The Other Marketplace

05. October 2008 · Comments Off on The Other Marketplace · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, General, Memoir, Working In A Salt Mine..., World

Blondie and I went out to what may be possibly the most marvelous permanently-revolving street market in a permanent place, this afternoon: Busey’s Flea Market, on 1-35 North, along about the other-wise invisible town of Schertz. It’s about fifteen minutes brisk driving outside the San Antonio city limits. As Blondie describes it, it’s a yard sale on steroids, a range of three long parallel sheds extending uphill from the frontage road. The front of Busey’s is adorned with a gigantic concrete armadillo. It’s been freshly repainted this year, business must be good, although one of the regular stallholders lamented that the rents had been raised, which drove out a certain number of old regulars. Damn if I could tell the difference, though. Actually, it seemed like the pickings were unnaturally good. The stall with the WWII and German aviation memorabilia was as unattended as ever. Will has tried to buy stuff there, and been frustrated because no one can ever locate the person authorized to make sales. The guy with the nice and orderly selection in books was having a going-out-of-business sale, but that was the only harbinger of immanent change.

See, there are a number of different tiers of vendor at Busey’s – the well-established ones with medium-deep pockets and long-term plans have a space in one of the sheds, with a locking door, although what sort of permanence that can mean, when the shed is roofed in un-insulated tin and the walls are made out of something-not-very-permanent-at all… 2 x 4’s and tissue paper, I suspect. Never mind – the permanent vendors have their stalls packed so full, and their premises so well-organized it is obvious they are not going anywhere soon. Not without the aid of a couple of moving-vans and some strong backs, at least. Carpets, hardware, antiques, military surplus, books, kitchenware, Mexican ceramics … and all that. And more. Much, much more. There are a also a good few vendors of fast food – ice cream, hot dogs, BBQ sandwiches, chili-cheese fries (an interesting and artery-clogging combination, sort of the entrée-course variant of a deep-fried Mars-bar) and thank god, cold water. There is also a curendera/palm-reader advertising her ability to tell the past, present and future, a pet store with an array of birds, and today a guy outside the venue, offering Chihuahua puppies – very cute, light-chocolate colored with white feet. Yeah, The Lesser Weevil would have liked them very much. “For me? Thanks very much for the lunch!” The cats, however, would have preferred the birds.

After the permanent, enclosed stalls, there are the tables, under one of three long awnings, rambling up the hill. People back their cars and pick-ups up to their pitch, and unpack what they have – plants, ironwork, DVDs, spurious folk art, tools, garden ornaments, house wares, small and large appliances— practically anything you could imagine. Blondie insists that the pros – who hit all the yard sales, swooping down with lightning fast-speed and scooping up the good stuff — they show up at Busey’s with their gleanings within a day or so. They also hit the various ‘everything marked down-absolutely must go! sales, and thrift stores instantly when the new donations are put out. Their stock must come from somewhere, after all. Some of this still has the original tags still on it. These vendors, although regular, have the chore of packing it all up and taking it away every Sunday afternoon. Be warned – they usually start at this by about 3 PM.

The last tier of vender must be those people who are not regulars, who have a table for a weekend only. Dad always said that those are the vendors whom are most likely to offer really good bargains – they just want to get rid of it for a so-so price. Unlike the regular vendors with a permanent pitch, with doors that can be locked, they are not canny and not particularly knowledgeable about what they have to vend. This is where the stunning coups are made, where people buy something for a couple of dollars, and turn up with it on “Antiques Road-show” a couple of years later. This afternoon, Blondie scored a pressed-glass bowl of deep black glass, nearly half an inch thick. She got it for $12 dollars, and according to one of the permanent dealers, something like that could sell at Busey’s for about thrice that. Deity only knows how much to an expert – but we liked it. It met the criterion of being strong and thick enough to kill someone if you hit them with it.

Me, I would only love to be asked to host a TV show where the challenge would be to entirely fit out a whole house with the gleanings from a place like Busey’s and assorted other local thrift stores. Furniture, linens, curtains, knick-knacks, wall art, kitchen fittings, china and glass – the whole thing, at drop-dead bargain rates .

I don’t have an agent – if the Home and Garden Network is interested, let us know through this website… Oh, and we were only going there to look for drawer pulls for the 1880-1920 dressing table that Blondie picked up for $25 dollars at a yard sale. She beat the pros to it. The backs of the drawers are all dove-tailed… but the front of it was such a wreck, that’s why the pros gave it a miss.

Just for Fun – 101 Uses for an Antique Tractor

03. October 2008 · Comments Off on Just for Fun – 101 Uses for an Antique Tractor · Categories: Ain't That America?, Fun and Games, General Nonsense, Technology

(courtesy of Al Past, another IAG Member, and also cross-posted at the IAG Blog)

The Juggernaut

02. October 2008 · Comments Off on The Juggernaut · Categories: Domestic, Fun and Games, General, General Nonsense, Media Matters Not, Politics, Rant, sarcasm, That's Entertainment!, World

The juggernaut was-and still is, according to a quick internet search, an enormous, towering wagon, with the image of a locally-worshipped Indian deity enthroned at the very peak of it, under a vast canopy, which is taken out for a grand procession once yearly, pulled by devotees through the streets of the city. This is no quick spin around the block and back again, for this wagon is enormous, clumsy, and heavy. Picture Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra, arriving to meet Mark Anthony, or the Persian emperor Darius grand entrance in 300; it’s an arresting image, which must be why it was used to indicate a certain sort of power and will.

And it also comes to my mind, increasingly often, this election season. Rather than picturing our very dear mainstream press creatures as deep-sea divers so far into the tank for Obama that they must have a couple of handlers and a pump feeding oxygen down to them, now I visualize the Obama campaign vehicle as a garganutuan, creaking juggernaut, pulled along by the masses of our media, along with lashings of the more loudmouthed and stupider popular entertainers. I visualize them straining at the chains, the ropes that bind them to the axles of this impossibly heavy vehicle as they tug it painfully onward, as they push at the back of it. They lean their shoulders to the wheels, willing the tottering structure ever onward towards the finishing line. They will accomplish this, of course – it is in the power of their will to move the One to glorious victory, and never mind those concepts – or those among them who fall under the wheels or are crushed against the side of a stone building as the juggernaut lurches briefly out of control.

I have honest to god never seen it as bad as this, as blatant – and I was paying attention during the last election. As hard as they could, the mainstream media couldn’t make the sow’s ear that was John Kerry into a presidential silk purse. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though – and they weren’t helped that he appeared to have all the actual, personal charm and charisma of Frank Burns and Eddie Haskell put together.

This time, they appear to have thrown any pretense at impartiality under the wheels. What can you think after seeing the storm of vicious editorials and outright fantasies about Governor Palin that somehow appeared out of the clear blue, upon being named to the VP seat? How can anyone not compare and contrast the energetic digging into her past, personal life and professional career in the last few weeks, with the elaborate disinterest in Senator Obama’s over the last 18 month and not begin to wonder if there is something just a little unbalanced about this sense of focus.

It’s not been unknown for members of the working press to have sentimental favorites – look, they about got down and drooled over John. F. Kennedy, and the deity knoweth some of the old press guys and gals still view him through a hagiographic haze. Similarly, Lyndon Johnson was so universally despised by the press and the intelligentsia that I (as a middle school kid just getting interested in that kind of stuff) rather felt sorry for him. Nixon was loathed, and Gerald Ford lampooned as a clumsy oaf – but in between all that, the serious media still were capable of some kind of detachment. Well, mostly – and mostly those in the middle of the road, not veering off onto the lunatic fringe. Which sense of impartiality still lingered long among us- but it just seems now the lunatic fringe is driving the whole thing. And that sense of even-handed detachment is what the media is losing, or has already lost this season. It’s gone; no one who has been paying attention the last couple of weeks, months, years – no one believes that mainstream media is neutral and independent any more. They are become the organ of state, or the state that they hope will be, once they drag the juggernaut over the finish line.

It’s as if NPR and the New York Times were about to morph into Pravda, or the state media in one of those third-world nations where el Presidente’s cousin is the head of the national press council – and no one dare print or broadcast a critical word about either of them. What a pity – for a lot of the last century, being a journalist in the mainstream American media was a respected profession . . . and now they are reduced to shoveling out propaganda and dragging the juggernaut along.

An Old Mission Church Half Tumbled Down – Part Two

01. October 2008 · Comments Off on An Old Mission Church Half Tumbled Down – Part Two · Categories: General, History, Old West, World

That most northern, fractious and rebelliously-inclined of those northern provinces of the nation of Mexico was in ferment in the 1830s, some of which might be chalked up to the presence of settlers who had come to Texas from the various United States looking for land. Texas had plenty of it to go around, and a distinct paucity of residents. Entrepreneurs, such as Stephen Austin’s father were allotted a tract of land, based upon how many people they might induce to come and settle on it, to build houses and towns, businesses and roads. All they need to do was to swear to a new allegiance – initially to the King of Spain, later to the Mexican government, which was making tentative and eventually unsuccessful efforts to model itself after the United States’ experience in democracy. Oh, and convert to Catholicism, at least on paper, although most American settlers were assured that they would be left alone thereafter, as afar as matters religious.

