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Monday, November 22, 2010

Bottom Lines and Bottom Feeders

I've been away from the keyboard for a couple of weeks, and I'm not going to pretend I didn't enjoy it. I don't clearly remember what led up to the unscheduled hiatus, except that it was election day, and the big choice here in the Lone Star State were between our career Governor, Mr. "True Men Do So Kill Coyotes", whose victory lap included a visit to the set of "The Daily Show" so that he could assure Jon Stewart that he doesn't really want his state to secede from the union, and his opponent, whose campaign was dominated by a series of hysterical, lying TV commercials about how the incumbent used to hold little girls down while Dr. Frankenstein forcibly injected them with untested mutant viruses while Igor held their weeping, pleading parents at gunpoint. I just remember looking at that ballot and the room beginning to spin. Everything that's happened since then is a little hazy, but the nurses tell me that today was the first day they've put the laptop in front of me without my starting to scream, so I might as well take advantage of it. Under the circumstances, I beg your indulgence as I touch upon what by now is some pretty old news. It's not much, but it's really all I have since I ended up blowing off National Novel Writing Month again.



The best thing about living with an accelerated news cycle is that, it turns out, we've managed to speed up the rate at which questions of journalistic ethics can now be chewed over and put to bed. I refer to the matter of Keith Olbermann, who, at the end of the week of the midterm elections, was suspended, without pay, from his MSNBC show for an "indefinite" period of time for having made campaign contributions to three politicians who had professed views that ay regular viewer of his show might have guessed would be to his liking. After the entire world expressed dismay and ridicule over this, the network announced that the indefinite period of time would amount to Olbermann's missing two days of work. The big upshot of all this was that when it came a little later that Joe Scarborough, MSNBC's "conservative" voice, had also made campaign contributions, he automatically got two days off and nobody pretended to give a shit. (After the news first broke, MSNBC was quick to clarify its position: Olbermann, unlike David Weigel, was penalized not for having opinions but because he had broken a company rule that required him to inform his corporate masters before making any campaign contributions. This resulted in a new wave of ridicule and vituperation from those who, they said, couldn't think of any reason why a news organization that claimed to have no problem with one of its on-air employees making campaign contributions would get bent out of shape about not being apprised, in advance, of the employees' plans to do just that. (I can. If I'm going to put, say, Pat Buchanan on the air as one of my official commentators, and then Pat Buchanan decides to send a portion of his paycheck to a candidate whose platform calls for the establishment of White History Month and a federally funded pension for all accused Nazi war criminals, I'd just as soon not learn about it from Politico.)

Most everybody, from liberal bloggers to Fox News, and with MSNBC's Rachel Maddow and Olbermann himself prominent among those weighing in, saw this as a good excuse to give MSNBC a whack upside the head for the company's failure to recognize how silly it is to penalize journalists for exercising their rights as Americans to participate in the democratic process, in order to maintain some fraudulent pretense of total "objectivity". Or maybe it was for the company's failure to understand that things had changed, and that the "objective" reporter who never existed has been displaced by partisan blowhards whose whole appeal, if not their proof of integrity, lies in their having already made up their mind about everything and everyone. If it's the former, the debate is a long way from being new. In All the President's Men, the 1974 book by Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward about their work ferreting out the Watergate conspiracy, there's an odd moment towards the end when the authors, who wrote about themselves, and each other, in the third person, report that on election day, 1972, "Woodward" stayed home because he felt that it would be wrong for a reporter to sully his objectivity by casting a ballot, a view that, we're told, "Bernstain" regarded as "silly." Of course, "Woodward" would go on to become a man capable of publishing, within a space of four years, a book celebrating the great wisdom of the Bush White House and its war plans and another book denouncing the rash idiocy of the Bush White House and its war plans, with another book that could be read either way published in between. By that time, he had fulfilled his destiny by becoming the personification of the unreflective parroting of the conventional wisdom of the moment, which is all a journalist specializing in "objectivity" can ever hope to become.

