We are developing the social individualist meta-context for the future. From the very serious to the extremely frivolous... lets see what is on the mind of the Samizdata people.
Samizdata, derived from Samizdat /n. - a system of clandestine publication of banned literature in the USSR [Russ.,= self-publishing house]
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A hat tip to Glenn Reynolds for this link to video from Fox News about the total incompetence of the state and local governments and their interference with those who could have given real help: The American Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
There really need to be some rolling heads in Louisiana and I suggest the Mayor of New Orleans be one of the first to meet “La Madame”.
Additional thoughts: If you remove all the weasel words and boil the whole strategy down to its essence, what the government plan in New Orleans seems to be is: starve and disarm the local american populace so they will make less trouble during the forced relocation program.
The job of aid agencies is to supply aid. It is not to tell people what to do. It is not to kidnap people from their homes. It is not to violate their Second Amendment rights and steal their property. It is not to prevent people from creating spontaneous order. It is not to prevent those who attempt to evacuate themselves from doing so.
Perhaps I can get some sleep now.
I am sure very few readers have the slightest doubt about the Samizdata Editorial opinion on forced removal of sovereign individuals from their property. It is without a doubt their right to use deadly force to defend their property. If there were a confrontation of homeowners and the State, it would not be the first time there has been a Southern showdown between residents and corrupt officials. Although I doubt it will happen in this case, a good dose of property rights enforcement by free men and women would certainly be a pleasant thing to see on the nightly telly in place of the victim of the day image.
Local government officials are claiming they are worried about disease and the danger of gas explosions in the flood and hurricane effected areas in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Poppycock. The population density there is hardly enough at this time to be cause for worries of any massive outbreak. Both are risks which individuals may choose to accept. It is not the place of the State to second guess the wisdom or foolishness of the individual citizen.
Now, finally, in my round about way I come to General Inge. In his recent press briefing he is ducking and weaving on the issue of committing violence upon peaceful American citizens:
GEN. INGE: I’ve been watching the news this morning and I understand that this is an issue. The situation as I know it now is that civil authorities in Louisiana and New Orleans are discussing this issue. It’s not clear to us what the exact state of the mission is. We would believe — we are told there are some 900 policemen in New Orleans. We would certainly see forcing evacuation as a first priority for them to work. If the authorities in the state of Louisiana chose to use their National Guard in a state status, that would certainly be permissible and their call.
When this turns into a law enforcement issue, which we perceive forced evacuation is, regular troops would not be used.
I sense relief in his words that his troops do not have to take part in this foolishness. I also sense he is politely sidestepping what he really wants to say about the local authorities.
Addendum: One of our commentariat supplied this reference. Read it. The State Is Not Your Friend.
According to the SMCCDI, the Iranian government is strengthening gender apartheid in that country.
The Islamic republic regime is to apply more discriminatory measures against Iranian women in days ahead. Based on some official reports, the Gender Apartheid policy is to be strengthen and Sexual Segregation to increase in Iran.
The theocratic regime is basing the application of such policy on the strict interpretation of Islamic rules which are dating from 14 centuries ago in the tribal Saudi Arabia which became the cradle of Islam.
Already since three weeks ago, clerics have increased their anti-woman speeches and are using the Fridays’ collective prayers in order to mobilize their followers in what has been qualified as “making respect the values of Islam and morality”. Members of the brutal Bassij paramilitary force and the feared Islamist Moral Squad have been deployed beside the regular police force and reports of harassment of women, sometimes brutally, are increasing.
It is also apparent many Iranian women will put their lives on the line before accepting their Mullah designated social role as bare-foot and pregnant pleasure machines.
Many Iranian women have burned their mandatory veils in some demos in order to attract the world’s attention to their case. They’re believed to be the force that will bring down, a day, the Islamic regime and would impact the entire Middle-east.
When the excrement finally does impact the Iranian rotational air moving appliance, I expect the lasses will ensure these ‘religious’ authority figures wear their testicles about their windpipes rather than their original lower coordinates.
After watching this I just had to do a hatchet job on an old standard:
500 Pounds
If you miss the plane I’m on,
I will know that you are gone.
Cause I’ve dropped 500 pounds upon your head.
Five hundred pounds, Five hundred pounds,
Five hundred pounds, Five hundred pounds,
Cause I’ve dropped 500 pounds upon your head.
Lord it’s one, Lord it’s two,
Lord it’s three and Lord it’s four,
Lord it’s five hundred pounds upon your head.
Not a shirt on your back,
Not a penny left intact.
Oh, I will blow your arse to hell this-away
This-a way, this-a way,
This-a way, this-a way,
Oh, I will blow your arse to hell this-away
If you miss the plane I’m on,
I will know that you are gone.
Cause I’ve dropped 500 pounds upon your head.
Five hundred pounds, Five hundred pounds,
Five hundred pounds, Five hundred pounds,
Cause I’ve dropped 500 pounds upon your head.
This site takes on the issue of a UK national identity card. That puppy is a good advertisement against id cards!
