World Series notes
How stereotypes are made
The New York Yankees staved off elimination for a day by winning World Series Game Four last night. They did so despite falling behind early on yet another home run from Captain Marvel Jr. and with no help from two guys in the right field seats that stole a foul ball out of the glove of Dodger right fielder Mookie Betts.
You will occasionally see a fan reach into the field of play to catch a ball; you will occasionally see fans and players both angling for a catch once a ball clears the wall and enters the "out of play" territory. You never, until last night, expect to see fans grab a players arm and pry a ball out of his glove. Only in the Bronx, man.
Those guys, who have been banned from attending the remainder of the World Series, give form and substance to the generalized image of the Yankee Fan: Obnoxious, rude, hostile, selfish, and all that is wrong with humanity. Well played, asshats. From The Athletic's account of the theft:
Austin Capobianco, 38, from Connecticut, was ejected after the incident in the first inning of the Yankees’ 11-4 win in Game 4 on Tuesday night. Another fan, who ESPN identified as John Peter, was ejected alongside Capobianco.
...
Darren Capobianco said his brother, Austin, is a Yankees season ticket holder. A team spokesman said that it has not been determined what — if any — further action will be taken regarding the future of their tickets. Austin Capobianco didn’t respond to text messages from The Athletic seeking comment Wednesday morning.
After the play, Capobianco tried arguing with stadium security that Betts’ glove had reached into foul territory.
It's that last bit that was really the chef's kiss of Yankee fan assholery, visibly arguing with stadium security that because Betts had reached into the seating area to catch the ball, he as a fan was entitled to forcibly pry Betts' glove open and steal the baseball. I looked for a still photo of the argument but couldn't find one; it was only on the Fox TV broadcast for a second or so, because Fox is terrible at broadcasting baseball.
Several times in this World Series has there been something of relative import happening on the field that the Fox crew—including the announcers, Joe Davis and John Smoltz, and either the director or the camera operators—failed to notice or acknowledge. Game One had the catch-and-throw by the Yankee outfielder that resulted in runners being awarded a base that you'd only be aware of if you (a) knew the rule about having to reenter the field of play before throwing the ball, and (b) saw the gesticulations of the third base umpire in the background of the camera shot in the second or so it was onscreen. Game Two had something I now don't remember the details of but commented on in real time, Game Three had a defensive replacement we weren't made aware of, and last night there was several seconds in which the home plate umpire was having a confrontation with someone about something, but damned if anyone watching the broadcast knows what it was about or who the confrontation was with because the Fox director chose to keep the closeup shot of Garret Cole in the dugout onscreen for the entire time.
Also, Smoltz is ridiculously bad at this. It is fun when the players will do something 180° from what Smoltz said would happen a second prior, but really, dude, finish a thought rather than just let things hang there and maybe be less oblique when you reference something from your pitching career. Or just keep quiet, that'd be fine.
I am rooting for the Dodgers in the Series, but kind of glad the Yankees won last night because (a) more baseball is always good; and (b) the Dodgers went in with a planned bullpen game, and bullpen games when they are not necessitated by immediate circumstance are stupid and any team that deliberately plans to have one—or several!—in the postseason deserves to have it bite them in the butt.
LA is heavily favored tonight despite the fact that Cole will be pitching for New York because history decrees it to be so. Never, in 122 years of World Series (two years there was no Series played), has a team that lost the first three games come back to even force a Game 6, let alone brought it to the maximum length, let alone come back to win. They just became only the third such team to win Game 4. Still, to quote Mr. Spock, "for everything there is a first time," so all hope is not lost for those jerks in right field.
1 CommentTravelogue IV: LA Living
Yesterday was my dad's 82nd birthday, so we drove from his place in the Coachella Valley to my sister's place in Los Angeles (well, Van Nuys; she lives in the Soup Nazi's neighborhood, I'm told, which is cool and all, but not nearly as cool as when my eight-year-old self learned that my grandpa lived a couple blocks away from Batman). So Dad got to hang out with everyone for his birthday—his hubby, his sister-in-law, his kids, his son-in-law, and his grandson. (And a friend of my sister's that was visiting, but I don't think he'd met her before.)
Pretty low-key, my brother-in-law made a kind of Mexican buffet and we had cake and I quizzed my nephew on what episodes might have been shot at Vazquez Rocks (he failed the quiz and agreed to study up). Dad had a good time, which was the most important part of the day. I hadn't seen my nephew in a while and as per usual he failed to match his prior physique by becoming something like two feet taller in the interim. Plus he's growing his hair out like Shaun Cassidy for some reason. I dig it, it's retro.
Around the corner from their house is a home that traditionally does a huge Halloween production with their front yard, so we went and had a look at this year's edition. Pretty impressive, though I think I would have preferred last year's, which my sister described as having a kind of "Area 51" theme. Still, a lot of work going into this one, which apparently is still being added to judging from the tools and materials seen on site here and there.
My brother-in-law does a smaller-scale Halloween yard every year, which is also in progress. Sadly, my photo is poor, but anyway:
Of course, we also had to get the marking-of-time family photo, and whenever we do these I am struck by the fact that I actually do look my age, which kinda bums me out. I mean, for the longest time I was the skinniest of skinny dudes, the beanpole, the stickman, and now I have a gut and my face is considerably pudgier. At 150 lbs, I don't think anyone would judge me overweight except me, and that only because I didn't crack 115 until my thirties and thus my baseline self-image norm is, well, less than 150 and without a belly and flabby pecs that can be discerned through my T-shirt.
