Burnham's Grand Plan Strikes Back

More on this as plans progress...

Clear Your Schedules

For a ski/protest trip to Denver, August 25-28.

It may force you to take a mid-week vacation, but that's when the Dems have scheduled their National Convention. We suppose a Monday-Thursday primetime spectacle will make for better television viewing than a weekend convention. Still, it means All Star Street Crew members will need to start clearing schedules now in order to protest the inevitable Clinton chicanery that will go down in D-Town.

Plus there's already talk of a mid-convention white water rafting trip (provided we can't find an artificial snow maker or a summer ski-jump).

In Another Lifetime

Sound the clarion call. Rouse the hounds and light the lamps. Forget whispers over the prairie. And don't bother retelling the sing-song story of a chorus of voices. The shadow draws near. The time of need has come.

And so our time has also come.

Since our last meeting - nearly one year ago - our ranks have thinned. Yet time marches on, undaunted. And so we must stand steadfast in our resolve.

Our spirits have lagged, but our mission remains the same: Imbibe fine spirits, cause general rabble-rousery, support intellectual pursuits, protect those who stand for progress, and call out those who stand in its way.

As Chicagoans Jake and Elwood once said, "We're getting the band back together."

The Barack Obama/ Desmond Dekker All Star Street Crew, Union & Blues Revue is back in business.

Let those who will join us hear the message. Fear-mongering, sobriety and partisan politics be damned. We will stand strong.

Eye of Evil, Ear of Remorse (vol. 1, part 1): Break thy Icy Grip

It's small, mushy and yellow. No more than a few centimeters across. Most people consider it to be no more than a summertime nuisance - one of those few foods that contains the ever-present potential to jam itself between your pearly white teeth.

Sounds funny. Sounds cute.

But it's time to unmask the ugly truth about corn. Amerindian maize. The dull yellow stuff.

Laugh not, because this fiber-filled little plant seed has destroyed your world. And it threatens to rock the foundations of the future.

During the coming weeks we will take you on an incredible journey. You will travel to Mexico (metaphorically of course) to visit Coca-Cola factories; you will travel to Brazil to learn about ethanol refineries; you will travel to Washington D.C. to learn about the nefarious and far-reaching American Corn Farmer's Lobby; you will travel back in time to a pre-corn syrup era and into a dark and polluted future filled with billowing smokestacks and gesticulating "Middle American" politicians.

Brace yourself corn farmers. June 14 to July 14, 2007 are officially BODDASSCUBR's Anti-Corn-Based-Ethanol Month.

Sunday Zen

If anything, it's a mirror

On Friday, Honeydew Jackson played a blues show that filled Chicago's heart with an unusual joy. Generational Blues at the Hideout is a special occasion indeed. The lingering fact that "Honeyboy" Edwards learned to play with Robert Johson back in the Mississippi Delta was the proverbial icing on the cake - if you will grant us this crude aphorism.

Something was troubling on Waubansia Avenue though. In the bathroom of the Hideout there is a poster explaining "interesting facts" along with the tidbit that you forget 80% of what you learn each day.

Among many, here was one of the facts that stood out:
"The average life of a major league baseball is 5-7 pitches."

We're not financiers, or mathematicians, but please feel free to spot the lapse in judgement.

The Discount Window Is Open

Key phrases I read silently while watching CNN Headline News with closed captioning during the "Paris Hilton escorted back to court" news hour:

"Paris Hilton may try to say 'I--I am Paris Hilton.' But the Judge will likely say 'I am a judge, and I have the law.'"

"There's no such thing as 'too sick' for prison. In most prisons, they have devices that--when you are sick--they will make you well."

We Chase Ghosts, Not Talent

If there is one promise we make, it is that we will always analyze NBA basketball through a political or literary lens - and we will always analyze politicians based purely on their basketball and athletic skills.

In that spirit, we give a nod to the recent New York Times piece about Senator Barack Obama's basketball forays.