Texas was thinly settled, and a long, long way from the seat of authority in Mexico City anyway. So, Americans trickled in over two decades; undoubtedly many like Stephen Austin were honestly grateful for the free land and consideration from the Mexican authorities, and initially had no thought of trafficking in rebellion. Probably equal numbers of Americans did have an eye on the main chance in coming to Texas, as the initially small and poor United States spilled over the Appalachians, purchased a great tract of the continent from the French, and began to think it was their unique destiny to reach from sea to shining sea.

But the land drew them – and it was a beautiful, beautiful place, that part of Texas that forms the coastal plain. Wooded in the east, in the manner that the American settlers were accustomed to, crossed and watered by shallow rivers, a country of gently rolling meadows and hills, fairly temperate, especially in comparison to more northerly climes. Winters were mild – there was not the snow and brutal cold that forced a three or four month long halt to all agricultural and herding pursuits. The sky seemed endless, a pure clear blue, with great drifts of clouds sailing through it.

And so three men came to Texas in the 1830s, three men of different backgrounds and experience, and all of them looking for a second chance after various personal, political and business screw-ups. One more thing had they in common – they all died on a dark March morning in a single place, within the space of an hour or so.

James Bowie was the one who came first; a hot-tempered roughneck with a series of distinctly shady business dealings in his immediate past – which included slave-smuggling and real-estate fraud. He was famous for the wicked-long hunting knife which he always carried, after a particularly bloody brawl in which he had been armed with a clasp knife, which he opened with his teeth (losing one in the process) while gripping his opponent one-handed. A charismatic scoundrel, a bad-hat, a violent man, occasionally given to moments of chivalry; he does not come across as someone whose company would have been totally pleasant. It might aptly be said of him, as it was of Lord Byron, he was ‘mad, bad and dangerous to know’.

William Barrett Travis was the second; almost a generation younger, but driven by similar impulses, grandiose ambitions, and with an ego almost as big as Texas itself. He would also not have been very good company, laboring as he did under the conviction that he was meant to do great things. Moody and impulsive, somewhat hot-tempered, he had come to Texas alone, abandoning a wife and two children and set up a law practice in Anahuac, the official port of entry for Texas. He drifted into a faction opposed to the Mexican rule of Texas, and in contention with the local Mexican authorities.

Davy Crockett – who rather preferred to be known as David Crockett, as a gentleman, rather than as a simple, blunt-spoken frontiersman — was in his lifetime the most famous of the three, and also a latecomer to Texas. A politician and a personality, he was a restless spirit, never quite entirely content with where he was, or what he was doing for long. One senses that he would have been the most congenial of the three: relatively soft-spoken, adept with words – a skilled politician. He played the fiddle, and probably did not wear a coonskin cap or a fringed leather jacket; he looks quite the polished, genteel and well-dressed gentleman in the best-known portrait of him, in high collar and cravat, and well-tailored coat.

And so by different paths, they came to the Alamo, a sprawling and tumbledown mission compound, much too large to be defended by the relative handful of men and artillery pieces they had with them. They stayed to defend it, for reasons that they perhaps didn’t articulate very well to themselves, save for in Travis’s immortal letters. Bowie was deathly ill as the siege began, Crockett was new-come to the country, in search of adventure more than glory. None of them perfect heroes by any standard, then or now… but of such rough clay are legends made of.

Perhaps this speech, from the 2004 movie articulates it best, what they came for, and why they stayed.

An Old Mission Church Half Tumbled Down

26. September 2008 · Comments Off on An Old Mission Church Half Tumbled Down · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, History, Military, Old West, World

That is just what it was, when the building which is the premier landmark in San Antonio – and perhaps all of the rest of Texas – first achieved fame immortal, in the short and bloody space of an hour and a half, just before sunrise on a chill spring morning in 1836. People who come to visit today, with an image in their mind from the movies about it – from John Wayne’s version, and the more recent 2004 movie, or from sketch-maps in books about the desperate, fourteen-day siege are usually taken back to discover that it is so small. So I know, because I thought so the first time I visited it as an AF trainee on town-pass in 1978. And it is small – one of those Spanish colonial era buildings, in limestone weathered to the color of old ivory. That chapel is only a remnant of a sprawling complex of buildings. Itself and the so-called ‘Long Barracks’ are the only things remaining of what was once called the Mission San Antonio de Valero, given it’s better known appellation by a company of Spanish cavalry stationed there in the early 19th century – they called it after the cottonwood trees around their previous station of Alamo de Parras, in Coahuila. It was the northernmost of a linked chain of five mission complexes, threaded like baroque pearls on a green ribbon, and originally established to tend to the spiritual needs and the protection of local Christianized Indian tribes. The missions were secularized at the end of the 18th century, the lands around distributed to the people who had lived there. Their chapels became local parish churches – while the oldest of them all became a garrison.

There is in existence a birds-eye view map of San Antonio in 1873, a quarter century after the last stand of Travis and Bowie’s company that shows a grove of trees in rows behind the apse of the old chapel building. In the year that the map was made, the chapel and the remaining buildings were still a garrison of sorts – an Army supply depot, and the plaza in front of it a marshalling yard. One wonders if any of the supply sergeants of that time or any of the laborers unloading the wagons bringing military supplies up from the coast and designated for the garrisons of the Western frontier forts gave a thought to the building they worked in. Did they think the place was haunted, perhaps? Did they hear whispers and groans in the dark, think anything of odd stains on the floors and walls, of regular depressions in the floor where defensive trenches had been dug at the last? What did they think, piling up crates, barrels and boxes, in the place that the final handful of survivors had made their last stand, against the tide of Santa Anna’s soldiers flooding over the crumbling walls?

Probably not much– whitewash covers a lot. And a useful, sturdy building is just that – useful. By the 1870s, those Regular Army NCOs working in there were veterans of the Civil War, and perhaps haunted enough by their own war, just lately over. The growing city had spread beyond those limits that William Travis, David Crocket and James Bowie would have seen, looking down from those very same walls.

In 1836 that cluster of buildings, and the old church with it’s ornate niches and columns twisted like lengths of barley sugar sat a little distance from the outskirts of the best established provincial town in that part of Spanish and Mexican Texas, out in the meadows by a loop of clear, narrow river fringed by rushes and willows. San Antonio de Bexar, mostly shortened then to simply “Bexar”, was then just a close clustered huddle of adobe brick buildings around two plazas and the stumpy spire of the church of San Fernando. It is a challenge to picture it, in the minds eye, to take away the tall glass buildings all around, the lawns and carefully tended flowering shrubs, to ignore the sounds of traffic, the SATrans busses belching exhaust, and see it as it might have appeared, a hundred and sixty years ago. I think there would have been cottonwood trees, close by. Thirsty trees, they plant themselves across the west, wherever there is water in plenty, their leaves trembling incessantly in the slightest breeze. There might have also have been some fruit orchards planted nearby – the 1873 map certainly shows them. But otherwise, it would have been open country, rolling meadows star-scattered with trees, and striped across by two roads; the Camino Real, the King’s road, towards Nacogdoches in the east, and the road towards the south, towards the Rio Grande. In the distance to the north, a long blue-green rise of hills marks the edge of what today is called the Balcones Escarpment. It is the demarcation between a mostly flat and fertile plain which stretches to the Gulf Coast, and the high and windswept plains of the Llano, haunted by fierce and war-loving Indians.

This is the place where three very different men came to, in that fateful year that the Texians rebelled against the rule of the dictatorship of what the knowledgeable settlers of Texas called the “Centralistas” – the dictatorship of the central government in Mexico City.

(More to follow)

The Bandar-Log

23. September 2008 · Comments Off on The Bandar-Log · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, My Head Hurts, Politics, Rant, sarcasm, World

Here we sit in a branchy row, thinking of beautiful things we know;
Dreaming of deeds that we mean to do, all complete, in a minute or two—
Something noble and wise and good, done by merely wishing we could…

In following the current twists and turns of the current election season, with particular attention to the hackerish little creeps who think it is an excellent thing to break into email accounts… tell me, why is it a Good Thing and entirely justifiable for people in sympathy with the Obama campaign to break into Governor Palin’s yahoo account, looking for incriminating evidence of dark plots and deeds… but it was a Bad Thing for Richard Nixon’s cabal of plumbers to break into the Watergate looking for incriminating evidence of dark deeds and plots? Oh yes, that was before you were born, probably. But they made a movie about it, so you must have heard about Simply Teh Greatest Political Crime EVER!!!! Just sit down, and think about this real hard. And look up the definition of hypocrisy, while you are at it.

Bottom line, for those of you whose moral sense is situational – if it is a crime for free-lance or paid operatives to break into another party’s HQ, operating office, personal email account… whatever, on a fishing expedition – than it is a crime all the way around, no matter how justified you think you are in your motivation. Those of your friends, teachers, college professors and fellow Kossacks who may have been insisting otherwise? They are wrong. I would advise you to stop listening to people like that.

