Farewell, Robert E. Travaglini ("Who's That?" All But Reporters and Politicians Ask)

Paul McMorrow's "Hill and the Hall" weekly column, part of Boston magazine's Daily blog, is always an enlightening read. I think it works exactly as a news blog attached to a formal publication should: It leaves the formal trappings of writing style, policy questions, affairs of state, etc, to the print side, and writes about the week's news with an irreverent look composed of minor but insightful scene-setting details that are equally elucidating about the people who run the affairs.

This week's was very interesting. It has a piece about former state Senate President Robert Travaligni, who resigned last year to take a lobbying job (though, at least he openly admitted why he was leaving; even the Globe at the time said he needed to earn more money to pay his kids' college tuition), having his formal portrait unveiled at the State House.

McMorrow writes that all the notable politicians except Gov. Patrick used the occasion to crack jokes about Travaglini, drinking a lot, and breaking into his meticulously neat office to rearrange everything. Boston Mayor Thomas Menino was ready to crack his own jokes when he "spied a Senate aide clutching a tape recorder. 'Awww,' he moaned, before launching into a grudging, but florid, recitation of Trav’s greatness. Then he paused, staring at the aide, a wide, open-mouthed grin on his face." Former House Speaker (and unlistenable radio host) Thomas Finneran joked about being a convicted felon! Patrick, good for him, "emotionally recalled" how Travaglini swore him in as governor last year. "I’ll never forget that day," he said.

This scene captures exactly why I think so much of the Legislature -- most infamously House Speaker Sal DiMasi -- has an uneasy relationship with Patrick. They view politics as a good-ole'-boys club where every get-together is a chance to crack jokes and have a drink, and eventually you get around to doing your job, i.e. passing a state budget, writing and approving new laws, etc., just as the Legislature is now scrambling to finish its job before the session closes. (On the even years, the session closes in July so they can go campaign, even though the overwhelming majority have no challengers because no one dares run against incumbents on the state level. And we pay them a full year's salary for this?! But as, they would say, "We're all doing good work here!")

Patrick, on the other hand, strikes me as a serious man who is here to do a job -- corporate lawyers, as he is, get down to work and spend a lot of hours doing it. He spent the first year laying out a vision, with some notable, unfortunate missteps, and now wants to realize it. Perhaps he is of a different social class -- the "elite liberal," critics would say -- but I prefer "different personality" and isn't hoping to always reminisce about shenanigans and drinking. Life, for him, is emotional and worth working hard for and striving. That's what he's always done and what should always be done.

Fish Out of Water

So I went to a cruise show this week (cars, not singles) for reporting purposes and, surprisingly, enjoyed myself. I know little about cars beyond which pedal is the brake and which the accelerator, how to operate my windshield wipers, and how to change CDs, so I couldn't begin to ask owners any detailed questions about their lovingly detailed cars and engines.

But there is something very aesthetically pleasing about antique cars and trucks. Their colors, lines, angles and shapes are lovely and sadly missing in today's models, foreign and domestic, all of which I find are becoming increasingly round (gravitating to the same look with a modicum of difference in the same way that prestigious universities set their tuition rates), except Chryslers, which has these terribly haunched, boxy designs with tiny windows that are so ugly. (May Bob Nardelli, he of the $210 million buyout at Home Depot, preside over the company's demise!)

The elongated hoods on the convertibles, the pale blues and the deep reds, their leather interiors and horizontal radio dials and speedometers: Something about these cars screams such a different and specific era that, combined with their fine craftsmanship and symbolism of lifestyle, one day they should be treated as the same historical and artistic relics as 18th-century colonial American furniture or Victorian dress now are. And sitting in a driveway (or on a pedestal), there's something about antique cars that can be contemplated as form over function, in a modernist way (even if the car rose to dominance in early postwar, post-urban postmodernism).

If superheroes' fashion sense can be an exhibit at the world's most renowned, prestigious museum (huh?), then 1920s-1960s cars certainly deserve their own.

(Photo taken by cell phone. Noting this because I'm proud I learned how to send photos from phone to e-mail account. In fact, it works well enough that I took a photo of a fire-ravaged house by phone and it appeared in the next day's paper. Techmology.)

What We Wore Yesterday

Me: red faux-cowboy shirt I think I bought at Andy's Chee-pees several years ago; Winnie the Pooh: red T-shirt until it got too hot out (picture taken at night); Bert: green pants, multi-colored striped shirt and white turtleneck; Kermit the Frog: nothing.

I had been meaning to write this post for months. Thanks to Lauren, she of the "digital camera: blogger is as notebook: reporter," (as Kaplan would say, "Remember to build a bridge") and the humongous (but well-chosen!) closet, for the inspiration. May Chicago be as fashionable as NYC. Pshaw, yeah right!

