mr. zilla goes to town

Thursday, July 22, 2004

tiptoe through the tolstoy

I'm a war president.

George W. Bush, Meet the Press, February 13th, 2004.
Nobody wants to be the war president. I want to be the peace president.
George W. Bush, Campaign Speech, July 20th 2004.

Any guesses what Dubya's reading in the oval office bathroom these days? Could be his mental acuity has been misunderestimated? (via Talking Points Memo & Sadly, No)



Wednesday, July 21, 2004

as jared would say: watch

Seymour Hersh gives the ACLU keynote address. If you have a fat broadband pipe, watch this. (Hersh starts about 1 hr 3 minutes in). If you have a modem, download and watch this instead.  Transcript available here too. I'm not kidding. Watch it. (Links via The Poor Man.)

Don't worry, delectable observations on the pitter patter pointless fancies of the world and the madness of vegas to follow when I coax my brain back into my head after seeing the above speech.

Back in early 2003, I recall very clearly my opinion on the war was inchoate, thus: all I knew was that it was going to go pear shaped in ways that I couldn't foresee, and that far from sufficient consideration had gone into the how and when of the war. I eventually believed the line the world was fed about Iraq's weaponized WMD. Although I still don't buy the idea that a control freak dictator interested only in his own survival would ever pass on such things to rogue Islamist terrorists outside his vice-like command and control apparatus.

Hersh sheets home the self-inflicted damage of the Bush administration at home in the West and abroad; damage to the democratic fundamentals that no foreign fundamentalist could have achieved in a score of years or bombs; damage to our long term security. It's quite sickening. And that's before he starts to talk about an unreleased video from Abu Ghraib of screaming children.

Friday, July 16, 2004

no time for love, doctor jones

The last two weeks I've been plugging away on a slightly tangential but nonetheless challenging and curious comissioned project in order to further the modest goal of becoming the world's greatest DJ. (Plan B is still to play professional ice hockey in Eritrea).
 
It's still music to dance to, quite vigorously in fact, but in a scene where a person up the front issues verbal instructions rather than aural cues for the crowd to follow. And people pay wads of money to go to these clubs every year. Some pay up every month and never cross the doorway.
 
The final dub is being burned as I speak, in a limited edition run of precisely two.
 
Got it figured out?
 
Well if not, I'll let you know when I get back from Vegas on Monday. If I run out of readies at the blackjack table I can always cash in my soul.
 
Update. Spot on Deano. Except for the card table part. Speaking of which, the cards and so forth were kind enough that I've come back down a mere few bucks. A free room in the Hilton helped. Unscathed even. Vegas, baby! Vegas! And owing to tightly rationed sleep and red eye flight back to DC just in time to shower and go straight to the office this morning which has given me quite the twitching eyeball at present, that's about all I've got on the subject for the moment. But for now here's a tale of someone else who was in the Aladdin on Saturday night.
 
Vegas, baby! Vegas!

Sunday, July 11, 2004

foreignhate 9/11

I see in today's SMH that Paul Sheehan is having a blistering bitch about all things Michael Moore and Farenheit 9/11.

Let's take a look at the article. The first half is basically an ad-hominem attack on Moore for his surliness an inability play well with others early in his career, compounded by his reversal of fortune and later ability to parlay his documentary making into writing books and, god forbid, making some money. So it probably wouldn't be unfair of me to remind you of the retarded shilling that Sheehan did back in 2002 for the miraculous effects of drinking so-called "Unique Water". (As an aside, I wonder if Sheehan is going to survive the headlopping at Fairfax?)

Anyway the point I want to make - or actually repeat - is that Moore's film wouldn't exist if the mainstream media in the US were doing their damn job. That you can have multiple 24/7 news channels spewing limitless pulp, yet in the course the last several years fail to probe the motivations and relationships surrounding the loci of national power, means that the US deserves what it gets: a badly dressed beach-ball stumbling about firing his mouth off from the hip into the china shop. Got the picture? Clear as trousers.

Sheehan then dogs Moore for his lack of breadth of scope in F9/11 in not accounting for the evil of terrorism or Hussein in the Bush administration response. He also has a go at Moore for not providing a clear position on what would have been a right course of action for the government, and this after deriding him for bringing an ideological bias to the project?

Time's up, this post brought to you by the last VB, the last bagel, and the last of the tzaziki in the fridge. To be continued after I go out for some rawk followed by a run across town to the stoinkingly fine german nujazz ninjas Jazzanova I've been raving about for the last six months.

(Continued, Sunday night.) Anyway, as I was saying, I find it quite laughable that Paul Sheehan is slinging mud at Moore for close to 3,000 words. A substantial part of his argument in which is to castigate Moore for focussing on Bush and failing to address the greater evil of Hussein, when Sheehan himself could be using his endowment of column inches to speak truth to a greater power himself: perhaps to one or more Presidential candidate, the odd Prime Minister here or there; you know, someone in a decision making role over the Iraqi fracas of recent years, rather than some grubby bloated (h)acktivist like himself?

