Cartoon du Jour

DAVID HORSEY/LOS ANGELES TIMES

'Blue Moon Sinking From The Weight Of The Load . . . Buildings Scrape The Sky'

DON'T LET IT BRING YOU DOWN

By NEIL YOUNG 

Old man lying

by the side of the road

With the lorries rolling by,

Blue moon sinking

from the weight of the load

And the buildings scrape the sky,

Cold wind ripping

down the alley at dawn

And the morning paper flies,

Dead man lying

by the side of the road

With the daylight in his eyes.

Don't let it bring you down

It's only castles burning,

Find someone who's turning

And you will come around.

Blind man running

through the light

of the night

With an answer in his hand,

Come on down

to the river of sight

And you can really understand,

Red lights flashing

through the window

in the rain,

Can you hear the sirens moan?

White cane lying

in a gutter in the lane,

If you're walking home alone.

Don't let it bring you down

It's only castles burning,

Just find someone who's turning

And you will come around.

VIDEO HERE

IMAGE: "Burning Castle Before a City" (ca. 1650)

Aert van der Neer

Enough Crap About Politics: Let's Connect With A Really Trippy Rock Album

When it comes to recordings, I have long had a peculiar habit of often finding the album a band made before its breakthrough hit to be my favorite. Three examples: Steely Dan's Royal Scam, which preceded Aja; the Rolling Stones' Let It Bleed, which preceded Sticky Fingers, and Miles Davis's Filles de Kilimanjaro, which preceded In a Silent Way. 

And so it is with Pink Floyd. 

While Dark Side of the Moon, which remained on the charts for an extraordinary 741 weeks (14 years) after its 1973 release is probably the best concept album this side of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band, it is Meddle, the band's previously released album, that I have reached for most often over the years. That may have something to do with the fact that the first time I heard Pink Floyd live they played Meddle in its entirety. Or I think they did.   

(I remain a little confused about that because of the trip home to the farm from the Spectrum in South Philadelphia part of the trip: Interstate 95 still wasn't completed, and you had to pick it up below Philadelphia International Airport, which we did seconds after refrigerator truck flipped over at the sharp turn at the interstate merge, spilling its cargo of live lobsters onto the roadway.  We chased a few down and ate well for days.) 

Depending on how you count, Meddle was Pink Floyd's fifth or sixth album (and while Obscured by Clouds was released in between Meddle and Dark Side, I'm not counting it for the purposes of this essay because it was composed as the soundtrack for the French movie La Vallée and not purpose built from scratch. (It's my blog, okay? Which also is why I can get away with reviewing a 43-year-old album, okay?) 

Meddle, released in 1971, is made up of five then new songs on the A-Side and one long song on the B-Side that Pink Floyd had been performing in concert under the title of "The Return of the Son of Nothing."  Meddle is special because it was a departure from Space Rock for a band that had come to loath that label, finally had some real cohesion after the slow-motion exit of lead singer, lead composer and lead maniac Syd Barrett, was not yet engaged in the full-blown warfare that would characterize band members' relations with each other, and was ready for new horizons beyond relentless noodling for its own sake.  Those conquered horizons would mark Pink Floyd as progressive rock avatars who would go on to sell an extraordinary 200 million albums worldwide.

§  

Although I came to love each and every one of Meddle's A-Side compositions, they vary wildly in quality and mood. 

First off is the largely instrumental "One of these Days," which is followed by "A Pillow of Winds," one of the very few acoustic love songs in the band's catalog. The two are connected by windy sound effects that anticipate "Wish You Were Here" on the 1975 album of the same name. 

Next up is "Fearless," which is overdubbed and ends with a field recording of the Liverpool Football Club choir singing that soccer team's theme song, "You'll Never Walk Alone," then "San Tropez," a jazz-inflected piece of pop with a shuffle beat that recalls a band vacation at the French resort on the Mediterranean. The side ends with "Seamus," a whimsical ditty that includes the yowls of the collie of Humble Pie frontman Steve Marriott, whom Pink Floyd guitarist and lead singer David Gilmour was looking after while that band was on tour. 

