Team of Rivals

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Team of Rivals
 
Genres: Non-fiction, History, American History

Doris Kearns Goodwin

Date read: October, 2014
 
Author: Doris Kearns Goodwin, b. January 4, 1943
 
Publisher: Simon & Schuster, New York (2005)
 
Awards: 2006 Lincoln Prize; Inaugural Book Prize for American History, New York Historical Society
 
Quote: We need the strongest men of the party in the Cabinet. We need to hold our own people together. I had looked the party over and concluded these were the very strongest men. Then I had no right to deprive the country of their services. ~ Abraham Lincoln
 
Opinion: Doris Kearns Goodwin's exploration of Lincoln's political savvy in our time of greatest national crisis won the awards noted above quite deservedly. In her book, she adheres tightly to her thesis and does not wander off into other circumstances or subjects related to the American Civil War. Does she succeed in making her case? That it was Lincoln's political brilliance that saved the Union? Her argument is compelling. As she polls Lincoln's cabinet members she adduces what seems millions of data points to support her. But is it evidence or anecdote?
 
 I am not a professional historian and cannot credibly review her scholarship. And I have heard no grumbling from her peers. Nevertheless, I am a critical reader, and I am not sure I am inclined to swallow her whole, without her servings being passed through a poison-tester first. The Union was saved. With that hindsight, isn't it easy, tempting to ascribe it to Lincoln's godlike wisdom? Maybe there was a lot of good luck involved too; not to mention the superior economic and military strength of the Union side. Or maybe she's right: things came out right because Lincoln was a political genius.

Her study is excellent and is certainly recommended reading. I give it four stars (I don't read bad books, and neither should you.)

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Alabama Shakes

Well drive me to Hades in a PT Cruiser! I just heard this new (to me) group called Alabama Shakes that is basically musical apoplexy. Holy smokes, just go to YouTube or your other favorite digital music source and push play and I swear it's like 10 megatons of TNT just exploded.  (NPR is currently hosting some good examples.) And you didn't turn up the volume. They did. This band is amped up like nothing I've heard in a long time. I'm not sure how to describe it. It's like a car crash that sounds good.

The singer Brittany Howard has to be heard to be believed. She is not going to be satisfied until she's taken you to a different universe and left you stranded there with no way to get back. Man alive, she should be completely hoarse after singing the first twenty-five notes. How she gets through an entire performance, I do not understand.

It's amazing how, now and then, a new troupe comes along, and basically reinvents music. If you don't already know about them. Go check 'em out. Tell them their new friend Mike sent you.

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The Waterboard by M.W. Thomas

Spread-head Viewer

The Spread-head Viewer. Through Gimmicks with Mirrors, The Effective Pupillary Distance is Increased From About 56mm To Approximately 260mm.

We live in interesting times. The physicists at CERN have confirmed the existence of The Force and that it binds our universe together. Job satisfaction is way down among Porn actors. Yet the truth shall set us free whether we want it to or not. Today, I introduce the Spread-head Viewer, a totally revolutionary 21st century concept.

Here's the basic idea of the spread-head viewer. Normally our eyes are a shy bit under three inches apart, which establishes the parallax for our stereoscopic vision. That stereo effect allows us to experience the world in many nuanced ways. We see objects in their total context, we see the front and the back, and from side to side.

The Spread-head Viewer takes it to a new whole level. It spreads our pupillary distance of about three inches to ten or twelve inches, and potentially beyond. Think of the applications. The Secret Service can use it to see around trees, vehicles, and other obstacles to keep us safe from democracy. Park Rangers can use it to count the squirrel population more accurately.Your Walmart can figure out where that goddamned last box of Kleenex is.

I am working up a licensing agreement for my Intellectual Property rights. If you or your  company are doing this technology and trespassing on my rights, do contact me so we can duke it out. I am confident we can reach an understanding to bring this great invention to the American People.

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The Naked Jaybirds

Drummer "Beanhopper" of The Naked Jaybirds

Last Saturday night, I caught a musical act at a Metro area speakeasy at, as I was strictly instructed, a not-to-be-disclosed location. I approached the peephole with my secret password, which was "fuzznuts." It's obviously not a secret anymore, so I hope they change the password from time-to-time. I should have suggested that to the bouncer. There was no cover charge to get in, but it cost me twenty bucks to get out.

The featured band was called The Naked Jaybirds. The Jaybirds were indeed a pretty eccentric group, although they may prefer to be dubbed "eclectic." They offered up a mix of folk, classic rock, Irish drinking songs, and original avant garde stylings. They always walked the precipice between brilliance and sucking. They opened the show with some Irish drinking songs, and even their cover of Led Zeppelin's "No Quarter" sounded vaguely like an Irish drinking song, at least toward the end.

I managed to catch a few words with some of the band members during an interlude. The drummer, who would only identify himself as Beanhopper, said, "We've only performed for an audience twice. Usually we just practice. We've been practicing for thirty-five years." The keyboardist, Jack "The Jerk" Bond, admitted he was "nervous as a quadriplegic jaywalker."

One highlight of the evening was an original love ballad crooned by singer Simon Popehat, titled "How Can I Love You If You Won't Lay Down?" It was a special favorite with the fat girl who insisted on standing right next to me. "Nice beard," she said. I quietly maneuvered to try to get the potted plant in between me and her.

