THE BIRD WAS THE WORD

I was a mannerly and somewhat-naive child, sheltered from much of the crassness and ugliness of the world by my parents. It was a different time, too. Despite all the craziness of the '60s, a great deal of it was still the polite and clean '50s, just dressed in paisley. You would never talk back to an adult, for instance. It was unthinkable and unladylike as well. Girls couldn't even wear pants to school, only skirts and dresses. Right from the start, there was substantial pressure to conform. Don't you dare.

I honestly think at age seven, I didn't even know any swear words past "hell" or "damn." If I had ever heard anything rougher, I surely would not have known at all what anything meant. But I had an idea of bad words and REALLY bad words and things that little girls simply did not do, ever. But once, out of impulse and necessity, a little flare of impudence served me just fine.

One the first day of 1st Grade, my mom drove me to school in the morning -- the first day of a full day of school for me was a big event. Even bigger was that after school was done for the day I would get to ride the big yellow schoolbus home. I was very excited about this, as most kids are to start. It was a pretty quick ride down the street, no more than a couple of miles, but it was a MILESTONE OF INDEPENDENCE for me. So when I boarded with my older brother after Miss Lurvey dismissed me at 3PM sharp, I was stoked.

But what was this? As I got on, catcalls, teasing, the "bad boys" in the back of the bus calling me "baby" and asking if I needed my "blankie," calling me "stupid."

WHAT? WHAT?? THE HELL IS THIS? My face, I am sure, burned bright red. It didn't take long for me to figure out why I was getting this treatment, not the other 1st graders -- my brother was not popular at school at all, and was often a target for bullies. He never fought back or said a word. As I muddled through the bus with my brand-new plaid bookbag in my starched pinafore dress to a shiny green vinyl bus seat, I figured it out: the bullies assumed I would be the same easy mark. In my seven years on the planet, this I knew for sure: I would hear this crap the rest of my school days if I didn't DO SOMETHING about it RIGHT AWAY. My mind ticked and spun, and I got more and more angry that I had to deal with this because of my brother.

But what could I do? I couldn't outtalk them -- there were too many of the boys, they were all older than me, and I was tiny anyway with a tiny voice. Something else I knew was that they wanted to get a rise out of me. They wanted me to look ashamed or cry or start screaming for them to stop. I knew not to give them that either, even though I was steaming and furious. Whatever I was going to do had to be just right, or I would make it all even worse.

My first instinct was just to ignore them, like my brother always seemed to. But it didn't work. They kept poking and poking. OK. OK. OK.

It didn't take long for the bus to make its way up the gentle slope of the road to our stop, right outside our house. The catcalls got louder and nastier. As I rose and followed my silent cowed brother down the bus aisle to the opened door, I decided I would pull out the very worst thing I had ever seen. No, that isn't quite right; I didn't actually decide it at all. I just did it. Right before I went down the stairs, I turned around and faced all the kids on the bus, all 3'-whatever of me, and I gave them a very vigorous middle-finger salute with the meanest face I could muster.

The bus exploded in howls and laughter and applause, shocked. I had no idea what the flipping the bird meant, at all, but I knew it was not good. I got off the bus, still mad as hell, and didn't look back.

The next morning as I got on the bus, one of the bad boys called out to me: "Well, look at Little Miss Tough Stuff! What you got today?" His facial expression wasn't the same as the day before -- his smile this time was different, amused almost. I went to the back of the bus, a very bold move, and took a seat nearby.

"Shut up," I told him, with the most dismissive and disgusted look I had in my arsenal.

"Ha ha!! You're crazy, Little Baby, I like you!"

And that was that. I never had a problem on the bus ever again. I eventually learned what the middle finger stood for, and was quite, quite pleased.

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ALEX CHILTON

I was very saddened to hear that musician Alex Chilton passed away today at age 59 in New Orleans of a suspected heart attack. He was scheduled to perform with his legendary power-pop progenitors Big Star at SXSW in Austin this weekend. As a songwriter and singer, he influenced many many many musicians (think the Bangles, Wilco, Cheap Trick, almost any post-Beatles pure pop band) although to the greater public his name may be known more by his namesake song that was a hit for the Replacements from 1987.