I would also stop paying much attention to our Major Media Creatures and those who keep popping out of their ol’ golden rolodex to screech about Sarah Palin. Just a quick look down some of those crazier rants (especially the ones by foreigners) about the suddenly front-and-center Governor of Alaska — her relative inexperience, all around tackiness, blue-collar-ness, lack of capital-F feminist credentials, religious beliefs, et cetera gives cause for serious head shaking. Jeeze, people, get a grip! Take a valium. (In the case of Heather Mallick, take a lot of valium. In the case of Sandra Bernhard, a lot of valium, a lot of scotch and please review a basic human anatomy text.) Pouring all this vitriol on someone you probably didn’t even know about three weeks ago seems kind of… I don’t know, unbalanced? She’s only been front and center on the major American political scene for three weeks, and she is already attracting a degree of odium usually reserved for someone who has been around for a bit, and done some bad things. Like a reckless, grandstanding, philanderer with a taste for shady friends. But enough about Bill Clinton.

And then there the not-terribly-surprising discovery by Rusty Shackleford at The Jawa Report that certain alleged and dubious factoids about Governor Palin which suddenly began sprouting like toadstools after a rain were actually planted by the minions and employees of a well-known and well-connected publicity firm, in the sure and certain knowledge that the howler monkeys of the KOSsacks left would fall on them as if on a tasty treat and repeat them incessantly.

All the talk we ever have heard, uttered by bat or beast or bird—
Hide or fin or scale or feather— Jabber it quickly and all together!
Excellent! Wonderful! Once again! Now we are talking just like men!

Of course, once this precious little piece of Astroturf was tracked to it’s originating point, everything got yanked, with the speed of a cartoon character at the end of a long piece of elastic band. Note to self – every time I start to notice the same poisonous little factoid appearing spontaneously and simultaneously in – blog entries and blog comments, from out of the mouths of the dumber Hollywood celebs and the sort of TV commenter who goes from rational to spittle-fleck rant in thirty seconds flat, I will assume that some busy little astoturfers have been at work, behind the scenes. And that someone like Rusty or another enthusiast will be able to track it back to the originating source. It’s not like you can launch damaging rumors without leaving any marks, people. The internet never forgets. The tracks are always there, especially when someone does a screen-capture or downloads a file.

Finally, the recent request from the Big O for his minions to really get out there and go all righteous in confronting those of us who are less than fully enamored – great idea! Yeah, people just love getting hectored and bulled, and called names like ‘racist’ and ‘hater’. My suggestion – put on a leather teddy, spike heels and fishnet stockings. Brandish a leather crop, too. You might not get anywhere politically with that scenario, but at least that part of the audience who is into playing kinky submissive games will get some cheap thrills, while the rest of us look on in amusement.

Damn, did this election season get interesting all of a sudden. Who’d a thunk it possible, back in January, 2008.

Texiana – Three Roads

20. September 2008 · Comments Off on Texiana – Three Roads · Categories: Domestic, General, Literary Good Stuff, Old West, Veteran's Affairs

The Persistence of Plastic Turkey Memory

17. September 2008 · Comments Off on The Persistence of Plastic Turkey Memory · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, Media Matters Not, My Head Hurts, Politics, Rant, sarcasm

A running gag at Tim Blair’s blog over the last five years or so has been reports of the appearance of the eternal bird in the dribblings of various writers, entertainers and columnists. That is, a sneering reference to the pictures of President Bush holding a supposedly plastic turkey, in a series of pictures taken at his surprise Thanksgiving visit to troops in Iraq five years ago. Explained and debunked over and over again by eyewitnesses that it was a real turkey, for display at the steam tables where the main entrée was being dished out, put together by the mess-hall staff and that such displays are actually commonplace at military mess halls… the plasticized version of this meme appears yet again, unscathed, rather like a turkey-shaped Freddy Kruger. The bird is not only the word, it is eternal. (Spotted yet again this very morning, as I contemplated this essay while being dragged around the block by the dogs.)

Obviously, this is a convenient short-hand for the people who enjoy sneering at George W. Bush and are too damned lazy to rustle up something a little more current than the old plastic turkey story. Tim Blair and his commenters get a lot of mileage – and a lot of hearty chortling – but the fact that the meme is still current after five years and a ton of energetic debunking is kind of depressing. It proves that Joseph Goebbels was on to something when he observed the effectiveness of telling a big lie and sticking to it… even at the cost of looking ridiculous. If a story is repeated often enough, it will be believed by a depressingly large number of people: 9/11 was an inside plot by the Bush Administration, Mayor Ray Nagin of New Orleans was completely blameless in the Hurricane Katrina disaster, the 2000 election was stolen, the Swiftboat veterans’ claims about John Kerry were all debunked, that US government were Saddam Hussein’s biggest supplier of military equipment… oh, add your own favorite here, the list is practically endless.

Such memes persist because they are repeated incessantly by all sorts of people, against all available evidence to the contrary. The most depressing aspect is that in a lot of cases they are repeated by media figures that once I would have expected better from – and applauded by audiences that I also expected better of. (Garrison Keillor being a particular offender. I can barely stand to listen to Prairie Home Companion these days, and I used to love that show.) Now I only hope for better. Sad to say, that hope is growing fainter and fainter by the hour… especially over the last two weeks. As if it wasn’t bad enough to suspect our very own dear media folks of being lazy and careless in vetting stories in the last election cycle, as if it wasn’t bad enough that 60 Minutes could air a blatant hit piece just before election day, based on shaky fact-checking and dubious memos in an attempt to throw the election to John Kerry… as if the hurricane of vitriol this time around didn’t reach a new and unexplored depths with the Palin-faked-pregnancy story, now it looks as if mainstream media has moved solidly into place as a propaganda arm of the Obama Democrats.

Not just the dirt-digging on Governor Palin – it’s the asymmetrical dirt-digging. Plus the final edit of her interview with Charles Gibson, with her answers judiciously edited to put the worst complexion on them… (sample of it here) plus the staging of it in the studio, plus his hectoring manner, so very different from his interview with Senator Obama. Really, it does give one pause. Then consider the cover shoot of Senator McCain, for the Atlantic Magazine, with such very artistic and well-considered outtakes doctored by the photographer….

Just some examples from the last couple of weeks… but still, very revealing ones, about the various aspects of the current political scene. I wouldn’t go so far as to make a blanket insistence that the whole lot are in the tank for the Obama campaign… but I sure as hell wouldn’t assume anything about their impartiality, either. Were I a media advisor to a Republican nominee to high office, I’d certainly be advising a quick pre-interview google-search of the interviewer’s name… and for the nominee to bring along his or her own own camera crew.

(Thanks Sigivald – corrected!)

Yet Another Explaination of the Palin Appeal

14. September 2008 · Comments Off on Yet Another Explaination of the Palin Appeal · Categories: General

OK, so I laughed so hard at this I almost shot chardonnay out of my nose…

Courtesy of Rantburg, my source for all things sarcastic and political.

Later – this interesting Youtube version of a certain Disney movie. Watch it quick, before the Mouse Kingdom begins carrying on about copyright infringement… (also courtesty of Rantburg… www.rantburg.com)

Seven Years

11. September 2008 · Comments Off on Seven Years · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, GWOT, History, World

Supposedly, seven years is the time it takes for a human body’s cells to regenerate, to have new cells completely replace the old cells. I don’t know that factoid is true, strictly speaking, or if it just applies to the skin. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that it’s not true at all, but is just one of those curiosities which seems right, if somewhat startling at first thought.

Seven years; long enough for the scar tissue to grow over, for the breaks in the solid rock underpinning our universe to calcify, to heal over – and for us to become accustomed to living in a world without the silhouette of a pair of silver towers gleaming in the sunshine of a cool September morning. Long enough to become used to the absence, and accustomed to the wrenching changes, to acclimate ourselves to a new reality. But not long enough to become used to the absence, to the space in a life where a husband, a wife, a son or daughter, or a friend used to be. Never long enough to forget the sight of a tall building – first one and then the other – falling into itself, dissolving into a dark blizzard-cloud of smoke and debris, and taking the lives of thousands of people with it. No, never forget that; it’s the vision I see now, whenever I listen to Mozarts’ Requiem.

Seven years of change since that morning, the morning when our world shuddered and for many of us, wrenched itself onto a new track. The changes have come so thick and fast, that the glorious September morning now and again seems to have happened a couple of decades ago. Two wars, one which seems now to be perilously won and the other still in balance, two presidential elections, the rise of a new media, the slow implosion of the old – the aftermath of a violent hurricane devastating the Louisiana-Mississippi Gulf Coast, (and another one which at this very moment seems destined to hit the Texas coast like a pile-driver) and any number of other events which strutted and fretted for their moment on the national and international stage; all of this moved the events of one day, the day of 9-11-01 away from a current event and into the pages of history.

But for today, and just for today, we set down the burdens of today for a moment, and remember.

