seeing as this is kind of a throwaway day for most of the united states (middle of a four day holiday dedicated to conspicuous consumption, etc. etc.), i thought i'd clean out the attic:

1. the rumi poem was HOPEFUL. thanks for the thoughts, but i was posting that for POSITIVE reasons. and for some of my acquaintances that are going thru hard times and might appreciate a nod towards perspective.

2. why do people in this weird little community feel the need to put their counters WAY DOWN LOW on their pages? are they hiding them? i mean, that just kind of reinforces the whole sad voyueristic thing about counters doesn't it, like they're spying without me knowing? come on, this isn't the j crew dressing room. be proud of your insecurity and need for reinforcement. put them counters up high!

3. in that vein, who is the canadian? (see, i'm being up front here, setting an example if you will.) i'd like to say here that i love canada, and if it was possible for me to drag your level of political discourse down low enough so i could make a living there, i'm ALL OVER british columbia. mmm...sandy beach oysters...mmm...pandering...

4. i'm working on developing a mad-lib style of campaign bio and fundraising letter and will post soon.

5. yes, that is the style of the juvenile game, not the hip-hop producer.

6. did i mention that my main motivation for all this is procrastination? no? well, the motivation for this is procrastination.

7. selah.

spun by the propagandist at 10:39:00 AM

 

Praise to the emptiness that blanks out existence. Existence:
This place made from our love for that emptiness!

Yet somehow comes emptiness,
this existence goes.

Praise to that happening, over and over!
For years I pulled my own existence out of emptiness.

Then one swoop, one swing of the arm,
that work is over.

Free of who I was, free of presence, free of dangerous fear, hope,
free of mountainous wanting.

The here-and-now mountain is a tiny piece of a piece of straw
blown off into emptiness.

These words I'm saying so much begin to lose meaning:
Existence, emptiness, mountain, straw:

Words and what they try to say swept
out the window, down the slant of the roof.

--Rumi
spun by the propagandist at 1:48:00 PM

 
last night:

1. got to the dj shadow show, paid the 10 bucks to park, discovered that my ticket was not in my wallet, where it had been nestling comfortably.

2. looked in the car. looked in the office. looked at the police station atm. could not find ticket. smash phone into pieces against dashboard after it dies for 4th consecutive time while trying to communicate with friends in show.

3. boiling rage causes exploded blood vessel in eye to get worse. now the whole right side of my right eye is solid blood red. go to kaiser urgent care.

4. told to calm down and it will be fine, unless, of course, the blood covers that last millimeter to my iris and then i could go blind. so don't worry, but pay attention.

5. make note to switch to blue shield.

6. after leaving kaiser, violent stomach pains ensue and continue for rest of night and thru writing of this entry.

7. collect pieces of phone, go home to find french doors blown open and a high wind howling thru a house covered with needles from juniper trees and assorted garbage.

8. consider torching house for the insurance and moving to puebla, mexico.

9. still thinking about number 8.
spun by the propagandist at 10:12:00 AM

 
also socialist realism. i like that too.
spun by the propagandist at 3:26:00 PM

 
okay, i think i need a little disclaimer here:

just because i write about the russian revolution, and soviet history, doesn't mean that i idealize that regime.

actually, i'm of like mind with orwell in homage to catalonia. the ussr really just became another dictatorship, albeit one of the proletariat. well, if you count the bolshevik vanguard as proletariat.

but the fact that politics was life, and life was politics is fascinating to me...not that i think its a good idea, i just find it terribly, terribly interesting.

disclaimer out.
spun by the propagandist at 3:18:00 PM

 
new word for the propagandist day, and guess what? it's RUSSIAN!

voenspetsy: this is a great one. a voenspetsy was one of the "military experts" recruited by trotsky to professionalize the red army during the russian civil war. remember, kids, that after the Februrary revolutions, and even more so after the october revolution, the army killed, tortured or drove off most of the officers - and when the white army finally gelled, and the western forces started placing pressure on the bolsheviks from the east, elected officers just weren't gonna do it anymore. so trotsky had to recruit old tsarist and other professional military officers to whip the red army into shape...

the reason i like this word is because it specifically implies distrust of the "military experts."

so it kind of describes what i do. they need me, but rarely do they trust me.

i just hope i fare better than most of the voenspets did after the civil war.
spun by the propagandist at 11:27:00 AM

 
"Now memory is a traitor: gilding, altering. the word is, in sad fact, meaningless, based as it is on the false assumption that identity is single, soul continuous."

