Thoughts on our new Gilded Age

I trust that anyone who finds his or her way to this blog already knows we're living in a new Gilded Age. Economic inequality has never been more extreme. One percent of the world's population owns 40% of the wealth. In other words, "Let them eat cake," is the order of the day.

You all know how this plays out in real life. Mega-financiers rape maids and then a well-financed PR campaign turns the country against the maid -- and the financier goes off on another gilded holiday. You can't get into serious trouble if you're rich; you just can't, not today. If you don't believe me, ask the banksters who brought down the country and are now reaping record profits. This is how it works in the new Gilded Age.

But today I found myself wondering if there's another kind of inequality that's just as corrosive and prevalent. I think there is. The divide between sophistication and ignorance is ominously wide today. Sure, there were always eggheads and know-nothings mixed in among the population but there was also a growing level of shared knowledge and literacy working its way through the land. Today, that's not happening. The American people no longer read, no longer learn. They are incurious and ignorant in equal parts.

On the other hand, in many urban areas there are smart, knowledgeable people who have, you know, gone to school and read books and know things.

These two groups are in a race -- the ignorant and the knowledgeable -- and the prize is control of the future of the human race. In light of this competition, consider the import of what is happening today. Everywhere you look, they're firing teachers, cutting school budgets and closing libraries. This guarantees that the ignorant will outnumber the educated in the future. This is how the already-tipped scale tips further and further. At the end is collapse.

Things aren't looking up for the good old US of A. The Gilded Age is coupling with the Dimwit Age and they're making some nasty music together.

Homophobic wording in NY Times

I was disappointed to see this lede in a New York Times story:

LOS ANGELES (AP) — A teacher has testified that a gay student at a Southern California junior high school paraded around in makeup and high heels in front of a classmate who is accused of killing him the next day.

Was that language necessary? It doesn't appear that the writer was quoting the teacher. If he was, there would be quotation marks surrounding the phrase, "paraded around in makeup and high heels". So why say this? Is this the writer's view? The language is incredibly homophobic. "Walked back and forth in front of the defendant" would work just as well in the article -- without bringing bigotry into it.

This kind of homophobic reportage is like something from the 1950s. New York Times, you are disgusting.

When nature comes into the house

BugZooka is humane.

First of all, allow me to establish where on the PETA scale I lie: When I pick a zucchini from the garden, I can't cut into it until it's been in the refrigerator for a few hours. Otherwise it's too warm and alive. I hate to hurt living stuff. Okay, so now you know me.

Well, I've had an infestation of tiny moths in my kitchen for a few weeks now. It's wildly creepy because I don't want to kill the moths. Yes, I try to catch and release them but we're talking legion here. Many mucho moths. A friend of mine who also cares what happens to creatures once told me, "You can kill anything that invades your space." And I have, on occasion, killed some of these moths. Pardon me as I hang my head in shame for a moment . . . (interlude; music almost plays) . . . There, I think I'm okay now.

Anyway, the point of this confessional is that I found a great solution: I bought a BugZooka. It is the coolest thing. That's it up top in the photo. It's got a bellows on it (you can see this a bit at the bottom of the photo) and you simply compress the bellows and pull the trigger. No batteries needed. It sucks the little guy into a clear plastic tube at the tip. (This is funny: they also include a dark grey plastic tube in case you don't want to see the bugs.) The bug is not harmed by the process and you just go outside, unscrew the tip and set it free. It's a win for me and the bug. Very cool.

Great Mets game the other night

Resnick gettin' high-fived afterward.

The Mets sportscasters hold a "Kidcaster contest" each year, to let young people try out as sportscasters (by sending a recording, I assume). The kid who wins gets to go on the show during a game, and take over the sportscasting duties.

The cool thing is that for the last two years, when the let the kid do it, the next ball or the one after it was a home run. It's like the best thing in the world for the kids, and it's amazing that this keeps happening. Anyway, I just saw that HuffPo has the video on its sports page. So if you'd like to, you can watch and hear Jacob Resnick, the 11-year-old winner, as he bumps right into a home run with his first batter, Jose Reyes. The kid did a great job.

(The game was a keeper, by the way, and I'm saving it for my winter baseball trove. Huzzah! I shall not be without baseball this off-season. Take that, MLB!!!)

You know who's a peach?

Vin Scully, Dodgers broadcaster.

Vin Scully, that's who. Do you know this guy? He does the broadcast for the Dodgers and he's just amazing.

The guy is 86 and he does the games alone. To my knowledge, he's the only lone sportscaster in the MLB. The other guys host the games in groups of two or three, a much easier set-up because no one person is responsible for keeping up the patter. They take turns.

Not Scully. He does the whole damn thing by himself. I really admire him for this. It's a huge responsibility. And he's not just dribbling out nonsense. Scully offers succinct, intelligent commentary that comes out sounding like the printed page. Most people who are 86 have trouble keeping track of the days of the week, yet Scully provides a truly heads-up, alert commentary for four- or five-hour stretches! Alone! Now that is amazing.

