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This post originally appeared April 18, 2005

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,—One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.”

The image has captured the imagination of American school children for almost 150 years. A lone rider, braving capture at the hands of the British, riding along the narrow country lanes and cobblestone streets of the picturesque towns and villages of New England, shouting out defiance to tyranny, raising the alarm “To every Middlesex village and farm,” his trusty horse carrying him on his ride into legend.

To bad it didn’t quite happen that way.

Longfellow’s poem immortalized Revere’s ride in a way that would never have occurred to the silversmith’s contemporaries. It wasn’t so much that the incident went unnoticed. It’s just that Longfellow took so many liberties with the facts surrounding the event as to obscure the real story of that night and by so doing, overshadow the real accomplishments of one of the more interesting characters in the entire revolution.

Let’s forgive Longfellow his myth making. The poet was, after all, using the ride to illustrate American themes – something almost unheard of in literature until that time. Along with his other great narrative poem Hiawatha, Longfellow has been credited with introducing the rest of the world to truly American motifs and myths. Paul Revere’s Ride, while historically inaccurate, nevertheless conveys the breathless spirit of resistance of the colonists to British rule.

Revere himself joined that resistance early on. Born in 1734, Revere has been described as a silversmith. This does him an injustice. He was much more the artist than the craftsman. His involvement in the earliest stages of the revolution was a consequence of his friendship with that scowling propagandist Sam Adams. He was a prominent member of the “Committee of Safety” that was formed to protect the rights of Massachusetts citizens against threats to liberty, both real and imagined, of the colonial government. And he was one of the grand jurors who, in 1774 refused to serve after the British Parliament made the justices independent of the people by having the colonial governor pay the salaries of the judges.

Sam Adams knew a good thing when he saw it and used Revere’s talents as an artist to further the cause of rebellion. He urged Revere to engrave several inflammatory caricatures of British politicians that Adams promptly had copied and distributed. Following the Boston Massacre in 1770, Revere engraved a seditious remembrance of that event that was also widely disseminated. This use of art in the cause of revolution wasn’t necessarily new, but it showed just how imaginative Adams could be.

Revere and Adams were also behind one of the most shocking events of the revolution, the Boston Tea Party. Adams was trying to provoke the British government and succeeded beyond his wildest imaginings. England closed the port of Boston and bivouacked troops in the city.

Which brings us to Revere’s ride. Or, more accurately, the part that Revere played on that momentous night. The redcoats decided that it was prudent to both capture the more radical elements of the Sons of Liberty, the group started by Adams and John Hancock as an adjunct to the colonial militia, as well as disarm the populace. To that end they sent two company’s of elite Grenadiers into the countryside to arrest Hancock, Adams, and Joseph Warren for treason as well as seize the cannon and powder of the local militia being stored at Concord.

Revere was a member of a group known as the North End Mechanics who patrolled the streets of Boston, keeping an eye on British military activity. When it became clear the British were ready to march, Revere borrowed a horse and rode off from Charlestown to Lexington where Adams and Co. were staying. Duly warned, the trio of patriots made ready to flee. Before going, Warren sent both Revere and another friend of Adams’, William Dawes, on the ride that would echo down through the ages. They left Lexington around midnight and were joined by another patriot Samuel Prescott. Making their way to Concord, the three men alerted the farms and tiny villages along the way with the news that the red coats were on the march.

Around 1:00 AM, the little group ran into a road block manned by British regulars who had been told to stop the colonists from trying to communicate with one another. Revere was captured while Dawes and Prescott got away. Prescott eventually made it to Concord and alerted the militia there.

Revere was extremely cooperative with his captors. He told them that he had already warned Hancock and his friends and that 500 militia men were assembling at that moment to resist the British. That last part was pure bluff but the regulars didn’t know that. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, the British soldiers decided to return to barracks, releasing Revere around 3:00 AM.

But what about the lanterns in the North Church, the famous “One if by land, two if by sea?” Revere had actually asked a friend to be ready to do that to warn patriots on the other side of the river in Charlestown. By the time those lanterns were hung, Revere was gone. While he probably saw them, he didn’t need to know how the British were coming, just that they were on their way.

What all this goes to show is that, while the myth may be more dramatic than what actually happened, the reality of what was going on that fateful night is certainly interesting enough. Thanks to Revere, his friends avoided the gallows for they most certainly would have been convicted of treason. And given what happened the following day in Lexington and Concord, the work done by Revere, Dawson, and Prescott to arouse the countryside contributed in no small way to events that became known as “The Shot Heard ‘Round the World.”

Revere’s participation in the revolution was by no means over. He was commissioned a Major of infantry in the Massachusetts militia in April 1776; was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel of artillery in November; was stationed at Castle William, defending Boston harbor, and finally received command of this fort. He served in an expedition to Rhode Island in 1778, and in the following year participated in the disastrous Penobscot Expedition. Upon his return from that fiasco, he was court martialed for failing to obey orders. The charges were trumped up by his commanding officer, trying to absolve himself of blame for the military disaster that cost of the lives of 500 men and 43 ships. Revere was acquitted.

After the war, Revere proved himself a canny businessman and bold entrepreneur. He took advantage of the religious revival sweeping the country after the revolution by manufacturing church bells, a business that made him wealthy. He also pioneered the production of copper plating in America and supplied the young country’s navy with copper spikes for the planking. In effect, he became one of the first successful industrialists in American history.

Where do we place Revere in the pantheon of American heroes? While not a Founding Father in that he didn’t sign the Declaration of Independence or serve in Congress, Revere played a very large role in acting as “the sharp end of the stick” the Founders sought to beat the British with. While not a part of some of the more unruly elements that took part in the Boston Massacre and the Tea Party, he and his friend Sam Adams were not above using those elements to further the cause of revolution, a goal for which he worked more than a decade to achieve. In that respect, perhaps we can call him a “Founding Brother.”

As we celebrate the 230th anniversary of his ride into history (as well as the poem that immortalized it), it’s good to remember that Revere was the quintessential American soul; an artist whose talents and ardent support for the cause of American liberty defined a generation of patriots who, to this day, we stand back and look on in awe, marveling at their accomplishments.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,—-
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.


