Neither Snow Nor Sleet

The Postal Service is one of the finest institutions we have.

Personally, I think forty-four cents to mail a letter to anyplace in the country is the bargain of the century. And they will take that letter to any address, no matter how far out in the sticks it happens to be.

But have you noticed lately all the talk about how the Post Office is a basket case, inefficient, poorly managed, and unable to pay its bills? According to this drumbeat they have to shut down a bunch of offices and lay off tens of thousands of workers, and even then they will have to reduce services to make ends meet. They just can’t compete with the leaner, smarter, market-driven private delivery services.

But did you know that beginning five years ago during the Bush Administration, a law was passed requiring the Postal Service to fully fund its pension plan 75 years into the future, and that they are required to accomplish this feat within the next five years? In other words they have to be 100% ready to pay a pension to workers who have not yet been born. And this at the same time that UPS and Federal Express are lobbying strongly to be allowed to use their pension funds today as operating money, claiming that it will enable them to be more profitable, thus “saving” their pension funds.

Meanwhile, the “bankrupt” U.S. Postal Service is sitting on 47 billion dollars, much of which won’t be needed for decades, and instead of being allowed to use it, they are told to sell off property and fire workers.

Put those facts together with the fact the the Postal Service is the second largest employer in the country, with by far the largest unionized work force, and I don’t know about you, but I smell something fishy. The drive to crush the labor movement and decimate the middle class would certainly count it as a major victory to see the Post Office dismantled, its workers laid off, its union shut down, its buildings and equipment sold off and private, anti-union, companies taking over the delivery of mail in the U.S. The nonsensical requirement that it overfund its pension and medical benefits plans so far into the future makes it little more than a large beautiful animal with broken legs, unable to defend itself as the hyenas of greed eat it, bite by bite.

Make no mistake — if we lose the Postal Service, we lose a precious American institution. The centuries have shown that the delivery of mail is a proper function of government. Privatization would put us at the mercy of delivery services which would no longer have to compete. Prices would rise, and with no mandate to deliver the mail, services would surely be reduced — except for those who could pay for them.

One step toward saving our Post Office (and the union, and all those jobs and all that tradition, and all those services) is House Bill 1351, which reverses the 2006 law mandating the benefits plan overfunding. You can read the bill here (PDF) and see some TV coverage of the subject here. If you care, consider contacting your member of Congress and asking them to support this bill.

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Spoils

Jones’ Law Number 2: The superrich get their wealth in one of two ways. They steal it, or they inherit it from someone who stole it.

You can argue with the semantics, and you might even be able to point out an exception or two, but basically if you want to acquire great wealth in this world, you have to take it from someone who is weaker or stupider than you. This is what all the great wars and conquests of history have been about: the spoils.

So now in the 21st century, as the governments of the world morph into giant international corporation-states, we shouldn’t be too surprised to see that the pillaging continues. In the United States and around the world, elites live in regal opulence isolated in fortress-like security, many of them so rich they can’t remember how many homes they own. Bankers and hedge fund managers earn sums that are literally unimaginable. Corporate CEOs pay themselves hundreds of times what their average worker makes, often while the company tanks and jobs are moved overseas. Politicians have been “supported” by corporations for so long now that they have forgotten that they are being bribed, and they look the other way as corporate lawyers and lobbyists write bills legalizing the ongoing money grab. When this corruption occasionally brings down the house, as it did in 2007-08, the corporate-owned government uses taxpayer money to make whole the criminals who caused the crash, and when the bailout money runs out, severe austerity is imposed on the people, as in Britain, Greece, Argentina, and soon the United States. Meanwhile the superrich culprits skate.

Nor, it seems to me, should we be very surprised when people take to the streets in mindless rampage, trashing everything in their path and grabbing for themselves anything of value they can get away with. After all, isn’t this the example they have been seeing at the highest levels of society? When shady-but-legal Wall Street shenanigans have ruined the economy, taken the incomes and homes of tens of millions and wiped out retirement savings and college funds, what’s a few big-screen televisions or a whole boxcar full of tennis shoes? When the bankers have escaped to their mansions with all your money, why not torch the bank?

