Listen here my sister and my brother

Tomorrow, the NFL Season officially kicks off-- oh christ that's a horrible pun. Try that again. Tomorrow, the NFL Season starts for me.

That's right, kiddies, it's the second-most-wonderful time of the year, the NFL Draft! Like all real football fans (I'm talking to you, Mike Wilbon), I'll be glued to my TV set, radio, and whatever else I need so I can hear the picks, especially that first round, which doesn't matter much for the Bears (not nearly as much as the NBA Draft will matter for the Bulls, who get the Knicks' pick) but could shift the balance of power in the NFL. Oh yes, I'm dead serious.

So who will those first-rounders be? These guys:

1. Houston Texans: Reggie Bush, RB (USC)
2. New Orleans Saints: D'Brickshaw Ferguson, OT (Virginia)
3. Tennessee Titans: Vince Young, QB (Texas)
4. New York Jets: Matt Leinart, QB (USC)
5. Green Bay Packers: A.J. Hawk, LB (Ohio State)
6. San Francisco 49ers: Mario Williams, DE (NC State)
7. Oakland Raiders: Michael Huff, DB (Texas)
8. Buffalo Bills: Jimmy Williams, DB (Virginia Tech)
9. Detroit Lions: Vernon Davis, TE (Maryland)
10. Arizona Cardinals: Jay Cutler, QB (Vanderbilt)
11. St. Louis Rams: Chad Greenway, LB (Iowa)
12. Cleveland Browns: Haloti Ngata, DT (Oregon)
13. Baltimore Ravens: Kamerion Wimbley, LB (Florida State)
14. Philadelphia Eagles: Winston Justice, OT (USC)
15. Denver Broncos: Broderick Bunkley, DT (Florida State)
16. Miami Dolphins: Donte Whitner, DB (Ohio State)
17. Minnesota Vikings: Santonio Holmes, WR (Ohio State)
18. Dallas Cowboys: Bobby Carpenter, LB (Ohio State)
19. San Diego Chargers: DeAngelo Williams, RB (Memphis)
20. Kansas City Chiefs: Antonio Cromartie, DB (Florida State)
21. New England Patriots: Tye Hill, DB (Clemson)
22. San Francisco 49ers: Chad Jackson, WR (Florida)
23. Tampa Bay Buccaneers: Kelly Jennings, DB (Miami)
24. Cincinnati Bengals: Jason Allen, DB (Tennessee)
25. New York Giants: Eric Winston, DB (Miami)
26. Chicago Bears: Marcedes Lewis, TE (UCLA)
27. Carolina Panthers: Jonathan Joseph, DB (South Carolina)
28. Jacksonville Jaguars: LenDale White, RB (USC)
29. New York Jets: Laurence Maroney, RB (Minnesota)
30. Indianapolis Colts: Jason Allen, DB (Tennessee)
31. Seattle Seahawks: Mathias Kiwanuka, DE (Boston College)
32. Pittsburgh Steelers: Sinorice Moss, WR (Miami)

That is all.

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Today's DIJ: "Oceans," Pearl Jam (Ten).

A lot of people think that "Alive" was Pearl Jam's first single. They're wrong. It was this beautiful, haunting and uncharacteristically trippy track off the Seattle arean rockers' debut. At that point, nobody knew who Pearl Jam was, and the mad rush for Seattle bands in the post-Nirvana alt.rock world was not really paying dividents at that juncture. What's sad is that "Oceans" gets unfairly overlooked when talking about the great Pearl Jam singles. It's got a lilting, almost space-rock guitar that transports the listener to swaying waters (making it sound really, really cool on a cruise at night, twilight...hell, anytime, really). The drums, too, evoke the swaying back-and-forth, and Vedder & Co. give the performances of their lives on vocals. But maybe best is the Pumpkinsesque psych-rock - meets - New York proto-punk guitars, which puncture the more bass-oriented trance of the choruses. It's a gorgeous song, far better than at least half of Peral Jam's supposed "best" tunes.

Fire is the devil's only friend

So, now the dust has settled from last week's big announcements and departures, and President Bush is absolutely right in presuming that this will pacify his underwhelmed electorate.

And if you believe that, you probably also believe that we have a conservative in office right now.

