MsUnderestimated » 2006 » July

Ann is a Dedicated Deadhead - Yes, Just Another American Girl

July 9th, 2006 at 11:37 by MsUnderestimated

For those of you who thought Ann believed she was a conservative elite, you all know she’s a dedicated “dead-head” fan of the Grateful Dead. A site called JamBands.com recently scored an interview with Ann about her dead-head status.

From the article:

“Deadheads Are What Liberals Claim to Be But Aren’t”:
An Interview with Ann Coulter Taylor Hill
2006-06-23

When I called the Clare Booth Luce Policy Institute, whose chairwoman gives speeches on topics with titles like “The Failures of Feminism”, and told the gatekeeper there that I wanted to do an interview with Ann Coulter solely about the Grateful Dead, there was a small pause. Then she recovered and politely told me to send her an e-mail, which she would forward to Ann. That, I expected, would be the end of it.

When I got home that night, and saw an e-mail in my box from Ann Coulter, I thought “how polite of her to send a rejection letter rather than simply ignoring my proposal.” Instead, I found that she had somehow written “I’d love to! Good website!” While she was delayed by a round of speeches to make up due to strep throat, and other events life throws out, we kept shooting e-mails back and forth and I discovered a secret that I will reveal despite the damage to her reputation that it may cause: Ann is really cool and really funny. The few friends I talked with about this said “What? You of all people are getting along with Ann Coulter?!” It was easy and simple to do: we never talked policy. It was a joy talking with her, even if we don’t agree on everything (most politics, and “Alabama Getaway” sucks).

What followed was the most surreal interview I have ever done in my life. It involves smearing oneself with purple Crisco, Kanye (Ann’s a fan), slews of Reagan and Bush appointees leaving the Justice Department to go to Dead shows, lamentation for the neglected “Pride of Cucamonga,” getting inside info on the Monica Lewinsky scandal by being a Deadhead, and saying goodbye to Jerry in Golden Gate Park. Some of her answers WILL piss people off, but there’s no doubting her tie-dyed credentials – even if the dye is much more red than blue. Her latest book, Godless: The Church of Liberalism, was published earlier this month.

Taylor Hill: When and how was your first Dead show?

Ann Coulter: I have no recollection of it whatsoever, other than that it was awesome.

TH: When and how was your last Dead show?

AC: I have no recollection of it whatsoever, other than that it was awesome. Actually, my last Dead show wasn’t quite a Dead show since Jerry wasn’t there, but I flew out to the Jerry Garcia memorial in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco with a fellow Deadhead from D.C. the weekend after Jerry went to the great psychedelic rock concert in the sky. The rest of the band played and it was great to be with my fellow Deadheads. It was very sad after Jerry died, not because I felt like I had a psychic connection to him or anything, but only because something really fun I liked to do, I couldn’t do anymore. It would be as if all ski resorts just shut down one day. So the Golden Gate Park memorial was a good way to end it.

TH: How many Dead shows did you see?

AC: I used to keep all my ticket stubs from Dead shows – it was just something Deadheads did, like keeping lists of songs – but I didn’t know why. So, in a lunatic cleaning frenzy around 1990, I threw them all out – as if a small section of a drawer devoted to Dead ticket stubs was messing up the whole place. After Jerry died, I said, “Eureka! That’s why we keep ticket stubs!” These are usually the sort of factual minutiae Deadheads excel at, but I failed because of my OCD cleaning obsession. So I’m not exactly, precisely 100 percent sure. I frantically tried to figure it out by checking with some of my fellow Deadheads after Jerry died and adding up the number of shows we had been to together, and I estimated it was about 67 shows. And they were awesome.

TH: Have you ever seen any of the side projects, like Phil & Friends and Ratdog?

AC: I’ve seen Ratdog a few times (chicks love Bobby), though no Dead at all since Jerry died. THEY’RE DEAD TO ME NOW! (Joke.) I still listen to Dead tapes and CDs, but no more concerts for me. Of course, I’ve been working a lot, so basically no more fun for me.