The Commissar has a first class “update” to Longfellow’s poem that is not only riotiously funny but spot on satire as well. A sample:

Listen my children and you shall hear – insensitive to the hearing-impaired, no ASL inset
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, – in violation of Massachusetts seat-belt and helmet laws
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; – non Y2K-compliant wording (not even Y1.8K compliant)
Hardly a man is now alive – grossly chauvinistic, patriarchal, and misogynist
Who remembers that famous day and year. – insulting to victims of Alzheimer’s Disease


I wish I had seen this yesterday.

Jule Crittendon has about a dozen eyewitness accounts and sworn statements on what exactly happened that night both from the British and American viewpoints.

Fascinating stuff. Read it all.

By: Rick Moran at 3:34 am | Permalink | Comments & Trackbacks (5)

The LLama Butchers linked with Listen my children and you shall hear...

It finally happened as I knew it always would happen; as cat people all over the world know someday it will happen to them and as even non-cat people suspect it happens despite them being dog people and extremely jealous and hateful of any outward manifestation of feline superiority.

I talked to my cats last night. And they talked back.

What’s that? The answer is no more than usual but I wouldn’t have wanted to take a breathalizer. And because I know you’re curious, Ebony, the liberal’s liberal, sipped several bottles of my best Fritz Haag Estate Riesling and nibbled on Edam cheese all night while wise old conservative Aramas went through my entire stock of Courvosier (VSOP) and the little angel Snowball was knocking back chocolate/Rasberry milkshakes as fast as I could make them – that is, until Ebony, tiring of the youngster’s interruptions and attention getting antics, strongly cuffed the little girl across the ear, sending her rolling like a ten pin out into the kitchen.

Cats make great parents. The little one was barely heard from again for the rest of the night.

Now I know what you’re saying. Even if cats could talk, they wouldn’t be political animals. And before last night, I probably would have agreed with you. But the way Ebony explained it, everything makes perfect sense.

Cats are not so mysterious or otherworldly as much as they exist in a world of emotional and psychic intensity that is so foreign, so unfamiliar to us humans that it seems to put the beasts on a separate plane of existence.

They are, in effect, the barbarians of the animal world. They are the Visigoths sacking Rome, ravaging without pity or remorse. Now what do you suppose the politics of the Visigoths were all about? Or the Huns, or Vandals, or any number of other pagan hordes who swept across Europe, bringing about 1000 years of darkness, disease, and death not to mention unpronounceable names and really bad teeth?

Pretty basic at that. Cat’s are not sophisticated creatures but they are direct and will tell you exactly what they think about any issue under the sun. For instance, my old girl Ebony (who swears she wouldn’t have voted for Clinton if she had the opportunity but thinks that Noam Chomsky is the cat’s meow), is blaming Bush for the massacre at Virginia Tech.

“It’s Bush’s fault,” she said, her tail whipping furiously back and forth showing her displeasure. “The nutcase who did this was obviously inspired by the violence going on in Iraq.”

“Put a sssssssssssock in it,” hissed Aramas. “Can’t you see that it was the guy’s parents who are at fault here?” The old kitty’s face assumed a “wisdom of the ages” look – the kind of look that cats get when they watch PBS - “As usual, you are delusional when it comes to Bush. You even blamed him for the Imus flap.”

“Imus is a penis! Imus is a penis!” screeched the baby Snowball, rolling around at my feet begging for another milkshake. The two adults exchanged knowing looks with Aramas taking the responsibility. He sauntered over and buried his teeth in Snowball’s shoulder causing the youngster to yowl in pain and make a beeline for the cat condo where she climbed to the topmost perch and looked out in fright over the carpeted cat rest. Ebony cast a baleful glance in her direction telling the baby with her eyes that no more interruptions would be welcome.

And so it went, far into the night. The more wine she drank, the louder Ebony got, sometimes breaking into hysterical laughter when talking about how stupid Bush had acted in some crisis or another. She mewled uncontrollably when talking about the war and became absolutely incoherent when trying to convince us that 9/11 was an inside job.

For Aramas, the more brandy he drank, the more sense he made. Or maybe it was because I was drinking as much as he was. He stopped trying to rebut Ebony’s charges and would simply whack her across the nose when she said something really stupid. This would send the two of them tumbling into a heap of a catfight, neither one doing much damage due to their diminished capacity. And just as suddenly as they began, they would stop, taking turns licking each other and quietly nursing their drinks. Until Ebony would blurt out something ridiculous and the fur would fly again.

Sometime toward morning, I tried to change the subject to cat behavior but both of them looked at me as if I was some kind of dog. I distinctly got the impression that both of them felt it was none of my business why they would spend hours just looking at me and what they were thinking (although Ebony continually licked her lips, salivating at the thought of something when I asked what was on her mind when she was staring at me with an intensity that would put 150 watt bulb to shame).

I finally fell asleep sometime around dawn. When I awoke, I was confused. Had I dreamt the entire episode? Can cats really talk?

I’ll have to ask them when they wake up…

By: Rick Moran at 6:39 pm | Permalink | Comments & Trackbacks (7)

live adult chat linked with live adult chat...
CATEGORY: Blogging

Are you up at 6:00 AM Eastern time?

If so, you might want to tune in to the Pat Campbell Morning Show on WFLA 540 in Orlando, 6:00-9:00 AM Eastern where I’ll be discussing 24 with the host in the first hour.

You can also access the live stream of the broadcast here.

By: Rick Moran at 6:03 pm | Permalink | Comments & Trackbacks (0)


And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings.

King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Are you ready to bury Jack, not to praise him?

I may be the last person who comments regularly on the show who has faced up to the fact that 24 has hopelessly jumped the shark. The plot has collapsed into a heap of unfinished threads, an endless exposition of plot lines to nowhere. Do you care one whit if Milo gets Nadia alone for 15 minutes? Is there no further use for Jack’s father in this set up – a very promising storyline that has dropped off the scope with nary a word on his fate? I’m even beginning to yawn at the by-play between Chloe and Morris – a sure sign of something having gone out of the show.

In fact, Chloe’s character has absolutely gone off the banal scale. To take this beautiful bitch of a woman and rob her of her snark, her scowls, her hooded looks of disapprobation when a co-worker made a mistake, is like taking away Betty Grable’s gams or Marilyn Monroe’s … smile. Chloe’s thoughtlessness and inappropriate behavior around her fellow CTU officemates – always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person – has disappeared. She is now simply a geek appendage to the show. Need someone to hack into CalTrans? Let Chloe do it. Need someone to download the updated schematics for the suitcase bomb? Piece of cake for supergeek Chloe.

