David Weigel

Testing.

Testing … 1, 2, 3 …

A new era dawns
Two months ago, the server which hosted www.davidweigel.com was unplugged; its babysitters didn’t exactly jump to the task of reconnecting it. Recently I’ve been moving my stuff over to a new server, courtesy of hasweb, but my main blog has rebuffed my efforts at updating it. I miss blogging; thus, I blog anew on this site. For the immediate future, look here to find constant updates on my work.

My friend the punching bag
James Justin Wilson, UM alum and National Review intern, is the BBC’s poster boy for the “strong feelings” that affirmative action inspires. Justin has a way of showing up at every “diversity” love-in on the east coast, so memorize that face - you’ll see it connected to Al Sharpton’s fist someday.

Howard Dean vs. Howard Dean for President
The press missed one of the most amusing bits from yesterdays’ Rainbow-PUSH Democratic debate. C-Span has the video.

At 1:12:40, Tavis Smiley asks about the need for internet access in minority (read: dirt poor) schools - the “digital divide.” Howard Dean answers at 1:19:40.

DEAN: I thought you’d be interested to know about how the digital divide affects me. We have the most advanced internet campaign in the country. We have 34,000 volunteers all over the country, because of the internet. The next biggest campaign has 1300. We have a disproportionate number of white, middle-class kids because the internet does not reach enough people in the Latino and the African-American communities. When I went to San Anton–to Austin, Texas, we had 3200 people come out and see us in a Latino neighborhood. Why? Because we used the telephone. I know what happens in the digital divide, not because I know a lot about what happens in households, but because my campaign is adversely affected by the fact that I can’t reach members of the African-American and the Latino community in the way I want to reach them.

I’ve heard left-wing activists complain about the whiteness of their movements before (find some Nader campaign retrospectives if you need a refresher course), but in a Democratic presidential campaign? Wow, I guess. Dean takes a pretty big slap at his own campaign with this one.

Also, does it strike anyone else as weird that the governor of Vermont, with its 3000 African-American citizens, blames economic inequality for his paltry African-American support? Either Dean was making a big reach to appeal to the Rainbow-PUSH audience, or he’s mighty clueless about that grass roots movement of his.

Working on deadline for Money. Will be back tonight.

For all of you who are, you know … checking.

Break the law …
… download SoulSeek. I’ve lassoed live bootlegs by Tommy Keene, My Bloody Valentine, Warren Zevon, and Guided by Voices. For some reason, I’ve downloaded an old Mylanta commercial starring Alyson Hannigan. Not the best file-sharing service ever, but pretty good - and spyware-free.

Movie Review I: Testament
1983 was the year of the nuclear holocaust. Not the real one. You didn’t miss anything. It was the year that Hollywood muscle put together “The Day After” and “Testament,” two semi/ultra realistic (depending if you’re talking to a teacher or a scientist) melodramas about world ripped apart by nuclear war. Partly inspired by the nuclear freeze movement, partly inspired by that pioneer spirit that bankrolls a couple of apocalypse movies each year, the movies joined a holy trinity in 1984 when the BBC produced “Threads.”

Like any good trinity, the Apocalypse Three boast their own strengths. “Threads” is a headspinning nightmare, nearly plotless, with a mishmash of scenes that don’t end until 15 years after the war and the stillbirth of a mutant (the no nukes movement was much more powerful in the UK than the USA - coincidence?). “The Day After” has stars (Robards! Lithgow! Guttenberg!) and down-homey scenery.

“Testament” is different. It’s often remembered as the best of three, because its plot and characters (all played by unknowns, except for a mumbly Kevin Costner and Rebecca DeMornay who, oddly, play newlyweds) take precedence over the boils, blood and torment. Notably, it doesn’t take place in a ground zero. It doesn’t even show one. The Wetherly family reside in hilly, whitebread Hamlin, CA, where daddy Tom sometimes commutes into San Francisco. He’s in the city when the bombs drop, 15 minutes into the movie, while his wife Carol and kids Brad, Mary Liz and Scotty watch TV. A cartoon turns to static - a newsreader appears and announces that New York has been nuked - and the sky turns yellow, in an effect straight out of Flash Gordon. From then on, of course, everything goes to hell. Then it goes deeper.

Despite the strong narrative, small cast, and sacchrine use of old “home movies” and Carol’s journal to beat the drama into our foreheads, “Testament” is the least devastating of the A3. From minute one the people of Hamlin are cuddly and supportive. Gas station owner Mike and his retarded son Hiroshi give Carol free gasoline while cars wind miles behind her. Avuncular Henry Abhart, a ham radio geek, takes Brad under his wing and sends him out to keep the community wired.

Then folks start up-’n'-dyin’. Kevin Costner and Rebecca DeMornay lose their baby girl after it vomits during a feeding. Scotty quickly deteriorates and crashes, splayed out naked in the bathroom. And the movie gets this right - the stuffy, middle-class characters handle death in a stuffy, middle-class way. Mouths shut tight when someone asks “what will happen” or “will I live?” Carol obsesses over burying Scotty with his teddy bear, but she handles the rest of the deaths with grim-faced determination and monotone journal entries. (”I look at Brad. The man he’s become. The man he’ll never grow up to be.”) The school production of “The Pied Piper” (badum-ching!) goes on. Carol adopts the kids of parents who croak.

Something snaps in the end, after the lovable Henry kicks and Carol, gripping dirt, lets out an anguished “Who - did - this? God - DAMN - you!” The family tidies up the furniature and, with Hiroshi in tow, head to an abandoned garage to turn on their car and let the gas run. The sight of young Brad sighing as he kills himself is a powerful 3rd act shock. But Carol turns off the gas, and the survivors light candles, and they promise to “deserve the children” that come after the apocalypse. (I’m thinking she needs to rent “Threads.”)

So it’s the weakest of the A3 on flash, and tied with “The Day After” on substance. It’s not worth owning, but neither are any of these movies unless you get a surreal kick from open sores.

Rating: 7/10

Websites are the new punchlines
Republicans who support Al Sharpton (for the Dem nomination!) are real, and they know html. I’m of two minds; this is silly right-wing pinata-bashing, but it makes fun of Al Sharpton. It should be funnier. Actually, why isn’t it funnier? Sharpton’s campaign motto, at this point, is “I’m going to slap the donkey until the donkey kicks.” Even Colin Quinn could make this guy funny.

The New York Times editorial on affirmative action in 3.5 words
Journalists aren’t lawyers.