TH: Are there any other jambands you like?

AC: All the usual – String Cheese Incident, Phish, Dave Matthews Band, Blues Traveler, New Potato Caboose. I can’t really tell you all the groups I like because have an iPod so have a lot of songs my friends send me and I never really know who I’m listening to. But I try to keep up with what the young people are listening to these days (I love saying that). There’s Jet, Cake, Outkast, 50 Cent, Black-Eyed Peas, Lord Alge, Beck, Kanye West (I like his Jesus song), Missy Elliot, and Eagles of Death Metal. I’m five years behind, aren’t I? I’m very busy!

TH: What exactly do you love about the Grateful Dead?

AC: The tie-dye of course. Truth be told I hated tie-dye, though I finally broke down and would wear tie-dyed Dead shirts to concerts solely as a tribute to my fellow Deadheads.

Oddly enough, I like the music. No one believes that I never took drugs at Dead shows (except for the massive clouds of passive marijuana smoke) but I went because I really liked the music. There are various groups I get enthusiastic about for awhile, but of all the music I’ve listened to over the years, the Grateful Dead is the one band I never grow tired of. Apparently, the same is true of me for ski-lift operators.

Moreover, I really like Deadheads and the whole Dead concert scene: the tailgating, the tie-dye uniforms, the camaraderie – it was like NASCAR for potheads. You always felt like you were with family at a Dead show – a rather odd, psychedelic family that sometimes lived in a VW bus and sold frightening looking “veggie burritos.” But whatever their myriad interests, clothing choices, and interest in illicit drugs, true Deadheads are what liberals claim to be but aren’t: unique, free-thinking, open, kind, and interested in different ideas. Also, excellent dancers! Watching a Deadhead dance is truly something to behold.

Somewhat contrary to the image of Deadheads as hippies, the Dead were huge in my hometown of New Canaan, CT, which is a pretty preppie town. We toyed with the idea of making “Truckin’” our prom song with a “Long Strange Trip” theme, but we ended up with some dorky rainbow theme instead. I tend to associate the Dead with lacrosse players and my favorite fraternities, Fiji and Theta Delt.

The one time I missed not being able to go to Dead shows more than any other since Jerry died was during the Clinton impeachment. There was so much viciousness - killed cats, punctured tires, threats, investigations and slander against those of us favoring impeachment. (Anthony Pellicano, you’ll recall – the Hollywood private investigator now accused of criminal conspiracy, attempted murder, and making criminal threats – was working for the Clintons during the Monica Lewinsky investigation.) I don’t really care what people say about me – I’m a Christian so there’s nothing anyone can ever do to me – but I kept thinking: “Boy, would I like to go to a Dead show and dance with happy, friendly deadheads for just one night!”

TH: What’s your favorite Grateful Dead album?

AC: I can’t possibly pick one favorite. Nor a favorite concert tape. I have about fifty Dead tapes, including the original rap song - Mickey Hart rapping “Fire on the Mountain” - I think at my alma mater, Cornell, before I was even born. It’s fantastic. How about that? Just when you thought the Dead could be no cooler – they even invented rap!

My collection of Dead tapes, by the way, was the reason I heard one of the Linda Tripp tapes before Ken Starr did. Tripp’s lawyer obviously needed to hear the tape before turning it over to the prosecutor, but he only had an old 1950’s tape player and couldn’t get it to work and Ken Starr wanted the tape the next morning. He was terrified he’d hit the wrong button and erase the evidence. In the wee hours of the morning, it occurred him, a Deadhead himself, that he knew one person in D.C. who definitely had a tape machine. So, at around 2 AM, he called me and asked to come over to use my tape deck.