"Seamus" is forgettable and indeed was quickly forgotten when a listener would get up in the old days, trundle over to their stereo and turn over a vinyl recording of Meddle, an inconvenience negated with the advent of audio cassettes and later compact discs and DVDs. 

Quickly forgotten indeed with the pinging, wind-like sound and then the insistent opening bass and organ lines of "Echoes," a 23 minute-plus aural masterpiece alternately described as scary and uplifting by people with whom I have listened to it over the years.  I come down somewhere in between, but the song is riveting to the very end -- an unforgettable sine-wave glissando. 

Listening to "Echoes" today, I am struck by how structured it is compared to Pink Floyd's previous extended compositions. Where "Astronomy Domine" and "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun," to name two jam pieces on the Ummagumma album, remain eminently listenable, they are less the sum of their parts. "Echoes" is much more than the sum of its parts and the whale song-like screams and other bits are purposeful, not helter skelter. 

"Echoes" is credited to the entire band: bass player Roger Waters, Gilmour, drummer Nick Mason and keyboardist Richard Wright.  Gilmour was the chief composer of the music, but the haunting lyrics are Waters', who told Pink Floyd biographer Mark Blake that they came from a sense of disconnection he experienced following Barrett's turbulent departure from the band: 

Writes Blake: 

"Waters and his future wife Judy Trim had moved into a flat in Shepherds Bush, West London.  One window of the apartment afforded a clear view of the busy Goldhawk Road, down which the couple would observe an ant-like procession of commuters heading off for a day's toil in the morning and returning in the evening.  The lyrics refer to strangers passing in the street were, he explained, 'All about making connections with other people.  About the potential that human beings have for recognizing each other's humanity.'  Perversely, despite the icy distance that would develop between some of those writing and performing the music, the theme of communication, of reaching out, would be one the band would return to obsessively." 

The only thing not to like about Meddle is its abstract U.S. cover, a close-up of a human ear under water, and easily the least attractive of Pink Floyd's album sleeves. (Some of the other covers, like the French release shown above, are much better.) Otherwise, it is an aural delight. If your Pink Floyd repertoire tends toward chart busters like Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, Animals and The Wall, then you owe it to yourself to dive into what came before and made what came after possible. 

That would be Meddle.

CLICK HERE FOR A VIDEO PERFORMANCE OF "ECHOES." 

Beautiful Photograph du Jour

A PINK FLOYD LIGHT SHOW

Wherever Green Is Worn, Are Changed, Changed Utterly: A Terrible Beauty Is Born

TO BE IRISH IS TO KNOW THAT IN THE END THE WORLD WILL BREAK YOUR HEART. ~ DANIEL PATRICK MOYNIHAN

I have never worn my Irish ancestry on my sleeve. Besides which, I'm only half Irish.  I almost invariably forget to wear green on St. Patrick's Day, and while I did my share of pub crawling, as well as crawling home from pubs, getting spit-faced in celebration of my forebears has seemed less appropriate as the years have worn on.  Besides which, St. Patrick did not rid Ireland of snakes.   

But I am celebrating this year for a couple of reasons: 

Because it's the centenary of the 1916 Easter Rising, the failed rebellion against the English occupation that is the foundation story of the Irish Free State.  The protesters, including a cripple who could not stand on his own, were shot by a firing squad in a dramatically brutal if failed attempt to rid the Irish of their identity.  In fact, it was a crime to be Irish in Ireland until well into the 20th century.   

I'm also celebrating because of the Irish diaspora. There are some 70 million of my kinfolk worldwide, and The Donald notwithstanding, we need to remember in that context that it has never been more important for America to welcome others, whether Guatemalan ex-pats or Syrian refugees.  Please.   

Did you know that some of Barack Obama's forebears are from County Offaly?  Mine are from County Mayo, and we both still have distant relatives in Ireland.

§ 

If you live within a reasonable distance of Newark, Delaware, there is a terrific new must-see exhibition -- "A Terrible Beauty Is Born: The Easter Rising At 100" -- on display in the Special Collections Gallery on the second floor of Morris Library on the University of Delaware campus.   