What's really interesting about the whole Olbermann train wreck is the context in which it occurred: a moment that really began the morning after the elections, when conservative websites began attacking MSNBC for having had the most nakedly "partisan" coverage of the night, by virtue of their having allowed the likes of Olbermann and Maddow on the air at all during the election returns. Or maybe it began in the wake of the Jon Stewart-Stephen Colbert rally, which seems to have freaked out the MSNBC liberal talking heads pretty badly, so much so that Maddow complained on the air about any suggestion of moral equivalence between what she does and what, say, Sean Hannity does, while Olbermann, after doing some complaining of his own about how Jon Stewart just doesn't get him, was overcome with remorse at the very thought that he might be ratcheting up the polarization level and dropped his "World's Worst Persons" segment. (After democratically taking the measure of his own audience's feelings on the subject, he reinstated it, kind of--it's now the "(Not Really) Worst Persons in the World", which I take to be Olbermann's way of trying to make Stewart feel bad by awkwardly killing his own joke.) The reason that Fox News and other conservatives came to Olbermann's defense on this one is that they see the acknowledgement that nobody should be surprised to learn that Olbermann supported liberal candidates as a victory for them. It proves that he, like the rest of the liberal media, takes sides--which is supposed to discredit him and everybody else in the broadcast media except for Fox News, where everybody is fair and balanced.

There is indeed a difference between MSNBC and Fox News. MSNBC is a news channel that, after enjoying its greatest breakout success with Olbermann as he grew more openly partisan a commentator, has consciously shifted towards an opinion-news network for people who prefer to hear opinions that are left of center, a decision that was born of commercial calculation, if not commercial desperation. Fox News is a political operation devoted to promulgating a view of the world--a "narrative", as Jon Stewart likes to put it--that's beneficial to Republican candidates, many of whom it keeps on the air and on its payroll between elections. These are not the same thing, though in the past year or so it's become ever clearer that, while Fox News and its stars are at peace with their role in the life, the MSNBC stars are self-conscious and conflicted about theirs. While someone like Roger Ailes or Antonin Scalia, who between the two of them have a combined 144 years of deciding who among us is worthy of their respect according to who treats them with the greatest deference, think nothing of talking about someone as smart as Jon Stewart as if he were the village idiot and drill sergeant for the local chapter of Hitler youth, but the MSNBC gang want him to like them, and so are torn between snarling at any criticism he offers of them and wanting to make an insincere show of meeting him halfway. Olbermann even slammed Campbell Brown for having dared to suggest that her departure from the airwaves, leaving nothing but opinion news shows in a time slot where she had managed to do some very sharp "conventional" broadcast journalism, would deny the world something that it might have deemed useful. Olbermann, who responded to White House press secretary Robert Gibbs's saying that the Obama administration had been hampered by the complaints and demands of the "professional left" by having Michael Moore on his show to share his bewilderment about what this "professional left" could be--sort of like having David Vitter and Mark Sanford on to roll their eyes at the idea that family values Republicans have sometimes been guilty of moral hypocrisy--must feel that his brand of opinion news has to be seen as intrinsically superior to conventional news to justify its existence at all. Not only is he wrong, but his touchiness on the subject, like his and Maddow's overreaction to anything that they can possibly take as likening what they do to what Fox News does, just makes them seem insecure and invites attacks from enemies who can see all too well where their soft places lie.

Once upon a time, Fran Lebowitz can be seen lamenting on HBO, news readers gave you information; now you turn on the TV and all you see is a lineup of people blustering their opinions at you. A certain amount of "objective journalism" has always been pap; but there were also a number of reporters, such as the late Andy Klein, who covered New York's City Hall for The New Yorker for twenty-five years and who once explained the elegant viciousness of her style by saying, "The worst thing you can do to politicians is to quote them verbatim", who knew how to make it exactly clear to readers what they thought about what they were reporting without shouting insults through a megaphone. This is actually a lot closer to hard work than figuring out who you were going to call a werewolf your next time at bat, and even Hunter Thompson relied on a base of actual reporting to do his job. But nowadays, anyone with access to the right blogroll can figure out who he hates without any information at all. The downside of this sort of rigidity is apparently that it turns you into a predictable stiff while your self-righteousness eats your sense of humor alive; at least, that's what happened to Olbermann. Rachel Maddow, God bless her, is still a lot of fun to watch and can be actually informative, though she needs to pull back on that shtick of hers where she grins like the Joker and flails her arms while assuring her that she thinks it is so! hilarious! that black-souled people of evil intent are destroying the country. Based on how long it took Olbermann to go from essential to insufferable, she may have another five or six good years on TV ahead of her--unless that process has been accelerated, too.