I danced with my best friend's wife. Grrrrr. Oh, and I danced with my wife too. Meh. The only thing they served at the bar was Scotch and Mojitos. And you didn't get to choose. You pretty much got whatever the bartender wanted to serve you.

Closing time was 3:30 in the a.m. Somehow, we found our way home undamaged. If you ever have a chance to see The Naked Jaybirds, don't miss 'em. They perform for the public, on average, once every fifteen years.

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My Beard

I am hirsute in a suit. My beard started by accident: I stopped shaving. I don't really need a beard. I am not sure I want a beard. The beard would have been more useful when I was a pizza-faced teenager.

It started growing in early March. You might say it brings a new meaning to the March Hair. There is a problem. I haven't purchased a trimmer, so the darn thing is getting out of control. My mustaches are real cookie dusters now. And there are these stray whiskers popping out of my cheeks like little pin worms.

When I was in Walmart on other business, I did look at trimmers, and unusually for them they had a lot of choices. Too many. I couldn't decide, so I skipped it. Maybe I'll just use nail clippers.

Something's got to be done. Watch this space.

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My New iFad

My new iFad came in the mail a few days ago - that is, my iPhone 6 Plus - and I have finally finished bumbling my way through transferring my data from the old iPhone 4. First of all, I had to have the hard drive rebuilt on my laptop, because of a recent death crash, so I had to download and reinstall iTunes.  After thirty minutes of following progress bars with intense interest, I tried to launch the application.  Not there! It didn't even show up in "recent downloads." Well, at least I could use my iPhone as a phone. But I was incensed, and pretty much resigned to a visit to the Apple store for help.

But don't call me a quitter. Next day, I decided to try again. After a parade of more progress bars, finally success! The first time I must have failed to "Accept" or "Agree" or say "Aye, Aye, Sir!" I backed up my iPhone 4 data. That is step one, no? That took quite some time, because I had a half decade of photos to archive.

With greater anticipation than pouring ketchup (catsup?), I plugged in my iFad. I selected "Restore Mike's iPhone." That's right isn't it? iTunes got busy. I wondered about the result, but then iTunes wanted to update the operating system. Already? I just got the dadgum thing. Then I must wait for iFad to restart. Do not turn off iFad.

Well, I had my photos and music, but not my apps. And why pray tell not? And also, not my Contacts. I reasoned that the latter would have to be retrieved from The iCloud. But it was late, I was tired, and decided to tackle that the Day After this breakthrough.

Next day, before proceeding to the Contacts problem, I decided to sync iFad with iTunes using a little manual cable connection performed by iMe. Sync apparently successful. Then what should suddenly appear? A prompt to log me into my iCloud! This development is the only convenient event to occur in the whole ordeal. And it knew who I was! All it wanted was my iTunes password!

And voila! Contacts appeared on iFad! You can tell from the liberal exclamatory punctuation that I was elated. Still, no apps were transferred to my new play toy.

I decided to just go to the App Store and download the apps I cared about - a lot of them news sources. Most of them took me to an iCloud icon. Oh! That's how it works. I downloaded several, and they were neatly filed in appropriately folders, with no extra administrative work required on my part, unlike the "old days."

Except for one. CNN mysteriously vanished. It was nowhere to be found on iFad by the usual user experience. But I discovered it would come up if I told my girlfriend Siri to "launch CNN." So Siri knows where it is. That secretive bunny boiler. So I have this zombie-like CNN app somewhere on my iFad I can't find. Spooky.

What else is lurking unknown on iFad? They are made in China after all. Maybe the ghost of Mao Tse-Tung is reading my blog. Okay. At least he could subscribe and leave comments.

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The Waterboard by M.W. Thomas

Is ISIS in Crisis?

The word is out that morale inside ISIS is flagging. Could it be that beheading people is positively depressing after all? With the ban on smoking, perhaps there's an entire faction afflicted by nicotine fits. I think I could use a scotch after an auto-de-fe (I don't know the Arabic word for this.) Here's a little advice for how they might lift the spirits of their bedraggled workforce.

• Have a giant game of Twister in the Arabian desert.
• Sing campfire songs about rape and pillage.
• Busting up antiquities with sledge hammers sounds like great fun, how come no workie?
• Have a camel race across Anbar province, carrying female hostages on your shoulders.
• Punkin'-chunkin' at the Kurds. I don't know if they anything pumpkin-like rolling around... Oh no! I'm not going there.

Perhaps they need to hire a cruise director. Some of those folks at Carnival are really good.

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Who Farted?

I can sniff the breeze. Somebody just polluted my environment. I didn't fart, someone else did. I know because my farts are inoffensive. Your farts stink.

The EPA has demonstrated no safe level of exposure to your farts. Therefore, they have to be considered lethal until proven otherwise. I demand that you refrain from farting within fifty feet of any entry way.

This is non-negotiable. Environmental flatus has been ignored for way too long. According to the Surgeon General of California, a fart discharge from five miles away is the equivalent of a hundred megaton nuclear detonation. It is my right as an American to object to exposure to these dangers.

I declare a no-farting zone in North America. Violators should be prosecuted and subjected to their own dangerous emissions. Not lethal injection: bring back the gas chamber.