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[Update, September 30, 2011: I recently updated this piece with some rigorous copy editing. I apologize to my readers. I have rarely been so proud of a piece I’ve written, only to see that pride eroded by copy errors that sometimes hid or sank my points.]

Have you ever thought of how great it would be if we could just get rid of unions altogether? Why, without collective bargaining rights, the real work of capitalism could be done–a mechanism for unlocking wealth that would make that wealth work far more efficiently, especially by paying workers what they’re really worth: at best, $3.50 an hour.  Such unlocked greatness would make America strong and proud in the way it was back when we had kids working 12 hour days and our food was full of extra human thumbs, earlobes and gizzards.

I’m sorry, does this sound stupid to you? Then I’m not sure why it’s even a debate in the state of Wisconsin, where a new Republican governor completely in the back pocket of a couple of anti-union billionaire industrialists, is working to curtail collective bargaining rights. As long as we’re throwing union people out the window, we ought to at least remember a time when the defenestration was much more literal: The 100th anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire is coming up in March. In 1911, 146 employees of the Greenwich Village company were killed in a fire when their bosses had locked them inside to keep them from leaving early. Many had to jump to their deaths from the eighth, ninth and tenth stories. The fire galvanized the union movement and helped usher in modern building codes, labor practices and even the New Deal, depending on whom you ask.

This is when a lot of red staters start to nod that this series of events was just one more in a long line of progressive mistakes going all the way back to our nation’s founding. I can’t think of a more appropriate way to mark the anniversary than by going back with a red marker and erasing all of the “progressive” nonsense that has come about since then.

A lot of people’s antipathy toward unions comes from a complete misunderstanding of their function. If you’re a conservative, you likely buy the argument that stronger unions have given Americans a sense of entitlement, pushed us toward decreased productivity, made our labor too expensive, and thus made American industry less nimble and less able to respond to crises. That’s an awful lot of big words, red staters! And yet, it’s a compelling and simple argument if you only look at one side of the ledger–and trust me conservatives are awfully good at both simple narratives and reading only one side of the ledger. What you won’t find when you blame unions for hobbling business is the increasing sham that corporate governance has become–how executive pay is far out of control compared with those of the lowest-paying salaries, and that executives often game the system. How? By withholding dividends–an increasingly popular corporate gambit since Reagan’s times; by creating excessive stock options, which dilute shares and funnel money away from shareholders; and by simply overpaying CEOs. (Does anybody remember Dick Grasso?) Meanwhile, it’s only the cruel market that decides what you’re worth if you’re a laborer. Unless you’ve got collective bargaining.

Here’s an argument for you conservatives, since you hate Hollywood: Imagine an Eddie Murphy movie that costs $50 million to make. As part of his deal, Eddie gets $40 million gross. The movie makes $90 million. How much did this movie make? Zero. After everyone grosses out (both financially and literally) on two hours of fart jokes, the studio can actually say they have a money loser. The people with net points in the movie get nothing. It was in this way that another film, the phenomenally popular Forrest Gump, was actually a money loser because Tom Hanks and the director got so much gross.

So now imagine, America, that you are getting net points and the richest 1% are getting the gross points. Meanwhile, the price of your labor, with your union bulwark weakening nearby, has been pushed down by the flood of flat earth labor into the market–the freed hordes of Chinese, Indian, Eastern European and South American labor.

And so now we come back to the standard conservative argument about Laffer curves and the idea fixe of Reaganism–which is that Reagan cut taxes and the economy took off for 30 years and that’s all there was to it. Listening to this bullshit after a while is a bit like hearing a schizophrenic compulsively repeat single lines of “Old Mother Leary.” Fire is a wonderful thing, conservatives, but it doesn’t mean you throw it on your roof. Likewise, tax breaks are nice quick incentives for a monetary system but keeping taxes low forever does not make your society or even your economy better. But most people who are insecure about their economics knowledge hold up the Laffer curve as if it’s the college degree they never had, and as if Glenn Beck were the Civics 101 course they slept through.

Speaking of Beck, onto the “Egypt” part of my story–which is exhibit 587 in an exhaustive case, “Glenn Beck Vs. Linear Thinking.”

