God and Gasoline

It's interesting to see how talk of God fades in the face of tragedy like the one in and around New Orleans. On 9-11, Americans were wronged, free to feel righteous. Today, though, no one can be blamed; there's no bad guy to make Americans feel like the good guys. I anticipate that eventually the God-talk will begin: that God saved this or that survivor, that God will support those who lost homes and loved ones. The logic here astonishes: wouldn't a benevolent God have held the levee strong? The devastation here is biblical: a city destroyed, its residents forced out or killed. But unless Bush is willing to call New Orleans Gomorrah, he'd better keep God out of his mouth.

And now Americans are whining on TV about paying $90 to fill up their SUVs. In Canada, Europe, and most of the developed world, $3 for a gallon of gas would be an incredible bargain. Now Bush is dipping into the strategic reserves to alleviate the gas pinch. (There's an ad on TV right now for a BMW SUV with 270 horsepower.) He might encourage conservation, even rationing, but no: he's giving the addict his fix. If Americans want this lifestyle, they need to be willing to pay for it.

Now go to Itunes and download Bright Eyes' "When the President Talks to God." It's free, and it's brilliant.

Snoop and Lee

I just saw the Chrysler ad in which Snoop Dogg golfs with Lee Iacocca. The ad seems to want to play on the humor of the geriatric Iacocca golfing with an iconic rapper, but there's a problem: it's not funny. Pink plaid is never funny. As they make their way around the course, Snoop brags to Iacocca (in his trademark MTV Snoop-speak) about his new Chrysler; Lee can't understand Snoop's English, but he ends the ad by telling his partner, "I don't know what you just said, but I guess now everyone gets a great deal at Chrysler." Translation: Chrysler is no longer just for white people? Blacks now welcome at Chrysler dealerships? Any molecule of humor is crushed under the weight of this odd bit of racism.

And didn't Snoop pronounce "fo' shizzle" dead months ago?

Cheers.

Hoy means today

Hi folks. I'm in the midst of a pre-semester freak-out--school starts next week--but I wanted to take care of something I should have done a long time ago: talk a bit about "Forever Endeavour," the latest album by NYC rock trio Hoy.

Hoy's namesake is singer/guitarist Greg Hoy, a transplant from Pittsburgh known best perhaps for his work with the late-great Pittsburgh emo outfit Sunday Driver. Hoy is a prolific musician: he's also a member of Yearbook (featuring fellow Sunday Driver Mike Knapp), and the brains behind the digital alchemy of Brainstorm Sheen. I've been following Hoy (the man, not the band) for years, since the days of Swell and the short-lived Absence of Grammar. With Hoy (the band), Hoy (the man) has done some of his best work: one perfect piece of hard-rock candy after another, sweet enough to rot teeth, each with the polish of a single. Hoy's voice is ballsy and natural (a long way from the early days), though the songs, not the singer, drive this album. At times I was reminded of "Animalize"-era KISS, which is a high compliment, but the band shares most of its DNA with bands like Fountains of Wayne and the Dandy Warhols: the heirs to the Cheap Trick throne. Nearly each track is single-quality; among the best are "Calling Amsterdam" and the first track, "2 Fingers Crossed." The only dog on the album is "Calling Tokyo" (apparently, the band enjoys phoning cities around the world), which really only weak in comparison to the tracks that precede it.

Hoy's website is www.hoyrocks.com, and "Forever Endeavour" is available on iTunes. Check it out today.

Cheers.

Good prose on poems

Today's NY Times Book Review has a rarity: a good piece of writing about a book of poems. It's Dan Chiasson's review of W.S. Merwin's new and selected, "Migration." Chiasson is a hell of a poet in his own right; his first book, "The Afterlife of Objects," is sad, eloquent, and energetic, and one of my favorite books of the past few years. According to the bio in the NYTBR, his new book, "Natural History," will be out in October. The two titles suggest a theme, I think.

I liked Chiasson's review for two reasons: the writing is clear and specific (no elliptical albums here), and the author resists the urge to either lay laurels at the feet of one of the big shots of American poetry or lampoon him as a self-serious dinosaur. Instead Chiasson charts Merwin's growth as a poet, noting dominant thematic and formal elements and periods of the poet's strongest and weakest work. The review also offers useful insight, both positive and negative, on Merwin's trademark unpunctuated line. I recommend.

Cheers.

Redskin Potatoes

With football season on its way, I have been listening to more sports talk radio in the car, which means that I've been listening to some stunningly stupid arguments. Stupidity is unavoidable on sports talk radio, but I'm chafing at some of the things I've been hearing (and reading on ESPN.com) in response to the NCAA's new policy banning "hostile and abusive" Native American mascots, nicknames, and imagery at its events (i.e. the NCAA men's basketball tournament). Sports people are up in arms, using words like "pride" and "tradition" to defend the presence of icons like U of Illinois' Chief Illiniwek and Florida State's famous horse-riding Seminole.

What's next? whine the sports-mouths. No Minnesota Vikings? No Notre Dame Fighting Irish? No Michigan State Spartans?

