Mark Squirek's Open Salon Blog

David Barton and the World of History

Tue, 24 May 2011 00:05:49 -0400

Recently cited by a spokesman for Presidential Candidate Newt Gingrich as “one of the most knowledgeable teachers on American History”, David Barton’s work as a historian has been openly referenced by Michelle Bachman, Glen Beck, Mike Huckabee and others. At the other end of the political spectrum, he was a welcome guest on a recent The Daily Show and made a very strong case for his beliefs and research.

It was while watching his appearance on the Daily Show that I first became aware of his incredible influence. In addition to operating a very large website devoted to what he has determined to be historical fact (Wall Builders), Barton has been an official curriculum guide to the Great States of State of Texas and California as they determined the content of their schoolbooks. According to what he told Stewart he has also quietly helped out a few other states on the same subject.

As I watched this guy he fascinated me. He was amazing. For the first time ever I went to Stewart’s site so I could see the follow up interviews that weren’t part of the regular half hour show. It was an amazing view into a very powerful man’s mind. From that first introduction to Barton’s work I was moved to find out what this guy was really about.

Quick disclaimer, I am not a real political person. So I can't say that I investigated this guy because of those who endorsed him. Both sides of our political system have idiots. Like most of the people that I know, I am at the center trying to get to work and back home again. What I do love is history and its application to life.

Barton claims to be a professional historian and has clearly made his way into the political and publishing world by portraying himself as one. But what he is doing is not backed up by any real training or education. A graduate of Oral Roberts University, the man simply decided he was going to be a historian and he became one. In addition to his claim of being a professional historian he is also an Evangelical Minister who preaches to his flock as well as large groups of other Evangelicals.

Still, he is a very solid success and more power to him as an individual. He has argued in front of the Supreme Court, he writes curriculum and he is sought out by publishers. But this success is the reason for his power and the reason for his power is his success. Which strikes me as odd. Which came first?

This man’s self-proclaimed status as a professional historian is like taking one of the Housewives of Orange County and having them tackle Death of a Salesman on Broadway. Sure, in your mind you are a star, but why?

Barton’s approach to history creates many auxiliary arguments. Among them are the concepts of Barton’s status as a professional or amateur historian. There is also the idea that America, as he argues, is a Christian Country. Included in that idea is his main tenant, that according to the tens of thousands of documents he has found, we were supposed to be a Christian Country governed by Christian tenants, beliefs and ideas.

These concerns are separate from my main argument, which is that Barton is not a professional historian and should not in any terms be given the same credibility as someone who has worked and studied hard to become one. To accept him as such is the exact same thing as accepting a creationist, which Barton also is, as a real scientist.

Removing these other arguments allows me to address the one big hole that sits so squarely at the center of what Barton is so convincingly selling to anyone who will listen. That hole is his research.

Barton’s greatest claim to fame, and the general resource for much of his research, is the website Wallbuilders. The site leads with the banner headline that it is “Presenting America’s forgotten history and heroes with an emphasis on our moral, religious and constitutional heritage”.

The essence of Barton’s argument is that there are literally tens of thousands of documents that support the idea that America is a Christian Country. This is true in both senses, we are a Christian Country and there are a truckload of documents that support this.

It can easily be said that all historically important documents from the Bible on up, have other documents surrounding them that were part of the thought process leading up to their creation.

But to the best of my knowledge, whether it is the Bible or the Constitution or the Magna Carter or a charter for the local Kiwanis, all documents that serve as a behavioral (and I include the concept of law into behavior, because what does Law cover?) guideline for a society or a group of people eventually coalesces into a final form.

In other words these documents assume a final, agreed upon shape. That final document becomes law and all who live under that document can usually challenge it and question it as they desire, but the document has a final shape.

To use the the papers, letters, books, opinions and all other ephemera that went into the creation of the final document after these disallowed or unattended ideas have long been removed from the final document is simply revisionism for a new generation.

In every case that I am aware of where a group of people decided to follow the same course of events in unison; to live together under a code of beliefs or laws, there were plenty of people on the sidelines screaming that they were not being heard. In most instances that group of disappointed screamers eventually went along with what was eventually decided.

Or they split from the larger group. Look at the Essenes. An early sect unhappy with the than current view of Judaic beliefs, this group of true believers went out into the desert and formed their own group away from those they disagreed with. Unable to change the beliefs held true by a larger section of Jewish culture, they essentially left the society of their time.

It is generally agreed that they spanned about three hundred years, from 200 BCE to 100 AD. Eventually they buried the documents they held to be true in large jars in the desert. We end up with the Dead Sea Scrolls.

(Some believe that the Essenes weren’t the only ones responsible for the Dead Sea Scrolls. My point is that a group of people split from the main group over belief differences. Call them what you want).

Or like the Pilgrims of our own American history. Out of favor in their homeland due to what they saw as religious persecution, they went across an ocean and started a country of their own.

Sometimes trying to split from a larger group works out for all. Sometimes, like the Civil War for instance, attempting to break away from the larger group doesn’t work out as planned.

