6/5/68

Bobby Kennedy died 50 years ago. It still hurts.

Actually, the assassinations of 1968 -- first Martin Luther King and then, two months later, Robert Kennedy -- hurt all the more as time goes by. Why is that? Why are these the wounds that never heal?

Some say it's because what we lost in that terrible spring of '68 was hope itself. Maybe some did -- I can't say for sure; I was just 7 at the time. But I remember the sadness, and I remember some of the fear. Still, 7-year-olds don't lose hope . . . not really. It takes longer for a body to really and truly lose hope.

I wasn't there yet.

Now, a half century on? I still don't know. My hope is battered and bruised -- besieged, actually, in this hateful and diseased Age of Trump -- but it's not lost. Not entirely, anyway.

But every insult to it -- every body blow, every instance when the unthinkable becomes not only thinkable, but reality -- adds, for me, to the grief over something that happened when I was but a child.



THE PAIN grows exponentially as Americans see what we've become, as we grow ever more acutely aware of what we lost that awful early Wednesday morning as gunshots rang out in the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. As hope drained away along with the life of the senator from New York over the next 26 hours.

You know what I think about? I think about how different we might have turned out had we gotten a president who endeavored to heal a divided America, sought to end a deeply stupid and wasteful war, and reminded us that The Other was our brother.

I wonder what the story of the last half century would have read like without Richard Nixon's race-baiting "Southern strategy," the fulfillment of which sits today in a soiled Oval Office . . . and in every act of racial or ethnic hatred across this still-divided land . . . and on the battlefields of Afghanistan, Iraq and Syria . . . and in the detention facilities filled with Mexican and Central American children torn away from their undocumented parents somewhere along our southern border.

I wonder about that. And then I grieve -- still -- over a murder from when I was just out of first grade in Baton Rouge.

We're off on the Road to Caracas

This is frickin' Haiti. If only someone had thrown a chair -- maybe shot a hole in the ceiling -- for the full effect.

Where this all is heading is frickin' Venezuela, which as I type is completely emptying out because it, like Louisiana, is completely incapable of self-governance. It's amazing all the existential, quite-fatal flaws $100-a-barrel oil can cover up.

Until it's $50-a-barrel oil.

IF I WERE Gov. John Bel Edwards, I'd make sure Rep. Lance Harris (R-Alexandria) discovered -- by Wednesday morning, at the latest -- that state health inspectors had documented severe rat-and-cockroach infestations at every single one of his convenience stores up there in Bumf*ckistan. Out of an abundance of caution, Harris' nasty, filthy stores then would have to be shut down.

In the name of public safety. And good government.

Especially good government.

When you're gub'na of a banana republic, you damn well better act like you're the top banana.

It's dangerous to have courage in an age of cowards

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Trumpism is an apocalypse, an unveiling and a revelation in the original Greek sense of the word.

What previously was hidden from many now is visible to all -- and the choice we face as Americans is crystal clear.

"Which side are you on, boys? Which side are you on?"

One of the vanishingly few pluses to this apocalypse is the revelation of true backbone, conviction and integrity among some Republicans and conservatives who previously were just seen as partisan warriors in the right-wing tribe. Michael Gerson is among this number.
 

'When the king is a liar, truth becomes treason.'

HE'S BEEN anti-Trump from the start, has been clear about why he's opposed Donald Trump and has, on principled grounds, cast himself out of his tribe because his tribe has shown itself to be massively intellectually and morally corrupt. And in this age where tribalism is all -- and you don't have to look far to see this; you're on social media, after all -- it is no small thing to stand alone, reviled to some extent by all sides.

If this all goes even more sideways than it already has, folks like Gerson will be among the first to be rounded up and thrown into the gulag. Remember that as you read this.

3 Chords & the Truth: Chillin' in the city

Ever have one of those days where, let us say, your get-up-and-go got up and went?

Sure you have.

Well, that's about how it's been going around the 3 Chords & the Truth studios here in Omaha, by God, Nebraska. So on this episode of the program, we're just chillin' the hell out.

Oh, the music's as good as always . . . but we're all just listening and, well, you know.

It's also been a stormy day around these parts, so there's that. And that's all I have to say about that.

Or much of anything at this juncture.

Just listen to the Big Show. You will be so glad you did. Peace . . . out.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

No, there is no bottom for right-wingers to hit

Let's just call this staggeringly odious and misleading Internet ad what it is.

It's the right-wing crazy machine's "Where the white women at!?" moment. There's no other explanation for using that artwork of Barack Obama, and using it in the manner of Cleavon Little meets Snidely Whiplash.

Particularly when Obama hasn't been president for a year and a half now.

Boris Badenov . . . president's FSB handler

It's something worthy of Boris Badenov . . .  or a Washington dark-money advocacy group with ties to the Koch brothers.

The spectacle of Republicans resorting to Obama-baiting -- still -- to thwart an effort to continue regulating a utility like, well, a utility just beggars belief. Or it would have beggared belief a decade ago. You know, before the Great "The President's a What???" Freakout.

And now that Donald Trump is president, I'll believe anything. Except, of course, a single word that comes out of his mouth.

IN AN AMERICA lost somewhere on the wrong side of a pee-colored looking glass, the old Jim Crow political tactic of n***** baiting has become the postmodern coin of the realm for Republicans. That's fair enough. After all, they've been looking more like Klansmen every God-forsaken day in this deviant and dysfunctional Age of Trump.

