DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> DC Viking: May 2008

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

I'm shocked, SHOCKED to find GAMBLING going on here!

No one that has been paying attention for the last eight years is surprised by the ‘revelations’ contained in Scott McClellan’s new book, but major news outlets like the Washington Post are tripping all over themselves to make McClellan’s insights front page news. The headline of today’s on-line edition of the Post reads, “Ex-Spokesman: Bush Mislead Public on Iraq.” Incidentally, the stories below the fold were: “Water is Wet”, “U.S. Economy: Been Better”, and “Men Think Scarlett Johansson is Attractive.”

The Post even lacked the testicular fortitude to lead without attributing the assertion to McClellan in the headline, which is unsurprising considering how little the paper did to question the rationale for the war in the first place. Would anyone other than administration flaks have made a ruckus if the headline had read, “Bush Lied to the Public about Iraq”? Instead, the Post took the approach of, “Listen, we’re not sure, and we don’t want to cast stones, but this Scott McClellan guy said that Bush may have been a little less than truthful about that whole Iraq War deal.”

The response of the press to McClellan’s tell-all illustrates a key point made in the book. McClellan states that far from being too liberal, the press was deferential to the administration as it made the case for war in Iraq. The collective “My goodness, isn’t this a development” uttered by the journalistic establishment shows how loathe the press has been to do their job.

The way the rest of this story will play out is easy to predict. The administration will trash McClellan on the morning shows, right wing bloggers will make excuses, and the main stream media will forget about the whole thing in a week. None of the really important questions will get asked. Instead of trying to hold the administration accountable, news outlets like the Washington Post will spend ink cataloging the he-said, she-said between McClellan and administration surrogates. Then in a four or five months when another one of these insider accounts is published we’ll go through the whole thing again, still wondering why everything is so screwed up.

But hey, at least Scotty is getting paid for keeping his mouth shut when he could have had a real impact and then suddenly finding his balls when someone waived a book deal in his face.

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Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Totally Boss Video Wednesday

This song is off one of my favorite albums from last year, and this song still gets heavy rotation in a few of my go-to iTunes mixes.

I somehow manage to be out of town every time these guys play in DC.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Totally Boss Video Wednesday

Because it's always a good time for the best band to come out of Minneapolis since the Replacements.

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Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Dear God Is It Over Yet Haiku


Today at the polls,
More important than the war,
Snipers or Preachers?

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Monday, May 05, 2008

At least he didn't park his Prius in the pool


Rock Band is a video game that bridges the gap between gamer and non-gamer. Get yourself a bottle of whiskey, a case of beer, two or three friends with no reservations about really selling the backup harmony in Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead Or Alive” (even though the game doesn’t require it ) and you’ve got a recipe for a pretty decent Saturday night. People who would never think of picking up a controller and sitting down to play Grand Theft Auto will happily strap on a plastic guitar and pretend to be Ace Frehley. With the right mix of people the game becomes a cooperative event. Instead of competing against each other as you do in most other games, you’re providing support and encouragement to your band mates; working together to quote, RAWK, un-quote.

On some occasions, the ‘band’ I normally play with, “Arsenio, Hall, and Oates” gets so into the groove that we begin to act like real-life rock stars. The drummer smacks his sticks together in the air to count out time as the song begins. The guitarist calls out the tried and true, “Ah one,two, Ah-one, two, three, four.” And the lead singer gets drunk and destroys the stage.

I’m serious about that last one. Arsenio, Hall, and Oates (or “Spuckwheat and Wanky” as we sometimes call ourselves when playing incognito in smaller venues) had its first Rocking Related Injury, or “RRI” this weekend.

Miss Viking graduated from her Masters program on Saturday and we threw a party to celebrate. As usually happens when our friends get together, Rock Band gets pulled out when the group has achieved a collective BAC of about .09. What began as a large group activity; four people playing together while three or four others waited their turn and cheered the band on, devolved into Miss Viking, myself, and a lead singer, whose name shall be withheld for his protection, playing long after everyone else had gone to bed and/or passed out.

We’d all been drinking quite heavily, for quite a long time, and the quality (if not the enthusiasm) of our rocking had been going steadily downhill for about 40 minutes. We knew it was almost time to take our curtain call when both the bass player and guitarist began to see the scrolling bars on the TV screen as a blur of rainbow colors instead of the easily recognizable notes they usually are. Our lead singer recognized that the rest of the band was losing focus, and took his act up a notch to spur us on.

He increased his vocal projection, he called out encouragement during long guitar solos, and he began to dance wildly about the living room. On a hardwood floor. In athletic socks conspicuously lacking in non-skid traction control devices of any kind.

You see where this is going. During a particularly hyperactive dance breakdown, that reminded many in the crowd of a young Jack Black in the midst of some kind of bourbon induced seizure, he lost his footing. Badly. Luckily, the most expensive piece of Rock Band equipment in the room was there to break his fall.

As he crashed to the floor, the arm of our lead singer came down solidly on what would have been the symbol on a real drum set. In a ‘real’ band, that would have resulted in a solid and satisfying crash, much like a drunken singer falling into drum set. In our little fantasy world, this fall instead resulted in the thin and decidedly unsatisfying sound of a plastic drum pad snapping in two.

Minor wounds were inflicted on our fearless band leader. A long and nasty scrape required Miss Viking to dust off her civil war surgery skills. Luckily, we still had a little whiskey left, and since the drums had been rendered useless, we had extraneous drumsticks to aid in the fashioning of tourniquets. What could have been a VERY awkward closing song was mitigated by the fact that we were playing on the singer’s own drums, and not mine.

That’s right, my group of friends has more than one full set of Rock Band instruments among us. I can tell you’re impressed.

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