But perhaps the clearest indication that the show is done for came from a speech that Little Ricky made to Jack thanking him for saving the United States. Since there has been plenty of speculation on the boards about Ricky Schroeder taking over for Kiefer Sutherland whenever the producers decide to kill off Jack Bauer, I ask you to imagine Jack Bauer saying this at any time in his life to anyone:

DOYLE: Jack, I know you’ve been through hell – not just today but the last couple of years – I just wanted to thank you for what you did today. ‘Cause it could have ended a helluva lot worse…and it would have if you weren’t here.

Gag me.

Jack’s fatalism regarding his rescuing Audrey from the evil clutches of the Chinese does not engender sympathy for Bauer or even elevate his character beyond the heroic nature he already enjoys. This willingness of Jack to die is simply seen as another plot device to manipulate our emotions and try and build suspense.

And what about the honking travesty of using an “algorithm” contained on a board in the guts of the suitcase nuke that would give the key to the entire technology of the Russian defense department? The Russians may be dumb but the idea of such a thing existing in the real world is so awesomely stupid as to beggar belief. And that’s the problem with the show. It’s no fun suspending belief for an hour if the writers are going to so insult your intelligence that they take you out of fantasyland and set you down in Never-Neverland with the full realization that a little common sense would tell you such a scenario couldn’t exist except in the script of a children’s show.

I will continue to watch and write about 24. But even if the writers knock my socks off for the remaining 5 shows, I can’t help but think that the production has gone about as far as it can go and has hit a wall. Ratings for the show are as strong as ever (#10 among the coveted 18-29 age group) but I would predict that if the last few episodes of the show are as slow and determinedly boring as this last one, that too, will change.


Little Ricky informs Jack that the nukes will be handled by the military from now on. He also gets out the kneepads and genuflects at the altar of Bauer, thanking him in the most effusive and nauseating way possible for saving the country.

I’ve had the opportunity to hobnob with the kinds of special warriors who would more than likely make up the TAC Teams at an organization like CTU. And if one of them spouted off like that – even if it was fully deserved – the chances are the rest of the team would pants the guy and give him an underwear snuggy for good measure – or worse. Gushy is the last thing these practical and dangerous men are. What they do – putting their hides on the line in the absolutely most dangerous situations imaginable – is done with a minimum of fuss and with a tremendous pride in their own competence and professionalism.

After politely thanking Little Ricky for his kind words, Jack excuses himself to call Mr. Cheng. Ignoring Jack’s plea to talk to Audrey again, the Chinese security chief fills Jack in on how he can get old Needle Nose released; he must steal a “component from the trigger mechanism” – a “prototype algorithm” that is impervious to “modern encryption technology.” This little piece of technology will allow the Chinese to penetrate the entire Russian defense establishment.

I’m sure the damn component walks, talks, and wets itself as well.

To believe that any such “algorithm” could ever exist is to believe in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the good intentions of liberals all at the same time. Why not ask Jack to do something realistic like hand over launch codes for American nukes or something else that would threaten the United States? Do you care – even if it were remotely possible – that the Chinese would be able to steal Russian military secrets? Not I. In fact, given President Putin’s recent boorish, thuggish behavior, it may be that allowing the Chinese to get a leg up on the Russian military might not be such a bad idea.

Anyway, Jack agrees and gets to talk to Audrey again. The poor dear looks like a little lost girl who can’t find her way home after wandering around the forest for a few hours. Jack assures her that he will rescue her from the clutches of the evil Asians.

Back at the White House, Tom catches President Palmer gazing off into space, looking for all the world as if he’s about to have a relapse. But the writers wouldn’t do that to us now, would they?

Palmer insists he must stay on the job or the Veep will try and take over again. (Palmer obviously has no more faith in the writers than we do.) Tom reluctantly spills the beans on what he’s got on Daniels – the damning tape recording of him plotting to commit perjury. The President’s interest is definitely piqued by this info – it may come in handy later.

Suddenly Karen bursts in with the news of Fayed’s death and the recovery of the nukes. This bit of good news cheers the President and he suggests that they leave the underground bunker and return to the oval office. He asks Tom to schedule a press conference to tell the American people.

Back at CTU, Bill is congratulating the gang on doing such a bang up job – despite the fact that their top secret, multi-gazillion dollar computer system was easily hacked and one of their top geeks refused to die an honorable death and instead enabled the terrorists to set off a nuke on American soil by building a trigger for the bomb.

Outside of that, everything went swimmingly.

Chloe’s phone buzzes during Bill’s encomium. It’s Jack, of course, calling to ask Chloe if she would be up to committing a little treason. Chloe says fine except she has to hack Morris’ computer to get the info Jack needs. Easily penetrating her former husband’s system, Chloe downloads the schematics for the suitcase nukes to Jack’s phone.

Is there anything Chloe wouldn’t do for Jack? I mean, in a purely non-biblical way?

Meanwhile, back in the oval office, Wayne greets the Vice President like a Mongoose about to take down a rattler. After thanking the Veep for his idea to nuke a lot of innocent people (which led to Wayne’s fake nuke gambit) he shows his appreciation by asking for Daniels’ resignation within the week. The stunned Vice President refuses – until Wayne lets on that he knows all about his planned perjury. The air is visibly let out of the Veep upon hearing that and he slinks away to write his resignation letter.

Back at CTU, Morris finds out that someone had hacked into his computer thanks to his precaution of adding an invisible log to prevent just such an occurrence. Before he calls security (as if those dolts would have been any help at all) Chloe spills the beans about her little escapade with Jack. Still feeling guilty about not sacrificing his life so that 12,000+ of his fellow citizens could live (silly Morris!) he tells Chloe in no uncertain terms that she must tell Bill about her little project to rescue Audrey from the Chinese or he will. Reluctantly, Chloe makes the trip to Bill’s office.

Jack shows up at the site where the military is getting the nukes ready for transport. He talks his way past the guards with ease:

JACK: You don’t need to see my identification.

GUARD: We don’t need to see his identification.

JACK: I’m not the kind of man who would steal anything from the nukes.

GUARD: He’s not the kind of man who would steal anything from the nukes.