Special Collections has one of the finest collections of Irish literature outside of Ireland and the U.K. The iconic centerpiece of the exhibition is a copy of the rare first edition of William Butler Yeats's Easter, 1916, along with political broadsides, manuscripts, letters, periodicals and graphics that show the significant role print culture had in inspiring patriotism, relaying news, spreading rumors and construction Ireland's national mythology over centuries of British colonial rule and suppression.  

HEADLINE QUOTE FROM W.B. YEATS'S EASTER, 1916 

'The Pikes Must Be Together By The Rising Of The Moon Husha Buachaill Hush'

BY THE RISING OF THE MOON

Words by J.K. Casey, Music by Turlough O’Carolan

And come tell me Sean O'Farrell tell me why you hurry so
Husha buachaill hush and listen and his cheeks were all a glow
I bare orders from the captain get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon Husha buachaill hush and listen and his cheeks were all a glow I bare orders from the captain get you ready quick and soon For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon 

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon 

And come tell me Sean O'Farrell where the gath'rin is to be
At the old spot by the river quite well known to you and me
One more word for signal token whistle out the marchin' tune
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon At the old spot by the river quite well known to you and me One more word for signal token whistle out the marchin' tune With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon 

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon 

Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night
Many a manly heart was beating for the blessed warning light
Murmurs rang along the valleys to the banshees lonely croon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon Many a manly heart was beating for the blessed warning light Murmurs rang along the valleys to the banshees lonely croon And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon 

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon 

All along that singing river that black mass of men was seen
High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green
Death to every foe and traitor! Whistle out the marching tune
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green Death to every foe and traitor! Whistle out the marching tune And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon 

'Tis the rising of the moon, 'tis the rising of the moon
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon

Politix Update: Do Republicans Betray Trump Supporters Or Betray Their Country?

I have been searching for meaning, perhaps even a revelation or two, in the ascension of the political arsonist known as Donald Trump.  This quest, which I have undertaken both as pundit and horrified citizen, has become more imperative as the man with the small hands and peculiar hair has clawed his way to the top of the Republican presidential pack with win after primary win, including victories and a huge delegate haul in three more big states yesterday, all but making him the inevitable nominee.   

Well, I finally have succeeded in my quest: Out of Trump's very inarticulateness and ignorance, it has been revealed to me that bigotry and racism not only are alive and thriving in America, but that they can be harnessed for great evil when a political party welcomes disciples of hate, even if that political party later realizes that a consequence of its pandering may be its own destruction.  And that Trump's ascendancy and the party's death wish have become existential horrors for people like myself who once looked on both with glee.   

Bigotry and racism are not the same thing, mind you: A person can be bigoted on their very own, whether it involves gender, religion or race, while racism requires a group effort, and Trump, in fact, has hit the trifecta in demeaning women, demonizing Islam and disparaging blacks and Hispanics.  

Meanwhile, Trump's rallies have become increasingly violent confrontations between people who believe their dignity and economic futures are under threat, as the news media so piously describes their not so transparent hope that Trump can somehow restore the racial hierarchy upended by Barack Obama, and on the other side people who are fearful of the consequences of his venomous rants, which include threats to take down his enemies if he is elected. 

§ 

As diabolical as the vainglorious Trump's ascendancy has been, the cowardice with which it has been greeted by the Republican elites and their deep-pocketed oligarchic backers has been worse.  
Not one Republican of prominence spoke out against Trump until the laughter and ridicule dissipated and he became a threat to the party's viability, and only then did he begin to come under attack for the very views the elites had so silently and smugly supported, including working against the economic needs of Trump's core supporters .  And make no mistake about it, the pushback has far less to do with those views than the knowledge that Trump does not answer to the elites.  He only answers to himself.   

(Let's do a quick reset on the results of the so-called third Super Tuesday: The vile Ted Cruz is now Trump's only obstacle of any consequence, and Trump may have been denied Ohio because of the humiliated Marco Rubio's death bed plea that his supporters vote for John Kasich.  At this point a little more than halfway through the primary season, it would take an upset of staggering proportions to deny Trump enough delegates to win the nomination outright or at the least be the convention kingmaker.  Hillary Clinton's position is even more secure after the Law of Gravity reappeared in her five-state sweep, and despite the naysayers, she is still likely to kick Trump's sorry ass.)   

