A New Venture

And now for something completely different...



I've actually been contemplating putting together a philosophy tinged podcast which would kind of be like an audio version of James Burke's Connections, only infinitely more trivial.

It May Be Time For A Rethink Here

I've never taken a hiatus from blogging that has felt more permanent than this one. The truth is a lot of the things that I always wanted to say on this blog I did over the years I was active, and at some point there isn't all that much that is "new" about the news.

That isn't to say I've completely run out of things to discuss. Actually, its quite the opposite. The trouble is the things I want to say don't really fit into blogging, at least the way I had been doing it. For some time I have been flirting with the idea of publishing far fewer but far more in-depth essays. A longer format is needed to get to where I want to go, at least from the standpoint of intellect.

I suppose that is the good thing about writing one of these one man dog and pony shows. At the end of the day this blog doesn't need to be all things to all people. It only needs to be something to me.

A Confession

I have a confession to make.

I have not voted in an election, of any kind, since 1998.

I fell out of the habit on voting when I lived in Washington, DC. Voting in DC is a pointless prospect (for everyone) as there are no competitive elections there, and, besides, the local pols are hopelessly corrupt. After I left DC I lived in five different places in three years. Not a situation that encourages civil engagement to any great degree.

In the meantime, I continued to think about and, once I started this blog, write about politics. However, I found I was content to leave things in the realm of opinion. Sure, I had a rooting interest, but not at a level that required my participation.

I began this election cycle with no intention of that changing. Romney was always the most likely to emerge from a decidedly lackluster group of Republican candidates and, for me, there was nothing all that appealing about the prospect. It must be said, in all honesty, my feelings concerning Romney really haven't changed over time. I will never think, "Wow! I get to vote for Mitt!"

So what happened to get me motivated to register and vote? In a word, Benghazi.

I have not written much of anything about the attack and its aftermath, mostly because it would have been a string of invective fit to make a longshoreman blush. The initial responses of the Obama administration (to blame a YouTube video, and to attack Romney in a bid to gain a temporary political advantage) were bad enough, but as September wore on I was still content to criticize and stay on the sidelines. However, by the dying days of September, as the ineptitude and duplicity of the Obama administration became increasingly apparent, my disgust level reached an intolerable level. Writing out my opinions and standing on the sidelines was not going to cut it anymore.

In a sense Obama will accomplish the impossible on election day; he will make it possible for me to vote for Mitt Romney with enthusiasm.

Damn! I Always Miss My Blogoversary...

Maybe its because early November is so... early Novemberish, I forgot to make a note of the anniversary of The Iconic Midwest back on the eighth. This one man dog and pony show has been annoying the good citizens of the world for seven years now.

What do you get for seven years worth of whatever the hell it is I'm doing here? Mostly disapproving stares.

I'll take it.

Here is to seven more good years! (Yes, that is a threat.)

Early Onset Curmudgeondom

I swear, as time goes on I find myself looking at the topics of political discussion displayed at Memeorandum and saying "Oh, go away already. I know what I feel is important in this world, and it has nothing to do with whatever the hell is occupying your tiny little minds."

And I'm not 83. I'm 43.

If I don't see some intelligence enter the fray soon I'm giving up.

What that entails exactly I have no idea. But I'll tell you one thing... this won't be a political blog anymore.

Me, Amused

It is always fun when I see something I've done and cast upon the waves of the mighty Internet ocean pop up in an unexpected place. Today I found a discussion of The Kinks album Muswell Hillbillies that embeds a YouTube video of the song "20th Century Man" which I made several years ago for a political theory class I was team teaching.

Good times.

IMW Report Card

OK, lets check the old election predictions from your friendly neighborhood blogger:

House: Republicans 227 Democrats 208 (Dems lose 48 seats)

Hmm. I didn't do so well here. Oh, I didn't miss the Republicans taking the House (like most Political Scientists did back in 1994), but I missed the margin of victory rather badly. There is still some final counting to do, but it looks like the Dems will lose 64-65 seats. I am shocked at how Democratic support simply collapsed in the Midwest. The implications of that could be huge down the road, and I'm sure there are plenty of Democratic analysts trying to figure out how to reverse fortunes there.