I am getting nervous about what seems to be developing in this country. Billionaires have usurped the government, leaving no force in its place to temper their greed. The economic and social distance between those at the very top and the rest of us has grown so great that there is no more communication. The story we tell ourselves of justice and equality for all is now mere myth. Some tea partiers have already shown up at Presidential events carrying guns. The violence in the human heart has been amply on display in past decades: the Watts Riots in 1965; in Detroit in 1967; back in Los Angeles in 1992; London just last week. Worldwide there have been literally hundreds of civil disturbances since the middle of the 20 century, with an increasing number of them in the United States.

Our government has not been effective in mitigating the current recession. Saying it’s over and things are getting better does nothing to calm the fear and anger of the common people, especially when unemployment and foreclosures are still at record levels while the upper echelons of society are clearly doing better than ever and seem completely unwilling to share in the burden of rebuilding the economy.

If your job is gone or you fear it might be; if your home has been taken away or you fear it might be; if your grown children are back living in your home because they are broke and unemployed after spending a hundred thousand dollars on a college degree; if you have sent out 500 job applications and got nothing back; if you are sick and can’t get medicine; if you are living in a shelter or a car; if your children are hungry; if your elected representatives bicker like children instead of working toward solutions — how much spark would it take to send you in a rage out into the street to take back what you thought was yours and to wreak vengeance on those who took it from you?

There are sparks every day in every city. At some point will the humiliated working class join the angry, armed tea partiers and the dispossessed Left and start to lash out blindly? I hope not. The people can’t win such a war, and neither can the elites.

As in all wars, there will only be losers.

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Endless War, Endless Con

Memorial Day again.

Yesterday I saw a piece on TV about staff Sergeant Salvatore Giunta, the first U.S. soldier since Vietnam to get the Medal of Honor while he was still alive. You usually get that one when you’re dead. Sergeant Giunta did some insane heroic stuff in Afghanistan, rescued a couple of guys who were certain to be killed, got shot himself and made it out alive.

This morning I saw the President make a speech about our brave fighting men and women. Obama stood in front of a flag and intoned the same old cliches that must be intoned every year, how they willingly went and got killed to preserve our freedom, and how more people had to be ready to do the same, or else the last bunch would have died in vain. I had to stop watching and go to work, but I would bet that the rest of the television day was all patriotism all the time, except for the soaps and reruns of George Lopez.Battle-Scene

If you’re reading here you might already know what I think about all this. I think it’s bullshit. Sergeant Giunta will almost certainly now be against war. He will tell anyone who’ll listen that he’s not a hero, that war is a brutal horror that does not lead to glory. And then in about 18 years, he will send his son off to fight, to kill, and maybe get killed.

I’m sad that it has taken me so long to recognize this pathetic truth, that we humans can’t get along, that our veneer of civility is so thin it barely hides the hatred and the violence in our hearts. That the bully always wins.

As I was growing up I watched my father relive the atrocities of World War 2, and I still shudder to think of what it did to him. As a young man I came to understand that the war in Vietnam was a sham, built on the ridiculous premise that somehow by destroying that beautiful little country and terrorizing its people we were stopping the international communist menace. It was laughable except for the real deaths and maimings that happened all day every day for years. When our protests finally forced the government to abandon that war, I thought we had won a lasting peace, that the nation had learned a lesson. Some joke.

Of course millions more have died and been injured since then. Every generation allows itself to be conned into believing that we must fight one more war, one more defense of our way of life. We know it is wrong and it will be horrible, we tell ourselves, but this time it is necessary, because our freedom is threatened, our honor is challenged, and we must not let the memory of our dead heroes be defiled. And so each generation repeats the stupidity.

The soldiers don’t realize it, but they are not fighting to protect our freedom. They are giving up their lives and their limbs and their brains to protect our oil companies and to enrich our arms dealers. I’m not saying they’re not brave or worthy of respect, or that they never accomplish anything good. I’m saying they’ve been conned, and they don’t know what they’re doing.