-V., pynchon
spun by the propagandist at 9:51:00 AM

 
The Guard Is Tired

or, why the old toys are always the best.

i met a friend last night to see Ararat, atom egoyan's movie about the armenian genocide. if you know nothing about this, please go here. its amazing how few people are aware of this - as well as other genocidal regimes, like Kampuchea. i was shocked the other night when my roommate had no idea that 1/3 of Cambodia's population was wiped out by the Khmer Rouge and the ruling Angkor (run primarily by Pol Pot - and you thought it was just a dead kennedys' song). i gave him my copy of "first they killed my father" and made him watch the killing fields.

hey, live in my house and you WILL be subjected to history lessons. especially brutal ones.

but ararat wasn't playing. so we cruised several book stores and spent money we don't have on things like the hagakure, a really good translation of the qu'ran, a collection of hafiz's poetry, an old out-of-print tom wolfe "new journalism" book, and the thrift edition of siddartha. i lost my copy in the divorce. also fear and loathing on the campaign trail '72 by hunter thompson which was promptly "borrowed" by my friend before we even hit the parking lot.

i like used book stores, especially ones that write "vintage" in the front of old paperbacks so they can charge you 4 bucks for a book that originally went for 50 cents.

but to the point of this post: i come home with all these books and read for a little while. but i came across a gorky bio in the bookstore, and i was trying to remember his nickname. so i grabbed my bio of stalin, and started reading. (his nickname was the "stormy petrel of the revolution")

and i was up reading it until 2 in the morning. all those new books and poetry and i'm re-reading a (fascinating) book that i've read at least 3 times.

"the guard is tired" is what the head of the bolshevik brigades told the secretary of the soviets when lenin had them dissolve the constituent assembly and the bolsheviks assumed power.

i'm having a hard time selling this as fascinating, aren't i?
spun by the propagandist at 12:52:00 PM

 
"you all hate me. you loathe me. you think my jokes aren't funny, you think my balloon animals SUCK."


spun by the propagandist at 9:59:00 AM

 
okay, this counter thing is kinda creepy. it tells you what search engine queries came up with your site, but you probably already know that.

the two best so far:

1. "his skinny humiliation" this one i understand, but not the skinny part.

2. "weeping jesus + toy" boy, did that poor christian shopper get the wrong fucking site.

or maybe i'm jumping to conclusions. out here in the land of the pleasure chest, "toy" can have all kinds of meanings...


spun by the propagandist at 10:46:00 AM

 
IRONY:

getting approved for a $260,000 home loan a day after you are declined for a $1,500 credit card.
spun by the propagandist at 9:49:00 AM

 

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And Thou shalt not writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires.

thanks william.


spun by the propagandist at 11:04:00 AM

 
fixed the email link. now use it, dammit.
spun by the propagandist at 5:53:00 PM

 
the old man wasn't really educated, but he was smart. and he knew how to use language. i think that's one of the reasons that i love words and phrasing so much. he was a wonderful talker, and his conversations drew you in or made you laugh in spite of yourself.

that being said, he could be a little repetitive. he had his stock of phrases that could be manipulated to fit any occassion. here's three:

1. "if i had a cow as clumsy as you, i'd be afraid to drink her milk." often directed towards me as i ran into walls, fell over coffee tables, or dropped my baby sister. he got a lot of use for this in our family. we are a walking argument for buying health insurance.

2. "don't telegraph or telephone, just tell a woman." i'd talk about how this is used, but too many women in my family may have this url. in the interest of diplomacy, (after all, i DO work in politics) we'll let the application for this one slide.

3. "well, strip my gears and call me shiftless." a personal favorite, this was an all around expression of surprise, happiness, incredulity, grudging acceptance or, in some cases, skepticism. for instance, when told that i had indeed gone hunting and not killed anything other than the intended victims (doves - yes, the bird of peace) his response with this phrase indicated he DID NOT believe me. like i should have driven home with the dove tied to the hood. there is a much better hunting story involving my father almost killing my uncle that prompted his disbelief, but that's another post.


spun by the propagandist at 5:47:00 PM

 
you ever have one of those days where you just wonder what the fuck is going on in other people's heads?

spun by the propagandist at 7:56:00 PM

 
i got an email the other day asking just who the hell i am.

usually the question is: who the hell do i think i am.

i'll assume the question was the more benign one:

1. i am a political consultant. that means people hire me to tell them how to get elected.
2. when these people hire me, i develop all strategy and design all voter communication, like direct mail, door-to-door canvassing, phone calls, television, etc.
3. i live in los angeles.
4. i have this site to help me write and deal with my grandfather's recent death.
5. all of these posts are written in 10 minutes or less.
6. i believe in politics as a means to a better society.
7. california is the place for me.
8. the concept that anyone is reading this really scares me.
9. you don't know me. if i do a really good job, you won't ever realize you don't know me.
10. this isn't the website you're looking for. move along.

10 minutes is up. boring, yet timely.
spun by the propagandist at 2:56:00 PM

 
We Are In A World Of Shit.

we're okay here in california. we won just about everything we worked on over here at the firm. but the rest of the country.

ouch.

i think this all reflects a mild political shift and a huge technical fuck up by democratic campaigns.

regardless, those reeps are in charge.

how long before you hear the jackboots kick your door off the hinges at 4am? they'll already have me...
spun by the propagandist at 12:36:00 PM

 
WHY DESIGN MATTERS, #1

since i write and design political direct mail, i always ask my friends and family to hold onto what they get around election time. its so i can, you know, scope out the competition.

and when we scope it out over here we're as catty as a fucking quilting bee. but that is because most of the other stuff i see really is crap.

take, for instance, a logo designed for a local police officers assn that i found on an absentee voter chase letter.