Fox News is indeed a whole other story, and one that should be covered as a story: real news organizations ought to report on its activities and what it's telling its idiot viewers the same way that they report on the doings of the RNC. We got a taste of what that looks like when, for reasons not clear to me and probably baffling to Roger Ailes, news organizations got it in their heads to report on the Fox News meme lying about the cost of the President's trip to India. When actual news organizations deign to treat this sort of thing as news, they go that extra mile of trying to run down how it got started, which is sweet of them--it involves the presumption that Fox News cares about whether what it "reports" has any basis in fact--but puts the network in a funny place, since it requires them to pretend as if, yes, they really did believe it at the time, which, if true, would mean they were very stupid indeed. For genuine, heartbreaking stupidity, one need check out the blogs written by people who see this shit on the air on the Internet, take it on faith that it must be true, and are then left wondering how to handle it when Fox News itself decides to just let this one go. Typical enough is the case of this simpleton, who bought into the one about the $200 million price tag, the 34 warships, and even the "special air conditioned tunnel" built by the U.S. military "so Obama can visit the Gandhi museum"--things that no one with more than four of five living brain cells could have ever believed, and that certainly none of the Fox newsreaders or Republican congressmen who passed it along could have conceivably believed might be true--and then sheepishly wrote that "we may have been punked by the Indian media", only to add that, of course, "we still don’t know what this is costing us." Just because the information wasn't true doesn't mean that it might not really be true, right? Fight the future!

This is a cretin's version of what has become the media's favorite explanation for the President's political reversals: it's his fault that nobody knows better. Supposedly rational, thoughtful conservatives--the kind who know that Obama isn't a Muslim and was born in America--have argued that you can't blame people who think that Obama is a foreign-born Muslim, because he's done such a bad job of seeming Christian and American. It might seem strange, given that Obama lowered taxes on most Americans, that the Republicans managed to ride back to glory thanks to a grass roots movement with a name inspired by a tax protest movement, but you have to understand that many of these people think that their taxes have stayed the same or gone up in the past two years, and it's Obama's fault that they can't count. It's the rare conservative these days who'll admit to seeing anything wrong with either maintaining the Bush-era tax policy that cratered the economy (after intensifying the income gap that's been warping American society for three decades) or the open, unapologetic racism and terror of whites losing their majority hold on the culture that's become more and more a part of acceptable Republican discourse, two years after the polite ladies and gentlemen of the media assured us all that Obama's election would end even subtle appeals to racism as a part of our politics, forever. The same people who, starting with the 2006 midterms and picking up steam with the 2008 financial collapse, began crooning about the need to remake the Republican party for a new technological age, with more sophisticated and fairer ideas aimed at attracting a more culturally mixed audience, are now so thrilled to be part of what they see as a winning team again that they're busy using their university degrees to cook up explanations for why William F. Buckley would be all chuffed to know that his conservative movement is safely in the hands of Lonesome Rhodes.

