It ain't all pizzas and cream

Treasure hunting may not pay

Well, here's a strange story that drew my attention.  Over the past few weeks, treasure hunters Odyssey Marine have been exploring a wreck off the Florida coast near Tampa--a wreck that Odyssey reps say may contain millions in booty.  For obvious reasons, they have not disclosed the wreck's exact location.  But other treasure seekers may not be Odyssey's biggest problem. 

Turns out that the government of Spain is suing Odyssey, not to get their manos on the treasure, but to ensure it stays sunk.  Sound strange?  Well, as it turns out, there's a bizarre legal precedent that allows governments to retain ownership of sunken vessels INDEFINITELY.  And this is not the first time Spain has sued over the issue.  In 2000, a U.S. court ruled that the wrecks of the Juno and La Galga still belonged to Spain, although the ships had sunk nealy 200 years earlier and well outside Spanish waters.   To make things stranger, in that case, the U.S. government sided with Spain against the treasure hunters.  Apparently we've left a few things at the bottom of the ocean we'd rather not be found.  Although it would be amusing if some treasure hunters emerged from the deep with a lost nuke or two. 

One possible loophole for the Odyssey is this: the law only pertains to government (i.e., military or exploratory) ships.  Any privately owned ship that wrecks is fair game for treasure hunters.  So, alot will depend on the final identification of the Tampa wreck. 

My advice, don't sell the metal detector yet.

Falwell: Spiritualizing Hatred

This Guy Is Kidding...Isn't He?
I remember in the late 1970s regularly watching a series of television evangelists with my father.  There was Ernest Angley (deftly parodied by Robin Williams..."Deaf and dumb spirit, come OUT!"), Jimmy Swaggart (who later ran into a little trouble with a hooker...oops), and of course Jerry Falwell (who at the time was slightly more than a Boss Hogg in the field of televangelists).  It was, as dad called it, "spectacle."  When we watched, it was in the same way that we did Chuck Barris' famous Gong Show.

But it soon became clear that, unlike most of his contemporaries, Falwell had higher aspirations than hookers, scotch, and limousines.  He was bent on creating a political force capable of influencing policy and law in America.  And he had the followers to do it.  Falwell deftly managed to turn spirituality into a political tool--not to feed the hungry, promote understaning, or bring out the best in what humanity has to offer, but to create a lightning rod for a host of ugly prejudices and reactionary misconceptions aimed directly at influencing the political process.  The enemy, for Falwell, included all the usual suspects: working women, gays, the media, secular education, etc.  And while Swaggart was...[you know]...Falwell was busy creating the Moral Majority (whose voter registration efforts helped to put Ronad Reagan in the White House).

It was clear by the 1980s that Falwell had distanced himself from the ranks of tent-show revivalists and dimestore charlatans and was now at the helm of a political powerhouse.

"Winning Team" Syndrome
Wouldn't it be great to know the exact nature of the universe?  To have a booming voice from above announce, "It's a big tube, you know, like a toilet paper roll."  And wouldn't it be equally wonderful to know exactly what God (if he/she exists) expects of each of us?  We all like to believe we have life figured out, and that we have it pretty much correct.  And as we whistle past the graveyard of daily experience, we'd each like to think of ourselves as being on the winning team.  Christians, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims (just to name the Big 5) and their sub-sects all have a different take on things, and have moderate and extreme factions within their ranks.  But our media-accelerated age has allowed a few to communicate their message and enlist new recruits as never before. 

At this, Falwell was especially adept.  Unforunately, he used his pulpit to galvanize people based on their most petty fears and bigotries (remember, this is the man who actually suggested that the Teletubbies' Tinky Winky was subtle gay propaganda), rather than on their best hopes and most charitable aspirations.   Thus he was able to spiritualize hatred in a manner that allowed people to voice with pride an array of beliefs that should more properly be the subject of self-examination and change.  But when the cameras are on, who wants to see a crowd waving placards that read "FEED THE POOR!" when "GOD HATES FAGS" is so much sexier?

Life After Jerry
A couple of years ago, my wife and I were walking at one of our favorite parks, a stretch of creek several miles  long and favored by cyclists, joggers, dog-walkers, and families out for a stroll.  At  one point along the creekside is an old inn, still in operation, where you can for a few pennies buy bread scraps to feed the ducks.  The inn is a popular spot and its parking lot nearly always full.  So these ducks are likely among the most well fed in the nation, having not only an array of natural grasses, algae, minnows, etc,. but an ample supply of handouts.  Yet after watching the ducks for only a few minutes, it became clear that they were the most greedy, back-biting (literally) animals I'd seen in awhile.  The way they attacked each other over every crumb of bread, one would think they were starved half to death.   And it struck me: this is America, and these ducks are Americans.  We have every advantage, every convenience, wealth far above every necessity, and yet we focus on the best way to wrestle that next crumb of bread away from our neighbor. 

Falwell has helped to build a machine that wil be hard, if not impossible, to dismantle.  A way for the greedy and hateful to frame their prejudices in a spiritual context...to assert that their hatreds are God's commandments...and to give teeth to their beliefs via the voting booth.  A sad and dangerous legacy.  I hope America can survive it.

A Modest Proposal for Success in Iraq... or..."What, no fucking ziti now?"

