“We think they do, quite frankly,” Adm Mike Mullen, chairman of the US Joint Chiefs of Staff, told CNN.

[From BBC NEWS | Americas | Iran's uranium 'enough for bomb']

Oh, wait. Uh, maybe not:

Iran is not close to having a nuclear weapon, which gives the United States and others time to try to persuade Tehran to abandon its suspected atomic arms program, U.S. Defense Secretary Robert Gates said on Sunday.

[From Iran not close to nuclear weapon: Gates | International | Reuters]

It seems like we’re getting a lot of conflicting messages from the government recently. Like Obama saying we’re pulling troops out of Iraq, and then generals saying things like oh no we aren’t we’re going to be there for twenty years.

I guess we get to sit back and see how much change is actually going to happen.

I was once drunk and bored and without a lot of money, walking with a couple of friends in downtown Minneapolis. We were heading to a party, but we had plenty of time to get there. As we were walking, I said, HOLY SHIT, THE CHURCH OF SCIENTOLOGY! THEY HAVE FREE PERSONALITY TESTS! LETS GO!

One friend ducked out and went to have a cup of coffee. But me and Isaac, we bopped on in, where we were given a multiple choice test, in format almost identical to the standardized tests that represent the keys to the gates of education in America. Having been a washout from University, I wasn’t up for it. I always hated these tests, so I just did the random thing. I made nice patters; christmas trees and so on. Isaac, a graduate student, could take a test as well as he could take his liquor (provided it’s not cognac), and dutifully (but easily) answered all the questions quicker than I did.

The man, with gray/blond thinning hair combed straight back, wearing a gray sweater that I normally associate with librarians, came back and took our test forms to correct them. We assumed he would scan them through a machine and have our results in a moment or two. So we excused ourselves to the restroom, took a shot off of my friend’s flask, and then I stole some coloring markers (my Scientology markers, which I kept for a long time; I told people I was saving them to draw something crazy). When we returned to the table where we had taken the test, we waited…and waited…we finally noticed that he was entering the results of the test into a computer by hand. And the computer looked like a 386. Maybe a 486. This was in like 2004. I remember thinking, Jesus, Tom Cruise better make another movie, because the Church is really going to hell. What was Elron thinking, out there in Outer Space, on his non-corporeal research trip into the cosmos?

Also, why were taking the test, my friend noticed (I didn’t) that the phone had been ringing fairly frequently while we were there, and the man kept answering, Hello, Church of Scientology Minnesota. I thought nothing of it. But my friend (who is perceptive) noticed that was all he said. He just would hang up after that. Was it wrong numbers? Did they have a similar phone number to some very popular or well used number? Or were they people angry at the Church, calling and yelling expletives? But in that case, I’m sure they’d just block the number.

My theory was this: They had set up an automated calling machine, maybe inside the Church building itself, and had it calling the main number every five minutes or so. This way when people were in the building, it would seem even more busy than usual. Now, to pull this off, the person answering the phone should say something like, Hello, Church of Scientology, how can I help you? Why yes, we do offer that service! Would you like to make an appointment?

But it’s kind of a drag. I mean, every five minutes, having to have a fake conversation? It’s one thing to talk to a real person every five minutes, but it’s another to have to invent a person to talk to every five minutes. Even if you take away the constant invention and have a nice cheat sheet of scripts to use, it’s still boring to play the same role constantly.

So like every job, he was slacking. He was still doing his job, but you know, he wanted to get by as easily as possible. Yes, praise Lord Elron. May he be exalted, etc. I deem you Clear. And so on. But as far as he’s concerned, that first hour of work is his, Elron-dammit, and leave him alone until he finishes his first coffee, and he’s had a chance to visit his friends who are working in the education center on the third floor. He’ll wander down to the staff room, maybe grab a doughnut, lazily say whatever the Scientology version of Grace is, and then he’ll be more than happy to get to work, thank you so much.

(We can maybe imagine this is why after inventing the idea of plurality God had to go through with it and really create it. It was just to hard to imagine plurality all the time. The universe tends towards entropy because the agents of the universe tend towards laziness.)

After using the E-meter and the spiel that he’s given a hundred times before, and telling us how depressed we were, he could tell, oh yes, look it’s right here on the graph (as if not realizing that using graphs to make a point is a technique that died when Ross Perot used them in the longest infomercial in American television history, and convinced the American people that if Ross Perot stood for anything, it was that he was boring as fuck).

He asked us if we watched the news on TV or read the newspapers. We told him that we were, indeed, well-informed individuals, full of information about the world.

Well, he said, why don’t you try, just for a couple of weeks, to avoid this sort of information. It’s almost always negative, he said, and it’s what’s depressing you. He said, Do this, and come back in two weeks, and take the test again, and I think you’ll find that you’re a lot happier.

