The third day of the near-disaster of the Apollo 13 moon shot.
Everyone involved has been doing everything they can to save the crew:
frantically trying to think and improvise their way through a minefield of
potentially lethal problems, using only the materials at hand on the damage spacecraft to stave off
catastrophe.
And everyone involved is exhausted.
The whole world is watching, worried, riveted, hungry for any scrap of
reliable information, not knowing how this will end.
Except this time roughly half of our own country is openly rooting for Lovell, Swigert
and Haise to crash and burn.
If you have been around these precincts for a very long time, you may remember
way, way back during the Before Time (y'know, the Good Olde Days for
which we are all supposed to be nostalgic and to which we are all supposed to
aspire) there existed a dyspeptic, Conservative prick named Robert
Novak.
Novakula to his critics, which were legion.
If you remember him at all, it was probably for the effortless way Frank Zappa
gutted him like a trout (or a Trout Mask Replica) in 1986 on a
now-mercifully-defunct teevee program called Crossfire.
Novak was a terrible, terrible person who, if he were alive today, would
undoubtedly be stinking up the noosphere with his own program on NewsMax or
Fox. He would also be one of the obligatory right wing asshole quota
hires at a major American newspaper. plus, of course, he'd have his own radio
show and podcast.
But he's dead, so we are spared all of that.
What is less well-remembered except by the last remaining member of the
Liberal Blogosphere Tontine is the time that James
Carville found Novak's "launch codes" as I put it at the time (way back in 2005), and induced him to say a swear on teevee and storm off the
show.
Well, did a loyal American cameraman perhaps land a priest-blessed silver
flickdart in the oily flanks of Human Gallstone, Bobby Novak?
Did some someone opening a window on the other side of the building set in
motion a never-to-be-reproduced, trick-pool-shot with a ray of sunlight
reflecting off of a pair of spectacles, caroming from a watch-face,
ricocheting from a hand-mirror and refracting from the newly squeegeed
framed Hockney print in the hall...only to land on the undead flesh of
he-who-was-cobble-together-from-Krauthammer-leftovers, searing the beast and
sending him into a smoking, insane rage.
Did someone slip a little Holy Water into his vinegar and Victory Gin
onscreen beverage?
No, but one thing is clear: the Number One Rightwing Golem “journalist” lost
it on-camera. Something got all burr-ish under the saddle of CIA-outing, GOP
ponyboy. The good people at Crooks and Liars had it up in seconds, and it
seems to make no sense at all.
He and James Carville are chatting, and suddenly he shouts “Bullshit”, gets
up and stomps away.
God have mercy on Bob Novak’s dog tonight.
The issue was that Novak acted as bagman for the Bush administration's plot to
out an active, undercover CIA agent to punish her husband for proving that
Bush was lying his ass off about the predicate for his Iraq war. (Fun
fact: all the sleazy collusion and sometimes outright treasonous
behavior by administration officials and the Conservative media the took place
during what the Never Trumpers now consider to be the good old days.)
Anyhoo, as I recall, James Carville telescoped his punch just enough to let
Novak know that he was about to be outed on live national television, and
Novak proceeded to lose his shit:
They teach you that on day one at Conservative media sleepaway camp:
when you find yourself well and truly cornered, play the aggrieved martyr by
pitching a big, performative tantrum and stomping out.
Which brings us, perforce, to the case of Hugh Hewitt, the cyborg sent from
the future to destroy America. Since Hewitt does not experience human
emotions, when it came time for him to reserve a high place for himself in any
future Trumpian Republican party by playing the martyr, staging a hissy and
stomping out, it was weird and awkward. Like something a Roomba with
rudimentary AI features might have practiced in front of a mirror several
times the night before.
Hugh Hewitt resigns from Washington Post after storming out of live
interview
Hewitt abruptly left a live broadcast of the Post’s show “First Look,”
leaving the host and his fellow guest stunned.
Conservative radio host Hugh Hewitt resigned Friday from his columnist
position at The Washington Post, he confirmed to Fox News, after walking
out on a live interview on the paper’s video platform — the latest blow to
the Post after facing widespread blowback over halting presidential
endorsements.
Hewitt stormed out during a live broadcast of the Post’s show “First
Look” during a discussion Friday morning about how former President Donald
Trump is laying the groundwork to potentially contest the election,
leaving host Jonathan Capehart and fellow guest Ruth Marcus stunned.