Beyond the combustibility of Trump's angry white males, one of the most uncomfortable realities of this political season is that he has played fair and square, if loudly and vulgarly, by the primary and delegate selection process rules altered by the party elites after the Romney-Ryan debacle in 2012 to better assure that the candidate the elites wanted could shake off unwelcome interlopers, wrap things up more quickly through winner-take-all primaries like several of those yesterday, and turn his sights on the general election. It is not a stretch to imagine a version of this happening to the Democrats in a future election year. 

A consequence of the Republicans' self-created mess is that Trump's supporters expect him to be treated fairly at the nominating convention this summer in Cleveland.  

§ 

Ross Dothat, the conservative New York Times op-ed columnist, had plenty of company in being painfully slow in realizing the threat Trump is to party and country, but he got fully on board with a powerful column the other day in which he acknowledges that:  

"As Donald Trump attempts to clamber to the Republican nomination, there will be a lot of talk that the party's rules and quirks and complexities are just a way for insiders to steal the nomination away from him, in a kind of establishment coup against his otherwise inevitable victory." 

Dothat references previously disastrous nominees like Barry Goldwater and George McGovern.  He notes that they were men of principle even if they were losers, but that did not make them demagogues. 

"Trump, though, is cut from a very different cloth.  He's an authoritarian, not an ideologue, and his antecedents aren't Goldwater or McGovern; they're figures like George Wallace and Huey Long . . . No modern political party has nominated a candidate like this; no serious political party ever should.  

"What Trump has demonstrated is that in our present cultural environment, and in the Republican Party's present state of bankruptcy, the first lines of defense against a demagogue no longer hold. . . . But the party's convention rules, in all their anachronistic, undemocratic and highly negotiable intricacy, are also a line of defense, also a hurdle, also a place where a man unfit for office can be turned aside." 

Denying Trump the nomination would be beyond ugly, and the fisticuffs at his rallies would pale in comparison to the unrest fomented by his followers if he is cuckolded at the convention.  National Guard units will be mobilized, there will be bloodshed, and the rioting of undereducated angry white males will make the unrest in Ferguson and Baltimore seem like church picnics by comparison.   

§ 

How extraordinary -- yet in a way how predictable -- that the racist backlash against Barack Obama the Republican Party has used to win elections is now manifesting itself as the party's death wish.   

With a huge assist from the news media, I should add, which has given Trump and his big mouth far more "earned media" -- free time as opposed to ad-buy time -- than any candidate in history.  And in doing so has blatantly mischaracterized the pitchfork populists drawn to Trump as upwardly aspiring Americans hamstrung by an economically stacked deck. There is much truth to that, but it masks the stench of racism.   

"It may not be good for America, but it is damn good for CBS," chirps Les Moonves, the network's head honcho in an astonishingly candid admission that Trump is a cash cow.  "The money's rolling in and this is fun.  I've never seen anything like this, and this is going to be a very good year for us.  Sorry.  It's a terrible thing to say.  But bring it on, Donald.  Keep going." 

Nobody's fool but his own, Trump has subtly shifted gears with the nomination now within his grasp.  This includes toned-down debate performances, calls for unity, dog-whistled appeals to violence when protesters are present, and blatherings about how adherents who sucker punch, kick and shove those protesters are merely showing "love . . . because they want to see America be made great again."   

But do not be misled, because what all of this comes down to -- and it is a lot to grasp -- is a clear choice for Republicans: Betray Trump's supporters or betray their country.

POLITIX UPDATE IS WRITTEN BY SHAUN MULLEN, A VETERAN JOURNALIST AND BLOGGER FOR WHOM THE 2016 PRESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN IS HIS 12th SINCE 1968.  CLICK HERE FOR AN INDEX OF PREVIOUS COLUMNS. 

© 2015-2016 SHAUN D. MULLEN.

IMAGE FROM DONKEYHOTEY/FLICKR.  
USED WITH PERMISSION.