I cropped the lower part of the pic a bit to eliminate the worst of it. Everyone else looks good, though. :)
On the return drive, which is considerably more than 100 miles, we encountered the only truly bad traffic of my trip thus far. Much as had happened that same day (or the day before? I read about it the same day, anyway) on I-5 back home, someone was on foot in the Interstate and was fatally struck by a car at freeway speed. We didn't know that in the moment, though, all we knew was that five lanes of traffic had come to a standstill, with sporadic movement of a few feet at a time. It took about an hour to cover six miles, then we arrived at the accident site, which by then had been largely cleared except for some late examinations to make sure nothing potentially important to investigators was left behind.
When in Los Angeles, do as the Angelinos do and spend an hour in your car to travel six miles.
Back here on Dad's street there aren't many kids for whom to decorate yards in Halloween regalia, but there is one house across the street that has some pretty frightening stuff displayed for the season:
That's a damn sight scarier that any goblin or ghost you could conjure.
No Comments yetAnxiety today
Hanging out here at my dad's house there's usually some news program or other on the TV, and so I'm absorbing a lot of the coverage of Former President VonClownstick's American Bund Hate Rally at Madison Square Garden yesterday. I'm glad to know that people started streaming out of the arena after all of his opening acts of racist asshats gave way to the main racist asshat, but it's still—even now, nine years after this putz entered the political fray—difficult to wrap my head around the concept that so many tens of millions of American citizens are eager to put this aspiring despot back in power, even after suffering through the multiple disasters of his 2017-2021 term.
I mean, Trump is a loathsome criminal idiot that leaves more destruction in his wake than a category-5 hurricane or 9.9-scale earthquake, but he's one guy; his immediate circle of enablers and cronies and puppet masters are a relatively small group.
The number of people that have voted for and will vote for him again? Not small. Some of them are true believer Nazi types, but most? Unlikely. It's a damning indictment of the manipulability of the American people and a troubling look at the real power of propagandists.
I would so like to believe that the results of next week's election will be a profound repudiation of the hate and ignorance Trump and his cult represent, but last time—in the midst of a pandemic he enabled, a crashing economy he orchestrated, a diminishment of this country's international reputation that runs counter to the very "We're Number One" attitude the Republican Party used to exude through its pores—seventy million people voted for him. In a country of 350,000,000 with 240,000,000 eligible voters that might not seem like too troubling a figure, but fewer than 160,000,000 people bothered to vote at all. So that 70,000,000 figure is scary as hell.
Those 70,000,000—and the 80,000,000+ that didn't think it worth their time to cast a ballot—need a reminder of what the Trump term was like.
Fortunately, JoJoFromJerz has posted a bit of a recap, a personalized "Last time, on The Trump Administration Horror Show..." that is free for all to see. I share a few bits from it here.
I remember waking up every single morning bracing for the new crazy. What had he done? What had he said? Who had he attacked, mocked, demeaned or made fun of? What new layer of awfulness was on display that day?
I remember what it felt like to watch Republican after Republican, bending the knee to a bully. Excusing an idiot. Watching them accommodate, embolden and excuse the worst behavior possible. Watching them abandon democracy for a wannabe despot. Genuflecting for a mind-numbingly stupid, autocrat-curious, reality tv star who painted himself orange.
He’s fucking orange.
...
I remember feeling perpetually trapped inside an insane asylum with a monster. I remember feeling like there was no escape.
I remember feeling as if half of the country had lost its damn mind. That people I loved had lost their damn minds. Like I was surrounded by racists and sexists, bigots and xenophobes.
...
I remember watching the country turning on itself. George Floyd’s murder. Kyle Rittenhouse’s murders. I remember it feeling like we were being ripped apart from the inside. All while a madman held court from a goddamn golf course.
I remember living in fear. What crazy person might call me to say they were coming to “Paul Pelosi” me next?
I remember watching him send our National Guard on horseback to tear gas protestors in Lafayette Square. Watching him shaking a fucking Bible that wasn’t his in front of a boarded up church. I remember feeling helpless and hopeless. All the fucking time.
JoJo's best description of the Trump years, though, was this: "I remember feeling like we were all trapped on the inside of a two-year-old’s tantrum and we didn’t have any fucking snacks."
We can't handle another tantrum.
Game One
This was one for the ages.
For the first time in a good many years [checks baseball-reference.com—just since 2013, not counting the mini-season of 2020, not as long as I thought] the World Series is between the teams with the best regular season record in each league, the first time in Commissioner Rob Manfred's even-more-playoff-teams era that no Wild Card teams are involved, and the first time since 1981 that the TV network got their dream matchup of bicoastal big market clubs the Dodgers and Yankees.
That last point is only important to marketers and Manfred (who is nothing but a money-grubbing shill of the highest Ferengi order), but the others are good indicators that we were going to get a solidly competitive Series, and, boy, did Game One deliver.
Scoreless through four and a half innings, Los Angeles finally broke through with a triple by postseason god Enrique Hernández and a sacrifice fly from Will Smith. Then the Yankees immediately came back when ALCS MVP Giancarlo Stanton crushed a two-run homer in the 6th off an inside-half-of-the-plate curveball with little to no break, no doubt causing Michael Schur—the great TV writer and co-host of The Poscast—to unleash a torrent of screamed obscenities at Dodger pitcher Jack Flaherty, who blithely ignored Schur's scouting report. That report has helpfully been transcribed by my friend and fellow Poscast listener Erik, please to enjoy and perhaps forward to Dodger manager Dave Roberts.
