Tom Watson

The Curious Case of Benjamin Blogger

Why does time seem to be moving in the opposite direction? This blog turns five years old today, and yet it seems younger, knocked free of the constraints of its earlier years - a time when every other post (by statute) contained the term "President Bush." Yes, five years since I plugged my email address into Typepad and started to let fly in this little neighborhood. Sure, go ahead. Congratulate me! Hundreds of thousands of words have passed between us during this epoch, our new epistolary age. Oh, the conversations. I wouldn't trade 'em. Even got a book out of it. Now, "blogging" is a relative term. Some of us "blogged" vociferously on Usenet in the 90s. Some of the geezers I know were even known to hold forth on dial-in bulletin boards in the 80s. Oh, and a fair number of us started webzines approximately 37 seconds after the release of the first commercial web browser. Still. Five years is a time, for a blogger. This particular place is basically the blogging hub for this age-defying blogger - personal home base. I also "blog" (that is to say, write) here, and here, and here, and here. And oh yeah, here (with some of my more culturally adept pals). Oh, and here - if 140 characters or less counts as a post. Yes, and here, if social networks make the grade. So, five years gone yet things appear to be age-reversing in some strange digital alchemy. Perhaps it's the new national leadership and its freshening breeze. Or the spiralling economy and its effect of making every choice that much more simple. I'm not sure. But I'm blowing out the candles any way. Five years ago, I jumped into the blogging thing with both feet and started this little conversation. Thanks for coming along. But I was so much older then - I'm younger than that now. I'm sure you feel the same way...

'The Long, Rugged Path'

Throughout his two-year campaign for the presidency, Barack Obama leaned heavily on wide visions of hope, on creating the kind of story and image upon which voters from many backgrounds could attach their own personal specifics, their own ideas about the meaning of change. But today, as he stood over the millions on the Mall, President Obama delivered a spirited but relatively somber message to those who see his administration as a movement. This was my favorite passage:

In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of short-cuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the faint-hearted — for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things — some celebrated but more often men and women obscure in their labor, who have carried us up the long, rugged path towards prosperity and freedom.

That 'rugged path' is right ahead; indeed we seem to be on it. The President's speech neither soared nor promised - in fact, it left the campaign behind.

Sure, some people still want to party and buy their Obama souvenirs and keep the entertaining rallies going. Fine. But President Obama served notice - well-written, well-delivered notice, I thought - that he has moved on. That those of us who work hard in relative obscurity should continue to do so, that the traditional American path of self-improvement while watching out for the guy next to you, was still open - but also that the party is over.

Today's address was a speech for our times: down times, difficult days, times when the only choice is between hard work and awful, rotting, dispiriting decline. The dreary media rooting section wanted dramatic rhetoric, another new frontier. But what we saw was fear itself: not irrational panic, but the tough-minded recognition that this country should fear what may come next - and face it squarely. You can't print it on a CNN t-shirt or some NBC News commemorative pin, but this rang true: "Everywhere we look," said President Obama. "There is work to be done."

With Malice Toward None, With Skepticism for All

Last winter, I asked a national political correspondent I know about the media and Barack Obama - was it really as far in the tank for lanky Illinois Senator as it appeared to be? Yeah, he said. And the reason was simple: "Obama is a growth industry."

With margins for media companies crashing into the cold, ice-laden sea of this recession-battered January, that answer has never seemed more accurate. The new President and his broad promise is one of the lone warm spots on the frozen American tundra, a golden glow of a rosy history-in-the-making hearthfire that offers - dare I say it - hope amidst the bankruptcies and collapsing consumer advertising revenues and dire predictions of death for newspapers and second-rate purgatory for national television proprietors.

It's all so obvious and small. The simple pageant of a peaceful transition of power in the United States doesn't need any tarting up. The inauguration of the first African-American man speaks for itself. And President Obama's words will almost certainly stand on their own.