(The letter that I wrote about that day is here, in the old MT archive)

The Discrete Charm of the Frontier Woman

09. September 2008 · Comments Off on The Discrete Charm of the Frontier Woman · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, History, Media Matters Not, Old West, Politics, World

I understand that some of our foreign observers generally are having a bit of trouble grokking the attraction of Sarah Palin amongst the blue-collar electorate in a variety of American locales not known for exhibiting that Olde Worlde Cosmopolitan Charm. Lord knows our very own dear political and media elite are having much the same kind of problem. Kind of fun to watch them twist and squirm in the icy cold wind, as they slowly realize that the rest of the ’08 campaign will not be a walk in the park for the Fresh Prince of Chicago – that the anticipated coronation might have to be put on hold… with luck for the foreseeable future. I ought not to enjoy the sight so much… but I – aside from the collection of Japanese prints and affection for Bach’s Brandenburg concerti – am a person with simple taste in amusements. This election season is turning out to be way too much fun.

OK, back to my main point – the reasons why we kind of like Sarah Palin. There are any number of considered reasons to not like her political stance. Some may be put off by the adamantly ant-abortion bit, or a distinct lack of enthusiasm for big-government solutions to real world problems, and a certain lack of experience with persistent and endemic problems in mega-big Americian cities. When I think of desperately broken inner cities with huge gang problems, endemic poverty and the occasional outbreak of rioting, Juneau, AK is about the last place which comes to mind. Something about extreme heat and extreme cold keeping people law-abiding, mostly because going out and breaking the law in a serious way is just too damn uncomfortable.

These days, when we turn on the tube or go to a movie, we get the strong woman whose personal life is a mess, or a strong woman whining about the glass ceiling, or having the vapors because someone said something, or some dithery and charming ingénue, eaten up with equally charming neuroses. Or any one of a number of other stereotypes… which are, frankly, getting a little boring. In real life, in flyover country, most of us know a Sarah Palin, sometimes a great many of them; strong and competent women with happy marriages, well-adjusted families, and a long career of service to their communities… or for the places where they worked. They are not nearly as rare as they might appear – it’s just that the job openings for governor and VP-nominee are not nearly enough to absorb them all, and to be honest, the interest of the media is a sometime and fleeting thing. So what it is it about a hitherto mostly obscure local politician, with a personal story arc that looks like something assembled from a collection of upbeat country songs and those Lifetime Channel made for TV movies which have a kick-ass happy ending? (Yeah, all three of them….)

Basically, it’s because she is an archetype – the frontier woman. Or the pioneer woman, and that’s a sort that we haven’t really seen front and center for a bit. Well, not on the national stage, anyway. In the military maybe; lots of that sort of woman. Tough as nails, do not take a lot of BS or give it out, supremely competent, unflappable, and amusing to hang out with, comfortable in her own skin. Now and again you might see that kind of woman appear briefly in a supporting role. But even in the 19th century, they weren’t especially thick on the ground… except possibly on the American frontier – although such marvelous women did make occasional appearances in other venues.

As I wrote a couple of months ago, about Lizzie Johnson– schoolteacher, cattle baroness, landowner, writer and bookkeeper – such women had no other habitat than on the frontier. Which was a tough place, despite many romantic notions about it; dangerous, devoid of the usual support systems that women of the Victorian era, no matter of what class were accustomed to. Women on the frontier died in childbirth, of various unpleasant illnesses to include spousal abuse, went mad, were killed in accidents and Indian raids… but many of them thrived in the relative social freedom. Some of them even went to the extent of putting on mens’ clothing, but many of them did just fine in their own.

In one the books on my shelf for research – a volume about cattle ranching – there is a picture of three young women in the corral of a cattle ranch in Colorado in the 1890s. Two of them are in properly modest, dark-colored, ankle-length dresses, and the youngest wears a light-colored dress with a ruffled hem that comes down to the top of her high-buttoned shoes. All of them are wearing straw boaters. The girl in the short dress and one of the older girls are holding braided lariats, drawn tight on the fore and hind legs of a cow laying on the ground. The third girl is holding a long-handled branding iron, as a small woodfire burns a short distance away. The three girls, according to the caption, are the daughters of a well-to-do rancher, who wanted to be sure that they had every necessary skill to carry on with the business of the ranch after his death – even those skills which were normally carried out by male ranch hands. Frontier women, god bless them. They could probably go into the parlor, after a round of calf-branding, and do a mean round of cross-stitch embroidery, and then host a meeting of the Women’s Library Book Committee.

In the end, it’s all about competence – not if you are male or female. Can you do the job and not whine, or ask for special treatment. So that’s why we like Sarah Palin – she’s a frontier woman, a hundred years after the frontier.

Interesting Take

09. September 2008 · Comments Off on Interesting Take · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, Fun and Games, General, Politics, World

I remember the ’72 election well – and how the mad antics of some McGovern supporters really, really did horrify a lot of other people. It all reflected quite badly on him – who was otherwise a fairly well-thought-of and otherwise undistinguished politico. Those election-year stunts drove – so the conventional wisdom goes – a lot of people into voting for Nixon. Happening again? This blogger thinks so. Interesting take here – can’t remember where I found it. Not through LGF… to much madness among the lizardlings, these days.

Yet More Evidence

05. September 2008 · Comments Off on Yet More Evidence · Categories: Ain't That America?, Fun and Games, General, Media Matters Not, Politics, sarcasm

… that the mainstream media and the elites who run them are – to put it mildly – way out of touch with ‘fly-over’ America, and may have fatally misunderestimated the Palin appeal.

Item One (courtesy of the Great Blogfaddah) – Oprah balks at hosting Sarah Palin.

Item Two (courtesy of Rantburg, my source for all things pointed and sarky) Angry readers dump US over Palin.

I’m sure there are more out there. My one rather mild regret is that I don’t watch Oprah or read US, so I can’t join in the glorious pile-on of angry subscribers or watchers.

See, here’s the thing; I’ve got nothing against the hosts of TV shows, or the publishers of magazines favoring one political candidate over another. Hey, free country and all that. It’s when those hosts and publishers forget their main demographic and appear to be openly supporting one side over the other. It’s going to cheese off at least half the audience or readership, and I am surprised as heck that I have to explain this to people who have been in the biz since I was in high school.

You piss off your main audience at your peril. Two words to remember: Dixie Chicks.

Memo: Getting Out More

04. September 2008 · Comments Off on Memo: Getting Out More · Categories: Domestic, Fun and Games, General, Politics, Rant, World

From: Sgt Mom
To: Our Various Political, Media and Intellectual Elites
Re: The Appeal of Palin

1.I have to admit all over again, ladies and gentlemen of the uber-elite, if there were ever more proof needed that y’all (and I use the Southernism purposefully) and the rest of us live – if not on two different planets, than at least in two separate yet linked realities – then we’ve collected that proof by the bucket-full over the last week. I speak of course of the nomination of Xenia, the Warrior Princess of Wassila, Alaska to run as the vice-presidential candidate of the Grand Ol’ Party in this suddenly electrified election season.

2. A cat among the political pigeons doesn’t even begin to express the mad flurries this week; first the shock of another maverick, formerly the governor of Alaska, an outside and relatively unknown regional political personality. She appears amidst us – not like Venus wafted ashore, on a sea shell and attended with nymphs and cupids and fluttery draperies’ but heralded with the other kind of shell, a whole barrage of them, and appearing out of the smoke mounted on a roaring Harley, dressed in cammies with a hunting rifle and a sniper-scope over her shoulder and a field-dressed moose carcass slung over the back - oh, no! that’s no moose, it’s Michael Moore! You get the idea, this has been a pretty startling week, all the way around. I actually can;t blame the “good ladies* of NOW for reacting as if a hairy Visigoth had just barged into their board meeting and let out a prodigious fart. (And lit it.) They;re all for women in positions of power and authority – they just have to be the right sort. With the right kind of background, the right sort of friends, the properly vetted positions and opinions.

3. So, Governor Palin – able, charismatic, sharp as a humming-bird’s beak, with a proven record in local and small-town politics – very definitely not the right sort to be enthusiastically embraced by the old-line political, media and intellectual elite. That the rest of us are charmed, energized, and approving, that is just killing the old guard. I mean, really killing them. I picture Maureen Dowd and all the rest of the NY Times line-up, doing the haughty Margo Dumont impression, all evening gown and pearls, looking down their noses through the lorgnette: well, really, how dare those those peasants approve of That Woman!? Don’t they know what is best for them? How is this possible, they can reject our wise and knowledgeable counsel?(With her pregnant teenage daughter, and her own hasty marriage – and that impossibly dishy blue-collar husband of hers – et cetera, et cetera.)

4. I swear, you must be in such a tiz about this, everywhere from the lunchrooms of the High and Mighty, the boardrooms of the Ivy League, Kos’s mother’s basement, the CBS newsroom and all. Shouldn;t all those (shudder) revelations about Her – shouldn;t all that have sunk Her nomination deeper than the Titanic with all those blue-state hicks in the sticks? You know what those people are like, darling!

