Drama Week pt 1

I pulled out Yes’s Drama last week on a whim; it’s always been the only Yes album I’d ever pull out, but something warm and magical has happened: it turns out that I love it. Just like an REO Speedwagon ballad, I have found love and it was - gasp - with me ALL ALONG! Sigh. Just buried in my shelves. And now, like any other fool in love, I am going to talk about it ALL THE TIME. My true friends will weather this storm. The rest of you – well, we’ll see.

I have a deep love for a very specific and short period in musical history – I don’t even think it has a name. Let’s name it right now: it’s When the Prog Rockers Got Real – Just Before They Got Plastic*.

In and right around 1980, several bands from the Progressive Rock age grew up and laid off the mushrooms. The result was a tiny period of very good rock music, where technical proficiency was still central, but the massive energies in King Crimson, Genesis, Rush, and Yes were boiled down into greatness, rather than sprawled out in pomp and crapenstance.

Let me state for the record, if it isn’t already obvious, that I hate Progressive Rock. If you don’t know what it was, well: right after all of the mind-expanded hippies lost their innocence (in 69, with Altamont, Kent State, bad acid, and lots of death) some of them retreated into this very British, very thumb-sucky music. Progressive Rock had pauncy pseudo-intellectuals imagining that the division between Classical and Rawk musics was “just a construct”, so they tried to smoosh into one wonderful thing.

Of course, they were all still really into drugs, and now really into escapism, so the music they came up with was faux-classical, faux-intellectual nonsense for nihilistic stoners, generally concerned with lyrics about new age crystal magic and the Lord of the Rings. Songs were 30 minutes long, which in rock music is always a mistake.

There was, as there always is, some bleeding between the scenes; Zeppelin certainly had large bits of this nonsense mixed into their ultra-blues. The Who were on dumb and similar tangents of their own (Tommy, anyone?). Pink Floyd proved to be ahead of their time, and so settled into the Royalty section of the scene. Even Styx and Journey made long instrumental pseudo-something-smarter music in the mid-70s.

The good thing that came out of Prog Rock’s Classical aspirations was that playing was really important – technical proficiency got a big spotlight. That’s why you hear the many, many solos on any of the Live Albums from the 70s. That’s where the big drum sets and banks of keyboards and double- and triple-necked guitars came from – these guys were so good that they just couldn’t express themselves without an entire music store around them.

(The other good thing about Prog Rock was that it set Punk Rock in motion – guys and ladies who were offended by the way music had become something for experts to do, who noticed and hated that the spirit of rock and roll was buried and suffocating under all that fat.)

Now I don’t approve of this silliness anymore. Seems to me the truly great guitarists have one or two they love and play, and that a smaller kit is a better way to watch a drummer shine, and really, you hardly ever need a bass solo. But if you grew up in the 70s, especially if you were a guy, the technical proficiency was really something to admire. I’m sure it remains important in some subscenes, but then it was pervasive. (To give context, I became a teen in the early 80s – so punk had already happened – but I was in a small town in Ontario where punk was pretty much a myth until 86 or so.) Playing ability was what we listended for, compared, and charted on lists of our favourites. Being Canadian, of course, the Best Drummer, Best Guitarist and Best Bass Player were always Neil Peart, Alex Lifeson, and Geddy Lee. I still admire proficiency – it’d be weird not to, I think.

But I secretly hated the long songs; I still hate them. They were unfocussed, they were pretentious, they were boring. On the radio, however, as opposed to on the record player, were some very focussed songs – the post-punk singles-based era had arrived in Sarnia before punk did, naturally – and I loved the radio of the early 80s, with Tom Petty at his best, played right before Thomas Dolby and the Human League, followed by Journey and Rick Springfield, leading into Steely Dan. That was fun radio. So I straddled these two worlds, shamefully appreciating the lighter one more.

THEN, THE MAGIC.

This period we’re now calling When the Prog Rockers Got Real Just Before They Got Plastic (WTPRGRJBTGP) came along. It was a very happy medium between post-punk brevity and prog rock proficiency: Genesis recorded Abacab, their best song and peak. Rush ditched the dragons and put out Moving Pictures. King Crimson got interesting, finally, and did those stellar records with Adrian Belew – Discipline and Three of a Perfect Pair especially.

