Cabin Fever: Bits & Pieces 2021 (1)

The hounds of spring may be on winter’s traces and all that, but from where I sit it’s already the Ides of March and it’s 31F outside at noon here on Staten Island.

In defense of Staten Island Chuck (our official borough weathercritter for this seasonal moment), who purportedly predicted an early spring on Groundhog Day over a month ago, he did not do so livestreamed in person. Instead, following pandemic protocols, “Investors Bank Vice President Brian Gomez [said that he ‘spoke’ with Staten Island Chuck instead of the groundhog’s shadow being assessed. Gomez then unfurled a scroll declaring, ‘I think I know what the answer is, we are going to have an early spring!'” (This according to the ABC News report.)

Absent any evidence that Gomez qualifies in any way as a groundhog whisperer, I have no confidence in his interpretation of Chuck’s prognostication. So I hesitate to lay Gomez’s reported version of the forecast at Chuck’s feet. I just know it’s effing cold outside still, and I’m tired of it.

•

As always, I appreciate the messages from readers who worry that the absence of new posts here signals some illness or incapacity or other problem at this end. As usual, nothing more than an energy slump combined with attention turned elsewhere plus a bit of vacay.

Tempting to lay it off against a low-grade case of SADD, but mostly it’s the dawning realization that, despite having extracted him from the Oval Office, we will deal with Trump, Trumpism, and related lunacy for the rest of my life, which I plan to run at least another 50 years. Depressing doesn’t even come close. I intend to soldier on regardless, but a shot of some kind of psychic B12 — say, a sighting of my local groundhog upstate, Stone Ridge Woody, out in the sun — would help jump-start me for the next round.

I did get a literal shot of the COVID vaccine yesterday (Moderna, since you asked), with no side effects save a bit of next-day tenderness where the nice lady did the jab. I feel safer already, and recommend that, if you haven’t already done so, you get immunized at your earliest possible convenience.

In short, I’m back in the saddle and on the job. Upcoming this spring here at the blog: Another Guest Post from Robert Dannin, reviewing Eugene Richards’s new book. Charles Herrick on Bob Landry’s Normandy invasion coverage. Tristan da Cunha (a new member of our Capa D-Day team) on tests he will run on freshly exposed and processed vintage 35mm. Kodak Super-XX film. And assorted commentaries from this writer. So don’t lose heart.

Nasty, Brutish, and Short-fingered

My New Year’s Eve message — via Instagram, Twitter, and LinkedIn — to the year 2020 (and to DJT and his family): Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Now Donald J. Trump has finally vacated the White House, having done serious and lasting if not permanent damage to the government of the U.S., to its people, and to its standing in the world. He departs the Oval Office in disgrace and, almost certainly, grave legal jeopardy, inarguably the worst American president in the nation’s history. He distinguished his term of of office with not one but two impeachments and multiple acts of theft and treason, exiting as he entered — indeed, as he has lived his entire life: nasty, brutish, and short-fingered.

As my late colleague Richard Kirstel often said, “Beauty may be only skin deep, but ugly goes all the way through.”

•

I have long found implosions fascinating, both as events in themselves and as a vivid metaphor for the critical act. Indeed, I have prefaced a number of my public lectures with a video compilation of implosions.

So, as you might imagine, I took particular pleasure in watching the implosion of the decrepit, decaying Trump Plaza casino in Atlantic City on February 17, 2021. A thing of beauty (the implosion, not the structure), completed in less than half a minute. Watch it here. As Forbes put it,

The Trump Plaza Hotel and Casino was the first of three casinos Donald Trump owned in New Jersey — all of which eventually filed for bankruptcy protection multiple times and went belly up. Trump’s legacy in Atlantic City has long been defined by self-dealing, financial trouble, and avoiding paying small, mom-and-pop contractors.

The timing of the implosion could not have been more symbolic. With the second impeachment trial completed, hundreds flocked to Atlantic City to bask in the collective schadenfreude and celebrate the end of Trump’s presidency.