JACK: I can go about my business.

GUARD: He can go about his business.

JACK: Move along…Move along…

GUARD: Move along! Move along!

Unfortunately, Bill is aware of what Jack is trying to do thanks to Chloe and sics Little Ricky on Jack. After a brief, tense standoff between Jack and Doyle, a Marine recovers from Jack’s mind control and cold cocks him upside the head with a rifle butt.

Within a couple of minutes, Jack is awake pleading with Bill to let him use the circuit board as a bargaining chip in his quest to free Audrey. When Bill refuses, Jack asks him to get the President on the line.

Palmer obligingly takes the call and listens to Jack’s pleadings. No way, says Wayne. The Russkies would be mad at us (as if they aren’t anyway) and besides, it wouldn’t work, the Chinese would still get the algorithm.

Not so fast, says Jack. I will guarantee the Chinese won’t get their hands on it. How, asks the President? I’ll kill myself first.

Jack giving up his life for his own country is a given. But Jack willing to die to protect Russian military secrets? Yes, he would be preventing the possibility of a war with the Russians. But that’s only if the Russians found out how the Chinese got a hold of the technology in the first place. I just hope the next thing Jack is willing to die for isn’t something stupid like foreign civilians or UN diplomats. Especially the latter. We could actually do with a few less of those fellows.

The clincher comes when Jack calls in all his chits with the Palmer family. “You owe me,” he tells Wayne. And that one phrase resonates with Wayne who has seen Jack sacrifice himself for the Palmer’s for 5 years. He gives the go ahead for the operation to rescue Audrey.

Jack asks little Ricky to tag along as his point man on the TAC team, making Little Ricky’s day judging by the look on his face. They get in the official CTU black SUV and start for the rendezvous with Cheng.

Morris meanwhile is confused. He actually didn’t think Bill would allow it. Chloe explains that the President trusted Jack unlike Morris who didn’t trust her and help her in her plan to commit treason. Morris immediately understands that Chloe will not forgive and forget easily. “You’re going to hold this over my head for a long time, aren’t you?” he asks. But for how long? “I’ll get back to you,” is Chloe’s lukewarm response.

Are you telling me that’s the best the writers could do? Please give your ideas for a proper Chloe response in the comments.

With all tracking devices and explosive charges in place, the SUV speeds off into the night and toward whatever fate is in store for Jack and Little Ricky.

Back at the White House, a morose Daniels is contemplating life after the Veepship when his trusted aide and good time girl Lisa enters the room. After being told he is being forced out, Lisa can barely contain her excitement at the thought of spending more time with old Noah. Her flushed skin and heaving chest make it apparent that if nothing else, Noah Daniels sure hasn’t lost his touch with the fairer sex. They both hurry off to the Presidential press conference.

Wayne starts off the conference in fine fashion, mouthing platitudes about healing and so forth. It’s only when he starts to take questions that we see that something is terribly wrong. The President appears ill. And when he topples over like a giant sycamore going down, we’re sure something is wrong. Daniels, watching in the back, carefully folds his letter of resignation and carefully stuffs it into his jacket pocket. Fate has just handed him a second chance (as have the writers who apparently are desperately searching for something interesting to happen).

The news regarding the health of the President is grim. Dr. Arthur tells us he has suffered a cerebral hemorrhage. Unless the writers want to endow Jack with supernatural healing powers, it is doubtful whether we will see President Palmer during the last six hours of the show. I will not miss him as I always believed him to be something of a weak sister. But he was at least honorable and honest – the best you can say about any politician these days.

Daniels gets no argument when he invokes the 25th Amendment this time. He instructs Karen to make the necessary arrangements with the military. And Lisa, already on the job, brings up the Bauer operation to save Audrey and its apparent transfer of Russian technology to the Chinese.

Everyone in government seems to know a lot about this one, tiny bit of a circuit board, including the Vice President who orders the operation cancelled. Karen has to call Bill and tell him this, a job that she obviously found distasteful.

And Tom Lennox? Given his possession of evidence that could ruin Daniels, how long do you think he has to live? I’m sure the next major character to emerge will be the “Mr. Fixit” that all politicians have for emergencies like this – men who will do anything in service to their political masters. Even David Palmer had one of these men so don’t be surprised if the guy who handles the Veep’s dirty work is introduced shortly.

Bill Buchanan is no fool. He knows Jack and how he will react. He instructs his staff to get roadblocks up so they can stop the SUV and sends another TAC team just to take Jack into custody. He then calls Little Ricky who tries unsuccessfully to make the conversation about cancelling the op as casual as possible. Silly Ricky. Jack sees right through it. With a sudden move, Jack has his gun drawn and is pointing it at Little Ricky’s head:

JACK: Don’t you move.

DOYLE: (innocently) Jack, what’s the problem?

JACK: Earlier today, I shot my own partner, a friend of mine, because he tried to stop me from doing what I had to do. Don’t think in a second I won’t do that to you.

After kicking Little Ricky out of the SUV, Jack begins to drive away. “You can’t go against the White House,” Doyle calls after him. But Jack isn’t listening. Besides, when did going against the White House ever stop our Jack in the past?


The Grim Reaper not only had the night off, but is contemplating turning in his own letter of resignation.

JACK: 23

SHOW: 403

By: Rick Moran at 11:00 am | Permalink | Comments & Trackbacks (16)

The LLama Butchers linked with Heresy!...
CATEGORY: Politics

At least Matt Stoller says I do.

I just paid my taxes, and I have to say, I always take pride when I do so. I don’t like having less money to spend, of course, and the complexity of the process is really upsetting. But I am proud to pay for democracy, and I feel when I do send money to the DC Treasurer and the US Treasury that that is what I am doing. The right-wing likes to pretend as if taxes are a burden instead of the price of democracy. And I suppose, if you hate democracy, as the right-wing does, then taxes are the price for paying for something you really don’t want. Personally, I find banking fees, high cable and internet charges, health care costs, and credit card hidden charges much more abrasive than taxes, because with those I’m just being ripped off to pay for someone’s summer home.

Patriotism is about recognizing that we are all connected in a fundamental moral and physical sense, that the war in Iraq is our war, that poverty in New Orleans is our poverty, that public funding to cure cancer comes from each of us and not just the scientists who have made it theirs. The tax burden we face is a very small price to pay for the privilege of taking responsibility for our own freedom and our own society. And the hatred of taxes on the right comes from a hatred for this responsibility. It’s childish and immoral and unAmerican.

