After the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, public facilities all over the country were secured against the possibility that there would be a wave of attacks. Vehicular access to the State Capitol in Madison, Wisconsin was limited by the installation of bollards at every access point. Pedestrian traffic was funneled through a security checkpoint. The legitimate fear sparked proper precautions in 2001. Today, seven years after the fact, most of the access restrictions implemented across the country have been relaxed and fear has been replaced by vigilance.

In Washington, D.C. paranoia rules. Pedestrian access to the Capitol building is restricted to badged personnel and tourist groups. The groups are led by tour guides, and the whole thing reminds me of the kind of Soviet Intourist control that visitors were subjected to in Moscow in the 1950s.

Let’s relax and eliminate paranoid restrictions.

I liked Flickr better when it was free.

There’s a live webcam streaming from the show floor at Super Computing 2008 in Austin today.

The extremists on the right are freaking out about Eric Holder’s appointment as Attorney General.

The Obama-Biden detailed agenda for change is back up at change.gov.

Here is President-elect Obama with a message on climate change that he delivered yesterday to the Global Climate Change Summit in Los Angeles:

In the summer of 2002, after I had written an article in Esquire that the White House didn’t like about Bush’s former communications director, Karen Hughes, I had a meeting with a senior adviser to Bush. He expressed the White House’s displeasure, and then he told me something that at the time I didn’t fully comprehend — but which I now believe gets to the very heart of the Bush presidency.

The aide said that guys like me were ”in what we call the reality-based community,” which he defined as people who ”believe that solutions emerge from your judicious study of discernible reality.” I nodded and murmured something about enlightenment principles and empiricism. He cut me off. ”That’s not the way the world really works anymore,” he continued. ”We’re an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality. And while you’re studying that reality — judiciously, as you will — we’ll act again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that’s how things will sort out. We’re history’s actors . . . and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we do.”

I’d like to propose a few simple changes that will improve the way our country works and the way we relate to each other. These are presented in no particular order. Each stands alone. Each is important. My simple change for today is:

RENAME THE DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY

I have no clue what to call it, but the proto-fascist “Homeland” thing (see “Das Heimat”) has got to go. Probably the whole department needs reconstruction. Since they’re getting new letterhead stationery anyway, what with th enew secretary and all, wouldn’t the time be right for new name?

Anyway, I guess I shoulda simply blogged it. Thanks to Peter (the Other) for sending it my way in the first place. Thanks to Chris (the Locke) for meditative advice…

Here then, the opera spam, as it should have appeared on Listics in the first place:

L’Obama, ossia L’Avvento del Messia
Opera in Tre Atti

Personaggi:

Barracco Obama, Il Messia, Redentore del Mondo Tenore Miracoloso
Santa Micaela della Revoluzione, sua sposa Soprano Amaro
Giovanni Maccheno, Senatore, Avversario dello Obama Basso Buffo
Sara Palino, Governatrice del Alaska e Reginetta di Bellezza Coloratura Buffa
Guglielmo Priapo, Ex-Presidente Tenore Mentitore
Hillaria, sua Sposa, altra Avversaria dello Obama Soprano Ambizioso
Elena Tomasso, una strega Contralto Venenoso Giuseppe Bideno, “Il Pomposo” Tenore Buffo
Il Spirito di Giorgio Secondo, L’Abominazione Baritono Cattivo
Il Spirito di Ruscio Limbago, Bocca Grande. Basso Noioso
Jeremia Ritto, un uomo pazzo, pastore dello Obama Basso Demagogico
Guglielmo Ayers, terroristo Americano, amico dello Obama Tenore Anarchico
Un Sempliciotto Tenore Profetica

Il Popolo
La Media Elite
Il Mondo,
Il Congresso
Terroristi.

ATTO PRIMO
La Piazza del Cattedrale di Washington.

