Instapun*** Archive Listing

Archive Listing
January 26, 2011 - January 19, 2011

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Bring on the LOLs

What a sweetie! Just look at him. Not like that Satanically handsome Vick.

. What a Super Bowl it's going to be! The Old Ones. The guys with a decal on only one side of their helmets and the guys whose uniforms were designed by a color-blind Milwaukee pensioner.

I can't wait. Can you? We've got two weeks of this crap to look forward to. Permit me to fill you in. There's a show on Broadway about Vince Lombardi, starred in by a guy whose acting credentials consist of the same gap between his front teeth affected by the god Vince himself. Trust me. You'll see the whole play in carefully doled out snippets before the opening kickoff. What you won't see is Vince's daughter, Maria, whom I had to suffer through in a sales conference in the 80s, because she makes her living parroting her father's sayings in a monotone for thousands of dollars to hapless salesmen the world over. And, yes, she looks exactly like her father, but who needs this, and what for anyway?

There's also going to be the hypocritical assault/love-in anent Ben Roethlisberger. "Hey, Ben, have you stopped semi-raping teenage girls yet?" "uh, yeah. God is great, and I have this enormous newfound respect for women and, of course, my teammates." All right. That's the gist of all the interviews. The real fun will be in how many ways we can ask the same question and from how many angles we can aim the camera at him as he answers.

I'm going to bring you EVERY restatement of the question and EVERY single camera angle. Before I'm done, you'll be BEGGING for mercy.

Yeah, I know some of you have conceded I'm funny. Not good enough. I'm not just looking for LOLs; I'm looking for some commenter, finally, to read the whole goddam Amerian Glossary and announce to the world, without saying he thought of it first, that it's the best damn description of the "State of the Nation" since Bierce's Devil's Dictionary.

I keep putting it before you and you keep ignoring it. Well, OKAY. Look forward to the shocking Super Bowl post in which I'll explain why Ben Roethlisberger's mother loves him so, even if all those trashy ho's keep hitting on him in the clubs he doesn't go to anymore. You'll cry your eyes out, believe me.

NEXT: Why Troy Polamalou's mother never loved him enough...

P.S. Sorry, Lake, Apotheosis, et al. When I'm in asshole mode, being fair has nothing to do with posting. Start adoring the Glossary. Besides, in your heart of hearts, you know you haven't adored it enough thus far to get me a damned electronic book contract. Which it DESERVES, dammit. Never mind that I haven't actually tried to get one. But did any of YOU ever explain to ME how those electronic books work? DID you? So now you have to pay.

Tick, tick, tick.

"She thought I was stupid."

... he said. Sometimes, moms are right.

. He'd have had a better game on Sunday except that it was so cold and all his split ends broke off when he put the helmet on.

Anybody else tired of hair as an NFL topic, pro and con? Oh, it's not allowed, not fair, to pull the hair of a fucking NFL linebacker who's trying to kill you with his helmet-first tackle? It makes Packer Clay Matthews "want to scream." It makes Steeler Troy Palomalu want to "pull somebody elses's hair out." Ooh. Right. That would hurt. No wonder the NFL has a ban against pulling the hair of the prettiest linebackers.

I promised I'd give you the goods about Troy Palomalu. He's a nancy boy. Which in the current cultural context means he's a terrific role model. You know. Everybody on earth but close-clipped Lesbians should spend all their free time sucking cock. We got that.

Just don't pull his hair. Which is what his mother emphasizes in her interviews. "I shouldn't have let him play football in the first place, although I am grateful for the solid gold vaginal thingummy I wear these days except when I have an infection." She  winks, then sighs but continues, like all mothers of all NFL mega-millionaires always continue when there's a camera turned on. "But he's a good boy. His hair was always just beautiful, like lustrous or something. I should have done more to make his life easier when all the recruiters started coming around in middle school. He always wanted to watch me pee. I didn't let him. I'm so sorry. Now he's hanging out at middle school basketball games. With that hair. I should have loved him more."

Mike Ditka and Jamie Dukes will have more on this fascinaing story later. He's headed for the Hall of Fame, don't you know. Which means he's defintely not hanging out at middle schools. With his hair.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Wisdom Fatigue

In the skies of Elsinboro.