First of all, does anyone else get the creeps reading Mr. Stoller’s paean to our IRS overlords? I’m very happy he appreciates living in a democracy. So do I. But the taxes he so happily and proudly parts with are collected by perhaps the most undemocratic, oppressive, out of control, nightmare of a bureaucracy our republic has ever known.

Tens of thousands of citizens have fallen under the wheels of the IRS juggernaut only to have their lives ruined, their assets seized, their freedom threatened – all because either the citizen made an honest mistake or, more likely, the IRS itself erred and refused to acknowledge it.

When liberals like Stoller make noises of satisfaction like an infant who has just soiled their diaper just because they obeyed the law one wonders what lefties like our Matt do when they come to a complete stop at a stop sign. The celebrations must go on far into the night.

As far as Mr. Stoller’s laughable “analysis” of right wing attitudes toward taxes and taxation, Paul at Powerline performs the necessary lobotomy:

According to Stoller, “the right-wing likes to pretend as if taxes are a burden instead of the price of democracy.” But while some taxation is the price of democracy (or virtually any other form of government) excessive taxation is, by definition, an undue burden. Excessive taxation is also harmful to our society, unless one believes that there’s no level of taxation that would throw our economy into a downward spiral and/or take too much control of spending decisions out of the hands of citizens.

Stoller then takes his faulty construct one step further, stating “if you hate democracy, as the right-wing does, then taxes are the price for paying for something you really don’t want.” The intellectual dishonesty of this statement is apparent. Conservatives argue for all sorts of things when it comes to taxes: lower marginal tax rates, lower capital gains taxes (or none), a flat tax, the replacement of the federal income tax with a national sales tax, etc. But I know of no conservative who argues for no taxation. Nor can Stoller show any relationship between current levels of taxation and democracy. We’d be no less democratic if our representatives voted to cut our tax rates in half or institute a flat tax. Thus, it’s hardly anti-democratic for conservatives to advocate such measures or to regret, especially on “tax day,” that they have not been adopted.

And herein lies a major difference between left and right regarding the nature of government; the left believes government is a living entity to be nurtured, pampered, even praised. The right believes, as the Founders did, that government is a utility that needs to be managed. (Would that it could be run as well as the phone company.)

Of course, it is hubristic to believe that anyone can manage a beast that consumes $3 trillion a year. Neither can the monster be reasoned with. The United States government in this, the 21st century, overseeing as it does the largest industrial democracy in the world, is the closest thing to a force of nature ever created by man. It can be managed in only the grossest sense – as a piano tuner might attempt to do his job wearing boxing gloves. He can pound the upper register of the instrument and cut spending, always leaving some needy people who fall through the cracks. Or, he can pound the lower register of the piano and increase spending, thus assuring that some who don’t deserve federal largess receive the benefit anyway.

A simplistic allegory to be sure, but I hope instructive. What escapes those of us on the right and on the left is the fact that fine tuning the instrument of government is an impossibility. There are 300 million of us in this country and each of us, in some way large and small, depends on the beast for something. Good roads for safety and convenience. Policeman to protect us. Firemen to save us. Soldiers to fight for us. And legions and legions of bureaucrats to keep the paperwork from overwhelming all of us.

Necessary? Mostly. Hard to argue (although The Cato Institute tries gamely) that the country doesn’t need an Environmental Protection Agency or an OSHA. But when lefties like Stoller wax poetic about government, it is an unseemly demonstration of attachment to what for all intents and purposes is an entity that should be viewed as if not an enemy then certainly an opponent of individual liberty. Keeping that fact uppermost in one’s mind does not make one “unamerican” or “unpatriotic.”

Paying taxes, obeying the law, contributing to society should be as utilitarian a function as using the toilet. Why it has elicited such gushiness from Stoller can only mean that he must spend a lot of time in the bathroom.

By: Rick Moran at 4:24 pm | Permalink | Comments & Trackbacks (25)

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CATEGORY: Media, Politics

An attack at Virginia Tech University has killed at least 32 students including the gunman who apparently took his own life.

Rather than deal with the details at this point, I’d simply urge you to visit Hot Air, Michelle’s site, or PJ Media. Allah will have the latest video (as well as updates from various sources) and Michelle, if she follows form, will have MSM-blog react. PJ Media will also round up blog and press reaction.

I first heard about this story after I awoke from a nap around noon central time. The shock I felt upon hearing the number of dead (22 at the time) has been matched only 2 or three times in my life. The death of John Lennon and 9/11 are the only other times I can recall where my mind was unable to grasp the enormity of what had happened. At times like that, you tend to focus on the strangest things. I tried to recall what the school colors of VTU were and what their mascot looked like – anything but deal with the reality that now 32 sets of parents are going to receive the worst call of their lives telling them that their flesh and blood has been senselessly and brutally gunned down while living and learning in a protected enclave that is supposed to keep the outside world at bay.

Even at this early stage where details are sketchy and rumors are rampant, it appears that the gunman engaged in two separate shootings about 2 hours apart. Experts on CNN have speculated that if the murderer was after a specific target and missed them at the dorm, he would have known the target’s schedule and showed up later where he knew he/she would be in class. At the moment, it has been confirmed that the doors to the classroom building were chained shut – a clear indication that the shooter was out to make a name for himself and was determined to make as many of his classmates feel his pain as he had rounds for his guns.

In a perfect world, gun control laws would have kept the weapons out of the shooter’s hands. Also in a perfect world, one of his potential victims would have been armed and cut short his quest for glory. Despite the fact we don’t live in a perfect world and there’s no sign of one emerging any time soon, we can count on the idiots in Congress and the media to start the political posturing, dying to make speeches and write columns telling us about how wrong the opposition is and how this shooting proves this or that about America, or Americans with guns, or violence in America, or how our schools are screwed up, or even blame the victims for not dodging the bullet that killed them.

What this shooting proves is that there are many who will use horrible tragedy to make political hay. And once – just once – I’d like to see those people taken down as severely as the disturbed young man whose random rampage of sick violence snuffed out many a promising life and brought unspeakable tragedy into so many American homes this day.


