Now Read This (Nobel Prize Swagger)

The final member of my anti-bullshit team's starting line-up is a bona fide Nobel Prize winner, economist Paul Krugman--columnist for the the New York Times and professor at Princeton.

You can catch his columns here and his blog here. I think you have to register with the NYT site, and if you haven't--well, you just can't count yourself among the liberal elite, now can you?

The New Yorker just profiled him last week, which you can read here to find out how he went from merely an economist to a mild-mannered flame-thrower who can wield wit and statistical analysis with equal aplomb.

Just look at him. How can you not love him? He's a cross between Sigmund Freud and George Clooney. He's brilliant. He's funny. Too bad he's married!

(Ignore the "Read More")
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Yeah, I Know It's Cheating...

...to rely on posts that point out other people's stuff. But fuck it. Science must be dropped--does it matter who does the dropping?

I submit it does not. Where would we be if Galileo didn't drop the orange?

Permit me to follow up on my post about Queen, specifically with regard to the song "Under Pressure". (I know you didn't listen to the song, let alone look at the lyrics. That's ok, it's what I'm here for.)

So here are the lyrics (minus Freddie Mercury's inimitable freestyle sounds--some things should not be presented in written form, trust me):

Pressure pushing down on me
Pressing down on you no man ask for
Under pressure - that burns a building down
Splits a family in two
Puts people on streets

It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming 'Let me out'
Pray tomorrow - gets me higher
Pressure on people - people on streets

Chippin' around - kick my brains around the floor
These are the days it never rains but it pours

People on streets
People on streets
It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming 'Let me out'
Pray tomorrow - gets me higher high high
Pressure on people - people on streets

Turned away from it all like a blind man
Sat on a fence but it don't work
Keep coming up with love
but it's so slashed and torn
Why - why - why ?
Love love love love love
Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking
Can't we give ourselves one more chance
Why can't we give love that one more chance
Why can't we give love give love give love give love
give love give love give love give love give love
'Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the night
And love dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Under pressure
Under pressure
Pressure

And here is the song:
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Now Read This (Advanced Political Content)

Ok, yesterday I hipped you to Michael Lind, a reasonable center-left writer whose brief articles appear from time to time on Salon.com. I know you haven't read all the links I highlighted yet. That's cool.

Nevertheless, today I want to post about the man, the myth the legend, Glenn Greenwald. He's a featured blogger at Salon.com. (Yes, another Salon shout-out, I know.) Now, just because I used the "b" word doesn't mean Glenn's not a badass motherfucker with serious credentials. He's a constitutional scholar, bitches. Progressive to the core, so much so that he pisses off tons of middle-of-the-road and Establishment Democrats every day before you've brushed your teeth.

He posts almost daily. He doesn't pull punches. He holds feet to the fire and calls out liars and bullshitters. He help keeps the needle on my righteous indignation meter pinned in the red. He looks like Ron Reagan, Jr. (that's not really a plus, but I felt compelled to mention it. Nobody else seems to).

Bottom line, he helps me cut through the bullshit. Maybe he can do the same for you.
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Now Read This

I've decided that rather than do the hard work of synthesizing the cool shit I read about society, politics, economics and the like, I decided that I'd start using my blog to collect the best of what I'm reading so you guys can digest it yourselves.

Allow me to present Michael Lind, editor of the New American Contract, writes frequently for a Salon.com, a center-left website that I read daily, as many of you know. He thinks and writes in a clear, straightforward manner.

I suggest you start with this, his latest column. Some pretty interesting insights, though I don't know what, if any, conclusions we can draw from them.
Here are some other good ones:

FDR's Second Bill of Rights

The Pledge of Allegiance is Un-American

The Tax Breaks That Ate America

Incorporate This!

Enjoy. And yes there will be a quiz. When you least expect it.
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Aw, Fuck It

Sometimes I get fired up to write about something but fizzle out when I realize there's no way I can transmit that spark to you, dear reader.

But today I'm putting the blame for that on you, because with regard to today's topic, if you don't jump on this train you're brain-dead, soul-dead and hereby banned from reading my shit.

Ok?

Queen. Don't know what drew me to them, but they've been nestled in the far reaches of my consciousness for a while. Right now, I'm deep into their catalog, listening to them every day. On the street on my iPod, in the house on the stereo, and often thinking "man I wish I was in Los Angeles driving with the top down cranking this song".

[And what did I read today? Sacha Baron Cohen's been tapped to play Freddie Mercury. Fuck yeah. Beyond the physical similarities, SBC's turn in Sweeney Todd showed me he's got what it takes to play a charismatic dandy with a flair for the dramatic.]

Sure, we all know the overexposed radio hits--Bohemian Rhapsody, Another One Bites The Dust, Crazy Little Thing Called Love, among several others--they're permanently seared into the synapses of anybody who grew up listening, willingly or not, to classic rock radio. Such songs quickly lost their potency when listened to in thin, compressed form on the radio, removed from their album context and sandwiched between Toyotathon commercials and far-less-thrilling 70's rock staples from bands with one-word names.

But make no mistake: Queen will still rock your stupid face off and make you ashamed for not having acknowledged the 8th wonder of the world that is Freddie Mercury's glorious, multi-octave, shape-shifting voice. For not thinking about Brian May when the short list of greatest guitarists becomes the topic at hand. May's fat, rich sound combines the raw buzz of down and dirty rock 'n' roll with the soaring, ringing-from-the-heavens cry that separates gods from mortals. Bassist John Deacon puts more sexy thumping melody into the mix than is healthy--Another One Bites The Dust, anyone? Yeah, that's but one arrow in his quiver.

[Let me hit you with an aside--something that always makes me shake my head and smile: a super-flaming gay dude fronted a band named Queen and sang the most cock-rocking one-two punch of a sporting anthem of all time. If I believed in God I'd say he had wicked sense of humor.]

Back to rocking your stupid face off. What are you listening to these days? Pfft, I don't care, 'cause it sucks and I know it's not putting a smile on your face. So let's get down to it. Where to start, where to stop?

[Well, the first mistake you'll make is that you don't use bit torrent to download entire discographies of bands you want to listen to. You pay for music? Sucker! Information wants to be free. Liberate that shit. But I digress.]

Their first few albums, while they are worth listening to, skew a bit toward that Zepplin-y, fairy tale-laden nonsense so prevalent in the early '70s. I suggest you begin with 1975's A Night At The Opera. This is where the theatrical bombast and pop craftsmanship meet up with the buzzsaw kickassness of the first few albums. From here, you're golden through 1980's The Game.  By golden, I mean near-total, top-to-bottom fun.

There's still more fun to be had with the albums from the '80s. 1982's Hot Space concludes with the Freddie Mercury-David Bowie classic "Under Pressure". Sure, you've heard it a million times. Sure, you've heard its signature bassline in that Vanilla Ice song. But forget all that.

Do me a favor.

Seriously.

You can disregard everything else here--just listen to this song. Loud. On repeat. With the lyrics in front of you. I humbly submit this as the greatest song of all time.  Take a moment and open your heart. Let the cynicism melt away. Allow yourself to feel goosebumps. Remember how great music can make you feel bigger and better. How it can make it seem like being a modern human doesn't have to suck so much. Does anybody bring it like this anymore?

Nope.

But one way or another I'm going to figure out why and set to making the world a place where people feel compelled to make music like that.
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