On slanguage

This conversation is the best result that's coming out of the Imus affair ...

Don Imus' firing Thursday was the result of a collision between mainstream popular culture and hip-hop culture. This generational and cultural debate has been fueled by the concept of "you people," whoever they — or we — are.

Imus testily used those words during his appearance on the Rev. Al Sharpton's radio show Monday. "You people" seemed directed at Sharpton and other activists more than African-Americans as a whole, unlike Ross Perot's use of that phrase during his 1992 presidential run.

Hip-hop has enjoyed tremendous crossover success. For better or worse, depending on one's tastes, it's unavoidable. And rap has, for years, been built on its street credibility, reflected in no small part in its slanguage. There are regional shorthands for cars, neighborhoods and other, more unsavory things. Hip-hop's impact explains how the phrase "nappy-headed hos" ever found its way to Imus' microphone.

"How can we ignore the problem that every 12-year-old in the country knows this phrase?" asks comedian-turned-gubernatorial candidate Kinky Friedman, who also has been accused of being a racist and sexist. "And we're giving Grammys to guys for using the same phrase that gets Imus fired."

Are some words simply the sole property for use only by certain (race-specific) people?

Can words or symbols be "owned" and repurposed? The theory that the rampant use of the n-word in hip-hop has removed its poison is faulty. Ask comedian Michael Richards. Or better yet, ask the black audience members at his comedy show that turned into an epithet-filled meltdown, complete with threats.

Salikoko S. Mufwene, a professor of linguistics at the University of Chicago, says, "It's a matter of who has authority in language. There are certain terms used in the African-American community that are not licensed to other people."

I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes. If you want the conservative talking point go read these comments.

Kurt Vonnegut 1922-2007

The author speaking at a rally against the Persian Gulf war in 1991.

The first book of his that I read was Breakfast of Champions, in 1974. I was a high school sophomore and thought I had just found some key to the universe. Here's what the NYT Book Review wrote when it was published the previous year:

You have to hand it to Kurt Vonnegut Jr. In his eighth novel, "Breakfast of Champions, or Goodbye Blue Monday," he performs considerable complex magic. He makes pornography seem like any old plumbing, violence like lovemaking, innocence like evil, and guilt like child's play. He wheels out all the latest fashionable complaints about America--her racism, her gift for destroying language, her technological greed and selfishness--and makes them seem fresh, funny, outrageous, hateful, and lovable, all at the same time. He draws pictures, for God's sake--simple, rough, yet surprisingly seductive sketches of everything from Volkswagens to electric chairs. He weaves into his plot a dozen or so glorious synopses of Vonnegut stories one almost wishes were fleshed out into whole books. He very nearly levitates.

Vonnegut was the greatest American novelist of our generation. That's only my humble o, but also certainly that of many others. Few writers have really grasped my mind around its figurative throat and shaken it like a dog with a rag as he did.

He was pretty much everything a free-thinking person could aspire to. His essays from In These Times were compiled into a short book called A Man Without a Country in 2005 and they chronicled his path from conservative to liberal, a trail I have similarly walked.

There's a photo of Vonnegut -- probably at an anti-war rally -- holding up a Bartcop sticker. Perhaps we'll see that and some other remembrances of the author today posted by others. I'll collect some and update here later. I'm a bit too distraught at the moment to collect and post all of my own feelings about the passing of this literary titan.

Updates (4/13):

Racy Mind quotes a random passage from Champions.

Tom Kirkendall is uncharacteristically snide.

Norbizness provides the scene from Rodney Dangerfield's epic Back to School.

Katrinacrat feels the loss and has the classic quote from God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater.

My Left Nutmeg has some YouTube of the man.

Monday: Ben Barnes. Tuesday, John Sharp.

Which washed-up conservative Democrat (or DINO) will the TDP power brokers -- who have no actual power to broker -- float today as our 2008 Senate selection?

Take the poll (reg. req.) or cast your vote in the comments.

