Sowell-er power

My house has many mansions, and they're all full of garbage. Let's just dump some of it (illegally) here.

Killer name for David Duke after his appearance at the Holocaust Denier-fest in Tehran last month: Lord Hee-Haw. Get it? He broadcasts traitorous shit from enemy countries just like William Joyce, but he's from the South: Lord Hee-Haw. Never mind.

I have two snippets of Joyce among my old-time radio recordings, the first from early in the war when he's full of beans, the second from just days before the fall of Berlin. That one's only about 10 seconds, but on it a drunk-sounding Joyce mutters "Long live Germany. Heil Hitler." It's great. I've also got a copy of the shortwave broadcast of Paul Verlaine's poetry (". . . wounds my heart with monotonous langour") that signalled to the French Resistance, such as it was, that D-Day was imminent. Some day I'll post all that stuff.

Speaking of people named Verlaine, if you've never heard the legendary 70s art-punk band Television (led by Tom Verlaine, who, like Dylan, took his name from the poet), here's a link to their first album (they made only two studio albums), Marquee Moon, with samples. One of the best rock albums ever, in this writer's opinion.

Since we're wearing our reviewer's hat: You SHUDDERED at Red Dragon! You SCREAMED at Silence of the Lambs! You YAWNED at Hannibal! Now you'll HURL Thomas Harris's latest, Hannibal Rising, right across the room!

It's pretty bad. Rising traces Hannibal's boyhood in post-war Europe. The plot doesn't matter, and I do still like Harris's high style, but the only reason to read the thing is the gastronomic payoff: Hannibal's first meal as a boy cannibal is (drumroll, please): cheeks. With morels.

I'm always late with these: Spoiler Alert!

Tom and Jerry

could be really good, but the Hanna-Barbara cartoons of the sixties are so lousy they make me want to hang myself. Oh wait, that's just withdrawal from Paxil. Better get my 'scrip refilled. But check out the Rocky's poll (internet, admittedly): forty percent thought The Flintstones was the duo's best cartoon. Yurch.

Earlier Sowell-ecisms here and--aw, screw it, find them yourselves.