Re today’s Kentucky primary, I have to wonder how it feels to be Hillary Clinton: winning the primary, while having already lost the nomination. It makes me ask:

• Does she realize she’s already lost the nomination, or is she in denial?
• If she does realize, what’s behind all these pronouncements of pressing on? Is she waiting for Obama to bail out her multiple personal loans to the campaign? Is she unsure how to exit gracefully?
• If she doesn’t realize, is it because she’s been misled by husband Bill’s example? (Soldiering on at the height of the early adultery charges, then dubbing himself “The Comeback Kid” after a second-place finish in New Hampshire.) Someone should tell her: “We know Bill Clinton. Bill Clinton was a president of ours. You’re no Bill Clinton.” Boys grow up wanting to be the king, and girls the princess, but most wind up as commoners.
• Or, maybe it’s neither. Maybe — and this seems to me the most shocking conjecture — maybe she actually thinks she can still win this. Maybe her hope that the usually cool and collected Obama blows it in some way that most of us would find hard to conceive. Maybe she actually thinks there is some way to prevail against the forces of:
  • the pledged delegates (who have preferred Obama)
  • and the superdelegates (who have preferred Obama, with more coming every day)
  • and the party elders (Kennedy, Daschle, McGovern, Carter)
  • and the fallen competitors (Richardson, Edwards, Dodd, Kucinich — indeed, almost every one of them except Gravel, who won’t even be able to get the Libertarian nomination)
  • and some of the party apparatus (although he’s stayed neutral, I’m sure I can read Howard Dean’s mind on this one)
  • and the primary voters, who by a wide margin have preferred her opponent in what is, definitionally, a popularity contest.

Can it be? Does she think she can win? Or is she just trying to leverage the best deal possible? Or is there one scenario she and her team had never envisioned, and therefore don’t know how to deal with: losing.

Britney Spears has had to rein in her spending.

You may have heard that California has a budget deficit of $15.2 billion. Our illustrious governor Schwarzenegger’s proposed solution:  to borrow from future state lottery earnings. Of course, this means gambling on the lottery’s future success.

I can’t help noting that the guy proposing this is the same person who railed against Governor Gray Davis’ budget deficit — which was almost to the penny the same amount — and who said he was going to “cut the California credit cards in half.” Five years later we’re so far deeper into debt that nobody would issue California another credit card.

Today I emceed a Democratic club picnic hosted by the Burbank Democratic Club, the Glendale Democratic Club, and the Northeast Democratic Club. Our assemblyman shared a story with me. In the budget committee on which he sits, after legislators had agreed to one spending cut after another on health and welfare issues, the Democrats proposed one last item in the budget:  closing the “sloophole” on the yacht tax.

(About this particular tax loophole, for those not in California:  If you take delivery of a yacht, airplane, or recreational vehicle out of state and keep it out of state for 90 days, you can avoid paying the sales tax. Ipso facto, this saving never applies to anyone you see working a checkout counter, emptying fast-food trays, or helping people try on shoes. It is, in effect, a regressive tax (a discount given to a few, creating a budget gap paid for by the many). Here’s an LA Times editorial summing up the sloophole — and why it’s especially shameful to preserve it at the same time  you’re cutting Medi-Cal payments.)

So the Assembly is in these budget deliberations. Bear in mind, these are mid-year cuts to a budget that municipalities and schools and non-profits and various agencies had already  banked on. Imagine finding out halfway through the year that your own income, on which you   had already budgeted, was now cut by half. Or eliminated.  The Democrats on the budget committee bring up the sloophole, and surprisingly, the senior Republican on the committee agrees:  Given the budget crisis, and given the nature of the other cuts, closing the tax loophole on yachts is the decent thing to do. The proposal makes it out of committee.  Two days later, it fails in the Legislature, where not one Republican — not even the one who spoke up supporting it and who voted for it — votes for it. In the intervening 48 hours, the Republican leadership hammered him and the couple of other Republicans who agreed with him, and they caved.

I don’t believe in magic wands. But if there’s one thing that would go a long way toward fixing our utterly broken state government here in California, it would be this:  real redistricting. Politicians choose their voters by gerrymandering these districts.  Most of the elected people in this state who take the no-new-taxes pledge and who refuse to cut subsidies to yacht owners can do so with the full support of their carefully carved little districts back home. That wouldn’t be the case with a redistricting plan that took electoral mapmaking out of legislators’ hands. Suddenly, they might find themselves facing a broad swath of the public — and find themselves moving toward the middle.