5. Matter of fact, it’s become pretty clear that y’all don’t know what it;s like, out here in blue-state-land. No, honestly, I don’t think y’all have a clue at all. You have some bizarre visualization of small-town, blue-state, working-class and middle-class Americans. You appear to be disconnected from Americans who go to church regularly, who serve in the military, who go into a trade or profession without bothering with college attendance. You have nothing to go upon but tired old tropes gleaned from the movies and stale cliches from television shows and novels that someone forced you to read in high school, four decades ago. In that sort of fun-house mirror of the ‘other America;, church-goers are hysterical, judgmental fanatics, women who want to do anything more than marry well and squeeze out offspring are treated like pariahs, being divorced is cause for social blackballing and gays and blacks are regularly lynched and/or flogged. Everyone is a red-neck, hostile gun-worshiper who doesn’t know which fork to eat the salad with and reads on the 5th grade level and lusts after their sister, and can’t wait to murder the next stranger who drives into town.

6. Pointing out that small-town, flyover, other-America is nothing like that at all is like spitting into a hurricane. There is nothing so granite-like in its certainty like well-established prejudices. It’s coming back to bite you. Yes, you, our very own home grown elites. My dear people, you live in a bubble and have come to believe what you have created, in the vision you have of the ‘other’, your own countrymen and women.

7. The problem is that for you elites, the ‘other’ America can see clearly and very well, thank you. They can see past the vision, or is it the hallucination? And they also vote.

Hoping this is of help to you all
I remain,

Sgt. Mom

* As always, viciously skeptical quotemarks

Thoughts from the Deep Archives

31. August 2008 · Comments Off on Thoughts from the Deep Archives · Categories: Domestic, Fun and Games, General, Politics

I wrote an essay a good few years ago- alas now it is lost in the old MT archive and backed up on floppy disc, and my new computer does not have a floppy drive so I can’t pull it up- the long and thoughtful exploration of how I used to be a feminist. A small-f feminist, who slowly and gradually began to realize that the capital-F feminists were painting themselves into a corner.

Reading through MS Magazine, as I did devotedly during the years that I was in active service, the message became clearer and clearer: you weren’t really counted as a (large capital) feminist in good standing unless you were a vegetarian-pagan-lesbian-single-parent-of-color-employed-by-a-university-and-serious-victim-of-the-patriarchy, and also eschewed leg and armpit shaving and makeup into the bargain – and if you had the misfortune to be white and middle class, better get down and do a lot of groveling apologies for it.

The mainstream, capital-F feminists seemed so angry, so hurt in a myriad of different ways that I honestly did not feel. I was a military woman, and a single parent, but when I looked at it honestly, the patriarchy just did not seem to be opressing me that much. I had a rewarding career, interesting hobbies, a rewarding family life, a home and an income of my own. So I came to an inevitable and logical conclusion:

… maybe I am a post-feminist; holding to only a few simple strictures for organising women’s lives. The same access to educational opportunities, to be judged in the classroom and the job by the same standards, and to be paid the same for the same work. Arrange anything else – your child-bearing schedule, your profession, and your living arrangements in the manner which brings you and yours blessings and happiness. Anything more is just quibbling over special interests.

Now and again, I detected an undercurrent of similiar sentiments; even Naomi Wolf seemed to get the point when she wrote “Fire With Fire“, which seemed to chide activist women for clinging too tightly to the victim status and the enforcement of groupthink, rather than reaching out and freely excercising the power and authority which they of-times seemed reluctant to acknowledge… and of genuinely acknowledging that women were honestly and genuinely of varying religious, social and political beliefs.

So, the National Organization of Women has now proved my own point, as well as the one that Naomi Wolf was trying to make, in their descision to turn up their nose at Sarah Palin. Oh my – if you aren’t the right sort of feminist, never mind about your other qualifications or your chances to be elected to anything.

Sort of sad, really. NOW used to stand for something, to stand up for all women… not just those who met the rigorously-enforced checklist of acceptable attributes and opinions.

(Link found at Tim Blair)

John McCain – You Magnificent Bastard!

29. August 2008 · Comments Off on John McCain – You Magnificent Bastard! · Categories: Ain't That America?, Fun and Games, General, Politics, Rant, World

So, late to the blog-reaction party, being out and about this morning, in my some-time employer’s high-off-the-ground bright yellow jeep with the ranch advertising etched on the windows, collecting my paycheck from the Large Corporate Entity and buying groceries. I had the classical music station on, which didn’t go to a newsbreak that I heard for most of the morning… eh, it was the same with 9-11. I wasn’t aware for hours.

But upon returning to the house… and wow! Talk about getting inside the Obamanation’s decision loop. Or as they say in chess parlance, ‘check’. That strange whistling sound must be that of the air rushing out of whatever room that the Obama-Biden campaign is strategizing in. Tell me, who the hell made speeches last night? There were some speeches last night at the Democratic convention, weren’t there? This is such a true maverick move. I can’t stop chortling. Somewhere, Hilary Clinton must be shredding that orange pantsuit, snarling “Mine! It should have been mine!” and making life hell for whoever is with her. In a truly just world, that would be Mr. Bill, ex-prez and aficionado of young interns.

Picking Sarah Palin for the VP slot – youngish, sharp, attractive, female, with administrative experience as a mayor and governor, mother of children, blue-collar husband, soldier son, another political maverick – oh, a Veep candidate who is proof against the arrows and slings of the hard-core Kossacks. They can’t chuck stones at her without having them rebound on them tenfold! Honestly, the only way she could be made more critic-proof would be if she were black or mixed race, spoke Spanish as her first language and was a lesbian – admittedly that last would be hard to square with the marriage and five children.

Oh, man – this campaign has just all of a sudden gotten fun. Break out the popcorn, now we are all paying attention. To loosely quote J.P Rourke, “Old age and treachery beat out youth, speed and a bad haircut.”

Later – more from the peerless Iowahawk, waxing homeric.

Wednesday Miscellany

27. August 2008 · Comments Off on Wednesday Miscellany · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, Fun and Games, General, Media Matters Not, Veteran's Affairs, Working In A Salt Mine...

Honestly, I have tried to take an interest in the Democratic National Convention shenanigans, including the imminent coronation of the One True Anointed Savior, our Lord Obama, hailed and attended by his loving spouse (WTF? She who now channels Mrs. Cleaver), his prospective running mate, Joe “For the Love of God, Put a Sock In it!” Biden, and protected by his worshipful phalanx of minions, the national and international press. As I had assumed previously, most of them are so far into the tank for him that they need a deep-sea diving suit with an iron helmet and a crew in a boat above, keeping the air supply pump going.

So Hillary Clinton came out, probably grinding her teeth inaudibly, and made like a good sport – all props for political graciousness and thinking long. We have probably not heard the last of her, but I wish I could say the same of the orange pantsuit. Yeesh! What was that all about – is there a subtle message being sent, by wearing something a color reminiscent of prisoner jumpsuits?

Recreate ’68… oh, talk about bad ideas that just won’t f***ing die already. The antics at the 1968 convention as good as handed that election to Richard Nixon, remember? And the street theater/riots outside the convention in the streets of Chicago did not play very well with the rest of the country, for as much jolly good fun as they might have been for the participants. They used to say that if you could remember the 60s, then you must have not been there where it was all happening, man. Does that mean that if you were there in the 60s, than you can’t remember anything about them, except for the sex, drugs and rock and roll? Must be, I guess.

This last weekend NPR was drooling all over the sweet, sweet memories of 1968, with special and lavish attention to a visit to Vietnam and a pilgrimage to the site of the My Lai massacre. Sweet Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick, from the way they flog the bones of that particular deceased equine, you’d have thought that was the only event of significance which ever happened in Vietnam during the last half of the last century. There’s barely a word about anything else; just now and eternal My Lai. I think the Vietnamese Tourist board must have a special package tour for NPR and Pacifica Radio broadcasters. Straight from the airport to the memorial, with a special bonus package added to interview a survivor through the usual interpreter.

And speaking of history and eternal subjects and interviews – what is it with Dr. Zahi Hawass and being on every damn History Channel documentary about ‘fill in the blank’ of Ancient Egypt. Yeah, I know that he is secretary general of the supreme council of antiquities, but by the Holy Tomb of Saint Helena Rubenstein, the Patron Saint of Makeup Artists, couldn’t he step aside once in a while and let someone else soak up some air time? I deeply believe that the most dangerous place in Egypt these days must be anywhere between Dr. Hawass and a documentary producer’s TV camera.

Well, that’s about it… except that final editing is ongoing on the final book of the “Adelsverein Trilogy” is proceeding apace, I have not yet run screaming from the current regular employer’s phone bank where I take hotel reservations three afternoons a week, I am building a shiny new and modern website for my other prospective employer, the Small Local Publisher.

And just this very morning, I decided what the new writing project will be. Another trilogy, set on the 19th century frontier. Notes and research to commence at once. It will incorporate some of the minor characters from “Adelsverein”, but be entirely independent from that trilogy and tell entirely new stories. I can hardly wait…

An Arthurs Life

22. August 2008 · Comments Off on An Arthurs Life · Categories: Domestic, General, History, Veteran's Affairs, Working In A Salt Mine..., World

I worked at home entirely today, for almost the first time since the beginning of the month. Was that only three weeks ago? Guess it was. Time does fly, when you are having fun. Or working your ass off.