Senate: Democrats 53 Republicans 47 (Dems lose 5 seats)

As of right now it looks like I nailed this one. (We are still waiting for Washington state's numbers, like we wait every election. They really ought to update their systems up there. A team of five blind Capuchin monks could do the job quicker; five Capuchin monkeys quicker still.)

So, prediction wise, the night wasn't a total loss. I give myself a B-.

Hobnobbing With Spies

I never posted anything about it here on IMW, but last summer I experienced a shock when I discovered that one of my old employees from my Washington DC bookshop days turned out to be, along with her husband, spying for Castro. I did write a post, Working With “Agent 123″, that I published over at Blue Crab Boulevard, but for some reason never talked about it here.

A reporter saw my piece on Blue Crab and contacted me to get a little background on Gwen Myers' time at the old Cleveland Park Bookshop. It was published in Washingtonian magazine in October. It is a good article, and I encourage people to go read it.

I'll admit it strikes even me as odd that I haven't until now mentioned my connection to this relatively big news item on the blog. After all, it isn't the sort of thing that pops up every day. All I can say is there was always something profoundly depressing about the story for me.

Life is strange. If I wouldn't admit it before, I will now.

I Don't Know Much About Art, But I Know What I Hate

This is a recap of some comments I've posted today over at First Thoughts. It began when Joe Carter quoted the following:

I’ve heard many people say of contemporary art: “my kids can do that.” I encourage them, then to try it themselves, don’t let kids have all the fun! Try to make drip paintings like Jackson Pollock. Or paint an object with encaustic, layering color upon color, like Johns. Try silk screening images like Warhol. You soon find out that in the ordinary gestures and materials, there are deceptively complicated and sublime twists. Our drips become unnatural and confined, where as Pollock’s drips dance, and form delectable edges that seem to undulate in front of our eyes. Our edges of encaustic strokes become unshapely, because If you try working with wax (as I have tried to in college,) you find out soon enough that it is unforgiving, making it very difficult to create a clean, sharp definition. The melting wax constantly oozes, and moves about, and the colors muddle,. If you are finally able to paint a stripe with bright colors, the stripes would not resonate, in ways that Johns’ Flags do.

And that is to speak only of the method of execution. Johns’ works not only collage materials, but they also synthesize concepts, culture, the zeitgeist of his day. One may be able to copy his technique, but it is impossible to mimic the complex layers of confluences that he is synthesizing as he mixes beeswax and pigments. To Jasper Johns, the medium of his art is not really encaustic, the medium of his art is Time itself.

This prompted me to respond:

If you try working with wax (as I have tried to in college,) you find out soon enough that it is unforgiving, making it very difficult to create a clean, sharp definition. The melting wax constantly oozes, and moves about, and the colors muddle…

This is the reason I let professionals stain my floors and furniture. It is a skill that improves with repetition, the same way my backhand in tennis improves when I work on it (or doesn’t improve when I prefer to smash forehands all the live long day.)

…is impossible to mimic the complex layers of confluences that he is synthesizing…

Exactly why should anyone read something like this and NOT think “What gobbledygook.” I hate to be all pragmatic, but there is no such thing as “synthesizing confluences” except in the brains of the truly fevered. But, of course, explanation by subjective gobbledygook is what you get when the object of discussion is as semiotically empty as much of contemporary art is.

I added:

I think there is another way people mean the phrase “My kid could do that” because, in a very real way, kids DO that all the time. I think of the article in Smithsonian that pointed out that Pollock’s “Mural” was basically an excuse for hiding his signature in plain sight. It is this “Hey! Look at me!” aspect of contemporary art that people are identifying as being child like, if not childish. The difference is when a child does it it can be excused as the faltering steps of the inexperienced. When an adult artist does it, well, it can come across as little more than a narcissistic look at their favorite subject, themselves. In Pollock’s case he was simply trying to make a name for himself, literally.