If you can stomach this video, you’ll see Beck squaring off not only against Bill O’Reilly (Beck is perhaps the only person in the world who can make O’Reilly look like a genius) but against a purely democratic uprising in Egypt. The first thing I thought when the dominoes started to fall in the Arab world was that conservatives might claim a victory of sorts–and make a specious argument that the Iraq War fomented these pro-Democracy movements. So you can imagine my utter horror when a bunch of self-described individual liberties champions like Beck began knocking the Egyptian revolution. Beck’s argument is that it’s not a democracy movement since it could end up in the hands of Islamic extremists. What’s most galling about this video is two American conservatives arguing whether democracy is something America ought to confer on the Egyptians rather than something the Egyptians’ have a natural right to. In other words, Glenn, Egyptian liberty is not yours to give, and the fact that you would say so proves you’re no libertarian but another paleo-con American imperialist. It would be hard to explain to Beck or his spongie followers how even a revolution that was thoroughly Muslim in character is none of his fucking business, but instead the natural inclination of a people who ought to make their own decisions about when to be liberated (unlike the Iraqis whose liberation was forced on them, and so can only be called “liberated” by a morally bankrupt few). In a bizarre turn perhaps lost on everybody but the legions of hard-of-hearing people who listen to Beck, Glenn actually says (around minute 2:23) that American progressives (I would suppose that’s the people responsible for securing fire exits for the Triangle Shirtwaist Co.) are somehow responsible for both Hosni Mubarak and the Shah of Iran. Yes, friends, liberal imperialism has built up Hosni Mubarak. Our support of him has nothing to do with conservatives and capitulation to the needs of Israel for a regional friend.

Even worse is the utterly loathsome former Pennsylvania Senator Rick Santorum, who here makes the disgusting suggestion that Hosni Mubarak was an ally (read: Israeli ally) and therefore was owed our allegiance no matter what. His argument: we didn’t support an Iranian revolution with force, so we shouldn’t support an Egyptian one even with words–even if the two movements are based in the same democratic ideals. Again, of those of you conservatives unable to read between the lines: We cannot support even a Democratic movement that was anti-Israel. (I shudder to think that there’s a person left on this planet to listens to this homophobic, science-bashing, war fan, hate monger–a man who said that poor New Orleans Hurricane Katrina victims should simply have gotten out of town and who seems to be the only person on the planet to have found weapons of mass destruction in Iraq).

This was a lot of stray comments, but I impress upon you, long-suffering Beauty is Imperfection reader, that they are motivated by the same idea–the democratic impulse rises naturally in nature, whether it be against union busters in Wisconsin or strongmen in Libya. But just as easily as it is created, it is confused, used, abused, assimilated and exploited by medicine salesmen, tiny generals, wee-brained Fox News employees and even by would-be rapists (my heart goes out to CBS news reporter Lara Logan, a woman so brave she makes me ashamed to call myself a journalist*). Democracy is harder than it looks, and it is vulnerable not only money like the Koches’ and brute power like George W. Bush’s but most often simply to lots of lies, lies, lies.

*I note in August 2023 that Lara Logan is no longer an admirable journalist, but a conspiracy theorist who has degraded my profession. That doesn’t make what happened to her in Egypt any less sad, but the last 10 years have degraded many once admirable people.

Gaga Over Eggs

Lady Gaga arrived at the Grammy Awards on Sunday in a giant egg. What do you think she was wearing inside the egg?

–*A velour sweater and soccer pants

–*A Hello Kitty t-shirt

–*Nothing, why should she?

–*Greasy overalls she’s been sporting since finishing up her day job changing oil in automobile crank cases

–*A Darth Vader outfit

–*A natural sac of life-giving placenta

–*A Hanes t-shirt and Toughskins

–*A stiffened crinoline petticoat

–*It’s not her, it’s three children who think it’s a treehouse

–*An Oscar de la Renta collage dress

–*An Oscar de la Hoya collage dress

–*She’s revived her meat dress from last year, a much more effective gambit since it is now much less likely to make you puke

I think we all forget how caginess is one of the most important resources of a leader, even or especially the ones who seem to be invincible. Hosni Mubarak, we are now told, has been orchestrating his own demise for the past few days, and yet Thursday night, he gathered all of Egypt close to their televisions to tell them at the last minute, “FU.” He was staying and that everybody should go home.

That was either the most desperate act on television since the Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour or an inspired bluff. Can you imagine what might have happened if everybody believed him? I recall the immortal words of Cool Hand Luke, who got his name because nothing is, in fact, a real cool hand, and sometimes you win just by pretending you have everything when in fact you have nothing. Could a last-minute head fake have similarly saved Mubarak and his oppressive, 30-year regime? Hardly, yet he certainly thought it was worth trying. Had everybody believed him, he might still have been president this afternoon.

