The Curmudgeon

File this under "One more reason to await the arrival of outside cooking season": the Bacon Explosion. Bacon stuffed in sausage and wrapped in bacon, then barbecued.

Oh. My. Goodness.

"Cake", in this instance, is an outside temperature above 0 F.

We've been dutiful little Minnesotans- taking the icy slaps with minimal whining. It isn't like we're asking for a THAW, just a temp without a minus sign. And the weather folk promised.

But it is a lie.

Bastages.

Sad, sad news today for your Curmudgeon. Peter Freyne- a journalist landmark of Vermont- has passed. I cannot eulogize him any better than has been done at Seven Days, where he did a good deal of his reportage.

When I lived in Vermont, and specifically when I lived in Burlington, I made sure and double sure that I got the weekly alternative journal Seven Days each and every week. Yeah, I was (and am) a nut for alternative free weeklies- and Seven Days did not disappoint. Every issue- the first thing I did was to look for Freyne's stuff- it was how I learned the political landscape of Vermont.

Even when I moved here, I would still check online to catch Freyne and check up on the goings-on in Vermont.

I fondly recall meeting Peter, a decade ago. We had an evening of drinks and a great conversation- an actual pubhouse dialogue. He was just out for the evening, and I was there unwinding after another day of rocking the line at the restaurant, catching the Bruins game.

Our conversation went all over the map- conceptually, politically, and geographically. We toasted Royko and Slats Grobnik, we lamented the way the small farmers in the Midwest and in New England were being strangled into a toxic submission, we reminisced fondly of the glory days, and the not-so-glory days of the Blackhawks. We talked of the unique, independent spirit of politics in Vermont. Ireland, and whisky, and beers, and how the art of conversation was being lost. It was a great night for me, and after that, we'd always greet each other when we'd bump into each other out and about in ole 'Burlap.

Requiem in pax, Peter. Hope you're gonna keep 'em honest there.

Okay, so we here in Minnesota are heading into what has been billed as the coldest week of the winter so far. Given that this is Minnesota, and it is January, perhaps it is not surprising news. Still, we are deep into winter, and have been long inured to what that means: life is a cold, windy, snowy trek which takes place a great deal in darkness. This 'arctic air mass invasion' (do we really need to keep extending military metaphors into every facet of life? really?) has nonetheless been getting attention and mention for nearly a week now- which to this Curmudgeon's mind means but one thing:

It is gonna be freaking nasty this week.

I offer the above observation to the many people who are now crowing about Franken's apparent victory in the Senate race. I can't help but notice that MANY of them are, well, not here in Minnesota. They're not Minnesotans on vacation, in exile, or anything of the sort. These folks are just really psyched that their choice for our representation in the Senate has won. Personally, I'd kinda like to make the choices of my representation myself. Anyway- this is for them:

Please, when you decide to do more crowing about "Senator Al Franken", at least acknowledge that you are cheering from outside. Or, alternately, make also the mention of how this is truly the land of the ice and snow, where commuters can't drive and political gas-bags blow.

Your Curmudgeon hopes he will not feel compelled to be writing any more about this topic, but he fears that this is not the case.

If pressed for kind words about Minnesota or Minnesotans, the first thing this Curmudgeon would mention is that the people of this state get hockey. The appetite for the sport is on par with my own, and I do appreciate that.

After the dizzying crush of the holidays, as the New year's dawn reveals that lo, what we have to face is a crushing slog through January and February and a sloshing slog of March- it is then perhaps that hockey seems never so welcome. Next week, FSN will do their Hockey Day-Minnesota (an idea borrowed from the Canadian Broadcasting Company's Hockey Day in Canada), a celebration of the sport at all levels and venues. In February, the CBC will have their own fete.

Today, though, there is hockey a plenty for me. A Bruins matinee, and a full schedule of hockey tonight, including Hockey Night in Canada... If ya want to find me, I'll be at the house, watching hockey.

If there is a more sorry sack of spineless shit excuse for a Senate Majority Leader than Harry "I have to borrow my balls from Mitch McConnell's handpurse" Reid, your Curmudgeon isn't sure he even wants to know about it. For entirely too long, the nation has waited for the Democratic Party to act like, well, just act. The time for waiting needs to be over. It is time for leaders to lead.

We've heard the "be patient- let the Democratic party get a real majority in the Senate" line, and so we waited. We waited and waited and watched the shameless and brazen cabal of Republicans throw out threat after threat of filibuster- not actual filibusters, just the threat of a filibuster. We saw how this pretty much ensured that damn precious little (save the open rape of the treasury by the wealthy elite) happened, and how this lack of action was placed on the plate of the Democratic party come elections.

And the Democratic Party won HUGE across the board despite that.