The point is that once the dominate document assumes a final, agreed upon shape and we all live by it.

Listening to what Barton had to say, and from what I have read over the last few weeks, let’s compare two documents that Barton appears to believe in the most, the Bible and The Constitution.

The Bible, as we know it in 2011, took shape over thousands of years. The final version of the Bible is generally agreed upon by those who follow it to be the authentic word of God.

It may well be. But the book itself, the physical assembly of what books actually became the Bible (document) was undertaken by a group of people working in the name of, and under the inspiration of, God. Many books were considered but few were called.

The assembly of the Bible is a lifetime of study, but in general, historians agree on many of the physical facts when it comes to its development.

Assembling the books that are in the Bible today took time. Much of that assembly time, especially since the fourth century, is held as historical and documented fact. Thanks to Kings like Constantine and James who demanded some continuity in their religious beliefs, the Bible exists as we know it today. In its earliest days it was, in it’s simplest definition, essentially a loose collection of books as each sect of the new religion attempted to gain some sort of power over the new believers.

Before the Bible assumed its final shape, the need for a definite version of what Christianity’s beliefs actually were needed to be addressed. In order to do this groups of experts gathered under one roof and determined what Christianity actually was.

Start with the Council of Nicaea in 325 AD. Ordered by Constantine to clear up the argument of “Is Jesus God?” the Council went a long way to settling this uncomfortable idea for new religion. In 385 the Council of Constantinople addressed the failures of the first Council and worked towards clearing up a few more theological matters.

In essence, a lot of established bishops from around the known Christian world gathered in one place and began to draft the beliefs of the new religion, Christianity. These were the accepted professionals of the day. At the same time, the Bible was starting to assume a cohesive shape as a document, so that it could support the evolving Theology.

In building this amazing work of love and literature, there were hundreds of people screaming that their books should be included. That is where verifiable and documented events such as Constantine’s request in 331 AD for fifty copies of a Bible led to the creation of a final Bible.

And when it was done there were lot of people standing on the sidelines looking for their favorite books. The books left out went on to become the Gnostic Gospels.

Over the years that Bible does get altered, often unintentionally. Scribes who copy it slightly alter the meaning of passages through their choice of words. A few take it to Ireland and do their best to protect it form others. Guttenberg decides to print it in English. The most important change occurs with Luther, who not only decided to leave the one true church also decided to move the good book into German.

For many the Bible is the word of God, But still, its contents were debated and torn apart and finally, they were assembled by Man.

Remember the Essenes? They buried their documents/books in big jars across a desert. When the Dead Sea Scrolls were found in the mid-fifties, did the Bible change? Did our belief in the beauty of the Bible change? Were the Gnostic Gospels reinstated or was the story of Thecla suddenly brought into mainstream Christianity for all to see?

No.

As the government and direction of America took shape, our Founding Fathers were beset by special interest groups. Life in 1725 was no different than it is today. People are people. They just dressed different, and bathed with less frequency. But, being people, they were still pushy and had their own agendas.

In their infinite wisdom the leaders of the day listened to every one they could and than finally gave us the most important things we have in America, The Declaration of Independence, The Constitution and The Bill of Rights. After much deliberation and having seen what a state-wide sanctioned religion can do to a country, they made sure to draw a definite line separating Church and State.

Of course Barton has tens of thousands of documents to support his ideas, his beliefs and his own history. That’s what it took to make this country. But what is he really missing? Why is he an amateur?

Throwing around a knowledge and awareness of the discounted ephemera that surrounded the creation of such import document as The Bible and The Constitution is, for lack of a better word, trivia.

From the Gnostic Gospels to Barton’s use of what he has found among the hidden corners of American history, these documents enlighten us and educate us on how we became what we are. But they are not what we are.

Barton’s inability to understand this is why he is an amateur. He lacks insight. The evangelical Christian beliefs that drive him are too strong for him to be truly objective, as any real historian should be. He is promoting his theology through a thin veil of historical fact.

Quoting a preacher from 1765 that was than quoted by John Adams is simply repeating the news of the day. It isn’t law nor was it ever meant to be.

For all Barton knows Adams may have been pandering to a group of people for a political reason when he agreed with the preacher. Adams may have had a half dozen other ideas in his head at the time. Barton has no insight into what Adams was thinking nor does he offer his followers any details when he quotes the good man’s words.

For a logical person, too many questions are left open when Barton uses history out of context. Was this a single time when Adams agreed with the man whom Barton quotes? Did Adams actually hear the guy or was he writing something for a friend? (In this instance Barton was talking about the inheritance tax).

During the recent presidential campaign Obama ran into real problem with his friend, the controversial Preacher Jeremiah Wright. Will an amateur historian 200 years from now return to those sound clips and claim that Obama’s relationship with the man gives credence to his personal belief that Obama was really against the Country he serves as leader?

All our political candidates do what they can to get elected. And than they do what they can to stay elected. That is their job. They want to get elected and in order to do that they say what they can within the acceptable limits of their political affiliation. Look at Newt back peddling on Health Care. This may sound cynical, but it is true.