I’m not trying to be flip or cute about somebody so loathsome, but people tend to think of autocracies as monolithic things, and it’s that veneer of invulnerability that helps give them their power. This sort of monolithic view not only aids the oppressors. It also conveniently removes the possibility of human free will, and that’s where this becomes something of interest for non-Arab Westerners glib about their freedom and liberal tradition. My personal feeling is that dictators are secretly pleasing to people like Noam Chomsky, whose narratives about power require the impregnable man behind the curtain to work, who assumes every action of a nation or state happens in secret for an advantaged few working in cahoots, even, I would suppose, a welfare system like the U.S. had in the New Deal era. Chomsky believes we all live in dictatorships everywhere and that we will continue to until the day the government is destroyed and we’re all living in anarcho-syndicalist trade unions.

The fact is that systems of power bubble up from much more complicated underlying factors and internecine rivalries, some of them from movements that were organic or based in an idea that was originally populist. These inevitably turn on themselves because nature abhors a vacuum and the system self-organizes into a new power structure (something Chomsky and his fawning, uncritical acolytes can’t or won’t acknowledge because evidently anarchism is as cool to them now as it was high school).

Truth is, dictatorships are much more mundane and complex than the man behind the curtain–they involve the difficult mechanics of a party process, political patronage and the cover of a happy business communities willing to trade freedom or class estrangement for stability. They may have started with some sort of non-violent political legitimacy (we all seriously err when we forget that Hitler was democratically elected). Dictators are famous for their brutality, but not quite as famous for the gifts they hand out or the bread and circuses they lavish on the common people to strengthen their personality cults. You will find dictatorships throughout history that are much more benign in character than Hitler’s–even ones liberals don’t mind defending occasionally.

Many people have been wondering whether it was the actual price of bread that brought Mubarak down (since the Russian tightening of wheat exports has threatened to make penny loaves more expensive, and Mubarak’s efforts to subsidize cheap bread after the food riots in 2008–literal bread, if not circuses–had only bought him time.

Was it bread or Facebook or the revolutions next door? It’s probably not that clear cut. In Nicaragua, the dictatorship of 45 years fell in 1979 because the dictator spent the previous decade squeezing private enterprise out of their cut of GDP, until finally the middle class were so fed up they decided they’d rather cast their lot with a scruffy lot of communists then deal with a thief in a business suit. It’s a chain reaction, not an outburst of anger, usually, and that seems to be the case in Egypt as well.

I’d like to think that everybody all at once just stood up in a moment of clarity and decided they were oppressed and that they wouldn’t be anymore. What Egyptians have bought, however, on Friday was a new government with the military in charge of it and an awful religious/political group, the Muslim Brotherhood, waiting in the wings to re-assert itself after years of oppression. In other words, a mess. In their natural desire for self-determination, Egyptians have won the admiration of the world and a reason to joyously celebrate in the streets, because they did it with courage and  without quite as much violence as there could have been. Peaceful protesters miraculously stared down and parried thugs hoping to come beat them and stand as an example of (mostly) non-violent democratic change. But now that the Egyptians have earned it, they’ve got to earn it again just by keeping it. My optimism tells me they can.

Cameroon

Dear Beauty is Imperfection reader, I have hit a milestone of sorts in music making. I was once a math guy, believe it or not, and I still have an obsessive thing about round numbers. It means nothing to you or to mathematician Kurt Godel or to the number 30 itself, but I now have 30 songs up on my home page. These are all original compositions.

The last two I posted are “The Passion of the Elvis” and “The Merc of Cameroon.” These round out a 12-song album I’ve completed, which will even have a cover and everything when I’ve finished mastering. The album will comprise, in order, the first 12 songs on my home page. More important is that I’ve finally got these two songs out of my system after carrying them in my head for more than a decade and a half. That’s right, I wrote these songs when I still lived in Austin, Texas. I used to drum out the parts on a steering wheel of a car I haven’t owned since 1996. I didn’t dare try recording them, however. They had a lot of parts. I wasn’t sure how to make the sounds I heard in my head (at least not until recently). And the lyrics were never right. They’ve changed hundreds of times (OK, maybe dozens). The Elvis song was about a completely different subject and I had to change it when something weirdly Elvisy emerged in the recording process.

