The lie detector is a lie, the polygraph is my bitch, and Americans should stop acting like slack-jawed yokels

Last week I found myself in a doctor’s waiting room for a few minutes, and the staff had the TV tuned to one of those daily Dr. Phil/Maury/Jerry/Montel type freak circuses where the host knows everything and fixes all human problems in 30 minutes. I tried to read my book and ignore it, but you know how hard it is not to look at a trainwreck. I was sort of doing okay up until I heard the host use a term that has griped me for years: “lie detector.” Yes, somebody is lying. We’ll find out who right after these messages.

[sigh]

I’d have thought we’d have this polygraph nonsense well behind us by now.

REMembering: from Reynolds Auditorium to Carver Hawkeye

You’ve probably heard by now: REM, one of the progenitors of alt.rock has called it quits after 30 years and 15 albums.

The first five REM records (Murmur, Reckoning, Fables of the Reconstruction, Life’s Rich Pageant and Document) deserve at least 18 stars out of a possible 20 and 1992′s Automatic for the People earned five more. By any standard, they depart the stage as one of the greatest bands in rock history, and there’s probably a very good argument to be made that they’re the greatest American band ever. That would no doubt be a lively debate, of course (and one where the band wouldn’t be terribly well-served by the last 15 years or so of its history). Still, their music was groundbreaking and relentlessly original, and along with fellow mid-’80s college radio darlings U2 and INXS they forged the alt.rock landscape in ways that paved the way for thousands of artists who would follow.

The R Word: Understanding the Seven Kinds of Rivalries in College Football

Today is the day that my University of Colorado Buffaloes head down to Mile High to take on the Rams of Colorado State in the Rocky Mountain Showdown. I’m sure several dozen CSU fans will be breaking out their green and gold overalls and doing some tailgating, although I’m not sure how that’s going to work since I’ve never seen a tailgate on a tractor. Whatever.

Anyway, most years the week leading up to this game is full of sports radio chatter about the big “rivalry.” Which has always struck me as a bit silly, frankly. I know a lot of marketing departments would like for us to think it’s a rivalry, but it really isn’t.

Time for some straight talk on the NFL’s top faith-based quarterback

This just in:

CBS Sports game analyst Randy Cross believes Tebow haters are bashing him for his outspoken Christian opinions.

“People, especially the media, root against him because of what he stands for,” said Cross.

The 3-time Super Bowl champ added: “My personal belief is there are people in the media, people in the stands, who are predisposed to see a guy like that fail…Just because he’s so public about the way he feels.”

My gut response is to mock Cross for being a barking gongbat.

Samuel Smith: Six Poems Now Up at Pemmican

I’ve been ecstatic to have some of my poetry accepted in recent months (after the usual stream of rejections that typify the life of the not-yet-famous poet). In this case, the publication in question is Pemmican, an outstanding online journal that’s been around since the early 1990s. They pride themselves on publishing work that is “outside the mainstream of its day.” In acknowledging their debt to the journals that helped shape their vision, the editors say this:

That poetry might be characterized as not only differing from the stylistic and structural conventions of its time but in its use of imagery and language, its sense of “place” (or lack of place in some cases), and, perhaps most important of all, its embrace of the political as a proper subject for poetry.

An open letter to LeBron James from America: let’s get back together

Dear LeBron:

The WWE, Hollywood, soap operas and the NBA front office have something in common: they all understand that a compelling narrative requires what the pro wrestling biz calls a “heel.” A bad guy. An anti-hero. A villain. A black hat. The only thing different about the NBA is that they won’t admit they’re in the compelling narrative business.

But trust me, they are. And ever since last summer you have been very good for them. You’ve been Godzilla, Hannibal Lecter, Stefano DiMera, Freddy Krueger, Snidely Whiplash and Andre the Giant all rolled into one, the looming über-evil thug who rigged the game, casting a long, dark shadow over any hope of prosperity and fair play for years to come.

What’s black and white and a complete loser? (Donovan McNabb’s critics need to STFU – and yes, I’m looking at you, Bernard Hopkins)

Donovan McNabb must have been a serial killer in a past life.

If you’re him, you’d probably think the ins and outs and ups and downs of plying one of the hardest positions on all of professional sports would be challenge enough. Every time you take a snap several members of the opposing defense are looking to rip your spleen out. Some of the smartest minds in the game are sitting in the press box scheming ways of lying to you – looks like your basic Cover 2, and all of a sudden you’ve audibled into precisely the worst play possible and by the way, you don’t see that corner coming off the blind side at all, do you? To make it worse, last year you had to deal with all of this while trying to learn a new offensive system and adjusting to life in the Daniel Snyder/Mike Shanahan DramaWorld theme park.

You’d think this would be enough, but you’d be wrong.

Hard Times for the Pure of Heart: Is It Possible to Live Ethically in Modern Society?

I think we’d all love to live every phase of our lives in happy accord with high moral and ethical principles. We’d love it if we were never confronted by logical contradictions and cognitive dissonance, by cases where our walk was at odds with our talk. But the truth is that we live in a society that’s complex, at best, and a cesspool of corruption at worst. It’s just about impossible to get through a day without compromise, and every time we compromise it’s difficult not to feel as though we’ve failed a little.

Some people are better at dealing with the conflict than others, whether through denial or a well-developed, pragmatic knack for keeping things in perspective. Unfortunately, I don’t do denial at all and while I like to think of myself as having a strong pragmatic streak, in practice my principled side tends to dominate my decision-making in ways that occasionally deprive me of convenience and pleasure.

Oh, How the Mighty Have Fallen

Originally published June 20, 2004. Updated February 14, 2011.

For some time – a few years, to be honest – I’ve been trying to imagine how some artists get better with age (or at least retain the level of energy and creativity they exhibited when they were younger), while others go completely to hell. Peter Gabriel, Graham Parker, Van Morrison, Don Dixon, John Hiatt (and even Bowie, to a lesser extent) – these are people who you can still count on, even if you think that the old stuff was better. All of them have had high spots in recent years that at least nudge the 4-star mark, and you might justifiably nurture a sense that the next thing they release could turn out to be brilliant.

This column isn’t about those folks. No, this little list is dedicated to the First-to-Worst Club, a set of artists who once ruled, but somehow found a way to deteriorate as the years passed. In some cases – and these are the ones you’ll find at the top of the list – you have people or bands who went from legitimate greatness to breathtaking suckitude. In other cases you have people who simply lost their edge or were abandoned by their muse. They may not be forging new frontiers in suck, they’re just muddling along, mere shadows of their former selves.

So here it is – Lullaby Pit’s Oh, How the Mighty Have Fallen list, with thanks to a few friends of the Pit who contributed suggestions and pointed out artists I had somehow overlooked (or repressed, as the case may be….) The criteria are subjective, as always, but fairly simple – who soared the highest, then fell the lowest?

1. Elton John

Happy Valentine’s Day: “William and Maud”

          I am haunted by numberless islands... - WB Yeats

Walking by the shore at dusk, air
leaden with a faith in words.

William looks up, says
Maud, the sky is full of dragonflies.

She stares beyond the sea. 

          That's nice, Bill. But I've a kingdom to burn.
          Your bugs will be dead by morning.

Words are a piper, he says.