In keeping with their party motto “The only good government is the biggest damn government we can shove down people’s throats,” the Democrats are seriously contemplating saddling future Presidents with a “Department of Peace and Nonviolence.”

I’m not sure whether to laugh at the stupidity, weep at the shameless pandering, or tear my hair out thinking about what our enemies might make of such an idiotic idea.

When one considers that the third cabinet level executive department created by the very first Congress meeting in 1789 was the War Department, the possibilities for ironic juxtaposition are staggering. But leaving aside the latent historical analogies, other questions might be raised about the efficacy of creating an executive department that the executive not only hasn’t asked for but would almost certainly conflict with the operations of other executive level departments.

What in the name of all that is good and holy would a President do with such a department? It sounds wonderful – peace, love, sit-ins, smoking joints the size of a Cuban Habano, while playing slap and tickle with the hippie chick sitting next to you in the dark. But as a practical matter, don’t we already have such a department? What do all those people going to work every day at Foggy Bottom do for a living? Isn’t it their job already to promote peace and find non violent ways to resolve crisis?

Ooops! My bad. For the Dems, the first rule of good government is “Why have one Department when you can have two doing exactly the same thing at twice the cost?” (HT: Contact)

Actually, I like Jim Hoft’s idea of making Mother Sheehan the very first Secretary for Peace and Nonviolence. She’d have New Orleans unoccupied in a jiffy not to mention freeing Palestine from the Zionist oppressors before you can say “Holocaust anyone?”

And while we’re at it, might I suggest a few other executive level departments the Dems might want to contemplate adding:


The problem is that in these rather libertine days, there is nothing that can truly be considered “sexually perverted” – except perhaps those of us unimaginative and downright old fashioned enough to be monogamous heterosexuals who like screwing in the missionary position once and a while (with many variations, naturally) and who like our porn straight up and bloodless.

A shrinking minority to be sure…


Not to be confused with the “Department of Groveling,” I have a feeling this Department will receive a lot of prominence if the Democrats make it to the White House in ‘08. Not only will liberals be running around the planet genuflecting to the thugs, the tyrants, and the ne’er do wells who we have offended the last 8 years by standing up to their perfidious designs on the civilized world, but just think of all the opportunities for apologies here at home! My God, they’d be lined up at the Secretary’s door, agitating for “reparations” and all sorts of goodies, including making every white male in the United States participate in a “Day of Reconciliation, Contrition, and Feces Flinging” so that all groups oppressed by white males can get their rocks off.


See above, except this cabinet department would be exclusively devoted to foreign affairs. One good thing is that this particular department would come relatively cheap. Knee pads and a generous supply of chapstick to deal with all the ass kissing of the likes of Ahmadinejad, Assad, Kim, and your odd African potentate or two would be all that’s necessary to make the department a stunning success.

Good to see the Dems already have a head start in forming this department what with the Speaker already planting her lips quite firmly on the thug Assad’s derriere and now getting ready to smooch Ahmadinejad’s radical rear.

Maybe she’s angling for the job…


What better way to reward the Dems friends in Tinseltown than with their very own cabinet level department where rather than pretending to be taken seriously, they actually would be listened to by people at the highest levels of government.

I wonder if Angelina Jolie would be willing to serve?


Al Sharpton for Secretary!

Actually, you and I both know speech would be “free” as long as we didn’t offend – knowingly or unknowingly – the list of 1247 groups, sub groups, races, religions, ethnicities, mentally challenged, weight challenged, sex challenged, those who are afraid of challenges, and sundry other oppressed, put upon, minorities who together make up about 90% of the country.

Feel free to add to this list in the comments. One thing for sure; if the Democrats get their way, Presidents in the future are going to have to hire out the Ballroom at the downtown Sheraton just to hold cabinet meetings.


Dymphna has an overview of the bill’s particulars. It’s worse than I thought. Not only would this cabinet Secretary be able to stick their nose into military planning, State Department negotiations, and our UN policy, but also domestic violence as well as counter terror initiatives and FBI investigations:

For those looking for a distillation, imagine a governmental agency responsible for advising on non-confrontational foreign policy options, establishing and enforcing new gun control measures, designing school curriculum, establishing and enforcing new legislation governing “hate crimes” and violence against animals, and my favorite, establishing a “Peace Academy,” a four-year institution of higher learning modeled on our service academies. (Wait, doesn’t the Ivy League already have like six of those?)

If this isn’t the silliest, stupidest, most asinine idea ever presented to the Congress of the United States, I don’t know what is.

By: Rick Moran at 1:55 pm | Permalink | Comments & Trackbacks (20)

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Yesterday, my brother really stepped in it by penning perhaps the most lopsidedly unpopular post in the history of blogdom. Technorati lists 78 blog posts and counting this morning on Terry’s article, all of them – both left and right – highly opposed. Some conservatives are approaching apoplexy. For a pretty reasoned takedown of what Terry wrote, you can’t do better than J-Pods at The Corner. And my friend Tom Lifson at The American Thinker also offers a rational rebuttal to Terry’s words.

J-Pod and Tom are in a distinct minority. Out of the thousands of comments at Terry’s site, there may be 50 that attempt to respond in a reasonable manner. The rest should be studied by some college kid majoring in Deviant Psychology. What possesses 5,000 people to use exactly the same joke – the play on words with our last name from Moran to “Moron” – and actually delude themselves into thinking they are being both original and funny? It is beyond my understanding. The slackjawed yawpers, the drooling moutbreathers, the half wits, dim wits, pea wits, and twits – all seem to think that someone perusing the comments will come across the 3,217 use of that play on words, slap their palm to their forehead and say “AH! NOW I GET IT!” and then laugh like a banshee.


Perhaps down the road, when some of the sting from the poisoned barbs let loose by the more than 6,000 commenters at his site goes away, I’ll have something suitably snarky and ironic to say to Terry. Perhaps I’ll bake him a congratulatory cake or something.

But today I feel compelled to rise from my sickbed and stand with him. Not in defense of what he wrote but in solidarity with his right to say it. For you see, in all the words written against him, no one has said the simple truth that you can say something with which every one else on the planet disagrees. But as long as you don’t employ hate speech or bigoted language to get your point across, you should be reasonably safe in saying it.

