate our freedoms,” then stumbling off even further into numbskull territory. His painfully qualified-sounding observation that we are “safer than we were on 9/11” sounded a bit like when he was lowballing the number of Iraqi dead to “around thirty thousand”, give or take. This man should never work without a script. In any case, the national security establishment was full of self-praise at having averted a major catastrophe of the type we can expect to see attempted with greater frequency in the months and years ahead, thanks to their ham-fisted policies over the last five years. So, well done… I think.

Still, this near miss (or as George Carlin might term it, “near hit“) fills me with dread. Maybe it’s just paranoia born of anticipating the inevitable fallout from the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Lebanon, but I can’t help but wonder – why such an obvious scenario? Why attempt an attack using the very system that is most closely watched by the authorities? Might this be an elaborate diversion, a rouse to distract us from some far more novel operation now in progress? I hope not, but I know this has occurred to others besides myself. It would be reckless to assume that this would never have occurred to groups like al Qaeda, as well. The malign brilliance of the 9/11 plot was that it completely blind-sided our national security establishment and used the failings of our profit-obsessed commercial aviation system and the atrophied regulatory bodies that oversee it as weapons against us, to terrifying effect. Someone – I doubt bin Laden – was bright enough to look closely at our society, discern where the structural weaknesses are, and proceed accordingly. If they’re smart enough to pull that off, it seems to me they’re probably too smart to rely solely on a plot that uses those same resources, which while still vulnerable are much more highly scrutinized by intelligence and law enforcement than they were prior to September 2001.

So while our homeland security secretary and various anti-terrorism officials pat themselves on the back for a job well done, there may be some more subtle conspiracy under way on the part of the “evil doers”. Lord knows we’re open to attack across a broad spectrum of the national infrastructure, from ground transportation to chemical plants to power generation facilities and so on. Our homeland security funding is a shambles, with money being sent in all kinds of strange directions per the usual congressional pork-barrel allocation process. Just a few miles from where I live, there’s a training facility where people in hazmat suits practice for the terror attacks of yesteryear, effectively closing the door on that empty barn. Sure, it generates a few jobs and it makes it look like our politicians are doing something to make us safer, but when you’ve got a top-level leadership that doesn’t think New York City has any important landmarks worth protecting; one that has demonstrated its inability and unwillingness to respond to predictable disasters like Katrina; a national political culture that has done more to breed terrorism in the last five years than Osama might have dreamed possible in 2000, there’s no question but that we have a major problem here.

By the way, we now have a cease fire agreement for Lebanon that allows the IDF to keep dropping bombs “defensively.” More payback on the way, I expect… so keep your heads down, my friends.

Y’ello.

This is it – truly it. No, I don’t mean just any “it” – I mean the real thing. You don’t know what “it” is? What the hell! Where are you going? I’m talking to you, bwah!

Whoops. Did it again, didn’t I? Sorry… I didn’t mean for anyone outside the confines of our little space RV. How bloody humiliating. I was just reading posi-Lincoln the riot act for his various failings. Oh sure, he may have saved the Union back in the 1860s, freed the slaves, etc., but what has he done for us lately? I’ll tell you what – he’s made a flaming wreck of this tour, my friend, and I mean that quite literally. Never get an ex-president to do a booking agent’s job, that’s what I always say. (Should have stuck to my principles on that one. I wouldn’t be wasting my time right now trying to explain the meaning of “it” whilest stranded on a hostile planet.)

So yeah – we’re stranded on a hostile planet. Reason for this pickle? Simple. Our genius “great emancipator” booked us into the middle of an interstellar conflict, a la Ameniar and Vendicar from the original Star Trek series. Only difference is, these fuckers use real bombs, missiles, lasers, and other assorted anti-personnel devices. Anyway, that FAX Lincoln was waiting for was being sent by one of the antagonists in an interplanetary dust-up that’s been going on for the better part of a decade. The planet BORAX 19 and its near neighbor CALGON were exchanging missiles as we arrived, in fact. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) was the first to notice when one skimmed by our break lounge window. The second one, well…. that landed in the galley. Not good.

Now, as you folks out in TV land know, any breach in a spaceship’s hull may present a problem, particularly to those sentient life forms (sFhszenKlyrn excluded) who may be lurking within. You know the drill – air excaping, alarms going off, the ship pitching back and forth (or, at least, the camera does and the people fall left and right in an accordingly dramatic fashion). Well, we got into a bit of that. Luckily at that particular juncture, those of us on the lower deck were trying on our newly acquired astronaut get-ups, which make for jolly good stage gear out yonder. What happened next? Well, as I was cursing Lincoln to high heaven, we followed the trajectory of a popular song from way back when:

Down and down and down we go
Round and round and round we go

From there, we experienced one of those “crash-bang” landings we’ve become famous for over the past few years. The good news is that we were able to find the venue that Lincoln booked us into. The bad news is that… that’s the building we crashed into. Once the fire was out, all we had to deal with was a very angry club owner with an oversized scrootch gun. Vendicarians speak through sign language (just like we do when we’re angry). Kind of hard to tell them you’re sorry when your hands are up.