He always has the inside scoop and he tells his audience what each team, player and manager is trying to do, every step of the way. And the man is shrewd. He says things that make you see the game in a new light.

Plus, he's been broadcasting for 50 years. The guy was there when the greats played, and talks about those days in entertaining fashion. He is living history. And, the icing on the cake, Scully's voice and delivery bring back the sounds of old-time baseball broadcasting. When I hear him, if I close my eyes it could be 1950 or 1960. The timbre of his voice proclaims this. I love this guy.

If your TV system lets you watch a Dodgers game from their viewpoint, give Vin a listen. He is something.

Great post at AmericaBlog

John Aravosis said it all today in an article called "Hope Takes a Holiday". Just read it.

But the magic never happens

Even Houdini's magic failed him.

Most people on this planet believe there is a god. Given the reality that surrounds us, this is astounding. But what amazes me the most is that believers don't notice that the magic never happens.

We hear their pronouncements. The world will end on a certain day because the bible says so. Praying will bring about miracles. The prophet will return and carry the saved to heaven. Some guy who rose from the dead after a virgin birth is available to hear your prayers nightly. And don't forget, he'll meet you in heaven after you die.

No religious prediction has ever come true. And in the entire history of the world, no one has been able to come up with any evidence to support the notion that there is a god. An all-powerful being -- yet there's no trace of him anywhere. What could this mean? Duh.

This is what's called evidence. Reality does not allow for elves, magic or gods. So although addle-headed believers constantly predict this and that thing will happen, it's all nonsense, as is everything else about religion. Yet the gullible believers continue to believe. It's an insane situation and a pernicious one that is eroding our world. People everywhere are killing each other because of these cartoon-like beliefs. It's stunning -- and suicidal. 

As I often say here, believers' brains are hobbled. They can't update their contents when new, accurate information comes along. The contents of religious people's brains are like old movies. In that airless room inside their thick skulls, nothing changes and everything is a repeat. They call this empty state of mind "faith" but the rest of us should see it for what it is: ignorance. To be even more precise, faith is chosen ignorance.

The magic never happens. This is a clue. Wake up.

So let's see . . .

Joe was just like a Fox news host.

After 9/11, we attacked the wrong country. (And we don't care; odd, that.)

And now, in the midst of the worst economic crisis in living memory, the government has attacked the wrong problem. We don't have a deficit problem or a debt ceiling problem; we have a demand problem. And the reason no one has money to spend is because they don't have jobs. The plan just enacted by congress will make both these situations worse, not better. After long debate, our nation just punched the wrong opponent again.

This is quite a country we've got here. And things will stay this way until progressives, young people, democrats and independents rise up and elect people who can actually think. I haven't much hope for this happening.

Good luck to us all. We're going to need it.

Dawn in the dining car

Dining car on an old Chicago line.

One of my earliest memories is of a train ride from New York City to somewhere-or-other in Canada. I was less than six years old, how much less I'm not sure. I remember one thing vividly from the trip.

It was still dark when my mother took me to the dining car in the morning. It was the most wonderful place in the world, a rolling room from a fairytale. I didn't know about racism and Pullman porters yet. To my child's eyes, it only seemed festive that the staff were black and wore shocking white uniforms. It looked special, as if the look was designed.

The tablecloths and napkins weren't just white -- they were shockingly white, as were the uniforms of the dining staff and the towel over the forearm of the man who served us breakfast. And there was a lot of silver and glass on the table.

As we shook and rolled, we ate eggs with sausage and toast, and had a cup of coffee. At one point, I remember being very impressed by a tiny glass of tomato juice the waiter placed before me. It sat, so bloody red on that blindingly white tablecloth. Drinking that glass of tomato juice seemed the height of sophistication to me.

And all the while, the world rushed by our window. I saw mountains and rivers and waterfalls. And as the minutes passed, the darkness lifted in stages. It was the first time I saw the sun rise. It was absolutely glorious, inside the car and out. I thought I was in heaven.


That hour spent in a railway dining car is one of my favorite memories. Got any you'd like to share?

A message to America's commercial bakers

Wonder! The creepy bread.

Listen here.

You cannot take the Wonder Bread recipe, shape it into a long loaf and call it Italian bread. Do you hear me?! You cannot do this.

And you cannot call your "Italian" loaves "crispy" if we can wrap the loaf around our necks like a scarf. You cannot do this.

Have you ever tasted Italian bread? There are these places called "Italian bakeries". Here's what you do: find one, trot on over there, and buy a loaf of Italian bread.

Now, hold it in your hands. Look at it. Feel it. Smell it. And then taste it. Ahhhhhhhh!

Now you have a starting point. Get to work!