My favorite Dead song is the last song I heard, and my favorite concert was the last concert I went to, but among my favorite songs are: “Eyes of the World”, “Loose Lucy”, “Franklin’s Tower”, “Althea”, “Fire on the Mountain”, “Deal”, “Sugar Magnolia”, “Unbroken Chain”, “Cassidy”, “Pride of Cucamonga”, “Uncle John’s Band”, “Ripple”, “Casey Jones”, “I Will Take You Home”, “Passenger”, “Stagger Lee”, “Tennessee Jed”, “Mississippi Half-Step”, “Good Lovin’” - I even love “Alabama Getaway”, which I gather Deadheads are supposed to spurn for being “commercially successful.” (Of course, we were also supposed to say “Phil makes the band.” I love Phil, but when Jerry died, that turned out not to be true.)

By the way, you did not ask me what my favorite bumper sticker or button is . . . and I know the answers to those questions! Bumper sticker: “Dead For Life”; button: “Jews For Jerry.”

TH: What’s your favorite Grateful Dead show, and why? Were you there?

AC: They were all my favorites – especially the shows at Shoreline. It’s a beautiful outdoor amphitheater, the Dead’s home field, with California chardonnay for sale by the glass (in addition to not being a pot-smoker, I’m not much of a beer-drinker), and I often ran into my college Deadhead friends there. We’d go sailing during the day and see the band at night.

I fondly remember seeing the Dead when I was at Cornell. It was the day of the fabulous Fiji Island party on the driveway “island” of the Phi Gamma Delta House. We’d cover ourselves in purple Crisco and drink purple Kool-Aid mixed with grain alcohol and dance on the front yard. Wait – I think got the order reversed there: We’d drink purple Kool-Aid mixed with grain alcohol and then cover ourselves in purple Crisco – then the dancing. You probably had to be there to grasp how utterly fantastic this was.

Also, I saw the Dead at Sandstone Amphitheater near Kansas City one Fourth of July, and it was an incredibly patriotic experience.

TH: Have you ever talked with any members of the Grateful Dead?

AC: Oh yes, constantly. None of the band members were present for these conversations, but I talk to them. “Good show! Excellent Olympics opening ceremony, Mickey! Nice uniforms on those Lithuanians. Why don’t you ever play “Pride of Cucamonga” in concert? The concert hall would go wild and it would make the cover of the New York Times! Did you guys really used to dose people?”

TH: Did the Grateful Dead give you and Al Franken something to talk about during your debates?

AC: Apart from Al Gore, Al Franken is the most un-Deadhead like person I know of who purports to be a Deadhead.

TH: It’s time to name names. Who are the other Deadheads who have infiltrated the conservative movement?

AC: As a Deadhead and a freedom-lover, I am wounded to the bone that you think the two do not naturally go hand in hand. The Deadheads I just met casually and not through conservative politics were almost always right-thinking, whatever they called themselves. Deadheads believe in freedom – not a government telling people how much water they can have in their toilets or where they can smoke or whether they should be allowed to own a gun. (Remember the photos of Jerry testifying before some Congressional committee while chain smoking? Yeah, he’d really bond with Henry Waxman.)

One of my Dead friends I met at Vail made candles for Grateful Dead merchandizing. His daily routine consisted of waking up, smoking a bowl, and turning on the Rush Limbaugh radio show while he made his candles. (It’s true. He’s so far out there he practices this weird, freaky ritual known as “commerce.” Don’t try telling me pot is harmless!)

Also there was a big Deadhead Christian group that handed out terrific pamphlets at Dead shows. Admittedly, many of them found God staring into a puddle while high on LSD, but whatever the path, they were very serious Christians – they made Jerry Falwell sound like a secularist.

Either Bobby or Jerry was asked by a Rolling Stone interviewer to denounce all the Young Reaganites attending their concerts in the 80’s, and whichever one it was not only refused to attack the young Republicans, but said he liked some of those “rightist” ideas. Consider that when the Dead decided to do something to save the Rain Forest, they didn’t harangue poverty-stricken Third Worlders to give up washing machines and electricity. They did it the free market way: buying up parts of the Rain Forest, parcel by parcel.