And Yes lost their ridiculous-little-angel singer Jon Anderson (whose singing may be best understood by tiny birds) along with Rick Wakeman, possibly the most annoying keyboard player in the universe, and merged with a weird British synth band called The Buggles. You’d know them best, if at all, for the tune “Video Killed The Radio Star.” THAT new band put out Yes’s best record, which I am in love with, called Drama.

Does it Really Happen from Drama.

—–

* Plastic? It was the 80s: everything got plastic. I think specifically of (the campily enjoyable but less than good) music of Asia, Yes’s 90125, Genesis’ Invisible Touch, etc.

Oh Testosterone!

Oddly enough, for someone like me who has hated the radio for most of his life, I LOVE the podcasting phenomenon. Radio started to irritate me at about 16 – partly because I like picking my own music, but mostly because of the gol-danged commercials.

30 years on, needing to listen to something at my desk-job, I discover lectures, interviews and awesome public radio that I can listen to whenever I want! With no commercials! I’m now a devotee of the podcast. Last week Marjan shared with me her discovery of This American Life, and yesterday I “tuned in”. It’s awesome. You should listen to it. Like my other favourite, RadioLab, it takes a sprawling topic – like “time” or “space” – and shares three or four excellent pieces that relate to that topic.

Yesterday’s foray into This American Life featured an amazing hour on Testosterone, and I found it revealing, affirming, and best of all, relieving. The show starts off with a dude my age talking about having come of age with the weird knowledge that there is something fucked up and a little scary about Men. It was this fellow’s idea to tackle the topic. Not to tell or spoil too much, but it’s a knockout show.

The highest point for me I AM going to spoil right here: a woman who in her twenties becomes a man, starting off with a massive dose of the Hormone of Desire, testosterone, and shares her/his experience. First thing she shares is her astonishment that when checking out the sexual potential of any subway car, she’s turned into a caveman. Whereas once she would look at someone and think, “Oh, she’s pretty. What’s she reading? Wish I could talk to her…”, post-testosterone, she wants to just fuck everybody on the car who is vaguely attractive! A second anecdote has her finding out how HARD it is to not turn and check out a babe on the street, despite her being a former woman and a feminist. She resists for an entire block and then turns to visually sample someone’s rack. I laughed out loud! Yes, I thought! It’s not just me! And it’s not all my fault!

Here’s a slice of the show, if you’re innarested. The entire thing can be heard here, and the show’s website is here.

The relevant music for this post was not hard to decide upon: Moe Berg has been one of my favourite songwriters since The Pursuit of Happiness’s first record, largely because he tackles this thorny topic with aplomb, regulary. On their first record he summed up my experience of sexuality at 19 in a series of blasting rawk songs – one, say, about feeling bad that a friend feels pressured to give head to an asshole boyfriend, another about hating sex for the way it can hurt, and these next two.

Walking In The Woods – about seeing and instantly loving a woman on the subway, feeling bad about not getting to meet her. It’s not Berg’s best song, with the surprise ending seeming a little contrived, but there’s a woman inside this dude for sure, just like I think there is in me.

Looking For Girls – about wanting to get laid so bad you might even just rip your wang off and throw it at somebody.

Moe was always able to be BOTH of those guys, and I appreciated that. Maybe those two moods are just variances in testosterone levels from day to day. Maybe it’s the time of year, as Joni sang – or maybe it’s the time of man.

DOS Operating System

Here’s a very odd (read: funny and bad) single I found in a bin. It’s from 1987, self-published, by someone named only “Catherine.” Here’s the lyric – which are printed on the sleeve of the single. I can’t tell if there’s a metaphor in there, or if Catherine was actually an early AI gone way bad.

