It's the talking animals again

For the first Friday of the first official federal government shutdown (as opposed to what our Congressmorons do by way of work avoidance the rest of the time), I thought we all could use a laugh or two.

And since some of us—federal employees deemed non-essential, and people whose work hours are being cut back in anticipation of slack time from lack of business from said furloughed governmental employees—have more time on our hands, what would hit the spot better than yet another site with animal memes.

So here’s ANIMALS TALKING IN ALL CAPS. Of course.

I’m not exactly sure what the significance is of all caps—yes, some of them are clearly yelling; but some not so much.

Still—in these trying times, anything that amuses without involving a politician is at least worth a look.

Red October down

Tom Clancy has died at age 66, which means that the shelves of “military thrillers” that he pretty well pioneered is going to be left to lesser writers, of the testosterone-infused cookie-cutter variety. Clancy had a style and a verisimilitude to his writing that I expect will not be easy to replace.

I read his debut novel, The Hunt for Red October, when it was in galley proofs and being shopped around Hollywood. Pretty heady stuff for a first effort, and for something coming out of the Naval Institute Press. It’s not really my cup of tequila, but Clancy completely grabbed me with the pace. Seriously—it was indeed a page turner.

I have to say that the film eventually made (not by my employer) was a disappointment; for one thing, it never really was a hunt at all, the way it was in the book. The suspense factor was considerably lower. Plus—well, I like Connery fine, but his Scottish accent as Captain Ramius was just distracting. (Well—maybe that was just their way of showing that he was a Lithuanian amongst Russians? No, probably not.)

Clancy kind of disappeared up his own stealth propulsion system as his career progressed, but—fair dues—he was a storyteller of style and verve.

Shutdown blues: park it somewhere else

I thought it rather cherce that yesterday was the 123^rd anniversary of the establishment of Yosemite National Park, an occasion that Google honored with a Google Doodle:

Because of course Yosemite, and all national parks, is closed until Congress gets its collective head out of its own butt.

So it’s going to be a while.

A modest proposal...

You know, as much as I miss living in the DC area, I have to say I’m kind of glad that I’m not there at the moment because just hearing a few snippets of the posturing going on in Congress about using the budget as a weapon against the Affordable Care Act, via NPR, is enough to make me want to reach for the RPG. If I were there I’d be starting a crowdfunding campaign to put out a contract to terminate all 535 of them with extreme prejudice.

Honestly—we’d be doing the world a favor. The pity is that many of them have already spawned, and we’ve got a couple more generations of posturing, venal jellyfish coming down the pike.

Being a Liberal Arts major, naturally I turn to liberal arts methods of dealing with my disgust and fury at these self-serving twits who every year let what should be a normal, routine discussion on how we’re going to fund the country’s operations become a bloody crisis. Every year. Like it’s some enormous surprise. Every year. And while they’re grabbing at news cameras and bloggers, trying to ’splain why their position is anointed by almighty God and everyone else’s comes straight from [insert infernal, anti-American source here], I’m picturing…relief.

Or, at least not having to listen to their crap. I haven’t got as far as actual, you know, good government yet.

Here are my refuges.

I know that if there’s any sort of Higher Power at all, even as these sleazoids flap about in their $2500 suits, $350 haircuts, salon tans and lobbyist-subsidized surgical tune-ups, somewhere there are portraits of each and every one of them, reflecting the ever-increasing repulsiveness of souls so shriveled up as to pawn the lives of millions of Americans (not to mention screw the global economy) to score a few points with their most extreme constituents/paymasters.

Yes—I’m talking a “Picture of Dorian Gray”, times 535. A macabre museum full of paintings that make the most nightmarish expressionism look like a Kodak springtime moment.

In the absence of the Almighty, where are the Photoshoppers out there? They could be putting these together even as I write. They could compete with one another to show the corruption, greed and inhumanity that flow through these politicians’ veins where blood should be. I don’t get why no one’s done this—starting with Ted Cruz and John Boehner.