If Obama's ethos were a basketball player, then Obama surely would be 1989-90 Michael Jordan. Raw. Young. A popular scoring machine who lacks the ultimate championship, but holds the potential to take on the world.

Yet this brief essay is an analysis of Obama the basketball player. Not Obama the metaphor.

The story opens with the wiry Obama nailing a crunch-time game winning shot "with a head fake, a bit of contact and a jumper that seemed out of his range." We ascribe not to the belief in a liberal media bias, but this logic tears at the fabric of our souls. Through the New York Times, we see Obama as LeBron, Obama as T-Mac in 35 seconds, Obama as Reggie Miller in Madison Square Garden - an on-court hero hitting the last-second shot to win the game.

It is only midway through the article that our east-coast journalistic brethren reveal this little factoid:

"Mr. Obama cannot match their technical prowess, say those who played regularly with him. But he is fiercely competitive, and makes up for his deficits with collaboration and strategy. 'He’s very good at finding a way to win when he’s playing with people who are supposedly stronger,' Mr. Nesbitt said."

An undersized player, lacking the athleticism to dominate, but possessing the will to win. It is reminiscent of "scrappers" like John Stockton and Chicago's favorite worm - Dennis Rodman. But Stockton was too wise and Rodman was too rough. Obama is neither a basketball technician nor a tattooed strongman. Frankly, he sounds like a pickup role player to us.

If we had to compare Obama to a modern day basketball player, he would be former Dukie Mike Dunleavy. A mid-sized baller with a coach for a father, Dunleavy is all will and no way. He can take the court and has hit one or two game winning shots, but he can't hang with the tougher, more athletic players for a full game. That's what the scouting report tells us about Obama.

We're guessing most of our readers are not familiar with Dunleavy's wily-yet-underwhelming basketball style. So we'll throw out a second name that comes to mind: Manu Ginobili.

Listen to this passage about Obama: "Mr. Obama is left-handed, and his signature move is to fake right and veer left, surprising players used to guarding right-handed competitors."

And watch as the Argentinian superstar fakes right and goes left:

Ginobili's dual citizenship in Argentina and Italy may correspond well with Obama's American and Kenyan roots. Both are citizens of the international community. Both are mid-sized guard/forward combo players who have a predilection for the left-handed basket.

We will wait for another day to analyze the race-relations implications of Obama's two nearest NBA twins both being caucasian. Suffice to say, Manhattan liberals everywhere are sipping their tea faster as the nervous realization takes hold.

Waking Margaret Thatcher

"Know thyself," intone the rock walls of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. Your average UofC student might mistakenly attribute this Greek aphorism to Socrates. No matter that it was more likely Thales of Miletus who coined the phrase - the message holds stronger than those sedentary stones near Mount Parnassus.

A modern politician's translation of Thales' words might read: "Dance with the one that brung ya." Shout out to Chris Matthews and Tip O'Neill circa 1994. Don't forget your parents, your constituents, or the giants whose shoulders support your shifty feet.

In that spirit, we take pause from the momentus events of the world at large to look at one intersection on the border of our fine city. For this afternoon only, forget the outrages of China's Import-Export Bank and its policies in Sub-Saharran Africa. Clear your mind of Pakistani Supreme Court affairs. And turn an eye to 71st and Harlem. It's time we think about Chicago.

One more month until Cuauhtemoc Blanco joins the Fire. Take a look at his final game with Mexico's Club America earlier this week:



And now rumors are afloat that former Lazio and Juventus striker Marcelo Salas is Chicago-bound. These highlights of El Matador may come from 1987, but let this glimmer of hope send a shiver down your spine.

Kevin loved Winnie; but Corey needed Topanga

No big surprises here - Yesterday morning Tony Snow said an annoucement was on the way. Sure enough, our President couldn't even wait until the afternoon was over: Zoellick is the official U.S. nominee for the World Bank presidency.

What do we know about the man who now holds the gavel of economic justice?