Moms and dads of America, how do you teach your little ones not to touch a hot stove? Do you let them touch it and burn themselves? Or do you advise them in the strongest possible way never, ever to put their precious little hands on the hot metal?

You know the danger, and they don’t. You should tell them.

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A Reminiscence

My father was born on this day in 1913.

If he had lived, he would be 98 today. But he died a long time ago, exactly 19 years after I was born. He was rip snorting drunk a good portion of those 19 years, and just plain not around for a few of them, so I only knew him the way a child knows his parents. We never got to talk at a time when I was mature enough to ask the important questions, let alone understand the answers. A lot of what I think I know is pieced together from things he told me, or things I heard from others.

He came from a huge Catholic family. I am out of touch with almost all of them now, and I don’t remember most of them anyway, but he had something like five brothers and three or four sisters. By his own admission he was a troublemaker in grade school, and claimed to have quit altogether after 5th grade. I have no idea what he was into from then until his teens, but as a young man he joined the National Guard. I suspect that he had no particular patriotic motive, but just needed the cash during the depression of the 1930’s.

He was in the infantry in Europe during World War 2. I gather his mission was to lay communication wire. He said the Germans were jamming the radios, or maybe they were listening in, I don’t know, so the Allies resorted to laying telephone wire across the battlefields, for secure command and control. He got out of the Army in 1946.

I have come to think of the war years as the defining time of his life. Some of my earliest memories are of him getting liquored up and desperately trying to relive his days as a staff sergeant, gathering his little family and forcing us to listen to him describe mostly routine military stuff, like marching and saluting and polishing your boots and making your bed so a coin would bounce on the bedspread.

These topics didn’t come up when he wasn’t drinking, so I came to associate military talk with the angry, threatening drunk in our house. I don’t know if getting drunk made him think back to his Army days or if his experience in the Army made him want to get drunk. Once — only once — he told me of an actual combat incident, a time when he managed to blow up a German military vehicle, knowing that two soldiers were inside of it. I have no idea how he did it, or even if it really happened, but he wept in front of me when he told the story. I was confused at the time: Weren’t these Germans the enemy? What was wrong with incinerating them? Why would a grown man — a soldier — cry about it? Today I think I know.

I disappointed him. I wasn’t a brawler like him, or — during his lifetime — a drinker. I didn’t care to fish or hunt like he did with his brothers. I was a soft kid, a reader, a musician. I was in college during the last year of his life, and he had already written me off as an over educated oaf — his words exactly. I hope my memory is not playing tricks on me when I tell you that in his last few months I made my peace with him. Not directly face to face, because you can’t do that with an addict, but in my heart I forgave him, and I loved him, because he was my dad and he’d had it impossibly hard and he didn’t know how to deal with the whirlwind that was his life.

I don’t know if my father loved me, his firstborn. My parents had five children, and thinking back over those years it now seems to me that he — they — must have been scrambling like crazy to keep up with the life they had made for themselves. They survived the Depression, served in the War, then got married in a fever and before they knew it, had five kids. I’m sure it was all they could do to keep it together.

But I do know that I got an electric train for my fifth Christmas. A Lionel electric train. Just a small oval track, a locomotive and three cars, but it was a complete surprise and, to me, the best gift ever. It was set up and circling the base of the Christmas tree when I first saw it. Many years later my mother told me that he had bought it for me on the day I was born.

Happy birthday Pop, and thanks.

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It’s The Money

Might as well add my two cents to this issue:Madison Protesters

What’s going on in Wisconsin right now — the Republican governor and Republican majority in the state legislature attempting to cripple public employee unions — is not a political matter. It’s an economic matter. It’s another battle in the war on workers and the middle class that began in the eighties. It’s rich people and and rich corporations trying to get rid of labor unions and kill off the pesky middle class once and for all.

In the 2006 election the people of Wisconsin, like most voters nationwide, decided that the Democrats had had long enough to bring the economy back to life (two years), so they voted for Republicans instead. A lot of Democrats must have voted for Republicans, because Republican candidates can’t win with only Republicans voting for them. Whenever the voters do this, they live to regret it, although they rarely understand exactly how they got fucked.