A few years ago, the Atlantic Monthly ran a persuasive piece of journalism with an accompanying color-coded map that showed that 70% of Americans agree on most issues. I don’t doubt it; that’s because most issues revolve around common sense. So who are those other 30%? All too often, those people on the margin are the people who wind up elected.

—————-
Now playing: Flogging Molly – What’s Left Of The Flag
via FoxyTunes

Obama has apologized for calling a reporter “sweetie.”

I guess now we’re down to three acceptable things a candidate can say.

The first issue of Southern California Review is out.

Contents of this new journal include my play “The Fifth Administration,” as well as… literary contributions by other people. I haven’t had a chance to read all of it yet, but Kristina Sisco’s play “Gone…” is a terrific little gem that deserves many more productions, and the Ann Stafford prizewinning poem by Elisabeth Murawski is emotionally devastating. The journal is well worth your time and support. Click here to order.

A quick side note: A big thank-you again to Kimberly Glann for directing the premiere of “The Fifth Administration” in fall of 2004. Rereading the drafts that SCR’s scrupulous editor Annlee Ellingson sent me reinforced how much I learned about that play and its characters in working on the production with Kim. Case in point: After the Rumsfeld substitute breaks his aide’s leg in three places, the aide is dragged out screaming by that very leg. I’m not sure whose idea that was — perhaps Kim’s — but I’m sure glad it’s in there.

So Hillary Clinton’s running around West Virginia saying, in effect, “As goes West Virginia, so goes the nation.” At least, that’s what this says. Her argument: That no Democrat has won the White House without West Virginia since 1916, and that “If West Virginia had voted for our Democratic nominee in 2000 and 2004, we wouldn’t have had to put up with George Bush for the last seven and a half years.”

First point first. Message to Hillary: It’s 2008. History is changing. Or haven’t you noticed that a (half) black man is about to be the presidential nominee of a major party? You can’t run all over the country for a year and a half and say we’re about to make history, and then act like all that matters are the lessons of the past. It’s one or the other.

Second point. It’s true that if West Virginia had voted for Gore or Kerry, we would have avoided Bush (unless he and his cohorts had found another way to steal these elections, which isn’t inconceivable). It’s also true that if ANY other state had voted for Gore or Kerry, that would have happened. Moreover, if an asteroid had crushed Crawford, Texas when Bush was there sleeping any time up until November 2000, we would have been spared George W. Bush. In other words: It doesn’t matter. It’s that past thing again, that thing that seems to confuse you, that thing you like to use some times and ignore other times. (As when, say, you vote to attack nations that haven’t attacked you first, and then change your rationale repeatedly.)

As regards West Virginia, can it truly matter that much? Sure, it’s the site of the nation’s first 4H Club, and the first federal prison exclusively for women, and it’s got the third-largest cave in the United States. But it’s never done one of my plays.

You’re invited to join me (but you’ll have to get tickets):

1. On Wednesday evening I’m attending the opening of “Pippin” at East West Players with terrific playwright friend Dorinne Kondo. As regular readers of this blog know, I’m not much for musicals (even though I did see four in one month recently), but EWP routinely does some of the best theatre in town, and this piece in today’s LA Times further whetted my appetite.

2. On Thursday night I’ll be slinging my axe, virtually, in Koreatown when I take on “Guitar Hero” as part of Moving Arts’ one-act festival fundraiser. Ten bucks gets you pizza, snacks, a drink, and all the humiliation you can take. Here’s the Evite; hope you can make it and hope it’s a full Rock Band set-up (guitar, keyboards, drums, vocals) because I sing a mean “Don’t Fear the Reaper.”

3. On Friday night I’m seeing “Trying” at the Colony. This is a show I’m dearly anticipating. I missed it last year during its first run; now it’s back for two weeks only. Here’s the press release. The play stars Alan Mandell, an actor I dearly love and one I’ve seen I don’t know how many times on stage and on screen. There are two reasons I’ve seen him so often on stage: He is a legendary actor of Beckett’s plays (and my mission, upon arriving in Los Angeles 20 years ago, was to see as many plays by Beckett, Pinter, Albee, and Ionesco as possible, because their availability in southern New Jersey was scant), a personal friend and collaborator of the playwright and a co-founder of the San Quentin Drama Workshop (in 1958!). And he’s performed countless times with some of the most inventive small-theatre practitioners in town. On screen, he pops up in “Shortbus” (where he’s The Mayor, a character clearly, um, influenced by Ed Koch) He’s a wonderful actor and seemingly tireless at age 80; but, given that 80 is indeed 80, now is the time to see him. (And below, you can see him appear in a trash can as Nagg in Beckett’s “Endgame.”)

