Dead.

I am…
…really disturbed.
There’s a bad series of events rising. The news of the past week has been depressing enough. But reading the paper today casts a pall over everything.
Article One: Supreme Court Chief Justice Reinquist died last night. This man held on with tooth and nail, to his dying breath, to outlive the current administration. He must have been crushed after last year’s elections. It would explain all his trips to the hospital this year. Once you know you can no longer make it, or that you’ve done all you can, you will die off rather quickly.
He’s been dead for less than 24 hours, and the story has already become his replacement. The Shrub is expected to quickly name a nominee. Nothing will surprise me this time. I was sure last time, that it would have to be a hispanic person, or specifically a woman. Anything, really, but an old white man. Enter Roberts: Aspiring Old White Man. No, he hasn’t been confirmed yet. But he will be. No legislator has the cahonés any more to take a stand on a single issue.
Article Two: The Marines have been ordered into New Orleans to maintain order. Is that even legal? The National Guard is one thing. Unless federalized, as President Kennedy did, the Guard is called out by Governors. How does sending in the Marines, a federal force, to a domestic location to act as a police force not violate the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878?
Regardless of the legalities, it’s ominous and enlightening in its own right. Most Americans I have talked with have a belief that their government will “take care of things” when the going gets rough. After all… the whole point of civilization is to protect the weak and the young. But time and again, these last few years, we’ve seen how woefully unprepared our federal and state governments are to handle anything more unplanned than a new tax law. And when taken off guard by some event, be it man-made or the assault of nature, we as a people have shown neither the intelligence nor imagination to find truly reasonable and feasible solutions to these concerns. Like an angry child, we attack the thing that just scared us, with no thought towards the unknown. And terror, from any source, is by definition, the incitement of fear through the use of the unknown or unexpected.
The government isn’t all stupid. They know people believe in them, like a child looking up to their all-knowing parent. But this most recent hurricane laid bare the inadequacy of the current federal government to even inspire its people, much less actually protect them. The governments responses have been woefully late and perpetually defensive, as has become common practice. We really heard nothing until people starting asking where they were.
They panic, after saying that they’re just now learning of the true scale of the horrors along the gulf coast. They’ve already started blaming local authorities for not sending federal government accurate information. (How exactly does the Mayor of Biloxi report in, when his town no longer exists?) So is it an organizational failure? Besides the obviousness of a response of “send everything you possibly can” to a disaster of this scale,I have never seen an organizational failure that didn’t originate from the top down. And I’ve never met a good leader who didn’t take the blow themselves when their subordinates fucked up. So the local authorities didn’t check in often enough? How about all the news reports coming out of the area? How about your national guardsmen? How about your FEMA workers? How about reports from the Red Cross? Nice to see our Director of Homeland Security was scooped by Al Jazeera. Did they think the order to evacuate New Orleans was not a bad sign?
I don’t lay blame for all the people suffering, on the federal government. I lay blame for an inadequate federal government, on the federal government. For the people sitting in the sun on the highway for 3 days; for the people having to dig their way out through their roofs; for the people desperate for aid an assistance; I lay the blame primarily on those people. I don’t wish suffering on any person. And there are, without a doubt, people who were physically unable to respond the the warnings and danger around them. But what is wrong with these people who are just sitting there saying “save me before I die”?! As I said… if your legs don’t work, or you’re trapped on an island, then it is an incredible tragedy. But otherwise… why are you sitting there? Your house is gone. You’ve run out of food and/or water? What on earth makes you sit there and wait for someone to pick you up, rather than to start walking north? People in Sudan are being bombed, and raped, and slaughtered. So what did they do? Entire towns stood up and started walking, and didn’t stop until they got to a new country.
It’s all a horrible parody, I sometimes think. The “strong” American people, so dependent on being told what to do, when to do it, how to do it. And we’re proud of this. Not like those third world countries. Other countries have people dying for the freedom to make their own decisions. We now have people dying in the streets for nothing more than their blind faith in the government.
For the last few days, I’ve been thinking about feral cities, in relation to New Orleans and the rest of the Gulf Coast. I don’t know that the people in this country have the ability, on the large scale necessary, to take responsibility for their own lives, anymore.
Yeah… I know I lost my focus somewhere in here. But these are just a few little things that have been bugging the holy fuck out of me.

Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!