Here's the difference: Notre Dame has an Irish heritage. Many Europeans who settled in Minnesota were Scandinavian. What's more, Vikings exist only in history, as do Spartans. The world still contains Illini, Seminoles, Utes (U of Utah), and Chippewas (Central Michigan), though considerably fewer of them than it once did. And the tribes referred to in these school names were not a part of the heritage of the school; they point, instead, to the genocidal legacy of the invading Europeans. These names are the equivalent of the animal mascots: lions, bears, wildcats, eagles--ferocious animals all. To the early Europeans in the Americas, the natives were ferocious animals, too. It's hard to imagine that Southeastern Oklahoma State University is honoring its pre-European heritage with the nickname "Savages."

Tonight I heard a talk-show host arguing that Native American mascots honored a brave, resilient people who have survived against great odds. Would that it were so. Movies are full of people surviving against the odds, people who don't show up as mascots: slaves, cancer survivors, survivors of holocausts in Europe and Africa, and so on. But it's unlikely that any of these will show up on the side of a football helmet or emblazoned across a cheerleader's sweater.

I applaud the NCAA for doing its part to promote a culture of respect; no good comes of treating one group of people as another group's mascot. Unfortunately, the NCAA has no say in the two most shockingly racist mascots: Cleveland's baseball Indians and Washington's football Redskins. The Indians' caps feature the visage of a big-nosed, grinning native (Chief Nockahoma? or was this the old Braves' mascot?); the Redskins' helmet features a less cartoon-like but no less appalling picture. Here they are, on cap and helmet:


Obviously, leagues and owners rely on the recognition of these team names and images; to change them would be suicide. But maybe not: a few years ago the NBA's Washington Bullets changed their name to the Wizards; immediately their merchandise became hugely popular. And teams regularly change the design, if not the names, of their mascots: remember Tampa Bay's Bruce the Buccanneer (the gayest mascot ever, incidentally) or the Bengals helmets that said "Bengals" on the side? I was thrilled to hear Tony Kornheiser, the smartest man in sports talk, offer a solution to the Redskins' problem: keep the name, but replace the image on the helmet with a picture of a redskin potato. Now you're not racist; you're delicious.

In the interest of contributing positively to the debate, I'd like to offer some alternative nicknames to the schools cited by the NCAA. Here we go:


Alcorn State University (Braves): Fighting Acorns
Central Michigan University (Chippewas): Ted Nugents
Catawba College (Indians): Awba Cats
Florida State University (Seminoles): Binge Drinkers
Midwestern State University (Indians): Flyovers
University of Utah (Utes): Mormons (almost too easy)
Indiana University-Pennsylvania (Indians): Jimmy Stewarts (he's from Indiana, PA)
Carthage College (Redmen): Hannibals
Bradley University (Braves): Cornstalks
Arkansas State University (Indians): Stag Beetles (hey, they're pretty tough)
Chowan College (Braves): Chow Hounds
University of Illinois-Champaign (Illini): Pillars (the I on the helmet kind of looks like a pillar)
University of Louisiana-Monroe (Indians): Crawdaddies
McMurry University (Indians): Furries
Mississippi College (Choctaws): Plantationers
Newberry College (Indians): The Recreational Boaters
University of North Dakota (Fighting Sioux): Sodbusters
Southeastern Oklahoma State University (Savages): Invaders

Cheers.

The Chompies

A package from an old friend arrived recently at the DBE World Headquarters. Nate and his wife have lived in Germany for over two years, and they have made the best of it: occasionally we get postcards from Scotland, or Turkey, or Greece, or.... He has regaled me with stories of listening to American football on the radio while driving mountain roads in Sicily, watching the Tour de France, discussing US gun laws with incredulous Frenchpeople, and so on. If he weren't such a great guy, I'd probably hate him increasingly as the murderous Midwestern summer swelters on.

So, the package: it contained organic crackers from Scotland, chocolate-dipped cookies from Germany, a beautiful silk (?) pillowcase, and a demo CD by Nate's band, The Chompies. Calling The Chompies (that name is SO Nate) eclectic is like calling Dick Cheney unfriendly: a gross understatement. The disc starts off with two originals: the punky "Rat-Faced Boy" and the post-post-Dead "Entropy." The disc also contains traditional bluegrass ("I am a Pilgim," featuring Nate performing admirably on vocals and mandolin) and covers of The Ramones ("Suzy is a Headbanger") and The White Stripes ("Seven Nation Army"). But the centerpiece of the disc has to be "The Ballad of Godzuki," a Queen-styled mini-opera honoring Godzilla's cartoon sidekick from the 70s. That song best showcases the band's musical range and gleeful sense of humor. And with a name like The Chompies, it's got to be good.

So if you find yourself in Germany, Belgium, or France with nothing to do, check out The Chompies. North American tour dates are in the works, I'm sure, but nothing has been solidified yet. Folks who want to see The Chompies will have to get on the pickle in a hurry, before Interpol (the agency, not the band) shuts them down for copyright infringement. And not just for the covers; check out this business card: