Firehose #126: For the People Who Died

Also: Speaking of which, unspeakably inappropriate calendar (for sale)

Look, there were many things I was supposed to do. I was supposed to finish not just this Firehose but at least one more Fif’-related piece before the (non-Kmele) ball dropped; was supposed to enjoy NYE in NYC (pictured), was obviously supposed to finish my epic annual People Who Died playlist. But part of being a middle-aged man is being a MIDDLE-AGED MAN WITH A COLD, so that means much sleeping, moaning, and otherwise not being Daddy Cool. (RIP Franz Reuther a.k.a. Frank Farian a.k.a Boney M., who is definitely NOT the dude dancing in this classic tune that our Kraut friend wrote and produced):

* Among the people who died since last we convened were the poor celebrants on Bourbon Street, rammed by an ISIS-flag-waving scumbag. One death has been reported so far at the explosion of a Tesla cybertruck in front of the Trump Hotel in Las Vegas. And, of course, there’s James Earl Carter.

Carter, like George W. Bush, is far more beloved as an ex-president than for what he did in the Oval Office. About the only people who spend any time defending (parts of) his actual record are libertarians, and here the Cato Institute’s Gene Healy does his level best:

In an era of strongman politics, when the presidency has become the focal point of all too much passion, there's a lot to be said for James Earl Carter's comparatively modest conception of the office. At home, our 39th president left a legacy of workaday reforms, paving the way for the "Reagan boom" by taming inflation and serially deregulating air travel, trucking, railroads, and energy. Abroad, he favored diplomacy over war, garnering the least bloody record of any post–World War II president. So what if he didn't look tough, or even particularly competent, as he did it? A clear-eyed look at the Carter record reveals something surprising: This bumbling, brittle, unloveable man was, by the standards that ought to matter, our best modern president.

I am old enough to remember Carter’s full presidency, and as such will not go that far, and in fact will write some stabby words later this week. Though I have in the past praised the deregulatory component of Carter’s presidency (and Jerry Brown’s second term as California governor!). Here in video form:

* Another big 2024 RIP to the legacy/institutional media, or so I come very close to arguing in my long-foreshadowed Reason essay “Politics Without Journalism.” Here’s a three-paragraph chunk:

The modal 25-year-old journalist was no longer a cub reporter covering and being accountable to the local community he or she lived among, but rather a graduate school grad lobbing insults at distant political figures from the relative safety of Brooklyn. As the nation itself was sorting geographically by politics, and retreating at measurable rates from community institutions such as church, Little League, and social clubs, journalism was refocusing on national and especially presidential politics, from the vantage point of the bluest neighborhoods in the bluest cities.

This reorientation has accelerated the industry's preexisting political trajectory. The American Journalist survey, conducted decennially, has tracked, among other things, the partisan self-identification of reporters since 1971. In 2002, the ratio of Democrats to Republicans among those surveyed was 2:1 (36 percent to 18 percent, with the rest being independent or "other"); in 2013 it was 4:1 (28 percent to 7 percent), then by 2022 a whopping 11:1 (36.4 percent to 3.4 percent). Media are hurtling toward where academia has long been—a knowledge-creating sector of purportedly nonpartisan civil society where conservatives are nonetheless an endangered species.

The new generation of journalists entering the work force during the age of Trump has been at the vanguard of some of the profession's most head-snapping changes: an increase in unionization after decades of decline; the creation of departments dedicated to diversity, equity, and inclusion; out-loud opposition both to "platforming" people with unacceptable views and to "bothsidesism," which can mean the consideration of multiple perspectives on a contested issue that journalists consider settled or just critical coverage of a given Democrat when everyone knows the applicable Republican is worse. Most ominously of all, we now see unabashed journalistic support for the government to do something about alleged purveyors of "misinformation," First Amendment be damned.

* You know who else died in 2024? A whole bunch of Israel’s theocratic enemies. (As did thousands of innocents in that multi-fronted war; a reminder that war always and forever is atrocious.) Back to the bad guys: Our own devilish Nika Scothorne, in conjunction with the Ask a Jew gals, have birthed an A.I.-assisted 2025 Queers 4 Palestine calendar that I in no way condone, though here’s a link.

* Still alive, thankfully, is Richard Dawkins, whose live conversation with Kmele has just been posted in video form:

* Speaking of Kmele and his conversations, we talked a bit in Members Only #242 about doing new video versions of some of our most beloved episodes – 2018’s #121 (“On Anti-Racism,” w/ Glenn Loury, John McWhorter, Coleman Hughes & Thomas Chatterton Williams), 2020’s #188 (“On Anti-Racism II,” w/ Loury, McWhorter, Hughes, Chatterton Williams”), and 2022’s #366 (“Racial Identity, Abolition and Reckonings,” w/ Loury & McWhorter). Oh, and speaking of Coleman, I meant previously to link to his moving piece two weeks ago on “My Mom—and the Case for Assisted Death.”

* Right! We were talking about my People Who Died 2024 playlist. Well, it’s here, and it’s … a lot? Like, 216 songs, 13+ hours a lot? This thread scratches the surface of the findings. For those suddenly obsessing over early 1960s folk music, I can offer you what that one fella was listening to, what he was writing (but not releasing), and the goddamn commies he was hanging out with. For those who would rather smash that acoustic guitar against the wall, I can offer some punk, some metal, and some metallic-ass punk. There’s also Euro-pop, Euro-country, Euro-prog…. And for those of you who complain I underrepresent rappists, this Bo$$ (as unauthorizedly grafted onto some Orange Is the New Black scenes) was one of the more pleasant surprises:

* Speaking of Robert Zimmerman, many alert listeners pointed me to a movie that I don’t remember hearing about, though again: old. It’s Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, and this is the scene doing that thing that Moynihan hates so much in musical biopics:

* That Reason v. Bulwark debate the other work spun off some commentary. RealClearPolicy’s Andrew Langer declared that “While the Bulwark’s representatives made impassioned arguments about Trump’s dangers, their hyperbole and moral superiority ultimately weakened their case. Gillespie and Welch, on the other hand, offered a vision of principled independence that feels increasingly relevant in a polarized political landscape.” The Bulwark, meanwhile, headlined their post-write “'The Hottest Circle of Hell Is for Those Who Stay Neutral.’”

* Comment of the Week comes from (ahem) Dylan:

that last 20 min was really poignant… you guys hit me in the heart. i turned 50 a couple weeks ago, and i’ve been in my feelings for a few reasons…. a big one is because a close friend died on Jan. 3rd. he was 5 years younger - only 44 at the time - and i’m like godddammit, why were you so reckless?! ...my homie just died because he was too reckless. family with three teenagers too.... he just went too hard.

my dad died in 2008, when i was in my 30s, and that’s something that i’ll probably mull over for the rest of my life. he was a total rock n’ roll asshole, in the most beautiful sense, but that life will take you off the fucking chessboard at 55 if you’re not careful.

so i, now newly 50, grind towards that 55 number. Moynihan said something about not being bound by things like that. he didn’t phrase it that way, but he said it. i think that’s very wise, and needs to be said. we’re not bound by these thoughts that we have. or at least, we don’t have to be. they’re ghosts.

here’s a poem, which talks about loss better than i can. it’s by Bukowski.

He hinted at times that I was a bastard and I told him to listen to Brahms, and I told him to learn to paint and drink and not be dominated by women and dollars

but he screamed at me, For Christ’s Sake remember your mother, remember your country, you’ll kill us all!...

I move through my father’s house (on which he owed $8,000 after 20 years on the same job) and look at his dead shoes the way his feet curled the leather, as if he was angrily planting roses, and he was, and I look at his dead cigarette, his last cigarette

and the last bed he slept in that night, and I feel I should remake it but I can’t, for a father is always your master even when he’s gone; I guess these things have happened time and again but I can’t help thinking

to die on a kitchen floor at 7 o’clock in the morning

while other people are frying eggs

is not so rough

unless it happens to you.

I go outside and pick an orange and peel back the bright skin; things are still living: the grass is growing quite well, the sun sends down its rays circled by a Russian satellite, a dog barks senselessly somewhere, the neighbors peek behind blinds. I am a stranger here, and have been (I suppose) somewhat the rogue, and I have no doubt he painted me quite well (the old boy and I fought like mountain lions) and they say he left it all to some woman in Duarte but I don’t give a damn—she can have it: he was my old man

and he died.

inside, I try on a light blue suit

much better than anything I have ever worn

and I flap the arms like a scarecrow in the wind

but it’s no good:

I can’t keep him alive

no matter how much we hated each other.

we looked exactly alike, we could have been twins

the old man and I: that’s what they

said. he had his bulbs on the screen

ready for planting

while I was lying with a whore from 3rd street.

very well. grant us this moment: standing before a mirror

in my dead father’s suit

waiting also

to die.

that may not land, depending on yr relationship with the dead.. but it lands with me.

Walkoff music might be the one from the playlist tugging at me hardest. Happy New Year, everyone!