Alex Chilton first came across my way with his huuuuuge 1967 hit "The Letter" with the Boxtops. I bought it on a 45 then, and I still have it...on a dark blue label with silver print, I think. I remember being so surprised that the grind-y gritty vocal came from a mere teenager, and I remember listening to the song (under 2 min. I think) and thinking about the lyrics and the jet sound and just how good it was. "The Letter" is one of rock's real classic singles. Look how adorable Alex is here.



I read about Big Star in CREEM, but they never really hit it big, although they had lots of critics in their corner. This is probably their best known song, the exquisite "September Gurls."



Chilton went on to a solo career that ranged from NYC-style early punk to blues-billy to minimalist jazz. He was not afraid to branch out and explore all of his musical interests, which leaves a catalog that is challenging and fun to dig in to.

He is just gone way too soon. I hope he knew he had done some really great work, and felt the love that people had for his songs.

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NPR SXSW 100 OMG

I know -- it's really hard for most people to take the time to find and listen to new music. There are so many artists and sites and recommendations, confusing similar band names like Deer Tick and Deerhunter and Deer Jerky...alright, I made that last one up but you get my point. How can you efficiently find great new songs to enjoy if you are a busy rock fan?

Well, you could attend Austin's famous SXSW festival, where as of today 1700 or so bands will be playing pretty much 'round the clock at any available space to try to grab your ear and hopefully some of the cash you make while you are away being busy. You could go, but you might not have the time or the money or the patience. I think about going and then I think again, because I would become overwhelmed and frustrated and then surly. People would slosh beer on me and hand me flyers for the 4AM ten-minute set of Deer Numbles at the Shell station as I sat despondent on a dirty Austin curb. Alright, there's no Deer Numbles either. I think.

National Public Radio kindly wishes me and you a better fate than falling asleep on a sidewalk covered in colorful paper ads and a fermented yeast beverage. They have compiled The Austin 100: A SXSW Mix For 2010 -- their pick of the best 100 songs from acts featured at SXSW this year, in alphabetical order. Click on the link to access the stream, which will keep looping around for ya. Some of my old and new favorites are on there, like Broken Bells, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, The Xx, Spoon, Sleigh Bells, Roky Erickson, Rogue Wave, Best Coast, Dr. Dog, Big Star, Broken Social Scene, Real Estate, and did I mention Black Rebel Motorcycle Club...ah, yes yes.

I'm excited to hear the tracks I don't know, playing over my computer at my leisure, and I bet you might find some new music you will love too. Thanks, NPR!

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FAR AWAY EYES

(On the drive home this afternoon, a discussion of elementary-school crush rumors eventually leads to the subject of pop music teen sensation Justin Bieber.)

MissSeven: I don't like Justin Bieber.

Mr11: Yeah, I don't either. Girls say he's "cute." What's "cute," anyway?

Me: Well, you know. Cute is sort of like...

MissSeven: LIKE WHEN YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED AND ARE IN LOVE!

Me: No, no, it's just...sort of youthful and sweet. Like bunnies or something. You know.

MissSeven: I know someone who LOVES Justin Bieber. She has posters of him up on her wall and everything.

Me: What poster would you like to have on your wall?

MissSeven: The Rolling Stones.

Me: Really???

MissSeven: Yes. But only one. You know how all those eyes would creep me out.

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HALL OF FEH

Oh, yippee, another Rock n' Roll Hall Of Fame induction ceremony is over. This annual event, conducted since 1986, is by nature now less about honoring the major pioneers and influential forces in rock music, as most of them have long since been inducted. It is more about the politics of the B- and C- and Z-list performers left to consider, and an excuse for a painful sloppy jam session. Ick.

You have to have been around in rock for 25 years to get a HOF nod, but as the pool of cool grows smaller, you get some really, really bizarre inductees. ABBA next to Iggy Pop? Come ON! You might as well have the Trolololol dude inducted with Little Richard or something. This idea that began with good intent -- to honor the performers who made rock n' roll a force of nature -- ended up corrupted by money and personal politics. Surprise, surprise, huh, but still a real shame. The HOF stumbled from its original vision and now has to suffer through the rest of its days fretting about the ramifications over whether or not to put Foreigner or Chicago on the induction ballot.

If you want to be about popularity, sales, and name recognition, then BE THAT. If you want to genuinely and critically examine the importance and influence of artists and others in the industry who truly brought something unique and valuable into rock music, then BE THAT. It's when you mix it up, like the HOF has certainly done, that you lose any credibility your "honor" has. I wouldn't know what the hell to think if I were an inductee. "Um...thanks?"