Because the real constituents of the GOP — those rich people and rich corporations — don’t see anything wrong with the economy. They’re doing just fine, thank you, so what is there to “bring back to life?”

Understand, when I say “rich people” and “rich corporations,” I’m talking about unimaginable wealth. Unspendable amounts of money. Since Ronald Reagan got the ball rolling by destroying the air traffic controllers union in 1981, the working class in this country has seen their income stagnate or decline, while the upper class has taken most of that income and wealth for themselves. The top one hundredth of one percent of Americans now makes an average of $27 million per household, while the average income for the bottom 90% of us is a little over $31,000. Meanwhile, tax rates are currently at a 50-year low, and as billionaire Warren Buffet famously says, he is taxed at a lower rate than his secretary.

Yet these super rich don’t have enough. They have taken most of our jobs and sent them to countries where people are happy to work for a tiny fraction of what it costs to live in America, and now they say that American workers must “learn to compete in a global economy.” What they mean is we must learn to live on seven dollars an hour. In the future, even that seven bucks will be deemed too extravagant.

During most of the 20th century, the most prosperous century for the the most prosperous nation the world has ever known, labor unions have been the only protection the worker has had against powerful corporations, and so they are the natural enemy of the rich. The war has been going on for some time, and Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker’s plan to strip public employee unions of the right to collective bargaining is only the latest battle.

But it’s not really Democrats against Republicans. It’s the upper class trying to see if the time might be right — after two generations of misinformation — to turn workers against themselves. Recent polling seems to indicate that a majority in Wisconsin is not OK with this union-busting plan, regardless of how they may have voted in the last election.

The Republican majority in the state government may listen to this majority, or they may not. They are, after all, contolled by powerful corporate interests. Either way, judging from the massive protests going on in Wisconsin, it seems that the time has not yet arrived when American workers are ready to submit to this type of outrage.

But the American worker is in disarray, confused, divided against himself. We have been fed a stream of lies for such a long time that it has become difficult for us to see the truth. Most of us don’t want or need to earn a hundred million dollars a year. We want fair pay for honest work, decent working conditions, the ability to raise our families, go to the doctor when we need to, take a vacation every now and then, and live out our last years in dignity. It doesn’t seem like a lot to ask in this land of plenty.

Of course the upper class will fight us even in this modest ambition, because they and their corporations are programmed always to find ways to accumulate more and more money. They don’t “hate” the working class. But if the working class is comfortable, that means there is money on the table, and rich people will go after it.

They are well organized, smart, relentless and ruthless. I wonder if we are up to it.

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Centennial

Today would have been my mother’s 100th birthday.

When Ronald Reagan ran for governor of California, I thought it was a joke. When he won, I thought it was just Californians being their kooky California selves. When I found out my mother had voted for him, I was both horrified and confused. Were we not an enlightened, humanist, family of Democrats?! She was unable to explain her vote to me, except to say something like “Oh, I don’t know. I just like him.”

Yesterday was the first time I realized that Reagan was almost exactly the same age as my mom. I’ve always suspected that she married my father because, in a certain light and wearing a certain hat, he looked like Humphrey Bogart. Now I realize that she had another secret affair with Ronnie the dashing young actor who was not just of her generation, but whose entire life paralleled her own, if only chronologically.

Reagan has been a thorn in my side ever since he became governor and started cutting funds to education in California. When I graduated from a California state college it was his signature on my diploma, but I’m sure he would much rather have dismantled the whole college system rather than let freeloaders like me get a decent, affordable education. Then as President one of his first official acts was to fire all the air traffic controllers, who had a union and were striking for better wages and working conditions. Imagine!

Now that he’s dead there’s an entire industry in this country devoted to making him the “Greatest President of the 20th Century.” But let’s take a brief look at who he really was, and what he really did.

For one thing, he was a Democrat before he was a Republican. A staunch, hard-left liberal Democrat. And a union leader to boot. So much for loyalty and principle. When General Electric hired him to shill for them, the Democratic hat didn’t fit, so he changed it.

As for that whole tax-cutting myth, he raised taxes six of the eight years he was in the White House, including one increase that was the largest in history. I owned a small business during those years, and I was seriously gouged.