It is the day after the election. Outside the Washington Cathedral, the People and La Media Elite celebrate the victory of Barracco Obama over his adversary, Giovanni Maccheno (Coro: “Esultate! Il Messia è venuto!”). The World enters and joins The People in their celebration, singing their own chorus rejoicing in the fact that Obama’s election will hasten the demise of American power and influence (”America è in debolezza, evviva!”) The two choruses swell and merge in a powerful contrapuntal choral episode. As the chorus reaches its climax, trumpets herald the arrival of Lord Obama the Most Merciful, who enters with his wife, Santa Micaela della Revoluzione and his retinue. The crowd becomes frenzied, with some falling in a swoon (”Obama! Obama! Redentore del Mondo! Io manco!”). Obama heals two lepers and resurrects the dead daughter of a Washington policeman. He then addresses the crowd (”Nel posar sul mio capo la corona”). At the sound of his voice, the crowd falls silent, gazing up at him with adoring, vacant expressions. In an eloquent aria, Obama promises that the dark days of the Tyrant, Giorgio Secondo, are over (”Dopo si lunga notte”) and a new Golden Age will dawn for the world under his rule (”Un siglo d’oro è venuto”): the economy shall heal, America’s enemies shall beat their bomb jackets into ploughshares, the lame shall walk, there will be a chicken in every pot, the whole world shall have universal health care, all the prisoners in Guantanamo Bay will be released, and planes shall arrive and take off on schedule. Each stanza of this great aria is punctuated by the chorus (”Ohmmm! Salvatore!”) At its conclusion, Obama invites The People and The World to a celebration at which he will personally change the water into wine and feed the guests with seven croissants and five grande lattes. He enters the cathedral for his coronation, followed by the crowd.

From the right, Giovanni Maccheno and Sara Palino enter the deserted piazza.

Giovanni laments his loss of the election to Barracco Obama (”O mia vergogna!”). In a rambling, boring monologue sung in a monotone, he recites his brave history on the battlefield (”Si, fui soldato!”) and wonders why this was not enough to get him elected 30 years later. In a lilting refrain (”Tu sei troppo vecchio”), Sara Palino suggests that it might be because he’s a worn- out old has-been with the excitement level of a rusty AAA battery. She reminds him of her own qualifications for Vice-President (”Può vedere Russia dalla mia casa”) and what a help she has been to him. To cheer him up, the perky Sara launches into one of the best known arias in the score, the brilliant coloratura Polonaise “Io son Regina di Bellezza,” in which she sings of her experience as a beauty pageant contestant. But Giovanni is inconsolable: in a touching duet, he and Sara lament how they will now have to go wandering across the country, begging for speaking engagements (”Andrem raminghi è poveri”). Suddenly Giovanni hears someone approaching (”Ohimé, s’appressa alcun!”) and he and Sara hide behind a column.

From the left enter former President Guglielmo Priapo and his termagant wife, Hillaria. Hillaria is furious over her defeat at the hands of L’Obama in the primaries. In a passionate outburst ranging up to a shrill, wobbly high C, she rages that the Prize was within her grasp (”È mio! È tutto mio!”), but she was betrayed by La Media Elite who abandoned her for un altro amore. Must she live to see this upstart novice on the throne while she languishes in boring Senate committee meetings? Is it for this that she has suffered public humiliation and eaten sh!t sandwiches served by her husband for the past 35 years? No, it is too much! (È troppo! non reggo! soffoco!”) Gugliemo counsels patience: her day will come, and L’Obama will overreach himself. He tells Hillaria that he has a plan to get them both back in la Casa Bianca, where she can rule while he chases interns. Just then he spots Guglielmo and Sara off to the side, and he begins to make a move on Sara. He tells her she is a real babe, and this develops into the famous Quartet, “Bella figlia dell’Alaska:”

Guglielmo tries to grope Sara; Sara tells him a joke about lipstick on pitbulls; Hillaria sings that her day of vengeance will come; and Guglielmo stutters, in repetitive phrases, how Obama will raise everyone’s taxes and endanger national security.