You Can't Make This Stuff Up . . .

Cartoon du Jour

MATT DAVIES/NEWSDAY

When It Comes To Bird Brainiacs, It's Awfully Hard To Beat The Crow Family

There is a family of crows who live, breed and nest in the trees behind the mountain retreat.  Their numbers vary by the season, but average about a half dozen in all, and we have come to consider them members of our family.  They warn us when a bear approaches, entertain us with their mating rituals and their antics for a few weeks late in each spring when they teach their youngsters to fly.  We in turn leave them food scraps, and it takes only a few minutes for word to get around that there are pizza crusts or a carpet of stale nacho chips for them among the fruit trees in the side yard.   

That our crows are smart is beyond dispute.  They without question know us.  We have seen them use tools, typically sticks that they use to grub for . . . uh, grubs and other insects.  They know our dogs and sometimes interact with them, and they gang up on the occasional red-tailed hawk if it gets too close to one of their nests.   

Three articles in the March-April issue of Audubon magazine shed light on how scientists are confirming that crows are among the smartest birds in the world. 

PHOTOGRAPH © JOEL SARTORE

Cartoon du Jour

TOM STIGLICH/CREATORS SYNDICATE

'Hey, Boo.' Another Inexplicably Weird Development Involving Author Harper Lee

YOU NEVER REALLY UNDERSTAND A PERSON UNTIL YOU CONSIDER THINGS FROM HIS POINT OF VIEW . . . UNTIL YOU CLIMB INSIDE OF HIS SKIN AND WALK AROUND IN IT. ~ ATTICUS FINCH 

We have come to the end of Chapter 29 of Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird.   

Tom Robinson, a black man, has been found guilty of making sexual advances toward the lonely Mayella Ewell, daughter of the town drunk, Tom Ewell, despite substantial evidence proving his innocence introduced by his lawyer, Atticus Finch, who has taken the case for free.  Robinson is shot and killed trying to escape from prison and Ewell, humiliated by events at the trial, attacks the defenseless Jem and Scout, Finch's young son and daughter, as they walk home past the spooky house of their neighbor, the reclusive Arthur "Boo" Radley, on a dark night after a school Halloween pageant.  One of Jem's arms is

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broken, but a mysterious stranger comes to the children's rescue and carries Jem home. 

Finch calls Sheriff Tate to the house where the sheriff asks Scout who the man was.  In one of the most dramatic scenes in modern literature, Scout gestures to a man standing behind a doornail suddenly realizes that it's Radley.   

He smiles shyly at her.  Tears well up in Scout's eyes as she says, "Hey, Boo."

§ 

The hair on my neck stood on end the first time I read this breathtaking scene as a 13-year-old shortly after publication of Mockingbird in 1960, and every time that I have reread it since then.  (The scene in the Oscar-winning 1962 film version starring Gregory Peck, with Scout played by Mary Badham and Robert Duvall making his movie debut as Boo is, if anything, even more dramatic.)   

Tens of millions of people have read Mockingbird, and it is that rare book devoured by young people and simultaneously loved by their parents.  The cheapo mass market edition of this masterpiece about racial injustice and the loss of innocence appropriately remains one of the most popular books in the American public school curriculum, at least in communities where books portraying less comfortable aspects of the real world aren't banned. But in yet another inexplicably weird development involving Harper Lee and her handlers in the years before her death, and since she

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succumbed at age 89 on February 19, her estate has moved to cease publication of the hugely popular mass market edition of Mockingbird.   

Lee had been as reclusive in life as had Boo Radley in her fiction, and questions remain -- and grow -- regarding how aware she was of the decisions made by her handlers and the controversies swirling around them.  Chief among those handlers is Lee's "personal representative," Tonja Carter, who has successfully kept Lee's will sealed.  

Lee's novel Go Set a Watchman, which apparently is a pre-1960 draft featuring the major characters in Mockingbird that is both a prequel and sequel and deeply discordant as both, was released last year amidst questions about whether Lee had approved its publication considering its comparative mediocrity, and indeed whether the work was entirely her own considering that it seemed to have come out of nowhere.   