Mookie Betts drove in Shohei Ohtani with another sac fly to tie it in the 8th, and we went to extra innings at 2-2. New York took the lead in the top of the 10th thanks to a single, steal of 2nd, steal of 3rd, and hard grounder to short that was oh-so-close to being an inning-ending double-play. Then in the home 10th the magic happened.
Flyout. Walk. Single. Yankee manager Aaron Boone makes a pitching change, opting to bring in one Nestor Cortes. Cortes, the onetime truly awful Seattle Mariner but somehow great starter for two years in the Bronx before reverting to the mean, was fresh off the injured list, having had a flexor tendon issue and was appearing in a game for the first time in a month. Curious choice. Cortes' first pitch was a hanger he got away with, as Ohtani fouled out thanks to a fine catch after tumbling into the seats by New York left fielder Alex Verdugo—which still went marginally against the Yankees because Verdugo threw the ball back before returning to the field of play, which is illegal and awarded the runners an extra base, not that anyone watching the telecast knew that unless they were very keen-eyed and caught third-base umpire Mark Ripperger's gestures upon Verdugo's throw since Fox broadcasters Joe Davis and John Smoltz were blissfully unaware and said nothing about it and the broadcast's director chose to stay with closeup camera shots that excluded the baserunners and the onscreen graphic didn't change from showing runners first and second to runners second and third. The Yanks then intentionally walked Mookie Betts to load the bases for Freddie Freeman with two out (a questionable move, but I agreed with it from the New York point of view; the mistake had already been made by bringing in Cortes, first base was vacant thanks to Verdugo throwing the ball back from the stands on Ohtani's foulout, and bypassing Mookie for a lefty-lefty matchup and a slower batter-runner made sense). Cortes' second pitch was a midrange fastball to the lower-inside portion of the zone, aka the lefty happy zone. Belted into the right field bleachers for a game-ending grand slam homer. Pandemonium ensued at Chavez Ravine.
While reminiscent of 1988 Game One, with the iconic Kirk Gibson walkoff homer, this one was probably more exciting all the way from start to finish. Classic.
Game Two tonight. Rodon vs. Yamamoto. Advantage LA.
No Comments yetTravelogue III: Lost on Capella IV
Day 3
(Or, "Which way to Raffi's camper?" Or, "There's never a Metron around when you need one.")
Thursday's leg of the trip involved boring scenery but high-speed traffic concentration on possibly the least pleasant stretch of Interstate 5 that there is, though there's competition for that. But I turned away from the Interstate to make a bit of a detour to a particular nerd attraction: Vazquez Rocks.
A favorite location for Hollywood studios to venture to, the state park has featured in roughly a bazillion TV and film productions—Westerns, mostly, but plenty of other things where a desert environment with some visual interest is called for—including, of course, Star Trek, where it has doubled for several alien planets as well as for itself in an episode of Picard. I can hardly believe I'd never been there before this.
I arrived at the little visitor's center a bit after noon and procured a map of the park, which noted the relatively small area containing the "famous rocks" and a short 3/4 mile trail leading to it. (You can drive to that spot, there's a large dirt parking area suitable for a big studio trailer and a production base to set up, but I preferred to hike it.) Soon I found myself wandering in the imagined steps of Bill Shatner as he tried to evade a Gorn and De Kelley as he tried to lead a pregnant wife of the Te'er to the safety of secluded caves.
It's impressive how little actual area can be manipulated by the camera to appear vast. The park itself is plenty big, but there's only so much of it one could get to with 1960s-era TV cameras and recording equipment. The same formations used in the "Arena" episode for the Metron planet appear in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, shot from slightly different angles, to form Vulcan cliffsides. The canyons of Capella IV from "Friday's Child" are a few yards from the ones in "Who Watches the Watchers."
And not for nothing, but props to young Bill Shatner—these things are not easy climbs. I went up to what I think is the spot he hurled the styrofoam boulder down on the poor guy in the Gorn suit from and it took some doing. Getting down was even more challenging. (Of course, if I were still 35, as I continue to be in my mind and am repeatedly frustrated to discover I am not, it probably would have been a breeze.)
[EDIT: In observing a still from "Arena," I now see that I was fooled by good camerawork and stagecraft; Shatner actually, it seems, pushed the boulder off from a relatively low point near the parking area, they merely made it look like it was up where I climbed to. Still, props to Shatner anyway, more to director Joseph Pevney and DP Jerry Finnerman.]
The real challenge, though, came a little later.
After satisfying my nerd pilgrimage, I headed back along the trail to the visitor's center. At least, I thought I had. At some point I inadvertently strayed from the trail proper, thinking I was on track but in fact was probably following the paths made by fellow wandering space tourists and soon realized I was not where I thought I should be. On the one hand, this was fine, I got to see more of the big park. On the other hand, I had only planned on a 3/4 mile hike back and I'd not brought any water with me.
This became a problem. I'd relied on my sense of direction to go at least toward the visitor's center, but my internal compass failed me and it was high one-p.m. PDT, with the sun directly overhead and offering no navigational help. Away from the "famous rocks" there weren't many opportunities for shade and I was getting dehydrated. At one point I neared some barbed-wire fencing, which I knew from the map was the border of the wildlife preserve and nowhere close to the visitor center. Shit.
Trail
Not a trail
Not from an episode. Probably built for some western film back in the day. It served well as a rest point while I tried to reorient myself.