By a funny coincidence, Obama's predecessor, former President Gussie W. Fink-Nottle, Jr., has been out there since the midterms, promoting his memoir, and reminding us all what it looks like when someone isn't too shy to tell us exactly what he's done for us and how much we should love him for it. The coincidence was almost even funnier: Gussie's book, which was published the week after the elections, was originally scheduled to come out the week before, before the party faithful pointed out to him that it might be nicer if he waited until after everyone had cast their votes before reminding us all how much we'd missed him. Say what you like, this is a guy who understands the importance of marketing, even if he doesn't know how to communicate this understanding to us without making you long to see him bleeding underneath a totaled eighteen-wheeler. You've probably heard that the Dauphin who crashed the economy and gave us two wars because he wanted, as he writes, to "kick the ass" of the people who planned 9/11--something he never managed to do, partly because he chose to tie up his military with two wars, one of which was against a despot who wouldn't have crossed the street to spit on those people whose asses he wanted to kick--believes that the low point of his presidency came when he was dissed by Kanye West, and that his biggest regret about the handling of Katrina is that he allowed his picture to be taken aboard Air Force One while flying over the destroyed city, an image that he thinks sent the wrong, "uncaring" message. This near-sociopathic focus on the surface of things, and his belief that the most important thing about his presidency is how events affected his optimistic mood rather than how his jackassery affected the lives of people all over the world, goes hand in hand with his having spent his first year and change as an ex-president hurriedly throwing together a book about how right he was about everything, so that he could go on talk shows and assure us all that he has no fear of history's verdict, which he knows will be in his favor but probably won't come until after all of us are dead. The spectacle made me realize that his father, former President Gussie H. W. Fink-Nottle, Sr., is the first man since before World War I to leave the U.S. presidency alive and in good health who hasn't written or participated in the writing of a book, or many books, meant to explain what the hell he thought he was doing. I'm no fan of Gussie the Elder, but he does give a better job than his son of convincing you that he isn't sitting up nights worrying about what people are going to say about him when he's no longer around to spit back, "Who cares what you think?"

None of this is surprising; Gussie, Jr.'s opinions about his accomplishments were as predictable at the time as his actions were predictable even before he was awarded the brass ring by the Social Darwinist-Surrealist wing of the Supreme Court, and he understands that whatever appeal he has for anyone is tied up in his always remaining the same, having not changed as a human being in any way since he made the fateful decision to become a dry drunk when he was forty. It's too bad that he'll never become the kind of phony statesman that Richard Nixon became in retirement, as a consequence of his continuing to present himself to interviewers who were too bashful and polite to ask him about his past and so had to ask him questions about the larger world. I'd have loved to have heard Junior answer questions about how he feels when he sees the Republican party that he hoped to open up to Hispanic voters antagonize people with its baiting of illegal immigrants, and how, given his insistence, in the wake of 9/11, that we were not fighting Islam, he feels about his party being taken over by rhetoric to the effect that Muslims are monsters and that Islam is exactly what we're fighting. I'd like to know how he feels about Karen Hughes, his old enabler and onetime envoy to the Muslim world, turning on Feisal Abdul Rauf. once her and Bush's man in the Middle East but now a Republican whipping boy for his connection to what the gang at Fox News calls "the 9/11 mosque." Since Junior left office, things have shifted so that, if he wanted to use whatever standing he still has with Republican voters, he call out for a colorblind party and religious tolerance and denounce race-baiting and bigotry. He could actually serve a purpose for his country, and pay it back for a lifetime spent profiting on his name and connections. But I guess why start now, right?

A Republican resurgence built on frustration, and worse, over Obama's leadership wasn't exactly hard to see coming. Two years ago, all the smart people were predicting that Obama and his party would pay a price in the midterms if the economy wasn't all better by this past fall, and I don't know who really thought that the mess that Junior left behind could be fully repaired in two years. There's good reason to suspect that the recovery, such as it is, hasn't been all that it might have been if Obama had been bolder and more willing to consult economists who had less to do with signing off on the credit-drenched, anti-regularity culture that led us to hell in the first place. Still, the anger people have been directing at Obama directly seems too over-scaled and irrational for much of it to be on point, and the thoughtful-conservative types who keep congratulating the Tea Party voters and candidates for their frothing, misdirected rage, or at least absolving them of any responsibility to think clearly when they're panicked and afraid, seem willfully blind to how much they sound like narrators of History Channel documentaries describing conditions in pre-Hitler Germany. I'm not saying that der Fuhrer is heading into D.C. on the next train, but the latest elections have brought a staggering number of mischievous wackos to new prominence, the discredited loons of fifty years ago are being touted by Glenn Beck and sold to a larger audience than they ever hoped to reach in the bad old days, and people are kicking around ideas for disenfranchising working-income people and states'-rights schemes that would have brightened Bull Connors's heart, and not even being tarred and feathered for it. Much of the blame for this has to be put at Obama's feet, if only for his misguided commitment to seeming to want to reach out and compromise with people who will never give him any credit for attempted acts of bipartisanship, because they consider his very existence an affront to their way of life and his election to high office an illegal and tyrannical act. What's needed, in both government and those who cover it, is people who can act grown-up without being wimps.