When the Quartet ends, the crowd surges out of the cathedral, proclaiming the new Messiah, followed by L’Obama in full regalia. A powerful concluding ensemble ensues: The People, the World and La Media Elite acclaim L’Obama; Barracco heals a lame man and exults in his new power; Giovanni Maccheno whines about the ingratitude of the American People while Sara Palino practices her baton twirling; Guglielmo plans that evening’s rendezvous with his new cutie, while Hillaria plots her comeback. Unnoticed in the background, a small group of Islamic terrorists rejoice in Obama’s election. Everyone then exits to follow Obama to the Reflecting Pool which he will walk on down the Mall to meet Il Congresso at Il Capitole.
The piazza is deserted and silent once more. Now enters the Simpleton, a crazy homeless man pushing a shopping cart filled with old newspapers. He sings a keening lament, weeping for the Motherland and the bitter years that lie ahead.

Cada il sipario lentamente.

ATTO SECONDO

Scena Primo: L’Offizia di Hillaria nel Capitole.

Hillaria is meeting with Guglielmo Priapo. She berates him for avoiding her and doing nothing to bring her any closer to la Casa Bianca (”Perché mi sfuggi?”) Two years have passed, and she is still sitting in interminable committee meetings and having to pretend that she wants Obama to succeed! When is Guglielmo going to stop porking her pages and do something? Guglielmo replies that the two years have not exactly been wasted (”Deh, pensate!”): the hated, deposed Giorgio Secondo is dead, having been torn limb from limb by grieving war widows, mothers and children while he was giving a speech to a veteran’s organization. Things have been going badly for Lord Obama as well, and Il Popolo are getting restless. The opportunity is ripening. And as an additional bonus, Ruscio Limbago has been driven from the airwaves by the revival of the Fairness Doctrine, which Obama has used to silence all effective opposition to him on radio and television. With no outlet for his hot air, Limbago floated off somewhere like an untethered balloon into the ether, presumably to his death. But Hillaria is not to be deterred: when is Guglielmo going to do something? (”Basta di parlare! Azione io voglio!”) Guglielmo responds that he has done something: since Hillaria wants to know the future, he has arranged for the ancient Washington hag, Elena Tomasso, to visit Hillaria that very afternoon and tell her the future. Just at that moment, there is a knock on the door. Guglielmo leaves and Elena Tomasso enters, a hideous old woman with a tongue that drips poison.

Hillaria demands to know what the future holds for her (”Parlami dal futuro!”). In the impressive aria, “Re dell’abisso,” Tomasso summons the spirit of Giorgio Secondo. His horrible visage rises from the floor, with bloody hands holding his very small brain. Giorgio demands to know who has summoned him and bemoans his fate in the afterlife (”Mal per me!”): condemned to be waterboarded enternally while his entrails are unwound and used to re-fence the ranch in Crawford. Hillaria demands to know her future (”Dimmi, o spirito!”). Giorgio replies in sepulchral tones that she has to ask one more powerful than him. To her horror, he summons the spirit of Ruscio Limbago, a disembodied fat head with a mouth twice normal size. In an eerie prophecy (”O Hillaria, Hillaria, Hillaria!”) Limbago tells Hillaria that she will be L’Obama’s successor, and that his days are numbered. But that her reign will be as scandal-plagued as was her husband’s, she will accomplish nothing of note, and she will die the same frustrated, bitter woman that she is. Hillaria, elated by the first part of the prophecy (”O lieto augurio!”), fails to hear the second part. Elena gives Hillaria a magic dagger, which she is to plunge into Obama’s back when the opportunity presents itself. In an exultant cabaletta, Hillaria rejoices with the dagger (”O, acciar!”), while in pertichini Elena Tomasso mutters that this woman is nuts (”È una pazzarella!”) and that she wants to stay as far away from her as possible.

Scena Secondo: L’Offiza Ovale nella Casa Bianca.

The Secretary of Education, Guglielmo Ayers, and Jeremia Ritto, the Commissar of Culture and Obama’s spiritual advisor, are discussing the state of the administration. Ayers asks where Lord Obama is (”Obama d’ové?). Ritto replies that he is returning from his daily walk on the Potomac but that he has been delayed by having to drive some demons out of a herd of swine. Ayers notes that conditions in the country have been worsening and the people will soon be ready for The Revolution. In a buffo duet (”Un segreto d’importanza”), Ayers sings of his secret plan to radicalize kindergartners, while Ritto keeps up a steady contrapuntal patter of “God Damn America!”