And they provided the Lithuanian basketball team – recently liberated from the Soviet yoke – with totally cool uniforms so they could play in the 1992 Olympics.

After Jerry died, U.S. Senator Spencer Abraham (R-MI) gave an incredibly touching tribute to Jerry Garcia and the good work the Dead’s Rex Foundation had done promoting the arts privately – in contradistinction to millionaire actresses standing up in $50,000 gowns at the Oscars and demanding that hardworking waitresses and truck drivers be forced to support the arts through government taxation. You can look it up in the Congressional Record.

But to answer your question, Senator, I personally have loads and loads of friends who are right-wingers and Deadheads. I couldn’t possibly name them all. For starters, obviously, there’s Angela Lansbury. She gave me my first psychedelic tie-dyed tube top at a Dead show just outside Tucson. Just kidding. There are: Peter Flaherty, President, National Legal And Policy Center; John Harrison, top official in the Justice Department under Reagan and Bush and now a law professor at UVA; Jim Moody, MIT grad and libertarian attorney (and Linda Tripp’s lawyer); Gary Lawson, former Scalia clerk and currently a law professor at Boston University Law School; Andrew McBride, partner at a DC law firm; DeRoy Murdoch, conservative columnist; Ben Hart, right-wing author of “Poisoned Ivy” out of Dartmouth. Oh, and the conservative talk radio host Gary Stone in Palm Springs is a Deadhead and kindly plays the Dead as my intro music. When I worked at the Justice Department during law school, I’d be leaving with a whole slew of Reagan or Bush political appointees to see the Dead at RFK. Finally, I believe the great New York subway vigilante Bernie Goetz was a Deadhead.

TH: So, I was talking to Kristy Cottrell, my friend and chairman of the Auburn University College Republicans, and she said she had no good advice for me as she really only listens to country. For someone who only listens to country, what is a good point to break into the Grateful Dead?

AC: Oh, there’s a lot of overlap: “Mama Tried”, “Me and My Uncle”, “Dark Hollow”, “Cumberland Blues”, “Tennessee Jed”. I think a country music lover would like a lot of the Dead. She might not like “Space”, but no one who was not on drugs did.

TH: Do you remember the first time you heard the Grateful Dead?

AC: I definitely remember the first time I heard the Dead – the first time the whole family heard the Dead. It was “Uncle John’s Band” blasting from my oldest brother’s bedroom. The first two albums Santa gave me when I was around 11 years old were Simon and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits and American Beauty. I think my parents’ reaction was, “Well, at least they’re not listening to the Osmonds.”

Yes, believe it or not… Ann is NOT a fem-bot of the Republican party! She’s a human being! So read and learn. She’s just human like the rest of us. I was and will always be a KISS fan myself.

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Ben Stein Asks “How Was Your Weekend?”

July 9th, 2006 at 08:48 by MsUnderestimated

As usual, the sage Ben Stein writes a no-nonsense column about the realities of this world in The Spectator just recently. Ben Stein has been outspoken in the past about how Hollywood elites are out of touch, and he is always spot-on. This article is no different. Here’s Mr. Stein to bring us all a piece of reality:

How Was Your Weekend?

By Ben Stein
The American Spectator
Published 7/6/2006

All of this happened over the Fourth of July weekend.

On Sunday, I read an article about a housing development in Beverly Hills called Beverly Park. Houses are 18,000, 25,000, 30,000 square feet. Every house has to have a screening room. Neighbors fight with neighbors about sculptures and the color paint they use. No one sounds terribly happy. As far as I can tell, almost everyone in the development is Jewish. What am I to make of this? Sixty years after Hitler came close to wiping out the Jews of Europe, a hundred years after Jews arrived here in rags, they are living in houses of 25,000 square feet — and complaining about their neighbors. We Jews are amazingly strange people.