I had to face the inevitable evil and go back to work for a corporate giant – but only part-time, and only for as long as it takes for assorted writing projects to begin bearing fruit. Not all of those writing projects are my own – that is to say, my “Truckee Trail” book and the “Adelsverein Trilogy” in which I repose so much hope. I have also begun working on various projects for the proprietor of a local publishing company. She is a lady of certain years and considerable skills as an editor, locally very well connected… but of an age to where a bit of slowing down is expected and encouraged. Her dearly beloved husband died in March, about two weeks before my friend Dave the Computer Genius, whose client she also was. Dave was always on about how I should connect up with her, as we had so many interests in common and so many complimentary skills. He had an appointment with her the very week that he passed on himself, and had promised that he would set up a meeting of sorts for the two of us. Of course, such a meeting did not happen at that time, and perhaps it was for the best.

I finally took it up when I began looking for regular and reliably-paying employment again, and called her. We hit it off, and I am accepted more or less joyfully as a fellow scribbler… but I have to generate some business first. And come up with some ideas for a redesign of the website. And figure out some marketing strategies. And show her how to download attachments into a file… The nice thing about working for her is that I can do most of this at home. If things come about as we both hope, I will be able to do research and writing on various of her company projects as will pay as much per hour or more as the Reliable Corporate Entity.

Ah, yes, the Reliable Corporate Entity. I will say no names, although anyone so inclined and with specific or local knowledge can probably make an accurate guess. It’s a call center, within a short distance of Chez Sgt. Mom, which pays a fairly acceptable hourly wage for reliable workers. Of course, they are generous about considering employing anyone warm, breathing and able to speak more or less coherently, which assures an eclectic assembly in the company break room at any hour of the day or night. The varied range across socioeconomic, and ethnic classes within in the employee force, is of such breadth as I have not encountered since basic military training. That particular experience was limited only to those within a certain age and fitness capability – the Reliable Corporate Entity provides a much broader spectrum of humanity; reentering housewives, laid-off corporate drones, feckless college students, wastrels of every conceivable stripe, a fair sprinkling of military veterans of every possible vintage, bored senior citizens, single parents (an astonishingly large number of them, actually) in search of flexible hours and a salary which is several degrees above minimum wage and in a safe neighborhood.

We take incoming calls for hotel reservations – which is not too bad, as these things go. The clients are happy and accommodating, they are looking forward to a bit of a holiday – and we have the power to expedite that for them. The only hard part is that we are expected to do a free-form and personalized sales pitch based upon artlessly whipped-up-on-the-moment conversation about the various delights offered at this destination, at the very same time as we do a fairly complicated bit of data entry. And we must perform both of those duties flawlessly and in record time. Eh… I am already setting up a short-timer calendar. I will last at this until January. I will last at this until January.

I am buoyed by consideration of my books. Today, I received my copy of the final print version of “Adelsverein: The Sowing”. This is the volume which takes the story of the Beckers and the Steinmetzes and the Richters through the Civil War… the episode that I had the most worries over, because I ventured onto so much unexplored and unverified territory… but there it is; blessed by a good editor and a local historian.

December – I am living until December, all the hours that I spend at The Reliable Corporate Entity. Every hour, every paycheck, are spent and collected with a purpose. Every reservation I set and minute that I spend with a client looking to spend their holiday hours beside the sea – those times bring me closer to being a ‘real Arthur’ and making my living with words. Written words, not just spoken words.

Further Adventures in Book Publishing

21. August 2008 · Comments Off on Further Adventures in Book Publishing · Categories: Domestic, General, Literary Good Stuff, That's Entertainment!, Working In A Salt Mine..., World

The adventure continues, with final approval of the text and cover for Book 2 of Adeslverein, (AKA The Civil War Years). Two down and one to go! Mike at Strider Nolan (the publisher of record) is editing the final volume. When that is done, all I need do is review it, and the final cover… wait for the printed version to come in the mail, and there we are… nothing much to do until December, except continue scrounging for reviews. This time around, because I have delayed final release of all three volumes until December, I can appeal for reviews from print venues which prefer to do reviews beforehand. As I discovered last year with “Truckee” it takes anywhere from a month to six months to squeeze a review out of some venues. Ideally, the reviews appear around about the time that the books will be available. It’s still very much a crap-shoot, though. A couple of months ago, another IAG member who was a subsidy publisher, pointed out that getting one single review for every four review copies sent out was a pretty good return on the investment.

I was startled to find that out, actually. I’ve been doing reviews for a while, for Blogger News. My thought was, if I have the book in hand, and I have asked for it… well, then I am pretty well committed to doing the review. I only ask for books that I am semi-interested in reading anyway, so it’s not like this is an insurmountable chore. It does appear that there are all sorts of scope for interestingly shadowy dealings in the review gig. The first of them is that the main print review producers – the Mt. Everests of the literary scene, like the New York Times Book Review- receive simply tons of free review copies of books every week. There is only space for a tiny fraction of them to be read and reviewed, so the excess are mostly donated to various worthy causes. I am given to understand that most of the other reputable reviewers do likewise. For a writer, sending out review copies is a gamble anyway. Not quite up there with playing the lottery, but pretty darned close. You have to put the book out there, one way or another. Many of the mainstream literary review publications don’t do publish-on-demand books (the snotty SOB’s!) so those of us who have done small press or independently published books have to go to the second tier review sites, of which there are any number, in response to demand. Some of these sites and reviewers are reputable and discriminating; those are the ones that are as exacting in their requirements as any of the mainline published reviewers. Some are not; but all of them depend on volunteer reviewers, even if it is only a review as basic as one posted on Amazon.com. This is one of them – for which I do reviews, also.

By volunteer, I mean that like me – they usually like books and reading. Getting sent any number of freshly-minted books that you didn’t pay for is still a bit of a tiny thrill to me and I would presume for many of the other volunteers. Strictly speaking, that is how we are paid – with a free copy of a book. After we post the review, we can do whatever we like with it; put it on our own shelves, donate to a local library, school or hospital, trot down to Half-Price Books, put it on E-bay, whatever. From a discussion in the IAG forum last week, it does appear that a certain degree of corruption as tiptoed into this arrangement. That is, reviewers trolling in the pools of small-press and POD authors, offering reviews and requesting book copies… and then either producing a very cursory review with a five-star rating, such as might be dashed off by reading the back cover or the accompanying publicity materials, and then offering the book for sale on E-bay or some such. Sometimes a review copy is even offered in the “used” section of the Amazon listing, in competition with a new version! Or even worse, no review at all. This has some of the IAG members fit to be tied; not only does the cost of review copies comes out of our pocket, but every sale of a new copy of our book is precious, as our sales stats inch ever higher. Some of us are considering stamping “review copy” in a couple of places in the interior margins, but for now, naming and shaming those particular review sites and reviewers is enough. In the meantime, treat short, glowing but 5-star reviews with extreme suspicion. Especially if the reviewer does a lot of reviews; I’m doing good if I can read half a dozen books in a month and pound out 300-plus words, but then I have a life, two jobs and another book to finish.

Memo: Telling Stories

13. August 2008 · Comments Off on Memo: Telling Stories · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, History, Literary Good Stuff, sarcasm, That's Entertainment!

To: Professor Denise Spelburg,
From: Sgt Mom
Re: Clarifying Matters Literary and Beyond

1. According to the story here (which may need registration to complete the link – sorry!) you are painting yourself in colors of victimhood, now that you are being righteously criticized on line and have received a ton of so-called hate-mail, for your part on kicking up an all-mighty fuss about a bodice-ripping historical novel about the youngest wife of Mohammed. (Or would that be a burka-ripping historical novel?) Welcome to the real world, professor… it’s that place that extends somewhat beyond academia, where reactions to words and ideas can sometimes get wild and woolly.

2. In this real world, we have writers – sort of like myself, as a matter of fact – who like to tell stories to people, sometimes quite lengthy stories based on historical characters, facts and incidents. This is a whole genre out there, loosely known as “historical fiction”. At one extreme, the best of them are carefully researched and stray no farther from verifiable and researched historical fact than anyone in your own university department. Then there is the other extreme, in which practically anything goes. In either case the operative word is “fiction”… which means, my dear Professor… that stuff is made up. Created out of whole cloth. Imagined. Clear so far on that concept?

3. At least, you are well-enough acquainted with enough of that world to know that provoking the adherents the so-called religion of peace can have occasionally fatal consequences. I am cynically amused to note that in your academic world Salman Rushdie’s “Satanic Verses” is worthy of defending against threats of violence because he can, according to the story “…claim he was raising an existential, theological query, however impertinent. Jones’ book is a mere burlesque.”

4. Ahh, we see – some ideas and authors are more equal than others. A piece of light and fluffy historical fiction is not worthy of the protections afforded to the heavyweights of the intellectual world. Duly noted, Professor. You are a self-important snob, as well as being a tattle-tale and a bit of a coward. If doing a nice little blurb for “The Jewel of Medina” was beneath the dignity of a heavy-weight intellectual and scholar such as yourself, then wouldn’t a polite note to the management at Random House, declining to comment have been sufficient, with or without the back-up from your lawyer. You didn’t want your name and credentials attached to Ms. Jones’s book in any way. I – and hardly anyone else has a problem with that.