“We are newspeople, even though we have opinions, and we have to report
the whole story if we bring up part of the story,” Hewitt said during a
heated exchange over a GOP Pennsylvania voting lawsuit he reminded viewers
“was successful.”
“I don’t appreciate being lectured about reporting when, Hugh, many times
you come here saying lots of things that aren’t based in fact,” Capehart
replied.
“I won’t come back, Jonathan, I’m done,” Hewitt shot back, removing his
ear piece and walking off screen. “This is the most unfair election ad I
have ever been a part of.”...
The only part of this with which I disagree is the bit about this
being "the latest blow to the Post after facing widespread blowback..." blah blah blah. Au contraire! To misquote the Scottish play,
nothing in Hewitt's tenure at the Post became him like the leaving it.
The only part of this I regret is that conditions were such that Hewitt could
not execute a Full Steve Schmidt: doing the martyr/tantrum thing and
then storming off his own podcast.
Steve Schmidt Storms Off Own Podcast When Asked About Advising Howard
Schultz
“This is bullsh*t,” Schmidt exclaims. “I’m not doing this.”...
The Schmidt case also provides us with an excellent example of how the Media Insider Club works. Membership in the Club virtually guaranteed that no matter how hard a member of the Club schmidts the bed, sooner or later a place will be found for them back in the opinion-havers guild
As you know, the Friday before election day is the time when fair weather
friends, sunshine patriots and, as of late, many of our Never Trump "allies",
gather together to bitch and moan that Democrats have not adequately stepped
up to the job of reversing the fortunes of the American fascist party --
a fascist party which those same fair weather friends, sunshine patriots
and,Never Trump "allies" all had a hand in creating.
But that last little fact is somehow never mentioned in their solemn, sour
conclaves. Instead we are treated to yet another airing of their
grievances against the Democrats because we failed to do whatever the whatsit
these "Centrist", "Center/Right"
dispossessed recently-former Republic aristocrats
feel should have been our Job #1.
The proper attitude of these fuckers should, of course, be apologizing without
ceasing and begging Democrats for forgiveness for the decades they spent
helping to build the doomsday machine that is bearing down on us all, then
turning their unearned positions in the media over to people who weren't wrong
about the Right all along, then asking what more they can do to help us win.
Instead we get the Bulwark's Beg to Differ podcast, this week featuring Reagan era fossil and Disparaging Aunt Who Thinks You Would Have Been Better
Off Marrying That Rich Accountant, Linda Chavez saying shit like this:
Chavez: I... I just wanted to say something that, um, hasn't been,
uh, and that is, uh, Kamala Harris and the transsexual issue.
Here we go. Also "Kamala Harris and the Transsexual Issue" is definitely the name of my garage band if I ever get around to forming a garage band. .
Chavez: And I think that the fact that those commercials --
those, uh, Trump commercials --run every time there's a sporting event... I
mean they're clearly aimed at male voters, um, who I think are probably more
uncomfortable on that issue and she needed a...
Wait for it...
Wait for it...
Chavez: Sister Soulja moment.
And there it is.
Chavez:And she she hasn't given herself that. She might have been
able... I don't think she could do it at this point on that issue, uh ,
y'know she's basically... the campaign... not... she has has more or less
tried to diminish this issue
and clearly it it's not a huge issue in terms of the number of people it
affected, uh, but, y'know, some of us have been warning that this was an issue
culturally that doesn't sit well with the American people.
So, find a trans person. Punch them in the face on camera.
And bingo bongo, you've won over drooling incels! Yay!
Except drooling incels also hate women generally, and black people, so there's
that.
Remember, kids, to please Conservative pundits, Dems must
always hunt up some symbolic hippie to punch to prove to Conservative pundits that they love Murrica or whatever.
I can easily image this same group of Senior Center cafeteria opinion havers
having exactly this same gripe session in 2004, after Dubya won re-election of
the strength of Karl Rove and Matthew Dowd putting gay-bashing referenda on
the ballot in swing states to make sure the Conservative Evangelicals came out
on force, advising Democrats that if they wanted to get right with "the
American people", they would have to have a Sister Soulja moment with Teh
Gays.
BTW, the momentary silence you hear at the end of Ms. Chavez' remarks is Tim Miller not
saying a damn thing.
Instead, Bill Galston, another relic from the Land That Time Forgot, piped in with this:
Galston: First of all I agree with what Linda just said
emphatically...
