Wordsmith

Another term for Stephen's Dictionary:

Cunt Blanche
[noun]
The unconditional, unconstrained authority certain female creatures believe themselves to have, to be invoked however she pleases, in the manner most unpleasing to anyone who has to spend five fucking seconds dealing with her

D'oh! Not Udoh!

I just want to pop in here and make a few (time-stamped) comments on the recent activities by my local NBA outfit, the Golden State Warriors, at the trade deadline.

I don't have a problem with trading away Monta Ellis. A lot of folks have been grinding their teeth over the trade with the Bucks, because the W's sent away Ellis. That's not my beef; Ellis is a good player, and I appreciated watching him these last few years, but scoring guards are not hard to come by.

What really cheesed me about this deal was the departure of Ekpe Udoh. Few observers made any points about Udoh's loss, but I think in time this is going to be the real bungle to come out of this trade. (Especially when Andrew Bogut spends most of his Warriors career on the bench looking like a Mens' Wearhouse advertisment.) The Warriors' eternal quest has been for frontline players: guys who play near the basket, scoring down low, rebounding, and defending the rim. Udoh had the last part down cold; he's good for a couple of blocked shots a game, and altered an odd number of additional shots just through presence in the lane. Lately, in the last several games before the trade, Udoh showed a developing low post scoring game; he has made tremendous progress in that area since the start of last year's rookie season. And while his rebounding has been questioned, the willingness to work on his game--as exhibited by the developing scoring touch--promised better things in that area as well. In short, Udoh had all the promise of growing into exactly the kind of player the Warriors have been trying to get for years.

And they just traded him away. For the NBA equivalent of a handful of magic beans.

It says here that, in three or so years, when Udoh has blossomed to the point where he gets picked as a back up for at least one All-Star game--don't laugh; big men who are solid on both ends of the court are extremely rare, and just a little good game will go a long way--then everyone in the Bay Area will be griping about yet another player who got so much better after leaving the Warriors, and how they let another one get away. The only difference is, this time you heard it here first.

Recently Read

Pity the Billionaire

Pity the Billionaire
by Thomas Frank

What's the matter with Thomas Frank? Nothing, in particular.

Frank, the author of multiple explorations of America's right-wing madness--including the now classic What's the Matter with Kansas?--has not sunk into a literary morass in any legitimate sense. His latest work, Pity the Billionaire, shares much in common with the author's published antecedents, particularly Kansas and The Wrecking Crew. Frank brings his usual keen insight into conservative minds and motives, and presents his thesis with impeccable logic and exhaustive research and citation. (Pity might be better reserved for Frank himself, who, judging by the extensive notes backing up this slim volume, must spend more time watching, reading, and immersing himself in right-wing media and live events than anyone ever could and still hope to remain truly sane.) And the author's greatest strength--Frank is one of the best wordsmiths in the field of political discourse--remains intact; when Frank describes Sarah Palin as the "[right wing] movement's snarling sweetheart," it is just one more example of his skill at delivering a wholly apt yet economical mot juste.

Yet, for all that, Pity the Billionaire never reaches the same heights of literary brilliance as Frank's earlier works. While the book delivers plenty of solid reporting, along with several chuckle-worthy turns of phrase, Billionaire never lifts the reader up to the seriocomic heights they way Kansas did. The latter book, with sublimely titled chapters like "Russia Iran Disco Suck," and its ludicrous exposé on the various anti-Popes who call the Sunflower State their home, meets no equal in Pity the Billionaire. Though it covers much of the same warm and fertile ground, Billionaire reaps a somewhat uninspiring harvest.

Why is this? One might first suppose that the latest work is simply an inferior effort, but that interpretation doesn't feel satisfactory. Upon further reflection, the problem may lie--ominously--with the passage of time. Here is Thomas Frank, pricking much the same balloon as he was nearly a decade ago...and yet, for all of its absurdity and wrongheadedness, that balloon never seems to deflate. Indeed, as the central thesis of Pity the Billionaire points out, the balloon keeps re-inflating itself, actually growing larger than before, no matter how forceful are the efforts of men like Frank to put it out of its (and our) misery.

The overall effect, then, is one of recognition and at least mild depression: recognition that this thing keeps happening to us, and a sense of depression when we recognize that we can't seem to escape it--that we should expect the same thing to keep happening to us, and keep doing the same damage over and over again. Knowing that Glenn Beck is an asshole does nothing to keep Beck, and others like him, from soiling our political landscape and leading legions of the misinformed down socially destructive paths. Frank can point out the folly, pick it apart for all to see, and we can absorb the knowledge he presents us--but we're still bound to have to live with half the population playing suckers and fools, to the detriment of(almost) all of us.

As Frank makes perfectly clear, there's no reason to pity the billionaires. Those .01%ers are doing just fine, as always. It's the rest of us who could use the pity. We can hope that Thomas Frank and his ilk keep trying to talk some sense into our nation; but it's becoming more and more clear that we can't rely on the lesson ever taking hold.