This prompted an angry response from someone calling themselves ekwas:

Do you know that word, ‘zeitgeist’, ‘Rich Horton’? It’s a word from the German and it means ’spirit of the times’, which is what most everybody is thinking and feeling about life in general at a certain point in time, like right now, 2010, or a while ago, like 1967.

‘Rich Horton’, if your teacher gave you an assignment to make one picture about everything you’ve been thinking and feeling in the last year, about yourself, the economy, your friends, God, our President and Congress, people in other countries, what would you put in it? You can see right away it would take a whole lot of thinking and figuring out, wouldn’t it? How about if you didn’t even have to make a picture, you just had to write it all in 1000 words, that’s hard enough! So you can imagine that Mr. Johns works very hard, very long hours to make his famous pictures, that so many people think are very, very good.

I love the fact that my name is continually put into quotation marks by this individual. It strikes me as all the proof I need that the contemporary artistic temperament is semiotically empty. After all, a proper name is by definition a signifier of something real. However, the act of placing my name in quotation marks is a rather aggressive attempt to deny my personhood or humanity; to deny that my name signifies anything real; to demand that it too be semiotically empty.

I responded thusly:

Actually, my field is political philosophy, which has its own tradition of using nonsense terms to mask a lack of meaning (eg. “scientific Marxism,” “politics of difference”, “eternal recurrence”), so my resistence to “persuasion by subjective enthusiasm” is higher than most.

Actually, this all reminds me of the best defense of contemporary art I’ve read, Ortega y Gasset’s essay “The Dehumanization of Art.” Being Ortega, it is of course, a defense of elite privilege against the pernicious, democratic, mediocritizing influence of the masses. For Ortega, when the masses have shown the ability to recognize a beautiful painting, a stirring or lovely melody, a sonorous poem, etc., the only way for the elite to signal their non-mass status is to champion that which isn’t beautiful, stirring or sonorous. Art, in such a view, has a fundamentally political function. It is part of how an aristocracy identifies and defines itself.

Granted, when Ortega was writing he probably had in mind Debussy using discordant or atonal moments for effect in a composition, or the distortions of a cubist painting, but if art is going to be defined by its political/social function, well, then there is no distinction to be made between a Pollock painting or a “sculpture” of a crucifix submerged in urine or a “painting” of the Madonna using the medium of manure. The goal has been achieved, i.e. defining the elite who supposedly find artistic meaning in such material in opposition to the masses who do not.

Contemporary art is built almost entirely along Ortegean lines these days, and as a result it is profoundly alienating. It is sometimes amusing to see the aristocratic qualities of the champions of contemporary art clashing with their egalitarian impulses. They know that most people do not care for it (be “it” atonal music or abstract art or what have you), but the best response they can offer is “People would like it if only they were exposed to it, or weren’t so stupid.” Which is of course impossible, as its raison d’etre is to be disliked.

I've been ill all day, so this certainly cheered me up.

I'm An Idiot

I can hear the response ("Tell us something we didn't know!"), but I'll relate my own stupidity for your amusement. Last week I injured myself by playing a little too hard with our recently purchased Wii. Actually, I blame the cat. I was playing the baseball game in Wii Sports and I stepped forward while pitching and stepped right on the paw of our cat Sophie as she was wandering by. She let out a loud noise (poor thing) and I hurriedly stepped back rolling over on my right ankle. It hurt like an SOB, and I kept off of it over the weekend.

Well, yesterday after work my ankle felt kinda OK, so I thought "Maybe I'll just bowl a little bit." Bad idea. I played two games when I knew I should have stopped after two frames.

So, now I'm sitting here in my office having just walked back across campus from my last class, and my ankle is throbbing with pain.

Great.