And because I was drunk (because I am not normally such a daring smart ass), I looked him in the eyes, with deep seriousness, into the pale and faded blue surrounded by pale and faded blonde hair, eyes that had the look common to both kinds of Catholics; practicing and non-practicing: When you ask about religion, you’ll find that ex-Catholics and Catholics answer in the exact same tone of voice, one of weary resignation. And they both have that look in their eyes, that says, yeah, yeah, I know. So here was this Scientologist, eyes saying, yeah, yeah, I know. And when I said (out loud and not with my eyes), “So…ignorance IS bliss?”

And he looked at me, with his yeah, yeah, I know eyes, and said earnestly, Exactly. Like it was the first time he’d had someone come in and who had actually got it.

And that’s Scientology.

At least 19 other states, including California, have slashed court budgets and other government services as their economies have tanked, said Daniel Hall, vice president of the National Center for State Courts, a nonprofit in Williamsburg, Va. [From Economic Crisis Hits State Court Systems]

An interesting but novel way to curb civil liberties, eh? Not that I’m suggesting that’s what’s going on here. This is definitely a budget crunch thing. Just sort of a possibility I’d never considered for a dystopian future. Civil liberties cost money, and we’re just short of cash, sorry. Please get in this unmarked van, it’s a police van, but we couldn’t afford to get it painted. Really.

Asked about her hopes for the US under an Obama presidency, she says: “Peace abroad. I don’t worry about the Iraq war because I can’t do anything about it. Lord knows how it will end.”

“It is very complicated,” she said. “Those Eastern people are not like we are.”

[From BBC NEWS | Americas | 106-year-old voter chooses Obama]

I’ll cut her some slack since she is 106 years old. And a nun. What a weird fucking election, eh? We’re probably going to end up with a president named Barack Hussein Obama. I’m not expecting much, but damn if I don’t get a kick out of the name.

My worry is that Obama will step into the White House facing loud calls for the government to take a greater role but will find the crisis has left the nation’s finances in tatters and without the resources to respond to those demands.

[From Economists for Obama: What the Crisis Will Mean for President Obama]

Step one: Claim government can’t fix anything. Step two: Systematically destroy government institutions. Step three: Sit back and exclaim how you were right all along when the destroyed institutions are unable to respond to the needs of the people.

So I was somewhat surprised when the bartender looked at me and just said, “No.” Not, “No, I don’t know how to make it”, or “No, we don’t have the necessary shit to make that.” Just, “No.”

Well fuck that guy, because I just found the best bartender in the world.

I’m not actually qualified to make that judgement, but when I went to meet my friend Matt in Everett at the Anchor M Pub, this man, Mark Sexauer, made me a Singapore Sling that used his *own homemade grenadine*. Made with *cane sugar*. He also made me a cocktail with Elderflower liqueur, which is gathered by hand and transported to the distillery by bicycle. In France. And although I wasn’t taken with it, he did make me a Gin Fizz according to an 1840s era recipe.

So if you’re in Everett, you really, really need to stop in here. Excellent, educated, and erudite service. And if he has to tell you “no” when you order something, he’ll explain how it has to do with the economics of the bartending trade, and how that was influenced by the peculiar social history of America.

And if you can’t get to Everett, check out his blog and make some of the drinks. Or if you’re like me, and unable to make any drink more complicated than a shot of whisky, read it and just marvel at the ingenuity and dedication. The man has made Chartreuse *ice cream*, people. It’s like meeting the design guy who did the concept drawings for Blade Runner, and while he’s doing it, he takes the time to explain what he’s doing.

[Read Mark Sexauer’s Cocktail Blog]

Clarrence Darrow eventually moves west to help the labor rebellion, stealing plans from his bosses at the railroad companies to help them out.

Clattering clockwork steampunk mechanical American West labor rebellion. Steam and clockwork technology is not in the hands of the everyday person. This is the equivalent to the stealth bomber. The industrial revolution has hit, but we haven’t yet entered into a world where there aren’t still yeoman farmers the farther west you go.

America in the late 19th century, regardless of what you’ve heard or seen in movies, was an absolute shithole. The cities were dirty, and the politics dirtier. Tammany Hall, the election of 1876, the Free Silver movement. William. Jennings. Bryan. I totally need to re-write the ‘Cross of Gold’ speech to reflect steam and clockwork…

Have you ever heard that shitty seventies song, ‘Black Betty’? It was by Ram Jam, and it goes something like ‘Whoa Black Betty, bam bam bam” over and over. I thought this song was about a woman when I first heard it. But it’s actually about the whip that they used in Texas prisons of the era, usually on African-American prisoners. One of the dirty secrets of the post-Reconstruction South is that black folk were rounded up on a regular basis for ‘crimes’ such as jaywalking. They were sent to prison work camps, and basically re-enslaved on this basis.