So now that the Democratic Party has that 'real majority' in the Senate, has there been any sign of leadership? Nope. The first and most obvious, most easy step would have been to drum Joe Lieberman out of the party caucus. No more chairing committees, no more of his droopydawg jowls flapping for the criminal cabal and the loyalist rethugs, none of it. It didn't happen, of course, and the Joe Lieberman who stood at the RNC and supported Grampy McSame and Milfy Winksandflirts, the Joe Lieberman who questioned Obama's patriotism, that Joe Lieberman was welcomed back into the fold, with vapid and flaccid promises of new-found loyalty.

It really shouldn't come as any surprise then, now that the 111th Congress has begun, that Harry Reid has continued to be a craven coward and let the tempo be set by the minority party, the party who overwhelmingly lost in November. The stimulus bill which President Elect Obama wanted ready for his signature at Day One- nah, that is off til February now. And when it comes to seating new Senators- even provisionally- well that would require stones well beyond Reid's feeble ability.

A Curmudgeonly bit of advice to the Democratic Leadership- whatever little bit of patience vested in you is dwindling quickly. It is time to start leading, and that means taking action. Leading means not backing down from weak-willed challenges. Leading means forcing the damn issue. The nation is facing some very dicey times, and continuing to be the collaborateur with the political factions and failed ideologies which have wrought this nightmare will not save the day.

Ya gotta love Parliamentary governments.

Take Canada as a shining example. In the time from the end of the RNC atrocity exhibition to the General Election in November, Canada had an entire election cycle. The Prime Minister called for an election there was a SIX WEEK (yes, six fucking weeks- compared to the TWO YEARS of campaigning we had to endure in the States...) campaign, followed by an election. The results of that election were available that night.

Another beauty thing about the system is that if the majority party or head of the minority coalition starts making a mess of things, a single no-confidence vote brings about another election. Or, as has been the drama this week, when a minority party's coalition starts flailing about another minority coalition can replace it. Just think how life here may have been changed for the better if in 2005 or so, the Chucklenuts Administration had fallen in a no-confidence vote...

The prospect of Stephen Harper being tossed on his ear has many in Canada excited. Harper has been to many a slightly more capable, slightly more moderate shadow of the dismal failure of a President the States have endure for eight years.

Ah, but it proved not to be that easy... Harpo called on the Governor General to suspend Parliament "prorogue"- and that is what happened. In a nutshell- Parliament was told to go home for about two months, when a budget vote (and hence, a confidence vote) will be due. I doubt that this will give Harper any more restful sleep, but the axe won't fall on him before Christmas. or Boxing Day.

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Meanwhile, back in Minnesota, the Franken-Coleman drags on. And on. When the recount is done this week, there will be the matter of the contested ballots. When THAT gets resolved, there will no doubt be lawsuits to resolve, and even then, this matter may go to the U.S. Senate, who may opt to impose its own resolution.

Feh, I still say. The only proposed resolution which would have damn near 100% support remains my "put 'em both on the same choke-chain" offering.

I suppose it could have been worse- I could have read my own damn obituary. Given the lack of posting on my part, such speculation would've been mildly warranted.

It was a surprise, I must admit, to have read in my good friend The Mississipifarian's blog that I was blogging elsewhere at something called the MN Progressive Project... And sure enough, someone using the moniker 'Curmudgeon' is blogging there.

But that ain't me. I've been, to borrow from Dorothy Parker, "too fucking busy, and vice versa." T Miss should have known that, but I also know he harbors a deep mistrust of Greens. And quite possibly old punk rockers, too.

The point is well-taken, though. I have been silent here long enough that impostors have popped up. Let's hope it doesn't become a Highlander-type deal. In any case, though- I'll be posting more, I promise.

Make no mistake about it- the US Senate race in Minnesota is heading to a recount. This portends to have all the fun of a long play date with an at-home DIY dentistry kit sans morphine or even nitrous oxide. The 'story' will be just compelling enough to keep ruminating in the news cycle, but any actual new information will be sparse enough that the reportage by the crack local mainstream media will feel like shadowy after-images of the Great Franken-Coleman Hate Advertising Barrage...

While the Curmudgeon does in his heart want the recount to proceed according to the pre-established rules (because really, everyone who voted deserves to have their vote counted), nonetheless the snide cattiness back-n-forth between the two camps somehow screams for a "pox on both houses" outcome.

Let's face it, folks: Norm the Windsock ain't all that, and Al Franken is definitely flawed at best. This ain't good vs evil, this ain't good guys vs bad guys, this is bought-off banality vs bought-off entitlement.

