Send the word to beware

Let’s close out the week with something that marked its hundredth anniversary yesterday. George M. Cohan wrote “Over There” on 7 April 1917, a day after the U.S. declared war on Germany, but it wasn’t published until 1 June of that year.

“Over There” was one of the iconic songs of World War I. It’s kind of pushy, actually—framing a typically brash statement about America’s first foray onto the world stage. Seriously: it’s totally the New World gearing up to sort out the mess the Old World has got itself into. (The Old World View? Ya took yer sweet time about it, didn’t ya? This dynamic repeated itself 24 years later as the U.S. wrapped itself in isolationist splendor until the attack on Pearl Harbor.) I mean, it absolutely announces that “ev’ry son of liberty” will have the Huns on the run in short order. This from a nation that holds military activity of any sort as suspect.

I can’t help but reflect that, 100 years on, and some 72 after the United States carefully crafted alliances and strategies to oppose totalitarianism, we’re looking at an administration that is taking a chain saw to all that and replacing it with a new form of homegrown isolationist totalitarianism whose sole objective is the aggrandizement of those already stupid wealthy at the cost of pretty much everyone else on the planet.

Hey-ho—we’ll have to labor steadfastly for the next year and a half to take back the legislative branch and begin the work of reclaiming democracy for ourselves and our posterity. It’s never over, either over there or over here.

Lab basics

Dunno about you, but since I had oral surgery yesterday and I’m spending a lot of time with an ice pack to my jaw, I could use something apolitical and unobjectionable. Amusing, even. So, here we go.

This came to me under the heading, “Cleaning the Lab”, and I see no reason to change that.

You’re welcome.

The gargoyle on the roof

It is sadly pretty much a given that Republican congressmorons are doing just about everything they can to find ways to avoid speaking with constituents—preferably without looking like the pre-chordates they are. So yesterday this photo made quite the splash:

That’s Darrell Issa, Chairman of the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform (which he has staffed with reps of generous campaign donor industries the committee is meant to oversee), R-California 49^th District. He’s standing on the roof of his district office, dodging the people below him, outside the building. They’re his constituents, ones who gather every Tuesday to protest his craven actions in Congress. He’s photographing them, probably to turn over to ICE for possible deportation, or at least to post to security guards so they can block any potential office visits. My money’s on him not coming down until the voters have been chased off the premises by guards or the cops.

At any rate, this photo on Twitter sparked some really great replies. Viz.:

(Issa was charged with both grand theft, auto, and with insurance fraud by arson in the past, although he beat the rap.)

What a maroon.

Grey matter

Following the past week when the Kleptocrat served notice to friends and foes alike that we’ve decided to default on the Cold War that every president since 1948 has tried to win, I think we deserve something kind of silly to take our minds off it.

And what better than a die-hard supporter to make the statement?

I’m out.

Gratitude Monday: Thunder in the streets

Today is Memorial Day, which means that yesterday the area around DC reverberated to the roar of motorcycles of Rolling Thunder. It was, in fact, the 30^th anniversary of the event formally known as the Rolling Thunder Run to the Wall, in which thousands of men and women (but, to be fair, mostly men) ride their choppers to the Vietnam Memorial on the National Mall.

There’s a bit of an outlaw feel to this commemoration. As, I suppose, is only right: the event’s mission is to keep alive the memory of the POWs and MIAs of the Vietnam War, a mission that seemed from the beginning to resonate in biker clubs.

Last year I lived within a stone’s throw of the Pentagon, where the riders gathered in their thousands in preparation for the run on the Sunday before Memorial Day. It’s a stunning sight, even if you think you’re prepared for it. This year, on Saturday I was running errands in Fairfax and came across clusters of bikers gathering at a parking lot so as to be able to form ranks to ride in to Arlington on I-66. Kind of like a defiant funeral cortege.

The hair and beards are greyer now, but the resolve is not one whit weakened by time or age. And younger riders dot the ranks to carry on the tradition.

Here’s video from this year’s run—frankly, the music sucks, and I wish they’d just left the sound of the engines, but it still gives you an idea.

Last year, the bikers came to Arlington National Cemetery the next day to pay their respects to their comrades. I got a few shots that give you an idea:

This year, when we have someone holding titular command of all armed forces who’s spectacularly unqualified to send men and women into harm’s way, and to care for them after they return, I’m grateful for the roar of Rolling Thunder, and the riders who refuse to go gentle into any dark night.