The last pub covered in this series is one I have known for the longest time: Paddy Reilly’s. I first came to it whilst traveling with Irish bass guitarist Dee Moore a decade ago. There has been some remodeling since then, but Tony DeMarco’s Thursday session goes on. I have no idea how long he has been at it but he has become a New York institution. He is also a very fine fiddle player, known and welcome in any session in Ireland.
The session in full flight. Tony DeMarco on fiddle at left.
Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved
I arrived a bit early tonight and while sipping my first pint of the evening overheard a fellow I had never seen before. He told a couple at the bar how tightly knit the global traditional music scene is: how you can go to a session anywhere and in a few minutes chat with a new found trad player find people you know in common.
I put it to the test and I hit it in one. In fact, of the first six people I named there was only one who was not well known to us both. Later in the evening the fellow’s name, Jon Hicks, finally clicked in my mind. The aforementioned old friend, Dee, produced his first CD.
Jon is from Northern England; he lived in the West of Ireland for a number of years and is now on the road to becoming a permanent New York resident. From the quality of picking I heard, I believe he will be a welcomed addition to the local music scene.
Singer-Songwriter Jon Hicks.
Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved
It was a lovely session, typical of the decades long run of Tony’s session. Whether due to the events in London or just vageries of the summer holidays, the crowd was thin tonight. Not too thin though. We had a lively young woman who had her first introduction to Irish traditional music and was totally enthralled by the skilled musicianship involved. I think she will be back.
Trad music seems to attracts beautiful women.
Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved
I woke this morning to the sad news posted here by Brian and David and there is little I can add from far off Manhattan. Maybe I will be moved to pontificate later, but for now I will continue on with life as planned.
Last night was not a session bar night. I only have one more night in New York before becoming buried in R&D work again and The Scratcher is a must visit. It is my Manhattan local of eight years standing. Until a few years ago it was also the site of the Wednesday session so I can at least claim a figleaf on its inclusion in the five day crawl.
The bar has always been more a trendy den of iniquity than a trad place. The staff are Irish and Scottish; the clientele are an eclectic mix of models, actresses, musicians, filmmakers and young professionals during the pre-midnight hours. As the clock ticks into the morning hours the american percentage falls precipitously until in the wee hours, by the sound of the surrounding accents, one could as well be in a London or Dublin pub as New York.
The secretive outer aspect of the Scratcher.
Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved
The staff are good people and include a number of musicians who work here when not gigging or touring. The owner is a big supporter of music and this is one of the ways he helps the New York music scene.
Brendan O’Shea, like several other staff bartenders has been here since the late nineties. It is a nice feeling to come back to a place year after year and have a nod and a smile as you walk in the door.
Brendan at work… or perhaps play?
Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved
Some of the staff I would call friend as well. If you drop into my New York local I ask that you tip really well. If you misbehave Natalie will tell on you and I will personally ban you from Samizdata!
Natalie at work covering the family bills.
Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved
If you are looking for intellectual chatter, come after midnight or early on a weekday night and you are bound to find someone to go on at length about just about anything. If you come by during the weekend night madness, pick up a model and end up bonking your mutual brains out in the interchangeable sex loos, just remember where you heard about this marvelous little place. There is something for everyone here.
It is Tuesday night and I am still standing. It is actually not the drinking that does you in. It is the late night navigation of the New York subway system. Last night it took me an hour and a half to get home. Partly it is that fewer trains are running; but it is also all the repairs and shifting around of trains that happens at night. I often wonder if the City is in cahoots with Yellow Cab to make getting home late at night on the subway such a miserable prospect that you would rather reach into your pocket book for $30 to travel the length of the island.
Nonetheless, I arrived at the Swift Bar with time to spare: time enough for a warm up pint or two before the music. Even without music it is a fascinating bar to drink in. The place has a Victorian look in keeping with the Jonathan Swift theme.
An impressive old style bar Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved
The truly unique part of the bar are the murals. I photographed one small section of the main mural. It is filled with detail and humour enough to keep your eyes wandering over it until you have had too many pints to focus or until they have settled on something lovely and drinking beside you.
A ghostly presence in the mural Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved
The session itself is usually quite large and with an audience to match. This particular night was pretty dead although the music was as good as ever. I have been in this bar on standing room nights with musicians several seats deep around the main table. It is also not unusual for touring musicians to stop by. The last time I was here I came by with singer Niamh Parsons (an old and dear friend of many years standing, so go buy her records!) after her tour gig. Athena O�Lochlainn, a well known fiddle player once with Sharon Shannon’s band also happened to drop in. It is that kind of session (Yes, I know Sharon too).
Eamon O’Leary plays piano… as well as his usual banjo, guitar and Mandolin. Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved
Hundreds of thousands of tourists and New Yorkers headed for the extravaganza riverside fireworks display last night. I was not one of them. I have done it before and did not tonight feel a herring-like desire to join the tightly packed school of fellow hominids on the riverine Manhattan coast. What I did have a desire for was a quiet pint of well-pulled Guinness and some good music. I knew exactly where to find it on a Monday night: Mona’s.
