Maco (pronouned "Matzo") in Window 

George Bush's iPod

The president is a stupid dick. I'm sorry, but now we have conclusive proof.

Before I get into the contents of the actual iPod, let me say that whichever bright-boy neocon hanging around the White House had the idea that releasing the songlist in Bush's rotation would ingratiate him with the young people of this country and show him to be in touch with "what's happening now" needs to be fired immediately. Nobody that stupid should be anywhere near the President of the United States. The notion that a vision of W with those dumb white earplugs, playing air-guitar to "My Sharona" would do anything but scare the shit out of Americans shows either insanity or chronic ketamine abuse. What's next, a picture of Bush making Rush Limbaugh an honorary narcotics officer?

Now, the famous list:
First of all, where does Bush get the time to hunt down the Joni Mitchell album that's got her cover of Buddy Holly's "You're So Square"? Does he have John Negroponte checking the cutout bins at the local used record store? "Don't tell me you can't find Kinks Kronicles, John. Did you check under the "D's" for "Davies"?"

George Jones
This is a no-brainer. When Dubya was in his hard-drinkin', coke-snortin', AWOLin' days, like any of us would do, he learned to love George Jones. Who better to have on the juke box when the waitress just called you a weenie, your coke dealer won't take a money market check, and your dad just doesn't understand why he absolutely has to call that lieutenant major in the Air National Guard to explain why he can't be at training the week before and after the Super Bowl.

John Fogerty - Centerfield
Picture it: young Shrub, driving through the oilfields of West Texas with a bottle of Lonestar in his crotch, listening to "Who'll Stop the Rain" and knowing that, goddammit, someday he'd be the one to stop the rain.

The Knack - My Sharona
The dopey spoiled college-boy party animal national anthem. Picture the man who would be our leader pumping his fist singing "My, my, my, my YEAH!"

Crystal Gayle
Man, girls like that just never gave the poor prez-to-be the time of day. And Laura won't give him any back-door play. It's gotta be lonely at the top. But now, he can get on the phone (well, he's gotta have somebody else dial), and like THAT he can get Crystal on the phone. Even have her play for him at the White House. Goddam! I like being the President!

Assorted Country Singers
The Kennebunkport Kowboy. It's hard to live it down when there are pictures out there that show you in a Yale beanie leading cheers on the sidelines. But give the man credit, he's trying.

Pope-apalooza, Galileo, and Laura Ingraham's Taint

"The most-watched event in the history of the world (sic)"

They call Rome "The Eternal City", but all that's seemed eternal in the last few weeks are the flag-and-cross waving, shrieking, talking heads that have been proclaiming the resurgence of religion in the world over AM and low-power radio, for-hire tail-wagging conservative blogs and discussion groups in Assembly of God church basements. A poor, damaged woman who is finally allowed to die and a creaky world leader who finally lets go, and somehow it equals a brand new day for superstition, bigotry, patriarchy and exclusion.

My local public radio station has been in beg-mode the past few weeks, so I've found myself scanning the dial, only to learn that the great local radio stations of lore have been replaced by conglomerate-media neocon religious talk radio. I know first-hand that in South Central Missouri, you can ride up and down the dial all day and not hear anything but religious hate-speech and right-wing political hate-speech. Even country music is relegated to a miserable few canned programs from who-knows-where. You're more likely to hear about how "God hates fags" than Randy Travis or Hank, Jr. But who knew that the rapid-patter rock-n-roll dj's here in Chicago have been replaced by soft-voiced Catholics or not-so-soft-voiced Evangelicals, explaining doctrine and yes, begging for money? Of course, the message is still "God hates fags", but Chicago is the heart of organized labor, school-lunch, blue-state country, so the emphasis is more on limiting reproductive rights, keeping women pregnant (after marriage), and stopping abortion. There are no fewer than 6 all-talk, all-God, all-hate stations. Forget top-40, the end times are here, sweeping the quarter hour.

One particular blabber station caught my attention these last few weeks. It's WIND, 560 AM. An outfit called "Salem Communications" (more on them later) owns this conservative mouthpiece, and even though it's so far down at the bottom of the dial that I practically have to tune them in on my toaster, they've got a crushingly loud signal, and their crushingly loud talkers are looking to push the (get this) "too liberal" voices like Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity off the air.

WIND's all-star lineup starts at 5am with Bill Bennett's "Morning in America". This great conservative yodeler, known mostly for his books about morals and values, and for his degenerate gambling, kicks off the day with a surreal amalgam of old-school conservative hate-speech and quotes from Aristotle and Samuel Johnson. If jaw-dropping pedantics and pretentious hypocracy are your thing, this is the show for you. His producer, a snotty little Karl Rove wannabe punk, chimes in on the quarter hour, shamelessly kissing the ass of the former Education Tsar, dropping quasi-intellectual mis-quotes and other high-minded malaprops. It would all be a hoot if one could forget that these guys would shut down the Federal Courts tomorrow if they could, and "Dr" Bennett, as he's known to the high-school dropouts that slaver over his phonelines would use the Consititution to light one of the fat cigars for which he is famous. What I wouldn't give to see this guy coming out of a Reno casino at 6am, sweaty and smelly, hat pulled low over his face so none of his Krazy Kristian buddies sees him hustling a barely-legal hooker into his comp-ed hotel room.

Next up is Laura Ingraham (I just learned how to spell her name today), the shrill, snotty pin-up girl for the Kristchun Koalishun. Now she's impossible to listen to, so I don't have much to say about her except that if you can imagine a female Hannity, using the sound-bite techniques of the Howard Stern clone, including the studio full of staffers hootin' and a-hollerin' at every witty quip, trying to show how neocons can be edgy, too, you'll won't even begin to understand how awful this show is. Last Thursday, her big moment was wondering aloud about the fleshy growth on the side of Ted Kennedy's neck. "I mean, what IS that thing?" she shrieks. Oh what fun. This is what passes for intelligent commentary on the issues of today. Here's a uber-Repub good-time girl who would love to give that hunk Tom DeLay a trip around the world, and without a condom, too, you bet.

to be continued...