Lord Obama enters and after kissing his ring, Ritto and Ayers leave. Obama is in a foul mood, and he curses a rubber plant which promptly withers. Obama slumps at his desk and in the powerful monologue, “I have attained supreme power,” he laments how his dreams and hopes have turned sour. The economy has worsened, and famine stalks the land. A new terrorist attack has killed thousands, led by a jihadist Obama ordered released from Gitmo because his constitutional rights were being violated. The disillusioned, disappointed People are starting to curse his name, and lewd graffiti about Micaela has started to appear in the subways. He starts to pray for guidance (”Gran Dio, soccorrimi!”) but stops when he remembers that religious activity of any kind on Federal property is now a criminal offense. He launches into a tuneful arietta about the futility of life, “Ho bastante di niente.”

Micaela enters and begins to nag Obama about his failure to turn American into a Worker’s Paradise (”La revoluzione dov’é?”) Seeing his glum mood, she tries to cheer him up (”Mio caro sposino”) and urges him to announce a new initiative at the upcoming State of the Union address. Encouraged by Micaela’s words, Obama joins her in an exultant duet (”Ora di gloria s’appressa!) as the curtain falls.

ATTO TERZO
Il Capitole: la Camera della Casa dei Rappresentativi.

The Chamber is divided into two groups: I Repubblicani on one side, and I Democrati on the other. This is the famous “Coro dei Partisani” - the Repubblicani sing how, after four years in the minority, they are nothing but a bunch of impotent weasels (”Sono donnole impotente). The Democrati mock the Repubblicani for not even being able to sustain a filibuster (”Ha! Ha! Ha! Non hanno di 40!”) Up on the dais, the Parlatrice della Casa dei Rappresentativi, Nana Pelosi, and the Vice-President, Giovanni Bideno sit on their thrones. Nana Pelosi trills happily, while Giovanni Biden can only grunt (”Hmpf! Hmpf! Hmpf!”) because after two years of progressively embarrassing gaffes, his foot is by now permanently implanted in his mouth. Giovanni Maccheno enters and sits with I Repubblicani, immediately putting the Senators on either side of him to sleep. Sara Palino sits in the balcony, primping for the cameras and doing her nails.

Lord Obama enters the chamber and the politicians crowd around him sycophantically. A woman touches the hem of his robe and is healed of an issue of blood. He progresses solemnly to the dais and begins his speech (”Ascoltami, Congresso!”). But no sooner has he begun to speak than the distant angry murmur of a crowd is heard approaching. The members of Congress all start in alarm (”Quai gridi!”). One of the Capitol police enters and announces, in frightened tones, that Il Popolo are approaching in an angry mob with scythes and pitchforks. L’Obama orders them to be admitted, and the mob rushes in (”Vendetta! Strage! Sterminio!”). They’ve had enough of two years of disappointment, failure and betrayal, and they want Real Change (”Vero cangia vogliamo!”) Jeremia Ritto rushes around crazily, shouting “God Damn America!” L’Obama rebukes the crowd for its behaviour (”Quest’è dunque del Popolo la voce?”): didn’t they just acclaim him as their Salvatore two years before? Fistfights break out between the Repubblicani and the Democrati.

In an impassioned plea, Obama calls for peace (”Plebe! Patrizi! Popolo!”) Moved by his appeal, Il Popolo and Il Congresso quiet down. But just as L’Obama resumes his speech, a cry is heard (”Guarda nel balcone!”): Sara Palino has begun twirling flaming batons in the Gallery while singing an inane coloratura ditty (”Belle fiamme”). While all attention is focused on Sara, Hillaria dashes up to the dais and plunges the dagger into Obama’s back (”Quest’è il bacio di Hillaria”). When attention returns to the front, everyone sees Hillaria standing where L’Obama was, rejoicing in her new-found power (”Salgo giä nel Presidencia aurata!”) As everyone proclaims the new queen (”Regina tu sei!”), Sara Palino remarks on how her and Hillaria’s plan worked after all, and announces that her agreed-upon reward is that in the new administration, she will be Secretary of State so that she can get some foreign policy experience for her Presidential run in 2012. The crowd reacts (”Orror! Orror! Orror!”).