A law abiding man of honor? While President, he used his office to commit at least two felonies. He sent money to the Contras in Nicaragua to support their insurrection against the communist Sandinista government, an action prohibited by Congress under the Boland Amendment. And where did he get that money? From the sale of missiles and other weapons to — say it with me — Iran! Never mind that Iran was then (and now) under an arms embargo. Both of these actions were impeachable offenses, and even though Reagan admitted doing them in a televised speech, the investigation was impeded when his administration destroyed documents relating to the scandal. Reagan, as we know, skated.

I could go on. He kicked off his presidential campaign in Philadelphia, Mississippi, using the veiled racist code phrase “states rights.” Gorbachev was already well into glasnost when Reagan made his grandstand demand for him to “tear down this wall.” Aren’t you sick of seeing that clip over and over? Then there was his totally made-up slur about the “welfare queen,” making baby after baby and driving to pick up her various entitlement checks in her new Cadillac. His wacky “Star Wars” missile defense system, which was supposed to shoot down Soviet rockets in space but has never worked and is still draining the budget 25 years later. And of course the ultimate insult to the American worker, his theory of “trickle-down” economics, which basically says that rich people should always get all the breaks and the rest of us should be happy with whatever money they happen to spill as they become unimaginably wealthier. Let us eat cake, brothers and sisters.

Reagan began a war on the middle class that continues to this day, and his obsession with getting government out of the way of big business leads in a straight line to the economic meltdown we had in 2008 and which is still robbing millions of ordinary Americans of their homes, their livlihoods and their dignity.

Was he senile and mentally incapacitated during the latter part of his term? Who knows and who cares? Maybe I can’t hold him directly responsible for all the damage that was done in his name in the eighties and beyond, but somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Despite all this there is actually an organization whose mission it is to get a building or an airport or a monument named after Ronald Reagan in all 50 states. Actually, I don’t know if they’re still around. From the looks of things they may have reached their goal by now and settled into smug retirement.

So anyway, happy 100th birthday, Mom. I loved you dearly and still owe you big time. But you know you were wrong about Reagan, don’t you?

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Encore Post: New Year’s Eve, 2005

What’s the point of keeping a blog (“web log,” for you youngsters) if you don’t go back and look at it occasionally?

On the last day of 2005, after about 14 months of writing revision99, this is — in part — what was on my mind:

A lot of bloggers seem to think it’s a good idea to recap the past year, because it’s almost over and we’re starting a new one. This is helpful to me because I can barely remember what time I went to bed last night, much less what crime against reason was committed by what administration official in March (oh, yeah, it was the Terry Schiavo fiasco). Even so, I don’t pay much attention to these annual reviews. Life goes on, despite the numbers we put on the years. I haven’t figured out if it’s a circle or a straight line or maybe a downward spiral, but it does seem to be just one damned thing after another, and bundling the events of one arbitrary time period into a package to reflect on doesn’t make much sense to me.

Still, I just want to take a moment on New Year’s Eve to make a couple of observations:

  • I am the only one (so far) among those I think of as my blogging buddies who is blogging today, the biggest party day of the year. So, no matter how I try to paint myself here, I guess I have no life.
  • I am deeply grateful to those same blogging buddies for all you have written over the past year, the first full year of revision99, on your blogs and in my comments section. I feel like I have made friends here, and thanks in part to you Precious Few, I have learned something about my place in the world. It’s not as exalted as I’d hoped it would be, but knowing where you stand is important if you’re going to move on.
  • Some bloggers that I read have disappeared, and I miss them. I find myself checking for new posts on defunct blogs, hoping they’d come back. Some just stopped writing, some made announcements and stopped writing, some took down their sites and some left the old sites intact, like ghost towns, full of the past, but no life. I wish the rest of you wouldn’t do this to me. Have you no concern for your readers with no life? … I know we all hoped we’d have readers when we started doing this, but how many of us anticipated that we’d be setting up expectations, and things we do (or stop doing) actually affect people we don’t even know? If I had a million readers I guess it would be easier to quit, but you Precious Few are really so few that I could totally afford to buy you all brunch if you came to my town on the same day. When the day comes that I have to say goodbye, I see now that it could be as tearful as any real life separation. And, sure, brunch will be on me.

