Why'd you pick that name?

How High is the Watergate?
by Phil Ochs

How high is the watergate, Mama, she said it's one foot high and risin'
How high is the watergate, Papa, he said it's two feet high and risin'
There's a flood around the poker game (There's a bug on the window pane)
Gerry Ford must be insane
Oh, my God, it's Mickey Spillane,
The tides are risin' (Two feet high and rising)

How high is the watergate, Mama, three feet high and risin'
How high is the watergate, Papa, three feet high and risin'
In the Swiss bank the money's stashed
18 minutes of tapes were slashed
They've even taken in Johnny Cash
Three feet high and rising

How high is the watergate, Mama, four feet high and risin'
How high is the watergate, Papa, four feet high and risin'
Nixon's gone and taught you lies (Nixon doesn't talk, he lies)
A face that screams out for replies (...for a pie)
And the only one workin's is David Frye,
Oh the tides are risin' (four feet high and risin')

How high is the watergate, Mama, five feet high and risin'
How high is the watergate, Papa, five feet high and risin'
If there ever was a crook, he's it
Perversion is the soul of wit
Pack your shovel, he's full of shit,
The tides are risin' (five feet high and risin')

Five Feet High and Rising
by Johnny Cash

My mama always taught me that good things come from adversity if we put our faith in the Lord.
We couldn't see much good in the flood waters when they
were causing us to have to leave home,
But when the water went down, we found that it had washed a load of rich black bottom dirt across our land. The following year we had the best cotton crop we'd ever had.

I remember hearing:

How high's the water, mama?
Two feet high and risin'
How high's the water, papa?
Two feet high and risin'

We can make it to the road in a homemade boat
That's the only thing we got left that'll float
It's already over all the wheat and the oats,
Two feet high and risin'

How high's the water, mama?
Three feet high and risin'
How high's the water, papa?
Three feet high and risin'

Well, the hives are gone,
I've lost my bees
The chickens are sleepin'
In the willow trees
Cow's in water up past her knees,
Three feet high and risin'

How high's the water, mama?
Four feet high and risin'
How high's the water, papa?
Four feet high and risin'

Hey, come look through the window pane,
The bus is comin', gonna take us to the train
Looks like we'll be blessed with a little more rain,
4 feet high and risin'

How high's the water, mama?
Five feet high and risin'
How high's the water, papa?
Five feet high and risin'

Well, the rails are washed out north of town
We gotta head for higher ground
We can't come back till the water comes down,
Five feet high and risin'

Well, it's five feet high and risin'

Waist Deep in the Big Muddy
by Pete Seeger 

It was back in nineteen forty-two,
I was a member of a good platoon.
We were on maneuvers in-a Loozianna,
One night by the light of the moon.
The captain told us to ford a river,
That's how it all begun.
We were -- knee deep in the Big Muddy,
But the big fool said to push on.

The Sergeant said, "Sir, are you sure,
This is the best way back to the base?"
"Sergeant, go on! I forded this river
'Bout a mile above this place.
It'll be a little soggy but just keep slogging.
We'll soon be on dry ground."
We were -- waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool said to push on.

The Sergeant said, "Sir, with all this equipment
No man will be able to swim."
"Sergeant, don't be a Nervous Nellie,"
The Captain said to him.
"All we need is a little determination;
Men, follow me, I'll lead on."
We were -- neck deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool said to push on.

All at once, the moon clouded over,
We heard a gurgling cry.
A few seconds later, the captain's helmet
Was all that floated by.
The Sergeant said, "Turn around men!
I'm in charge from now on."
And we just made it out of the Big Muddy
With the captain dead and gone.

We stripped and dived and found his body
Stuck in the old quicksand.
I guess he didn't know that the water was deeper
Than the place he'd once before been.
Another stream had joined the Big Muddy
'Bout a half mile from where we'd gone.
We were lucky to escape from the Big Muddy
When the big fool said to push on.

Well, I'm not going to point any moral;
I'll leave that for yourself
Maybe you're still walking, you're still talking
You'd like to keep your health.
But every time I read the papers
That old feeling comes on;
We're -- waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.

Waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
Waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
Waist deep! Neck deep! Soon even a
Tall man'll be over his head, we're
Waist deep in the Big Muddy!
And the big fool says to push on!

Dark Tide, the Great Boston Molasses Flood of 1919

by Stephen Puleo

The first account of the Boston molasses flood, when a 2.3 million gallon tank collapsed, sending a 15 foot high wave of molasses in all directions. The molasses, traveling at up to 35 miles per hour, destroyed a large section of the North End, killing 21 and injuring 150. 

The cause of the disaster was corporate neglect and incompetence, rushing construction to take advantage of the increasing demand for industrial alcohol (a byproduct of molasses) resulting from the war.  In its defense, the company tried to blame anarchists, largely Italian, who were becoming increasingly violent in opposition to war, capitalism, and government crackdowns on individual freedoms.  (One result of the activities of radicals and unionists was Mitchel Palmer and John Hoover's assault on civil liberties).

Puleo also gives a history of molasses as a commodity, which was a critical part of the slave trade, the "middle passage" being the voyage between Africa and the West Indies, after which human beings were traded for molasses which was shipped to New England to be traded for rum which was shipped to Africa to be traded for...

The writing is somewhat stiff, but the book is an interesting and well documented recounting of a forgotten incident in one of the critical years in American history.

Raise your hand if you could have voted 200 years ago.

If democratic legitimacy is the measure of a sound constitutional interpretive practice, then Justice Scalia needs to give an account of why and how rote obedience to the commitments of voters two centuries distant and wildly different in racial, sexual, and cultural composition can be justified on democratic grounds.

Jamal Greene, Columbia law professor, quoted in
The Commandments
Jill Lepore
The New Yorker
January 17, 2011

To Your Scattered Bodies Go

I believe we inherit a great river of knowledge, a flow of patterns coming from many sources. The information that comes from deep in the evolutionary past we call genetics. The information passed along from hundreds of years ago we call culture. The information passed along from decades ago we call family, and the information offered months ago we call education. But it is all information that flows through us. The brain is adapted to the river of knowledge and exists only as a creature in that river. Our thoughts are profoundly molded by this long historic flow, and none of us exists, self-made, in isolation from it.

A fictional neuroscientist 

Social Animal

David Books

The New Yorker

January 17, 2011

There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old's life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs.

Kung Fu Monkey via Paul Krugman's Conscience of a Liberal