Vultures.

If there was ever any doubt in anyone’s mind that the U.S. has been an obstacle to peace, it’s certainly gone now. It’s kind of appalling to watch the world grope for a way to accommodate George Bush’s and Ehud Olmert’s preconditions for a cease fire in Lebanon. As foreign ministers and diplomats haggle at the U.N., people continue to die in the Levant. Israel attacked a hospital in southern Lebanon, capturing what it described as Hezbollah fighters but what a Hezbollah parliamentarian said were civilians, several of whom were in their 50s. The Hezbollah guy challenged Israel to show the people they captured, but quite frankly, the same demand might be made regarding any of the thousands of detainees Israel holds without charge. Now the IDF is pursuing a push up to the Litani, strafing little fishing boats south of Beiruit, while Hezbollah is promising to respond by targeting Tel Aviv.

This would be a real good time for everyone to stop the hostilities, don’t you agree? Well… even if you do, George Bush doesn’t and neither does the Israeli government, not just yet. Their determination to attain political objectives through wanton violence differs from the tactics of Bin Laden only in scale – Dubya’s attack on Iraq dwarfs the 9/11 death toll by an enormous factor, and Olmert’s war against Lebanese society has the potential to do the same. The Bush administration’s craven insistence that this is somehow going to lead to a better Middle East underscores the contention that this is a deliberate escalation of hostilities and yet another war of choice in that troubled region. Now Dubya’s off for a ten-day break at his ersatz ranch in Crawford, Texas, there to hack away at scrub with various power tools as a small army of secret service men try to look like ranch hands and talk into their cufflinks. I suppose if he’s going to sit on his hands, he might as well do it there. (How like Nero’s fiddle is Bush’s chain saw – scratching away tunelessly as the empire burns.)

Even as the middle east is drenched in blood (Iraq, of course , continuing its slide toward the total anarchy Bush terms “freedom”), there was also time enough to crow about Fidel Castro’s health problems, as the key Bush constituency of Cuban exiles celebrated in Miami and major news outlets pondered what Washington’s “options” might be. My hometown newspaper ran an interesting little chart that compared various socio-economic statistics in Cuba and the U.S. – a comparison in which Cuba fared quite well, actually. Pretty remarkable when you consider the difference in available resources and the fact that Cuba has been under embargo for decades. Far more instructive would be a similar comparison between Cuba and, say, Guatemala or Honduras, since that is the model that America’s political culture would like to see Cuba adopt, post-Castro. Troubled as Cuba’s living standard is, it’s not anywhere near as miserable as that of its neighbors, whose economies are totally supine to U.S. economic power. Even so, the press opines how Cuba is a “nation ripe for economic change” and how its “enormous pent-up consumer demand” and 97 percent literacy rate make “Cuba’s workforce… hungry to work and full of potential.”

Perhaps someone should ask the Cubans in Cuba whether or not they want the Guatemalan model for economic misery. While they’re at it, they should ask the Iraqis, as well.

Gawd.

Two guys walk into a bar, see? Okay… and one of these guys, well… he’s not really a guy, exactly, okay? Follow me so far? Right, so this one guy who’s NOT a guy, he’s got like five heads. And he breathes not so much air as, well, liquid nitrogen. Stick with me, now, it gets better…

Oh, Crikey! I had no idea you were standing right behind me (virtually speaking, of course). And here I am right in the middle of blowing a fairly salty spaceman joke. Stand-up is not my long suit. (Actually, I don’t have a long suit. Kept tripping over the excess pant-legs, quite frankly, so I cuffed the bastards.) Actually, that last aside is kind of how this joke is supposed to go, so now I’ve really blown it. No matter. I’d really much rather talk to you than this impromptu crowd of acolytes that has materialized around me. And when I say “materialized,” that is precisely what I mean. Here on the planet Omicron Rigbox, the natives move by molecular dissolution and refabrication, so they’re always appearing and disappearing at unpredictable intervals. Damned unnerving, if you ask me.

Anyway, we played kind of a small club here – not the usual stadium or theater routine, to be quite frank. I would say this is the Omicronian equivalent of CBGB – kind of rough looking and smelling of cheap beer and urine, mostly. Only Marvin (my personal robot assistant) didn’t seem to be bothered by it. (Even sFzshenKlyrn looked green… and I mean more green than is normal for him.) There was this one spaceman at the bar, dressed in a 1950s-vintage sci-fi astronaut suit, with the fish bowl helmet, the oxygen tanks, the whole nine yards. He was hitting the sauce pretty hard (his fish bowl was half-full of high-balls). Then some party of Andromedans kept requesting David Bowie’s “Ashes to Ashes”, and we did a kind of cobbed together version of the song just to shut them up. Before we got to the end of the number, old captain fishbowl had gotten hold of one of the Andromedans and was attempting to choke the fucker to death. (In vain, luckily, since Andromedans have three necks. Though, strangely, only two heads.) Punches were thrown. Mayhem ensued. When bottles started landing on stage, we took our leave. 