5. The breathless warning to your friend at the altmuslim discussion group was in the long term, neither helpful or necessary. In fact, it seems rather malicious; “Ohhh, she is talking such trash about you… and what are you going to do about it?” is the way that it comes off to those of us who remember junior high school pretty well. Professor, we didn’t like that kind of nasty, passive-aggressive manipulation then, and we like it even less now. Perhaps that is how the game is still played in academia these days – but again, in the real world, it doesn’t go over well. Take note.

6. Finally, I can’t help wondering if this is a little bit of unseemly possessiveness about the subject on your part. I would assume that you have a great deal invested in your visualization of Aisha, and did not take very well to another writer picturing something different. There is one other historical researcher who has done a great deal on the Stephens Townsend Party, the subject of my own historical novel. I got a very odd, hostile vibe from him, when I communicated with him – it was as if their story was his exclusive property and I was trespassing on it by imagining something different. I am grateful that I did not ask that particular researcher for a blurb for Truckee – at least he did not sic the forces of the Oregon-California Trail Association on me for my trouble!

7. I do think Ms. Jones ought to be grateful to you, however. “Jewel of Medina” will now probably sell in quantities several times over what it would have, if you had just quietly given a pass on blurbing it to begin with.

Hoping you will find these remarks helpful
I remain the unrepentant scribbler of historical fiction,

Sgt Mom

Still Here, Still Busy

12. August 2008 · Comments Off on Still Here, Still Busy · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, General, The Funny, World

(I am still here, just frantically busy – for your amusement and delectation, a story sent to me by another IAG writer)

A Texas rancher got in his pickup and drove to a neighboring ranch and knocked at the door. A young boy, about 9, opened the door.

“Yer Dad home?’ the rancher asked.

‘No sir, he ain’t,’ the boy replied. ‘He went into town.”

“Well,” said the rancher, ‘is yer Mom here?’

“No, sir, she ain’t here neither. She went into town with Dad.”

“How about your brother, Howard? Is he here?”

“He went with Mom and Dad.”

The rancher stood there for a few minutes, shifting from one foot to the other and mumbling to himself.

“Is there anything I can do fer ya?” the boy asked politely. “I knows where all the tools are, if you want to borry one. Or maybe I could take a message fer Dad.”

“Well,” said the rancher uncomfortably, “I really wanted to talk to yer Dad. It’s about your brother, Howard, getting my daughter, Pearly Mae, pregnant.”

The boy considered for a moment “You would have to talk to Pa about that,” he finally conceded. “If it helps you any, I know that Pa charges $50 for the bull and $25 for the boar, but I really don’t know how much he gets fer Howard.”

Bizarre Monday Musical Medley

04. August 2008 · Comments Off on Bizarre Monday Musical Medley · Categories: Fun and Games, General, That's Entertainment!, The Funny, World

For your delectation and delight on this Monday – first, a performance of “Smoke On the Water” by classical Japanese musicians…

and if that doesn’t peg your strange-meter, how about the Leningrad Cowboys and the Red Army Chorus in concert?

Enjoy… especially the tractor.

Writing the Range

01. August 2008 · Comments Off on Writing the Range · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, General, History, Old West, That's Entertainment!, Working In A Salt Mine..., World

In a fit of boredom, as we flipped through the cable channels looking for something new and/or interesting, we stumbled across the Hallmark Channel. Hey, Hallmark – how bad could one of their movies be? – and wound up watching “The Trail to Hope Rose“. The premise interested us for about twenty minutes, and then we realized that although whatever book it might have been based upon may have been a very good read, the movie was a bit of a painful watch. We stuck it out, just to see if any of our predictions made in that first fifteen minutes came true. (They did – all but the kindly old ranch-owner who befriended the hero being killed by the villainous mine-owner. He didn’t – but he was deceased by the end of the final reel.) It was just a generic western: generic location, generic baddies, card-board cut-out characters and a box-car load of generic 19th century props from some vast Hollywood movie warehouse of props and costumes used for every western movie since Stagecoach, hauled out of storage and dusted off, yet again.

It wasn’t a bad movie, just a profoundly mediocre one. Careless gaffes abounded, from the heroine’s loose and flowing hair, her costumes with zippers down the back and labels in the neckline, and the presence of barbed wire in 1850, when it wouldn’t be available in the Western US for another twenty-five years, neat stacks of canned goods (?), some jarringly 20th century turns of phrase – and where the heck in the West in 1850 was there a hard-rock mine and a cattle ranch in close proximity? Not to mention a mine-owner oppressing his workers in the best Gilded Age fashion by charging them for lodgings, fire wood and groceries, as if he had been taking lessons from the owners of Appalachian coal mines. It was as if there was no other place of work within hundreds and hundreds of miles – again, I wondered just where the hell this story was set. It passed muster with some viewers as a perfectly good western, but to me, none of it rang true. Whoever produced it just pulled random details out of their hat – presumably a ten-gallon one – and flung them up there. Hey, 19th century, American West; it’s all good and all pretty much the same, right?

Me, I’ve been getting increasingly picky. Generic, once-upon-a-time in the west doesn’t satisfy me any more, not since I began writing about the frontier myself. It seems to me that to write something true, something authentic about the western experience – you have to do what the creators of “The Trail to Hope Rose” didn’t bother to do; and that was to be specific about time and place. The trans-Mississippi West changed drastically over the sixty or seventy years, from the time that Americans began settling in various small outposts, or traveling across it in large numbers. And the West was not some generic all-purpose little place, where cattle ranches could be found next to gold mines, next to an Army fort, next to a vista of red sandstone, with a Mexican cantina just around the corner. No, there were very specific and distinct places, as different as they could be and still be on the same continent. 1880’s Tombstone is as different from Gold Rush era Sacramento, which is different again from Abilene in the cattle-boom years, nothing like Salt Lake City when the Mormons first settled there – and which is different again from Laura Ingalls Wilder’s small-town De Smet in the Dakota Territory – or any other place that I could name, between the Pacific Ocean and the Mississippi-Missouri. Having writers and movie-makers blend them all together into one big muddy mid-19th century blur does no one any favors as far as telling new stories.

Being specific as to time and place opens up all kinds of possible stories and details. Such specificity has the virtue of being authentic or at least plausible and sometimes are even cracking good stories because of their very unlikelihood. For example, Oscar Wilde did a lecture tour of western towns. If I remember correctly, the topic of his lecture was something to do with aesthetics and interior decoration, and he performed wearing the full black-velvet knickerbockers suit with white lace collars. He was a wild success in such wild and roaring places as Leadville, Colorado, possibly because he could drink any of his audience under the table. Anyway, my point is, once you have a time and a place, then you can deal with all the local characters and the visitors who came to that town at that time, have a better handle on the technology in play at the time. Was the town on the railway, who were the people running the respectable businesses – and the unrespectable ones? Who were the local characters, the bad hats and the good guys, the eccentrics and the freaks? What was the local industry, and for how long – and if not long, what replaced it and under what circumstances? What did the scenery out-side town look like? Even such details as what were the main buildings in town made of and what did they look like, over the years can be telling. Where did the locals get their food from? Their mail? Who did the laundry, even! What kind of story can a writer make of a progression from canvas tents over wooden frames, from log huts and sod huts, to fine frame buildings filled with furniture and fittings brought at great expense from the east. I had all those questions while watching this movie – and I’ll probably have pretty much the same, if I ever watch another one like it. It would have been so much a better movie if someone had given a bit more thought and taken a little more care.

Above all, if a writer can be specific with those underpinnings, of time and place and keep the story congruent within that framework – than it seems to me that you can tell any sort of story, and likely a much more interesting and entertaining one. As near as I can judge from some of the western discussion groups and blogs, like this one, writers are moving in that direction. Eventually movie producers may move in that direction as well; supposedly Deadwood makes long strides in re-visualizing a more specific west.

But they will absolutely, positively have to get rid of those costumes for women with the very visible zippers down the back.

Burning Questions of the Moment

31. July 2008 · Comments Off on Burning Questions of the Moment · Categories: Domestic, Fun and Games, General, Media Matters Not, My Head Hurts, Rant, sarcasm, That's Entertainment!, Veteran's Affairs

How come Oprah Winfrey is on the cover of every issue of her own darned magazine? I mean, even Martha Stewart gives it a rest.

Why does it have to be so bloody hot in Texas in the summer? And how long will summer last this year? How many more months of running the AC night and day will we have?

How come we were supposed to be moving beyond race with the nomination of the Fresh Prince from Chicago… and yet here we are again, having the same old discussion! But with the added frisson of being called a racist it we don’t vote for him. (Oh, yeah, and can we have a break from his entitlement-addled BAP of a spouse moaning about how hard it is to get along on a yearly salary of more than I will ever make in the next decade? Or two or three? Thanks.)

How deep are major media in the tank for Obama, actually? Deep enough to need a snorkel? A deep-sea divers’ suit and something to pump down oxygen to them?

How come anyone cares what celebrities think? About anything other than their next professional appearance, that is.

Who the hell cares about Paris Hilton? And why?

Which one of the dogs or cats threw up a strangely reddish patch of vomit, and please god, let the red color be from the reddish chunks of stuff in the dog food.