DOWN HOME. Something I've never talked about before. Yeah, we live in the nowhere of the American east coast. Way out in the country. But we're also in the flightpath that leads miltary aircraft from offshore to Dover, Delaware, where all the slain warriors come home. We hear them first, we see them if we rush to the windows, and we feel them when the Chinooks beat-beat-beat their way across our sky. For years we have imagined without voicing it the transmigration of souls across our patch of sighthounds, cardinals, nuthatches, hummingbirds and red-breasted woodpeckers. We thought it was for a purpose. Defending Americans against those who would do us in for being us. I just learned today from an old friend that there is no such thing as American exceptionalism. So it's all for naught. There is more virtue in being French or German, because they at least have the health care questions answered right. And there was never anything unique about America except a certain vulgar energy.

All right. I'm swallowing my ire. American freedom includes the perfect right to the insanity of the smug and the superciliously ignorant consumers of American freedom who adopt the guise of being as superior as European intellectuals like Kant and Rousseau. A philosophy in which art is actually more important than life and belief. A philosophy that grinds the best of us into the potions loaded into egalitarian hypodermic needles injected into the corn-fed masses by the smartest technicians among us. (Uh that would be the scant 100 graduates a year of the Harvard Medical School, who along with the graduates of the Harvard Kennedy School of Government and the Harvard {if not Yale} Law School, and don't forget the Columbia School of Journalism, should be running absolutely fucking everything in the country.)

But we live in the country. There are no streetlights here. We do not live in the piss-yellow bubble of the city but in the wide blue universe, where night is shocking moon and bright pinpoint stars and, yes, the darkness of night as it is. Meaning dark as death except for the twisted thrusts of clawing winter trees. And I am angry.

There are philosophies of life and philosophies of death. We feed the birds in the snow and we hear the C130s and Chinooks beating overhead. And somehow we're the benighted ones. As if we're the ones who don't know the value of human life and need the addicts of thanatos to tell us how corrupt we are. People whose whole lives are defined by politics to tell us that we are "too emotional" about politics.

Because we're somehow too stupid to distinguish mere politics from the governmental policies that have already cost us family members -- like watching my mother ping-ponging between hospital and rehab according to Medicare-determined regulations until she died -- while the enlightened ones tell us what's wrong with health care is not enough government control, as if -- AS IF -- government hasn't been fatally interfering with health care since 1964 and the only solution is more government control. And who would know more about enlightened government control than Germans? Or maybe the French.

I'm told, by my superior friend, that all this is the fault of corrupt Republicans in congress. I agree. Republicans in congress helped vote in Medicare. Which cost 20 times what it was originally projected to cost. What did we gain? Trillions in debt. What did we lose? Doctors in Buicks who made house calls. Now I'm supposed to blame Republicans who oppose all change because more change might make things worse by changing things for the sake of changing things. Kind of like a Hail Mary pass by atheists. How could any intelligent person believe such nonsense?

And I'm the idiot. I'm also the one who doesn't know what he's talking about because all he's lost is an old mother and various friends and acquaintances with whom he can't claim a blood relation. Which means I don't have the necessary "Oh my God, how could you?" claim in congress or on the government.

BEAT BEAT BEAT. Yeah, You're right. I know nothing about death. But maybe I know more about life than you remember.

P.S. You're exactly like my sister. You'll never look at this, explore my Glossary, or acknowledge its weight. (Like her, you start, engage, then disappear. It's called glancing acknowledgment with no accountability. She praises, promises to read more, then whoosh....)  Vassar and Dartmouth must have the same zipcode. I have accepted that my commenters for the most part have no sense of humor, but I've always been more Ambrose than Scott, with a flick of Swinburne in between. The chief distinguishing characteristic of my intimates is their determination not to notice.

Commenters: Don't be upset. I have long accepted that laughter is no part of my charter with you. Why I've given up doing posts that are just funny. You ignore them completely. All I'll tell you, in passing, is that laughter is far more important than you know. Here, for example, I'm talking to a person of sparkling wit who has utterly forgotten how to laugh. That's a kind of death, which makes a mockery of life. But if you don't read my Glossary and have something to say beyond the fact that you want to restate it as if you thought of it first, then I'm going to write about the Super Bowl EVERY SINGLE DAY until you cry uncle.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Who Ya Got?