(VERNACULAR alert: absentee voter chase letter is a letter you send to folks that apply to vote by mail - you "chase" their ballots and try to persuade them to vote for your candidate or candidates.)

it had XXPOA ( for Police Officers Association) in big 3-d mettalic letters swooping towards the reader, with a little balloon thingy underneath that said "we're about people"

that would be strange enough. i mean, "we're about people"? what? it should read "we're about burned out lapd officers with a record of unreasonable force convictions"

but the graphic is the kicker.

so next to the xxpoa letters that even the most coked-up raver graphic artist would consider a tad aggressive, is a small picture.

of a cop in a helmet, with his back facing us.

and he is, um, embracing another man.

oops, very close inspection shows that it is a child. i assume he's supposed to be holding the kid, but it, uhh, looks a little more intimate than that.

now don't get me wrong. i'm not attacking any sort of sexual orientation here, nor am i prejudiced in that way.

it just seems kind of an odd graphic for a cop letter.

maybe the tagline should read: "we're about touching you where your bathing suit covers" or "we're about keeping this our little secret."


spun by the propagandist at 12:55:00 PM

 
i dreamt about the old man again last night.

my image of him is static, as visions of those past often are. he is standing in his backyard, watering his plants, that clear, liquid light you only get on the coast glancing off the huge sunglasses that he probably stole off of a restaurant table. he is slouching slightly, his small paunch pushing his plaid shirt out over the top of his brown polyester pants, which are just short of grazing the ground as they fall over his black sneakers. he is unshaven and his gray hair is a wild mop of vitality leaping from his head.

a toothpick dangles lazily from his lower lip.

when i think about him, this is what i see. not the last year in the hospital bed, always an oxygen tube chafing his upper lip, his skinny, useless legs a mere lump beneath the blankets that always failed to keep him warm. not the clouded, weeping eyes that glaucoma forced on him, not the humiliation of not being able to even walk to the bathroom.

i see him in the sunshine of downtown, sitting at nick's cafe greeting seemingly everyone in seal beach. copping hugs and kisses from all the young women and joking with all the men. i see him happy and alive.

its taken me a little while to get to this, to the memories of him living. he always told me, especially after his vision and ability to walk went, that "this is not living." and my selfish guilt of not spending enough time with him that last year- of not calling him, of not telling him every day how much i loved him and respected him - that guilt kept me from seeing him as i most loved him, instead of how i most pitied him.

that's why i'll always see him standing in the sun, drinking in life, living.

i miss you especially today, papa.
spun by the propagandist at 11:51:00 AM

 
day before the election.

competitive or non-competitive, i always get a little freaked out the day before the election. i think its because there really isn't anything left for me to do. not that there isn't anything left to do, there's lots - but i just can't deal with that part of the campaigns anymore.

i go to the offices to help out and i always begin to freak a little, then some more, then a lot. because even if they are doing everything right, they still aren't usually doing it the way i would do it. and that always makes me more than a little agitated, and an agitated consultant questioning GOTV procedures and plans at the last minute is not conducive to a successful GOTV.

so now i just sit and call to harass the campaigns. out of sight, out of freakout.
spun by the propagandist at 5:57:00 PM

 
the friday before election day.

the day i have...nothing to do.

it's in the can. it either happens or it doesn't at this point. she flies or falls. walks or stumbles.

now is just fending off the phonecalls.

"propagandist! i just got a pledge for $10,000 from the free ken lay committee! let's spend it! phones! mail! doorhangers! lawn signs!"

"oh, and by the way, can it have my picture on it?"

this is my favorite client. they subscribe to the seamonkey school of campaigns. just add water, and the voters will reconstitute and be convinced of the rightness, benevolence and wisdom of the candidates. it should only take a few minutes, right?

that's kind of the problem with my business. since they enacted term limits in a lot of states, i and my ilk have become the repositories of institutional knowledge. people hire us because we know how to structure a campaign, and we have a grasp on the technical aspects of, say, designing, printing and mailing 7-8 million pieces of mail each election cycle. granted, that is only about 150 individual projects, but we're also running the day to day campaign stuff.

so i get these calls about pulling together massive programs within a few days, or getting television ads up in 12 hours, or spending some ridiculously small amount of money to harass voters with disinterested telemarketers...the reason this is usually encouraged is because a lot of consultants charge commissions on everthing they do, so spending money makes them money, even if its ineffective - which seems kind of silly to me.

so my job is to act as sort of a reverse svengali, persuading people NOT to spend money ineffectively.

i'm thinking of starting a side business where i have a hotline:

"hello, i'm standing here at costco and my husband is insisting we buy the inflatable hot tub 2 pak"

"okay, give me your credit card number and then hand the phone to him. thanks. sir, put the conspicuous consumption down and back away."

this time of year this doesn't seem like such a bad idea...
spun by the propagandist at 11:24:00 AM

 
The Loneliest Honeybaked Ham

or

who the hell did the market research for this place?

Honeybaked Ham, 3rd and La Brea.

right in the middle of the largest concentration of orthodox jews in los angeles.
spun by the propagandist at 10:27:00 AM