Operating System

I’ve got a system
a DOS system
that’s operating baby
and I don’t mean maybe

it’s collecting, sorting
and rejecting you baby
cause I’ve got a system
a DOS system

I was once user friendly
but now I’m not baby
cause my system’s been updated
and it’s not overrated

IBM, Honeywell and MAI
dont know my system
my operating system
cause it’s my system baby
my operating system

you can’t break it
you can’t shake it
try if you like
but my system’s been updated
for one great big fight

Fortran Cobol Basic
you name it
don’t speak my language
my operating language

Try to command me
I won’t respond
Even though of you [here's the best part:]
I once was fond

I’ve got a system
a fine new system
that operates and integrates
another new system

So refine your system
your operating system
it will take some time
but you will find
you’ll be on line

to the heart of a system
an operating system
that’s up to date
and will not wait
another generation.

Being Dead Is Not Cool

I’m not sure our vampire friends would agree with that title, but it is the gist of this video, which I stumbled across on youtube: this awesome old man Harold shares his postive-thinking thoughts on a variety of topics in a supergenuine way. For the second little number, he dons some homey wear which makes him look more than a little crazy – but you have to wonder where an old cat like that learned to rap, even if his style is white-circa-1985.

The second one is worth watching to the end, because I’m guess that you, like me, have never heard anyone try and rap an unwieldy URL before. Funny shit. Good guy.

Black Swan Records

There’s a fine podcast available (free) called Music From 100 Years Ago – I may have mentioned it here before. Last week’s episode was a look at “the first African American owned record label”, Black Swan Records, which made a big mark in the early 20’s.

The show is mostly musical selections, with pithy historical contextualizing from the unnamed host.

This kind of stuff is the lifeblood of the internet and the cure for the common radio. Whoever the host is, gosh-bless him. Check it out.

(Just found an essay about the label – find it here.)

F**k School*

This post was previously named after the song by the Replacements, linked to at the bottom. I’ve changed it to the ** censored text due to the endless hits I get from people looking for school-related porn.

-mister zero

I was invited to talk to a class of kids yesterday about learning and learning disabilities and school and success – the usual spiel I love giving. I had a great time, we had a good talk, the kids were fantastic. The part I want to discuss here, though, is a weird bit about which there is a lot to say, and is related to the title of this piece. It’s a circuitous thought, but that’s how I am.

The longer I stay in this field – learning disabilities – the more I believe that LDs are a symptom of a screwed up education system. Here’s the short explanation for your edification:

LDs are a neurological condition that muddle one or a couple of the modes people have for receiving or expressing different types of information – reading, or listening, or whatever – which can make it difficult to deal with certain types of information.

Dyslexia’s a well known type of LD; it interferes with a person’s ability to decode or express words. Another LD may interfere with processing what one hears. Another might interfere with subtler things, like reading facial expressions.

I myself have a weird inability to master number facts – or even to remember number sequences. I caught myself last week singing the lead up to Destination Moon as “10 – 9 – 8 – 6 – 7 – 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1″ – I did it over and over. ADHD’s another kind of LD, which interferes with the ability to pay attention, plan, organize, etc.

What separates LDs from, say, a developmental or intellectual disability is the specific nature of LDs: someone who may not be able to read or write a lick might be a genius who remembers everything he hears. I myself can’t do math with any consistency, but do quite well in life.

LDs are a new and evolving concept – about 40 years old – which has had a great impact on schooling, as we struggle culturally to deal with the idea (in so many ways) that One Size Does Not Fit All. Teach someone the way they learn best, and you’ve saved one person from feeling like a dumbass – and added one more capable citizen to the pool. Schools are getting better and better at treating kids like individuals.

So, I love talking to kids about this idea – I would have loved to hear it when I was young, constantly failing math and science. I tell them that it’s a Thing with a Name, that there is generally a Way Around It (can’t read? get the book read aloud.) and that their area of weakness is not what they ought to focus on. Suck at math? Do your best, get through it, and don’t get a job that needs it. Focus on what you are good at!

The contentious thing I say is that the FAULT in the situation doesn’t lie with the student – it lies with school. LDs are contextual problems: dyslexia’s not a problem in a preliterate farming community, right? A kid with a math problem who began training early as, say, a Buddhist monk (not the one who paid the bills, obviously) wouldn’t have a “disability”, would he? I think that argument is extendable to a great degree. If our culture had evolved differently, perhaps school would have developed different focusses. If dancing and singing were the thing at the centre of our culture/economy/etc, then the good dancers and the good singers would get A’s in school – and the tone-deaf uncoordinated math wiz writing novels on the weekend might be considered a failure. Right?