(Why does this post read like something from here?)

Exploding Plastic Inevitable

That's what Andy Warhol called the early Velvet Underground and Nico shows and for some reason, in my car today, I found the phrase very apt for describing Kevin Garnett. Maybe it's only appropriate for the first word -- exploding -- because that's what it seemed like his shouting could do to the world around him after the buzzer sounded last night. But the way those three words come together to create something wholly new and maybe somewhat destabilizing and transfixing at the same time, it fits.

The intensity and passion Garnett has for his job, how it apparently consumes and inspires him, is very interesting to watch. His post-game interview on ABC last night was quite awkward, especially when the camera remained fixed on him as she shouted (babbled?) to his mother and friends. But the moment when he almost fainted and then teammate Leon Powe held him up and said, "I've got you," as Garnett started crying, was oddly touching. It was almost like a secular version of a 19th-century itinerant preachers and their revivals, with the championship saving Garnett, as some other spirit took over his body and he started to speak in tongues.

I found the Celtics' championship win last night very satisfying, even if it only adds to the embarrassment of riches Boston sports fans can enjoy (as my beloved, wayward Mets fire Willie Randolph). I love the Mets too much to ever enjoy a Red Sox World Series victory and find football too pointless and brutish to care about the Patriots. But the Celtics have something very endearing about them. Even in a city largely defined by its highbrow industries -- academia, finance, high-tech and pharma -- I think it still values hard work above all (we all do, I suppose) and the Celtics defined that. For some reason, I've also found their coach, Doc Rivers, and our governor, Deval Patrick, to be kindred spirits. They've both been viewed skeptically by the population at-large for being able to execute their jobs, when it seems to me they're both quite competent, thoughtful and nice, and able to inspire lots of people to be loyal to them and want to go where Rivers and Patrick want to take them. I wonder if they've ever met.

Finally, did anyone else see the kooky-looking guy sitting next to Jack Nicholson in L.A. during Games 3, 4 and 5? (See above photo.) He had white hair and a white beard, and wore a white shirt, white hat, white shoes and white-rimmed sunglasses (!) to every game. Now, considering he was right next to Jack for every game, they must be friends or something. Maybe Nicholson's personal assistant? Chauffeur? I certainly wouldn't want to find myself driving behind him or Nicholson. What do you think the two of them talk about?

I Hate All Advertising

So I was going to write about how much I hate Mohegan Sun's commercial series where they insert new, terribly written lyrics to "classic" songs ("classic" meaning instantly recognizable, not good) -- and I will -- but in the past couple days I realized how much I hate all advertising.

There is never a commercial where, upon seeing it, I think to myself, "Huh, that seems like a neat product," or "Huh, that was witty/intelligent." Every single time all I can think is "Huh, that was a waste of time," or "Huh, I can't believe people do this for a living," or "Huh, I hate consumerism."

So, yes, the obvious question is: Why don't you turn off the TV? I would but the NBA Finals, Euro 2008 and the "Top Chef" season have been on. All excellent, despite the commercials.

Back to Mohegan Sun. Watch this:



This is probably the nadir of all commercials. The set-up is so lame, rhyming so obvious; the way the "lyrics" land on the word "cappucino" is so painful, and the close-ups of the platinum blond woman are somewhat grotesque. (Her teeth resemble vampires'. Why they chose to zoom in on her, I don't know.)

Actually, this one (to the tune of "Thriller"?) is even worse. The dancing by the male protagonist is so half-hearted it's comical. I laugh whenever they do this faux-werewolf-claw thing and he just kind of rolls his wrist. Too funny in the worst way possible.



But at least Billy Joel is playing there tonight!

"More Flags, More Fun" = Racist

Has anyone else seen this commercial? The racism if off the charts. Essentially, Six Flags presents two different scenarios of summer fun: A mom dumping dirt on her kids and their toy trucks (huh?) and cackling, and people having lots and lots of fun riding rollercoasters at Six Flags.

As if it weren't already obvious which is more fun, Six Flags has an Asian man shout really loudly at us to confirm, yes, it's Six Flags. The man isn't allowed to fully form any of his words (read: "Chinese people don't know how to speak the English language and have particular trouble with the letters we're asking this man to pronounce"), screams the whole time (read: "Japanese people do martial arts and there's a lot of screaming involved") and acts bizarrely, which I think is meant to conjure those Japanese TV game shows where people have to navigate the most inane contests that are sometimes played on cable very late at night and are mildly funny while drunk. (Read: "Japanese people are kinda weird, kinda crazy and will do anything to get on TV." Side note/postmodern deconstructionist alert: ABC is debuting its own version of one these this summer.) These are the only messages Six Flags sends with the commercial. Really, all I think about after seeing it -- and I see it at least twice a day at work, now that summer is starting -- is lots of yelling in my face, which sounds like negative flags and negative fun to me.