UH, THE NFL. A friend pulled me back to earth in an email about the Super Bowl. Here's his view:

I'm pulling for the Jets b/c I dislike the Stealers. I was even rooting for the Ravens to beat them last week, which should have happened except for Bal'more's meltdown. For some reason I am thinking Sunday will be an easy Steeler victory. If the Jets do manage to pull it off, On the road as a wild card against Indy, the Pats, and then through Pittsburgh? That would be rather impressive.
As for the Bears, I am just not as scared of Aaron Rodgers as the media keeps insisting I should be. Yeah, they torched the Falcons like their defense wasn't even on the field. But the Falcons' D has been suspect all year and their best DB did not play last weekend due to injury. The only chance they had was to play perfect offense but Matt Ryan had a miserable game. The Eagles' defense isn't all that great either but the Pack wasn't able to walk all over them like in Atlanta.
Everyone has apparently forgotten that last game of the regular season where the Packers were done if they didn't win and it didn't matter to the Bears whether they won or lost. After trailing for much of the game, the Pack barely won, 10-3. In Green Bay. So sure, if Rodgers starts five drives from the Bears' 10 yard line he may very well end up with 5 TD passes.
And Martz: you had probably stopped watching the game at this point, but late in the third the Bears were crushing the life out of Seattle, running the ball right down their throats, getting easy first downs & killing the clock. So around midfield, Martz inexplicably dials up some gimmick play where Matt Forte, the RB, was supposed to throw to somebody. When I realized what the play was I yelled out, "What the fuck are you doing?!" Forte threw one of the worst passes I've ever seen, straight into the arms of a Seattle LB all by himself and the announcers promptly blamed Forte for everything. Are you kidding me? This guy is running all over the Seahawks but you're going to blame him for a bad throw? Why was that play being run in the first place? If you're up by three TDs and aren't having any problems running the ball, what the hell do you need a gimmick play for? I guess Martz has his moments, but he needs one eye kept on him at all times.
Really, really hoping this will not be a Steelers/Packers Superbowl. Ugh. Puke.

I know what he means, but it's going to be a Steelers-Packers Super Bowl. Worse, the Steelers are going to win again.

Which I hate. I've always had a habit of dividing NFL teams into the Good Guys and the Bad Guys. This year, all the remaining teams are, in my book, Bad Guys. Except possibly the Packers, who I'll be rooting for as they lose to the Steelers.

Meaning I've lost interest. I'm looking forward to Wing Bowl 19.

Oh? You want to know about the Bad Guy thing? It's complicated. Not with regard to the Steelers, whom I just hate. Even though I'll be rooting for them to kick some Jet ass this Sunday. Because Rex Ryan is an asshole. (And more importantly, New York City is an asshole; the two teams they spend millions of words obsessing about in Big Apple papers both play in Jersey. Fuck'em.) Rah rah coaches succeed for about two years, and then their teams get sick of pretending they're still in college year after year after year. Why Pete Carroll will be looking for another college gig in a year or two.

As to the Steelers, I've never bought their act. They're whiners from way back (James Harrison anyone?) and they're suspiciously lucky. The really critical referee calls always go their way. What's pass interference for the 31 other teams in the league is just aggressive pass defense when Steelers corners and safeties are involved. (Just how rich and well-connected ARE the Rooneys, anyway?) I'm sick to death of hearing the network announcers slobbering over play that used to make the Oakland Raiders (my real all-time team) the pariahs of the NFL. And, if anything, Roethlisberger is even worse than Michael Vick, an ugly bully of a man who's made a career of victimizing not dogs but women. Wave all the Terrible Towels you want, but you'll never make your quarterback anything more than a stolid thug. Fuck him.

The Bears are almost as bad. Two big raps on them. First, they have the two most overrated players in all of football -- Brian Urlacher and Julius Peppers. Urlacher, frequently too hurt to play, shaves his head and acts like the second coming of Dick Butkus. There was only one Dick Butkus, and he didn't do half as much chest-thumping self-promotion. Julius Peppers had three sacks on his home field this year. So why do we have to keep hearing about how great he is? Second, the Bears should be drummed out of the NFL for the perpetually dangerous field they play on. Everything in Chicago is for sale, including, apparently, the contracts that keep re-sodding Soldiers Field with life-threatening nightmares of breakaway grass. Last week they played on a re-sodded field that was already dead and brown, and two players were carted off their treacherous turf to the hospital. I'm just hoping those players will walk again someday. Fuck Da Bearz.

Compared to these guys, the Packers aren't so bad. But I'm already sick of the Clay Matthews posturing. In any other context, we'd suspect him of being a serial killer. His long, blonde, dirty locks and his constant celebrations of his manhood after a sack. Grow the hell up. Vince Lombardi would never have put up with that self-aggrandizing crap. Why should we? Which is the real point about the Packers. More than any other team, they have an ideal to live up to -- the understated dignity of the true professional athlete. When they prance and pose, as they so often do, it's ten times worse than when other teams do it. Not fair but the way of things. Given their heritage, they're a disgrace. So fuck them too. Good guy factor? Aaron Rodgers. Lombardi would approve.