Things he loves: pandas, German food, free markets, (selective) bayonet democracy

Things he once detested: Japan's public postal system, skeptics of Enron, economic protectionists

Hometown news organizations who still don't know that he grew up there: The Naperville Sun.

Guilt Like Helium

First Jerry Falwell departed - leaving us sinners behind on this green earth.

Then a virgin hammerhead shark in a Nebraska zoo gave birth, leaving scientists scratching their heads.


On Monday, the $27 million Creation Museum opens in Petersburg, Kentucky. Exhibits include animatronic dinosaurs in the Garden of Eden, and artifacts dating back to the very beginning of the planet - some 6,000 years ago.

Falwell gone, sharks having virgin births, and a new museum that will finally allow the religious right to have some influence in this country.

All we can say is enjoy the holiday weekend. Make sure to drink heavily. The Rapture is clearly upon us.

Let it Languish

Heads up; some serious World Bank knowledge is about to drop. Wolfy is out, but the neo-cons want to stick with the all-American tradition of red, white and blue running the show.

That automatically eliminates highly qualified candidates like Afghanistan's former Finance Minister, Ashraf Ghani. Like they say, you've got to weed out the people who actually, you know, have experience at assembling comprehensive economic stabilization plans for impoverished nations. "Keep it American," says they.

Nobel laureate and former chief economist of the World Bank, Joseph Stiglitz, told Congress on Tuesday that the selection process should be more open. Candidates should be selected based on qualifications, not "American-ness," according to Stiglitz.

Take caution with Stiglitz dear elected representatives - the IMF and its harsh fiscal policies have already felt the hard end of his book-writing pen. You don't want to be next on his list.

Meanwhile, U.S. Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson continues his search for the best Americans around. According to a recent AP report, that list includes U.S. Sen. Bill Frist. Way to go the extra mile Paulson. Reuters and the AP have suggested that Paulson may ultimately scrap the committee process and just recommend himself as the next World Bank president. Hey Stiglitz; how's that for transparency?


According to updated odds, the linesmakers' favorite is former U.S. Trade Representative Robert Zoellick. Enterprising young venture capitalists can find Zoellick serving as chair for an international wing of Goldman Sachs.

Our readers may remember Zoellick during the time he served on the advisory board for Enron. Or perhaps they would remember him as one of the co-signers on a 1998 letter to President Clinton, calling for "the removal of Saddam (Hussein)'s regime from power."

By the way, for those of you who were surprised by the lead-up to war in 2003, we turn your attention to the neo-con think tank PNAC's archives. Check out the famous alums of Project for a New American Century. It reads like a "who's who" list of the first-term Bush administration: Cheney, Rummy, Wolfowitz, I. Lewis Libby, John Bolton, Kristol, Quayle, (Jeb) Bush and Zoellick. They were talking invasion back in 1997. Mearsheimer and Walt knew this before embarking on their doomed campaign to stop the war, but they pretended like academic debate was still a possibility.

The most surprising part of this whole endeavour? Robert Zoellick was born July 25, 1953 in Naperville, Illinois. Before heading off to Harvard, he cut his teeth on the mean streets of 1960s N-Town. We're talking cornfield south side.

And yet, the Naperville Sun newspaper has never once mentioned Robert Zoellick. TOO BUSY COVERING MISS ILLINOIS' LONG WAIT THE AIRPORT? ZOELLICK IS YOUR BOY.

The Barack Obama / Desmond Dekker All Star Street Crew (Union) and Blues Revue:

Broad-Minded

Sunday Zen

One Day Cider Drinkers Will Rule the World!

May the Fear of Justice Shake Thee, O Alonso

Only now that the tempest has passed may we look fondly on the warm shores of our fair island, recalling with great wonder the works that this modern Prospero divined. The basketball armageddon that is Stephen Jackson is gone for now. Regardless of whether we remain in the eye of the torrent, or if the wake of his storm has passed entirely, it is of the utmost urgency we take this brief reprieve to speak of what was witnessed.