(And I'm not the only to think this: A quick Google search of " 'More Fun, More Flags' racist" produces this, which has many results. Here's one of the results.)

If Rachel Ray, Dunkin' Donuts and her "keffiyeh" have to be pulled from the Internet (odds Ms. Ray knows who Arafat was: 25:1), I think this should go away even faster.

"Our Brand is Crisis"

Last month, I rented from my fabulous library the documentary "Our Brand is Crisis." It chronicles the 2002 Bolivian presidential election, in which candidate Gonzalo "Goni" Sanchez de Lozada hires the Washington political consulting firm Greenberg, Carville and Shrum (as in famed and now-semi-retired Democratic strategists James Carville and Robert Shrum) about three months before election day to turn around a campaign that's dead last. Improbably, Goni, who had also been president from 1993-1997, wins with 22 percent of the popular vote -- got to love governing by coalition! A year later, he has to flee the country when the capital La Paz becomes a riot zone and about 60 people are killed. (In fact, a classmate of mine was studying in the country at the time and had to be flown out for a few weeks.)

The movie is fascinating because it doesn't take the easy route by distorting everything and making the strategists appear "evil." (Carville only makes a cameo and Shrum doesn't appear; it's actually a consultant named Jeremy Rosner who's the protagonist.) There's no overt implication that these consultants are "the 21st-century version of colonialists, imposing America's will on a depressed country that can only find its voice and success by being led by its own people." It doesn't appear to be heavily edited to fit the storyline the director, Rachel Boynton, wanted, either. It works so well because the clear fault lines of it all emerge naturally. It's suspensful, with a hint of Greek tragedy because even if you don't follow international affairs and are unaware of the ending, you realize how it's going to end.

And as a bonus, it's fun for me the reporter to see one of the lesser consultants tell Goni never to answer a reporter's question directly. He says something like "They want cheese, but you are only going to give them soup. No matter what, quickly return to what you want to talk about." At least it's good to see that out in the open. As a double-bonus, Tad Devine, the consultant with the best name ever, makes an appearance filming TV spots.

The documentary is most illuminating, however, for its foreshadowing of the Clinton-Obama race. Goni is Clinton: Both are older politicians who rose to prominence in the 1990s; lead their country's traditionally liberal parties but believe a friendly free market is the best way to enrich us (Goni brought in Jeffrey Sachs in his first term), which, yes, I agree with, I'm not a socialist or anything; are stilted and generally unpersonable on the stump; will change quickly and often to fit the most recent polls and focus groups; try to embrace "change" when it's clear that is the political theme carrying the day by saying they have change, high-level experience and learned a little from their past mistakes, even if they don't really believe that; and try to sow doubts about the leading opposing candidate while not publicly appearing to be running a harsh, negative campaign. (In the documentary, Rosner even says it's clear Goni's top rival, Cochabamba Mayor Manfred Reyes Villa, the "change candidate," is what the country should want [and probably needs], but all Goni's campaign is doing is "move the needle a little about this guy's background with some vaguely negative advertising" -- and it works). And most importantly: both lost. Unfortunately, Bolivia had to go through a riot for Goni to lose, though it seemed until a couple days ago Clinton might not have the humility or rationale to realize an end-game, requiring some drastic but non-violent action.

I'd wanted to post about this for a month, though my frittering seems to have made the post timely again, with Clinton conceding tomorrow. What she and Goni prove is when a country wants "change" -- whatever that may mean -- it will realize it and no amount of establishment CW will prevent it from happening.

Obama should not pick Clinton as his running mate. Even though she could be the country's first female vice president, joining its first black president, she totally negates the theme of "change" Obama has spent the past 18 months building. Clinton, anywhere on the ticket, returns us to 1997 (not that it's a terrible place to be, with the economic prosperity and Yo La Tengo releasing "I Can Hear the Heart Beating As One", and all), and everything about politics (life too?) should be about using the past as a stepping stone to make the future better, not recreating it. And Clinton would probably pull a Cheney and (try to) hijack the presidency.

But then, Obama can't choose a woman as his partner because every Clinton supporter will scream bloody murder about the most-qualified woman being overlooked and mistreated and probably not even cast votes for him. So, who's left? Bloomberg. He's Jewish, short and doesn't look or sound like a politician; a billionaire but self-made; and most importantly, whereas Obama is a liberal wolf in independent sheep skin, Bloomberg says he transcends partisanship and 20th-century party/policy lines and actually does it. He's "change."

Really, I just want to see Bloomberg running for something in the White House so I have a reason to quit my job.