Saturday, November 06, 2010

Ceilings and Side Exits

When I was still in grade school, not yet knowing what to do with even a fantasy celebrity crush, I had one on Jill Clayburgh. I had never heard of Clayburgh before I saw her hosting Saturday Night Live during its first season, in the spring of 1976, but she was funny, game, and sang Huey "Piano" Smith's "Sea Cruise" while wearing a sailor hat and a shirt that was tied off above her navel. (As a child, I always had a thing for exposed midriffs.) At the time, Clayburgh was about thirty-two and had just had her first starring role in a movie, playing Carole Lombard to a prosthetic-eared James Brolin as Clark Gable in Gable and Lombard, possibly the stupidest movie ever made about Hollywood and probably still one of the worst movies of all time. (Please, whatever other mistakes you make in your life, do not mistake this for any kind of recommendation. It's not "so bad that it must be kind of good." It's just a pile of shit.) The closest thing to something interesting about it might actually be the scale of the miscasting. As a comic actress, Lombard was a glamorous, adorable ditz; Clayburgh had strange, half-asleep eyes that often looked clouded over with desire, but she also came across as dry and grounded, as if she were trying to regain her footing after having let passion carry her away. In half the TV and movie roles I've seen her in that preceded Gable and Lombard, she played likable prostitutes, and in the other half, she played the hero's ex-wife.

The movie that made Clayburgh a star was Paul Mazursky's An Unmarried Woman (1978). In its day, it was a zeitgeist movie, and it's a prime example of the phenomenon where an artist has his biggest commercial and critical success with a work that doesn't really show his talents at their best. I'm a fan of Mazursky's; I think that, at his best, he knows how to satirize characters and the moment they're living in without trivializing or condescending to them, but An Unmarried Woman, in which Clayburgh played a single mother in her mid-thirties trying to put her life back together after her husband has confessed an affair and walked out on her, isn't satire, and it isn't really a character portrait either: it's the work of an intelligent man who grew up in the pre-feminist era bending over backwards trying to show that he gets it, and afraid to use what's always been his best tool in these matters, his sense of humor, for fear of appearing unserious.

It did make sense that Clayburgh--not a kid anymore, brainy-seeming, and radiating both a longing for sensual pleasures and the scars of past frustrations--should become the poster child for urban women of the consciousness-raising era. But there are limitations in being a culture hero, and it can also make you a target. Newsweek used to have a sports columnist named Pete Axthelm who had trouble keeping his mind on sports, and who often came across as so anxious about the passing of an American where gender lines were clearly defined and set in concrete that his black and white photo accompanying his copy almost seemed to be trying to grow out its chest hair right there on the page. As I recall it, Axthelm was very upset with Newsweek's zeitgeist-conscious movie critic, Jack Kroll, for having loved An Unmarried Woman, and wrote a column saying so, which tended to jump out at you, because when you turned to the magazine's regular sports columnist, you didn't expect to see a photo of Jill Clayburgh wearing a T-shirt and bikini panties.