I don't think there's anything to be done about it now. It should have been, always, fewer nominees, input from the public along with the industry elite that make the choices, not based on what acts will make a good annual show for the rich museum donors, with the nerve to say, "Yeah, this year we won't be having a vote or a show. We're still thinking, and the jury is still out on a lot of these people. That doesn't mean they suck or that you shouldn't like them or that WE don't like them. We are just trying to make this all MEAN something."

Would the museum have financially survived like that? Maybe not. Unless you came up with some donors with similar integrity, lack of ego, and responsibility to future generations of music fans.

ABBA. God.

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TROLL LOL

You know, it's hard to tell which one is the original Russian song and which one the parody.

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THE PRETENDERS SHRED!!!

Well, after posting "The Best of Shreds," I said to myself, HEY BUDDY WHY DON'T YOU TRY MAKING ONE OF THOSE NOW THAT WOULD BE FUN, so I DID. I chose to ruin the Pretenders' "Precious" with a Gibson ES-335, a M-Audio Oxygen 49 midi keyboard, a Blue Snowball mic, and Garage Band. This is how it looked:



After one take for each part, 'CAUSE THAT HOW I ROLL, it was tossed over to Vid Editor WN:



There's a surprising amount of work that goes into producing a shred, but I hope you enjoy watching the horrendous outcome as much as I enjoyed making it. HEINOUS!! HA!

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HAPPINESS, LAW, BEATLES

Here's a New Yorker article on the psycho-politics of happiness which I will have the Beatles sum up for you if you don't feel like reading many words all in a row, with the outtake version I prefer just for added value.

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MARGARET

The tree blooming outside my window changes, almost by the hour it seems, in the way that spring things do, freshening the winter-grayed color palette just at the time we need it to. I know that the pretty white flowers won’t last very long. They will be replaced by the shiny bright green leaves, and the bluest skies you’ve ever seen above. I anticipate these things, all the normal changes, and I expect to be there to see them, many times over.

I’ve written here a few times about Margaret, my very best friend from my early teen years. My god, did we have some fun, she and I. Everyone loved her, because she was so outgoing and friendly and confident and kind and kooky and stylish, cool but not snobby at all. Everything she did seemed so effortless and easy. She wasn’t afraid to dig in and work hard, got good grades…I didn’t think she’d have any problem making a success in life.

I sit here, looking at the tree. And she is gone.

My friend got just about every raw deal one could get handed in adulthood. A bad, too-early marriage that ended in divorce, a second marriage with another divorce. The death of her only child, aged 15. And that sickness she had when we were kids, the one that went on and on, because there was no money to see a doctor? It was rheumatic fever, and it ruined her heart, and her kidneys failed as well. Transplants didn’t take, and all her determination and optimism could not overcome all of this.

It doesn’t seem possible. The old photographs of Margaret burst with energy. A long time ago, now.

I wish my friend were here to see another spring. I wish there were something I could have done.

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PLUG 5: MOD CLOTH

I don't do a whole lot of plugs here because I am usually busy going to concerts or making bad Photoshops or doing the laundry, but I get excited when I see something as awesome as Mod Cloth. Mod Cloth is an e-retailer of women's clothing from independent designers -- very cool and fresh stuff and VERY affordable. Hand-picked vintage wear, shoes, fun accessories and home items are tossed in the mix as well, making Mod Cloth a unique place to shop. Susan and Eric Koger have figured out how to make a successful, growing business out of Susan's teenage thrift-store jones and Eric's youthful take on marketing, and they seem to be having a whole lot of fun with it, too. From Mod Cloth's press kit:

• ModCloth was founded in 2002 when Susan and Eric were only 17
• In 2 years, ModCloth has grown from 3 to 105 employees (and growing!)
• Over one million unique women visit ModCloth.com each month
• More than 150,000 Web pages on the Internet link to ModCloth.com
• ModCloth is the #1 result in Google searches for: Indie Clothing, Retro Clothing, & Vintage Outfits
• 70% of ModCloth’s employees are female
• ModCloth has more than 12,000 followers on Twitter (and growing)
• ModCloth has more than 20,000 fans on Facebook (and growing)

Mod Cloth is doing so well because they make it so easy to LOVE THEM. Their sense of style is spot-on -- a great mix of classic vintage designs and trendy fun pieces that are flattering, different, interesting, and very compatible with just about any budget.Every day, their site is updated with new items (the vintage pieces sell as fast as they put them up), and are easily accessed. It's a kick to see what will show up, and it gives you a reason to keep checking in frequently -- let's call it the "Diarrhea Island Frequency Model." Mod Cloth also has an interactivity not found elsewhere -- they very actively ask for customer opinions on items currently on sale, new designers, and they even have a "Be The Buyer" page where you can vote on samples in consideration for sale. Mod Cloth makes fashion flat-out fun.