Calls for Terry’s resignation are laughable – and risible. Have we really gotten to a point in our national life where if your write or say something people disagree with that you can be canned for it? That’s outrageous. And extraordinarily dangerous. It is an open invitation for organized pressure groups to lower the bar even further so that intolerance of opposing viewpoints would mushroom into open warfare and the scalp hunt would be on. Civil discourse – already frayed around the edges and stretched to the breaking point – would become impossible. Pundits, talk show hosts, public figures from a wide swath of society would all be on pins and needles, not daring to utter anything colorful or controversial for fear that some special pleader group could twist what was said and turn it into a media controversy that would cost them their jobs. The dead hand of conformity would descend on our national conversation, making it about as interesting as watching jello harden.

No, I won’t defend what Terry said. But when all hands are raised against him, I think it important that he know that his family will stand with him. And I will say this; whatever his reasoning in writing that post, it came from someone with a good and true heart. And I would grant him more intellectual honesty in his little finger than is present in the many thousands of his critics combined. This has come through in his reporting time and time again and has earned him the respect of his colleagues and the admiration of many, many Americans – including this one.

By: Rick Moran at 11:23 am | Permalink | Comments & Trackbacks (53)

CATEGORY: Ethics, Media

There are a thousand important topics in this country that beg for discussion, debate, and consensus – real issues that would improve our security, advance the cause of liberty, promote the economy, and guarantee that the words contained in the Declaration of Independence and US Constitution actually mean something.

The Duke rape case logs in around 975.

I place as much importance on this case as I do the disappearance of a pretty white girl in Mexico or perhaps the latest horror story about a pleasure cruise from hell. A story of local prosecutorial misconduct in a college town just doesn’t deserve the kind of “all in” news coverage on cable nets and the internet that this story received. In fact, if one were to look at the case honestly by stepping back, taking a deep breath, and thinking about it for 10 seconds, one would have to admit to themselves that it is just plain loony that this story got as much play as it did in the first place.

In fact, I would say that this story says a helluva lot more about what’s wrong with the news business, blogs, and people in general than it says about any overarching issues relating to the justice system, treatment of rape victims (real or otherwise), feminism, the objectification of women in a sports dominated culture, privilege and the law, and all the other sickeningly portentous “issues” that were supposedly raised by this case.

Yes, Mr. Nifong should go to jail. As should the accuser whose lies have made it more difficult for victims of rape to seek and receive justice. But Nifong is just a local pol who saw an opportunity for a high profile case to swing an election his way. If you don’t think this doesn’t happen all over America then you aren’t reading your local papers very often. Certainly there are few prosecutors who go to the extraordinary lengths that Mr. Nifong did in manufacturing a case. But he by no means is alone in seeking to use the justice system to advance a political career.

As for the rest of the story, we have college boys behaving badly – drinking and partying while paying $800 to an outcall service to have strippers come and perform. The fact that they were athletes on the not-so-famous Duke Lacross team shouldn’t have mattered. They could just have easily belonged to the astronomy club. And even if their behavior has now been shown not to have crossed the line of legality, does anyone really want to defend them as they leeringly cheered these women on, grasping, groping, even grabbing the strippers who from what I’ve read, had some moments of genuine fear for their safety? I’ve been to one or two parties like that and I can assure you that such displays do not do the male animal credit.

And before we start bemoaning the fate of the accused whose lives have now been “ruined,” let’s wait for the six figure offers to tell their story on film, in books, and on television. How far behind can a Barbara Walters Special be or appearances on Larry King Live? And does anyone want to take a stab at what the final settlement offer will be from the state, county, city, and individual officials – all of whom will be sued for a variety of reasons and where such an open and shut case will make these boys (who admittedly went through a year of hell) rich beyond avarice.

God help them if they’re brave enough to go on O’Reilly.

Bad prosecutor, bad boys, a lying rape victim – it just doesn’t add up to a story of national import. Ah! But beyond the story itself is the fact that the case presented an absolute golden opportunity for every Tom, Dick, and Mary of a special pleader to shove their face in front of a TV camera and scream for 15 minutes about issues with only the most tangential relevance to the case at hand.

Mind boggling to say the least. First up and most vociferous were the racialists who never miss an opportunity to obscure the facts in order to advance their hackneyed agenda. Here, as with the second most vocal outriders who latched on to the case for their own selfish ends – the feminists – the facts of the case didn’t matter as much as the power of the symbols involved; a black woman whose veracity was questioned by the “white power structure” and whose ordeal was being made worse by misogynistic white males. The racialists and the feminists should be given credit for total consistency. Even when evidenced emerged clearing the young men, they stuck to their guns and said the guilt or innocence of the boys didn’t matter, that the real issues were the ones they raised in the first place.

Beyond the race and gender harpies, there were the class warriors who pointed to the “privileged” nature of Duke as a private institution and, along with the “College Sports Culture Breeds Animals” advocates, joined hands in skewering Duke athletics in general as well as the entire college administration who reacted with such extraordinary weakness and groveling that a retrospective look at their performance should get the lot of them fired.

Of course, none of this would have been possible without the relentless eye of the media; setting up shop in Durham for the duration, devoting hours and hours of coverage to timelines, leaks from defense lawyers, leaks from the prosecutor, and the contentious panel discussions about all the issues raised above and then some – a cacophony of noise, rumor, gossip, and speculation that made this story into the sickening display of media overkill that it eventually became.

The media navel gazing has already begun. Everything I’ve said above and more will be dutifully noted in columns and solemnly discussed on the media shows over the weekend. There will be angst-ridden pleas from media critics to stop the madness, that ‘we’re better than this – or at least we should be.” There will be editorials summing up for us what it all means and we’ll be hearing phrases like “rush to judgement” and “feeding frenzy” and “the media is to blame for this entire episode.” (Well, perhaps not that last one, but it fits, doesn’t it?)

Blogs like this one will waste a thousand or so words wondering why other blogs wasted so many words on a non story and others will take me to task for criticizing those who wasted the words in the first place.

And in the end, it will all be meaningless drivel. Take a good look, people. This is America at the beginning of the 21st century. A culture coarsened by a media – concentrated in fewer and fewer hands now – whose relentless drive for profit has created conditions where news isn’t what is happening everyday that impacts people’s lives but rather events or “stories” that can be told like a soap opera with good guys, bad guys, plot twists, and a commercial every 7 minutes. This is what we, the people, have wrought largely as a result of our complacency in the face aggressive corporate takeovers of one media outlet after another.