Endless, pointless segments with Doris Kearns Goodwin comparing the new President to Abraham Lincoln simply diminish every person involved (including dopes like me who watch this dreck on television). A phony back-to-the-future train trip from Philadelphia to Washington and its wall-to-wall "coverage" by partying "reporters" Twittering and simpering like middle school kids at their first co-ed dance did no one any good. Obama has already been living in DC since his Christmas vacation - as Craig Crawford noted: "If Lincoln had done what Obama did - embrace the memory of past presidents by emulating their mode of transportation - Old Abe would have already been in Washington, but then boarded a train to Philadelphia, returning on a horse." It was strained, overwrought image-making - a facsimile arrival in the nation's capital - for a brilliant modern politician who simply doesn't need that kind of optics creation.

Everywhere, it seems, history is breaking out - and you can pick yourself up a bit of it at bargain prices. Today's Daily News had not one but two special sections devoted to instant history. "Inside: Our 32-Page Full-Color Inauguration Special Section Plus Framable Picture." Does "framable" rhyme with flammable? The special section pushed "museum-quality color prints" that "capture all the excitement, emotion and history" - there's that word again - of the 2008 campaign. For 89 smackers you can get a framed Obama front page for your wall. And for $33, you can pre-order all the issues of the News that will cover "this historic moment" - just in case you can't make it to the newsstand in the next week.

But that's just low-brow tabloid stuff, right? Wrong. Sure, the New York Times editorial staff feels stiffed by the new administration (no special interview! no chance for a presidential walk-through and staff ovation!) but it's selling off of President Obama 24/7 - indeed, the NYT's pre-order of special editions is even more cheesy:

The set includes another historic Times newspaper, the Nov. 5, 2008, final edition announcing Obama's election, plus a color 8" x 10" Obama photo by Times photographer Damon Winter, available only through this special offer.

Also receive a collectible inauguration lapel pin, designed exclusively for The Times by illustrator Christoph Niemann.

The newspapers come in acid-free, archival envelopes and are shipped FLAT in a cardboard box to protect them during transit.

The Times has an entire Obama store up on its website, where the iconic "Catching a Plane" photo will set you back $199 to $1,129, depending on size and framing options. (The lesser-known "Scarfing a Chili Dog" is a much better bargain). Of course, you can grab a set of two "Obama Victory Coffee Mugs" for a mere $24.95.

CNN.com urges web visitors to head for its "Inaugural Storefront" where you can choose from "some of the most historic shirts money can buy," officially endorsed journalistic casualware from the best political team in television with slogans - er, headlines - like "Obama inspires historic victory." And yeah, the peacock ain't too proud to beg, either. You won't be surprised to learn that NBC News is offering “Yes We Can!” the story of Barack Obama. And they really mean the "We" part.

Why is the media crowding the story so much? Why can't reporters and talking heads just let it unfold? It almost feels like mass hysteria, Diana-style - the confluence of a real, major story with the oncoming death of an old media model. The BBC's Katty Kay captures a bit of the rush-to-history insanity in her Daily Beast post, arguing that America - and the new administration - deserve better:

There is a more serious problem with treating Barack Obama as an elected monarch; one that affects us journalists, in particular. Put a man on a pedestal and suddenly it's hard for the press to drag him through the political wringer. It happened in 2003 in the run up to the invasion of Iraq and risks happening again.

In Britain, we invest the Queen with our ceremonial hopes which leaves us free to treat our prime minister as exactly what he is—an elected official, paid for by the taxpayers, and serving at the people's will.

John Cole was as relentlessly pro-Obama as any blogger over the last year, but even he is a bit put off by all the Faux Drama and the media's exhortation to appreciate history.

I know I will get flamed mercilessly for this, and will be told that I simply don’t understand the historical significance, that I should just shut up because I voted for Bush and let people have their day, that my judgment is terrible and I should not be trusted, that I am just being harsh on Obama because I feel hoodwinked by Bush and won’t get fooled again, and blah blah blah, but the stuff this weekend feels like it has been over-the-top.

I can’t tell if it is just my general lack of enthusiasm for crowds, but there just seems to be a bit of unseemly gushing- this feels like Princess Di or something. I realize that the rise of cable news and 24/7 coverage means that it is going to be either the inauguration or some kidnapped blonde teenager, but I don’t know- it just seems excessive.