Let's be honest, and let's start from the beginning. Scott McClellan has needed to go for a long time, but this is actually the one time I'm going to stand up for Scottie Too Hottie. I mean, the man is the biggest idiot to occupy that press room in a long time, but when you're being bombarded by reporters as to why the president is continuing to support Donald Rumsfeld's obviously fucked-up war strategy, and when this is happening on a daily frickin' basis, how in the holy hell would anyone figure out how to counter that? And besides all that crap, Scottie Mac has developed a certain reparte with the press -- not a good one, obviously, but one that has, for the most part, shielded the Administration Proper from a lot of attacks, mainly because a lot of the problems could easily be blamed on having a poor press secretary (or, if you want to look at it from the neocon end, a liberal press that does nothing but attack that press secretary). Letting S2H go isn't going to fix problems; it's going to make them worse. Now -- and keep in mind that I have nothing but loathing for Scott McClellan --, the Administration is charged with finding an outsider, somebody not within even the entire D.C. area but maybe a good ole boy from Texas or some other shit like that, rather than staying with a guy who, though incompetent, was woefully incompetent. When the next guy isn't able to cover up the crap that TBA pulls, they're the ones who'll have egg on their faces, rather than Captain Scott.

The Karl Rove thing, of course, is a bit more interesting. First of all, Rove has been relieved of virtually nothing; instead, he's going to spend the rest of his wicked life working to get neoconservative Republicans elected to Congress. And keep in mind, Rove doesn't lose, but he needs to have all his resources about him, especially if he's to have any semblance of a career in politics after the dust settles from this Titanic-like administration.

Meanwhile, ladies and gentlemen, who's in charge, still, of military operations in Iraq, Afghanistan, and the rest of the War On Terror? Oh, riiiiight, that one dude that continues to fuck things up (by the $billions) daily, Donald "Not Trump" Rumsfeld! Rummy, who might go down in history as the single greatest sophist this universe and any other that contributes to a collection of universes, also known as a multiverse, is keeping us on the Iraq War Horse. But The Donnie -- who, contrary to popular belief, was not a pioneer or Civil War vet -- doesn't seem to realize that when your horse is drowning in the middle of the stream, a sane person generally thinks to himelf or herself, Oh shit, the horse is drowning! I've gotta get the fuck off this horse, let him drown, and swim for myself. Otherwise, I might die with the horse, and that'd be very, very bad indeed.

You may believe I'm being a little hard on the embattled (and oft-criticized, especially by retired generals) Defense Secretary. I'm not. Let's review here, people: The Donmeister, who was hand-picked by George W. Bush and Richard Cheney to be essentially a Secretary of War rather than a Secretary of Defense, is the same fucking guy who made the Reagan-era deals with Saddam Hussein! Again, the man charged with defending our country, troops, and business interests abroad (hate to admit it, but it's true) against our enemy-of-the-moment Iraq was the guy making deals with him barely a quarter-century ago.

Oops!

I mean, seriously, did it ever occur to TBA that hiring this guy might be a bad idea? Has it occurred to the Decider-in-Chief (whatever the fuck that means) that getting rid of two people he didn't really need to at this juncture (that's key, folks, because let's face it, this entire administration needs to get the fuck out of D.C. before they screw anything else up) instead of the one guy who's been singled out by nearly everybody as the single most incompetent member of this administration (man! is that saying something) might not be his greatest move ever? Doesn't the president have advisors for precisely this type of thing? Doesn't he listen, or is he more like President Charles Logan on 24, making secret plans behind the back of everyone? I like to think it's just that Bush is too stupid or bored or coked-out to listen, but I fear Bush has some sort of hidden agenda. Remember, we're talking about a guy who basically allowed gas prices to reach an ultimate so he could loosen the environmental standards for gasoline (once again proving that this is a corporate-run White House with nothing but oil stooges out to make a buck populating every single solitary position, and every single person who willingly works for, or who openly supports, George W. Bush after this whole thing about gas ought to be deported for being un-American, not to mention the fact that they support a man and an administration that has gutted every single thing that makes us American, shat on Teddy Roosevelt's grave, and wiped their asses with the Constitution).

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to say it right now, and I hate that I've come to believe it's true. I really wanted to believe Shrubya was an idiot, a fool, a puppet. Now I know a lot better.

George W. Bush is the Anti-Christ.

Good thing I'm not a Christian or I'd really be scared. I mean, who knew these Revelation-inspired televangelists were right about the Anti-Christ coming soon?

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Today's DIJ: "Morning Girl" by the Neon Philharmonic (The Moth Confesses).