School’s fault (by which I do not mean an intentional wrongdoing) is that schools have focussed for a long time on certain modes of learning and teaching: much reading, much writing, much math, much sitting still, and much obeying. Certain kids thrive in this, and some fail. The fault doesn’t lie with the students, does it?

So I like to tell kids this: school’s not beamed down to us like some Ten Commandments – it’s created by people making decisions. (It’s crucial to stress that these decision-makers have for the most part been motivated by good ideas and intentions.)

I also like to tell them that the awesome thing about our time and our culture is that they can FIX the school system if they want to get involved. They can become teachers, or politicians, or involved parents, and they can have an impact on this noble and imperfect system.

That Sounds Peachy, Man. Why Fuck School, Exactly?

The bad thing, which I don’t tend to go on about (because it’s complicated, overwhelming, soul-sucking) is that often the people who are in charge of this system – like most people in charge of most systems – don’t actually believe this stuff, not in any active way. At some point there’s too much ego invested for real problems to be dealt with. They wind up protecting a broken system rather than actually serving the needs of our kids.

The night before my presentation, I listened to a podcast of a TVO show about the state of Toronto schools (following that damning report about school safety earlier this year). Good ideas and straight talk were flowing, when parents, teachers and activists spoke. But anytime a politico spoke – former ed minister Snobelin (that piece of shit) and current power holders – the conversation died. Politicians and powerholders have this amazing ability to speak with communicating, and that ability has an amazing ability to ruin discussions. I hate it.

And then during my presentation, a similar thing happened. I was asked to share some thoughts on self-advocacy – a crucial skill for students who learn differently, as they often come up against misunderstanding/ignorance, or simply need to be able to explain how they learn best so that teachers can accomodate them. We were talking about this tricky situation – how to explain what you need, how to stick up for yourself, how to speak effectively to people in power. And a student raised her hand and started to talk about how a friend of hers had “a teacher who was really mean to her …”

The teacher of this class – a great lady, an obviously kind teacher, and the person who’d sought me out and invited me to talk – cut her off before she finished her sentence, saying that “We’re not going to criticize other teachers” and that that wasn’t polite. This is more common than you’d believe – it’s a sacrosanct rule among teachers that gets backs up more than any nails on any chalkboard.

Another student raised her hand and started to tell a story about how she’s been in a split class once and struggled the next year because of it. The teacher again turned it around – abruptly, forcefully – and said “But things worked out, didn’t they?”

I’m not dissing this teacher. She seemed like a great teacher and a lovely person. But it bears pointing this thing out: somehow we’ve got a situation where the Authority of schools seems to need to be above reproach. This social rule is so deep as to have become a matter of etiquette. This, despite the fact that we’ve ALL had at least one terrible teacher in our lives. More likely, most of us can count the exemplary, effective teachers we’ve had on one hand. I’d wager that at least a third of students HATE school. And we can measure the indicators – dropout rates are like 30 percent in Ontario. A similar percentage of new teachers leave the profession before their fifth year. I’d say that those are pretty clear messages: The education system is more than a little broken.

Who’s to blame? Easy: The people who fund schools. The people who work in schools. The people who’ve been to school. The people who make the decisions about how school works. To wit, all of us, except the kids. It follows that it’s our job to fix it.

The good news I shared with the kids is the truth: they CAN grow up and get involved and change things. It’s that sort of dedication that has got us to the point where I can go in and talk to kids like this. It’s that sort of dedicated teacher who invited me to do so. It’s that sort of things that’s improved schools to the extent that they have improved. Don’t misinterpret what I’m saying: I love and respect schools, teachers, and that we can get involved.

But this idea that something good is beyond criticism is deadly and dangerous and works against progress. Telling kids not to talk about their experience of school disables their ability to care about it. Take my word for it, the ones who grow up to become teachers have this silence ingrained and rarely question it. The teachers who go further into the system take it deeper in, and start calling their silence “being political”.