Letters I've Written Never Meaning To Send

I was cleaning up my email account for this site when I noticed I had an old email from January 2007 in my draft folder. Thinking it was something I had already sent I almost delted it without reading it. I'm glad I didn't as it was something I was working on that I never wrote about in another context. Who I was thinking of sending it to I don't remember, but as it dealt with hurricanes it was probably Chris Landsea or Roger Pielke.

Here is what I wrote:

I was reading over this: Emanuel, K. A., 2005: Increasing destructiveness of tropical cyclones over the past 30 years. Nature, 436, 686-688. and more specifically this: Online supplement to this paper.

In the supplement Emanuel says the following:

For the first decade or so of airborne reconnaissance, surface winds were estimated mostly by visual inspection of the sea surface. Beginning in the early 1950s, radar altimeters aboard the aircraft made possible an accurate determination of the aircraft’s absolute altitude. When combined with direct pressure measurements, this gives a good estimate of geopotential height at flight level. Surface pressure can then be estimated using empirical relationships between surface and flight level pressure. This technique, developed during the 1950s, was used without significant modification through the end of aircraft reconnaissance in the western North Pacific and until the advent of accurate dropwindsondes in the North Atlantic. Minimum surface pressure estimates were converted to maximum sustained surface wind using semi-empirical wind-pressure relations which, however, have evolved with time. For the North Atlantic, Landsea 3 has documented a change in that took place in 1970, leading to lower wind speed estimates.

Now, as I read this, Emanuel is taking umbrage with the pre-1970 wind speed estimates, and not with the pressure measurements. But if that is so his adjusted wind speed results are a little strange, to say the least.

If you look at the pre-1973 storms with the lowest pressure, say those lower than
911 hPa, Emanuel gives adjusted wind speeds as follows:

~165 0
~160 0
~155 0
~150 3
~145 2
~140 1
~135 0
~130 2
~125 2

Now for the post 1973 storms (which are OK with Emanuel) you get the following:

~165 1
~160 2
~155 2
~150 1
~145 1
~140 0
~135 0
~130 0
~125 0

So are we supposed to believe that prior to 1973 half of the ten Atlantic hurricanes with the lowest pressures (under 911 hPa) had top wind speeds less than 145 knots, while after 1973 none of the seven lowest pressure storms had a top wind speed under 145 knots? We are also asked to believe that none of the pre-1973 storms had top winds over 150 knots, while 71% of post-1973 storms were greater than 150 knots.

In fact, if Emanuel's scheme were adopted than a full 40% of the pre-1973 storms under 911 hPa should really be categorized as Category 4 storms.

This strikes me as absurd. It amounts to arguing that the physics of storms have changed.

That is where I left off. Possibly I meant to check something else and never got back to it. Who knows?

Still, when I re-read this stuff, I'm pretty sure I was on to something.

Some Of My Best Work Lies Hidden

Really, if I think about all the material I've written in the comment sections of other people's blogs, it gets a little scary. I mean, I've posted a lot of crap here, but you could probably add another 50% to that, easily. (I've got a problem.)

That being said, I do enjoy myself quite often. Over at Patterico he posted this plea the other day:

Do you know any “professors of social sciences, history, philosophy, law and theology” with a conservative bent and a sense of humor?

If so, I need to speak with them — so they can nominate me for a Nobel Peace Prize. Those are the people who qualify to make a nomination.

I responded thusly:

Well, I’m also an adjunct Poli. Sci. prof, but if that isn’t good enough there is another class of nominators:

directors of peace research institutes

I could found and become the director of the….

Obama Peace Institute
Our Motto: Pacis per Lentus (Peace through Inaction)

Our research would be dedicated to the study of how just sitting around on your ass, thinking peaceful thoughts, and occasionally giving voice to them, leads to global contentment. This could give rise to a wide range of scholarly studies including:

I) Stoning People: Peace through Cannabis

II) Siestas & Snuggies: Warmly Nap Your Way To Peace

III) The Monsters of Peace Tour: A Proposal to send Obama, Gore and Carter on a speaking tour where peace is brought about by mass suicides caused by a 7 hour long Power Point presentation.