One of the more unheralded singles from the post-Summer of Love '60s (in the same vein as the ultra-fried but still cool late-'60s Beach Boys records -- and fuck you, DeRo, I'm right about Friends being an awesome record!), "Morning Girl" was a top-20 hit, which means it was forgotten. Eventually, because the production was so Spectoresque, the vocals were so lounge lizardy, and the backing track was like Brian Wilson had just had a threesome with Mozart and the Monkees, the song was, unfairly and completely incorrectly, labeled "obscuro" (the same kind of label that haunted the Polyphonic Spree's first record). But "Morning Girl" is a gem. Beginning in one speaker with this weird synth opening, gliding into Don Gant's lounge vocals, and then becoming this massive ork-pop symphony near the end -- replete with soaring strings and audacious horns --, the song kind of proves the point that '67 psychedelia didn't die in '67. Really, this song was very obviously the model -- at least on some level -- for the PolySpree's '04 single "Hold Me Now." And that's a very, very good thing.

I'm giving you a long look

Why is it that Progressives are lumped into the same category of "Very Libral" on John Zogby's website? I consider myself a Progressive ideologically, but I certainly don't consider myself a Liberal any longer. And I'm very happy to explain why.

1) Big government equals big bureaucracy. Progressive-liberals like Russ Feingold have got it dead-on: use big governmental programs when it's necessary. But governmental Liberalism, in the form that makes it Socalism and as it is embraced by the majority of Democrats, is a bad thing. When you increase the size of the government, it does one thing, cuts unemployment. But it never addresses the central issue of why these "newly-created jobs" are never going to last: governmental initiatives. Plus, and I've learned this by having to play this bureaucratic game at my school, more departments means less efficiency, and government, as the leader-structure of people, must be as efficient as possible. Add all this to the fact that liberals can't embrace their great foe, George W. Bush, who actually agrees with them on big government! If the Department of Homeland Security isn't the biggest indicator of governmental liberalism since the Nixon administration, I don't know what is.

2) Big spending equals big debts, and big debts equal badness. George W. Bush, as we all ought to know, is a very liberal spender; we've had no fiscal discipline under his "leadership," certainly less than we had under Clinton or Bush the Greater. But that's no different than Carter and Johnson, two Democrats who were lost on controlling the economy. Big debts and liberal spending habits are a problem for the country, though, and spending and spending with no restraint will, in the long run, bankrupt the entire nation, especially if one day the Saudi royals decide they're just going to pull their shit out of here.

3) Social Liberalism uses band-aids. Let's think rationally, for a moment, about affirmative action. Now, I'm not taking the Angry White Guy stance, because I actually think that, on the whole, minorities are owed a helluva lot for the way WASPs treated them back in the day (although my people, the Irish, were literally a step -- just a step -- ahead of blacks, and we don't get reparations or special treatment). But if I were a minority, I'd be pretty goddamned pissed off that I'm getting a job not because I deserve it but because of my skin color. Now fuck that whole school of thought that calls it reverse descrimination; it might be, but you've still got a much better chance of getting another job if you're white than if you're a minority. But seriously, if men can't give women a job because they've got good legs or a nice ass, why should we give a job to another person based on his or her skin color?

4) Nation-assisting isn't bad, but nation-building is. Contrary to what Republicans might have us believe, Bill Clinton wasn't a nation-builder; he stepped in when the stepping needed to happen, but his "Liberal" nation-building campaign was actually a helluva lot more conservative than Bush the Lesser's. This idea that we can walk into another country and restructure it in a way favorable to us might be a favorite tactic of Ann Coulter and the Far Right, but it's a traditionally Liberal way of looking at things. That's right, I'm calling Ann Coulter a Liberal on this one, and she's just going to have to deal with it. Conservatism deals internally, and true Conservatism, which loves this idea of a wall around our borders, believes we ought to be isolationist. Now, I'm not saying that's what I agree with (that's why I'm a Progressive), but let's call a spade a spade here, folks.

So there are four reasons, anyways, why Liberalism doesn't work, or, at least, doesn't appeal to me. But Conservatism doesn't really work all that well, either. That's why I believe there has to be a third way. Forget this shit about "Leftists" and "Rightists." I'm not a moderate; I have stances on issues that I don't think cancel each other out, but it's like that third side of a drawn cube: I'm calling it Progressivism, because it's not Left or Right, and it's not Libertarian.

Clark/Feingold '08!

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Today's DIJ: "Punk Rock Girls," the Queers (Don't Back Down).