Again, I am not trying to downplay the historical significance of this, as several strands of history are all converging on Tuesday for a really amazing occasion. Nor am I unaware how elated we all are that Bush is leaving (and considering I played a role in getting Bush elected, I am thrilled that mistake is being pushed off center stage). And, again, I had no problem with Obama speaking in Europe, and never got my knickers in a twist about the columns at the inauguration, but this whistlestop tour, with all the mini events and the fawning media just seems to me to be too much. As low-key as Obama normally is, I am surprised he signed on to it all.

I, for one, will be locked on to the television at midday on Tuesday, watching with my wife and daughter as an important and, yes, thrilling political transition reaches its completion. But this story stands on its own merits, and I won't want the words and plain, pure images to be overshadowed and diminished by hucksterish hype. And I doubt I'm alone in wishing aloud for a little less pomp and a little more circumstance.

When the Face Changes, the World Changes

By the time Hillary Clinton finished her sturdy and detailed testimony before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee yesterday, the lives of millions of people around the world began to change. That may sound like hyperbole, but I believe the real news of Clinton's historic hearing ahead of her certain confirmation as U.S. Secretary of State was lost in the usual shallow tidal pool of what passes for national political commentary in this country.

What Clinton previewed in her impressive appearance was no less than a massive shift in the face of American foreign policy, and even amidst the current financial meltdown, the new face of the Obama Administration may represent the real change so many have been waiting for. Like it or not, American foreign policy is one of the strongest forces in the modern world - and Clinton made it clear (in both her oral testimony and in  answers to written questions) that potentially dramatic shifts are on the horizon.

Take Cuba. For the first time since JFK, an American administration promised to ease the embargo (starting with family travel and remittances) that has locked U.S.-Cuban relations in a strange and chilly timewarp of Cold War loathing and South Florida electoral politics. The initial policy changes are vague and rather thin. But as indie journalist and longtime hemispheric analyst Al Giordano put it: "That’s a super big deal, and it’s the crack through which, if implemented, more sweeping changes will plow through."

That crack was even slimmer in the SecState designee's brief discussion of the disproportionate and increasingly horrifying Israeli invasion of Gaza - yet the new language Clinton used, however slight its difference in plain English, signaled the kind of change that means something to diplomats - and earned notice in outlets ranging from the Huffington Post to Al Jazeera. The key word was "legitimate" in reference to the political and economic aspirations of the Palestinian people (even while rejecting direct negotiations with Hamas). Wrote the HuffPo's Ryan Grim:

Hillary Clinton sent a message to Israel Tuesday during her Secretary of State confirmation hearing testimony, telling the Foreign Relations Committee that because of the conflict in Gaza "we have ...been reminded of the tragic humanitarian costs of conflict in the Middle East, and pained by the suffering of Palestinian and Israeli civilians."

Mainstream American politicians are famously reluctant to utter the words "suffering" and "Palestinian" in the same sentence. By breaking from that tradition, Clinton appeared to send a signal to Israel that that it would not have a free hand to operate in the Middle East.

Israel's cynical timing of its operation to coincide with the ultimate dead zone period in American politics shows just how much U.S. policy really matters in the endless Palestinian question. Just as it does in so many quarters. As Taylor Marsh pointed out, international journalists focused squarely on the actual policy news that was made during Clinton's testimony, not the lunatics:

The world welcomed the change, because the bigger picture has nothing to do with Bill. That Clinton's respect from the Senate Foreign Relations committee infuriated wingnuts and the usual suspects like David Shuster, who couldn't wait to give Christopher Hitches another chance to bloviate about the Clintons, but was relegated to a sideshow, was fitting. Because the signal sent from President-elect Obama through Clinton was received loud and clear around the world.

And then there was Melissa McEwen's quote of the day at Shakesville - to read it is to know Change We Can Believe In, and to look forward to next Tuesday.

Vote, Damn Ye!