Father Eicher, my high school Latin teacher, would be proud.

Not My Usual Fare

I'll apologize up front for this. The Iconic Midwest has always been a topical blog, as opposed to a personal web log. That was the way I wanted it. I always figured the eclectic nature of my choice of subject matters would give it my own personal style, and not the details of my day to day life.

Well, the reason I've not been posting of late is that my personal life is kicking my ass. 2009 has not been good so far. So far, January saw an uncle murdered, February saw the passing of a good friend and colleague, and March gives my poor cat a terminal illness.

The upshot is, I've no heart for posting much of anything. It's all I can do to keep up with my job, and do the other things I'm supposed to be doing. Oh, that doesn't mean I won't take on added duties and responsibilities, it just means I've only so much indignation to go around. Unsurprisingly, it is politics that gets pushed out of the lifeboat first. It simply doesn't add any "umph" to my life at the moment. Not that it ever did much. It was more a place to spend excess energy; excess energy I presently lack.

It isn't even as if I feel particularly picked upon. Life is just continuing as if I didn't exist, and the callousness of it all is simply weighing upon me heavily these days. It will pass. Until it does, however, I think my contributions to this blog will be few.

I'm lucky in the sense of having somewhere else to go. I can always go back to my books and my study of philosophy. So I think more time will be spent in that pursuit...oh and in bitching about the play of the St. Louis Blues, but that is most definitely in the "death and taxes" category.

In any event....I'll see ya when I see ya.

I'm Officially Old Now

When I was a younger man and I would feel the pull of certain adult fashion symbols, I would push them out of my mind with the phrase, "I don't want to be some hipster doofus. I'll do that sort of thing when I'm old...you know, like 40."

Well, I turned 40 this year, and the first of these fashion impulses has successfully avoided all the warnings of my younger days and has landed squarely upon my head. Yes, I bought my first fedora.

Meet the Jaxon Iconoclast (Wool):



As far as hat purchases go, this one was not a matter of high finance. It set me back a grand total of $45 including shipping.

I must say....I like it....a lot. It is damn cold around here, and I'm not blessed with a full head of hair, so a hat is a necessity. Up until now I've only ever worn ballcaps or ski caps. I just didn't want to become "the old guy who wears nothing but ballcaps."

Still, this could be the start of something weird. I've already caught myself looking online at panamas, because, hey!, the Iconoclast is my fall/winter hat. I'll need something else to protect my poor bald head from the big bad sun too. That only makes sense, right?

Down this path lies madness...and quite possibly my taking up pipe smoking as well.

Hmmmm....pipe smoking....sounds good.

I Said It

But I didn't say it here. Go over to Blue Crab for the latest: Warning! Global Warming(tm) Will Cause The Same Weather!

It's Political Junkie Super Bowl Time

I know football fans will think me sacrilegious, but tomorrow is where it is at for me. Even though I'm fairly certain the wrong person to lead the country will probably win (Yeah Barack, I'm talking about you...now sit down and get back to work on your next lie), I still enjoy everything about election night.

So, if it akin to the Super Bowl, then I better get the snacks ready for a long night. This year I am forgoing dinner all together in favor of a serious appetizer binge. The wife and I are going with red pepper hummus & pita, chicken quesadillas, and queso dip & home made guacamole with tortilla chips.

I've not made up my mind about grain or grape. I'm leaning towards grain however. That would entail dopplebocks to start, and a nice Irish whisky to drown out the sorrows and toast the successes.

Sounds pretty good really.

O.K. I Give Up

Why are all sorts of people coming to my blog after searching Google for "Thomas Jefferson consistently inconsistent"? In about only two hours it has become the number one way people find this blog.

And what are people finding? A post I wrote in 2005.

Did Obama hiccup again?