Apparently, mister spaceman had objected to these lines in the chorus of said Bowie song:

Ashes to ashes, funk to funky

You know Major Tom’s a junkie

…and like many a cartoon spaceman from the 1970s, he closely identified with the fictional astronaut from Space Oddity. Touch S.O.B. … touchy crowd, too. Wouldn’t want you to think that we are at all squeamish about rowdy listeners, but you should know that the beer bottles on Omicron are the size of bowling pins, and just about as heavy. (The whole bleeding planet is made of glass, so there’s no shortage of the stuff.) You get hit by one of those suckers, and man… you stay hit. With the help of some of Marvin’s cyborg groupies, we loaded the equipment back on to the ersatz Jupiter 2 space cruiser and buggered off into the ethers, a fist-full of generally non-negotiable glass coins our only reward for the night’s work.  

Not a quality experience, you’ll readily admit. I, for one, had thought we’d moved beyond this sphere of performance venue long ago. Sadly, posi-Lincoln has proven a bit of a disappointment as a tour promoter/booking agent. (He’s beginning to make the man-sized tuber’s cracker cousin look competent by comparison.) The guy is just too ready to say yes when an offer comes his way. He’s got issues, frankly… and I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to work through them with him. (Trevor James Constable is taking a crack at it as we speak, applying some kind of Reichian device I cannot even begin to understand. It reminds me of that glass booth people climb into at a casino where they try to grab $20 bills that are being blown around them by a fan. Disgusting.  

Next stop? Don’t know, frankly. I just hope it’s better than the last one. This GET ME THE HELL OUTA HERE Tour 2006 is turning out to be one of the lousiest tours we’ve had since our journey to the center of the earth mis-adventure a few years back.  You know — when Marvin and the Morlocks took over the dance floor? Don’t remember? Just as well. Just as well.

No daylight.

It’s week three of Israel’s assault on Lebanon, and once again it appears certain that the international community is unwilling to make any meaningful effort at restraining Tel Aviv. The Rome conference was a total waste of time, offering no relief to those whose lives are being torn apart by this attack and, in effect, sustaining (or at least not challenging) Washington’s veto of intervention towards a cease-fire.  With probably 600 dead in Lebanon and close to a million driven from their homes, the Bush cabal is still saying let the killing continue. Word has it that they are rush-shipping more highly sophisticated munitions to Israel to replenish an arsenal probably somewhat depleted by a hysterical use of firepower both in Lebanon and in Gaza. One would think that this might constitute a breach of the Arms Export Control Act since both civilians and non-military infrastructure are being targeted, but honestly… what law is there in times such as these?

With an almost palpable air of disingenuousness, press secretary Tony "tar-baby" Snow declared there to be "no daylight" between the U.S. and its European allies on the question of a cease-fire. Not exactly true, but here again, a U.S. veto means no action will be taken, so we can pretend. One thing is for certain – Israel’s actions are demonstrating in very graphic fashion that there is no daylight between the U.S. and Israel when it comes to tactics, military hardware, and total disregard for Arab civilians. The IDF has attacked fleeing civilians, blown up clearly marked ambulances, hit residential buildings in crowded neighborhoods. Who does that sound like? Lebanon’s cities are getting the Fallujah treatment, to say nothing of what Gaza is facing. As Dubya robotically repeats his stock phrases about "terrorists" and "wanton killers" and Condi Rice stumbles about aimlessly in Southeast Asia, Lebanese, Palestinians, and Iraqis continue to die in disproportionately high numbers as a result of his policy. 

Israel’s strikes on Lebanon are a highly premeditated effort to do lasting damage to the nation’s social infrastructure and economic viability. There is no way in hell these actions can be justified as directed against Hezbollah alone. The fact is, the broad nature of this military campaign is itself an implicit recognition of the fact that Hezbollah is a deeply integrated part of Lebanon’s Shi’ia community and its political/social landscape. No amount of U.S.-supplied munitions will make Hezbollah go away. Israel is simply laying the groundwork for a more virulently anti-Israeli sentiment in Lebanon and elsewhere in the region. This, too, resembles U.S. policy in Iraq. Just like the people of these stricken countries, we will be living with the consequences of these wars of choice for decades to come. It is likely that future jihadists will make no distinction between those who execute our military policies and the quiescent millions back home who blandly allow the killing to continue. 

Prove them wrong: tell your government to put a stop to this now. [White House: 202.456.1111; Congress: 202.224.3121]