Thus, we have the right resorting to this "Where the white women at!?" demonizing of a man who's no longer running things -- all in the name of letting Corporate America screw consumers and potential economic rivals as much as possible.

No doubt, this is another GOP "freedom" moment.

And, as Janis Joplin told us all 47 years ago, "Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose."

3 Chords & the Truth: Bing bong bing-bing bong . . . hold on!

Government by tweet.

Elections brought to you by . . . Russia.

Four words: Conspiracy theorist-in-Chief.

Rampant, resurgent racism and xenophobia. A large part of the American population who'd ask "Zee-no-what???"

And our president was filmed saying "bing bong bing-bing bong" in public. With accompanying gestures.

If you, like we at 3 Chords & the Truth, find this state of affairs to be some weird sh*t . . . you probably have had your patriotism and morality questioned by someone who actually is allowed to vote in this country. Well, friend, this edition of the Big Show has a message for you amid this dumpster fire of a country (and decade): Hold on.

Just hold on.

GRIT YOUR teeth, steel your nerves, take one minute at a time . . . and hold on. You can get through this.

We can get through this. Crazy can't endure forever if the sane hold on -- stubbornly hold on. It's not you who's nuts.

Consider this edition of the program, and the music within, your daily affirmation this week -- I'm OK; you're OK; the rest of the world is cray-cray.

Got it? Good. You're gonna get through this. We're gonna get through this together.

That is all.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

Hold on.

You can do it. We can do it.

It's the Big Show, coming up for the holiday weekend.

Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: Whatever gets you through the news

Timeless chic, eh?

Well, throw in a liberal dash of jamming, dancing, groovin' and just plain bizarre flapdoodlery . . . and we may just have a recipe for getting ourselves through the news. Which we accidentally happened to read online and watch on the TV.

It's enough to tempt you to major depression and bedsheet cocoonery.

This week on 3 Chords & the Truth, drastic action was called for. Primarily by me.

After all, one has to look out for Numero Uno first.

AMID THE drastic action on this week's program, there is one unifying theme -- the Big Show will limit itself to a tasteful and satisfying mixture of only four kinds of music. Those tuneful types are as follows:

◼︎ Music on 7 inch.

◼︎ Music on 10 inch.

◼︎ Music on 12 inch.

◼︎ Music on silvery CD thingies.

Sounds timelessly chic to me, Skipper. Sanity preserving, too. I find it helpful, and I'm betting you will also.

If not, I'll see you in the Happy Hotel. Where life, no doubt, is beautiful all the time.

Hell, it's got to be better than the evening news.

IT'S 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

Does your mother know?

It's the Big Show, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: Follow it, like it, share it

People think social media is in a computer somewhere.

As if folks are being social when their eyes are glued to a screen.

Social media is when you have some records, something to drink, something to snack on, a good sound system . . . and friends. In your house or apartment. Enjoying the media with you. In the manner of sociable people.

That's social media. Feel free to replace the records with 3 Chords & the Truth.

This week on the Big Show, we're engaging in social media of the proper sort. Feel free to join the party at the 3C&T studio via your streaming device. Please restrict usage of the streaming device to getting the show off of the Internet and into your hi-fi.

DO INVITE friends over for this exercise in actual social media. Reserve your attention for them . . . and for 3 Chords & the Truth. The screen on your smartphone or your computer gets plenty of attention from you already.

Don't forget the beer and snacks. Coffee is a good choice as well.

So you know what you have to do: Call your friends, invite them over, listen to the show, and pay attention to one another. Not your screen thingy.

A good time will be had by all.

You can bank on it, Cap.

IT'S 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: Tunes for a clown-car commute

Life is a three-ring circus. Now more than ever.

And what we all are is stuck in the slow lane of a clown-car traffic jam. Rogue elephants up ahead have just shucked Peter Peanut (may Chuckles the Clown rest in peace) and a Flying Wallenda has just done a bug impression . . . all over your teeny-tiny windshield.

That's right, ladies and germs, Ringling Bros. is no more because it no longer could compete with the United States of Big Top, which has the advantage of scale.

Oooooh, watch your step there, pally. Elephants eat a lot of peanuts.

But I have got a deal for you. Step right up, and I will show you the great deal 3 Chords & the Truth has got for you.

Right over here, I present to you the Big Show, a fine program of musical erudition -- one this week that features an excellent set of tip-top, Big Top music for the times in which we find ourselves this fine day.

IT'S A CIRCUS out there, gents . . . and ladies . . . and, boy, do I have the music for you.

Right here, and for an unlimited time only, I give you the best in musical programming -- three full rings of musical bliss -- for the low, low price of absolutely nothing. That's right! Absolutely nothing. And all I require from you is . . . your undying devotion.

That's it! No catches, no regrets . . . just the finest music on the Internets for the low price of zilch! Zip! Nada!

Squat!

And if you stay tuned to this here episode of 3 Chords & the Truth, you will witness something too dangerous to ever hear on the regular, pedestrian radio airwaves! You will see -- somewhere in the middle of the show -- the death-defying segué that mere mortals dare not attempt at your crappy corporate radio station!

WILL your Mighty Favog live? Or will . . . he . . . die . . . in the flaming wreckage of a musical transition gone terribly . . . horribly . . . wrong?

You must stay glued to -- transfixed upon -- your high-fidelity listening device to find out the answer to that perilous question. Yes, indeed!

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, ladies and gentlemen! Be there. And let the show begin!