I remember hearing this song for the first time back when I was in early high school. I was sitting down in front of my proto-Napster p2p program, and I decided I needed to know what a band called the Queers sounded like. When I realized they were simply doing the Ramones, but doing it really, really well, I was excited. When I heard "Punk Rock Girls," of course, I was even more than excited -- more along the lines of blown away. It's a dumb song, of course, about a guy who wants to date one of those alternative-looking girls he sees at punk rock shows, but what a dumb song! There's a riff worthy of early Ramones and lifted quite obviously out of surf music (as was much of the great punk movement); "Ooh ooh oohs" to boot; and, perhaps most wonderfully, a bubble-gummy chorus that refers to these gorgeous ladies as "Yummy yummy punk rock girls." C'mon, y'all have a sense of humor, some fun!

Sittin' on top of the world with your legs hangin' free

The following is a letter sent to Jim DeRogatis regarding first-ever rock concerts:

Hey Jim,

Well, I can't say I'm proud of my former self's musical taste, but here's the story of my first rock show:

In my younger and more vulnerable years, I was tragically something of a Dave Matthews fan. Since that time, my tastes have refined with age and intelligence, but suffice it to say, getting to work at Soldier Field meant getting into concerts for free, and I was willing to milk that for all it was worth.

On June 29, 2000, my school-sponsored crew and I took one of the school vans from suburban Niles to Soldier Field, getting to hear the soundcheck of songs from what would ultimately become the unreleased Lillywhite Sessions. I remember distinctly the song "JTR" sounding through as the sun went down beyond the stadium, making for a really cool view from my vantage point exactly opposite the stage.

As the crowds finally began pouring in, I hastily shuffled inebriated patrons to their seats, working back-and-forth between the stadium seats and the backstage area, where Matthews himself was chatting with a buddy of mine. I didn't much care, as I was beginning to rake in the cash for allowing intoxicated frat boys onto the lower level in exchange for typically Chicagoan cash bribes. When the first band, a very young incarnation of Tex-Mex mini-symphony Ozomatli had finished and paved way for then-newbie Ben Harper (long before his fabulous Innocent Criminals days), the crowds began to sway; the setting of the sun and subsequent rise of a harvest moon brought with it burning smells not completely unfamiliar to a suburban high schooler's nose.

When Matthews took the stage with his ensemble band, including a guest keyboardist and three gospel singers, I felt like they were plodding through a relatively uneventful set, until suddenly my ears perked up: following a hideous but somewhat enticing (in my now-intoxicated state) rendition of "Don't Drink the Water," an aimless drum solo paved the way for one of my favorite Matthews tunes, "Say Goodbye." As the final notes of the ode to one-night stands faded out, Matthews' acoustic guitar began plucking the opening notes of "Lie In Our Graves." The music built to the extended-jam bridge, and I looked beyond the stage to see the beautiful City by the Lake shining in all her glory. As my head began to swim with the sheer giddiness of a completely wasted crowd, I turned my back on the stage and gazed around the stadium, soaking up the wonder of it all; tens of thousands of lighters, most of which had mere seconds before been performing illicet deeds, were raised in the air, forming a vigil well worthy of St. Lucy.

As I stood there pretending to guard the entrance to the field, I noticed my co-worker speaking with an unbelievably attractive girl of approximately my age. When he pointed to me, I had no idea what to expect; certainly, I didn't expect her to say, "I don't have any money, but can I get onto the field if I give you a kiss?" Being sixteen and trashed will do some interesting things to a post-pubescent kid, and when, after several minutes we finally broke apart, I gladly escorted the young woman to a far-better seat as the song continued towards its pompus climax. Even the most cynical of critical snobbery in me must admit that as horrible as fiddler Boyd Tinsely might be, there was something magic that I felt right down in my bones in those moments.

At the end of the night, following a final encore, Matthews came right out and collapsed on the stage; when we students piled into our van an hour later, I was ready to do the same thing.

Time has caught up with me, and the excitement of seeing a glorified bar band like Matthews' largely pales in comparison to seeing Chicago punk bands play the Fireside Bowl, sneaking (or attempting to sneak and naturally getting caught) into Lounge Ax to hear Jeff Tweedy, or jumping up and down to the glorious and giddy strains of "It's the Sun" at my first outing with the Polyphonic Spree. But for those few minutes during "Lie In Our Graves" at the Dave Matthews Band show, I was a god, and it felt pretty damned good.

Brendan Diamond

Every time you state your case, the more I want to punch your face

As the bassist for Stillwater, the ficticious band from Cameron Crowe's masterpiece Almost Famous, said as he was about to die, "Finally, the truth!"

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, said Scooter Libby, it was President Bush.