Of course, Lombardi wouldn't approve of the Wing Bowl, which began when Philadelphia got tired of waiting for a Super Bowl. When the NFL collapses into a total bore, as it has done this year, The City of Brotherly Love has the perfect antidote. The wildest, weirdest non-sporting sporting event in the nation. Where I'd be this February if Mrs. CP's bold attempt to win tickets at WIP SportsTalk hadn't fallen a hair short.

But there's always next year.

Oh yeah. Have at it. We can take it. Target? More than the 52 comments we got on Superboy...  Pretty sure you can't work up the heart to do it. Nobody cares about what's left of this season. Except some losers in Pittsburgh.

You heard it here first.

FORGET THE ANYFELL. So I'm a little ill today with allergies, okay, and then after a fevered nap I wake up (or think I did) to find the following comment exchange between two of my favorite people in response to a football post [boldface mine]:

M.  2011-01-21 12:25:00

Let's see, on Sunday I got:

Philly over Chicago in a Stanley Cup rematch (NBC @ 12.30).

The Isle over Buffalo at home.

Florida over the stinky Devils. Stinky, stinky Devils---so sad. Time for Brodeur to retire back to French-Canada, n'est-ce pas?

Tampa (Stamkos gets his 40th) over Atlanta.

The Oilers rally past the Preds at home.

Btw, where the hell is Puck Punk? Philly is bringing the hardware home this June---we need coverage!

Puck Punk  2011-01-21 01:01:00

This week I am writting the new post about the hockey because I am thinking that all of the Superbowls are already played. But then the Punks inform me that the anyfell footballs are not done yet. So they still do not want to talk about the hockey. But the Eagle Phylers are good. The best team I ever see play for the anyshell. They win the Stanley Cup this year undefeated in the playoffs. They have the one man, and the other guy. They are imbattable.

Oh my. Oh my. Truth? I would rather have the Stanley Cup in Philadelphia than a Super Bowl trophy. This team won my heart last year and I've been afraid to think how very very good they might be. But I know where Puck Punk's loyalties lie, and if he says they're good, then my heart is leaping like a, well, leaping heart.

Besides, Puck Punk, you got it wrong. I'm pretty sure I was saying that the "anyfell footballs" are definitely and absolutely done for the year, unless the first half-time performer under the age of 60 since Janet Jackson manages to tear her top off too in Dallas. Otherwise, the time is yours. (Iggle fans will catch the reference. Everyone else can squiggle in catch-up mode as they will...)

Phylers Phorever!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

The WackinessIdiocy of NBC

Harry's Law: A suicide-bomb of a TV show.

WHY I'M STILL MAD AT 'ENLIGHTENED' LIBERALS. There's a conspiracy theory I'm beginning to believe in, even if I'm the first one to articulate it. NBC is a pawn to be sacrificed in GE's plan to prosper by negotiating sweetheart deals with the leftist Obama administration. It's a serious charge since it would fulfill some definition of fascism; that is, the union of government and corporate power in a quid-pro-quo deal that trades free market competition and economic liberty for federally guaranteed profit.

I'm not going to make the business case for GE's coziness with the Obama administration, which has been abundantly documented elsewhere. I'm going to make a micro case based on a single television series. But I remind you that the whole is frequently embedded in the tiniest part, which is the science behind holograms and the reason why synecdoche succeeds as a figure of speech throughout the history of literature, as far back as Homer in 600 BC.

So NBC is in huge trouble as one of the four major television networks. The news division is suffering from massive credibility issues because of a flyspeck offshoot called MSNBC, whose maniacal trinity of Olbermann, Maddow, and Matthews (OMM!) undermines and underlines the less blatant lefty bias of marquee NBC stars like Brian Williams and Matt Lauer. Is anything done to restore journalistic objectivity to the Today Show or the NBC Nightly News? No. Nothing definitive. And Tom Brokaw keeps yammering, a lot like Walter Cronkite, an icon with no brain who insists on proving it again and again.