What’s Madonna’s new remaking of herself going to look like? Anything age-appropriate? She’s pushing 50, you know.

Will the price of gas go down? Would it be a little cheaper to run the car on milk? It’s at about the same price per gallon this week. How soon will the owners of all those big honkin’ SUV and pick-up trucks replace them with something smaller and fuel efficient. I remember the 70s, people – I remember this happing once before, and yes, I’d like to be able to see past the vehicle waiting next to me at a stoplight. Instead of looking at the step that allows them to climb into the cab of their big honkin’ SUV, which is at my eye level, thank you very much.

When those SUV’s and pick-ups get to expensive to run… will they wind up in the hands of people, who… I don’t know… live out in the country and really need a big, sturdy, 4WD vehicle with space to stuff a couple of Angus cows in the back?

How badly am I going to hate the part-time and regular job that I start next week at “Enormous National Call-Center Which Shall Remain Unnamed” by the next of six months? One year? Can I stick it out long enough for some of my books and on-spec writing jobs to pay off… so that I can turn in my employee badge of servitude and shake the corporate dust off my feet… again.

Stay tuned – we’ll know the answers to most of these in a couple of months. Or a year, tops. All but the one about Paris Hilton. That’s a mystery for the ages.

Brief Respite in the Writer’s Life Waltz

28. July 2008 · Comments Off on Brief Respite in the Writer’s Life Waltz · Categories: Domestic, General, Literary Good Stuff, Working In A Salt Mine...

Not a lot of time to spend on blogging on current affairs this week! I am stuck between the final edit of Adelsverein – Book 2 (The Civil War years), sending out review copies of Book 1, and polishing Book 3 (The cattle-ranching years) to a fine glossy sheen, and stuffing it full of local color and as many contemporary references and personalities as possible… oh, and doing the odd bit of marketing for “Truckee’s Trail”. One of the other IAG writers posted a tid-bit on the average sales of a POD or indy-published book; apparently the average number of copies sold is around 160-200 copies. I went back and looked at the various royalty statements for “Truckee”, tallied up a couple of other things – such as the copies that I sold through this website and from out of a box in the trunk of my car and came up with a grand total of 270-280 copies sold… possibly even more, since it takes four months for sales through bookstores, Amazon and Barnes & Noble to post. Those nice people at the Truckee Donner Historical Society just bought another box of twenty, so yay, me!

Once the final edits are done, and Books 2 and 3 uploaded… there’s not much more to be done until all three are released in December, except organize what I can in the way of exposure. The covers are all but designed, the promotional copy already done. I can even say that it’s being put out by an established (albeit small!) publisher – Strider Nolan Media. (Owner is another IAG writer and a fan of interesting western novels, having written one himself.”Shalom on the Range” – it’s hilarious, by the way; sort of Seinfeld on the Prairie.) I’ve been talking with some people in local bookstores, setting up signings – and the director of Fredericksburg’s Pioneer Museum bookstore is absolutely agog with excitement. The local historian who reviewed the manuscript for historical boo-boos found nothing more than some misspellings of German names, and he loves the story so much he is talking it up to all of his friends. Yes, it might very well work out that everyone in Gillespie County will buy a copy, just to see if I have mentioned their ancestors. The museum bookstore manager has ancestors on both sides that are mentioned, so he was quite tickled.

It will take months for the advanced reviews to be completed… so in the meantime, I am going back to work. I needed another two jobs to replace working for my computer genius friend, and the radio station. The royalty checks just are not consistently large enough, to permit me to stay at home. I applied to work part-time at a local call center, knowing full well that most people can only stick that sort of work for about six months, or a year, tops. Part-time, I can endure. The other job is with a local publishing company, whose owner was also a client of my late computer-genius friend. He had been after me for months, saying that I ought to get in touch with them, especially since the owner’s husband and partner had just died quite suddenly. Well, I finally did. The owner can’t pay anything much, until I bring in some big projects and clients for her… but there are two good parts to that: I can do most of the work from home, and she knows everyone in the San Antonio literary scene. Which means more local credibility for me… I might even get a review in the San Antonio Express News, in spite of their policy of turning up their nose at POD and indy books.

So that’s where it all stands at present – and grateful I am for all the people who have been truly helpful, sympathetic and supportive over the last two years, which have been quite a bit more rocky than they needed to be. Maybe I am just now beginning to see glimmerings of light at the end of the tunnel, not just the headlight of the train bearing down on me!

I’m Tired

23. July 2008 · Comments Off on I’m Tired · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, Pajama Game, Rant, Veteran's Affairs

Just because…

I’m tired of Yahoo f**king up.

I’m tired of never getting any answer to the mailings and emails that I send about my books.

I’m tired of being treated like crap because I’m a writer and there are another ten-thousand of writers just like me (only most of them are F**king worse!) on the next bus. And that most of them seem to be better connected than me.

I’m tired that most of the ones that I am connected to, appear to to blow me off like an embarrassingly incontinent relative.

I’m tired of being stalled on payment on work that I have done.

I’m tired of having to work like a dog just to get a one-hundredth of the interest awarded to crappy, mediocre writers, just because they’re the flave of the moment. Or they have well-connected friends and fans.

I’m tired of looking at things that I should like to buy, but can’t because I can’t afford them. Oh and I am really, really tired of jugging bills. (please don’t construe this as a bleg, I am just venting.)

I’m tired of non-essential stuff but non-the less non-functioning stuff around my house that I can’t afford to fix. Like, giving the animals the vet care that they deserve.

I am really tired of Pajamas Media – my reason for sticking with them is…

Oh, yeah – I am really tired of Old, Traditional, Established Media. That’s what my reason is. Otherwise, I can’t see that I am really getting anywhere with the PJ Media association, anyway.

I have a couple of glasses of chablis in me. And tomorrow, or the day after, I will have to go into a couple of employment offices and make a pretense of being all about them and tending to their coporate needs, just so that I will have enough to fund the last bits of the Adelsverin Trilogy. Like mailing copies of same to reviewers – three-quarters of which will take the copy of Book One and never do a damn thing with it. Except take it down to the local second-hand book outlet and get a couple of dollars for it.

Pardon me while I swallow the vomit in my throat.

Looking at the Past

20. July 2008 · Comments Off on Looking at the Past · Categories: General, History, Media Matters Not, Old West, That's Entertainment!, World

I belong to a Yahoo discussion groups for fans of Westerns, and one of the curious things is how very passionate some of the members are about their favorite authors, and western series, some of which are well known, like Elmer Kelton and some quite obscure like Amelia Bean, who wrote about the Fancher party, of the Mountain Meadows Massacre fame. Old western movies are also mad faves, everything from the acknowledged classics like “Stagecoach” and the original “3:10 to Yuma” to obscure B-movie features and movies made for television that have since sank like a stone. Generally the older stuff is held in higher regard. Oddly enough, many of the members of the group are English – at least to judge from the frequent laments about how little there is in the way of ‘Westerania” to pick through on the other side of the pond.

Like it or not, this is how we begin to visualize the past, through books and movies, first seeing these things, as if through the prism of how a writer, movie producer or TV director visualized them. The trouble with this is that the farther we are in time from the events pictured, the more of the milieu of the time that such things were created seeps in around the edges. Look at a movie like “Gone With The Wind” – it practically screams the date of it’s premiere. But as hard as the various creators might have tried to banish every scrap of inauthenticity in trivial things such as women’s hair-styles, interior decoration or weaponry – contemporary sensibilities and habits of thought are even harder to root out. Movies like “The Patriot” and “Dances With Wolves” took especial pains to superficially and physically appear authentic – but then fell apart when it came to things like the likelihood of a village of escaped slaves being out in the open, and a Union officer in the 186os going over to the wall, metaphorically speaking, to join the Sioux Indians. But never mind – it’s a story. Like “Gone With the Wind” we can overlook anachronisms and accept gaps in logic in service to a riveting and entertaining story. Well, sometimes – depending on how much of a fuss-budget we are for strict authenticity. If something that feels to us like authentic sensibility is present, though – who wants to quibble about details?

But this gets harder to do with a great many more recent movies, and not just Westerns. Something went out of our movies when many producers and directors began to think more about a ‘message’ and a movie as a personal statement of belief… not strictly as something that a great many people would plunk down the price of admission in exchange for being entertained for a couple of hours. The old studio system turned them out assembly-line fashion, good, bad, indifferent and superb, A-list, B-list, genre, serials, bios, epics, musicals and all. As one of my former bosses was fond of saying – it’s a numbers game. The more there is of any one thing, be it sales calls or movies, the better the odds that more of it will pay off… or be really, really good. The old studios diversified their releases. If a movie bombed… well, there were three or four more in the chute, so who cared but the accountants and maybe not even them, very much. Some of them which bombed, or did indifferent business at the time of release later made a better showing, farther on down the track. And some of those are beloved by website discussion groups, so here I am circling around to my main point… which was that there were Western movies made after the 1960s (to pick a date at random) but few of them seem to attract much of the same degree fanatic devotion.

Why? I wondered if the reason might have something to do with the fact that watching this show a couple of years ago on PBS left something of a sour taste in my mouth.

(To be continued)

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