It is time to name Stephen Jackson the BODDASSCUBR MVP of basketball.

If you are looking for a more plebeian MVP of the NBA, the answer is most certainly Tim Duncan. And it has been for the past 5 years. Duncan is the greatest low-post player of his generation, and perhaps of all time. (Apologetic nods to Hakeem, McHale and of course Luc.) If your end is a trophy, then Duncan is clearly the means.

While Duncan and the Spurs quest for another title goes on, the chance to see any inspirational basketball ended with the Suns, the Warriors and Tracy McGrady's emotional losses. Which makes it all the more important that we lay out the case for this year's MVP:


The Basketball Reasons

1) The Title-belt Theory: Jackson flat out stole the MVP title from its current holder, Dirk Nowitzki. Much like the UFC's new welterweight champion Matt Serra, Jackson threw personal history aside and beat the best when the best stepped into the ring. Nowitzki went into the series averaging 25 points per game. Statistics say Jackson's dogged defense dropped the big German to 19 points per game, but we can't remember more than 3 shots Nowitzki made during the entire series.

When he cares to focus at all, Jackson can lay waste to the best in sport.

2) Three-Pointers to Turnovers ratio: In the Dallas series, Jackson shot an insane 48% from behind the arc, while also averaging a ridiculously high 3.8 turnovers per game. Each fearless contribution to his team's point total was negated by a reckless, but aesthetically breathtaking turnover.

This is a true benchmark of a man riding the line between dangerously loose and purely out-of-control. Like an author who arduously pens a great work of literature, only to burn the manuscript after a night of consuming bottom rail spirits. A sure sign that Jackson is a kindred BODDASSCUBR spirit.

3) The Spurs: A Retrospective: During his 2003 stint with the NBA champion Spurs, Jackson was notorious for bringing the ball up court by his lonesome, taking a few dribbles and tossing up an ill-advised 3-pointer. Bear in mind his teammates were (a) Duncan - the best player alive (b) Parker - a top-10 point guard in the league already (c) Ginobili - a shooting guard having one of the best post-seasons of the new millennium. To blatantly ignore the absolute prowess of each of these men was akin to:

- Today's investor saying: "Screw sub-prime mortgages and the real estate bubble. Put all of my capital in domestic real estate. Now."

- or -

- Starting to talk trash to a man in a bar, then saying to yourself "You know, I think I'm going to wait until all of my friends leave and 10 more of that guy's friends show up. Then I'm going to walk over there and punch him in the face."

But you know the catch? Jackson kept making those 3-pointers. The Spurs wouldn't have won a title without him. He's the guy who somehow wins that 10-on-1 barfight. He's the guy that makes 50% APY on domestic real estate in the current market.

Other Social Factors:

1) The Melee: Jackson was the second man into the crowd during the Artest-Detroit riot. Second in, but first in craziness. A lessor-known fact is that after the brawl had settled, Jackson broke free of security in the locker room and ran back toward the court to further egg on the crowd. Like a WWF wrestling villain. But real. And serious.

2) Guns and Friends: In the spring of 2007, Jackson and a few teammates got into a physical disagreement with a group of dissenting gentlemen in the parking lot of an Indiana strip club at 3:00 a.m. Jackson was arrested for firing shots into the air after one man punched him in the face and another man ran him over with a car. Say what you will, but we're more concerned about the guy who gets run over and says "That's cool. I'm not going to fire my 9mm in the air."

Ultimately, we know not when Jackson will return. He will be back physically next fall. But that is no guarantee that the fiercely dominant Jackson of today will return to declare a manifest destiny of havoc on the NBA's flotilla of Lilliputians.

Jackson may never take enough interest in basketball again to craft victory out of steely pain and brilliant skill. His mind wanders already. And perhaps that is what makes him the most BODDASSCUBR athlete of our generation.

The realm of infinite possiblities lies at his fingertips, but Jackson cares not. To have all the talent in the world and to let it slip away just as Prospero and his author once did - It is the true epitome of the message we speak.