My second image is of Heracles’ fifth labor: cleaning the stables of King Augeas. The deal was: Heracles had to clean out the filth left by thousands of head of cattle, horses, goats and sheep in the Augean stables…in a single day. It was a dirty job; but back in those days, heroes didn’t stick at a little manure.

Well, okay—they didn’t have to deal with photo ops. But still…

Anyhow, to clean the stables, Heracles tore a hole in the wall at one side of the structure, and another opposite it. Then he dug trenches to divert the rivers Alpheus and Peneus through the stables.

(It worked, but then Augeas reneged on the deal, and eventually Heracles had to effect a do-over, in the form of getting rid of the Stymphalian birds—man-eating creatures that took over the countryside, destroying local crops, eating the citizens and producing highly-toxic, really disgusting guano. So—not too different from Congress, then.)

I wish some modern-day demi-god would run the Potomac through the Capitol—just gunge out all that bullshit accumulated over the past several decades. If some of the Congressional sheep and goats get washed away in the process, so much the better. I’m so sick of all of them—the nation couldn’t help but be improved if most of them were just swept out to the Chesapeake Bay.

No—looking at the magnitude of the problem, I realize that even in my scorn-fueled fantasies that wouldn’t work.

We’re gonna need a bigger river.

Women's voices: May your song always be sung

Well, we’re at the end of September; I’ve got two more wishes for my Voices to share. Then I’ll go into remission.

I’ve always loved Dylan’s “Forever Young”, and I’ve never heard anyone sing it better than Joan Baez.

I first heard it at that concert at Illini Hall, with my friend Gretchen, so it’ll always be associated with my first experience of mid-western summer humidity and cicadas. But it’s a good thing to wish my readers—that ever-youthful approach to life.

And I couldn’t leave you with a better finish than Eva Cassidy’s “How Can I Keep from Singing”.

On some of my worst days in the past ten years, every time I turned to this, I felt like I had it within me to turn things around. Cassidy has that quality in her, and I do hope I pick some of it up whenever I listen to her.

Peace out.

Gratitude Monday: Listening to the voices

After a month of focusing on the Voices that have inspired and comforted me, given me joy and allowed me the occasional escape, I’m grateful to have had them all throughout my life.

Frederica von Stade, Eva Cassidy, Nina Simone, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Bonnie Raitt, Cyndi Lauper, Martina McBride, Cecilia Bartoli, Nana Mouskouri, Linda Ronstadt, Donna Summer, Aretha Franklin—all of these extraordinary women (and many others I couldn’t fit into a mere month), with their amazing voices.

How lucky I’ve been to have come to know them, to sing along with them, to cry beside them.

Thanks, my sisters. Thanks.

Women's voices: Filled to the brim with girlish glee

We’ve had opera; we’ve had blues; we’ve had rock, folk, disco, pop, country and what-not. Time for Gilbert and Sullivan.

My favorite collaboration by them is The Mikado; strictly for the songs. Yeah, “Pour Wand’ring One” from The Pirates of Penzance is lots of fun, but from “If you want to know where we are” to “For he’s gone and married Yum-Yum”, I love every single piece.

And I am known for muttering “I’ve got a little list” as the occasion requires. It’s a great resource, Mikado.

It has a couple of trios; I’m giving you “Three little maids from school”. In this case, the three little maids are Lesley Garrett, Patricia Hodge and Lily Savage. (Video quality isn’t great, but you get my drift.)

Okay—I suppose if you want to get technical, Lily Savage—being Paul O’Grady—might not count as a woman’s voice; but 1) I wouldn’t be the one arguing the point with a Scouser; 2) I like the way Savage blends with Hodge and Garrett (and not much liking Garrett, I really appreciate the counterpoint); and 3) They’re my Voices—why can’t at least one of them be a drag queen?

They do pretty well with the fan work, too.

If you’re some sort of tight-butted purist, you can watch the bit from Mike Leigh’s brilliant Topsy-Turvy. I love that movie, too, not least for the joy of realizing that all the actors are actually singing their parts. Plus, Jim Broadbent is stupendously good.