Like the war in Iraq, the debate on how to wage it (or quit it) plods on.  Now in its fifth year (longer than American involvement in WW2), the war seems as far from a conclusion as it has ever been.  I've been reading many blogs, pundits, and online townhall meetings on the subject, and have heard voices from the Left accusing the Administration of arrogance and incompetence, while slightly more shrill voices on the Right cry "traitor!" when anyone mentions Harry Reid, Nancy Pelosi, or any exit strategy at all.

It seems that the U.S. is having as much trouble defining "success" in Iraq as it is achieving it.  Near as I can tell, the closest thing to consensus between the Elephants and th Donkeys would be a stable, self-governing Iraqi democracy favorable to the West in military allegiances and trade agreements. 

That simply isn't going to happen.  And I'll tell you why...

The Iraqi people have as much chance of understanding, operating, and maintaining a functional democracy as a four-year-old child has of understanding, operating, and maintaining a tractor. 

Politically, the Iraqis are infants, and it will be hundreds of years before they reach even the level of the French in 1789.   (How's THAT for a timetable?)  And nothing the United States or anyone else does is going to speed that up. 

At this point I am sure at least one of you is remembering all those inky fingertips so proudly displayed at the dog-and-pony show known as the Iraqi elections.  Surely, you say, these people understand democracy.  Afterall, they're voting!   Sadly, no.  What they understood is that the U.S. wanted them to vote, and that perhaps by voting they could convince the occupying forces to leave.   Or, more simply, if a madman were to hold your family at gunpoint and tell you that he would leave everyone unharmed if only you'd learn to make a three-masted schooner out of toothpicks, you'd get to work on the damn boat. 

So, now we've defined the problem....what is the solution?   
Simple: give control of Iraq to the Mafia.

The only type of governing authority that the Iraqi people are capable of understanding is a gangland system, rife with feudal agreemennts, local strongmen, and revenge killings.  Perfecto!   All that's missing is the ziti!  Face it, Middle Eastern food blows.  You call that sauce?  The mob could really spruce the place up a bit.  A pool table here, a velveteen Sinatra there.  And relocating to the desert shouldn't be a problem...just look at Vegas.  Replace that fallen statue of Saddam with a twenty-foot plaster Caesar and we're in business. 

I predict that under the firm hand of La Cosa Nostra, there would be peace in the streets and that Iraqi oil would be flowing at capacity in no time....minus a reasonable monthly interest payment of course. 

Cash only, please. 

Trouble with Stevie

Saying you don't like Stevie Wonder is like saying you don't like Santa Claus.  Or ice cream.  Or rolling in the grass on a spring afternoon. I learned this the hard way when I mentioned to a group of friends on a casual Sunday walk that I didn't like Stevie.  Not Stevie personally.  But his music. 

I should be grateful.  At least nobody said..."But he's BLIND."  As if by not liking him I were kicking a man when he was down.  My friends, whom I believe I have chosen well, are way too classy for that.  But they were nonetheless astonished that I could take issue with Wonder's music.  Yes, "even the early stuff."  When they asked for a specific reason for my preference, I admit I hadn't really formulated one.  And I think that's a gyp.  Nearly everyone has a reason for their preferences, no matter how silly, and I owe it to my friends to give them one.

So I've given it some thought.  And here, I believe, is my problem with Stevie.  I grew up in the '70s.  When I say "grew up" I mean that I was 8 to 18 years old, that critical time when musical preferences are formed.  Like many of my peers, I had a portable transistor radio soldered to my ear and received a steady gumbo of guitar-driven Brit rock (Zep, Stones, Who) and one-hit wonders (Undercover Angel, Heaven on the 7th Floor, Billy Don't Be a Hero).  When disco hit the airwaves in 1976, it was only a short time that punk hit the record stores.  Battle lines were drawn and I, needless to say, sided with the punkers.   Amid this mid-70s maelstrom, the only bits of Stevie that filtered thru to me were the breezy pop tunes (My Cherie Amour, You Are the Sunshine of My Life, Isn't She Lovely), which were played over and over and over and over.   And frankly, these just seemed like fluff to be.  Like songs 4th graders listened to (here's the part where I lose all my friends).   For me, they lacked the tragic blues that underly the music of, say, Ray Charles.  (And unlike Stevie, Ray always seemed to be having trouble with his women, which seemed more honest.) Even Wonder's  songs about living in the city (here's where I get branded a racist) seemed a little breezy for the subject matter:  Lalala...ghetto...lalala.   But I guess if black people don't mind, I shouldn't either.   As for the stuff that followed (Ebony & Ivory,  I Just Called to Say I Love You, etc.), it seemed like more of the same, and I'd already given up. 

Now that the only people still reading this post are the white supremacists, let me say something nice about Stevie and scare them off too.  I see what he was trying to do...to be the Duke Ellington of his generation.  And that is both a noble goal and a tall order.  Not every generation is lucky enough to have an Ellington (or a Strayhorn, let alone both).  And future generations likely won't even have anyone who'll try to hit that mark.  And that is a sad thing for them.

I'll add another nice thing: Higher Ground.  That one really kicks from start to finish.  The Red Hot Chili Peppers do a faithful, bass-driven funk-dition that's not too shabby either. 

So I think that's about it.  I have to go paint a Dixie flag on my car now.

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