Where was I supposed to go? Detroit?

I have a very limited range of sympathy for the Big Three automakers here in America. These companies have pushed grossly inefficient, unnecessarily large, and ridiculously expensive vehicles down the throats of consumers for over a decade, with pride, joy, and images of American flags set to country music. And before that, they were wiping their asses with pink slips and delivering them to thousands of blue-collar Americans as the automakers exploited the merits of NAFTA for their own selfish benefit. NAFTA passed under the assumption that US industrial leaders would expand their businesses into Mexico and Canada, not move a majority of their manufacturing duties out of the country in order to turn bigger profit margins.

They've helped to enforce a worldwide stereotype of American greed and disregard for the environment.

And now they're paying. The Big Three used their greedy, teeth-lined suckers to draw all the money they could out of America's unhinging upper-middle class, and coffers once padded with dot-com era dividends are shrinking. Or at least shrinking enough to make people think about where they're putting their next paycheck. Suddenly, the UMC is asking themselves why it makes sense to drop a Benjamin every week just to get to work. Or even half a Benjamin. Suddenly, those machismo-inspiring F150's and those divider-hugging H2's don't seem like the best status symbols money can buy.

People aren't visiting their local Ford dealership and laying down a year's salary on a new gas-guzzler. But more importantly, they're not buying the cheaper, used SUV's and pickups that saturate the pre-owned vehicle market. Not only are the self-righteous automakers getting screwed, but they've also inadvertently screwed the entire auto sales industry by saturating the market with four-year-old sport utility riggers.

With this in mind, and without a shred of guilt about it, I find myself aligned with a good majority of Republicans who say it's high time that Detroit sank into bankruptcy. Congressional Democrats-- or at least a good number of them-- are pushing for a bailout of the American automobile industry. Justification ranges from "if this happens, we'll move from recession to depression," to "we have to do everything we can to prevent lost jobs in this economy."

I call bullshit.

Okay, not completely. We DO have to do something. Here's my ideal "something":

• Enforce our current bankruptcy rules on the auto industry with heightened scrutiny and a general sense of direction. After all, Chapter 11 exists FOR EXACTLY THIS SORT OF SITUATION. We don't need new rules-- we need to stick to the ones we've used for decades.
  
• Use that "bailout" money-- or part of it-- to fund the socialized programs that will help Detroit's blue-collar workers transition into the NEW American auto industry. THIS IS EXACTLY THE SORT OF SITUATION THAT WARRANTS AN UNEMPLOYMENT AGENCY AND WELFARE IN THE FIRST PLACE.
  
• Dump some more bailout money into academia and privately-funded ventures to develop short-term fuel efficiency solutions. WE FUND SCHOOLS SO THAT BRAIN POWER CAN PULL US OUT OF SITUATIONS LIKE THIS.
  
• Set auto efficiency goals that Ford, GM, and Chrysler must meet over specific timetables in order to receive SOME federal subsidization.
  

That doesn't sound too hard or overly complicated, but it seems like a majority of people in Washington (save for some Republicans and fewer Democrats) think that holding up a failing industry and not holding it accountable is a good idea.

It's also important to note that BANKRUPTCY HASN'T HAPPENED YET. The automakers feel "threatened," and so they're begging Congress for a handout. I'm a liberal but, really, I hate handouts. Especially speculative handouts to companies that exploit foreign labor, push grossly expensive products, and STILL can't turn a profit. Handouts to Iraqi war vets, the transitional unemployed, and socially unstable families looking for assistance? Maybe, but certainly not the auto industry.

Detroit: Get with the program and start moving toward hybrid-electric vehicles. Stop inundating American culture with the need for behemoth steel death machines. And take some responsibility for your current place in the world.

Whew.

Rice and Baylor, BFF?

Finally! Something local to distract me from my unsubstantiated opinions about Sarah Palin!

Since no one has given me an inside scoop on why, how, or what in the world is good or bad about a Baylor/Rice merger, my one well-founded argument about this whole issue actually has nothing to do with the speculative partnership itself:

David Leebron, President of Rice University, really needs to learn how to talk to a student body.