The Merc” is a song about geopolitical turmoil, greed and revenge. Musically, it finds me trying to wed both my love of John Fahey harmonics, the drums of my marching band days, long Sonic Youth suites and, most foreign to me, a bluesier guitar solo than I’ve ever, ever dared try. The results are … well, I’ll let you decide.

The Merc of Cameroon
By Salon de la Guerre

Down in the hole where it’s always dark at noon
Stuck in a cell with the merc of Cameroon
He’s advertised his services
In Angola and Equatorial Guinea
And now he’s digging tunnels with a spoon

We escaped in a daring daylight raid
And by the time we thought we had it made
He was cut down to ribbons
By a Cuban guard with a hundred medals
And I never ever thought I’d get away

So I went off and I looked for his wife
And she had his blood diamonds and his knife
She and I fell into embrace
And we took his car and we took his money
But the Merc of Cameroon he was alive

He and his thugs were trying to start a coup
Just one thing that your blood money can do
So now I’m stuck in a Holiday Inn on the Ivory Coast
With my dignitary
When I heard the merc come slide across my hotel room
A-haw hoo hoo

Time for engineering time for contemplating lies
About how those blood diamonds blind my eyes
They’ve been here for a million years
And they’ll be here when I’m dead and buried
But the Merc of Cameroon has me tonight
A-haw hoo hoo!

And he’s got me down
And I hit the ground
And he made one sound
A shot in the chest
Penetrate the evening

Sometimes politicians have to fall
While puny men like me hide in the wall
They’ve been here for a thousand years
And they’ll be here when I’m dead and buried
They leave and track your blood out in the hall
A-haw hoo hoo

copyright 2011, Eric R. Rasmussen

Separated at birth?

My wife regularly checks in on a Web site that tells us how big our baby is getting. Now in his 17th week, this site tells us, my child is the size of a baked potato.

Huh? I’m a bit confused by this. Why is my baby not simply the size of a potato? Or, if you like, a large potato? A russet potato? A King Edward potato? Why does he have to be baked? Is it that a baked potato, swollen and cracked open and smeared with butter, is the thing that more accurately reflects the actual size of my boy than one not baked for an hour at 450 degrees? Is it that a baked potato broken open to reveal its fluffy insides is a better representation of the bundle of joy I will hold in my arms? Does he have the foil still on? What gives?

I recall Jonathan Swift’s extended satire “A Modest Proposal” when he suggested we all eat Irish potatoes … no wait! It wasn’t the potatoes!

At what point will my baby be the size of a baked potato with sour cream? Or a baked potato with bacon bits? At week 17 do I consider him covered with chives? At what point is he baked potato au gratin?

I’m sure a doctor can write in and tell me why a baked potato was the proper analogy and not a regular potato yanked right out of the ground. Please, medical community. Help me with this.

Tune in in the next couple of weeks when my baby will be the size of a Cornish game hen with all the trimmings.

Potato image:

Image: Suat Eman / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Ultrasound image: Property of ER Salo Deguierre.

Mistakes Were Made

Evidently, the Iraq War was simply a passive-aggressive misunderstanding. So suggests Donald Rumsfeld in his sure-to-be-awful memoir.  Mr. ex-Defense Secretary writes, “While the president and I had many discussions about the war preparations, I do not recall his ever asking me if I thought going to war with Iraq was the right decision.”

I want you to imagine the contretemps in such a Jane Austen comedy of manners–one man orders an invasion of Iraq thinking it might impress the other man, and the other man goes along so as not to appear fussy. What you get is an Iraq War and an unwanted scone. But that’s a bit disingenuous. Rummy is not polite to anybody, not the Bush family nor his colleagues nor John McCain. It seems like he’s willing to trash everybody and anybody for the failures of the war he prosecuted. That’s the mark of a true independent spirit or a psychopath.

I get kind of tired like everybody else chewing over the consequences of this disastrous war and American immorality in pursuing it. As it becomes clearer over time how much our leaders deceived us by assuming that the humanitarian goals in Iraq might have made it worthwhile, nobody ever seems to bring up a couple of points:

Did it occur to anybody that the insurgency would start in Iraq because Iraqis understood the invasion better than we did? Was it not anticipated they might fight back because no matter how much they hated their leader, they knew the American reasons for invasion were based on revenge and perhaps worthy of resisting?