Whatever. Applying this standard to my own writing here, surely the only rightful thing for me to do now is to get upset about something actually meaningful like, oh I don't know, the primary source of human intelligence on Iraq's supposed bioweapons labs being an ureliable alcoholic interrogated while hungover and probably willing to say whatever was requested to have the wires removed from his gonads and a slimy plate of bacon, eggs and hashbrowns slipped in front of him.

More importantly I'd like to mention that Jazzanova (actually the single member of the DJ/production quintent who came to spin this leg of the tour) was a marvellous experience. Good tunes, albeit less of the brokenbeat I was hoping for and more of an admittedly appropriate and situated club-vibe, good vodka, good people, a good blag through to the booth to have a chat to the residents, watch Claas spin and have the usual fantasies about nicking off with his record box. It's almost like things are coming together here. Must be getting towards time to leave soon!

Friday, July 09, 2004

why do they hate us?

...and our pets?

City authorities in Canberra warned residents yesterday to beware of starving kangaroos bounding through the Australian capital in search of food, following reports that the animals were attacking people and pet dogs.


At the West Falls Church Metro station, a Lhasa apso was set upon by a coyote as the dog was being walked by its owner Monday night. The man was able to protect the dog by throwing rocks at the coyote to scare it off...


Why, why, why? Is it our pets' love of freedom? Is it their cute little wet noses and adoring eyes? Their democracy? Their horrific cock-up of an internventionist foreign policy founded upon the triumph of one-eyed ideological hysteria which has only served to create the conditions for apolcapyptic nightmares without bothering to credibly address the Israeli-Palestinian conflict?

Whatever the reason (and my gut feel says... its their gut feel), I'm reassured that we are a step well above these creatures:

Islamic insurgent groups in Iraq are taking an unexpected step to give an inside view of their terror attacks on Westerners by sharing video not only of the assaults, but also of the planning behind them...

"It's like they are embedding combat camera units, who are there on the front line with them, knowing they are going to have propaganda value in time to come."


Where did they get that ridiculous idea?

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

don't try this at home

Sometimes your weekend has marvellous ingredients: a great night out, all the free beer you can drink, a perfect summer's day, a lovely quiet beach, no flies, no humidity, and a refreshing and relaxing swim.

And then you fall asleep on the beach and your recipe goes slightly pear-shaped...



now you can laugh, but...

It's ok, go ahead and take your time, I'll still be here when the milk stops coming out of your nose.

But does it remind you of anything? How should I interpret this omen, this message, literally from the heavens? Or should I just be grateful that at least there were no pictures of pagan deities, saints, or weeping images of the virgin mary, involved?

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

in deep in dance day

Its been a busy four days.

On Friday I saw a cardiologist who ran a few tests on me (well, more like I ran the few tests - like a hamster on treadmill) and offered some choice quotes. The first was comforting, accusing me of being "disgustingly healthy"; the second peturbing, upon seeing my bike helmet under the chair: "Oh, you wear a bike helmet. That's great! You'll make an excellent donor one day."

With my scorecard ticked for now, I went along to see the ticked-off: Michael Moore in his Farenheit 9/11. I think its a movie well worth seeing. Moore paints in very broad brush strokes and hints at collusion, rather than proving anything concrete, about W and his family's relationship with the Sauds. The film is transparently polemic and not merely historical; it is very clear that Moore wants viewers to leave with a firm idea of what to do at the ballot box in November. The strongest tuggings however I think come when Moore steps out of the frame (visually and verbally) and lets his subjects speak. Overall though, I don't think its going to help a great deal in delivering the best of all election outcomes (That's 99% to Kerry, 1% to Nader).

Friday night was a marvellously paid 8 hour DJ gig in a bar downtown called Recessions. It was the kind of gig where the precious artistic nujazz and french house took a back seat and requests from happy drunken punters were played and often creatively incorporated into the textureDJs' efforts. For the occasion I premashed Suzanne Vega's Tom's Diner with a low riding percussive house warmer Time And Space (Dub) by Full Blown Moon from Coco Soul Records. There's apparently a whole album of remixes of Tom's Diner out there, but none like this one, which is kinda the point. The textureDJs cut is fairly simple and had a cometary tail that reacts well to other melodic sources of sunshine. Another highight was an onthefly workin of some high-pass filtered Cindi Lauper lyrics over a 32beat loop in the midst of When Doves Cry, before dropping them out again to close out the original track. A couple of french, no wait, freedom house tunes did sneak in late in the evening too, and it sounds like the bar owner is going to invite us back when the next big event is on. I think the word is stoked.

Two hours sleep later and at 5am Saturday I was off with a couple of friends to Fire Island (reached by ferry from out on Long Island, NY) for the afternoon. Sun, swim, surf, sand, zzzzz, brilliant. (Watch this space for a photo coming soon.) From there it was back into Manhattan: bar hopping, bargain shopping, fireworks thronging, and more demo dropping throughout the next couple of days before heading back to DC this afternoon (Monday).

Speaking of which, the 4th of July celebrations down on the tip of Manhattan included low overflights of F/A-18 fighter jets and A-10 Thunderbolt ground attack jets followed, after nightfall, by massed multicoloured airburst artillery blasts to wow the crowds on the ground and watching on TV. I imagine many Iraqis are 'celebrating' their sovereignty in a similar fashion?