On Monday, I had dinner with a man named Sgt. John Quinones who has just come back from two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. He is a wounded, highly decorated infantryman. A real hero. He said he thought things in Iraq were difficult, but the Iraqi National Guardsmen he worked with were fantastically brave. He can’t wait to go back and fight more. He’s in Yuma, Arizona, testing devices to jam remotely detonated IED’s. Some work better than others.

He wants his wife to go see her mother but they can’t afford it. Wifey and I said we would pay. It seems like little enough to do.

After dinner, he and my Boeing pal Peggy and I went to a bar where he played a message on his cell from his daughter telling him, “Daddy, I miss you. Daddy, I’m scared. Daddy, don’t go. Daddy I love you. Daddy, don’t go.” She’s almost three years old. His eyes misted over when he told me the story.

That night I read a piece in the New York Times about how the British tortured and killed American patriots in New York harbor during the Revolutionary War. Supposedly, according to the author, what George Bush is doing with al Qaeda captives is the same. Supposedly there is some connection between Patrick Henry and John Adams and Zarqawi and Bin Laden. And the Democrats wonder why they can’t get traction in middle America.

On July Fourth, Quinones and I were joined by his two fellow soldiers and testers of IED jammers, Griff and Danny. We had sushi, bought clothes at Brooks Brothers in Palm Desert, talked about the war. Griff is a member of EODS. This, if I recall right, is Explosive Ordnance Disposal Service, or something like that. He is called in when IEDs are found or suspected, blows them up, then goes home.

“The beautiful thing,” he said, “is that if you make a mistake, you never know it. You’re just a pink mist.”

Danny laughed heartily at this.

We had dinner at our club and watched fireworks. The disc jockey in the club played patriotic songs. When he played The Star Spangled Banner, Griff and Danny stood at attention, their eyes shining.

I got an e-mail from the mother of a Lance Corporal in the Marines named Tyler Jackson. He is accused of murdering an Iraqi civilian and covering it up, along with some other Marines. Until recently, he was being held in leg irons in solitary confinement at Pendleton. He was questioned for weeks before he got to see a lawyer.

A few weeks ago, a historian sent me a long article about how the terrorists are fighting us by cooking up these horror stories and paying people to pretend to “witness” them. Either they “witness” U.S. atrocities or they get their heads cut off. The British in Iraq have found out that almost all of these accusations are false. I wonder how many months will have to go by until we learn that some of these accusations against our men are false.

In the meantime, how can it be that the Supreme Court is worried about the rights of Osama bin Laden’s driver in court, but no one is raising a finger about the rights of Marines who offer their lives to fight for us and then get held in leg irons when there is an accusation against them? How can this be?

How can it be that in the mainstream media, you will NEVER see a soldier’s photo on the front page unless he’s charged with a crime, as Wlady asks.

Glorious America, time to figure out who your friends are, I thought, and then looked at the stars. We are still a free people, thanks to men like Griff and John and Danny, and when one of their colleagues is accused of wrongdoing, let’s show some darned respect.

Last I heard, it was innocent until proven guilty.

I’m so sad that more Hollywood types aren’t like Ben, and even more sad they’re unlike the Hollywood stars of yesteryears who not only supported our troups, but also volunteered to fight in the wars. Ben Stein is a dying breed , and I can ony hope that there will be a crop of young’uns like Gary Sinise and Ron Silver who will please take his outspoken place in history.

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Death By “Chi-Chi?”

July 9th, 2006 at 08:22 by MsUnderestimated

h/t Wonkette

Ken Lay
Ken Lay

Pulitzer-prize winning critic, Henry Allen, has written a nice “essay” in the Washington Post about Ken Lay’s death. It’s hard to describe the callousness with this Allen writes his piece, and yes, libs will probably pillory me for speaking “kindly” of Ken Lay. Far from it. I’m not speaking kindly of his crimes; I’m merely showcasing those who would celebrate and sometimes lament (because they didn’t suffer enough) the deaths of some as if they were serial killers or child molesters.