The reasons for invasion were convoluted. There is part of me that secretly believes it allowed us a way to save face as we completely capitulated to Osama Bin Laden’s demands that we leave Saudi Arabia. Conservatives like to point out that there were no more 9/11s after Iraq. They won’t point out that it’s because we gave the horrible Saudi jackal what he wanted.

Someday we’ll all have to leave Iraq–physically and emotionally. But it will be hard as long as self-serving careerist bureaucrat resume jockeys with blood on their hands like Rumsfeld roam loose and drag our nation through the pain one more time, not for the good of a country but for his own soulless vanity.

Go to Elba, asshole.

My wife has been addicted to the show “Jersey Shore” on MTV since she caught the first season in reruns on the Web. From the very first sight of Snooki getting slapped, to the very second sight of Snooki getting slapped, to the boys’ search for women who aren’t “grenades,” to every drunken brawl, Stephanie has been hooked.

She’s so hooked, that she’s been keeping up with the regular reviews written by our friend Bill Cammack. Not to be outdone, I’ve decided to review the show myself so that I can take more interest in my wife’s hobbies.

So to recap, here’s my review of last week’s episode:

It sucked. This show fucking blows chunks. This show is like watching monkeys throw feces at each other. Every time I watch it, I feel my soul degraded in the way John Milton did when he described dogs eating Satan’s bowels on the lake of fire at the beginning of “Paradise Lost.” Last week, one of the drama queens hit another one in the face. The week before that, one of the drama queens hit another one in the face. The big guy who I will call after his dictionary name, “The Position With Respect To Conditions and Circumstances,” made a face and invented some new acronym for his activities. These include DTF, which means a girl who’s “down to fuck.” And GTL, for the boys’ favorite hobby of “gym, tan laundry.” I submit a new acronym: GIAR, or “give it a rest.” For the woman known as JWoww, I proffer the more fitting sobriquet “J Duh.”

The plot is as follows: the seven main roommates and their annual swing position roommate sit and gossip about something that might have been said on the phone and that might have been said about them. The roommates, having no self-esteem, assume something bad was said about them behind their backs because none of them have any worthwhile qualities and it’s easier for them to project their self-hatred on the other limited, brutish people in the room. One girl has a big rack.

One guy is the nice guy. I have not figured out why he’s earned this title yet except that maybe it’s because he doesn’t come up with acronyms. Whenever anybody is in doubt, he or she reveals sinews and breasts, a gesture now as anticipated and customary as a curtsy in court or the lighting of the Olympic torch.

My review of last week’s episode: It sucked. The one before that? It blew. Before that? Rim worthy. Before that? Sewer scummy. Before that? Bathypelagic in its utter depths of depravity.

I hope that summary provides a suitable reason to keep breath bated among my wife and other people who for some reason can’t afford a trip to the Bronx Zoo to see things of more interest.

Look out for season 4. They’re going to Rome!

(Check out Bill Cammack’s site, too! He’s a renaissance man: dating guru, musician, film editor and man about town.)

Friends of a man accused of shooting dozens at a convenience store in Friarsburg, North Dakota saw it coming a mile away, they said Thursday.

Brad James Cheltenham, a part-time janitor and full-time Illuminati and CIA history buff, was arrested last Wednesday after shooting at 36 customers at the Wiggle Pig bodega, a rampage that ended in the parking lot after police disabled Cheltenham with a shot to the leg.

“No surprise here,” says Cheltenham’s best friend Stu Ryerson. “Brad’s a friggin’ nut. He used to stand in my driveway and yell word salad at me–that I was a devil pinko with a bifurcated tail. I put up with it because he was good at basketball.”

Cheltenham’s one-time possible girlfriend also had long anticipated the day that she would see the man she dated for five hours at a Sonic drive-in being dragged across America’s TV screens and accused of a mass shooting as cops sprayed grapeshot at him and gas spewed all over the ground.

“File this under ‘Totally expected,'” she said. “I remember when I first met him at the airport. He had screamed at the desk clerk that he was going to miss his connecting flight, and what should have been grumbling turned into something like a grand mal seizure and he took a swing at the poor woman and pretty soon he was in the anti-terrorist holding tank. Dunno why I agreed to go on a date with him. He knew a lot about Dostoevsky.”