I've been bullied. Hectored. Ridden hard and put to bed wet. "Gently reminded." Cajoled. Spammed. Facebooked. Twittered. Tweeted. Retweeted. Feedburnered and Bloglined into a state of bruised digital aphasia. In short, my brain's been blog-battered, splattered all over Manhattan.

We're talking of course about the Weblog Awards, 2008 version. So many terrific nominees. So many friends. So many emails and coquettish dropped hankies. If bloggy self-promotion is a cause, then some of my best blogging buddies are "CauseWired." (Ha! That'll teach you to self-promote around here).

So please, do me a favor - go out and vote for all these worthies. They are all wonderful and deserving of the million-dollar prize that comes with finishing...oh wait...of the little blog badge bling thing that apprises the rest of the world of their worthiness. Seriously, I read these blogs on a weekly basis and I can't think of anything their authors would appreciate more (short of a five-dollar PayPal tip) than your vote.

And the Weblog Awards and its sponsor will appreciate the traffic - the contest is being underwritten, it appears, by GotSpot.com, a site that is searching for the "Sexiest Soccer Mom Ever!" - which will certainly be of intense interest to all the feminists up for awards!

First among equals is the redoubtable Robert Stein - because there's nothing so ironic and just plain entertaining as a legendary editor in his 85th year on this planet being nominated for "Best Up and Comming" blogger. Yep, Bob's getting the hang of this commentary thing. He's also one of several nominees who are also contributors at newcritics, I'm happy to say.

So please cast your ballots for the hilarious Jon Swift in the humor category (and give another look-see at his great round-up of best blog posts of 2008 whilst you're at it).

And try and go all Mayor William J. Daley for Blue Girl in the Best Diarist vote, will ya - so I can avoid being lumped in with her "lazy, apathetic and good-for-nothing friends." There's no one more deserving than Kathleen of Diary of a Heretic for Best Literature Blog, clearly. Uh-oh. Unless, it's the stylish Maud Newton. Better split yer vote there, fellas. They're both newcritics.

Go and vote for  Shakesville for Best Liberal Blog - it's a great community of writers led by the awesome Melissa McEwen. Then come back the next day and click on my buddy Taylor Marsh, who never backs down. Then return the following day and vote for Digby's brilliant Hullabaloo, a guide to political sanity.

In Best Individual Blogger I voted for the clever Lindsay Beyerstein, and for Best Major Blog, I split my vote between Balloon Juice and The Moderate Voice. And for best blog, I went with my friend Ben Smith at Politico.

I've probably missed someone - and that person will undoubtedly let me know about it. So vote early and vote often. And get these (wonderful and talented and worthy) bloggers off my back!

Duplicity Grows in Brooklyn

For Senator Chuck Schumer, it's apparently better politics - and karma - to name the Brooklyn courthouse for a Republican son of Manhattan who died in 1919 than the dominant Brooklyn Democrat who saved New York City during the last fiscal crisis and who was born the same year...and remains very much alive nearly nine decades after rising from the same streets that lead to Cadman Plaza.

The new Federal courthouse was slated to be named for former Governor Hugh Carey, one of the state's legendary political figures and the man widely credited with marshaling federal support and regional political muscle to prevent New York City's economic collapse in the 1970s. He is 89 years old and still active; indeed, he endorsed Barack Obama in last year's Democratic primary. [The decision split the famously large Carey brood - my knowledge of this is primary: Governor Carey's daughter Susan is my friend and my partner in CauseWired Communications, the new firm we're starting this month. There's disclosure for you!]

Governor Carey has maintained a dignified silence in this strange affair. I shall not. This is meshuge. It stinks.

That Senator Schumer should appear in downtown Brooklyn, media in tow, with an mustachioed impersonator of Teddy Roosevelt claiming that Governor Carey doesn't qualify for the naming honors - and that the old Rough Rider is more deserving - should qualify our press-hounding senior Senator  for a one-way ticket out of his home borough. Bringing in a ringer to replace one of Brooklyn's great politicians is pretty much the equivalent of trading Jackie Robinson to the hated Giants or tearing down Ebbetts Field.