Again, keep in mind that I'm relying on thirty-two-year-old memories here, but I swear that a big part of his problem was that he saw the movie in a theater where the concession stand sold chocolate chip cookies, which, as a manly man who was very concerned about the continued manliness of his country, offended his understanding of movies as manly entertainments made to be experienced in manly theaters, with manly concession sellers who, if you asked for a cookie, would strap you down and stick a funnel in your mouth and jam popcorn and Milk Duds down your gullet until you grew a pair. I know, I know. But if there were guys like that writing for Newsweek in 1978, you can bet that there were guys like that who were in charge of deciding who got cast in certain movies, and that it couldn't have been a great thing for Clayburgh's career that her biggest hit made her synonymous in their minds with why their wives suddenly wanted to go back to school. Not that a male chauvinist pig conspiracy among movie executives was necessary to explain why Clayburgh's career hit the wall so fast. But when things started going wrong for her, I wonder how many people who might have been in a position to help her out climb of the rut she was in were too busy taking satisfaction from it.

In the New York Times obituary for Clayburgh, who died yesterday at 66 after a long bout with chronic leukemia, there are upbeat quotes from an interview that Clayburgh gave the Times in 1982. (“People think about me, ‘This wonderful lucky woman, she’s got it all. But gee, that’s how I feel about Meryl Streep.”) The obituary itself doesn't stress that 1982 was exactly as far as Clayburgh's movie star career got. She had her big fling as an international art movie diva in the ambitious Bertolucci flop Luna (1979), in which she was physically and temperamentally miscast as a famous opera singer who hits on her son, who looks like a little Joe Dallesandro. She was the woman to Burt Reynolds's "the man" in Starting Over, one of those picking-up-the-pieces-and-getting-back-out-there sensitive post divorce romances, had to decide whether to dump Charles Grodin after she meets Michael Douglas (give me a break) in Its My Turn, made Walter Matthau grumpy by becoming the first woman appointed to the Supreme Court in First Monday in October, got addicted to Valium in I'm Dancing as Fast as I Can, fretted about being the child of Holocaust survivors who'd been appointed to defend a Palestinian accused of terrorism in an Israeli court in Costa-Gavras's Hanna K, and, after a three-year absence from the screen, wondered where the hell her kids were in Where Are the Children? That was pretty much it. It's an amazing list, all the more so for the fact that none of these--none of them--were Lifetime television movies, which would be the first thing you'd guess if you only the titles and plot synopses to go by. At some point, the erotic charge in Clayburgh's squint died, and her eyes looked as if they were clouded not by desire but creative frustration.

Sometime around 1990, I saw Clayburgh on Bob Costas's old late night talk show. He made no attempt to conceal his bewilderment over where her career had gone, and she made no attempt to pretend that he had reason to be confused. She, in turn, made no attempt to pretend that she didn't understand the question. Her only answer for it was to point out that it was not, even in retrospect, clear why she should have said no to some of the choices that didn't work out: why, at that point in her career, would she have turned down the chance to star in a movie for Bernardo Bertolucci? Anyway, what the hell, right? She spent the next twenty years working steadily, and if the movie roles were mostly even more forgettable, she did some good work on TV and returned to the stage and had two children with her husband of thirty years. I'm still a little haunted by Clayburgh's stalled movie stardom, though. Not because I think there was anything sinister about it, but because it points up the fragility of success and the thin, flickering line between the right and the wrong choices. Consider Clayburgh's own comparison of herself to Meryl Streep; in roughly the same time frame that Clayburgh hit and faded, Streep had her own big zeitgeist success, Kramer vs. Kramer, then followed that up with a handful of high profile film that ranged from lame (The French Lieutenant's Woman, Silkwood, Falling in Love) to unwatchable (Sophie's Choice, Still of the Night), and came out on the other side firmly established as The Official Greatest Actress in Movies. Okay, some of them sold more tickets than any of Clauyburgh's movies, even if none of them were exactly Back to the Future. But there's also some hard-to-pin-down quality dividing Streep's choices from Clayburgh's. To put it bluntly, making a dud with Mike Nichols about Karen Silkwood was, in the early '80s, a certifiably Oscar-bait A-list-movie kind of bad idea; playing a Valium addict in a based-on-a-true-story melodrama was a shouldn't-this-be-a-TV-movie? kind of bad idea. Some kinds of bad ideas are better for establishing your career than others, and at a crucial moment, Clayburgh made a steady stream of the wrong kind.