A comment on a Preacher’s sermon by Adams is not a great find. It was part of Adams everyday political life. What really matters is the laws that Adams left behind to govern us. The rest is just politics.

For me, and from what I have read in the last few weeks, Barton’s work is more about being human. We, in our humanity, in our life, in our experience, all want power in some way. The drive to power is in all of us, but most of us aren’t willing to corrupt or manipulate truth or play circular word games on a simple talk show to get our way. Barton is.

It isn’t a matter of disagreeing with him. His approach to history is personally motivated. He has a very open agenda.

This is another reason that Barton is not a true professional historian.

The Founding Fathers, in their drive to create the best country possible elected to not use many of the documents that Barton references. Many of the Founders who shaped this land were probably aware of these documents and speeches. Being the men that they were, I would imagine many of the framers of our laws certainly considered as many points of view as possible before deliberately crafting every single word in the documents that govern our land.

If you respect the decisions of the Founding Fathers on the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, you cannot suddenly throw the documents they left out or ignored to begin with to justify the needs of your special interest group, no matter how large that group may be.

What religious discussion in America really comes down to is “My God can kick your God’s ass and as much as I respect your God, mine is right. Yours is wrong.” Or as more commonly applied, “Today our sports team won because our own personal God gave us the victory”.

In Barton’s case he has powerful people around him, makes a lot of money doing what he does and right now, his God is powerful.

And that idea all comes back to the simple human desire for power, which is exactly what Barton has. His organization doesn’t answer to anyone. In the legal world his website, which is run by his wife and mother, is tax-exempt.

Barton may not be accepted in the world of Academia, but by repeatedly claiming to be a professional historian, he has convinced enough people that he is one. That’s what really matters. Since he ignored Academia to begin with, and has succeeded admirably with that tactic, he doesn’t need their approval. And when he is attacked he can simply say that they are jealous or have their own agenda.

Here is an example of one of the ways Barton quietly gains power.

One of the best ways to get power is to create paranoia by not mentioning names. When questioned about Republican and Democratic leaders who have come to him for help Barton refuses to do so. Defending this decision Barton nobly refuses to name these people unless they have publicly declared their support for him.

So they exist, but he can’t tell us because he is protecting them from us.

In addition Barton continues to foster the current idea that Christians are persecuted in modern day America. Getting sued over prayer day doesn’t make you victim. Go ahead and pray. No one cares; In fact we want you to do it. Just don’t stop driving a bus in order to pray. As an American we are all part of something bigger and an occasional stupid lawsuit is par for the course.

In short, he is building power based on fear.

Despite his denials and practiced gestures towards all religions and people, Barton’s agenda is clearly religious. He makes no bones about that and he acknowledges this very clearly. He is a Christian and he firmly believes that this country was meant to be a Christian country as well. To back his claims that we are a religious nation, he uses documents that have long ago drifted into the side drawer of historical research.

What he really wants is for his organization to run the country. Which the Founding Fathers in their wisdom, have blocked him from doing.

This man is about power, not truth. And any real historian moves towards the truth, regardless of what it does to his own personal belief system.

Celebrate Valentine’s Day with Some Great Comic Covers

Sun, 13 Feb 2011 12:02:52 -0500

This appeared in an edited form on another, much, much smaller site. A couple of people suggested that I place it in this venue as well so that others outside of the comic hobby can see the art on some of the covers. Thank you.

Valentine’s Day means something different to everyone. Most would agree that it has something to do with romance. For some of our readers it means a great dinner, a box of candy and a nice bunch of flowers. For others it may mean a couple of movies from Netflix and eventually fingertips stained with Cheetos and Dr. Pepper. Either way, February 14th is the primary day of romance for Americans as designated and approved by the advertisers and retailers of America.

How do comics celebrate the holiday? Just like everyone else, with love, candy, a bunch of flowers, and a smooch and in some cases, mayhem, domestic violence and battles. My sole criterion for this brief showcase of four color romance was that the cover must reference the holiday directly. As you will see below, there is one notable, and very slight, exception to this rule.

While looking for some particularly romantic covers to showcase I stumbled across some real winners. Take the image of Goofy on the cover of Walt Disney Comics and Stories #5 from February 1945. He may a dumb talking dog (who by the fifties has somehow morphed in a suburban everyman), but he sure knows how to package himself for his sweetheart. Judging from the obvious sincerity of the valentine he is holding, Goofy is having better luck than I am. At least he got a valentine. So maybe I should be a little less judgmental.. Which only makes sense since at age 54 I don't have a dresser and keep my socks and underwear in (separate) comic boxes.

Rumor has it that the valentine was sent by Clarabell Cowl. Who, having tired of Horace Horsecollar's inability to commit, decided to again go inter-species for the holiday...?

One of my favorites are those adorable little tykes Sugar and Spike. Over the years the title had a good half dozen Valentine images, each one more cute than the last. While the closest comparison in feel to Sugar and Spike would be Peanuts by Charles Schulz, that strip always showcased certain "adult-style ennui and frustration". However, Sugar and Spike were never anything other than really smart and terribly fun without be nauseatingly cute babies. Thank you Mr. Sheldon Mayer.