I was completely turned around and had added a mile or more to my return hike if I could find my way. When I started to shiver a bit—bad news when it's approaching 100 degrees Fahrenheit—I had a brief fear of collapsing and becoming meat for a le-matya. But I pressed on and eventually came to a trail marker. Not the trail that would get me where I needed to go, but still a marker to refer to and a trail to follow. It led to a trail junction and I got to an auxiliary parking area, from which I just followed the dirt road back to the visitor's center, a little shaky but no longer in danger of being a meal for Vulcan predators. I downed half a dozen cups of water from the center's water cooler, used the facilities, and returned to my car only mildly worse for wear. Despite re-hydrating and eating half a sandwich from my cooler the dehydration headache persisted for the rest of the day and overnight, but a giant soda from AM/PM and a generous use of my car's A/C as I continued along my way served me well.
The remaining journey was through the high desert, near Mojave and Edwards Air Force Base and through some desolate blah California landscape between a few small towns. I chose to avoid Interstates again, adding maybe half an hour to the drive, but I wasn't in any hurry and arrived at my dad's place before dark, having survived the dangers of Capella and the hunting grounds of the ten tribes of the Te'er.
2 CommentsTravelogue II: Rocks and Shoals and Redwoods
Day 2
I started my Wednesday in a Travelodge in Newport, OR, where they apparently rig the shower faucets to give juuuust enough hot water to make it tolerable. During the night a pickup truck parked directly outside my room had its car alarm go off repeatedly. Not a great night's sleep.
Anyway, first world problem.
The Oregon coast in the daytime is really something, and though I missed some of the best parts in the dark the night before, I made several stops off the 101 highway to Oregon state beaches and little towns. (A couple of fun notes from the road: An access street off the highway to a beach residential area was called "Lois Ln"; a coffee shop in Coos Bay is called "The Human Bean." Whatever, I was amused.)
Beaches in Oregon tend to be small but pretty, with giant boulder formations just offshore and varying scales of cliff formations not far up/down from whatever sandy area you may find yourself at:
The 101 highway here is a far cry more interesting than an Interstate, mostly a two-lane affair through little burghs all the way down to the California border, which gives way to a noticeable transition in scenery. From Crescent City, one enters the Redwoods State and National Park area.
Redwoods is beautiful, and to really experience it you'd need to stop and camp and spend a few days. I was just passing through in a matter of several hours, stopping a couple of times for short hikes on trails near the 101 that looped back around. The really good stuff would be away from the highway, but that'll have to keep for another time. I hiked, drove leisurely through scenic bypasses, hiked again, then it got dark and I made may way south to Eureka and beyond.
There will be a brief delay whilst we wait for a herd of deer to clear the roadway. Well, "brief"; maybe 20 minutes.
By the time I got to the Bay Area it was midnight or so, and I decided to just push on and make up some time by cutting over to Interstates. Boring stretches of road, but not a lot of traffic at that hour and it's dark, you can't see anything anyway beyond the semi trucks you whiz by at 75 miles an hour. I got too tired and stopped at Avenal for a few hours' nap.
Audio entertainment consisted of podcasts—Pod Save America, Poscast World Series preview edition (in which Mike Schur lays out the ideal life of Aaron Judge with blissful family fulfillment and old age and exactly zero World Series rings, plus plots how the Mets will wrest Juan Soto away from the Yankees over the offseason with several Brinks trucks worth of cash; and Jason Benetti waxes poetic about keeping an audience interested while calling games for the second-worst season of White Sox baseball in recent memory), Bob Cesca, Delta Flyers—and various mix CDs of 1970s pop/rock. Mileage report: Still frustrated by the whole gas-tank-not-really-full thing, but I think I'm doing about 50 MPG, slightly better than what the onboard computer readout says. (BTW, gasoline gets more expensive as you go south: $3.45 in Olympia, $3.69 outside Crescent City, $3.89 near Oakland, $4.09 in Victorville, CA (next day). Cheapest in Oregon, where one place had it under $3.00, but I didn't need to buy any there.)
OK, who names these things? How about "Giant coniferous wood-bearing plant, evergreen"? Or "Old Hoss Redwood?" But sure, fine, "Big Tree."
1 CommentTravelogue I
Day 1
Giving my new-to-me car "a proper shakedown," as Mr. Scott might say, I am driving my way down to southern California in my annual visit to see Dad and Marty over Dad's birthday. It can be done in a day and a half, and I have done, but I opted to take an extra day and take the coastal route, at least for the northern half of the trip.
Southwest Washington state is nice enough (though I could have done without the several TRUMP and REICHERT signs plastered near the roadways), but the Oregon coast is the reason for coming this way, along with the general appeal of passing through a bunch of small towns. Astoria was a nice stop, though I didn't see much of it. Driving along the north Oregon coast at night was nice, though a drawback that I hadn't thought of in advance made me question my decision: fog. Fog makes it pretty tough to appreciate the surroundings while passing through, plus it slows things down quite a bit.
Oh well, tomorrow will be Oregon in daylight, followed by a stop at Redwoods National Park for a hike, then a nighttime drive to the Bay Area and a start on the next leg of the drive.
The shakedown on the Prius is positive so far, having done some maintenance ahead of time including replacing the cabin fan, which wasn't hard and yet somehow still resulted in my bruising a rib. Not sure how that happened. But the car handles well, the cruise control got its first use since I've owned it (sweet!), the sound system is a big improvement over the old Subaru's.
I wanted to get a sense of the real mileage on the thing, but that's proving to be tricky. This generation of Prius has a kind of expandable bladder gas tank that when completely full is almost 12 gallons, but only fills to about 2/3 or 3/4 before a gas pump will stop because it's "full." So, based on info I gleaned form Prius folk on the Internet, I let the gauge get down to one pip, estimating that meant about 1 to 1.5 gallons remaining, then pumped past the "full" stop, forcing in 10 gallons plus a bit. It spit a little back out when I removed the pump thanks to the compression of the bladder, but I think I got it to actual full rather than nominally full so we'll see how far I get before the gauge goes down to one pip again.