Wednesday, November 03, 2010

Pay No Attention to the Man Sitting in My Lap, Telling Me That It Would Take Great Daring and Leadership Ability for Me to Give Him My Cheese Fries

From The New York Times:

President George W. Bush considered dumping Vice President Dick Cheney from his 2004 reelection ticket to dispel the myths about Mr. Cheney’s power in the White House and “demonstrate that I was in charge,” the former president says in a new memoir.

The idea came from Mr. Cheney...

Monday, November 01, 2010

Drysdale Nation

It was fun seeing David Stockman on 60 Minutes last night. Whatever you think of his politics or his management skills, Stockman is a genuine weirdo, apparently incapable of not saying what he thinks and, even stranger for a sometime political figure, capable of forming thoughts that have a basis in something other than his personal ideology. As Reagan's first budget director, Stockman believed in the pure doctrine of supply side economics and thought that he was going to be allowed to redefine government finance by slashing both taxes and federal spending. Then he found out that, while he was going to be slashing taxes as planned, thus cutting back on the amount of revenue the government would be bringing in, Reagan wouldn't actually be cutting spending to anything like the degree that Stockman knew would be necessary to balance things out, because it would be politically unpopular, but that everyone was sure that things would work out anyway, because, well, just because.

It was one of the great defining moments of the modern Republican party, and Reagan hadn't been in office for a year before he was complaining about the illogic and dishonesty of this to William Greider for a cover story in The Atlantic. After the article caused an uproar, Stockman was called on the carpet by Reagan and told reporters that he had promised to never be honest about economic matters again. He somehow kept his job for another four years, but he just couldn't help himself, and a year after leaving office, he published a memoir in which he wrote about how bad he felt about having sold out his principles and bloated the federal deficit. Stockman's career has been a testament to how innocent many of the people who, at a superficial glance, appear cold-hearted and unfeelingly cynical may actually be. He thought that he'd signed on with a bunch of people whose devotion to a perfect paper solution to economic problems would make them immune to mere political considerations, and when he found out that this wasn't so, some part of him might have believed that, if he could just make the king hear his truthful summons, the king would step in and make everything right, and now, after a "thirty year spree of phony prosperity", he told Lesley Stahl that he's sorrowful and amazed that his Republican brethren--the ones who still run for office, anyway--are still preaching a phony anti-tax gospel without any willingness to rile voters by significantly cutting their entitlements. Those who lived through the Gingrich revolution and the Republican-majority Bush years but who, as tomorrow's elections draw near, are assuring us that the Republicans who are tapping into the Tea Party movement for juice will suddenly turn into properly functioning grown-ups as soon as they get into office might want to take note.

Stockman was interviewed in the course of a report on ballot initiatives, such as Seattle's I-1098, which " would="would impose an income tax on individuals earning $200,000 or more a year and couples earning $400,000 and up." Stahl spoke to the official public face of the proposal, Bill Gates, Sr.--whose son, Bill Gates, Jr., is the one with all the money, and who is also a big supporter of the bill. Stahl also spoke to opponents of this tax-the-rich measure, such as Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer and INRIX CEO Bryan Mistele, who looked right into the camera and said with a straight face that it's easy for Bill Junior to be for taxing the superrich, because he himself wouldn't have to pay a dime in taxes if the measure passed, because it will only tax new money and he'd made his already! This was complete rot, of course; the complete list of possible explanations for Mistele saying it goes like this: he's such a complete and total liar that he qualifies as a sociopath, or he's so utterly stupid that he thinks there's a man who looks just like him living in his shaving mirror. I am not qualified to speculate on which of these two options is the one that applies, but any stockholders in his company who happened to see the interview and thus learned that it's one or the other must have experienced a real thrill.