What was the exception to my rule? Headline Comics #23 March April 1943. While not a romantic cover, the text at the bottom does mention one of the most memorable events of this celebration of Cupid’s arrow, The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Even today some people feel that nothing says love more than facing a brick wall with a stranger behind you. On a similar note, Static #10 pays tribute to the same event in its own, graphitti-styled way.

Yes, there are some covers and titles we have left off of the list. But I did manage to squeeze in something from each decade from 1940 forward. At first I thought that the romance titles would be too easy to pull covers from but, surprisingly enough, we found very few direct mentions of the holiday on their covers. But there certainly were a lot of heart-shaped silhouette on many of the issues, regardless of the title.

We also looked at some of the "girl" comics of the forties and fifties such as Pasty Walker and even into the sixties with Lois Lane. But since romance was usually the dominate theme of the books (usually with a sailor, a dumb college boyfriend in a stupid hat or a superhero), they too seemed to avoid Valentine’s Day as the main subject.

Archie titles were too obvious. So was issue #5 of the 12 issue mini-series Batman: The Long Halloween. But no one can ignore the greatness of that story and its art. So that one was a given.

The last cover is a title that ninety-nine percent of comic collectors forget existed. The Treasure Chest of Fun and Fact was a comic put out by the Catholic Church which ran from 1946 to 1972. Published weekly during the school year and given to millions subscribers at Parochial Schools around America, many young Catholics found it to be a welcome relief from Catechism and a nice place to hide when Sister Bridget was walking by your desk with ruler.

And I mean one of those rulers that had a steel edge for straightness. That edge was as straight as that penguin's back when, with no warning and powered by the vengeance of God, she came down on your knuckles. Why did she hit me? For reading Green Lantern behind my copy of Treasure Chest! I should be only reading good, approved Catholic Comics, not mindless filth about aliens and power rings.

Treasure Chest is most famous for an early sixties anti-Communist cover as well as the 1964 story, "This Godless Communism." At the other end of the spectrum, and also published in 1964, the book also featured what many believe is the very first fictional story line to feature an African-American running for President. Titled Pettigrew for President the story ran ten issues. Seemingly contradictory content aside, Content aside, the book also featured artwork from notables such as Reed Crandall and Joe Sinnott. The issue below features a cover story on the man himself, St. Valentine.

Initially the good saint looks as if he is bowing in supplication to the Lord our god. It is only when you look closely that you realize the good Saint has his hands bound and may be getting a very close haircut. One that starts at the neck and ends at the neck.

Two quick questions. Should someone on the cover of the Little Lulu issue be wearing leather? And why does the cover of the Star Wars Valentine cover make me feel uncomfortable? Is it because I keep thinking she is avoiding her brother's advances?

Our National Altamont is Just A Shot Away

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 13:09:43 -0400

As concerts go, it was to be the Rolling Stones moment in the sun. The crowning achievement to their 1969 tour. A free concert for 250,00 (and ultimately more by estimate) as a thank you to America and the newly found ideals of peace love and togetherness of newly media-anointed Woodstock Nation.

Cynics feel the gesture of a free concert in California was a way for the always publicity and status hungry Mr. Jagger to top the golden opportunities that the Stones had previously missed. Others believe that the concert, a happening of terrible planning and inefficient organization was not the fault of the Stones but those around them who couldn’t remove their self-important, naïve heads from their bottoms. Regardless, it is Mick and the gang who are saddled with the legacy.

As things will occasionally spin, all the great plans and sunshine that the concert was supposed to become went out the window once the event started. The acid was worse than expected and other drugs such as STP, Cocaine and Speed were not having their expected placating effects on the crowd in general. In retrospect it was just about the first time that the ugly and dark side of drug use was put on display for the public to the Woodstock nation.

Sets by The Flying Burrito Brothers, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and Santana went by quickly and the crowd grew unruly. Marty Balin (of the Jefferson Airplane) was beaten as he jumped into the crowd to stop another fight in front of the stage. Many of the musicians, mighty social animals themselves who at any other concert would have wondered around backstage sharing joints and off-the- cuff remarks about other acts while jamming on acoustic guitars, elected to bolt from the Altamont Speedway as soon as their respective sets ended.

The event finally came to it’s glorious conclusion as the Stones took the stage. Their set, whose start was delayed for a long, long time for a now long, long forgotten reason, opened with the crowd one step away from out of control.

The crowd, who were for the most part drunken and stoned to the max, answered to nobody. At best they were held in check by themselves and an unspecified number of Hell’s Angels who, wielding bats, chains and knives, took their authority very seriously.

Not even Mick Jagger whose cries of “get along people” (I am paraphrasing here) fell on deaf ears as the normally responsible Hell’s Angels killed a man a few feet away, could control what was going on.

Details on the murder of Meredith Hunter are, as the details of so many murders are, conflicting. Still, many agree he had a gun and was waiving it. Many agree he was killed by an unspecified number of Hell’s Angels.