Cada il sipario rapidamente.

–
thanx to Antonio Luraschi §;-)

I’d rather blame Christians, that oppressed group of true believers who—when urged to “turn the other cheek”—are totally lacking in a sense of humor. Faith is color blind… except, I suppose, for the Mormons. In any event, I was saddened to hear a friend in the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered, Queer community say that she thought blacks should understand discrimination and therefore oppose Prop. 8. The following excerpt from an SFGate article reflects my thoughts too:

… demographers say the focus on one race not only disregards the complexity of African American identity but also overlooks the most powerful predictors affecting views on same-sex marriage: religion, age and ideology, such as party affiliation. Prop. 8’s racial fallout raises the question of how the groundbreaking multiracial support of a presidential candidate could coincide with the racial scapegoating now following a failed state ballot campaign.

“It’s just a shame to see the sort of coalition that came out behind Obama, and then you come back to California and you see white gays say ‘black people cost us the election,’ ” said David Binder, a white gay San Franciscan and a polling expert who spent the past two years working for the Obama campaign. “It bothers me that people look at the race of the people involved rather than factors that are more explanatory.”

Raymond Leon Roker said in the Huffington Post last week:

Excuse me? I voted against Proposition 8. I’m among the 30 percent of black Californians that did so. And as much as I can condemn the homophobia and intolerance that drove a portion of the 70 percent of blacks that voted in favor of Proposition 8’s ban on gay marriage, it’s an outrage to lay its passage at their feet. I’ve read several editorials already about how the ungrateful blacks betrayed gays right after America gave them their first president. I know there are some wounds and frayed nerves right now, but this type of condescending, divide and conquer isn’t going to help at all. And it’s a gross oversimplification of what happened.

Blacks, whites, Latinos… and everyone else who went to church in California before the election was likely to have heard a call for the passage of Proposition 8 based on Christian principles. What the LGBTQ community needs to do is meet their Christian friends in their homes, their workplaces, and their neighborhoods and educate them, convince them of the righteousness of supporting equal rights for residents of the State of California and the USA. The gay rights message needs to be spread simply and directly. The protests happening now are great in terms of reminding people that an injustice has been done by the passage of this referendum proposition, but to win the next referendum more minds need to be changed and it’s my opinion that demonstrations aren’t likely to change those minds.

Kevin Werbach, host of Supernova, has also been appointed as an FCC transition team lead.

This is great news for the good guys.

David says it’s news so good he thought he was being punked.

I would advise you to remember that you did not create the disaster that the world is experiencing, and you alone are not responsible for bringing the world back to balance. A primary responsibility that you do have, however, is to cultivate happiness in your own life. To make a schedule that permits sufficient time of rest and play with your gorgeous wife and lovely daughters. And so on. One gathers that your family is large. We are used to seeing men in the White House soon become juiceless and as white-haired as the building; we notice their wives and children looking strained and stressed. They soon have smiles so lacking in joy that they remind us of scissors. This is no way to lead. Nor does your family deserve this fate. One way of thinking about all this is: It is so bad now that there is no excuse not to relax. From your happy, relaxed state, you can model real success, which is all that so many people in the world really want. They may buy endless cars and houses and furs and gobble up all the attention and space they can manage, or barely manage, but this is because it is not yet clear to them that success is truly an inside job. That it is within the reach of almost everyone.

To read the whole letter, click here.

(H/T to “SmartManDaily”)

Deelishus doggies…

these little piggies…

I’m reminded of when the boys were 10 or 11 and we went to the county fair. All the piggies were washed up and on display, resting on fresh bedding, happy as clams. Many had the names of the meat packing companies that purchased them displayed beneath their prize ribbons.

Ben went vegetarian then and there.

Oh, by the way, does your city allow you to keep chickens?