Let's put it this way: Chuck Schumer just became the Walter O'Malley of New York politics.

Now, Theodore Roosevelt is certainly worthy of any honors that may come his way, 90 years after his death and more than a century after his presidency. Indeed, as one of America's great progressives TR is many a Democrat's favorite Republican. But the Brooklyn courthouse? WTF?! (An acronym invented in Brooklyn, I might add, reputedly by a young Brooklyn Eagle reporter by the name of Whitman).

The Carey Courthouse was as done a deal as there is in the traditional edifice, street and monument naming game. As Jim Dwyer wrote in today's Times:

Although the House voted to name the courthouse for Mr. Carey in 2007, that bill could not become law until the Senate passed it, too, and the president signed it. These, however, are usually formalities. For the Carey name not to be chiseled into the granite would require heavy legislative lifting.

Enter Senator Schumer.

For some wacked-out reason, Schumer got a big-time TR jones on and went all Spike Lee He's Gotta Have It with the Rooseveltian moniker. The question is why?

Why spit in the eye of the still-living Governor who refused to give up on a bankrupt city? Why publicly dump on the man who personally blocked executions in New York State even after the Republican legislature reinstated the death penalty? On the Democrat who signed the Willowbrook Consent Decree, ending a hidden life of misery and abandonment for the developmentally disabled? The national Irish-American leader who used his position to push for peace in Northern Ireland? One of the first mainstream organization Democrats in New York to oppose the Vietnam War? The guy who created Battery Park City and South Street Seaport and the Javits Center (two out of three ain't bad)?

Why diss the Brooklyn Democrat whose seat in Congress a young and ambitious Brooklynite named Chuck Schumer once held?

And what's with the sudden Teddy Roosevelt obsession, anyway? As Dwyer archly notes:

The point, Mr. Schumer said, was to repair what he sees as a deficit of public memorials to Roosevelt in New York, which include a national park site in Long Island, a bronze statue of him on horseback in front of the American Museum of Natural History, and at least a dozen schools and parks around the state.

“It bugs me that he’s forgotten, particularly in the city he came from — the only president to come from New York,” Mr. Schumer said.

Uh-huh.

And as Jim Dwyer noted, the "still living" conundrum doesn't really exist either - it's about as real as the spurs on the fake TR's boots: Senator Schumer had proudly presided over prominent addresses named for Daniel Moynihan and Al D'Amato - with both men palpably breathing on the dais next to him as the cameras clicked and whirred.

Consider the times, as well. We're facing a recession at least as long and deep as the mid-1970s. Governor Carey provides a living link to that era, a symbol of a time when strong leadership created a better future for New York City. This economic crisis will surely test our current Governor, David Paterson, more than any decision over whether to appoint the suddenly political Caroline Kennedy to Hillary Clinton's Senate seat.  What better way to remind our current lineup of leaders of the high stakes this economic crisis presents than to gather them all in downtown Brooklyn for a ceremony naming the federal courthouse for Hugh Carey.

I think Senator Schumer has done a fine job for New York and I've been proud to support him. But this is political insanity personified - either that or it's some weird and troubling form of personal spite, bubbling up from the old cobblestones. Either way, it should be corrected - and fast.

Under the Facade, Shadows Around the Monuments

When times were tough and people were tougher, media came in two flavors: black and white, all shadows and light with a clear line between good and evil (or so we thought). In another two weeks, we may all receive a massive inoculation of optimism in full, living color as our new president calls a generation or two of us to national action - but at the tail-end of this endless cloistered holiday in winter quarters, the flickering shadows call us. From his perch high above the West Side, Jim Wolcott looks east across the city of another era, to the epic struggle of another generation:

Every citizen-deadbeat in this country should be instructed to watch The World at War, an epic, riveting demonstration that, historically speaking, we have nothing really to whine about, not that that will stop us. Skip the episode on U-boats and wolf packs (too many tedious talking heads) and watch the Stalingrad and Red Star (siege of Leningrad) episodes back to back, and prepare to shiver. Laurence Olivier's narration--it's like listening to the eternal voice of the sea, if the ocean were noble and wise and had its own dressing room.