I can't think of the last time he broke news to Rice's paying population in a way that respected their input at all. We are constantly bombarded with new buildings, new colleges, new construction, and changes to campus procedure either midway through the negotiation phase or after the fact. The Pavilion? The coffee shop inside the Pavilion? A complete restructuring of campus finances? Sacking the SAC in favor of a super-strict campus tour? The list goes on. Last time I checked that's not a great way to make people like you, no matter the power you wield.

Rice's students are already weary of Leebron's image-centric improvements to the campus. Some changes have turned out to be been pretty awesome-- like, I don't know, that new recreation center will probably be an improvement over the last one. But after the campus finance fiasco came to a head a few weeks ago, it felt implicit that Leebron would have no choice but to start announcing his future projects before they are fully mature.

And then this story breaks about a potential merger of convenience between Rice and the Baylor College of Medicine. In the Chronicle, of all places.

You know what the difference between a serf and a citizen is, right? Well, the student body's lack of input into the decisions that affect their $40,000/yr sheepskin dimplomas makes them less like Americans and more like Fudal Europeans. Actually, not only the student body, but faculty and employees as well. They must feel about as distant as a body of respected, tenured employees can possibly feel from the day-to-day decisions that affect their paychecks. Neat.

Rice and Baylor have the potential to collaborate and do some really awesome things together, like cure cancer or make candy that turns you into a giant blueberry or whatever the two schools could possibly do with their pooled resources. But the merger also comes with a possible financial detriment to their existing schools of study, an even-more rapid expansion of the campus population, and basically changing what Rice means to the world.

That's not something you just announce to the Rice community after beginning serious deliberations.

Knowing Leebron, the merger will happen. It's not too late to switch to Bioengineering, right?

Must... not... talk... about... politics!

...too late.

I have a question for John McCain supporters, and it goes something like this: How can you still respect your candidate after he chose Sarah "You Betcha You're Fired, Walt" Palin to be his running mate?

Seriously. I'm soliciting the body of people who read my blog posts to give me an answer to this question because, for the life of me, I can't come up with any particular reason that seems compelling. At least, not compelling enough to make me vote red come November.

Ignore, if you will for a moment, every stupid thing that John McCain has ever done. Ignore the whole "bomb, bomb Iran" thing, the Keating Five scandal, his messy divorce with his first wife, the fact that he married a wealthy girl to jump-start his political career, and every gaffe he's ever, ever committed. Try to imagine John McCain as an affable war veteran with a Purple Heart, a commendation for his military service, and tons of hands-on experience in politics.

What we have is a well-spoken, 72-year-old American running for President of the United States with the experience and leadership needed to revitalize both the country and his own faltering Party. Maybe you don't agree with every single one of his opinions, but he's at least moderate enough to re-unite the country.

Okay. Let's take SuperMcCain and say he has to make one decision-- choosing a running mate. Luckily, as a Republican, he has an breadth of smart, affable, educated politicians to pick from. He could pluck from the body of other Republicans who wanted to run for POTUS: Mitt Romney comes to mind immediately. Mitt is charming, charismatic, and would certainly bolster McCain's chances of election given the looming economic crisis. He could pick Mike Huckabee, the good Doctor RON PAUL, or even Rudy Giuliani. While those guys all have their pitfalls, they also bring to the table some trademark characteristic that could pull our buddy McCain ahead in the polls. And they're mostly respectable picks.

But our good friend, Senator John McCain, the hypothetical perfect war vet with leaps and bounds more experience than his opposition, decides instead to pick SARAH FUCKING PALIN to be his vice presidential nominee. He picks a first-term governor from ALASKA. He honestly looks at a list of PROMINENT REPUBLICAN WOMEN and picks a random name from the top.

Would you really still support this guy, even if he was perfect in every way that appealed to you? Wouldn't you feel a bit, I don't know, betrayed? Wouldn't you feel like he was putting politics above country? Wouldn't you feel like that other guy, even though he has "D-IL" appended to his name in, was at least more genuine?

I don't get it. I really don't understand any motivators that would compel you toward voting McCain after a stunt like that. Then we load Palin down with her inarticulate speaking skills and her whole Troopergate scandal and her radical Republican views and, well, I think you get the point. She's so far divorced from what this country needs right now-- a uniting leader both domestically and abroad-- that you've got to wonder whether McCain is thinking more about the country or getting four years in as president before he croaks.