1 CommentElection paralysis
It's T-minus 14 days. Two weeks until we start to get results from this, the latest in our series now of Most Critical Elections Ever. Will we retain our democratic republic, or will we slide headlong into fascist autocracy? Will the propagandists be successful in turning enough level-seven-susceptibles into enablers in their own downfall, or will the majority of sane Americans so dwarf the coalition of evil, dumb, corrupt, and easily-malleable?
The zeitgeist has it that it's down to basically a coin-flip's odds. So, you know, no pressure.
I want to believe the zeitgeist is giving us a picture skewed form reality, that the idea that this country's electorate is split 50-50 between competence and chaotic dictatorship is based on faulty data. The more rational parts of my mind think it's far more likely that this will not be as close as the prior two presidential elections and that Vice President Harris will carry the day with plenty of room to spare. The more emotional part of my psyche says, "never underestimate the misogyny and racism of the average American voter, to say nothing of the vast ignorance of so many US citizens."
I've alluded to how this has been producing enough anxiety to infiltrate other aspects of my daily life, but as we get closer to November 5th it's becoming more paralyzing. I can't even say "I can't wait until this thing is over with" because if it goes poorly the anxiousness will multiply a thousandfold. It's affecting me in a similar yet different manner to one of my clinical depression episodes, basically sapping me of energy and motivation to do much of anything.
Tomorrow I'm heading out on my annual trip to visit my dad and Marty for Dad's birthday, which always coincides with the World Series; it's thus become our ritual to hang out at Dad's Palm Springs-adjacent abode for a week to ten days or so, watch the Series, and take care of whatever odd jobs and repairs need doing at his house. Aside from watching the end of the baseball playoffs, all I've been trying to do the past few days is plan my route for the road trip and get things ready here for when I'm away, but I can't even seem to make headway on that. I've decided on and reconsidered and redecided on and reconsidered whether I take an extra day and hang out in San Francisco on the way; or use that extra time instead to go the back-road route, maybe along the coast; or just go direct and minimize drive time. The current decision is the back-road along the coast option, but of course, subject to change and subject to my actually being ready to leave tomorrow by the middle of the day.
Anyhow, my focus on that or anything else is transient as the anxiety kicks in again. Just gotta ride it out, I guess.
Meanwhile, I try to take some comfort in the guarded optimism of others. Here's Stephen Beschloss today:
If you’re measuring the election outcome by the current polling, you may count yourself among the worried Democrats. But I am increasingly convinced that the results will not be as close as many observers are expecting. The carnage-loving Trump may resonate with his cult followers, but that will never comprise a majority; the forward-looking Harris continues to have the ability to expand her voting population.
I still believe that most Americans yearn for a positive future characterized by humanity and decency, not one defined by grievance, degradation, and hate.
...But I also nod in agreement when reading things like this, from Craig Calcaterra today:
One candidate in this election has campaigned vigorously and competently, understands that basic civil rights and the rule of law is of critical importance to a functioning society, and has actual policy proposals. The other candidate has had multiple recent moments which strongly suggest that he is suffering from cognitive failure of some kind, has spent the entire campaign promising to usher in an unprecedented age of American authoritarianism, and is closing the campaign with hearsay about the size of a dead golfer’s dick.
The fact that this will be one of the closest elections in my lifetime says everything that needs to be said about the state of America.
My vote is already turned in. I'm going to attempt to enjoy a road trip and not worry about it. We'll see how that goes.
1 CommentExercise your franchise
My ballot arrived in the mail today. Will be taken to a ballot drop box tomorrow.
My home state of Washington has an excellent voting system. Since 2012 it has been 100% vote-by-mail, and I'd presumed the participation rates had jumped a lot from the before-times to the current system, but it's not as much as I thought.
Going by voting-eligible population (everyone who legally could be registered to vote if they wanted to be), we used to be in the 55-60% neighborhood; since the switch we've been 66%, 66%, and 75% (national figures those years were 58%, 59%, and 66%). Better, to be sure, but still not great.
Measured by registered voters, it looks better, of course—81%, 79%, and 84% in 2012, 2016, and 2020 respectively—but all that really tells me is that around 15-20% of people interested enough to be registered don't bother, which is also frustrating. This is a state that makes it super easy to register, too. You can even do it online. Even if you wait until election day itself, you can still register in person.
So with very few impediments, even in high-participation 2020, almost 600,000 Washingtonians who could vote didn't. Bummer. We're not a swing state, which may account for some of the non-votes. Going by midterm turnout, which drops 10-20%, and off-year turnout, which tends to be about half, POTUS is what gets a lot of folks to bother and some people (I've known a few) think it's pointless because of the electoral college.
Yes, yes, the electoral college sucks; it exists because of slavery and the only times it could have justified its existence as some have described it—a bulwark against corrupt processes and a dangerous candidate achieving office—it failed. It gave us Trump, G.W. Bush, and the Rutherford B. Hayes mess. (Which, come to think of it, are only failures if your metric of success is the greater good for the country; given why the thing was created in the first place, as all three times the anti-equality/protect-the-monied candidate became President, it actually kinda worked as designed.) The sooner it gets consigned to the dustbin of history the better. But until then, we work with what we've got.