On the TVO show I mentioned, Snobelin, the boneheaded asshole who fucked Ontario’s system and scapegoated teachers brutally in the 90s was spoken to with respect and civility by most of the other panelists, all of whom were living with the devastation he set set in motion. At one brilliant point, though, an activist spoke clearly about blaming him for it, and he responded with a chuckle, saying “Hey, hey, don’t push too hard or I will push back…” She responded with all the righteous fury of a strong and angry mother: “Oh I do wish you would!” He didn’t speak much after that. It was the best moment in the show. It wasn’t polite, or political. It was just honest, and real.

The social rule that teachers and schools shouldn’t be criticized from within needs to be discarded if we’re going to fix things for our kids. Those rules aren’t for the benefit of schools – they’re for the benefit of the people in power. But this is a democracy, yo, and we are required to pull down those people if they can’t do the job. This can’t happen unless we turn our critical minds against bad ideas and our hard words against bad teachers and corrupt politicians.

Let kids talk. We learn more when they talk. The more we learn, the better we teach.

Here’s the relevent song. Listen to the words.

Fuck School – the Replacements

Rhymefest and MJ

This is fun stuff. The whole record’s available here for free.

Mike the Mentor – Rhymefest featuring Michael Jackson

Babe, I’m On Fire

Since you asked – the song that is knocking my socks off right now is a hefty one by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Generally I’m drawn to his pretty songs, but this one rocks hard. I was more than a little impressed to find that a video had been done for it.

Babe, I’m On Fire – Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (from 2003’s Nocturama)

Father says it, mother says it
Sister says it, brother says it
Uncle says it, Auntie says it
Everyone at the party says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The horse says it, the pig says it
The judge in his wig says it
The fox and the rabbit
And the nun in her habit says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

My mate Bill Gates says it
The President of the United States says it
The slacker and the worker
The girl in her burqa says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The general with his tank says it
The man at the bank says it
The soldier with his rocket
And the mouse in my pocket says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The drug-addled wreck
With a needle in his neck says it
The drunk says it, punk says it
The brave Buddhist monk says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

Hit me up, baby, and knock me down
Drop what you’re doing and come around
We can hold hands till the sun goes down
Cause I know
That you
And I
Can be
Together
Cause I love you

The blind referee says it
The unlucky amputee says it
The giant killer bee
Landing on my knee says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The cop with his breathalyser
The paddy with his fertiliser
The man in the basement
That’s getting a taste for it says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The fucked-up Rastafarian says it
The dribbling libertarian says it
The sweet little Goth
With the ears of cloth says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe’ I’m on fire

The cross-over country singer says it
The hump-backed bell ringer says it
The swinger, the flinger
The outraged right-winger says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The man going hiking says it
The misunderstood Viking says it
The man at the rodeo
And the lonely old Eskimo says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

[Chorus]

The mild little Christian says it
The wild Sonny Liston says it
The pimp and the gimp
And the guy with the limp says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The blind piano tuner says it
The Las Vegas crooner says it
The hooligan mooner
Holding a schooner says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The Chinese contortionist says it
The backyard abortionist says it
The poor Pakistani
With his lamb Bhirriani says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The hopeless defendant says it
The toilet attendant says it
The pornographer, the stenographer
The fashion photographer says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The college professor says it
The vicious cross-dresser says it
Grandma and Grandpa
In the back of the car says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

[Chorus]

The hack at the doorstep says it
The midwife with her forceps says it
The demented young lady
Who is roasting her baby
On the fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The athlete with his hernia says it
Picasso with his Guernica says it
My wife with her furniture
Everybody!
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The laughing hyena says it
The homesick polish cleaner says it
The man from the Klan
With a torch in his hand says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The Chinese herbologist says it
The Christian apologist says it
The dog and the frog
Sitting on a log says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The foxhunting toff says it
The horrible moth says it
The doomed homosexual
With the persistent cough says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

[Chorus]