I'm not in their core demographic of women ages 18-30, but it doesn't matter. There are so many great pieces at Mod Cloth that will work for any age woman, which is one reason I am spreading the word here. Another reason, especially if you are not a clothes-happy goofball like me or you are a man, is to examine Mod Cloth's savvy use of social networking. Every business on the planet wants to tap into the power of Twitter, Facebook, etc., but few seem to have any clue whatsoever of how to do it effectively. Mod Cloth does, and their smarts are worth you business-peeps checking out.

Good value and good business still can happen in a struggling economy. It's heartening to see Susan and Eric make something work by doing what they love anyway, and we get the benefit, too. WTG!

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AMAZING ART

Over thirteen million YouTube viewers have already seen this video. I think it should be required viewing for every single person on the planet, for so very many reasons.

This is Ukrainian sand artist Kseniya Simonova. This is her visual depiction of the USSR in World War II. Just watch.

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IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR: THE WHITE STRIPES “UNDER GREAT NORTHERN WHITE LIGHTS”

I am awake and busy at midnight most nights. It’s a good creative time for me and if I wouldn’t be waking up most of the rest of the household I would do even more, like play drums or vacuum or probably use the vacuum as drums. But it did feel a bit funny to go out last night, a Thursday, to see a movie at MIDNIGHT, leaving Couch Teen in charge of his sleeping siblings. Why would I go out midweek to see some MOVIE? Oh ho ho ho, I will tell you why: because this was a one-off screening of Emmett Malloy’s new film about The White Stripes’ 2007 Canadian tour, entitled “Under Great White Northern Lights.” Like I was going to miss THAT! NO WAY!



Well, I really almost did miss it, as did most everyone else in Seattle it seems, because there were just a handful of us gathered at the AMC Pacific Place 11 theater last night. There was no notice of this screening at the White Stripes’ official site, and although I am pretty thorough about sifting and searching for info about events I want to see, this showing would have gone past me, as the one at the Northwest Film Festival did last month. It was only because of a FACEBOOK SIDEBAR AD on my home page that I saw late late late Wednesday night that I was made aware of the showing. I went all, wut, and then WUT???!!!, and then purchased tickets, feeling like someone had just handed me a thousand bucks and a box of candy. I love the White Stripes, and was very much looking forward to seeing the film, and I wanted to see it in a proper theater. And so I did, in the middle of a rainy Seattle night.

I am still just amazed by the fact that this particular band, if you can call two people, a guitar, and a drumset a band (p.s. yes you can, btw), has this major career, 10+ years now. There is hardly another act I can think of outside a few from the corporate pop machine slimeworks that gets as much attention for anything they do. Why? The music they make is not exactly made for the masses. It is, in many ways, harsh – dissonant, loud, brash, screeching, thumping, almost violent, daring you to listen, daring you to take it. Yet the very same band can write and perform the sweetest of child-like acoustic ballads, delivered quietly and prettily, and command the same attention. There are REALLY wide extremes to the White Stripes, and they know it. The film trailer:



Therein may be the answer to my questions, after all. To paraphrase a comment by Jack White in the film about his favorite line ever written about the White Stripes, this band is, at once, both the most-contrived and the most-real. It is that duality, layer after layer -- personas, music, images, marketing,and very set-up – that is compelling, curious, interesting, unusual. It is powerful raw talent that fuels the fire, and a very conscious dedication to musical craft that has kept it all from burning out of control.

The idea of filming the tour of Canada was a good one, because the tour itself was set up to be markedly different than a usual rock ‘ roll tour of clubs and arenas. This time, the White Stripes embarked on an ambitious schedule – they would play in every province in Canada. One town was so far north that when the gig ended at 11PM it looked like midday outside. An Inuit town on the other side of the country came across as a desolate Martian landscape of crunchy permafrost, swirly artful mud, pools of still water, and random rocks, where raw caribou was served to Jack and Meg White in honor of their appearance. There were the big gigs and there were shows played at day care centers, a pool hall, a bowling alley, a city bus, a park, the back of a boat, and a café, the latter played to a mom with her baby bouncing on her knee. The tour, by design, was more interesting for the forays out of the usual, and it is quite charming and fun to see what happens at each juncture.