Ballmer, who like other CEOs is threatening to move his fucking company if the measure passes, preferred to take the position, which former Bush chief economic advisor Greg Mankiw, to Michael Kinsley's delight, recently took on the New York Times' op-ed page: namely, that if you start taking rich people's money away by taxing them, then they won't have the incentive to be creative anymore and they won't bother working as hard and things will go to shit. The first thing to acknowledge about this line of argument is that it is indeed terrifying to imagine where we might be now if George W. Bush's chief economic advisor had worked less hard and been less creative than he had to be to get us where we'd gotten by 2008. I'd be more shaken by his plight if I hadn't spent years where I didn't make enough money to really taxes at the end of the year--thus making me one of those a celebrated Wall Street Journal editorial once termed "lucky duckies"--but I was still subject to federal withholding tax on my meager paychecks. I remember thinking I could have used the money, but it never occurred to me that I might get anywhere by threatening a boycott of my services. Xertainly I never wrote a New York Times op-ed tp this effect. True, they never asked me to, probably because of some administrative oversight.

My own feelings about taxes and the part they play in helping to maintain the necessary elements of a civilized society--schools, infrastructure, a basic economic security net for those less fortunate, shit like that-- from which we all benefit was twisted out of shape when I was too young to fend off the propaganda of the liberal media conspiracy. The means by which my mind was penetrated and my individualistic will broken was a socialist situation comedy called The Beverly Hillbillies. To orient those of you who missed it, or who only saw the movie, which really didn't capture the full spirit of the original, here's the core situation: Jed Clampett, an ignorant product of rural Arkansas, has become independently wealthy thanks to the largesse of Big Oil, which moved in and applied some good old American grit and industrial know-how to his discovery of natural fuel reserves on his land, a discovery so accidental in nature that it's like winning the lottery. Rolling in it, Jed relocates to the West Coast, where he puts his newfound wealth in the capable hands of Milburn Drysdale, Republican banker.

The show's central conflict, as integral to its conception as Joe Friday's intolerance for lawbreakers, is this: Jed, being an uneducated backwoodsman and product of the New Deal era who fails to recognize that the Great Society is the big bad wolf camped outside the door of his Beverly Hills mansion, thinks that he should use the inexhaustible riches at his command to help out his fellow citizens and do good works; he is charitable by nature and pays his taxes without complaint. For Mr. Drysdale, the steward of the Clampett millions, the thought of Jed doing anything with his money besides letting it sit there in his bank accruing interest inspires vexation and horror. In a better, saner world, he could settle the matter once and for all by arranging for Milton Friedman to put in a guest appearance and squat in Jed's parlor long enough to explain the ways of life to the callow redneck, but in the universe as it was engineered by Paul Henning, Mr. Drysdale can only protect Jed from himself by concocting some wacky scheme, and the next thing you knew, Miss Hathaway has had to dress up like a hippie.

Watching Beverly Hillbillies reruns as a kid, I always assumed that Jed's view was meant to be the correct one, but what do I know? Maybe Paul Henning was a nut working out his own political issues in coded form; hell, for all I know, Petticoat Junction was intended as a message show about how young women bathing in the town water supply was the real cause of global warming. It's either a telling giveaway or ironic that Buddy Ebsen, who played Jed, was a Reagan Republican, even making a radio commercial to sadly denounce his former co-star, Nancy Kulp (who played Miss Hathaway), as excessively liberal when she ran for Congress in 1984. I did always think that Jed's innocence and apparent cluelessness, combined with his willingness to part with his fortune and his belief that having money gave him certain responsibilities, were meant to fit him into the tradition of American folk heroes, of the Forrest Gump stamp, who don't need no book learnin' to know what's right. In the contemporary political/media landscape, you might say the same of Sarah Palin and other Tea Party heroes, but I suppose those real-life figures would be quick to tar Jed as an elitist, like George Soros. And the fact remains that, however far the show went in humiliating Mr. Drysdale, week after week, for the good of the show's continuing weekly existence, he did succeed in keeping Jed's money in his bank. Forty years after the show went off the air, to read the op-eds or listen to talk radio or see the Tea Party hordes braying in the street, there's no doubt that we have a clear winner. It's Milburn Drysdale's America. we just live in it.