The Curmudgeon credits the comment section at The Cucking Stool for the inspiration of this solution: send 'em both to share a desk in the Senate. The Curmudgeon insists that while this is a good start, the real solution is to take it one step further:

Fit both Coleman and Franken with choke-chains, linked together on a very short chain. This way, their own antics will likely provide instant correction (not to mention endless voter amusement). Taken as a whole, this solution would provide Minnesota with what we deserve for allowing two such flawed candidates get this far in the process in the first place. Constant squabbling, palpable vacuousness on the issues, and a short list of actually doing anything- yeah that fits the bill.

But mostly I just like to imagine Norman and Al having to live life attached by choke-chains.

Can't speak for anywhere else, but the sense I have here is that we're about to get a new alphabet soup goin' on:

We'll be hearing the L word (Landslide), the M word (Mandate), and yes, the N word (NOW), as for the O word- well, I think you get the picture...

A brief anecdote: I voted early (um, duh, working at a precinct all day...), and the normal routine is one polling place, downtown, and it is dead. On that day (Saturday), there was an additional place open.

AND THERE WERE LINES THERE, TOO.

As I was waiting in line, a group of first time voters (I say first time, because there's no way in hell a one of 'em was even 20) coming out of the voting area. They were laughing, dancing- it was the happiest damn scene I've seen in a long, long time. I had no idea my turn was coming.

But come it did, when I got my ballot, and start to vote. Four plus years of screaming, ranting about this madness that passed for an administration, eight years of all the bullshit, eight years of the ruling wealthy elite fistfucking the nation, all of it came pouring out as I filled in my votes. Yeah, it may be only a spit in the ocean, but byfuckingGAWD I get to at least spit. I could feel my eyes welling up, as they are right now as I recall that feeling.

Talk about a catharsis! I can't say I left the polls dancing per se, but I was certainly a Fat Man Smiling.

I prize our friendship
But if zombies should chase us,
I'll trip your ass up.

From your Curmudgeon, who is planning on celebrating his Halloween by flogging Republicans into submission.

It is not for lack of material that I have fallen mostly silent as of late. Grampy McSame and the MILF who would be VP have come fully unhinged, and in their desperate clamor they create jaw-dropping acts, idiotic and feral. The Breeder Bachmann has chewed through her muzzle and leash, letting her special sunshiney brand of crazy out to shine brightly. One can almost imagine her jilted fury at watching yet another milfy breeder get paraded on the large political stage- hell, if she had known, she'd have gone a damn safari to prove her hunting prowess.

The wealthy elites are grabbing the government by the balls and whispering "gimme" while they still can, riding the markets like a fuckmachine, and this bright shiny act has gained the attention of the corporate controlled media, now in full lather between election coverage and the myriad crises in the world.

Every day, it grows more breathless.

And every day, my reaction grows more towards "meh". This situation isn't gonna end well- no matter the outcome of the election. There'll be more breathless weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth no matter what happens, and for all that hubbub, the depth of it will prove amazingly superficial. Meh.

I have other interests, other facets which are also compelling. There's hockey to be watched, there are other creative outlets to be explored- and unlike this ephemeral political tempest, the resolution of these other interests is far from decided. Given a choice between a predictable and predictably unsatisfying interest and a pursuit which sparks creativity and rewards that interest, I'll be taking the latter.

In short, look for the tenor and tone of this space to be changing: perhaps not so much politics, and more, well, more eclectic ponderings. There may well be a common theme which emerges, but you will discern it as I discover it.

Your Curmudgeon is a proud hockey fan, and he is also a political junkie. These two spheres have been mutually exclusive for the most part, and this is as it should be. Sure, there will be the occasional political figure, a governor or mayor, who does a ceremonial puck drop. These functions are to celebrate the game, to honor a team, or christen a new arena, and as such, these are tolerated.

It is another thing entirely to bring in a campaigning pol to get the candidate more face time and media exposure. That sort of thing just DOESN'T happen.

However, that is exactly just what happened last night, when Caribou Barbie dropped the puck at the Philadelphia Flyers' season opener against the New York Rangers:

Now, the Curmudgeon is no fan of the Broad Street Bullies, however it must be acknowledged that the Flyers' fans have a tolerance for bullshit approximate to his own, which is to say no tolerance at all. The crowd- who were there for some hockey- roundly booed this Milfy VP pretender. Booed loudly- enough so that the arena potted up the music multiple times to drown out the dissent.

Good on 'em for that.

When I moved into the new place, a prime attraction was the porch. At the time, I mused that it would be a great perch from which to watch it all turn to shit.

I had no idea that we were living on an parabolic curve- and man, has it sloped hard downward.

After the foul cabal of the RNC convention left the area, I've just been watchin' and musin'. Mostly, I wanted to content myself with the turning of the season, some college football, and the return of actual cooking some serious food. I also wanted to really keep the news at an arm's distance, because it portended to be little more than some extreme media contortions to portray the political races as close, as compelling, in short, as anything other than what they actually are- or should be.