Lone Star Project reveals Dewhurst can't complete his paper work

Now this is the sort of thing I would like to see Matt Angle do a lot more of:

Millionaire “Lite” Governor berates and belittles uninsured families, yet failed to

complete and file simple business forms.

Texas Lt. Governor David Dewhurst is among the harshest hardliners insisting that families who qualify for the Children’s Health Insurance Program (CHIP) must reapply every six months or see their children dropped from the program. He recently said,"I don't think most people in Texas have a lot of sympathy for someone that can't fill out a two-page application every six months.'' (Dewhurst, Austin American-Statesman, January 25, 2007)

Public records obtained by the Lone Star Project, however, show that David Dewhurst himself has repeatedly failed to complete and file routine forms needed to do business legally in Texas. At least six times, businesses directed by, or connected to, David Dewhurst failed to fill out required forms in a timely fashion. In fact, David Dewhurst Investment Partnership was issued a Notice of Cancellation by the Texas Secretary of State on December 6, 2006, for failing to file a periodic report that is required only once every four years.

Go read the details. This man wants to be Governor or Senator or Vice President or President one day, just like Hutchison and Cornyn and 39% and Greg Abbott and all the rest of them.

Dewhurst is one of the most benign of our GOP incompetents; he comes across as genial but his statements on CHIP belie his antagonism toward poor people. And now he's demonstrated his hypocrisy as well.

Congratulations Lt. Governor, you're busted.

Sunday Funnies (Happy Easter edition)

To be glued to the tube

The Sopranos wrap things up starting tomorrow evening:

The two episodes that open the final run are, as Sopranos episodes tend to be, masterful examples of the TV art — tense, terrifically acted, carefully observed one-hour plays that delve ever more deeply into the characters while pushing the story slightly forward. They set the concluding mood and the theme, that of family issues coming to a head. But they don't do much to move us toward the conclusion, and that may not sit well with viewers who have clamored, if not for the end, at least for the end to begin.

Still, Tony clearly feels some end approaching, as his oncoming 47th birthday has left him pondering his legacy and his mortality. He has cobbled together a peace agreement with the New York Mob, but it's no more stable than his family — as reflected by a chillingly amusing game of Monopoly that Tony and Carm play with Janice (Aida Turturro) and Bobby (Steven R. Schirripa). These are people, we are continually reminded, who believe in all the rules except the ones that would constrain them.

Looking forward to this almost as much as I am the premeire of the new season of Entourage. More on that:

As it begins the last half of its third season, there's another force to be reckoned with. Amanda, Vince's new agent, plays the Hollywood game as well as any man. She works all hours, knows how to make things happen and takes no guff. She's the type of woman who uses everything at her disposal, including her sexuality.

Carla Gugino plays the part masterfully, as if she knows this person.

Ari knows this person, too, which is why he's as manic as ever but in a way that's spiraling down and out of control. Bottom line: He misses Vince, and he's willing to work at getting him back.

This isn't the Ari with whom we are familiar. Though in charge of his own business now, he's lost his mojo. Worse, he's gone soft. He no longer can take pleasure in firing. He feels the need to protect his gay assistant. He cannot win an argument with his and his wife's marriage counselor.

But if he can win back Vince, he can right his boat. And when even attempting to win him back proves positive, Ari decides to go all-out. Early episodes suggest that will lead to the mother of all smackdowns, with no clear winner.

Piven's performance is a beauty, a step up from his much-heralded, Emmy-winning portrayal of the past. He brings to these episodes a nuanced Ari. He's as conniving and manic as ever, but there's a heightened desperation and a tell-tale sign of heart not often seen in his earlier episodes.

Grenier also steps up his game. In previous years, he played at being cool. In these new episodes, he is cool. Some of E's smartness is rubbing off. Vince still needs E, but you get the impression he might do OK without him.

It's a testament to its makers that the show is growing. As sexy and funny as ever, Entourage is becoming television you don't want to go without.

And I don't.