Supporters of the Hell’s Angels feel they saved Jagger’s life. Others feel they were drunken cowardly bullies who think they saw a black man with a gun. Regardless of whose side you take, and there are arguments for each side, the end result was a stabbing while the Stones played Under My Thumb.

The mans’ death is sad and an unfortunate by-product of the hate venom and bad planning and drunkenness and self importance of the people who staged the concert.

Needles to say there weren’t too many apologies, (one that I know of to be precise), just a whole lot of victims who weren’t really responsible. There were also a couple of people who stood defiant, refusing to accept any responsibility for their actions with a callous disregard for the toll their actions took.

Kind of like the last few weeks in America. Over the past few days we have been inundated with acts of cowardice, drunkenness and self-importance run amuck.

As we all know, a congressman shouted down the President in an act of disrespect for the office so ugly that I cannot understand any reason for it’s occurrence. None. There is no excuse for what that man did. If you disagree with the President you go on Fox News, you don’t yell at him like this is a pick up game of basketball on a Baltimore playground.

An incredible athlete whose record is among the greatest in her sport goes ballistic on a line judge. While embarrassing for the woman, it also exposes the real heart of sports.

That is where our natural, evolutionary-driven desire to defend what is ours and kill what ever is attacking us if necessary, has been routed. Her anger at the line judge is not that much removed from what many feel when the bank charges $35 for a slight overdraft after years of zero errors or $5 to cash a check.

Only we don’t have a line judge to terrorize with our massive physique. We just have clerk behind a counter to terrorize with the threat of withdrawing our life savings. An amount that, for most of us, is probably laughable when compared to the what the Executives of that Bank receive in a weekly salary.

If we did what Ms. Williams did to that Line Judge to the customer service representative who just took $5 for that check we needed cashed, we would be in jail.

In another recent sporting event ,a college football player sucker punched a member of the opposing team as the teams walk past shaking hands at the end of the game. Since that occurred a couple of weeks ago we have already forgotten about that one. He was driven by school pride.

An entertainer, more famous for telling people how great he is than any of the music he has supposedly created, grabs the microphone at an Awards show from a nineteen-year old girl and rants about the greatness of another nominee.

Twenty -four hours later he was on a talk show apologizing. But at this point the accumulation of his arrogant episodes is so massive that most of us just turn our heads away sadly. Still, he will be back and as time wears on Burger King may purchase one of his raps to help sell their product to target consumers in Detroit, Cleveland and Pittsburgh.

In the South the same compnay will use a musician named Toby or a race car driver to sell their burgers. This isn't cynicism, but the evolutionary-fueled heart of advertising. You take aim at your audience. Just like Ms. Williams takes aim at the squares on a tennis court.

On a much more important note, one of our greatest resources, the two part political system has been high jacked by a minority who are so vicious, disrespectful and full of self-righteous venom and poison that actual work cannot no longer get done.

Some of this has been paid for by an Australian media mogul so he can make even more money. Another part of the high-jacking of the Republicans was the rise of a failed sportscaster who couldn’t handle more than two semesters of college, who is a self confessed drug addict and was classified 4F for the draft. Yet through an act of arrogance and hubris so massive and unrelenting, he has pushed himself to the front of conservative thought in America.

Hate him or love him, he saw an opening and went for daylight. God bless you Rush. If I knew that selling my soul, bullying people and misstating facts without the slightest care for the effect my statements would have on others would have gotten me a massive private compound in Florida and a private jet, I would have never have done so much local theatre. I would have gone into talk radio and developed a personality.

Glenn Beck and Bill O’Reilly may think they are the king. But they are just jesters and spear-carriers who dream at night of what Rush’s throne can accomplish.

Lets not forget the State Governor who felt he could sell a vacated State Senate seat and than went on to court reality TV ideas.

In all cases, Kanye West, Rush Limbaugh, Rupert Murdoch, Ms. Williams (the only one in this bunch who should actually be forgiven, she was raised to be a warrior and we pay her to be. Still she should have known better), Rob Blagojevich and Representative Joe Wilson, their behavior is born out of self-absorption and narcissism that most of us can’t grasp.

Don’t get me wrong, we all have the same qualities, just not in the amount that these folks, and many others who rise to media attention, have. Most of us hold those qualities in check. We have to. If we don’t the price we pay is steep.

These people just move onto talk shows and build websites for donations when they go crazy.

However, when we as a nation see there are no consequences for what those in the media do, and actually reward those who go past unspoken boundries, we each move a quarter inch closer to watching a man get knifed while we sing Under My Thumb. We each move a half inch closer to not caring.

Every high school had a jerk like Blagojevich or a drunken second-string quarterback like Kanye, so I can understand these idiots ascending to the front of the media. But over the past few months there are just too many of these episodes.

We are past some unspoken barrier, some unknown line in the sand and I have no idea how we get back.

Do we get rid of cable? Do we need 148 channels? Oh, I forgot, capitalism demands that we have even more. I love capitalism, its the best. But when it comes to TV we have way to may channels that say nothing and create a home for these morons. (Again excepting Ms. Williams, she is a warrior).