The film is primarily concert footage with a few inset pieces of interviews and travel follies, dressed in the cinematic starkness, grit, and color blast of the band’s signature red, white, and black theme. It adds witty style to the movie, and you more appreciate the consistency of the band’s visual image through the years – defiantly cool rather than stagnant or silly. And you must appreciate the incredible power of a White Stripes performance, whether you are a fan or not. This band's amps don't just go to 11; this band causes tectonic plate shifts.

Another dichotomy that is readily apparent when watching the movie is the polar-opposite personalities of Jack and Meg White. Jack comes off as almost manic in his focus – serious, bursting with big opinions and ideas about music and art and life, jittery, somewhat wary and defensive. It strongly seems like he would be both exciting and exhausting to deal with. This is someone who will never be satisfied, and never wants to be satisfied. For Jack White, satisfaction doesn’t inspire you to do things. Difficulties and problems are intentionally built into everything he does. He needs an ever-present dragon to slay, and you’ve got to be pretty clever to keep convincing those dragons to come out of their caves somehow.

Then there is Meg, the thin-limbed, big-chested girl by his side, her plain face almost always sporting the same sort of beatific Mona-Lisa smile. She says almost nothing during the film, which is the subject of a couple of the film’s humorous bits. She is a classic introvert, someone you could easily imagine getting happily lost in a library or too shy to leave home at all. Yet – yet!! – here she is, playing drums behind possibly the most explosive rock frontman of all time, and hitting hard; more than keeping up, she is often inspiring, which you can see as Jack plays off of her almost constantly. Meg has received many dismissive comments about her drumming over the years, because it is simple to the point of creating the category of “sarcastic drums,” but I beg to differ. Meg can WALLOP as loud as any John Bonham, and she is utterly in tune with the veers and dynamics of Jack’s playing – no small thing at ALL. Her playing is perfect for what he does, and she commits to what she does just as much as Jack. No small thing at all, because it takes a lot of guts and determination for her to get out there and a willingness and ability to bond that closely with another musician, especially one as remarkable as Jack White.

The Canadian tour also marked the White Stripes’ 10-year anniversary, and there is a definite reflective tone to the film, an awareness of the challenges to keeping things going. Jack White seems both proud of and constricted by the inherent limitations of the band, talking and talking while Meg sits silently, often with her head down. All that energy of his, all those ideas and needs compelled him over the last few years to amp up his “side projects” including bands the Raconteurs and the Dead Weather, running a record label/business, producing other artists, and this film. After the Canadian tour was over, a planned U.S. jaunt was scrapped; the reason given was Meg White’s acute anxiety. Outside of an appearance on the final show of Late Night With Conan O’Brien in February, 2009, the White Stripes haven’t performed since 2007, which makes “Under The Great Northern White Lights” feel at times like a goodbye, underscored by an emotional last scene of Jack and Meg sitting side-by-side at a piano.

Heading back through the rain and back home to bed at almost 2AM, what stood out the most for me in the film were not the roaring performances, but the quieter moments that Malloy captured throughout the Canadian tour. Meg falling asleep on a backstage couch after a gig, cigarette in hand, then Jack finally drifting off in a chair next to her, his face finally relaxed, his intensity replaced by a baby-faced sweetness as he dozed. The tightness in the body when one is acutely aware of being recorded. Jack offering Meg a hand to help her up a slippery snowbank. Jack and Meg White’s faces at the end of the movie, for a brief moment stripped of all that it is to be famous, replaced by all that it is to be human.

Jack White has said that he has recorded some new tracks with Meg and thinks a new White Stripes album could be out soon, possibly later this year. That is very very good news, that the dragon supply seems to be plentiful for him and the Meg White has hopefully slayed a few as well. Emmett Malloy has made an excellent documentary in “Under The Great White Northern Lights,” true to the spirit and style of the White Stripes and something that people will watch many years from now, saying, “Man, I wish I could have been there! They were great.”

No way should you miss seeing this film, so make your way here to find more official showings and by god, pay attention to Facebook ads sometimes. Seattle folks can see a showing of the film at the Crocodile Café on March 16th for free, but as there is limited seating you better get in line early and bring money for the delicious Via Tribunali pizza that will be served. If you cannot see it in the theaters, the IFC channel will be showing “Under The Great Northern White Lights” On-Demand all the rest of March, and the CD/DVD will be available for purchase also on March 16th.

