Koch Bro Utopia

If the Koch bro formula for the nearest practical thing to utopia actually did produce the nearest practical thing to utopia, we pragmatists would take it more seriously. But it doesn’t. In real life, on the ground here in the good ole USA, it doesn’t. So we don’t.

What the Koch bro formula for the nearest practice thing to utopia actually produces is a further concentration of “freedom” in the hands of the already very, very free. For far too many of the rest of us, it bleeds freedom away and leaves bitterness in its place.

Sound Reveille: 2020 08 08

Half six in the East, java made and a mug at my side, the treehouse still but for the hum of the fridge, a towhee in the middle distance offering its signature aria, and here we are at another weekend in an awful interregnum that it’s up to us to end in November. Sound reveille.

The Brand

Yesterday, as you might have heard, a rightwing wag named Dinesh D’Souza came to Trump’s rescue on a matter of pronunciation. Trump — clueless and reading a teleprompter at an event — saw the word “Thailand” and pronounced it “thigh-land.” D’Souza, who is tight with Trump — especially after Trump pardoned him out of the blue for an election law violation — tweeted that the word “Thailand” is in fact pronounced “thigh-land” quite commonly in the English-speaking world.

News to me! I’ve never heard anyone — as in, anyone — pronounce it that way. D’Souza presumably is well aware of this, and he’s merely doing his schtick, being all rightwing contrarian to “own the libs.” Which brings me to my point. For plenty of people in public life, I think, what matters most is the brand. They’ve made themselves into a brand, and what they say and do must be consistent with the brand. Integrity and truth are fine if they happen to dovetail with the brand. D’Souza is a brand.

Sound Reveille: 2020 08 07

Half 7 in the East, java done and a mug drunk with another in near prospect, the treehouse still, but for the sighs of the Mr. Coffee, the birds beyond mostly quiescent, and we’ve come to another Friday on the hard road to November and redemption. Sound reveille.

Old Sailors

Old sailors on old ships
Reading the wrong stars,
Wearing the wrong saints,
Slipping off the charted seas
To where their forebears
Lay in silty graves.