Our national Altamont is just a shot away and absolutly no on one is trying to get the Stones off stage or stop the crowd from drinking one more beer or doing one more line.

In fact, we are encouraging it.

(This article was inspired by the Sunday UK Times article written by Rob Hughes. http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/music/article6827520.ece. Thank you to Expecting Rain for the link. http://expectingrain.com/.)

My EXTREME CAR WASH

Wed, 18 Feb 2009 10:02:21 -0500

According to the thermometer that was conveniently placed in my dash by a thoughtful dash-designer at Toyota, the temperature outside is 35 degrees. Borderline freezing, but just enough that I may be able to sneak an automated car wash in before going to work. The question is where? And with a snow storm coming in three days (according to the woman in the tight suit coat on the weather channel) should I even bother?

Here is why I would consider washing my car before the next snow arrives:

A) Obligation to my gender. This has gotten me in trouble before but there are two types of men: those who wash their car every time they should and those who live in trailer parks and think fishing is better than sex.

B) Salt eats away at your car faster than a ten year old student loan coming out of forbearance eats at your wallet. Salt may not upset you as much, but the student loan will eventually go away. Rust never sleeps. It may nap like a widowed grandmother in Church during a heat wave in late August, but it never sleeps.

C) I’m flat out lazy and want to spend Saturday afternoon watching westerns on cable while eating ranch dip with taco chips.

The decision to wash has been made. Since I know every inch of the main drag in town, it is now a case of choosing between two car washes. At Car Wash A they will give you an eight dollar car wash for six dollars with an eight gallon fill up.

This sounds good, but going to that car wash means a lengthy left turn across four lanes of oncoming traffic. And I don’t really need 8 gallons of gas yet. I have four perfectly good gallons left in my tank.

This means I have to take a second look at the new place across the street from Car Wash A. As I approach them I see that there is a bit of activity out front. It looks like a bunch of kids are hanging out. I look up for a sign to see how much a car wash is going to cost and to my surprise, the regular car wash has been replaced. There is a new exterior to the once decayed regular building I knew so well. This new building is bright and colorful and, for some inexplicable reason, I want to go in there.

This new car wash is no longer offering just a wash and wax, they are now, according to the bright pink and blue sign out front, an EXTREME CAR WASH.

And for this they only want eighteen dollars. Intrigued by the prospect, as well as the site of tattooed twenty three year olds of both genders wearing tank tops and shorts while holding signs pleading for me to visit, I decide to make the right turn into this exciting new place.

Since I am going to be encountering younger people in a public place I immediately turn my winter baseball cap backwards on my head and take my Eagles CD out of the player. Without thinking (I have done this before), I drop in some P Diddy (the one where he plays Led Zeppelin) and turn it up real loud.

As I approach the pay booth, the EXTREME CAR WASH has it’s own music blaring. I decide to turn down my rap session and take in what I am hearing Over crunchingly-thick speed metal guitars on top of a drummer going at 128 beats per second, the singer seems to be screaming/conveying his displeasure with everything around him. He tells me that he would be a lot better served if a select group of people would die. He calls this select group “everyone”.

I completely understand his frustration. I was once 33 and very rich myself. It only makes sense that he would scream about disenfranchisement when MTV no longer actually plays music. If I was fifteen, I would want this singer as my best friend.

The girl in the booth opens the glass to take my twenty dollar bill. Her hair is sticking every direction possible and as far as I can see, at least three different colors. I can’t help but think that I would do the exact same thing to my hair if I didn’t have this crewcut with a landing strip down the middle. Thank fully I have the balding old man’s compensation for a crewcut, a Van Dyke beard.

As she hands back two dollars and a can of Mountain Dew, she barley utters “Enjoy yourself old dude”. Than, with just a hint of a smile she points at ramp behind her.

Her smile says one thing and one thing only. She knows I could show her a good time. And that good time would include dinner at Red Lobster and eight full hours of sleep afterwards.

Considering I just paid eighteen dollars for an EXTREME CAR WASH I have to say I expected a little more than the ramp that lays before me. Next to the ramp is a young man with a jeans jacket on and a long chain connecting his belt loop to his back pocket. His lip holds six earrings in it and I can only assume he was really drunk when he moved them from his ear to his lip. He waves me up and with a series of hand gestures signals forward and hold, forward and hold. Each time he checks the ground below him for a brace that will lock my tire onto a chain which will drag me into the chamber before me.

He makes a rolling motion with his hand for me to open my window. “Place it in neutral dude. This is going to be a trip. Relax and enjoy the Dew dude, now go”.

I look in front of me and all I see are the same rubber mats hanging from a massive iron rod. This is exactly what the old car wash used to have. The feeling of possibly having been fleeced begins to rise in my heart. As the chains drag me forward, the kid yells out “Roll up your window old dude”. As I begin to see the soap between the rubber curtains, I do as he asks.

