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Funny money - who else is laughing?

  

A digital clock in Times Square keeps a  running tab on the nation’s spending spree.  If you want to see something that spins faster than a gas pump meter, you can watch the IOU's pile up in real time at http://www.usdebtclock.org.

 

On 07/26/2010 at 9:49 a.m. Central Standard Time, the debt meter clocked in at exactly $13,240,427,864,713, approximately $3 trillion more than when the Hope-Floater took office.  That's 3 plus a dozen 0's, which is why he's called "Zero."   

 

A minute later, the meter notched up another $3,012,717.  Gone without a trace!

 

 

The national debt is too vast to fathom.  But when it’s reduced to smaller chunks on a more personal scale, we can start to measure its impact.  Like the $500 I paid for my first auto, a pre-owned Ford Fairlane.  Now I couldn’t get a good set of rims for that amount, but I still get the concept of $500.  Can I grasp trillions?  No, but thanks for asking. 

 

Loftier minds are better equipped to see the big picture of big numbers.  Senator Everett Dirksen, a long-time beltway squatter, allegedly observed, “A billion here, a billion there, sooner or later it adds up to real money."

 

If a billion is real money, then a trillion crosses a threshold into the outer limits where it's transformed into surreal paper.  Now that I think about it, the national debt is in a weird cosmos.  And it’s not real money either.  It's funny money – it giggles while it goes.  Makes y’wonder who else is laughing.

Vanishing acts, chastity belts and consumerism

 

Question:  What do pirates, gum disease, and chastity have in common?

Answer:  Vanishing rain forests.

 

What?  Wait, stay with me.  This is easy.

 

The major ravages of deforestation are many – loss of fertile soil systems, degradation of resources, crop loss and starvation, eroding economies, displacement of local populations, and changes in weather patterns.

 

Bad stuff.  And these are just the high-profile casualties.  What about lower-profile victims of vanishing wood products, which for lack of media attention never see the front pages?

 

Peg-legs for pirates who lose a leg to a hungry shark, and whose quality of life depends on a realigned gait to keep from walking in circles.

 

Toothpicks for routing out spinach and elusive food particles, to prevent gum disease and unsightly "tooth-gap."

 

Chastity belts to keep a maiden pure during her lordship's absence by preventing illegal entry into her sacred temple (locks to secure the belts were made of oak before it was learned wood was no deterrent against a knight armed with a keyhole saw).

 

In "Big Yellow Taxi" singer-songwriter Joni Mitchell fired a warning shot about the dangers of deforestation:  "Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got till it's gone.  They paved paradise and put up a parking lot."

 

Mitchell’s lyrics are a conundrum.  Is deforestation the collateral damage of market response to sate ravenous appetites?  Or is it a cog in a profits-driven wheel to transform civilization into ravenous consumers to fatten corporate pockets?

 

Are there limits to consumerism?  Is excessive consumerism destructive?  What are its warning signs?  Is there a moral imperative to oppose it?  What price to pay, who must pay it, and how to quantify the damages of reckless consumption unless we chart its debris trail, recover and identify its victims?

 

My head throbs searching for answers.

 

What?  Oh, the part about chastity belts?  Mostly fabrication.  Sometimes y’hafta get creative to draw attention to tough questions.

 

Preventive maintenance – pay now or pay later

 

When we think of the versatility of wood, “preventive maintenance” isn’t at the top of the list.

 

However, in native habitat trees keep landslides in check.  We learned this when our condominium association was confronted with the perils of erosion.

 

Our condo sits on a hillside overlooking a bayou populated by tall pines and lush green flora.  Thick vines snaking through the trees create a web for a canopy of dense overgrowth.  The bayou’s feral, unkempt nature enraptured residents who lived under the illusion they were living in a magical urban rain forest.

 

And for awhile they were, until residents noticed shifts in floor levels, night-time creaking, and collapsing retaining walls at the bottom of the bayou slope.

 

A soil engineer isolated the problem.  The thick canopy of leafy vines were strangling the trees and blocking the sunlight, an integral element for a healthy, stable bayou floor.  He recommended a maintenance program that included thinning the canopy.

 

The blowback was ferocious. “Don’t touch those vines,” roared the vine-lovers, “we love that our bayou is wild and carefree as the wind.”

 

The engineer shrugged.  “Ignore at your own risk,”  he said.  The association acted on his recommendations, but chose to leave the canopy alone.