Even in less-critical times, I'd be encouraging everyone who can to vote. I have done, to the point of annoyance in a couple of cases. Last time around, I was a lot more emphatic because the stakes were so much higher than they'd ever been. And this year, the stakes are just as high if not higher than in 2020.
We have it easy here in Washington. We don't have to wait in line, or face "polling place monitors," or prove our citizenship if we have an accent or our last name is something like Fernández. Our legislature isn't actively trying to purge us from the registration rolls or eliminating polling locations or allowing armed thugs to guard ballot boxes. So it may sound hollow from me, here in the easy-peasy Pacific Northwest, but no matter what state you live in, please, for the sake of everyone you know, the country, and the planet itself, vote. And vote for Kamala Harris. Not a third-party, not a "protest vote," and certainly not for the fascist Republicans—this time the margin needs to be as large as possible, electoral college or not. We need to break records here. I want to see a spread in the popular vote that beats Nixon's and Lyndon Johnson's. I want to see better-than-Coolidge numbers, people!
I realize everyone who visits here is likely already on board with this, so maybe share the sentiment with your own circles and encourage them to share with their circles. (Kind of like a pyramid scheme, I guess, but for good instead of evil.) I don't fully understand the people that pay no attention to government and politics, but they're out there and there's a ton of them. We have 600,000 could-but-don't voters here, for crying out loud.
These people need to be told that the lifestyle they currently enjoy, where they can go about their lives without giving a damn about government and politics, will go away in a hurry if this election goes badly. Quoting "JojoFromJerz":
None of us will be safe under a second Trump term. Not his supporters. Not his minions. Not his family. No one. He doesn’t have the capacity to consider anyone else’s safety but his own, let alone the collective of the American people. Far worse than that though, is the fact that there isn’t a human being on the planet, other than Putin anyway, whose life he wouldn’t trade for his own benefit.
Again, none of this is stuff we have to guess at.
He wanted to shoot protesters in the legs. Wanted to shoot migrants.
He put kids in motherfucking cages.
What he could and likely would do while surrounded with yes men and handed a blank check to bludgeon would be worse than anything we’ve ever known.
I for one ain’t sticking around for any of that shit.
So, let’s make sure he loses shall we?
Let’s vote like our lives depend on it.
Because they very much fucking do.
This is my best estimate of where things stand tonight, electoral-college-wise. With enough work, I think we can get at least five of those tan states and maybe even one of the pink ones to turn blue. Let's make it happen.
More stuff other people said
Hot off last night's post, in which I both (a) complain about the corporate media coverage or lack thereof regarding the fascist idiot hatemonger that's running for president as a Republican, and (b) quote Craig Calcaterra on something entirely different, came today's edition of Craig's Cup of Coffee newsletter. Craig unconsciously rebuts some of my complaint while also supporting it, because Craig is a smart guy. I'll share the entire section for you here and also suggest that, if you are interested in baseball, politics, and/or relatively obscure indy musicians, Craig's newsletter is $7/month.
The problem with covering Donald Trump and J.D. Vance
Almost every day on social media you see a tweet in response to something Donald Trump has said or done to the effect of “why isn’t the [name a publication] covering this?!” I’m sure I’ve shared that sentiment myself at times. Usually when stuff happens like Trump telling people at a rally that he’ll suspend all laws as they apply to policing, round up 20 million brown people with a domestically-deployed military, and put them in concentration camps, the day after which the New York Times leads the front page with “How do Trump and Harris’ tax credit plans compare?”
This is galling, but it’s also the case that the news media is covering Donald Trump. If it wasn’t we wouldn’t know about his insane ideas. They do stories on his authoritarian proposals, his racist and sexist comments, and all of those things. Indeed, about 95% of the time you hear someone say “why isn’t the media talking about . . .” the media has, in fact, talked about it already, often extensively.
When people say stuff like that I think they’re saying one of two things.
The first thing they’re saying, at least implicitly, is “why hasn’t the entire country rejected Donald Trump out of hand based on this appalling information?! Why has this appalling information not created a Joseph N. Welch-style ‘Have you no sense of decency, sir, at long last’ moment in which the bad actor is effectively vanquished?” That, of course, is a very different question than one of coverage and a lot of it is tied up in the fact that a hell of a lot of Americans actually want the same horrible things Donald Trump wants. I don’t think our media has done a particularly great job of covering Trump and the Republican Party’s descent into abject fascism—let alone talked seriously about the practical implications and effect of those things Trump and his supporters say they want—but this dynamic is less of a media problem than an America problem.
A different thing people are saying when they talk about coverage—and it’s usually the more media-savvy people who are saying this one—is “while the media may have reported on this or that bad thing Trump has said or done, why hasn’t the media, en masse, made this a daily drip-drip-drip story the way it made Hillary Clinton’s emails or Joe Biden’s age? Why hasn’t the media given us the sort of coverage it has given all manner of other topics and figures for years—the sort of coverage that frames big ideas for weeks or even months at a time?”
I think that is a somewhat more valid criticism in many respects, and that at least part of it is a function of the American media being cowed by decades of bad faith conservative attacks on the press which, in the Trump era, have been weaponized in all manner of ways. Indeed, you can almost hear the meetings at major media outlets in which someone softens language or buries coverage in its entirety because of the fear of blowback from the cable and online conservative movement.
But I don’t think that accounts for it all. Rather, I think there’s a far more basic issue at play. One which I’ve been unable to really articulate before now but which Andrea Pitzer wrote about in a new piece over at her Degenerate Art newsletter on Monday.