What these goofs actually know about "the American people" could fit in a
gnat's fanny pack,
So, once again, happy belated “Bellyaching Because Democrats Aren’t Doing It
Right” Day to all who celebrate
Harvard [Institute of Politics] poll predicts Obama loss
Millennials view Mitt Romney as strongest Republican
A new national poll of America’s 18- to 29-year-olds by the Institute of
Politics (IOP) at the Harvard Kennedy School finds more millennials
predict President Barack Obama will lose his bid for re-election (36
percent) than win (30 percent).
Republican Mitt Romney has edged ahead of President Obama in the new
Washington Post-ABC News national tracking poll, with the challenger
winning 50 percent of likely voters for the first time in the campaign.
As Romney hits 50, the president stands at 47 percent, his lowest tally
in Post-ABC polling since before the national party conventions...
And just as the challenger has leaped ahead on this score, he has
effectively neutralized what has been a consistent fall-back for Obama:
economic empathy. In the new poll, 48 percent say Obama is more in tune
with the economic problems people are having, and nearly as many, 46
percent, say Romney is the one who is more in touch. Just two weeks ago,
Obama had a nine-point lead on the question.
Republican nominee Mitt Romney remained 3 points ahead of President
Barack Obama in today's Gallup daily tracking poll, a day after Obama had
closed the gap with his Republican rival among likely voters...
NPR Poll Finds Presidential Race Too Close To Call
The latest and last NPR Battleground Poll for 2012 shows former
Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney holding the narrowest of leads in the
national sample, but trailing President Obama in the dozen states that
will decide the election.
The poll adds evidence that the Oct. 3 debate between the two men
redefined the race. But the movement toward Romney that emerged after that
night in Denver also seems to have stalled after the race drew even —
leaving the outcome difficult to call.
Rove: Sifting the Numbers for a Winner (by Karl Rove)
A crucial element: the mix of Democrats and Republicans who show up this
election.
It comes down to numbers. And in the final days of this presidential
race, from polling data to early voting, they favor Mitt Romney.
He maintains a small but persistent polling edge. As of yesterday
afternoon, there had been 31 national surveys in the previous seven days.
Mr. Romney led in 19, President Obama in seven, and five were tied. Mr.
Romney averaged 48.4%; Mr. Obama, 47.2%. The GOP challenger was at or
above 50% in 10 polls, Mr. Obama in none...
Desperate Democrats are now hanging their hopes on a new Quinnipiac
University/New York Times/CBS News poll showing the president with a
five-point Ohio lead. But that survey gives Democrats a +8 advantage in
turnout, the same advantage Democrats had in 2008. That assumption is, to
put it gently, absurd.
...My prediction: Sometime after the cock crows on the morning of Nov. 7,
Mitt Romney will be declared America's 45th president. Let's call it
51%-48%, with Mr. Romney carrying at least 279 Electoral College votes,
probably more.
Add Washington Post George Will to the landslide column, along with Fox
News Channel’s Dick Morris and the Washington Examiner’s Michael
Barone.
On this weekend’s broadcast of “This Week with George Stephanopoulos” on
ABC, Will revealed his prediction and added a bonus surprise by saying
traditional Democratic state Minnesota would go for Romney, as well...
There's more. Much more. Dick Morris, for example, but I like you
too much to inflict that on you. Point is, it's mere days from the 2012
election and, frankly, Obama looks doomed.
Busy, busy this week so I shan't burden you with a week of birthday fundraiser
stuff. Just one day. Longtime readers will recognize this post as
one I bring out every now and then around this time of year like favorite
holiday decorations.
It's a reminder about how very much that tempus just keeps
fugiting along. How quickly things that poured out of the keyboard in
reaction to white-hot scandal and ruin decades ago have become barely
remembered flickers peering out from a dim and distant past.
It's also why my wife and I added our No Fair Remembering Stuff podcast to our
burgeoning media empire. To remind people (especially people who do
not want to be reminded and get very cranky when you try) that the
trajectory of the Republican party that led to the Tea Party and MAGA and Trump and all the rest of the appalling situation we are in today was long and clearly-marked and they were only too eager to go along with all of it until it was far, far too late.
And of course, happy Halloween and Samhain to all
who celebrate:
Quoth the Hammer
Nevermore.
With all respect to Edgar Poe, who's work I love and admire without reserve...