Henri de Toulouse Lautrec

Henri de Toulouse Lautrec I meant long ago to write up something about my visit to the Henri de Toulouse Lautrec exhibit at the National Gallery of Art earlier this year. But you know… I’m a lazy fuck.
Lautrec did all those gaudy, risqué French posters you’ll see in coffee houses and young women’s apartments. In fact, I think he’s one of the few major fine artists primarily known for blatantly commercial work. The show even had work from his projects for the infamous Moulin Rouge.
His posters started the show. They’re certainly his most famous work. The progression you could see in his style was pretty cool. From his early works which were purely illustrated portraits, to his later work, which included visual depth, and a greater understanding of design principles.
What affected me most in the exhibit were his paintings of everyday life in the Montmartre district. His paintings of his peers and friends were incredible. I remember looking at a painting of a young man standing in the street, and realizing how totally in-place the same person would look if they could just step out of the painting. All the works were showing this… these people were living the exact same life I see around me know, but only a 120 years in the past. You knew exactly how these people would act, because you could so immediately identify with them. It was a pretty incredible feeling. Montmarte of 1895 could be any artists neighborhood in any major city today.
The show finished up with a collection of works from some time he spent living in a brothel, recording the lives of the women around him. These works seem so much more honest than most pre-Modern fine art. There are women in all their beauty and all their not-so-beauty. Women lined up on benches, waiting for customers. And lesbian brothel workers, comforting each-other in bed.
The other thing that struck me about this exhibit, more and more as I walked through, was how closely Laurenn McCubbin‘s work and career seems to be following Lautrec’s. Right from the start, there were some obvious stylistic similarities in his poster work. I can’t help but think of Laurenn’s paintings of Kelly Sue and company, when looking at the candid paintings Lautrec did in MontMarte. And Rent Girl, which I had recently read, came to mind when I saw his work from the brothel.
I only hope Laurenn doesn’t drink herself to death and end up in an Asylum.

Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!

How to catch a taxi, influence friends, and pick up a hooker

Juuuuuust when I thought I was out… They draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag me back in. After finally having ripped all my cassette tapes to MP3, Autumn goes and gives me a new stack of tapes. These however, I may be able to finish in 1 or 2 nights.
Note to anyone coming to the District: Do not lean through a window and talk to cab drivers. Get in the fucking car. If it turns out you don’t have enough money, you can always get out again. But once you’re in the vehicle, they’re required by law to take you wherever you wish to go, within the Metro area. There is no need to question them from the curb as to wether they will take you somewhere. And if they do simply roll down the window and ask you where you wish to go, you’re better off telling them to piss off. Besides coming damn close to being illegal, it means they’re looking for a passenger going one specific route. The likelihood that you’re going that route is pretty bad. So shut up get in the fucking cab. I’ll thank you, and they 15 cars backed up behind the taxi will thank you.
We now return you to you’re regularly scheduled Sunday night stupor.
So I went out with friends to various places Friday night. (Pictures now available from your local gift shop or in the snapshots section of this very website.) When we started out at The Black Cat, I was depressed to find out that Rainer Maria will be playing there this coming Friday. Depressed, because I will be in East Bumpafuck at the time, watching the utility truck bucket rides. But if you’re luckier than me, go see them. The few songs I have of theirs are great. Sort of a female-fronted, intelligent, hard rock band.
You know… as Kier would say, any night not spent in front of the TV alone is a good night. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t wish to cause serious bodily injury to one of my friends before the night is through. It would be all fine and well, but for … well… a complete lack of knowing what we were doing. I’m all for spontaneity. But to me, that’s the ability to make quick decisions with little or no supporting facts or information. What we had was a complete lack of decision making. We had 45-minute committee discussions followed inevitably by the least successful of all possible outcomes. The cutest moment of the night did come, though, from Autumn’s boyfriend, (a seemingly nice guy), somehow deciding he had enough testosterone–despite his metallic, zebra-pattern, club shirt–to order 7 people–3 of whom are over 6 ft. tall–into a sports car, so we could go to Adams Morgan. (A place you really must experience at 3 in the morning on a Saturday to appreciate sobriety and good footware).
It’s been a while since I got home at 4 AM.
Did I mention the call-girls have been evicted? Right. The day after they had one man in their bed, another waiting in the hallway, another downstairs trying to remember their apartment number, and one more show up just in time to see them all locked out of the apartment when she forgot her keys. This is the point where we find out her pimp had the doorlock changed without telling the rental office. After a brief interlude with the last contestant on The Price is Always Right in the laundry room, everyone was seen leaving the scene in a yellow taxi cab.
And I bet they didn’t ask the driver if he was going their way.

Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!