4. No tickets needed for this one. On Saturday I’m emceeing a political event for area Democrats. Here’s the link for more information. The press release reads (and you’ll note we’ll be doing voter registration, so this provides another opportunity to test Frank Rich’s theory):

Come hear the candidates and gobble some BBQ!

This year the Burbank Democrats’ annual family picnic joins up with the Glendale and Northeast L.A. Dems for a pre-June 3 primary event with politicos from the tri-club area.

Currently confirmed to speak and take questions are U.S. Rep. Adam Schiff of the 29th, and Democratic challenger Russ Warner of the 26th; retiring state Sen. Jack Scott of the 21st District and Carol Liu, contending to replace him; former Assembly Majority Leader Dario Frommer; and Assembly members Paul Krekorian (43rd) and Anthony Portantino (44th). Judicial and central committee candidates will also be in the mix. Not confirmed yet are U.S. Rep. Brad Sherman (27th), State Assembly Member Kevin deLeon (45th) and state Sen. Gilbert Cedillo (22nd)… or the chance of a surprise or two.

Keynoter will be Rick Jacobs of Courage Campaign; Burbank founding president/Truman Award winner Lee Wochner will emcee. Voter registration before the May 19 cut-off will be available.

Please note! Meat and side dishes are provided, but please bring your favorite salad or desserts as pot-luck.

For more info and updates, see www.burbankdemocraticclub.com or call 818-288-2649.

5. On Sunday I’ll be running 3 miles in Santa Monica, testing out the $250-worth of running and hydration gear guaranteed to make me run better. I don’t expect to see you there. And don’t expect to see me here immediately afterward.

This Tuesday I’m having lunch with Gerald Locklin. It’s my treat, in more ways than one.

A year and a half ago when I learned that Gerry was going to be joining us in the USC Master of Professional Writing program, I was delighted. I knew him in two different ways: as a poet whose work I greatly enjoyed, and as a famed friend of Charles Bukowski.

Since our first meeting at a faculty luncheon, Gerry has been unfailingly kind. As someone who writes faster than most of us can read, he’s had I think four books come out in the past 18 months, and he’s put a signed copy of each one in my MPW mailbox. He’s also shown up at every one of my own events, including Moving Arts’ 15th Anniversary. This sort of support from a fellow writer, especially one as highly esteemed as Gerry, means a lot.

Last week I ordered his book “Bukowski: A Sure Bet” from an obscure bookseller on the internet. It arrived at my office and I started to read it and immediately thought I should order another copy for my good friend Rich Roesberg, who introduced me to Bukowski’s work 25 years ago. That night when I checked my mailbox at USC, I found that Gerry had already put a copy there. So among his many other gifts, he appears to be psychic as well. (Note to Uncle Rich: this is your other non-birthday present, when I see you in June.) I saw Gerry that night at a reception and invited him to lunch. Until recently, I haven’t made enough time for friends and colleagues, and that was something I resolved to change in 2008. None of us knows how long we have before getting hit by that metaphoric big bus, and I didn’t want to miss the chance to have lunch with Gerald Locklin. I’ll let you know how that goes.

In the meantime, here’s a poem of Gerry’s that I particularly admire. Garrison Keillor loves it, too, and has read it on the air and included it in his anthology “Good Poems.” It’s a good poem.

The Iceberg Theory

all the food critics hate iceberg lettuce.
you’d think romaine was descended from
orpheus’s laurel wreath,
you’d think raw spinach had all the nutritional
benefits attributed to it by popeye,
not to mention aesthetic subtleties worthy of
verlaine and debussy.
they’ll even salivate over chopped red cabbage
just to disparage poor old mr. iceberg lettuce.