And than it starts, my EXTREME CAR WASH. As my car begins to disappear behind the rubber curtains, seven young, incredibly muscular guys, (I think they are guys) show up out of no where. Each is holding a massive plastic super soaker , wearing a thong bathing suit and with no warning they begin to go to town. They deluge my Toyota with a massive spurts of soapy water as they pump furiously at their big platic guns. Each one of their pumps dropping a flood of soap and water on my car. I feel like a drunk nineteen year old girl in St. Lauderdale at Spring Break! Unlike her I will remember this tomorrow. As soon as the car is covered in soap and water they run behind a curtain. The guilt of a possible homo-erotic experience begins to replace the fear of having been fleeced.

My heart begins to race! The chain holding my two front tires drags my car willingly to the next round.

From no where I hear screams. Cries of “Kowabunga”, “Let’s Roll” and “No Rules” dominate what I hear. I notice long chutes hanging down each side of the car wash. The chutes open into ramps. And as the cries get louder I see what must be thirty young people flying down, each one on a snow board. Some are boys, some are girls. Most are wearing ripped jeans or army pants hanging past the bottom of their bottom. A few others are wearing brightly colored plastic ski suits with yellow-lensed goggles.

As they begin to fly across the roof of my car I instinctively duck . To my amazement, each one of their snow boards has a fluffy J C Penny bath-sized towel strapped to the bottom of their board. They ride over the top of my car with the deft skill of the man who cut the razor-thin roast beef at my company’s last banquet.

The skill of these boarders is amazing. Not once do they dent my roof. As several of them slide past each side of my car, a few turn sideways, defying gravity as they wipe the salt from around my tire wells and off of the sides of my four door. One or two manage to throw in a complete 360 for my amusement. One stops, pops his board into his arms and gives me a thumbs up. I feel as if I am becoming one of them. If only I could fly like they do I would know what real freedom meant.

Like so many of the reality shows I see on MTV, there are a few midgets hanging around. Only these short people are much more than jokes or attachments to a rapper’s ego. They are clearly athletes.

As the snow boarders leave the midgets run out and do cartwheels as they attack each one of my tires. Some do back flips and than jump right back into the tire. Each one attired in the same high class outfits that the snow boarders wore as they flew over and along my car.

I can feel the rubber begin to glow as they tumble past each tire, effortlessly wiping a week’s accumulation of grime and dirt. Like a synchronized swimming team, these short people move in harmony. Each with a specific task at hand. When done, they pull away from the tire they are responsible for and stand in unison. Each flipping me the bird just like my fourteen year old son did the last time I asked him to mow the lawn. Unlike him, they than bow as a gesture of respect.

The only thing left for the EXTREME CAR WASH to do is to apply the wax and dry the car off. I can’t possibly imagine what they are going to do to top what I have just seen.

And than it happens. Six of the most scantily clad men and women allowable by public law in the state of Maryland stand before me. Each one is of a different race, it is like a living fashion ad. On one end stands a young man who’s stomach is so flat and developed that it could serve as a cutting board for a professional chef. He has a tattoo of an eagle across his chest. One claw is holding thirteen arrows, the other is holding what I believe to be thirteen marijuana cigarettes. He is wearing a loin cloth and looking me straight in the eyes. I think I once saw this man in a perfume ad inside an issue of W that I picked up while waiting for my wife at Barnes and Noble.

On the other end is a young woman who has what appears to be the identical tattoo across her chest, only the eagle’s talons are obscured by what I think are postage stamps held in place by thin silk threads. . Between these two are four other young people with colored hair, tattoos and barely anything on. They stare at me straight in the eyes. Puritanical shame makes me want to hide from their purposeful glare, but I can’t bring my self to look away. They are beautiful.

Without a word, they begin to rub my car. Their bodies move and writhe in the same direction as each pass they make over the car. Each of their hands holds a shammy cloth. I am not sure but these could be the very same ShamWow magic towells that I have seen advertised on TV lately.

Slowly and with maximum effort for each stroke, each of the six move across my car’s hood and on to my windshield. Not one of them takes their eyes off of me. A young oriental woman takes her wet cloth, leans back and begins to squeeze it so the water rolls down her chest. The Latino man to her left than takes his ShamWow and begins to dry her. I am a little upset that he is paying so much attention to her, after all this is my car wash, but I am transfixed at their professionalism. I begin to find my self wondering if one of them would like an entry level position in my company’s mailroom. Preferably the young girl with the full tattoo of a Japanese toy robot on her back.

In a twinkling they are gone and the memory of their groans as they moved across the roof of my car is a memory that will serve me well later that evening.

I see daylight ahead of me and I realize that I have completely forgotten about my complementary Mountain Dew. Slowly I pull it to my lips and begin to drink. The rubber mats blocking my entrance back into the real world are opening in front of me of me. I find myself with a burning desire to drink the entire can of Mountain Dew non-stop but I am not sure if I have an extra Prilosec. The one I do have I need for lunch in case I eat a tuna on rye.