The above plan was at best partially executed. The shit started hitting the fan- way too soon for the right wing nutjobs, and now the rats have to keep running the wheel. With no more time for finesse left, the financial rulers have no choice but bare knuckled robbery. This extortion act also stripped the Grampy McSame campaign of any hope of a Milfy cult of winking personality or a diversionary barrage of 'national security' warmongering issues, and now the broken old whore has to run a campaign of naked racism. To call it offensive is far too mild, to call it criminal far too clinical. No, the GOP intends to treat the nation to a month-long Dutch Oven, wherein the most foul gasses pour forth from the most foul asses while the covers are held over our head.

In short, things just got way too interesting to ignore entirely, and it happened, is happening still, quickly.

The good news is that we can't have that many more 5-600 point drops in the stock market ahead. By my estimate, 17 more such days, and that will be that. To any bankers or stockbrokers or other financial wizards looking for advice: jump already, motherfuckers.

Now that this shambling atrocity exhibition of a convention is over, your Curmudgeon heartily encourages all those who came to the area for the event to pack your crap up and go the hell home. To the GOP especially- take the delegates, lackeys, media minions, and whatever ghouls and other sundry malevolent things in your fell entourage, and don't return.

If the above sounds a bit like a louder and grumpier version of "Damn Kids! Stay off my lawn!", then so be it; this Curmudgeon doesn't particularly care. The twin cities area may not be the enlightened wonderland as some Minnesotans see it, but it requires no stretch of the imagination to know when things are not being left for the better.

Okay, now that the above has been said- and it did need to be said- there some thoughts I have in the wake of the RNC.

If You Build It, They Will Come: There was a certain amount of self-fulfilling prophecy going on with both law enforcement and the protesters. This worked to the detriment of everyone: whether connected directly, indirectly or tenuously tangentially.

The Ramsey County and St Paul area got a $50 million fund to handle the security for the convention. A closed circuit security camera and microphone network for the area was installed, which gave the opportunity for a central command response. Detention facilities were enhanced, as was riot squad equipment and training for the massive amounts of extra law enforcement bodies. Apparently, some of this money went to a covert infiltration unit, as was shown in the pre-emptive raids on private residences days prior to the actual convention. In short, law enforcement took the cue to run with this as though they'd be facing a war front situation.

It should be no surprise, then, that with all this hammer-intensive training the law enforcement saw most problems as massive, throbbing nails.

Now to be sure, the protester side of the equation also marched right into a parallel trap. There is a difference between getting arrested as an act of civil disobedience over a specific issue and just getting arrested because you pissed off a cop, and this may have been a lesson lost on some of the left. If the goal was just to get attention (let's face a brutal fact here- there was to be no 'raising a conversation' to be had here), then attention could have been gained sans the arrest-scene.

Had there been a different approach on either- or hell, perhaps even both sides- the whole thing could have been better for all involved. Instead of laying in the Big Brother theme surveillance and the goon squad tactics, what would have happened if law enforcement had opened an active and open liaison with the main protest groups? The whole siege mentality that evolved over the year beforehand could have been avoided.

What if the left had really worked to have a unified message and approach, rather than the 'life's rich pageant'/pastiche/all-inclusive tactic, which left the doors wide open to having any actual message being hijacked?

The final bill for this event, when the last of the lawsuits gets settled some years hence, practically guarantees that the convention will be a net loser for the area and the state's taxpayers who will foot the overage bill for any excesses by law enforcement as well as the bill of any criminals housed in the corrections system. This doesn't even take into account the loss of goodwill the St Paul PD and Ramsey County Sheriff's Department will suffer for the more egregious events during the protests- which will arguably be considerable, and will make their jobs even more daunting.

What do you call an anarchist group whose strength seems to be the FREAKING PR DEPARTMENT? Apparently, the RNC Welcoming Committee... There's something just not right here. I've known anarchists of most any stripe, and nary a one amongst them saw any particular use for prior attention-seeking behaviour. Nor, for that matter, the necessity of a PR Department, to be honest. Flying in the face of all that is this group, the RNC Welcoming Committee, who kicked off their attention seeking ways a year ago. (Public planning of future events a year in advance is another really rare trait in anarchists, just so you know.)

This wasn't just the sort of thing that sought attention if and only if it got noticed, this was loud and conspicuous. Enough so that it captured the attention of a dim bulb like Turkey Flaps Katherine Kersten. Enough so that the group got targeted for infiltration, and (again, very unusual for actual anarchists) infiltrated.

And now, we find out that several of the RNC Welcoming Committee (at this point, one must wonder if they were given cards to carry) are facing with terrorism charges. This tale will no doubt get more strange- up until this development, everything about this group screamed 'false flag operation'.

Note to future actual anarchists: Cops know about Twitter.