The entertainment division has few hits. Its longest running prime-time show, Law & Order, finally expires after several seasons of increrasingly political cheap shots against conservatives and Christians, and new network executives are brought in to revive the failing NBC brand. What do they choose as one the network's new signature prime-time shows? A thing called Harry's Law, starring Kathy Bates and written by David E. Kelley. Here's a partial review:

Though we've come to expect a little bit of odd and crazy from David E. Kelley over the years, and understand well that the odd bits are most of what made his good shows what they were, at some point (like Snoops, or Girls Club, or The Wedding Bells) we get to raise our eyebrows and back slowly away... then bolt at the corner.

We enter the show with Harriet "Harry" Korn (Bates) wallowing in her fancy law office, watching cartoons and eating the prominently displayed Poppycock, amid a mountain of what prop guys pull out when the script says, "mess." In a rather fanciful, 60-second rundown, we are given to understand that Harry was, until a month ago, one of the top patent Attorneys in the country, but now she's sick of her incredibly boring life. Before you're even absolutely sure you're watching the right channel, she's fired...

We cut to Harry wandering the streets aimlessly, and voice-overing a little ditty about the wackiness of life, looking for all the world like someone who is a week away from homelessness. Bam! She's hit on the head by an errant, falling, African-American man, who just jumped off a building in a suicide attempt. Cut to the hospital. Harry's fine. Curmudgeonly banter ensues.

She returns to the spot of the accident, insert more voice-over about life and things happening for a reason (or not), and sees a retail property for rent. We quickly gather that she forms thoughts of hanging her shingle in this rundown part of town, and throwing a little adventure at herself (patent clients being who they are), and heads over to check the space out. Bam! She's hit by a car moving at a pretty nice clip, but luckily falls onto a mattress that was being delivered. Cut to the hospital. To her Doctor's bewilderment, Harry's fine.

Much to no one's surprise, the person who hit her turns out to be a young, patent lawyer from another big firm, and he and Harry were involved in a big case not all that long ago. This fellow will come to be known as Adam Branch (Nate Corddry). He is somewhat in awe of her status as a giant in the patent law arena, she thinks he's an arrogant little **** Thus, television scripts come together...

Before Harry can settle in, Adam bursts in and tells Harry that he's going to come and work for her... in her little retail shoe store law office of undisclosed purpose... until she gets on her feet (in the world of legal business, this of course makes no sense whatever... two patent attorneys in a shoe store in a bad part of town are not better than one). Despite her protests, Adam insists.

Jenna quickly fires off that she is going to stay with Harry and continue on as her girl Friday, or whatever, and without missing a beat, Harry replies that she can't afford to pay her...

I'll give you the fairly silly intro...

But, now you're trying to tell me that one of the top patent Attorneys in the country, with some thirty-odd years in practice at what is obviously a very cushy law firm, is so down and out, on day one of losing her position no less, that she makes a completely off-the-cuff remark (as though stating the blatantly obvious) that she cannot afford to pay an assistant? Not here, I say! You'll not have me with your snake oil, my good man! The outrage! The unmitigated gall of such a suggestion!

Mind you, we're some five minutes or so into the show at this point, and from there things get silly...

Skipping along, a "gangster" walks in trying to sell Harry on his protection racket, at which point she pulls out the previously mentioned .44, takes his picture with her iPhone, and tells him that her 30 years of legal practice have led her to a close relationship with many members of law enforcement. Some of them "honest," others not so much. Wink wink. You know, because of how patent Attorneys are all up in the criminal scene and whatnot.

Later, Harry squares off with a D.A. who all but twirls his mustache, and repeats most everything he says, because that's where the dart landed on the "Annoying Character Quirks" board. Our hooligan turns out to be running something that might be thought of as a "legitimate protection racket," and needs a good lawyer. And, before you can say, "Jack Robinson," Jenna (whose name is not Chrissy, or Barney Fife by an accident of fate) has customers in the office looking at shoes. Well, because how hard can that be? Turn left at the wino, past the third hooker, and you're here... We have Prada!

Once in the courtroom, everything that transpires, and every word that is uttered, has far more in common with an early 70's sitcom than with either anything that could possibly happen in a real court, or even anything that happens in a court in the realm of less-than-interesting shows. It's so nonsensical, that it's almost self-mocking, except that I'm wary of giving it even that much credit for awareness.

At some point Kelley and some group of ones were sitting around a table, and someone threw out the idea that there was a certain segment of the population who are jonesing for some Murder She Wrote, or Matlock, and some of them are even still alive, only it should be wackier now, because they're older. Kelley said, "You want to get nuts! Let's get nuts!"...