Personally, I preferred a gingerbread cookie to the horsemeat death grind of Stalingrad and so this weekend, I luxuriated in the sweet narration of "the Olivier of 161st Street" - aka Mel Allen - in the brilliant, full-game black and white cinescope rescue of Don Larsen's perfect game in the 1956 World Series, featured this New Year's week in the canny from-the-archives debut of the new MLB network.

The voices of Allen and his smooth Flatbush counterpart, young Vincent Scully, wash over the proceedings at the old Yankee Stadium like cool and sudsy vendor-poured beer in those long October shadows. This is the time of year when we're farthest from those familiar baseball patterns, deepest into the winter sports freeze, and the fascinating full-body baptismal immersion that is the experience of watching this 52-year-old bit of black and white sports media spreads a most welcome warmth.

In the fifth inning, Gil Hodges - the 32-year-old Brooklyn veteran and should-be Hall of Famer - rips a long drive to left center, headed toward the 457 sign to the left of the Monuments to Huggins, Ruth and Gehrig. Allen's voice rises with the liner: "There's a line drive to left center! Mantle still going, still going - great catch! How about that!"

So many details from the production and setting. No instant replay. No names on the uniforms. The single television sponsor: Gillette's new three-track razor, available with a pocket version of the Baseball Encyclopedia for a buck. ("Not a bristle!" marvels Casey Stengel, running a gnarled hand over his chin in the locker-room ad with Allen.)  Coats and ties in the stands. Uniformed ushers in peaked caps patrol the aisles. At the end of the game, the fans in the box seats simply walk onto the field and stream towards the exits in the outfield along River Avenue.

And the great baseball names. There's Jackie Robinson charging a grounder by Gil McDougald and firing to Hodges for the out. Sal Maglie, the ancient Giant pitching in his last Series game for his old rivals in Brooklyn, nearly matches Larsen in excellence - indeed, his breaking stuff looks phenomenal even on the cinescope wash. There's Carl Hubbell, a ghost from another era, visiting the broadcast booth to chat with Mel Allen. Frank Crosetti, teammate of Ruth and Gehrig, coaches third for the Yankees. Late-season pick-up Enos "Country" Slaughter, famed for his St. Louis dashes, patrols left for New York. The massive Roy Campanella faces Larson with a menacing open stance. Centerfielder Duke Snider is noticeably faster than Mickey Mantle, and smashes a rocketing upper deck shot - just foul - in the fourth inning. Mantle's own line-drive homer inside the foul pole in right puts the Yankees on the board in the next inning, followed by an incredible diving catch in left-center by Snider of a sinking smash by Yogi Berra.

The unparalleled feat of Larsen, pitching with no wind-up, is almost secondary - at least to me. It's the great tableau of baseball history unfolding in a single game that works its magic of escape and entertainment and curiosity.

Simpler times, some will mutter - the 50s of Ike and Mickey Mantle, post-Korea and pre-Vietnam. That kind of wishing cultural whimpering is just too easy. Better to simply appreciate the sound and the form and those shadows.

Besides, baseball ghosts are being turned out into this winter's wind by the dugout-full. Out in Corona (not Flushing), that beloved steel and concrete dump of my youth, Shea Stadium, lies like a decommissioned warship, the ribs of its once-proud hull - coated with generations of LaGuardia-bound jet fuel and watery Rheingold - lie bleaching and exposed in the thin January sun.

In the Bronx: the grossest epithet of non-preservation by a city that undervalues culture and its own history. A facsimile rises. The real thing, the broad and green playing field below the courthouse where the greats wrote the story of the game, is abandoned with a wave of churlish ignorance. Abandoned to the luxury boxes and restaurants that make up the new sporting playground designed for very rich men. Abandoned to an era of lavish accommodation and a criminal's gambling leverage that is very plainly coming to its stunning and impoverishing end.