Yep, according to Libby, Georgie-Porgie told Dick "the Dick" Cheney it was A-O.K. to out Valarie Plame-Wilson as a CIA operative. Which means one of two things: either A) Cheney lied to Libby, or B) Cheney, Karl Rove, or someone else convinced Bush it was the right thing to do. 'Cause, I mean, come on, there is no way in hell that Bush came up with that on his own; dude isn't smart enough, with or without his college coke days.

Now we get to sit back and watch this play out. Yesterday, I had a conversation with my buddy Dammond, in which he, a loyal Republican who is also sick of the George W. Bush Neoconservative Coalition, admitted that Bush is already teetering on the verge of being impeached. Motherfucker might have just pushed himself into the "Oh shit, I'm fucked" category.

That is, unless the Democrats really fall down on this one. They've had their plates made for them so far, everything from appetizers (the Iraq war) to simultaneous soup and salad (the domestic spy program). Now, Bush has thrown them a friggin' fillet mignon. Bush is being rapidly discredited, and his supposedly loyal subjects are starting to turn on him. I guarantee that Colin Powell wanted out for precisely that reason; Condi can't be too far behind, 'cause she's got enough smarts to make at least as serious a run at the presidency as Hillary Clinton. And Libby was the one who admitted that G-Dub was the guy whodunnit.

Now granted, these are simple accusations right now. We don't have all the facts, and it is perhaps impetuous to call for the man's head when we haven't even scraped the Libster off the guillotine. But this is where Congress, Democrat and Republican alike, have to begin seriously thinking about impeachment. If this (or any other) president did indeed set out to discredit a former ambassador by authorizing the leak of his CIA-agent wife's name, he is a traitor to this country and cannot effectively govern. Scary as it sounds, we might be looking at President Hastert in not-too long a time.

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Today's DIJ: "If I Were With Her Now," Spiritualized (Lazer Guided Melodies).

One of my favorite songs on the Smashing Pumpkins' enormously successful 1995 release Mellon Collie & the Infinite Sadness was the epic ode to Pink Floyd "Porcelina of the Vast Oceans," mostly for the unbelievable buildup of guitars and cymbals that gave a sense of the tide rolling in and out. When I heard "If I Were With Her Now" three years later (though it was released long before Mellon Collie), it had the same effect, but there was something even more masterful about the Spiritualized shoegazer anthem. Beginning with a dreamy guitar riff, more and more instruments are added, until suddenly Jason Pierce, a.k.a. Jason Spaceman, sounds his first, beautiful, unintelligible verse. Then, out of nowhere, two or three glorious horns sound, almost like hearing the call of courtly brass, searing through the murky space-travel-infused music. "If I Were With Her Now" is mostly a triumph of production, but it proves that songs can be both awe-inspiring and subdued (which flies in the face of some of my favorite psychedelic bands, like the Polyphonic Spree and the Flaming Lips).

We've got the power now, motherfuckers

It's a sunny Chicago day, I've run into two old friends, I received a personal e-mail from Senator Barack Obama, and Rep. Tom DeLay is resigning from office.

As Fred Rogers might say, it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

DeLay is only leaving because he knows his redistricting in Texas, which led to that state's voting an absurd number of neoconservative Republicans to office, has effectively screwed his chances of winning any sort of re-election campaign; the redistricting he did forgot to take into account his own district, which is now left-leaning (and hopefully will vote for progressive candidates).

On another front, I realized a few nights ago while I was 'shrooming with my friend Izzy that George W. Bush has no power left. The worries his administration has had over the last few weeks that he might become, y'know, a lame-duck president...well, those worries were needless, because he became a lame-duck president during the ports deal scandal. Bush's plans for a domestic overhaul -- social security reform, No Child Left Behind, the realignment of FEMA, etc. -- is going nowhere fast. Bush is washed up, and he's still got over two and a half years left.

The neoconservatives are getting the boot, and I couldn't be happier.

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Today's DIJ: "Linger," Screeching Weasel (Emo). Ben Weasel's finest release with his former band had a collection of killer tracks, but none was quite as stunning as this cover of the Cranberries' mid-'90s hit. The original is a syrupy, strings-laden, boo-hoo-hoo ballad, but Ben beefs it up with some stirring guitars, including a single-guitar intro leading into the first chorus. Weasel's vocals also have seldom been better, his gnarled snotcore style that's in the midst of making fun of emo but actually manages to pull it off better than anyone since Bob Mould. In the pantheon of great covers, the Weasels' "Linger" is equaled by few.