You here a lot of fringe left and right wing people (and not so fringe) talk about the Posse Commitatus Act, which prevents the government from using the military to act as a police force. But what people either don’t acknowledge or don’t know is that it was a response to having Federal troops in the South. The Federal troops that were protecting some of the early black schools from being destroyed by people like the Klu Klux Klan. The Posse Commitatus Act was a part of the informal deal worked out after the election of 1876 in which the Democratic candidate won, but a committee of thirteen Republicans and twelve Democrats ended up awarding the election to the Republican candidate (go figure). Rather than start up the Civil War again, the Republicans said, okay, let us have the Presidency, and we’ll pull the Federal troops out of the South. Southern Democrats, eager to begin beating down on black people, readily agreed.

As stupid as American politics is today, few people realize how utterly fucked people were in the late nineteenth century. I mean, the American census had specialized terms for people who were one-eighth African-American. (If you were, you were an octoroon.) On top of this, there was almost universal grinding poverty, and a spectacularly bloody labor struggle.

The people were already covered in muck. Lets just add a little more soot. A Steampunk America that uses so much coal that it has to start importing it from overseas…China, if I remember my Henry Adams, had a lot of coal. A world were China gets industrialized quicker… Or what would be the Chinese equivalent of an emirate? Dependant on foreign coal?

Hmmm…All just ideas right now. I’m going to have to go back to some good American labor history. And thank God I bought the Oxford Companion to American History, because I can’t remember all of this shit. At a certain point, even I want to just forget it.

Technology is turning us all into a bunch of time-wasters according to The Observer, which reports that the beep of an email alert alone is costing the US economy $70 billion per year.

[From Distraction: Email "Ding" Costs $70 Billion a Year]

You know what I say to this? The productivity of the American worker has been increasing for something like the past fifty years. For the past forty or so years, wages have been declining.

So, yeah. Fuck you, boss. I’m checking my email. Again.

Puglisi wasn’t a small man. He stood a good foot taller than Norm Green, Councilman of the city of St. Aquinas. He also had a good hundred pounds on him. He seemed even bigger at the moment, since Norm was sitting at his desk, apparently not having forgotten that he was a small man. He looked as though he was well aware of this fact, and also well aware of the fact that Puglisi was a very big man. But he did not look as though this fact impressed him.

“Lets start over here. What seems to be the problem?”

Puglisi glowered. “You’re supposed to be laundering our money through the public works projects, not skimming off the top for yourself. It’s unwanted attention that puts our investment in danger. We don’t like tricky investments. It gets tricky, we look for a different investment.”

“Look, I don’t know if you realize this, but I don’t really need your money to run a re-election campaign. I’m stepping down and taking over the Public Works. Just another bureaucrat, Puglisi. A poor public servant.” He grinned.”

“The Mayor can fire you…”

“The Mayor can’t shit without me telling him to.”

“So we find a different Mayor.”

Norm laughed, exceptionally hard. “No, I don’t think so. Because if you run someone against me, I’ll out him for being in your pocket. No one can trace anything to me. I laundered your money, and I made sure to launder the money that came to me. So…yeah. Good luck with that.”

Puglisi started to get red. “You’re turning into a big fish, huh? You’re a big fish in one of the smallest fucking ponds in the Midwest, Norm. And I think it’s time you remember that.” He started rolling up his sleeves.

“Oh, you’re going to steal my lunch money?”

Puglisi moved forward, leaning over the desk, forearms bulging. “Listen, cocksucker, you better call your spokesperson and tell them to let everyone know you were in a car wreck, because I’m going to…”

Puglisi vaguely registered the loud report of the pistol, then ceased all awareness. He fell to the ground, dead, bullet hole small in his forehead, yawning cavity out the back of his skull.

Norm, still sitting at his desk, calmly clutching the gun, looked at the two goons standing at the door who had come with Puglisi. They’d had no time to react, and now the man they were supposed to protect was dead.

“Anyone care to finish that little speech he was making?”

The two looked at each other, shrugged, and shook their heads.

“Good. I was hoping you’d be smart.” He leaned back, relaxing a bit, but still held the small pistol he’d pulled from his jacked. “I am a small man. And this is a small city. I have no illusions about being a big fish.” He looked out his window at the skyline of St. Aquinas.

“A man should be happy with things that suite his stature. And I’ll be happy having this city in my back pocket.”

You don’t spend your life fighting for women’s rights and then vote for Sen. McCain.

[From A few more events like this one and we’ll all feel better]

On the other hand, if I was a Republican even moderately dissatisfied with Bush, I might begin to take notice that George Bush at some point killed John McCain, skinned him, and has been parading around wearing said skin. I mean, how else to explain the similarity in policies espoused and the weird, emotionless grin that just doesn’t seem right.

Frankly, I’m starting to warm up to Obama, if for no other reason than the fact he apparently dressed down Joe Lieberman. LBJ-style, indeed.