There's No Place Like Home?

There are just some things you shouldn't do outside of Oz: Bel-Nor chief resigns amid questions about Munchkin's money

The police chief in Bel-Nor has resigned amid questions into what he did with money from a Munchkin.

The former is Matthew Lauer, 38, longtime top cop in the north St. Louis County village, who says he's simply moving on to something else. He stepped down Oct. 10.

The latter is Mickey Carroll, 89, one of a handful of the surviving diminutive denizens of Munchkinland from the 1939 MGM classic "The Wizard of Oz." His caretaker says the chief took advantage of him.

Carroll has lived in Bel-Nor for nearly seven decades. Carroll's caretaker, Linda Dodge, said the actor often gave Lauer money at the chief's request, believing he was supporting the police by buying gear.

Dodge said that earlier this year she looked at Carroll's financial records — including at least one check made out to Lauer — and questioned where the money was going.

Dodge took her concerns to Village Chairman Kevin Buchek, who referred the case to the Missouri State Highway Patrol. The case remains under investigation, said a patrol spokeswoman.

In June, Carroll sought a restraining order against Lauer, claiming the chief had pocketed a $2,000 donation intended for the village. Carroll claimed Lauer then threatened him, in phone calls and visits to his home, to change his story to make it appear as if the donation had been a gift. Lauer returned the money.

I grew up in Bel-Nor, and Mickey Carroll has always been a treasure in the village. Bel-Nor even had a celebration a number of years ago where a "yellow brick road" (actually a line of yellow paint) led to Mickey's front door. So, it is sad for me to see that good relationship tarnished.

I'm also sad to see the Bel-Nor police department tarnished. Yes, they could be a terror if you went six miles or more over the speed limit on Natural Bridge Road, but they were mostly approachable and friendly guys. The full sized Hershey bars with almonds they used to hand out every Halloween were legendary. (If you played your cards right, and had a costume that wasn't too distinctive, it was possible to snag four or five of the things over the course of the night. Sweet!)

Mostly, I'm amazed at the chutzpah of the police chief. Lord knows, I wouldn't want to cross the Lollipop Guild.

I'll Admit It

This campaign cycle, I'm no moderate.

I'm still a pragmatist (or more technically, a pragmaticist), but its that sense of reality that is forcing me to confront the basic ugliness of the Obama campaign so vehemently.

To my mind standing up to Obama's vice is a virtue.

But its true, this is no "Mr. Nice Blog."

(And yes...I've gotten emails about what a mean guy I am.)

I Just Know I'm Goin' To Hell For This

It is a small joy in my life that when I check out Bloglines the old IMW is right next to Iowahawk in my list. (Yes, I subscribe to my own blog...got a problem with that?) Whenever I see something new on the 'Hawk I know the fun is about to begin. (And if I'm drinking anything, I place it on a table...preferably in another room.)

Today on Iowahawk, America speaks out on all things Bristol Palin:

Andrew S., Time Magazine columnist, P-Town, MA:

"As a mainstream conservative Catholic of conscience, I am shocked and disgusted by all of the suggestions of Palin family baby-snatching and witchcraft and shape-shifting that I've been reading about in my columns. How can we really know that Bristol's new baby isn't actually the result of an incestuous prenatal affair between Trig and his probably-aborted missing twin sister during Bristol's still secret pregnancy last year? How many heads does it have? Is this new baby itself pregnant, or possible wearing a tiny rubber pregnancy suit as a distraction from other Palin family pregnancy scandals? Americans need to know the truth whether this fetal mutant is Palin's grandchild, great-great-grandchild, or double-grandcousin uncle in-law twice removed. To clear this up, we needs to see the DNA analysis and notarized photos of Bristol's hoo-hah. Well, not "me" "we". I guess I'll have to take your word for it because I personally find lady hoo-hahs disgusting. Until then, I'll be withholding judgement, and fellating my beagle, which is a great technique I discovered for dealing with conspiracy writer's block."