As the curtain opens and the flood of bright daylight fills my eyes I drag the last drops of my Dew from the can. I feel like I would like to open my door and jump out of the car, maybe even do a kick in the air. But I notice a tip jar and if I open the door I am compelled by social grace to put something in it. I really need the two dollars in change for a snack at my ten fifteen break.

And so my EXTEME CAR WASH ends. Daylight surrounds me and my car truly shines. They did a terrific job. My car glows.

Will I do an EXTREME CAR WASH again? Possibly. I did find the energy of the young people exhilarating, but I do believe they skipped on the wax portion of the wash. This leaves me a bit concerned and I briefly consider stopping my car and asking to speak to the manager. I might be able to get a partial refund. But I notice that the right turn lane on York Road is open and figure they can just apply what they missed to the tip jar.

I need to get back to work. And the Mountain Dew has made me feel bloated. If there is an EXTREME CAR WASH in your town I can only say that it is something you may want to try out once. However, I think next time I will wait until I need eight gallons and go for the savings of the regular six dollar wash at Car Wash A.

Bob Newhart Bootleg Tapes

Wed, 7 Jan 2009 10:01:39 -0500

Last week I watched the excellent life history of and tribute to Bob Newhart . This episode of the PBS series American Masters was one of the more entertaining repeats of the holiday.

The only thing I enjoyed more during the recently passed festive season was when WGN in Chicago broadcast a burning log on Christmas Eve. I sat there transfixed. Over top the burning log they played old radio shows as accompaniment to the never ending fire and crackle. I was able to hear The Great Gildersleeves, A Jack Benny special broadcast from a hospital, the radio version of A Christmas Carroll and a lot more before I passed out from too much Arizona Green Tea (Extra Sweet).

Anyway, thanks to my day job I know a few people inside Warner Brothers. Motivated by the PBS rerun on Newhart, I asked one of my contacts if Warner Brothers had any unreleased Bob Newhart material sitting in their massive vaults. No one was able to affirm that they did, or that Warner Brothers even has a vault. However, a few days later I received this mysterious e-mail from a sender who only identified themselves as "ricklesbites".

I am not even sure these are real but I thought I would share them anyway.

"Bonus Tracks Considered for Release on the 49th Anniversary Edition of Bob Newhart’s The Button Down Mind of Bob Newhart (Warner Bros. Management eyes only. Transcripted Excerpt Version. Recording date unconfirmed. Believed to be early 1963. All tracks previously unreleased).

A) Phone Call from the person who invented Gazpacho Soup

Bob: It’s soup…. And it’s cold? Gee, (Bob stammers)… that sound like a swell idea. (Audience laughter). It might be popular in Phoenix (audience laughter).

B) Phone call from the I.R. S. after the passing of the 16th Amendment

Bob: So I am supposed to give you some of my money…oh I see, just part of it…for what reason again? (Audience laughter) And jail is a possibility if I don’t comply? (Audience laughter) Gee, I never got a phone call from Russia before. (Audience laughter). How is the Premier these days? (Audience laughter)

C) Phone call from the young folk singer Bob Dylan

Bob: Gee Bob, I didn’t know Woody Guthrie wrote This Land is Your Land, I thought it was just a folk song…. (Audience laughter). So you say he originally called it "God Blessed America For Me" (Audience snickers). Well gee, how does Kate Smith feel about this? (Audience laughter and applause).

D) Phone call from a record company executive

Bob: So let me get this straight. The idea is to first release all the music on vinyl records, right…Than you have a second format planned. And it is called what again?....Cassettes?...little plastic boxes with recording tape on wheels...(Audience laughter). And everyone will buy the music a second time to play in their cars? (Audience laughter)… OK, I think understand those but how does an 8 track work? (someone knocks over a glass, laughter)...And after that you are going to put music and albums on what?...It’s called a compact disc…but you will add bonus tracks that weren’t good enough to be on the first three formats…so we will buy the music a fourth time? (audience explodes)… Gee, why don’t you just make the compact discs the first time and save us all trouble? (audience applauds)… Oh, I see, no one has invented the computer yet (audience explodes in laughter)… Well, no matter how you explain it, a binary code still sound’s a bit dirty (mild laughter). Have you checked with the Catholic Guild on this? (thunderous applause).

Note from Phil Waeller, Vice President Warner Brothers reissue program: The following track is from an October 21, 1963 club date in Chicago. As we have no plans for a Bob Newhart box set at this time, it may warrant inclusion on this release. It may bring in a few sales from collectors.

D) Phone call from Castro

Bob: So the missiles are really just farm silos… (audience laughter) No Fidel, I don’t believe that a camera could take accurate pictures from that far up either….(Audience laughter). Say Fidel, have you been down to the beach lately? (Thunderous applause).

END"

Needless to say I was pretty pleased when this arrived. After getting this treasured artifact I pushed my luck by asking if someone could dig up the Souther, Hillman and Furay concert from 1975 that I just know they have sitting there. This time they ignored me.

A few days later I got yet another mysterious e-mail from someone who only identified themselves as "geffencaresless" who told me that this much sought after musical treasure will never get released unless Poco has another hit single.