Tuesday, February 27, 2007

And boom goes the dynamite


What words of wisdom is Hamad Karzai imparting to a strangely smirking Dick Cheney?

A) "Yeah, that's a bomb. We have those in war. You are probably unfamiliar with them, seeing as you aggressively evaded the draft during the Vietnam war."

B) "So, your daughter's a lesbian?"

C) "When do I get paid for arranging this sympathetic assassination attempt?"

D) "So, I can't get over that judge from the Anna Nicole Smith trial. What a nut!"

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Wednesday, February 21, 2007

But maybe everything that dies someday comes back

I have made fun of a lot of things in my year and a half of blogging, but I have largely stayed away from making fun of my hometown, which I did significantly on my first ever website during my freshman year of college. By the way, the best way for me to keep my ego in check is to read some of the pages from that embarrasment. Following that exercise in ego and narcissism, my best friend's dad berated me for directing such ridicule towards the place of my birth, and as the year's went on my venom for what was left of Monticello angered my father as well, who was particularly upset after I mentioned one of the many crackhouses three blocks away from my childhood home.

For nearly as long as I can remember, casino gambling has been the panacea of a region that for all intents and purpose was unplugged in 1987. I grew up in the Catskill Mountains, which from the 1950's until the 1980's, was the home to resort hotels, overeating, Jews, and a racetrack. As the 1980's ended, only overating, Jews, and a racetrack remained. It was the darndest thing, though; all the people who had worked in these hotels for decades, many as chambermaids and waiters, still wanted jobs. No hotels=no jobs= aforementioned crackhouses.

Not willing to make crack the vacation draw to Long Islanders and New Jersey residents, the members of the local government and decided that a casino would be the solution to the economic doldrums that the county and region was destined to face. We had no industry, no marketable skill sets, and thousands of underemployed or unemployed low-wage workers. Bring on the craps!

As one might imagine, simply placing a casino at a horse racing track or at the burned out shell of a former resort isn't particularly easy. With gambling being illegal in New York State except on Native American reservations (and the racetrack and the lottery and the stock market), the process was a long and slow one. And with a Governor for most of the 90's (Pataki) with as much energy as a corpse, the prospects were relatively dim. A potential casino had to be approved by the legislature, and the Governor, and the Department of the Interior, and an Indian tribe had to buy a plot of land... So for about 15 years, gambling was simply fodder for dinner table discussion and letter writing to the local paper: "Would gambling save the county? Would gambling bring more crime? When will the prostitutes arrive?"

The casino activists won their first victory three years ago, when the Monticello Raceway, home to degenerate gamblers for decades, was partially turned into a slot machine only casino, cleverly dubbed, "The Racino". It opened to big fanfare and celebration, with its cheap meals and elderly women by the busload carrying plastics jars of nickels. Unfortunately for the area, the racino didn't do such good business, and there was even some talk of it closing. I'm convinced it only stayed in business because my father frequented the dirt cheap breakfast buffets.

When Eliot "I once sued my own father" Spitzer replaced George "Frankenstein" Pataki as Governor of New York, there was hope once again for a real casino, with table games and a burgeoning illegal narcotics industry. This week, Spitzer announced an agreement with the St. Regis Mohawk tribe to build a true casino on the racetrack grounds. Final approval now rests with the Bush administration and Interior Department Secretary Dirk Kempthorne. That is not a stage name.

So, predictably, there is enthusiasm, both among the government officials in Sullivan County who have been fighting for some sort of economic solution for 20 years, and among many of the residents, property owners who have long hoped for jobs for their family members and a gambling-induced spike in housing prices so they can finally cash out and sell their homes.

Also predictably, along with the enthusiasm, there is skepticism. Doubts about whether or not the promises of the Governor and the Mohawks would last, doubts about the fate of the casino with the Department of Interior, but more prevalently, doubts about gambling itself as a savior. Would the economies of three a dozen counties and dozens of town be resurrected by a casino? And further, would it make everything worse?

For my family, probably not. We have several hundred acres that would probably triple in value. My parents are getting older and maybe it's time they move some place warmer. Now they can sell their homes and leave town, a whole lot richer than they ever were during the rest of their lives. So I guess it sounds pretty good for them.

It doesn't sound so good for the thousands of people who won't make a profit when they sell their homes, or the thousands of people who won't get jobs at the new casino, or the thousands of people who won't be able to feed their families on the $7 an hour they make at their jobs cleaning up after gamblers. As in any economic solution, there will plenty of people left on the outside looking in, but it seems likely that here, in this situation, there will be a whole hell of a lot of people on the outside. Job training? Vocational programs in the schools? Real economic development? Nope. Let's employ 3000 unskilled workers, pay them 7 bucks an hour, and call it a century.