Then there was the announcement that there would be a Broadway production of Mockingbird adapted by Aaron Sorkin, who some critics found to be a peculiar choice considering his reputation of a hyper-caffeinated screenwriter.  (Visions of Springtime for Hitler from Mel Brooks' The Producers flashed to mind.) 

§ 

To Kill a Mockingbird isn't going to go away.  HarperCollins will still publish trade paperback, hard cover and pricey special folio editions.  And as one pundit noted, "Readers can also find the book at these incredible, little known places called libraries, where one can borrow a copy for a limited time and then return it, free of charge."

But two thirds of the 30 million copies of Mockingbird sold in the last 56 years were the low-priced edition, and as an author myself, it is hard -- no, make that impossible -- to reconcile Harper Lee wanting to limit sales of her most enduring classic.

(UPDATE: HarperCollins has now partially relented.)  

PHOTOGRAPH: UNIVERSAL PICTURES

On A Wing & A Prayer: The Story Behind The Spy Who Saved Britain

MORE HERE.

Thoreau Was Right: The Bluebird Carries The Sky On It's Back

It is a sure sign of spring, and this is a notably early one, when our bluebirds begin cleaning out their nesting boxes. 

I love birds and would be hard pressed to name a favorite species, but I have a special place in my heart for Sialia sialis.  My fondness goes beyond the bluebird's precocity, song making and lovely markings (the male and female are stunningly different) and has much to do with their will to survive. 

While never faced with outright extinction, the population in rural Chester County, Pennsylvania where I lived for many years had become depleted as they lost habitat and had to compete with three introduced species -- starlings, house sparrows and McMansions.  

But bluebirds have come back strong in Chester County because of nesting box programs. Same at the mountain retreat.

The bluebird is a medium-sized, mostly insectivorous or omnivorous member of the thrush family. The males typical have blue and red plumage while the females are less brightly colored. Their song is a soft warble, heard often during breeding season and they seldom sing without quivering their wings. 

Bluebirds are extremely territorial and prefer open grassland with scattered trees, which is exactly the kind of habitat off the back deck of the mountain retreat. Absent boxes, like the ones we put up for them in the shade of two tulip poplar trees, they nest in cavities like woodpeckers, typically producing between two and four broods during the spring and summer. 

Males take the lead in the breeding ritual, identifying potential nest sites and attracting prospective mates to those sites with by singing and quivering their wings and then placing nesting material in a box or cavity. If the female accepts the male and the nesting site, she alone builds the nest and incubates the eggs. 

As Paul McCartney sang to Linda: 

Late at night when the wind is still, I'll come flying through your door. And you'll know what love is for, I'm a bluebird.

PHOTOGRAPH BY JOHN LARSON/NATIONAL AUDUBON SOCIETY 

Politix Update: This Cold Shower Is Brought To You Courtesy Of Bernie Sanders

Few people thought that Bernie Sanders would still be giving Hillary Clinton fits six weeks into the primary season.  That is, except his supporters, who have anointed him with a messianic status not seen on the political since . . . well, only eight years ago with a guy by the name of Barack Obama. But as similarly inspiring as the messages of the young upstart from Illinois and the older man from Vermont were and are, 2016 is not 2008 despite a common foe -- Hillary Clinton -- and the difference that eight years makes is why Obama succeeded and Sanders will not.   

That is a bitter pill for the foot soldiers in Sanders' young army to swallow.  But all is not fair in war as in love, and to mix another metaphor, times change but Clinton has not: She is the ultimate establishment Democratic candidate -- a deeply knowledgeable and battle-scarred veteran able to seem liberal or moderate depending upon the occasion, and an accomplished debater with a substantial war chest and sophisticated campaign organization.  And just enough seemingly fresh new ideas to not seem ossified compared to Sanders. 

The differences between 2008 and 2016 are sizable even if Sanders is facing pretty much the same Clinton as did Obama.  After eight dark years of Bush and Cheney, and an unnecessary war and a crippling recession, voters were thirsting for change, and Obama promised to deliver it.  All things considered, he has, even if Washington changed Obama more than he changed Washington.   

