Tonight CNN and YouTube host their Republican Debate in St. Petersburg, Florida. I’m looking forward to it, and I hope McCain does well. He should be the least afraid of questions from the general public. Here’s a warm-up song about the GOP Field:
This guy is awesome, check out his Youtube or webpage. He’s got some other great songs, like “George Bush is Hitler” and his attempts at making a Ron Paul song.
Click on more for the lyrics to the GOP Debate Song
This is some insane strength and endurance. He would have been run over in Russia:
In case you haven’t heard, I moved out to Iowa two weeks ago to volunteer on the John McCain presidential campaign. I plan on being here until the caucuses, which are on January 3rd. I’m enjoying myself and learning a lot. I’ve already put up two posts on a friend’s site (1,2), but I’ll be writing more about the little things on here.
Just to end with the right tone. Yes, war is awful, and we need to keep in the mind the terrific toll that it extorts from us, but don’t get the wrong idea about the soldiers. They know what they’re doing and they have the right attitude, and that doesn’t only apply to the British. Just a friendly reminder to anyone unfamiliar with British English: ‘fags’ are cigarettes, ‘Boche’ are Germans, ‘chum’ is friend.
The Spirit
When there ain’t no gal to kiss you,
And the postman seems to miss you,
And the fags have skipped an issue,
Carry on.
When ye’ve got an empty belly,
And the bulley’s rotten smelly,
And you’re shivering like a jelly,
Carry on.
When the Boche has done your chum in,
And the sergeant’s done the rum in,
And there ain’t no rations comin’,
Carry on.
When the world is red and reeking,
And the shrapnel shells are shrieking,
And your blood is slowly leaking,
Carry on.
When the broken battered trenches,
Are like the bloody butchers’ benches,
And the air is thick with stenches,
Carry on.
Carry on,
Though your pals are pale and wan,
And the hope of life is gone,
Carry on.
For to do more than you can,
Is to be a British man,
Not a rotten ‘also ran,’
Carry on..
Replace the Germanic imagery with Jihadist and it’s a pretty good match. Of course, the roles are a bit reversed, with the US leading the charge, trying to convince the UK, France, Russia, and Germany. Odd, though, that even after one hundred years, those were still the main players.
Liberty Enlightening The World
Thou warden of the western gate, above Manhatten Bay,
The fogs of doubt that hid thy face are driven clean away:
Thine eyes at last look far and clear, thou liftest high thy hand
To spread the light of liberty world-wide for every land.
No more thou dreamest of a peace reserved alone for thee,
While friends are fighting for thy cause beyond the guardian sea:
The battle that they wage is thine; thou fallest if they fall;
The swollen flood of Prussian pride will sweep unchecked o’er all.
O cruel is the conquer-lust in Hohenzollern brains;
The paths they plot to gain their goal are dark with shameful stains:
No faith they keep, no law revere, no god but naked Might; —
They are the foemen of mankind. Up, Liberty, and smite!
Britain, and France, and Italy, and Russia newly born,
Have waited for thee in the night. Oh, come as comes the morn.
Serene and strong and full of faith, America, arise,
With steady hope and mighty help to join th brave Allies.
O dearest country of my heart, home of the high desire,
Make clean thy soul for sacrifice on Freedom’s altar-fire:
For thou must suffer, thou must fight, until the warlords cease,
And all the peoples lift their heads in liberty and peace.
This poem is nationalist in nature, but I think can also speak to the realities of this new war. It is centered on England, pointing out the sacrifice of an Englishman and honoring the society that produced him. Indeed, the physical circumstances of war and travel have changed in the past hundred years. Instead of burying war dead on the battlefield, we ship the bodies home. There are numerous American cemetaries in Europe. If our mission succeeds in Iraq, it won’t be the American bodies and markers in the ground that attest to our presence, but the country as a whole. We have tied our futures together, and success there will make the sacrifices meaningul.
The Soldier
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England’s, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
Part 2 of a Veterans Day series of poems: Part 1 , 2
We, as a society, have the duty to take care of our injured soldiers and make sure they have the opportunity to lead full and meaningful lives. Medical advancements mean more soldiers today survive injuries that would have killed them in the past. New technologies are also allowing them to do more in spite of their injuries.
Does it Matter?
Does it matter?—losing your legs?…
For people will always be kind,
And you need not show that you mind
When the others come in after hunting
To gobble their muffins and eggs.
Does it matter ?—losing your sight?…
There’s such splendid work for the blind;
And people will always be kind,
As you sit on the terrace remembering
And turning your face to the light.
Do they matter?—those dreams from the pit?…
You can drink and forget and be glad,
And people won’t say that you’re mad;
For they’ll know you’ve fought for your country
And no one will worry a bit.