Fox News Group not only has TV stations but also newspapers around the world and a huge movie studio (not to mention radio stations, magazines, and internet portals). The same goes for every other international conglomerate who owns huge chunks of the media world. Perhaps a half dozen companies control almost all of the media content we are exposed to from sun up to sun down. And in a corporate culture that places a premium on how many eyeballs are glued to a particular station rather than the accuracy or viability of the news being reported, it becomes paramount for news to entertain first, then inform.

I can guarantee that within a month, the media will find the next story that they can serialize like a daytime drama. They will have learned nothing from the Duke rape case despite their caterwauling about lowered standards and the nature of the news biz.

It makes one wonder why I or anyone else should even bother.


I’ve already had to delete a half dozen comments for vulgarity and insulting language. Let’s keep it clean, please.

Also, this is not my brother’s blog. If you wish to comment on his post, please go to his site. Any comment not germane to this post will be deleted.


Just a random observation about human beings…

If 5,000 people use the appellation “Moron” as a play on words regarding the last name “Moran” to describe me or my brother, do they ALL think they’re being funny? Do they believe they are being original in their humor – even when 4,999 commenters prior to their comment registering used the exact same play on words?


By: Rick Moran at 7:08 am | Permalink | Comments & Trackbacks (23)

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CATEGORY: Ethics, Politics

“Oh, George. I wish I had kissed the Sonuvabitch.”
(Patton reflecting on the consequences of striking a soldier suffering from PTSD.)

There is little doubt that Don Imus deserves to be fired. The problem is he has deserved it for going on 25 years. A major contributor to the toxicity of our culture, Imus has frolicked in the sewer of American entertainment, making a living being pointlessly hurtful and hateful to every ethnic and racial group in America. His targets in the past have included the Jews, Hispanics, Italians, Arabs, Catholics, evangelical Christians, and Muslims, to name a few. And he has gotten away with it because people recognize that he is doing it for purposes of “entertainment.”

Playing to stereotypes is a dangerous game and Imus (and his chief enabler and cheerleader, producer Bernard McGuirk), skirt the edge of outright hate speech constantly, settling for drawing broad analogies and using code words that allow their slack jawed fans to create their own punchlines. This gimmicky approach to practicing bigotry without actually crossing the line earned the radio host a huge following during the crucial morning drive time in most major markets and a sizable audience on television via MSNBC.

Now having finally crossed the Rubicon of racist caricature, it appears he is about ready to lose it all:

NBC News dropped Don Imus yesterday, canceling his talk show on its MSNBC cable news channel a week after he made a racially disparaging remark about the Rutgers University women’s basketball team.

The move came after several days of widening calls for Mr. Imus to lose his show both on MSNBC, which simulcasts the “Imus in the Morning” show, and CBS Radio, which originates the show.

CBS Radio, which is the main employer of Mr. Imus, said in a statement last night that it would stick by the two-week suspension of the show that it and NBC News announced earlier; the suspension begins Monday.

But CBS said it would, in the interim, “continue to speak with all concerned parties and monitor the situation closely.”

The demands that Mr. Imus’s show be canceled have grown in intensity every day since last Wednesday when he made the comments, in which he labeled the women “nappy-headed hos.”

The gutless wonders at CBS who have their finger in the wind seeing if the controversy will die down over the next two weeks are a perfect example of why Imus was allowed to get away with his hate shtick. The fact is, he is wildly popular and makes money for those who employ him. On that basis alone, he has been given a pass that politicians, athletes, actors, musicians, and other public figures never seem to get when it comes to inappropriate speech. And here is where the market forces that drive the entertainment industry actually work to bring the culture down to the level of the gutter. We are told that sex, violence, perversion, and the general coarseness of our popular culture is the result of our own choices, that if people wanted more elevating fare they would demand it.

This may be true to a large extent. But it is also true that even with a veritable cornucopia of choices available on television, the internet, the movie theater, and radio, along with satellite outlets such as DVD’s, CD’s, and gaming, the ever shrinking number of corporations who control all of this media fail to offer much in the way of alternatives. The odd family show on television or small number of G-rated movies released every year reveal the fact that our media gatekeepers simply don’t try very hard.

In a perfect world, edifying and uplifting fare would if not dominate all aspects of our culture, they would certainly compete equally for dollars and viewership. Not living in a perfect world instead gives us Howard Stern who at first, tried to “out-Imus” Imus until he settled into his own brand of sexually charged, off the wall rantings against gays and racial minorities. The fact that he is now on a pay service doesn’t minimize his impact on a specific segment of the population – 18 to 25 year old males. Stern’s objectification of the female body, his leering references to lesbianism, and his ignorant political diatribes are gobbled up by the most impressionable of audiences. His estimated 5 million listeners on Sirius radio pay for the privilege of listening to this weirdo – a sure sign either in the efficacy of capitalism or that civilization is coming to an end.

Beyond the hate and the prurience, there is a general coarseness to our culture that leaves those who consume its fruits at times feeling unclean. I enjoy movies with lots of explosions and death as much as anyone. But there are times that I come away feeling as if I had wallowed in a pool of blood, so ultra violent and utterly devoid of social value much of this fare offers. The Kill Bill films are a good example. Hugely entertaining because they tell an interesting story populated with interesting characters, the gore and casual attitude toward spilling blood nevertheless made it much the guilty pleasure.

To be a critic and a lover of popular culture is not so much a dichotomy as it is a realistic response to the world in which we live. But the Imus’s of this world are different. Quentin Tarrantino may have made the Bill movies for the same reason Imus seeks to shock and titillate his audiences – for the dollars. But Tarrantino’s is a stylized violence – an artistic artifact that reveals a larger truth than the simple sum of the film’s parts. For Imus, he shocks simply because he is able to. This truly places him in a cultural gutter along with rape pornographers, some rap artists, , and others who seek to manipulate the emotions of their audience in order to elicit a base emotional.

Imus should have been fired long ago. Perhaps the action taken by MSNBC will dampen the enthusiasm of the “shock jocks” who seek to skirt the edge of propriety all in the name of listeners and ad revenue.

But I wouldn’t count on it.

By: Rick Moran at 9:21 am | Permalink | Comments & Trackbacks (16)

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