"Fair and Balanced"????

Steve Benen's
Political Animal
Blog Reported

There was a private White House party in honor of President Obama’s 50th birthday. Here’s how Politico described the event.

[Shortly after 5 p.m.], the party started with dinner in the Rose Garden, accompanied by “The President’s Own” United States Marine Band. Then the First Lady and his daughters presented POTUS with a cake, and everyone moved into the East Room for performances that included R&B singer Ledisi, and Herbie Hancock. Stevie Wonder came up at the end and sang a medley ending in “Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours.” DJ Cassidy played Motown, hip hop, and ’70s and ’80s R&B.

Folks from the cabinet were there (Hillary Clinton, Eric Holder, Tim Geithner), as were members of Congress (Nancy Pelosi, Debbie Wasserman Schultz), Obama’s team (Robert Gibbs, David Axelrod, David Plouffe, Valerie Jarrett), the private sector (UBS Investment Bank President Robert Wolf), and the entertainment industry (Jay-Z, Chris Rock, Charles Barkley, Tom Hanks). That’s by no means a comprehensive list, but these are some of the notable names in attendance.

And here’s how Fox Nation told its audience about the event.
“Obama’s Hip-Hop BBQ Didn’t Create Jobs.”

Mr. Benen was fascinated (as we all should be) "...by the claim that a birthday party “didn’t create jobs.” Maybe I should have run a post this morning that said, “John Boehner had breakfast this morning, didn’t create jobs.” Or maybe, “Eric Cantor watched some TV, didn’t create jobs.”"

Steve Benen is a contributing writer to the Washington Monthly, joining the publication in August, 2008 as chief blogger for the Washington Monthly blog, Political Animal.



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Scary stuff. . .

From www.seocollege.org news. . .

(Republican Presidential candidate, Texas Governer Rick) ". . . Perry is saying that one reason our country's problems are so intractable is "because we are a nation that has not honored God in our successes or humbly called on Him in our struggles."

And Perry's going to fix that.

On August 6th, he's going to be leading a huge prayer rally called The Response, in which he will call upon Americans to "pray and fast" so God will forgive us and help us fix the country.

Perry is leading this prayer rally, political analysts say, so he can win over evangelical Christian voters, who make up 60% of GOP voters in two key early primary states, Iowa and South Carolina. And if that's all he's doing at the prayer rally--saying stuff that these voters want to hear--then he'll be doing just what every other politician is doing, so we shouldn't get too worked up about it.

Far more frightening is the possibility that Perry actually believes what he is saying--that the reason America has racked up such colossal debts and has such a massive budget deficit is because we haven't been paying enough attention to God.

God did not vote for the budgets and policies that ballooned our deficit. Congress and the President did. So laying our problems off on God's disfavor--and suggesting that the way to fix them is to start doing a better job of honoring Him--is disturbing, to say the least.

And then there's the small matter of the separation of church and state.

The First Amendment of the Constitution says that the government can't establish a state-sponsored religion, and many Americans interpret the spirit of this amendment far more widely than that. . . "



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My Ego. . .

. . . I take such great pride in what I do. I think you should take some too. I believe. Pride in me. Not in you. It's just my ego. It gets the best of me. It's just my ego. It's just my ego. It just won't let me be. It just won't let me be alone. It's not one of my more redeeming qualities. Still though, it serves me rather well sometimes. It won't be easy to just let it go though, it's just my ego.

Sometimes I can get my point across and I do it rather well. Don't you think? It's a gift. You can tell. It's just my ego. It's just my ego. It just won't let me be. It just won't let me be alone. It's not one of my more redeeming qualities. Still though, it serves me rather well sometimes. It won't be easy to just let it go though, it's just my ego.

There's a fine distinction between confidence and pride. There's a fine distinction that I'll never know. Cloaked with some discretion you emerge from the inside. I emerge in all my glory. What is there to hide?

Mother said that I would never make any friends if I don't see what I'm like; if I don't lost some pride. It's just my ego. It's just my ego. It just won't let me be. It just won't let me be alone. It's not one of my more redeeming qualities. Still though, it serves me rather well sometimes. It won't be easy to just let it go though, it's just my ego.

MY EGO (from "Chromatose")
©2003 Raymond M. Jozwiak



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It's in the eyes. . .

. . . While attending coed Catholic grade school, grades 1 through 8, one of my male classmates in particular, was always a favorite with the girls. No, I don't mean ONLY the 'popular' girls. Yes, those girls loved him also, but everyone loved this guy. Why, you may wonder? Well, he was tall (for his age, at least), handsome, athletically built (and inclined), charming, articulate and quite gregarious. My male classmates and I were truly impressed with his ability to engage so many of the coeds in apparently meaningful and entertaining conversation for extended periods of time. I, on the other hand at this age, found it very difficult to talk with GIRLS at a meaningful level for the most part, and for that reason found his skills to be particularly remarkable and admirable. At the same time, he had a comparable amount of male friends also as he was quite simply, very personable.

On one occasion, he volunteered (I did not even ask) his formula for being popular with the 'cool' girls. He told me that he, in effect, rehearsed with the uncool girls quite intentionally. The overweight, the homely, the shy and the unattractive were sought out by him quite intentionally yet unbeknownst to them, to be the recipients of this bon vivant's joie de vivre. And by adhering to the timeless principle that 'practice makes perfect', he developed the confidence to transfer his socializing techniques to the more attractive members of the student body. This, I and my less demonstrative friends thought at the time, was a marvelous thing, yet never actually made any serious attempt to implement his modus operandi ourselves. Incidentally, he did later marry a very jealous (justifiably?) woman and I've lost track of him.