Once upon a bender bleary, while I pondered, weak and beery, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
With my nod on, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, (Actually more like a serious bitch-slapping), ...smacking at my chamber door. ”WTF," I mumbled, "I’m on vacation! Ask Dick; he runs the nation. Get off my ass and let Karl do it," I loud and soddenly swore.
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak September, And every fucktard, camp-following member had been given his sinecure.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow Chinese cash or some “Aw Shucks” Charisma from the the lost Gipp-er,. For the Smilin’, Beguilin’ Monster who could sell our Republican Manure, Dead and gone forevermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each voting booth curtain Thrilled me---filled me electoral delirium tremens throughout all of 2004; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood bleating, " 'Tis some Pioneer Contributor, or Halliburtoning Corporate whore Or another dimwit frat rat trollop sporting a Santorum coiffure ...This it is, and nothing more."
The Stoli shooters grew stronger; and hesitating no longer, "Dicky?" said I, "Condi? Or is that Turdblossom? I recognize the spoor... But the fact is, I was drinkin’, getting good and stinkin’ And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;--- Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, snarling, sneering Jerking off to Armageddon dreams no one ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken –- no Condi or other token -- And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "2004?", This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word," 2004!" Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into my bottle turning, all the Jim Beam I’d guzzled burning, Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before, "Surely," said I, "surely, that is Rumsfled with a briefing. That will disassemble that bitch Sheehan’s beefing. Let my heart stop Cheneying a moment, and this mystery explore. " 'Tis just old crazy Rummy, and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a hiss and splutter, In there stepped a mangy Hammer, of the Mandate days of yore. Not an ounce of sense made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But with Death Skull grimance, perched above my chamber door. Shat upon a bust of Nixon, just above my chamber door, Shat, and sat, and nothing more.
This Sugarland turd was so badly freaking, into my pants I went leaking, Shocked by the deranged and murderousness of the countenance it wore, "Though thy Majorityhood be shorn and shave," I said, "you are still craven, Ghastly, grim, and wretched Hammer, rampaging like a rabid boar. What the fuck do I do now that my assassin's been shown the door?" Quoth the Hammer, "Nevermore."
Much I marveled as this insanely ranting Dale Gribble spoke so plainly, Though it’s answer little meaning, little veracity bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Would not projectile hurl upon seeing this two-legged offal above his chamber door, A Christopathic beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, That can’t say shit but "Nevermore."
But the Hammer, a skulking minor demon, spoke only of his venom Hissing that one word, as if his soul were stabbed with skewers. Nothing further then he uttered; his heart was tightly shuttered; Til I scarcely more than muttered, "How can I enjoy this Dewars? Who shall ram my mandate now, through Congress' sewers?" To which DeLay said, "Nevermore."
Like the thousand promises I’d broken, his word was oily spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store." Bred from drooling Texas losers, friend of low-wattage crooks and boozers Partied fast and kneecapped faster, till his lies one burden bore --- Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never---nevermore."
But the Hammer still berserking looked into my dank soul smirking, So Karl broke it down for me in little words of two syllables, no more. ”Your polls are a’sinking, on ice your lies are stinking Iraq and Katrina the public are finally a’linking, and now comes this loony Texas hoor - This grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous Sugarland hoor So guess what he means by "Nevermore"?”
And the media scrum grew denser, now fueled by a Grand Jury’s censure Wrought by a righteous prosecutor who ain’t taking this shit no more. "Wretch," I cried, "now it’s all for nothing. For nothing I cheated Albert Gore. So get me three fingers of two-cents-plain that I may forget by apotheotic 2004! Drink and drink and puke and drink and forget my apotheotic 2004! Quoth the Hammer, "Nevermore!"
"You For-Profit, agenda-killing jag off" said I, "Faith-based pimp of Abramoff! By that Dobson that bends us over -- by that God we both abhor-- Is there in the cushions where we shine our asses, even one dime of my political assets? A whiff of my miracle Mandate year, which Pope Gregor named 2004 --- My moment on the Mountain, COBOL programmers call Y2K-plus-four? Quoth the Hammer, "Nevermore."
"Shut up you fucking loser!" I shrieked, upstarting -- "Go back to offing roaches you salad tossing, Albatrossing spore! Leave no poo stripe as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my binginess unbroken! Leave me a political Debtor! Take thy dick from out my mouth, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Hammer, "Nevermore."
But the Hammer, never quitting, still is sitting, still is shitting Down the throat of my Dead Mandate, my ghost of 2004; And his eyes still have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming. And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my Mandate from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted---nevermore!