Pitzer borrows a term from climate change studies—stationarity—which describes the human tendency to believe in a world that no longer exists. It gets at the idea of how even institutions, policymakers, an commentators who aren’t abject climate change deniers can nonetheless help exacerbate climate change by seeing the world through a prism of past circumstances which keeps them from adapting to present events. Sort of an institutional inertia that fails to properly clock the problem and thus fails to address it.
Pitzer argues that the media has done the same with Donald Trump, J.D. Vance, and other Republicans. They have continued to approach stories and controversies as if Republicans and Democrats both want what’s best for most of America but simply disagree on the means. As if facts and integrity still matter to everyone involved and that merely shedding light on lies or general abhorrence will both cow the liar and/or abhorrent actors and inform those to whom they appealing.
Except, as Trump and Vance have shown, they do not want what’s best for most of America, facts and integrity do not matter to them, and they do not agree to the same set of basic assumptions of how the world works that almost all politicians did before they came onto the scene. The media, however, has not changed its approach to coverage to account for this sort of shamelessness and the result are stories which cast truth and lies as if they are merely competing policy positions to be weighed and cast inherently illiberal or authoritarian pronouncements as if they are equally as valid as whatever normal political actors are proposing. At times they go out of their way to normalize Trump’s and Vance’s radicalness specifically because they do not know how to properly process and report on such radicalness. Some say that’s because they are invested in the concept of “balance.” Some say it’s because the media favors Trump and wants him to win. I think Pitzer’s idea—that they are psychologically tied to a past world, even if they claim otherwise—explains a hell of a lot of this dynamic.
Another thing that is happening which support’s Pitzer’s notion is the way in which the media has continued to behave as if old markers of inherent legitimacy and integrity serve, in and of themselves, as guardrails against extremism. Stuff like a candidate coming from a putatively respectable profession like real estate or finance. Stuff like a candidate being a member of an established religion or political party. Stuff like the fact that they have wives and children and otherwise appear like normal people. There’s, in essence, an institutional bias in the press which equates signifiers of traditional normality with mainstream politics and when normality does not present itself, that normality bias seeks to shove the radicalness into a preexisting frame. Trump CAN’T be a dangerous chaos agent, because the Republican Party nominated him! Vance can’t be a misogynist who wants to make “The Handmaid’s Tale” a reality, because he has a wife with an advanced degree! This happens despite ample press coverage of their words and deeds and is way deeper than anything traditional media criticism can handle. It’s a root psychological problem that both the media and millions of non-MAGA hat-wearing voters who nonetheless vote for Trump because he’s the Republican are experiencing.
I don’t think that the press is the only reason we have Trump and that, if Trump wins, it will be the press’ fault. That’s a facile notion because, again, it ignores the fact that some 80 million voters and many more non-voters are just fine with a president who wants dictatorial powers to go after immigrants and minorities, wants to subjugate women, and wants to hardwire the American system to do even more than it already does to make sure the wealthy stay wealthy and that the non-wealthy know their place. It’s a more popular platform than any of us would like to admit because America is a way more dark and messed-up place than most of us would like to admit.
But yeah, it’s pretty clear that the press is not just fighting the last war. It’s fighting a war from three wars back. The biggest reason it’s doing it runs way deeper than simple editorial choices, but either way it’s doing the country a disservice.
Also, one more quote, this time from one of the links Craig included above (Andrea Pitzer):
The joke about Trump goes that dealing with him is like playing chess with a pigeon who knocks the pieces over, shits on the board, and struts around saying he won. But what’s happening now is that our political and legal institutions have let the pigeon sign up for another chess tournament, and too many news outlets are spending an inordinate amount of time analyzing him like any other contender.
I've never heard that one before, but I now can't think of the orange buffoon as anything but a strutting pigeon taking dumps on a chessboard.
No Comments yetStuff other people said
I'm not feeling particularly eloquent tonight; I had something of a "lost day," which tends to happen during Black Hole episodes though in this case I think it's more due to the general stress alluded to in the previous post. But I have wanted to say stuff about the source of said general stress, just to vent if nothing else. But since I'm not terribly clearheaded right now I'll instead quote some other folks and see where this goes.
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I've had (and continue to have) problems with Bob Woodward's choice to withhold critically important information for months in order to sell more books, but I am nevertheless intrigued enough to want to read his new one, War. I'm most intrigued with it for the coverage of the Biden Administration's tremendous handling of foreign affairs, but it's this bit from former Army General Mark Milley that should be Page One News with followups every day for the next three weeks. Said Milley to Woodward about Donald Trump, for whom Milley served as Charmain of the Joint Chiefs of Staff: “He is the most dangerous person ever. I had suspicions when I talked to you about his mental decline and so forth, but now I realize he’s a total fascist. He is now the most dangerous person to this country. A fascist to the core.”
Excerpts from Woodward's book began to make the rounds starting around October 8th, and this quote was made public by the 12th. Nowhere is it mentioned in any way on the front page of the New York Times on any of those days, or in the days since. The Washington Post did publish an article about this on October 12th, but buried deep in the paper, with no mention at all on the front page (though they did feature "Campaign Seeks More Security for Trump" above the fold; the Times' October 12 front page had "Much of World Treating Trump as Power Broker" in similar position). In some alternate universe wherein the corporate press grew a spine and started recognizing the stakes of this election, that front page would have looked more like this:
But we don't live in that universe. We live in the one where mainstream media covers this catastrophic candidate like this.