Bad, huh? Except that this review, scathing as it is, leaves out the most egregious sin of the pilot episode. You see, I actually watched the first half of it On Demand, and I was giving it the same pass I've previously given Drop Dead Diva, which is to say, "Okay, it's silly, but maybe it will be entertaining and engaging at some fantasy level." Wrong. After I'd consciously overlooked the Drop Dead Diva rip-off of a plump but surpassingly clever female attorney in the lead role and her ditzy-but-smart blonde fashionista sidekick, not to mention the Starsky and Hutch rip-off of a too-nice-to-hate street thug running, in this case, a neighborhood protection racket, I'm propelled into a courtroom where the pivotal scene consists of prosecutor and defense attorney arguing mano a mano in open court, with a witness still sitting in the box, about the pros and cons of legalizing illegal drugs -- before a judge who only very belatedly calls a halt to such utter nonsense, but not before "Harry" (i.e., Kathy Bates), hopelessly sabotages her prospects with both the jury and the television audience by declaring that the Republican Party (which once had "thinkers") has been hijacked by the likes of Rush Limbaugh, a drug addict who fared better under the legal system than a poor black drug addict would. 

That's when I turned it off. Up to that point, I'd been cautiously reserving judgment. Now I'm done with the show forever. Even the liberal side of the moral argument is corrupt. If a "poor black" defendant who has been caught purchasing cocaine for a third time is entitled to a pass so he can pursue his college career, and the argument is that drug users are victims, then by what logic is Limbaugh, an addict of prescription drugs, not equally a victim but a monstrous villain instead?

There was no sign in the script that the defendant was representing his cocaine habit as a right or that he favored legalizing cocaine; he was presented as an addict (albeit an unbelievably sanitized one) who was trying to break free of a pernicious substance that was destroying his life. The liberal double-standard writ large. If you're poor and black, you're a helpless victim of circumstance. If you're rich and white, you're someone who should have had more character, self-discipline, and, well, chemical immunity. Right. As even Janeane Garofalo might concede, "That's racism straight up." Whites are expected to be above substance addictions, and blacks aren't. Unless you're white and talented like Lindsey Lohan or Robert Downey, Jr. Thank yew.

Good God. Time out. The NBC Entertainment Division is a business. Failing as it is, what business sense does it make to offend me and who knows how many other (there are 20 million Rush Limbaugh listeners) members of the mass television audience with a lame, classist (and yeah, racist) political essay injected into a piece of TV fluff otherwise digestible as another network copycat of a fluffy cable TV series? Just to be clear about a business point every successful business knows automatically: openly condemning a popular political figure in an entertainment venue is exactly as dramatic, stupid, and self-destructive as shouting "fuck" at a family community gathering. In business terms it's actually insane to piss off a huge chunk of your audience at the git-go if what you're really after is making money,

You want proof? I'll never watch the show again and I was actually liking it. Moreover, I'm not an exception in ratings terms. I watch the most popular Nielsen-rated series show, NCIS, regularly. I'll also remind you of what our friendly reviewer said: "[S]omeone threw out the idea that there was a certain segment of the population who are jonesing for some Murder She Wrote, or Matlock, and some of them are even still alive." Interesting. I'm old. Apparently us old folks are a major niche market for dinosaur alphabet networks. So, in irrational denial of the fact that old voters went overwhelmingly Republican in the fall elections, NBC programming whiz kids concocted a show about an old person who despises conservatives, drug laws, and Rush Limbaugh. Maybe they should have called the show Suicide She Wrote.

It makes no sense at all. Check that. Actually, there is a context in which it makes sense. But it's the sense of an addict, which knows only its own hunger for more of the same drug. NBC is a business that cannot keep from destroying itself. It's addicted to leftist politics, regardless of the costs that addiction exacts.

Worse, GE is using that addiction -- and deliberately refraining from restraining it -- to curry favor with the political powers-that-be. In the GE corporate universe it doesn't matter if NBC slides into the sea. There are bigger fish to fry. Military contracts, green industry subsidies, etc, etc, etc, all of them dwarfing NBC revenues and all of them involving the unbounded future revenues of a huge corporation fastened to the federal tit for the purpose of avoiding real marketplace competition.

Sorry, Ms. Bates. You're a pawn in the federal chess match that was sacrificed before you said your first heartfelt line.

What should our reaction be? Outrage and disgust. And we get to decide how and where those emotions should be assigned.

Back to Archive Index

Amazon Honor System Contribute to Learn More