The Christmas song

While we at the Emporium generally hew to the secular and not get too involved with pagan gatherings and events, we do recognize that Christmas does represent something special to our patrons.

So, in the spirit of unity and financial dissolution, I offer a Merry Crisis and a Happy New Fear to all.

Some people ride the wave

The year 1991, regarded by some as the year punk broke, left me unimpressed. I really think the status quo was improbably upended when Elliott Smith suddenly had a Oscar Awards appearance and nomination for his song "Miss Misery" in the film "Good Will Hunting." What was improbable or punk wasn't the song itself, but that the singer had done little to insert himself onto that larger stage (other than be a homeboy with filmmaker Gus Van Zandt) but nonetheless achieved a level of market place acceptance that many performers with much more ambition failed to achieve.

My contrarian view comes from the viewpoint that punk is more than a music genre, but an ethos that undermines and subverts all that is currently standing. This of course means that it must always be re-inventing itself as the loyal opposition when its ideas, cultural artifacts, etc. become commonly accepted, and thus is subject to being undermined and subverted. For instance, new primitivism became the new totalitarianism completely removed from its original meaning and intent.

Or maybe the meaning of the 'Year Punk Broke' has another meaning than I didn't recognize before. I had interpreted the phrase as when this style of music burst upon the national media consciousness, but maybe it is simply a statement of the time when a music style became disfunctional because its success fixed its meaning in so many people's minds and it lost its fluidity. It had become a commodity to be marketed and sold.

Same as it ever was

Commerce through the ages suffered because credit markets were sporadic, unregulated and didn't extend much across borders between sovereign nations. However, beginning in the late 17th C the Quakers, with limited access to education and the traditional trades, found that trust could be very profitable. Therefore, in the age before every transaction was bound by a legal contract, the invented the handshake deal where both parties followed through. Thus "Quaker" become synonomous with honesty and quality and some manufacturers capitalized on this reputation, such as with Quaker Oats.

Unfortunately, recent events have found that some handshakes aren't worth the flesh that's being warmed.

The "Priest" they called him

Sometime back in the mid-90's Isaac Sanchez said to me, regarding my choice of a potential helpmate: "You don't need to go for your analogue." That statement really stuck with me. In fact, it was touchstone guidance, along with Ms. X's advocation that I "go for the good," that led me to find and attach myself to Mrs. B.

Yet sometimes, and I believe I can say this in the same breath that I pronounce my unwaivering love for her, I wish she would sit down and appreciate "A Junky's Christmas" with me.

Trenchtown rock

After seeing Slumdog Millionaire (plot synopsis: uneducated former Mumbai slum dweller wins trivia TV show and is tortured by police to reveal how he cheated because they can't believe he answered the questions honestly.), I noticed how it seemed to fit very neatly with a political narrative that recently occurred on these shores: an ambitious politician, armed only with only his smarts and compelling rhetoric, seeks to win the prize of the nation's highest political office. To obstruct him, the establishment responds with accusations that he cheats, associates with criminal types, and lies. When all that bluster fails and he miraculously wins, the same voices try to diminish his victory.

I guess nobody believes Horatio Alger stories anymore.

Also, recent events pit the Audacity of Hope against the Audacity of a Dope.

A question arises here: What if an ambitious politician didn't have smarts or inspiring words, how could he/she gain the White House? I think that one answers itself ...

It's only castles burning

After reading South and seeing a 1999 documentary on his Ulysses-strength odyssey, I was quite agog at the endurance of the sailors of the Endurance. (In 1915-17 they walked and sailed across Antarctic as part of a 20-month journey back to civilization after their ship was imprisoned by ice.) Imagine my dismay when I discover they may have been using a performance-enhancing drug! (In 1909, history reports this was this case.)

In a cruelly ironic twist, the cocaine tablets were marketed under the name of Forced March. As it happens, some intrepid fools are re-creating the 1916 journey in honor of the upcoming 100th anniversary of the event. I sure hope they're keeping it real with tablets!

Can you hear the lonesome whistle moan?

I can't help but to compare the US auto executives' arrogance and intransigent resistance to change to how railroad officials haughtily responded to demands for accountability and signs of its eroding power in the 20th C. Both industries formed the basis of the transportation system and were economic powerhouses, their influence far-reaching and pervasive. The impact of the both industries on commerce, land use, transportation would be hard to overestimate.

It is, of course, way too early to write an obituary for the domestic auto industry, but there is little evidence to suggest that it will survive in its current form. Meanwhile, we'll all driving Fords lately.


Caption text:
You probable thought it was smart to buy a foreign import of superior quality, with better mileage and resale value. Maybe you even thought that years of market share loss might prod up into rethinking our process and redesigning our products with better quality in mind. But you forgot one thing: We spend a shitload of money on lobbyist. So now you’re out $25 billion, plus the cost of your Subaru. Maybe next time you”ll buy American like a real man. Either way, we’re cool.

Below the three logos:
We’re the Big Three. We Don’t Need to Compete.™

Their satanic mill majesties request

In a move that surely has Mr. Blake's tiger burning bright, we are now driving our dark satanic mills among our clouded hills (in the form of SUVs); not just sending our youth and unwed women to labor in them.

Finest worksong

I know it isn't like I'm hollering in the field from "can to can't" at Angola, but I do like my iPod that supplies me with work songs. Yesterday's highlights included Explosions in the Sky mixes, the Missourians and Die Goldenen Zitronen.

Sweet Leaf

In a blow to Mr. Palin's status, archeologists discover First Dude.

Mr. Crab walks sideways

Through 1,800 miles of highway driving and a week stay in Texas, I saw only one "McCain for President" bumper sticker, which is the same number of "Biden for President" bumper stickers that I saw.

Full disclosure: I did see one McCain-Palin billboard. But that fits the pattern where McCain had pricier real estate than Obama.