- Rachel Maddow is also displeased with much of mainstream media, and the other night she took them to task for coverage of the economy vis-à-vis the presidential campaign. I am continually flabbergasted at the impression many voters claim to have that Republicans are better on the economy when that hasn't been true at least as far back as the Kennedy Administration. But part of why people think that is comes from reportage that reinforces the false belief in both subtle and unsubtle ways. Here's Rachel:
Regardless of what your priorities are for the election, the economy is generally seen as the most important issue for the most voters. And because of that, because of that preference among voters, that interest among voters and what you're seeing in the economic news, you're now seeing the political press, again, sort of begrudgingly, admit that, you know, yeah, well, it turns out the Biden administration is leaving in its wake a fantastic economy.
But, when I say begrudging, I mean that the sort of subtext for all of it—and sometimes the overt text of all of it in the political press—is yeah, yeah, yeah it's a great economy, a really great economy, a historically great economy, but surely that can't benefit Kamala Harris, can it? I mean, I know you've seen headlines like this. Here's a typical one from just a couple of days ago at Politico.com, quote, "Harris is riding a dream economy into the election. It may be too late for voters to notice."
It is a dream economy.
I mean, as it says in the piece, "the unemployment rate stands at 4.1%, the S&P 500 stock index is up more than 20% this year, [and] GDP has been growing at a robust 3% pace. Middle-class Americans are more optimistic about their financial future. Gas prices have been falling. The economy added over a quarter-million jobs in September alone—far higher than expectations."
It is a "dream economy" that is being left by the Biden-Harris administration. But Harris can't possibly benefit from that politically, can she?
- Chris Hayes, covering the insane Pennsylvania rally/alleged Town Hall at which Donald Trump spent about 40 minutes just bopping weirdly to his comfort songs, made this observation: "I think his ideal version of the presidency would be 350,000,000 Americans just watching him sway to Bocelli hits on stage."
- Craig Calcaterra has become my favorite baseball writer despite only having read his stuff on an email newsletter. In discussing the National League Championship Series (now tied one game apiece between the New York Mets and Los Angeles Dodgers), Craig indulges in one of my favorite things about the postseason: making fun of Fox color announcer John Smoltz. Craig writes: "During the sixth or seventh inning, Smoltz said that 'it’s been statistically proven' that one game means less in a best-of-seven series than in a best-of-five series. I still remember where I was when I read news of the mathematical breakthrough in which it was discovered that one is a lower percentage of seven than it is of five. A watershed moment to be sure."
I had more in mind when I started this post, but I'm foggy and in need of a meal. I probably spent too much time on that fake WaPo mockup. Bye for now.
No Comments yetStress test
Little dude, what you ate wasn't food, OK?
I had to take one of my cats in to the vet late last week, as he'd fallen ill with ... something. He was doing sick cat things, like barfing bile, hiding out in secret places, not being active, and shunning food. When Zephyr shuns food, you know something is wrong.
Anyway, there was a snafu with scheduling at the vet's office and I ended up seeing a different doctor than the one I expected to see. Not a big deal in some senses but huge in others; as it turned out, not a problem in Zeph's treatment and recovery. He's back to his old self now, having expelled whatever it was he'd eaten that he wasn't supposed to and had subsequently gotten stuck in his colon. But the incident did cost me about a grand and it may not have been so expensive if we'd been able to see the doctor who knows him; I wonder if Dr. S, with her greater knowledge and experience and uncanny intuitive insights, would have offered an alternative that featured fewer expensive x-rays, for example, but then again, maybe not. We'll never know.
But the way the schedule mistake came to light wasn't good, I felt blindsided and like the front desk staff dismissed my complaint about it as unimportant. It wasn't, though; I have a history with a couple of quack veterinarians—OK, to be fair, one definite quack and one very inexperienced doc whose treatment may or may not have killed one of my felines prematurely—that makes me leery of entrusting my cats to vets I don't know, and I had to leave Zeph for the day for treatment. I had a little post-traumatic stress episode upon leaving the clinic, kind of reliving the last time I'd left a cat with a vet I didn't know (the aforementioned inexperienced doc) and unloading some raised-voice displeasure on the receptionists. I can't recall all the details of the mini-tirade; they deserved it, no doubt, but it wasn't my finest moment. After that was a very anxious eight hours or so until I could bring Zephyr home.
Anyway, perhaps pertinent to this experience was something I read in Mary Trump's Substack today. She wrote about some inconvenient nuisances that befell her recently and how she reacted to them in an outsized manner:
[It’s] actually been happening a lot lately: Things that I’d normally take in stride, even if I find them annoying, make me feel undone. So, I've been trying to piece together what’s happening. Not surprisingly, it's all related to the context in which we’re all living our lives.
Every day we’re inundated with bad news that is sometimes disheartening, sometimes infuriating, sometimes demoralizing, and, sometimes, all of those things at once. It’s hard not to feel out of control, knowing that in less than 30 days, win or lose, a significant number of Americans (literally tens of millions) are going to go to the polls and vote for fascism. It's hard to take, and it does make everything else that goes wrong, even if it’s something relatively minor, seem like a bigger deal than it would under other circumstances.
Did I blow up at receptionists because so very, very many Americans are dumbshits that will vote for Mary's deranged and despotic uncle? No. I had other reasons. But the degree to which I blew up may well have had something to do with it. This era of American political reality has anyone paying even moderate attention to it coiled up in some degree of anxiety. Any extra stress in our lives twists that coil even tighter.
In a few weeks we'll have passed the biggest milestone in this anxiety marathon, and we'll either be experiencing a profound relief or genuine panic. Until then, I guess the best we can do is take a deep breath and try to keep calm in the face of whatever comes our way.
No Comments yet