Cheltenham grew up in a suburb of Minneapolis and tried to attend community college there but was thrown out because “everybody knew the kid was going to go postal someday,” said the college’s vice provost, Derek Jamesian. “We got our new security cameras just for him.”

Cheltenham’s mother ran a small book store in Fargo and his father was a retired doctor who sold medical supplies.

“Yep, we knew he’d do this someday,” his now remarried mother Iris Flotsky said. “I love my son, but when you look in his eyes for two seconds, you just realize he was born without a soul. I wish you could find that out on an amniocentesis, but you can’t.”

His father, Joe P. Cheltenham, agreed: “I’d like to tell you it was his upbringing, but really the kid was sui generis, neither fish nor fowl, straight from the depths of hell Belial and Molloch wrapped into one. I think after talking to Brad for a few minutes, you might let us off the hook.”

The alleged shooter says he went on his rampage to alert people to the control government has on sans serif fonts in textbooks and also because a store clerk disrespected him a long time ago.

Friend Blake McNulty remembers going to a theme park with Cheltenham once and turned in shock when his friend started screaming at a funfair employee over how much each dart cost at the “Balloon and Dart” game.

“Brad started screeching that the game ‘was rig’ and then stuff started coming out of his mouth, and I think a bit of pus from his ears. Later he said he was fine, he was just in a bad mood right then.”

Cheltenham himself said after the shooting, “You are all very into yourselves and everything is about you. I will show you how things are also about me. Bozzle bozzle bozzle bozzle.”

Well, there goes my trip to the pyramids. So now we are all living in De Nile.

As protests rage across Egypt, the United States has found itself in a bizarre position of having to defend a 30-year dictatorship in the person of Hosni Mubarak. As people like Hillary Clinton walk to the mic to come up with a plan, she knows careful phrasing here is key, as the U.S. State Department and Barack Obama have to strike the right note of balance with a longtime ally and supporter of Israel and yet somehow embrace an uprising that seems to be thoroughly democratic in nature, not Islamist or any other horrible “ist.” The inspiration of this uprising is not Allah but Mark Zuckerberg. So much is the power of Facebook in the revolt that it has been banned. It should also give us all pause that a few well-directed phone calls by the government there shut down Egypt’s Internet entirely. Who knew?

The United States has the opportunity here to look like a beacon of freedom or a total hypocritical world power that serves its own interests first, protecting a corrupt ruler of a country that regularly imprisons political opposition. If you have paid no attention to history, I would ask you to remember that the United States has a truly horrible track record at this kind of thing. We often protect the horrible dictator for so long and embrace the revolutionaries so late that they come to hate the U.S. as much as their detested ruler. If you have ever gotten confused about the reasons that people around the world march in the streets shouting “Down with America” in Iran, in Nicaragua, in Pakistan and many other places, then you have to look no further than Egypt to understand–and to know that it might happen again if we fuck this up.

My guess is that President Obama and Hillary Clinton are smart enough to know this and that there are already secret talks going on with high level opposition leaders to make friends. If you do it too late, then you have people like the Sandinistas come in, guys who actually called United States “the enemy of humanity,” in their national anthem.

The big entertainment news this week was that “True Grit,” a film largely shunned at the Golden Globe awards, suddenly leapfrogged over the competition to become the second-most-nominated film at this year’s Oscars. Why, you wonder? I submit this answer: Because it was one of the best films of last year! A work that somehow managed to be visually superb, verbally dense (no contractions!) and formalistic, spare, violent, exciting, misanthropic and warmhearted all at the same time. Stuff that was lost on the star fuckers at the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, who call their show the “Golden” Globes, but barely offer a hedge against inflation. Especially star inflation.

No, the real surprise is no surprise at all–that the Golden Globes don’t count. But you’re likely to see a proliferation of more award shows anyway, because unlike the S&P 500 in the last decade, they’ve actually created some wealth. Especially for Ryan Seacrest.

Another scandal erupted this week when critics in Britain decried the the questionable historical accuracy of “The King’s Speech.” Evidently, according to the movie, England is ruled by a royal dynasty. But it turns out they have no political legitimacy whatsoever. Whoops! Call the gaffe squad!

If you have seen “The Social Network,” you likely admire it as much as I do. Indeed, it is very, very hard to make an exciting movie about typing, mouse clicking and legal arbitration hearings. But those qualities in and of themselves don’t make the movie better than “True Grit.” Try speaking without contractions all day today and still make yourself sound interesting. That’s even HARDER.