Trump Plaza Implosion, 2-17-21 (screenshot)

•

As we move into 2021, we face a level of sedition and treason unparalleled in U.S. history since the Civil War.

On January 2, before the attack on the Capitol, I sent this message to Nancy Pelosi at her official website:

Clearly there is no degree of low to which Republicans — the whole lot of them — will not sink. They have committed themselves to sedition and treason, from which, realistically, they have no way to turn back.

My message to you — and to the incoming Biden-Harris administration — is simple: No more Mr. Nice Guy. Take off the gloves. Take no prisoners.

My anthem for the year: Paul Robeson, “The Killing Song.” Play it loud! (The music in this video doesn’t start till the needle hits the groove.)

•

Scratch A Good American

Astonishing to watch Q-Anon’s bizarre reprise of the Salem witch trials writ large (satanism, pedophilia, Bill and Hillary Clinton as ruler of the vast coven) combined with a lightly veiled version of a classic anti-Semitic trope, the blood libel of Democrats (for which read leftists, for which read Jews). To cite Richard K. yet again, “Scratch a good American and you’ll find a good German.”

Complicitous in sedition if not actively insurrectionist, these people consistently prove themselves impervious to reason. Regrettably, this does not represent some minority on the far right, but has engulfed the entire GOP, which has become utterly unprincipled, hypocritical, deranged, and treasonous. Their conduct during the last months of the 2020 campaign, taken in combination with the events of January 6 and their responses thereto at the CPAC conference and elsewhere, when added to the cumulative effect of the past five years, have led me to a position that I could not have anticipated, or even imagined myself taking, previously: Republicans unwelcome here.

I would never seek to prevent anyone from reading my writing, listening to my lectures, or otherwise engaging with my ideas. However, since critical thinking underpins all my work and has become anathema to Trumpism, while mindless Trumpism has become synonymous with the Republican persuasion, I see no common ground and no possibility of any meeting of the minds. My final quotation of the day from Richard Kirstel, the motto of this blog: “Ignorance is a condition; dumbness is a commitment.”

•

Harold Feinstein Film Now Online

Recently I wrote about participating in a panel based around Andy Dunn’s excellent documentary film Last Stop Coney Island: The Life and Photography of Harold Feinstein, about the recently rediscovered New York School photographer. At the time, this film wasn’t available for viewing in the U.S except when screened at festivals.

Harold Feinstein, “Man Smoking in Diner,” 1974

However, an edited-for-TV version, The Man Who Shot New York, is now available — streaming on the Sundance Now Channel. Highly recommended (and not because I make several cameo appearances therein).

For my conceptual retrospective of Feinstein’s work — so designated because it never found even a single host venue — click here. For my essay on his work, click here.

•

Adieu to Henri, Le Chat Noir

With the sole exception of the ousting of Trump from the Oval Office, 2020, by general consensus, sucked. We have lost so many good souls, all of them gone too soon. Now add to the list Henry le Chat Noir, the existential cat whose b&w presence in b&w “new wave”-style videos articulating ennui and despair at la condition félin gave voice to what so many — and not only those of the four-pawed persuasion — go through each day.

Henri le Chat Noir, by Will Braden (screenshot)

After bringing his eloquent, Frenchified hopelessness to so many, Henri passed at the advanced cat age of 17, having lived to a ripe if, in his estimation, pointless old age. Perhaps we can find it appropriate that he left us just as the U.S. Supreme Court handed Trump his final legal loss in his attempted coup.

You can view Henri’s  cumulative oeuvre here at his YouTube channel.

•

This post supported by a donation from Arthur Ollman.

•

Special offer: If you want me to either continue pursuing a particular subject or give you a break and (for one post) write on a topic — my choice — other than the current main story, make a donation of $50 via the PayPal widget below, indicating your preference in a note accompanying your donation. I’ll credit you as that new post’s sponsor, and link to a website of your choosing.

And, as a bonus, I’ll send you a signed copy of my new book, poetic license / poetic justice — published under my full name, Allan Douglass Coleman, which I use for my creative writing.