The Papist with his soul says it
The rapist on a roll says it
Jack says it, Jill says it
As they roll down the hill
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The clever circus flea says it
The sailor on the sea says it
The man from the Daily Mail
With his dead refugee says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The hymen-busting Zulu says it
The proud kangaroo says it
The koala, the echidna
And the platypus too says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The disgraced country vicar says it
The crazed guitar picker says it
The beatnik, the peacenik
The apparachick says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The deranged midnight stalker says it
Garcia Lorca says it
The hit man, Walt Whitman
And the haliototic talker says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

[Chorus]

The wine taster with his nose says it
The fireman with his hose says it
The pedestrian, the equestrian
The tap-dancer with his toes says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The beast in the beauty pageant
The pimply real estate agent
The beach-comber, the roamer
The girl in a coma says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The old rock’n'roller
With his two-seater stroller
And the fan in the van
With the abominable plan says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The menstruating Jewess says it
The nervous stewardess says it
The hijacker, the backpacker
The cunning safecracker says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The sports commentator says it
The old alligator says it
The tennis pro with his racquet
The loon in the straight jacket
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

[Chorus]

The butcher with his cleaver says it
The mad basket weaver says it
The jaded boxing writer
And the glass-jawed fighter says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The old town cryer says it
The inveterate liar says it
The pilchard, the bream
And the trout in the stream
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The war correspondent says it
The enthused and the despondent says it
The electrician, the mortician
And the man going fishin’ says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The cattleman from Down Under says it
The patriot with his plunder says it
Watching a boat of full of refugees
Sinking into the sea
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The silicone junky says it
The corporate flunky says it
The Italian designer
With his rickshaw in China says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

[Chorus]

The trucker with his juggernaut says it
The lost astronaut says it
The share cropper, the bent copper
The compulsive shopper says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

The Viennese vampire says it
The cowboy round his campfire says it
The game show panellist
The Jungian analyst says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

Warren says it, Blixa says it
The lighting guy and mixer says it
Mick says it, Marty says it
Everyone at the party says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on Fire

The hairy arachnophobic says it
The scary agoraphobic says it
The mother, the brother
And the decomposing lover says
Babe, I’m on fire
Babe, I’m on fire

Forward and Reply

Less poetic than the robot poem I posted an hour or so ago, but here’s an email exchange from today. Answering chain emails is a great way to stop receiving them. Most recent first, as those things tend to go.

Re: Taxes and then some.

I like the “how much is a billion” exercise, but the antitax thing is silly. 100 years ago there were less taxes, for sure – but there was also no welfare, no health care, crazy people were locked up to die, school was rudimentary in the extreme, roads were not paved, highways didn’t exist, homes didn’t have running water or electricity, nobody got preventive medicine, parks were only for whites, it was legal to beat your kids or for a man to rape his wife, and native kids were routinely stolen from their parents, sent to schools to be abused, and beaten for speaking their own language.

And the politicians were still screwing us and lining their pockets.

If there’s a problem with politicians, we should exercise our right to get involved with political reform. The resentment of taxes is understandable when we see our money being wasted/stolen – but the anti-tax sentiment generally results in a a conservative government.

Last time we went for the “less taxes” bait in Ontario, we each got 200 bucks – and our hospitals, schools and welfare systems suffered (ie. our children, our sick, and our poor, including the disabled ie. my sister).

Government didn’t get any less expensive or offensive.

Government needs to be accountable, and we should be kicking its butt all the time. But don’t kid yourself that we shouldn’t pay taxes. When used correctly, taxes are called “sharing”.

Fwd: Taxes and then some!