Mona’s is a small pub in the Lower East Side. It is a local in every sense of the word. There is no big flashing “Monas” sign outside. There is, in fact, no sign at all. Just a window through which you can see a very dark pub that is decidedly not ferns and chrome. No wimpy idiotic ‘theme’. Just a place that has grown organically around its central purpose of beer, music and pool for a neighborhood clientele. When I first lifted a pint here some eight years ago, it was in a neighborhood which had transitioned from broken glass and junkies in the doorways to one which was merely for the adventurous, a hangout for musicians and a hodgepodge of starving artists, writers, actresses, bikers and Irish expats. Since then the neighborhood has changed. It seems like almost the whole of Avenue B has gone way upscale. The tide of new bars has not yet reached 14th Street and the clientele is still neighborhood… but you are now more likely to run into a med student outside than a junkie.
The session at Mona’s is a very informal and relaxed affair. There is usually a core of fine musicians, but anyone who loves the music can join in. Some of the better musicians take time over a long break to show newcomers a few tunes and techniques.
As you can see, it is a very homey session:
A very traditional session at Mona’s Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved.
Traditional music attracts classy fiddle players Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved.
The New York traditional music scene has been a home away from home for me for almost a decade. My familiarization with it began when I toured with a band and sang here in 1994; it expanded greatly when I worked on a series of internet webcasts and spent a good chunk of 1998 living in the East Village. During that hot summer of 1998 I had a weekly pub schedule to follow. The crowd of musicians I got to know so well floated in an eternal circuit from the Monday Session through to the Sunday Session. Many of the same people are still to be found on the same weekly rounds and only one of the Sessions has died off over the last seven years.
So… Sunday night. That’s the Doc Watson’s night. For the hardcore musicans, the Sunday drinking actually starts in the afternoon at the Thady Con’s Session, but I had engineering notes to prepare.
Doc Watsons is in the Upper East side and not the easiest place to get to from where I am staying in the Upper West. This business trip has been going well so I splurged on a taxi rather than the usual long A train and crosstown bus trip. The first taxi to stop was from a Car Service, not one of the metered Yellow ones. I have been around the city long enough to know to dicker the price before one goes anywhere. The ride is nicer but you could be in for a surprise if you have not got the price set first. If you are a stranger to the city you won’t know whether a price is reasonable or not so I would probably not recommend it without the advice of a local friend. The Yellow ones are safer for tourists.
I have sung at Doc Watson’s myself, although not in many years. I have been too busy surviving as a consultant to keep any material up to what I would consider professional performance standards. Since I have been there and done that, I have more to lose making a complete fool of myself on stage than most. One never knows: perhaps the day will fall when I must survive at it. It is best I not leave bar owners and public with memories of blue notes and effed lyrics to replace older,better memories of mostly competent performance. Instead, I competently hold up the bar and drink Guinness.
The pub has a Sunday anchor band that is usually John Redmond and Peter Rufli, fellows I know from years past. This Sunday John was not present and Peter had several other fine musicians with him.
Right to left: Davie Ryan, Banjo; Peter Rufli, flute & whistle;
Dominic Cromie, guitar and vocals Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved.
In addition to the craic of old acquaintances, Doc Watson’s has very good food and pulls a decent Guinness. I particularly like their Buffalo Wings platter.
If you have not spent time in New York, you are missing the real meaning of cross-cultural fertilization. The following photos show how Chinese culture has improved upon traditions long a part of the Irish music scene:
Traditional Irish beer balancing technique Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved.
Chinese improvement Photo: D.Amon, all rights reserved.
It seems the entire editorial staff of Samizdata is travelling at the moment. I happen to at least have network access, although not much in the way of time to make use of it these last weeks. Nonetheless I seem to have been left the tiller to Samizdata with a small sign, “Back soon, Regards, Perry” on it. So I shall make do.
Right now I am in Manhattan for a few days away from the intensity of an R&D effort for a small DC area company. I have some work to do in New York also, but at least I have some time to call my own. I will post an article or three to make up for the scarcity of one Dale Amon from these virtual pages over these three months on the road – not to mention the temporary absence of Perry and Adriana from the global Matrix.
Samizdata readers may remember my article about this amazing little battle. It clearly showed what happens when irregulars ambush real soldiers.
With great pleasure I now report a follow up to the story: three members of this fine bunch, Sgt. Leigh Ann Hester, Staff Sgt. Timothy Nein and Spc. Jason Mikhave have been awarded the Silver Star.
Well done and congratulations guys!
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We are also a varied group made up of social individualists, classical liberals, whigs, libertarians, extropians, futurists, ‘Porcupines’, Karl Popper fetishists, recovering neo-conservatives, crazed Ayn Rand worshipers, over-caffeinated Virginia Postrel devotees, witty Frédéric Bastiat wannabes, cypherpunks, minarchists, kritarchists and wild-eyed anarcho-capitalists from Britain, North America, Australia and Europe.
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