 

For the next 18 years, the unruly tangle advanced through the bayou, strangling tree after tree along the way.  Tree root systems are integral to bayou floor stability, and as each tree falls victim to the vines, the floor de-stabilizes incrementally.

 

We have fewer trees now but we want to keep them.  A bayou slope without a strong tree-line or root system has little defense against catastrophes like mudslides, triggered by heavy rains common to the Gulf Coast.

 

How likely is a landslide?  Depends whether our association decides to thin the canopy to preserve the remaining trees, or lets it go until forced to import heavy wooden pilings to fortify the slope after our living rooms have slid into the bayou.

 

Some say "If it ain't broke don't fix it."  Good advice.  Why spend now when it's easier to let things slide and pay through the schnozz later?

 

The readers write but are the readers right?

 

A reader took us to task, alleging that we compared filmmaker Michael Moore to Adolph Hitler.   See comments here.

 

Fa-shizzle!  First, the reader went to great lengths to suit-up with intellectual talcum powder, and then went on to miss the point.  We never said Michael Moore is a Hitler.  Never implied it.

 

Our point was simple:  Moore is a three-ring media blow-hole who would deny the oil industry any recognition for any historical contribution it ever made.  The record speaks – Moore's whole career advances distortion to a fine art form.

 

The reader huffed that yes, we all know the great things the oil industry has done, at the same time dismissing its single most important contribution – helping defeat the Nazis in WWII.  Why?  Because, according to the reader, we played the“Hitler card.” 

 

When it’s show time, the strongest act is axed because it riles someone's ability to follow a point.  If “Tweety Bird”  drove Germany's killing machine, the reader would complain we played the “Canary card.”  Whose side is he on anyway?

 

Some things are worth fighting, like Michael Moore and his cluck of clowns.  For Moore, the low road is the only road whose path should be blocked by a brigade of bulldozers on overdrive, not with a choir of angelic high-road repartee. 

 

The reader implied we had a "lazy intellect."  In a stretch, anything's possible, but our point is uncomplicated.  If the reader still struggles to bench-press that matzoh ball, ours isn't the only intellect that needs the exercise.

 

And one other thing, don't screw with cartoonists.  You'll lose every time.

 

Hamburgers and enchiladas – box ‘em up to go

 

Our recent post read it here about the “Ground-Zero mosque” prompted a snort from “Ali” who wrote, “…this is definitely disrespectful and should be removed immediately.”

 

Well, gee!

 

Never mind the post gives voice to the feelings of thousands of Americans similarly dissed by a soon-to-be mosque in their front yard.  Empathy was the point of the post, Ali, c'mon!

 

Never mind the post didn’t, in reality, build an object of disrespect, unlike the mosque which will.  A building permit has been approved for the mosque and that makes it real.

 

Never mind the post didn’t encourage the defacing of sacred shrines, unlike those who destroyed the shrines of others.  It was the Taliban, after all, who exploded Buddhist statues, not Franciscan nuns.

 

Never mind any of that. 

 

So what was Ali's objection?  He wasn't clear.  Maybe he's a vegan and the hamburger offended him.  Well, okay then, how about a tofu-burger, laced with a bean sprout garnish and a zesty miso sauce?

 

You see, Ali combusts when confronted with ideas that prickle his senses, yet he embraces ideologies that degrade those he opposes.  A mosque on Ground Zero is a shrine in name only.  In actuality it's a symbol of conquest, but it's impossible to reason with zealots.

 

Still, the spirit of civil dialogue demands we change the post, and we will, even without knowing what offended Ali.  We'll give him the benefit of doubt.

 

And we'll alter the structure (maybe he's a student of architecture) and substitute soy-based cheese (maybe he's lactose-intolerant), but chances are Ali still won't be placated.  Some folks aren't satisfied until they own the whole enchilada.

 

Present the case clearly with mystery

 

To the uninitiated, art school critiques are lofty and instructional.  To those who sit through them, critiques are loopy entertainment.

 

One of my instructors concluded drawing classes with high drama.  Student work was arranged in front of the model while the prof prowled the studio perimeter.  With long strides, he circled the seated students, occasionally eyeing the drawings the way a leopard stalks prey on a savannah.