Part 1 of a Veterans Day series of poems: Part 1, 2
Perhaps I haven’t looked hard enough, but WWI seems to have given us the greatest wealth of war poetry, still as relevant as when first penned. It was the first modern war, and humanity hasn’t changed much, if at all. Indeed, the idealistic aspirations surrounding the First World War and the War in Iraq are quite similar. Both had visions of “making the world safe for democracy.”
Let’s not forget that the toll of war isn’t just the bodybags, but those that come back wounded. Some very visibly, others suffer below the surface. I was recently at an event at Walter Reed and was able to meet some of the wounded. I really can’t describe how I feel. I appreciate what they’ve done, and they themselves are very strong. They don’t ask for pity, just respect. They don’t ask, of course, but they do need help.
Disabled
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim, -
In the old times, before he threw away his knees.
Now he will never feel again how slim
Girls’ waists are, or how warm their subtle hands;
All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face,
For it was younger than his youth, last year.
Now, he is old; his back will never brace;
He’s lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,
And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race
And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a blood-smear down his leg,
After the matches, carried shoulder-high.
It was after football, when he’d drunk a peg,
He thought he’d better join. - He wonders why.
Someone had said he’d look a god in kilts,
That’s why; and may be, too, to please his Meg;
Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts
He asked to join. He didn’t have to beg;
Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.
Germans he scarcely thought of; all their guilt,
And Austria’s, did not move him. And no fears
Of Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hilts
For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.
And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in institutes,
And do what things the rules consider wise,
And take whatever pity they may dole.
To-night he noticed how the women’s eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
How cold and late it is! Why don’t they come
And put him into bed? Why don’t they come?
Intro to a series of Veterans Day poems: Part 1, 2
Four years have passed since I last wrote a post on Veterans Day. The war in Iraq was half a year old, and we all held hope that it would be a quick affair. I still find that war and poetry to strangely fit each other. Perhaps it is because war strips everything down to the bare essentials. No cushy existence to bog us down with comfort - just death, and whatever else you chose to bring along, be it love, kindness, hate, sacrifice, depravity, or any other human capability.
This Veterans Day I would like to honor those who serve by trying to remember their willing sacrifice on our behalf. This week I’ll post a poem each day. We’ll start it off with a country song, “If I die before you wake (lyrics).” For anyone from a different cultural background, the title is a twist on a common children’s prayer that virtually everyone knows, not just religious people:
“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
And if I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
This is a good reminder that while we’re safe at home, there are Americans who have voluntarily steeped up to defend us and put their own bodies on the line. We don’t want this or any war, but sometimes we have to fight. Let us keep them in our thoughts and our prayers. Here’s a great photo montage.
Perhaps only people in LA are following this, but the writers strike is going to end up affecting a lot of people who watch tv, and will shortly see it all turn to reality fare. I haven’t watched tv in several years, so I’m really only a disinterested third-party. Well, not completely disinterested…
The Ninja has a great video up about the Writers Strike:
Two of my favorite points:
“The Writers Guild does not sound like a very intimidating foe!”
“If the Dragon Claw Fire Horde comes to me and asks for four cents, I think I’m gonna give it to them.”
Calling it the “Greatest scam in history” may not be a stretch. The founder of the Weather Channel had this to say:
It is the greatest scam in history. I am amazed, appalled and highly offended by it. Global Warming; It is a SCAM. Some dastardly scientists with environmental and political motives manipulated long term scientific data to create in [sic] allusion of rapid global warming. Other scientists of the same environmental whacko type jumped into the circle to support and broaden the “research” to further enhance the totally slanted, bogus global warming claims. Their friends in government steered huge research grants their way to keep the movement going. Soon they claimed to be a consensus.
…
I have read dozens of scientific papers. I have talked with numerous scientists. I have studied. I have thought about it. I know I am correct. There is no run away climate change. The impact of humans on climate is not catastrophic. Our planet is not in peril. I am incensed by the incredible media glamour, the politically correct silliness and rude dismissal of counter arguments by the high priest of Global Warming.
In time, a decade or two, the outrageous scam will be obvious.
I’m currently in the American South, and noticing that there are a lot of cultural differences. In fact, I’m going to resurrect an old category that I thought was applicable only to Russia. “Stupid Californian” is all about being in a different place, where some basic assumptions about life are challenged. Sometimes these assumptions are minor details, sometimes considerable. I was raised in many different places, including the South, but I would consider myself a Westerner, going even deeper a Californian and Angelino.
Have any of you been to a foreign country, or a different part of your own country, and noticed some cultural differences? What are some of the most interesting?