I’ll let the article speak for itself:

Ken Lay’s Last Evasion
To Some, CEO Is Cheating Them One More Time

By Henry Allen
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, July 6, 2006; C01

Ah, Kenneth Lay of Enron: America hardly knew you before your trial, but learned after your big-hammer jury conviction that you had left countless suckers broke, employees cheated and stockholders betrayed.

There were also the electricity customers swindled, along the lines of Mr. and Mrs. Front Porch USA, who wanted to leave a night light on without sending Enron their whole Social Security checks for the privilege.

Many people had looked forward to knowing more about Ken Lay, especially how he liked prison.

But now that he’s died of a heart attack in the luxury of his Colorado getaway while awaiting sentencing for his crimes, none of his victims will be able to contemplate that he’s locked away in a place that makes the Baltimore Harbor Tunnel look like Hawaii; that he might be spending long nights locked in a cell with a panting tattooed monster named Sumo, a man of strange and constant demands; and long days in the prison laundry or jute mill or license plate factory, gibbering with anguish as fire-eyed psychopaths stare at him for unblinking hours while they sharpen spoons into jailhouse stilettos.

He will not be ground into gray jailhouse paste by listening to the eardrum-scarring symphony of 131-decibel despair that is the Muzak of penitentiaries, by gagging on the dead prison air, by choking on the deader food, by watching the blue sky taunt him with freedom over the exercise yard, and by feeling his nervous system rent by the cruel grenades of memories — explosions of nostalgia for the days when he knew he’d be swanning forever through the comfy laps and cool lawns of luxury and infinite possibility. Sweet Gulfstreams through sweet skies, the pools, the jewels, the Maybach limousines, a life in which he didn’t just pimp his ride, he pimped the entire world as he knew it.

Actually, some folks who got the news, the particularly enlightened and civilized ones, are glad they won’t have to know that Kenneth Lay is going through these agonies. They may even reflect that if they’d known him personally, they would have known a wonderful father, husband and friend. Isn’t that what people always say about people like Ken Lay? And shouldn’t people always try to think the best of everyone?

Yes, they should, but so many people may well have responded to the news of Lay’s untimely death by feeling cheated, by saying that death wasn’t good enough for him, by sensing a frustrated craving for revenge burning in their backbrains like a fire in a tire dump.

Is it possible that a micron below the surface of our liberal and enlightened beliefs lurks savagery? Was the French Enlightenment wrong about our essential goodness, and were the medieval churchmen right about our innate depravity?

We should consider these things in days to come, so that Ken Lay may not have died in vain.

Meanwhile, for those who are baffled by the strange and vicious outrage that greeted news of Lay’s passing, at least among some people, there is a story, an old story, a very old joke in fact, that seeks to explain it.

It gets told with many variations, of which the following is one:

Three anthropologists are taken captive by a cruel and remote tribe.

Their chief comes to their hut and informs the anthropologists that they have a choice: death or chi-chi.

The first anthropologist says: “Chi-chi, of course.”

There ensues three days of screams, moans, pleadings, whimpers, then silence.

The chief comes to the hut to speak with the second anthropologist. He picks chi-chi, too.

Three more days of shrieks and begging.

The chief comes to the third anthropologist.

“Which do you choose, death or chi-chi?”

“I’ve heard too much,” says the anthropologist. “I’ll take death.”

“A very wise choice,” says the chief, who then adds with a sad smile: “But first, chi-chi.”

That’s why some of us are disappointed to know of the death of Ken Lay. Depraved as we may be, what we really hoped was that crimes of his super-size sort might bring him just a little chi-chi.

What about compassionate liberals? Oh, and doesn’t this give us some insight to what the bed-wetters will do should any person affiliated with the Bush administration also pass away? God remembers those who speak ill-will of people who have passed. Apparently Mr. Henry Allen isn’t worried.

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