 

His circles got smaller and smaller.  Finally he stood before the students.  Head tilted, hand to forehead, eyes closed, he peered at an invisible horizon.  Then with a grand gesture, he waved his hand in a wide overhead arc, followed by a modified dope-slap, and began his critique:

 

“This drawing,” he would start, “I see it but I’m not convinced the elements of the figure have integrated into a unified, believable whole.”  His critiques were usually lengthier, but “I’m not convinced” was a kiss-of-death.  It was his way of saying a drawing didn’t engage.

 

Painting and drawing are similar to preparing a case for trial:  there's gathering and processing evidence, organizing facts, plotting strategy, mounting a compelling argument, and finally convincing a jury beyond reasonable doubt that the assembled package presents a believable whole.

 

Yet this is where a trial jury and a jury of art patrons part paths.  French impressionist Edgar Degas said, “A painting requires a little mystery, some vagueness, some fantasy.  When you always make your meaning perfectly clear you end up boring people.”

 

Art is successful when it is convincing and engaging, because without the pull of mystery or doubt, art patrons (the jurors) yawn and fast-forward to the next piece.  In the fickle court of cultural opinion, "draw-power" is king, and on the stand an art work that dazzles and mystifies is the star witness. 

 

Vincent Van Gouda, artist & critic

 

Beware the media-entertainment complex

 

At the end of World War II, General Eisenhower warned, “Beware the military-industrial complex.”

This came to mind recently while surfing for news.  My search hit a snag when I tripped over MSNBC's harpy, Rachel MadCow, spewing sanctimonious diatribes to her audience of 17 about the evils of those who don’t share her awesome views of herself.

 

The target of her sputum was the oil industry in general, BP in particular.  Never mind we already know BP has screwed up.  MadCow made a grand show of reminding everyone how much she loathed anything oily. 

 

Well, gee, Mizz MadCow, if oil is so repugnant, try this – don’t drive.  No cars, cabs, trains, boats or planes. Just get off your smug ass and walk. Everywhere.  Or pedal, if you can balance without training wheels.

 

And while you’re at it, lady, no heating oil, bottled gas, plastic products, synthetic textiles, clothing, shoes, CD’s, DVD’s, cosmetics, lipstick, perfume, trash-bags, medicine, sports  and safety equipment, nautical supplies, toys and appliances.  Oh, and silicone gel implants to amplify wimpy boobage.

 

You see, all these products are manufactured from petroleum, but MadCow doesn’t care.  She believes we must live in the Paleozoic era with other cave-dwellers, like filmmaker Michael Moore, for example.

 

Moore, like MadCow, is blind to a small detail about oil's role in America’s history, notably WWII:  One of the reasons the Allies whupped the Nazis is that the U.S. oil industry helped grease the skids to make it happen.

 

Michael Moore is a 5-star media clown who has no idea what his fate might’ve been had the Nazis won the war.  Rachel MadCow is no less a clown, but you’d think she would've appreciated anything that spared her the fate of six million Jews who weren't so lucky.

 

What Eisenhower really meant was "Beware the media-entertainment complex."  Clowns all of 'em – we'll die laughing.

 

Orange jump-suits and ankle-bling

 

People of Los Angeles vs. Lindsay Lohan.  One-time child-star Li-Lo returned to court one more time to showcase her reality-challenged perception of the way things work in the real world.

 

Not amused by Lohan’s performance, Judge Marsha Revel sentenced her to 90 days in the joint for breach of probation.  Lohan complained the sentence was too harsh. 

 

Quit whining, Lohan.  You earned your time-out, so work it.  Besides, orange jump-suits and ankle-bling are hip duds for perp-walking celebs.  Like, y'know, it's so you!

 

René Magritte’s impressive criminal resumé

 

René Magritte's paintings are best described as "Surrealistic, with an ouvre of clever whimsy."  Yet little is known of his early years when he experimented with other styles and materials.

 

At one time, he was fascinated with fabrics and textiles.  He explored their lush and colorful textures, so it was natural that Magritte would combine weaving with painting.

 

One afternoon while Magritte was weaving a landscape, he heard a horse-and-buggy collide with a bicyclist.  The injured cyclist screamed with anguish – it was a horrific mess!

 

Magritte rushed to the site where he began to weave a picture of the gruesome turmoil.  He finished and quietly packed up his materials and left.  However, an alert policeman observed Magritte's movements and blocked his departure.  Magritte, handcuffed and embarrassed, was hustled off to the precinct where he was booked and charged – and thus earned the distinction as the only artist ever arrested for weaving the scene of an accident.