  > American ditty on taxes … but same applies here …
>
> The next time you hear a politician use the
> word ‘billion’ in a casual manner, think about
> whether you want the ‘politicians’ spending
> YOUR tax money.
> A billion is a difficult number to comprehend,
> but one advertising agency did a good job of
> putting that figure into some perspective in
> one of its releases.
>
>
> A. A billion seconds ago it was 1959.
>
> B. A billion minutes ago Jesus was alive.
>
> C. A billion hours ago our ancestors were
> living in the Stone Age.
>
> D. A billion days ago no-one walked on the earth on two feet.
>
> E. A billion dollars ago was only 8 hours and
> 20 minutes, at the rate our government is spending it.
>
> While this thought is still fresh in our brain, let’s take a look at
> New Orleans . It’s amazing what you can learn with some simple
> division.
>
> Louisiana Senator, Mary Landrieu (D), is presently asking the Congress
> for $250 BILLION to rebuild New Orleans . Interesting number, what
> does it mean?
>
> A. Well, if you are one of 484,674 residents of
> New Orleans (every man, woman, child), you
> each get $516,528.
>
> B. Or, if you have one of the 188,251 homes in
> New Orleans, your home gets $1,329,787.
>
> C. Or, if you are a family of four, your family
> gets $2,066,012.
>
> Washington , D.C .. HELLO!!! … Are all your calculators broken??
>
>
>
> Tax his land,
> Tax his wage,
> Tax his bed in which he lays.
> Tax his tractor,
> Tax his mule,
> Teach him taxes is the rule.
> Tax his cow,
> Tax his goat,
> Tax his pants,
> Tax his coat.
>
> Tax his ties,
> Tax his shirts,
> Tax his work,
> Tax his dirt.
>
> Tax his tobacco,
> Tax his drink,
> Tax him if he tries to think.
>
> Tax his booze,
> Tax his beers,
> If he cries,
> Tax his tears.
>
> Tax his bills,
> Tax his gas,
> Tax his notes,
> Tax his cash.
>
> Tax him good and let him know
> That after taxes, he has no dough.
>
> If he hollers,
> Tax him more,
> Tax hi m until he’s good and sore.
>
> Tax his coffin,
> Tax his grave,
> Tax the sod in which he lays.
> Put these words upon his tomb,
> ‘Taxes drove me to my doom!’
>
> And when he’s gone,
> We won’t relax,
> We’ll still be after the inheritance TAX!!
> Accounts Receivable Tax
> Building Permit Tax
> CDL License Tax
> Cigarette Tax
> Corporate Income Tax
> Dog License Tax
> Federal Income Tax
> Federal Unemployment Tax (FUTA)
> Fishing License Tax
> Food License Tax
> Fuel Perm it Tax
> Gasoline Tax
> Hunting License Tax
> Inheritance Tax
> Inventory Tax
> IRS Interest Charges (tax on top of tax),
> IRS Penalties (tax on top of tax),
> Liquor Tax,
> Luxury Tax,
> Marriage License Tax,
> Medicare Tax,
> Property Tax,
> Real Estate Tax,
> Service charge taxes,
> Social Security Tax,
> Road Usage Tax (Truckers),
> Sales Taxes,
> Recreational Vehicle Tax,
> School Tax,
> State Income Tax,
> State Unemployment Tax (SUTA),
> Telephone Federal Excise Tax,
> Telephone Federal Universal Service Fee Tax,
> Telephone Federal, State and Lo cal Surcharge Tax,
> Telephone Minimum Usage Surcharge Tax,
> Telephone Recurring and Non-recurring Charges Tax,
> Telephone State and Local Tax,
> Telephone Usage Charge Tax,
> Utility Tax,
> Vehicle License Registration Tax,
> Vehicle Sales Tax,
> Watercraft Registration Tax,
> Well Permit Tax,
> Workers Compensation Tax.
>
> STILL THINK THIS IS FUNNY?
> Not one of these taxes existed 100 years ago,
> and our nation was the most prosperous in the world.
> We had absolutely no national debt, had the largest middle class in
> the world, and Mom stayed home to raise the kids.
>
> What happened? Can you spell ‘politicians!’
>
> And I still have to ‘press
> 1′ for English.
>
> I hope this goes around Canada at least 100 times
>
> What the heck happened?????

—–

*There’s an interesting article in the nature of these endlessly forwarded things – read through it with an eye to figuring out what the original email was and what was added in at each iteration. I especially like the “And I still have to press 1 for English” line – reminds me of Grandpa Simpson’s “PS: I am not a crackpot!”

sension

Dim, and die tonight?

Wind, sleet. The branches sway,

This drizzling three-day January thaw,

—–

The above poem was sent to me in an email from a stranger. Some computer blip stuck a viagara ad in the middle, but the beauty was unmarred. God bless the robot poets.