That’s it. I know you’re all getting ready for tonight’s parties. Chances are you won’t see this until 2006, but just in case, when you’re all smooching and toasting each other at midnight, raise a glass for me. I’ll be sleeping in front of my television, and dreaming of you.


I didn’t think that blogs would be the CB radio of the 21st century, a giant snowball of a fad that would vanish as quickly as it had arrived, leaving all of us a little embarrassed at what we had said and done. Obviously, the trend was already disappearing as I wrote this post five years ago, but at the time I was still astounded at the underground literacy I had found around the country, and didn’t believe the world would ever be the same. What happened?
Maybe we all decided we had said enough, or that enough had been said by us all. Maybe we felt pushed aside by the professional bloggers, the ones who blog for the New York Times, or for all-blog internet “newspapers” like the Huffington Post. I know I spend more time than I used to in arcane online forums dealing with audio recording and vintage electric guitars — maybe a lot of us are preoccupied in quilting forums and such. Maybe we’ve switched to Facebook (240 characters per post) or Twitter (140…?).
Whatever. I still dream of you.
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Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world

It’s kind of repulsive to watch all the maneuvering.

Since the gun attack this past weekend in Tucson, politicians and talking heads of all persuasions have been trying to show how far above the fray they are, dancing near the line of decency and occasionally sticking a toe over it, pulling back quickly.Smoking_Gun

Tonight the President spoke at the memorial rally service and said we should learn from this shocking event to be more civil to one another, and the crowd cheered mourners nodded agreement. Nice try, Mr. President.

Of course, after a few days we’ll stop being more civil. Most of the public figures who have spoken or written publicly about the incident are already spinning their remarks one way or the other: Democrats say the radical right has created an atmosphere in which people think it’s OK to shoot people with whom they don’t agree. Republicans are defensive about being unfairly attacked from the left. Embracing both sides, the gun lobby has restated its opinion that if everybody carried guns this could have been avoided.

The polite masks are already cracking and if history is a guide we will soon be at each others throats again. We will not be able to control our emotions, nor will our politicians be able to control the gun lovers. We will forget this latest bloody rampage, as we have forgotten all the ones that came before it.

And then, once we have settled back into our regular patterns of intolerance, it will happen again.

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It’s Up to Your Knees Out There

In keeping with my holiday tradition of trying to perform music that is beyond my abilities, I have made another Christmas recording for you, the Precious Few.Blinking-Tree

This is my fourth such presentation here on the blog, so I figure at this rate in about eight more years I’ll have a complete half-assed Christmas album. In the meantime you could, if you were so inclined, listen to the entire collection by clicking on the “Categories” menu in the right sidebar over there, selecting “Musix,” and scrolling down to whatever looks Christmas-ey.

I do almost all my writing and recording all by myself. I like to work that way because I can do things at my own pace and make all the final decisions myself without having to argue with anybody about it. Mind you, I don’t claim that all my decisions are the “right” ones. It’s just that I’m no longer trying to make hit records or satisfy music publishers or record companies, so why shouldn’t I give myself the final, undisputed say on how the project sounds?

This year, however, I decided to try “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” which is a duet, so by definition I’m not alone on this one. Frank Loesser wrote this song in 1944, and sang it at parties with his wife, Lynn, for years. But Frank, being a professional songwriter, eventually sold it to MGM for a movie. According to the story, Lynn was furious, because she considered it “their song.” On the other hand, it won an Oscar for Best Original Song in 1949, and Frank could always write another song for him and Lynn.

I’ve always been amused at the story underlying the words to this song. The girl is acting as if she can’t and won’t stay with the guy, but even she knows that she will in the end. And the guy seems pretty sure of himself, too, though he continues to make his case all the way to the end, as if the outcome is in doubt. Personally I like the charade.