Obama has implemented far-reaching reforms in a dysfunctional health-care system, raised school academic standards, legislated pay parity for women, revolutionized the way we produce energy through harnessing renewable resources, fought back against global warming, taken on the epidemic of childhood obesity with his First Lady, provided deportation relief to young immigrants, legalized same-sex marriage and opened new opportunities for women and gays in the military, saved the domestic auto industry, has added nearly four million jobs, reduced unemployment to 5 percent and the deficit by two thirds to a puny 2.5 percent of GDP, engineered egalitarian tax reforms and eliminated the most usurious of credit card abuses, while today the U.S. is an island of relative calm amid the global financial crisis.  He also took out Osama bin Laden, isolated Vladimir Putin, normalized relations with Cuba, stabilized relations with Iran and ended the war in Iraq.  And his administration has been remarkably scandal free once you discount the innumerable faux scandals ginned up by Republicans.   

That is the record that Clinton is running on and Sanders cannot run on if he is to be the anti-Hillary.  And even if Washington remains a cesspool, the anti-Hillary's promises to inspire a "political revolution" ring hollow.   

Asked to be specific about his revolution will be carried out, which is something Sanders has been notably reluctant to do, his stock reply is that "The only way we can take on the right-wing Republicans, the only way we can get things done is by having millions of people come together."   

Thanks for the pablum, Bern'.  

And now for the first part of that cold shower: In 2008, Obama helped Democrats win 255 seats in the House and 56 seats in the Senate.  Despite an absence of Republican support, the young president did get Congress to pass an ambitious stimulus package, health-care reform and a host of smaller but still important laws. The circumstances would be much worse were Sanders to be elected even if Democrats manage to eke out a Senate majority.

There is nothing in Sanders' stump speechifying or own history to suggest that he will succeed with obdurate, governing-resistant Republicans where Obama has repeatedly failed, and it is important to remember that Obama's first-term accomplishments were because he had the support of every Democrat in a majority Democratic Senate, including centrists like Joe Lieberman and Evan Bayh, who pushed him toward a political middle that sometimes made a mockery of the Hope and Change mantra. Sanders would have to similarly capitulate if he were to accomplish anything, and so Washington would yet again remake a newly-minted president.   

As for the second part of that cold shower: Sanders' primary victories in nine of the 22 states contested so far, most notably his upset win in Michigan on Tuesday, have been salutatory and pushed Clinton further leftward than she would have gone if she had been able to sent packing a 74-year-old socialist.  And her penchant for going negative -- as in falsely equating Sanders' 2008 vote against a bailout bill as a vote against the auto industry -- backfired on her in Michigan.  Same with her ridiculous efforts to tie Sanders to the National Rifle Association. 

But primaries are elections for delegates (and indirectly that strange Democratic super delegate hybrid).  Primaries are not popularity contests.  Clinton has amassed 1,221 delegates to Sanders' 571, and is well on her way to capturing the 2,383 needed for the nomination, which she is likely to do in mid-April.   

As the Michigan results showed, Sanders' black support runs a little deeper -- at least in Northern states -- than had been supposed.  He also has been helped by getting pretty much a free ride from the news media, which has not given him anywhere near the scrutiny Clinton has received.  But the biggest reason for this disparity is not Clinton with her many blemishes, it is the bombastic Donald Trump, who unlike Sanders and Clinton, would rather shock than seriously address the issues and thereby keeps the attention of the sensation-hungry media. 

I have written early and often that my biggest problem with Clinton is trust.  She is not inevitable, but she is the best Democratic candidate and will be the best president.  And make no mistake about it -- she will beat a Trump or Ted Cruz, probably in a landslide of historic proportions. Sanders?  I'm not so sure, but then we'll never find out.   

Recall that in 2008, Clinton did not accede to Obama until early June.  I'll give Sanders another six weeks.

POLITIX UPDATE IS WRITTEN BY SHAUN MULLEN, A VETERAN JOURNALIST AND BLOGGER FOR WHOM THE 2016 PRESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN IS HIS 12th SINCE 1968.  CLICK HERE FOR AN INDEX OF PREVIOUS COLUMNS. 

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