If McCain truly is the person he purports himself to be, he would have picked an equally affable running mate.

So please, someone, tell me what's motivating your McCain vote at this point. I'll accept "I'm afraid of Barack Obama" as an answer, because some people are honestly too thick and too consumed by the idea that Democrats are immoral and tax-crazy to be swayed by reason. Maybe you really hate socialized health care enough to put Palin in line for the Presidency. Maybe you're voting McCain with a guilty conscience. If you are then please let me know, because that'll help expand my understanding at least a little bit.

And I'll also accept "I follow party politics because that's what I've always done and I'll fight you tooth and nail until the bitter end," because that's exactly how Bush became our President, let alone got re-elected. That and John Kerry was a turd sandwich.

Why I love living contemporary

Okay, so let me get my bearings. This story needs orientation.

Front and center stage. To my left, some short, squat girl in a blue dress was grind-shaking her fists into my side, glancing up to me with some sort of drug-riddled excitement. To my right, some typical Bay Area darkwave kid a few years younger than me was popping his Commie-capped head back and forth to the rhythmic sirens and bass slaps. And in front of me, not twenty feet away, was the culmination of months of waiting. And it came in the form of a big, lighted cross.


There they are. Justice: The French band that took Christianity's symbol of redemption and salvation and twisted it into a beacon of their own design. They've crafted the fast-paced soundtrack of my life for the past year. I haven't been alone since.

This all happened at Treasure Island Music Fest 2008, a Bay Area indie wankfest that rivals Austin City Limits in terms of pretentious 20somethings oozing with cred. I flew out to San Francisco with my girlfriend, Cristina, to see Justice and the other top-billed Saturday acts that I've salivated over for a long time. TV on the Radio was there, performing tracks from their new album Dear Science. And those wacky Brits from Hot Chip were there, too, mixing things up for a spectacular live show.

The festival brought out your typical spectrum of San Francisco hipsters. Every group was represented, from the newest incarnation of goth shoegazers to the bright and flowing, handcrafted hippie culture. Instead of ridiculing them, though, I've lately been able to bottle and swallow my sardonic nature and instead just watch as they enjoy themselves in their own perticular way. Because anyone willing to endure the gauntlet of blinding wind and $7 glasses of Heinekin must have some common string with the rest of the concert-goers: We're all hypocrites, and we're all pretentious, and we all love music. And they all deserved to have fun.

Even if they're cannon fodder for really, really great jokes.

Pretentions aside, the festival crowd was aching by the time Justice took the stage. I was pressed up against the guard rail, grinding my teeth and trying my best to push back to keep my lungs open. Everyone was freezing despite the squeeze; coastal winds plus the semi-predictable nature of cool San Francisco nights equals zipped up black hoodies and frozen toes. I had to throw the concert T I'd picked up earlier over my white oxford. I looked incredibly out-of-place in a sea of pierced, gothed-out heads. A French reporter stuck a microphone in my face and started quizzing me on my thoughts about the band.

And when they did take the stage, hell broke out before a single beat let loose. Glow-sticks, water bottles, and concert schwag flew through the air onto the stage. A unified scream from behind me, then suddenly I felt like I'd been flattened against the guard rail. I yelled, too. My eyes bugged out and I saw them take to their throne.

Then,"Genesis."

I can't recount song-for-song how the entire night went, but they hit all my favorites. "DVNO," the Auto remix of "Stress," a souped-up mix of "Phantom," and a finisher of "One Minute Till Midnight," before an encore of "NY Excuse." Fucking incredible.

The night will be forever dog-eared in my mind. It was not only a spectacular musical experience, but it also possesses a certain personal duality. The concert was a culmination-- a culmination of months of waiting. I bought the tickets back in July and had been marking the days off my calendar like a little kid eager for his birthday to arrive. It was also a beginning of sorts. It was my first visit to the west coast and my first big trip with Cristina.

This past weekend was an awesome reminder that I still have a lot of world to see. And to write about.