I will be playing here, most midnights throughout the year.

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GABBY GABBY HEY

I don’t particularly get all the fuss being made about Howard Stern’s recent comments about actress Gabourey Sidibe, but people are still making fuss even if I don’t get it, so I will address it now because I am having trouble with Garage Band at the moment and need to step away from that application before I have a stroke. Anyway, a couple of days ago Howard Stern offered his opinion that a black actress of her considerable size has no chance of making it long-term in Hollywood. People are saying that’s mean. Howard Stern has been on air for millions of years and has made millions of dollars by speaking bluntly. Hello, hello.

Sidibe earned a Best Actress award nomination at this year’s Oscars with essentially no acting experience behind her – only a couple of college productions. “Precious,” based on the novel “Push,” was universally acclaimed, and no one refutes Sidibe’s considerable skills. It’s always exciting to discover a new talent, because so many of the old talents become over-hyped, over-used, pimped into bad projects, or ruined by any number of temptations. It isn’t easy to pick creative projects wisely, or for that matter, get good steady acting work at all. And herein really is the point: even the most-glamorous, the most-gifted, the most-connected, the most-beloved, and the most-honored Hollywood actresses struggle to work. Ask any one of them, if you can get past security and her alarmed stare as you are addressing her as she slowly backs up. There’s a bell curve for acting work for women, which I will attempt to illustrate here:



Hollywood, and the viewing public it makes content for, is hardly color- or weight-blind, and that is not going to change drastically anytime soon. Sidibe’s appearance will fit into very, very, very few available film jobs. Unless something is written specifically for her, or she can get a good quality recurring role on a television series, she will not be working or not working anywhere as often as she would like. She seems to have already have snared a role on a Showtime series and another film quite different from “Precious,” so that is good. Now what she is going to have to do is absolutely blow everyone away again. And again. And again. She is going to have to be just that good, every single time.

I am guessing that Gabourey Sidibe already knows that, and is excited for the challenge. I am also guessing she is not at all fazed by Howard Stern’s comments, as she likely hears far, far worse directed her way just walking down the street every single day. Maybe that will give her the armor she will need to make her way through Hollywood and media commentary, and she will be able to have the kind of career an Oscar-nominated actress would hope for. I wish her well.

Back to the impudent Garage Band for me, and a low-fi musical recording any rain-besieged Seattle-ish mom would hope for.

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COCO NUTS: CONAN, COMING TO A TOWN NEAR YOU

Run, don't walk to teamcoco.com or ticketmaster.com to get tickets to see not-Finnish person Conan O'Brien on his 30-city music/hew-more tour! I got MINE...go get yours before they are all gone and you go all, OH I AM A DUMBASS. GO!!

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CHIEF JUSTICE JOHN ROBERTS, HUGE WHINY BIG BABY

Oh, WAAA WAAA WAAA. Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts doesn't like that President Obama in his State of the Union address called out the Court's mess of a 5-4 decision which now allows Big Biz and unions to spend as much on American political elections as they would like. Yes, we SO NEED more special interest groups slithering like cancer-filled SNAKES into our nation's body of laws, THANKS SO SO MUCH.

WAAA, Justice Roberts cries, Obama shouldn't have done that, it wasn't PROPER! WAAA, we had to just sit there on camera and TAKE IT! WAAAA, growing partisanship, WAAAAA!

YOU give ME a BREAK, Roberts. How do you think you got where YOU ARE? Blind non-political merit, free from agenda and bias? Don't complain about the game that you profited from, just because this time a leader had the guts to say publicly and to your face that you made a huge mistake, and one that could have a devastating effect on just who gets a say on who is running the show 'round these parts. Unless there is strong mitigating legislation or a reversal of Mr. Bungle and his 4 pals' ruling,neither you nor I will be able to be heard over the roar of BIG AVALANCHES OF MONEY falling all over Washington, D.C.

AND, I might point out, if you don't think public partisanship is right and all of the branches need to pretend like they all are civil, reasonable, unshakably honest and free of strong ALREADY PAID FOR opinions, WHY did YOU make a public comment? WHY? Because babies want what they want, and they don't like to be DENIED...tit for tat.

WAAA!

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