Friday, February 16, 2007

And of better days

I know that my 12 readers (9 if you consult the recent stats) have been disappointed in my output lately, but I indeed have been busy. So, after a rather empty several weeks, I'll do what television shows and musicians have been doing for decades.... A greatest hits collection/flashback episode/I have writers block, ok, it's driving me crazy and I can't figure out how to fix it posting.

Friday, February 17, 2006 was a big day for Moderately Effed. I wrote a record 4 (Count em) 4 posts, none of which were particularly funny. But they did remind me of a hilarious week in my life (but not so much in the life of Harry Whittington) that of course being the week that Dick Cheney shot a man in the face. So hear are some thoughts from that week, most of which relate to Cheney, some of which relate to my then boredom and obsessiveness:

Guns and sharps swords in the hands of.... Senior administration officials

Geeze, did somebody open the ark of the covenant?

Sellouts

Campaign 2044

78 year-old Republican lawyers better run

The Blame Game

In the Year 2006

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Tuesday, February 13, 2007

This is our country


There has been somewhat of an unscheduled hiatus on this space for the last two weeks, both due to by increased business at work, my laziness, and a several day trip out of town to Killington where I inexplicably did not ski. As I write this, I remain busy at work, of course I am still lazy, but I'm back in Boston so I figured I would attempt a return.

While sitting in a bar waiting to catch a ride to the aforementioned Killington, two friends and I glanced up at the television screen to see the ticker announce that Anna Nicole Smith had collapsed. I, of course, found this pretty obvious because I thought they meant figuratively, as her career has really never been the same since she played a woman with a penis in Naked Gun 33 1/3, the Final Insult. Well they meant literally.

Just before we left the bar, the ticker announced that she was dead, and the three of us were oddly shellshocked. Me, because a large number of adolescent fantasies involved Anna Nicole in a bathtub in a certain issue of Playboy from about 1993, and everyone else because she was 39 years old and 39 year olds rarely drop dread. So, our ride arrived, and with the exception of one or two mentions of it, the story largely escaped my mind.

The next day, while everyone else was skiing and I was relaxing by watching bad movies and reading Al Franken's putrid last book, "The Truth (With Horrendous jokes and namedropping)", I stumbled upon MSNBC's 24 hour coverage of the Anna Nicole Smith saga, complete with on the scene interviews with her lawyer, some other lawyer, some other lawyer, a guy who was at the same resort, and culminating in a walking tour of the morgue with MSNBC she/he Rita Cosby, who hermaphroditically asked questions like, "And where is Anna Nicole's body right now?" As the day went on, MSNBC occasionally flashed away to brief stories about the 8 feet of snow in Upstate New York, which MSNBC commentator Bill Nye (of Bill Nye the Science Guy fame) attributed to the death of Anna Nicole Smith, and Senator Barack Obama's impending announcement of his intentions to become the first black candidate to lose to Hillary Clinton in 2008.

What's my point? I have no idea. I do know that every news channel spent approximately 90% of their time on Friday and Saturday covering the probably predictable death of a non-celebrity. I mean we're talking about a former Playmate here, not Gerald Ford -- does anyone care where Anna Nicole Smith's body is being held? Do we need to see the body bag being wheeled from one vehicle to another? Do we need interviews with everyone redneck she's ever slept with and every two bit doctor who will voice a completely uneducated opinion on why she might have died? And this tirade is leaving out the whole mystery about whose child she recently gave birth to; first it's Howard K. Stern, then its that other dude, then it's Zsa Zsa Gabor's husband (what the fuck) and then its her husband who's been dead since 1995 (oh God I hope it's frozen sperm and not something else). I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.

I've spent a large part of my life transfixed by television, from Knight Rider to Dukes of Hazzard to Alf to Star Trek to Seinfeld to the Simpsons to 24, from Geraldo to Maury Povich to Springer and now back to Maury (and his you are not the father specials), from Carson to Letterman to Conan to Kilborn to Stewart and Colbert, from CNN to MSNBC to Foxnews to MSNBC, from Russert to Russert to Russert, from Hartman to Farley to Ferrell, from the Real World to Road Rules to the Real World Road Rules Challenge, from Sorority Life to Fraternity Life to Lesbian Next, so why am I upset by this kind of media coverage? I have lived my life as the ultimate consumer, memorizing television and movie lines, internalizing music lyrics, eating bad food advertised on television, and watching awards shows. How can I cast aspersions upon the mass media that has largely been a third parent to me for the last 25 years?

Because I'm an American.

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