I guess the problem is
it’s just too common for them.
it doesn’t matter that it tastes good,
has a satisfying crunchy texture,
holds its freshness,
and has crevices for the dressing,
whereas the darker, leafier varieties
are often bitter, gritty, and flat.
it just isn’t different enough, and
it’s too goddamn american.

of course a critic has to criticize:
a critic has to have something to say.
perhaps that’s why literary critics
purport to find interesting
so much contemporary poetry
that just bores the shit out of me.

at any rate, I really enjoy a salad
with plenty of chunky iceberg lettuce,
the more the merrier,
drenched in an italian or roquefort dressing.
and the poems I enjoy are those I don’t have
to pretend that I’m enjoying.

–Gerald Locklin

Frank Rich thinks this election is not like any in at least the past 20 years, and I hope he’s right. He doesn’t think finding a new Willie Horton is going to deep-six Obama, or charging him with elitism. And he thinks that the white working poor and middle class will come back to the Democrats.

One of the reasons he thinks Obama is going to prevail is all the new Democrats showing up at the polls already, in caucuses and primaries. Judging from my own limited personal experience, he may be right. Last year whenever I had a few free hours on a weekend, I helped register voters. Three out of every 10 voters we registered were people switching party affiliation from Republican to Democrat. We’ll see if that portends anything more wide scale.

What spurred me to sign up for the AIDS Marathon? A mailer that arrived at my office. Why did I get that mailer? I’m sure it was because of my subscription to Men’s Health.

(The very same reason I got a somewhat graphic postcard mailer from Playboy — delivered to my office — which I didn’t appreciate. And which I continued to unappreciate for at least a couple of minutes before tossing.)

I get a lot of magazines, and accordingly wind up on a lot of lists. Sometimes I wonder what the magazine marketing people make this somewhat eclectic grouping of 13 different publications.

There are the Men’s magazines: Men’s Vogue, and Men’s Health. (If it’s a men’s magazine but doesn’t say “Men’s” in the title, I don’t get it.)

There are the business publications: Portfolio, Inc., Fast Company, Los Angeles Business Journal, and San Fernando Business Journal. The last two are, respectively, weekly and biweekly. Fall behind by one issue and the next time you’re driving around and your wife says, “What’s that they’re building?” you’ll have no idea. I know: I’ve been there.

There are the general interest magazines: the New Yorker, the Atlantic, and Harper’s. I never know what’s going to be in any of them, and I like it that way. I dislike the New Yorker’s “special” issues — The Money Issue, The Style Issue (especially loathed), the current Innovation Issue, even the Winter Fiction and Summer Fiction and Cartoon issues. Argh! If I wanted theme issues, I’d subscribe to magazines covering those themes! I know these are just thinly disguised plots to sell more ads around those themes, and to do it with my hard-earned 37 cents an issue or whatever.

And there are the one-offs: Wired (I’m a tech junkie, although mostly a window shopper), Reason (if only the Libertarians weren’t, well, nuts I’d join them), and the Dramatist.

My favorite of all these magazines will surprise most people who read this blog: Whenever it arrives, I lunge for that Inc. magazine. I actually have two subscriptions to the same magazine — one at home and one at my office — so that I’m never Inc-less. Every story is essentially a profile of someone somewhere in the U.S. faced with some odd opportunity or challenge, and how they resolved that problem — or failed. It’s like a monthly magazine of bitty biographies straight out of Sinclair Lewis. The writing is strong and the photography is excellent. I’ve taken to clipping out photographs of the people profiled and using them as writing prompts for students: who is this guy? What does he want? What is his problem? And so forth.

I love the New Yorker too; bless them for bringing Roz Chast into my life, and Jin Ha (with that recent short story about the Chinese house brothel in Flushing, NY; now I have to pick up the novel!), and Anthony Lane and so many others. I like the hard-hearted simplicity of Reason, which mandates that every judgment should be made completely free of compassion for one’s fellow man or of optimism for the future — surely, this is a model we need more of, hence my interest in learning more about it every month. And I like the Atlantic for reminding me seemingly every month that global warming already happened and now is the time to buy a retirement villa in soon-to-be sunny Siberia.

The subscription that I’m going to let lapse? Harper’s. It’s just too twee for me. I don’t understand the front section at all — the “Readings” are snippets yanked wholesale from other publications of any sort and any era; being unclear on the organizing principle, I’m unclear what I’m to make of it. It’s like the egghead equivalent of dropping acid: “Look at the bright colors of this writing!” You can see how reading both Harper’s and Reason in the same month might drive one to psychosis — and scuttling back to the safety of Men’s Vogue, where one can look at the smart Burberry jackets (the preferred label of Obama!) in peace.