My singing partner is my friend Kitti Lynn Pagano. I love her sweet voice and her perfect pitch. I called her during the summer and asked if she wanted to sing a Christmas song with me. She might have thought I was kidding or crazy, but she agreed. Then before I knew it it was almost Thanksgiving, and time to get started.

First I called Kitti and suggested we make sure we agreed on a good key for us both to sing in. To my relief she not only remembered, she said she’d been about to call me! I sent her a couple of MP3’s of different versions of the song, but it turns out there are many, many versions of it on YouTube, and she found one that was just right for her. Turns out it is a little low for me, but I can hit all the notes, at least theoretically, so we went with it (It’s B-flat if you’re keeping score).

I recorded a rhythm guitar part, and immediately started regretting my choice of song, the deadline that I had (Christmas!), and occasionally even being born. This kind of music is not in my wheelhouse. I love it, but I’m no good at it. Add to that the fact that I do not play piano — and there is a piano part on this — and I was not feeling very good about the endeavor.

But it was too late to back out, and finally I had enough music recorded to invite Kitti over to sing. I had already sung a rough version of the boy vocal part and sent it to her, so she’d know what she was getting into. Kitti’s not a recording artist, so when she came to the house I tried to make her feel at home, gave her some Celestial Seasonings Bengal Spice tea (I highly recommend this, especially at the holidays), schmoozed her for a while, let her choose from four different headsets to wear, and generally tried to put her at ease.

I need not have gone to the trouble. As soon as I pressed record Kitti delivered a series of near-perfect takes, and while I did try to coach her about her delivery, in the end I felt as if I could use any one of them as the “final.” Still, I’ve worked with a lot of singers in the studio, and they always want to “correct” something after they’ve gone home and listened to the rough mix for a while. So when we were finished for the evening I told her I’d email her a rough mix and she could come back in a week and sing it again if she wanted.

I was about half right: When I spoke to her on the phone a few days later she did want to come back and fix something. But when we got back together the following weekend it turned out that what she wanted to do was go back and sing it the way she sang it before I coached her. And so she did, and she was right. I shouldn’t have been meddling with such a sweet sound in the first place. I’m lucky Kitti ignored my “help,” and went with her instinct.

After that I sang my own part again, enough times to convince myself that it wasn’t going to get any better, and then returned attention to the music track. The problem was that it didn’t have much spark or bounce. The piano playing sounded like a junior high school teacher accompanying a student recital. I brought in the great Don Wittsten to play bass, and he added some jazzy motion to the track with his homemade Schecter fretless bass, but maybe not enough to cover my own amateur playing on everything else.

I kept messing with the mix and trying different guitar parts. I think I ended up keeping four guitars, the piano, drums and bass, plus the charmingly out-of-tune synthesizer bells. I learned a lot during this project. I probably should have started doing this kind of thing decades ago. Then I might be able to pull it off better by now.

At last, here it is: Baby, It’s Cold Outside. I hope you enjoy it, even with the blemishes that I couldn’t fix. It’s a little awkward, but it’s heartfelt, and so is my wish that you all have a very merry Christmas.

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If You Want It

Feeling sad, edgy, melancholy tonight.

John Lennon died 30 years ago today. I don’t know why I care. I guess, for all of his superstardom, he was a regular guy, a musician, a dreamer. I can relate. All the documentaries end the same way. You hope they won’t, that it’s been a mistake, but in the end John dies a violent death every time, only 40 years old and right after coming back to his music. Our music.

So there’s that, and then there’s politics. It doesn’t matter what the current issue happens to be. For the record it’s about extending the Bush-era tax cuts, which by law would expire in a few weeks. But it doesn’t matter once you realize that the government is no longer in charge of anything. All the “debates” and arguments on both sides are simply so much posing by the elected officials. But they are owned by international corporations. I had great hope for Barack Obama to bring real change to Washington, and I’m sure he expected to do just that. But reality trumps hope.

I’ve been listening to Christmas music for a couple of weeks now. I love the season, but lately I feel as if I’m loving it from the outside. I long for peace and love, but I see war and hate. So when I hear a song like “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” it just breaks my heart. Maybe John had a deeper insight than he or any of us knew when he sang “War is over if you want it.”

We just don’t want it.

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