This aspen has turned

Thank you, Nance:

It started when I heard President Bush’s Saturday radio address, and finally realized what an articulate statesman he is. Suddenly putting food on my family started to make sense, along with the War on Terror, the need for wire-tapping US citizens, and the necessity of doing away with quaint concepts like freedom in the pursuit of spreading democracy.

My transformation into a BushBot escalated quickly –- a kind of surge, if you will. Once I started speaking in talking points, I knew there was no turning back. I realized that facts were the enemy, and I had to fight ‘em over there as well as over here. So I bought a gas-guzzler, slapped a W sticker on the bumper, burned my copy of An Inconvenient Truth, and set out to claim my rightful place in the world as an ill-informed idiot. It was time to adapt to win.

The memory loss set in quickly; I no longer remember that Bush once claimed Iraq had WMDs or tried to purchase yellowcake from Niger. It dawned on me that Abu Ghraib was just a fraternity hazing incident, and that the insurgency is indeed in its last throes. I could now understand why Halliburton had every right to pack up and leave the US, no doubt disgusted by being ignored once again by those intellectual snobs who nominate Nobel Peace Prize contenders.

As for the predictions of the PNAC boys –- like being greeted as liberators with sweets and flowers, or a square in downtown Baghdad being named in honor of one G.W. Bush –- I realize now that they were merely misquoted by the Liberal media, which has been unrelenting in its biased reportage of successes we achieve in Iraq and Afghanistan on a daily basis.

I started wishing that everyone would get off Gonzo’s back. I also started wishing that Karl Rove was single, and I was his type. I started having an irresistible urge to buy all of Ann Coulter’s and Dinesh D’Souza’s books – but my ability to read is already faltering, along with my comprehension skills. And the constant whining of wounded vets complaining about Walter Reed, the red tape nightmare of accessing rehabilitation care and disability funds –- blahdey, blah, blah –- went from plucking on my heartstrings to clawing at my last nerve.

Not completely convinced that I had truly turned, I set out to see my doctor. Along the way, I passed a homeless man –- and my usual instinct to reach into my pocket for some money was simply gone! Instead, I yelled, “Get a job, moran!” I kicked him, and his mangy little mutt, and actually felt good about it –- kinda like I was doing the Lord’s work.

As I waited in the reception area, I got into a political discussion with several other patients. I would not allow any of them to get a word in edgewise, and spouted baseless facts in as loud and shrill a voice as possible, until it was my turn to see the doctor –- well, not really my turn, as I selfishly insisted on pushing ahead of others, even though they had actual medical emergencies to be tended to. As a burgeoning RepubliCon, I knew that my needs transcended all others.

After a quick examination, my doctor confirmed what I had already suspected: my IQ had dropped seventy-five points, I was deaf to any statement that did not accord with mein fuhrer’s –- I mean my esteemed leader’s –- ideology, and was utterly blind to the truth. In short, I had become a GOPer!

Because I live in Canada, there was no bill for my check-up –- but I insisted that as an American citizen, I had a right to be charged an exorbitant fee for medical care, and left a $15,000 check with the startled receptionist after lecturing her on the fact that health care should only be available to those who can afford it. (Of course, I can’t afford it either –- but now that I am a Republican, once I get in on the crony network, I should be able to land a cushy, well-paying job with the US government. With my non-qualifications, I’ll be a shoe-in.)

Homeward bound with a new sense of patriotism, i.e. anyone who disagrees with this administration is a traitor, I saw the world in a different light. Finally the veil of truth no longer obscured my vision, and I noticed things I hadn’t been cognizant of before –- like the fact that my Muslim neighbors, heretofore kind and friendly people, are actually terrorists planning the downfall of my country; like the fact that the lesbian couple next door pose a threat to my marriage; like the fact that facts are open to interpretation.

Once I could see, but now –- praise the Lord! –- I am blind. It was a moment I once would never forget. But being as I’m one of them now, I will not recall it in the morning, any more than I would recall outing a CIA agent, or firing an attorney who doesn’t see eye-to-eye with my Beloved President. The only thing I do remember now is that everything that is wrong with my country is Bill Clinton’s fault –- ah, life as it should be.