Not sure why this whole thing occurred to me recently but it did and it also reminded me of bigotry, the connection being basic respect that each and every human being deserves from another. While I thought my friend's socializing pointers were pretty practical at the time, I now realize how self-serving and insensitive they were to the unsuspecting that he 'used' for his own gain. Personally, it seems like all I have to do is look another human being in the eye and I find it very difficult NOT to treat him/her with basic, human respect. There is something inexplicable in the eyes that conveys humanity. True bigotry is the inability to accord basic human respect to another. And EVERYONE deserves that respect no matter what they look like, whether they have as much material wealth as you or belong to the same social, religious or recreational 'clubs' as you, no matter what they weigh, how tall or short, color of their skin, sexual orientation, hair color, profession or lack thereof, taste in food, drink or music. Seems like a very simple thing. I don't believe that I am particularly commendable for doing it and I don't know why I do, but I just can't help it. It's in the eyes. That doesn't mean that I give money to every street/bag-person who asks me or that I have to strike up a meaningful conversation with anyone (or everyone). It simply means that I look them in the eye, and they generally look me in the eye as well with few exceptions, and I do feel something when confronting their gaze and I believe I owe them the courtesy of a civil, humane and hopefully a pleasant response.




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There was. . .

. . . an interesting post on Facebook by a wonderfully gifted musician to the effect that some people say jazz should update itself and that the classic jazz is old and tired. The only problem is that such people are in effect, telling a substantial percentage of the jazz audience to go to hell. . .

Which sparked quite a rash of comments; rightly and understandably. Most of the responders seemed to agree that new and innovative are good, but old, classic is good also. I've often reflected on such sentiments after hearing an either particularly articulate opponent (or proponent) or just a particularly boisterous opponent (or proponent) of one form or genre of music or another.

Some of the comments, exceprted or paraphrased:

They say if it sounds good, it is good. Music knows no genre, culture, or era.

I dont play jazz, I play music.

Some people only want to hear memories, not music.

Just do what you do and be happy.

Jazz is a timeless art form.

If no one kept an open mind to new things, we wouldn't even have Dixieland, Swing, Bebop or Post-Bop, would we?

Just play what you love . . .

Everyone has an opinion

If you try to please everyone you get stagnation.

Ornette says, ". . . I would like for you guys to follow the idea."



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I'd like to say. . .

. . . that for me, the process of writing songs is an easy, breezy, joy of an experience where wonderfully clever lyrics flow effortless out from my brain accompanied by lilting, melodic symphonies both pleasing to the ear and timeless in their universal appeal.

I'd LIKE to say that. The truth is that, for me, songwriting is usually (or should I say- unusually) hard work. Very rarely does a song simply occur to me, fully formed and (in my opinion) wonderful. As a matter of fact, a simple 'hook' fully formed itself occurs periodically at best. I usually have to have either a melody, a concept, a rhythm, or even a 'groove' from another song in my mind before I can even start beginning to start to commence constructing a song at all. The best place for me to begin is with a concept (a lost love, a social injustice, or a stupid human foible, for examples) AND a rhythm or style (three/four jazz, slow rocker, New Orleans funk, for examples) to really get the ball rolling.

But when it's all over, and I like what I've produced, and it tells a story or makes a point, that's one of the most exhilarating sensations in existence. And sometimes, even when the song is okay, not 'Billboard top five with a bullet' wonderful yet not really quite bad, I still feel a certain satisfaction resulting from my efforts, I've flexed my creative 'muscle' and I have practiced my craft to the extent that I am ready to move along and create more. That's how I know that this is what I should be doing. Billy Joel once said, when asked which of his original songs he thought was best, that all of the songs that he created are his children. He doesn't really love one more than another because they're ALL his very own.



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Here I am. . .

. . . at the beach. . . for a week. Man, do I need it.

Talking with a nice lady about the Independent Music Network's August Radio Special while at the beach. Not sure about the details but I sure hope I can be on it, or at least my music can.

The drive was good and though I am not an 'endurance' driver, I made the complete drive with our regular (at least last and this year) stops at some New Jersey wineries enroute ("en" the LONG "route", mind you) to our beach destination. We rent a condo in a 'moderate-rise' (8 stories isn't really high, is it?) and have been able to arrive directly at the complex for the keys, and forego the stop at the realtor's office to pick-up the rules, promotional material a bottle of water and a pat on the back, obtaining the keys from the condo office upon arrival after that. But THIS year, since we forgot to bring along the paperwork received in the mail from the realtor, we MISSED a big change. You're now supposed to pick-up your KEYS at you required stop at the realtor's office. We found this out from a competitor realtor who had their pickup setup righth there at the condo and who were no very 'Sweet' or sympathetic about our situation. Easy/simple though, a short ride back up the road to the realtor produced the keys (the rules, promotional material a bottle of water and a pat on the back) and some extra sympathy for the lack of it offered by their competitor. Problem solved!

Or so we thought. Four armloads of luggage/stuff and five flights up in a slow elevator, we find that not one, but both of the keys to the condo DO NOT WORK. Telephone calls, building supers, locksmith talk, news of news tumblers LATER, (about a 45 minute ordeal) we're in!

Ah, vacation. A puzzle, a laptop, a martini and a Jim Beam Black later, it seems like nothing ever happened. Kind of like. . . summer camp.



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