So now that the Bee has made its own (in)decision known, I’ll sort of dip my oar in.

Now let me start by being, per usual, painfully pedantic. In “Politics as a Vocation” Weber notes that there exist basically three kinds of politicians:

a.) those who approach it as an “avocation,”

b.) those that live “for” politics, and

c.) those that live “off” politics.*

Or, as I think simplifies the matter, you’ve got:

a.) your dilettantes,

b.) your zealots, and

c.) your whores.

As is his wont, Weber views these distinctions with utter clarity, discussing dispassionately the various problems of each class (and, of course, noting that these distinctions bleed into each other in real life).

Being a Christian, Weber likes to divvy things up in threes. Hence, he further proposes that there exists three “pre-eminent qualities” which are decisive for the politician: responsibility, passion, and a sense of proportion. Although he does not say so explicitly, I would suggest that the three types roughly map on to the three qualities: dilettantes generally have a sense of responsibility, zealots obviously have passion, and who better to judge proportion than a whore?

The problems, then, basically, are these:

a.) Dilettantes are “far from giving their lives wholly, or merely preferentially, or more than occasionally to the service of politics. Rather, they exploit their prerogatives in the interest of gaining rent or even profits. And they become active in the service of political associations only when the overlord of their status-equals especially demand it.” In other words, dilettantes become active in politics only when, and to the extent, that it is in their material interest and typically only when someone to whom they answer says the equivalent of “make it so.” So, they have a sense of responsibility — but one that’s called into being by particular circumstances. It’s nice to be a good person, in other words, when it’s convenient.  Moreover, this type generally tends to shade over into the category of whore, precisely because they have been called away from their usual business — and so needs must make their living.

b.) Zealots, unfortunately, run into a different problem. Here we have passion as “devotion to a cause, to a god or demon who is its overlord. It is an excitation that plays so great a part with our intellectuals in this carnival we decorate with the proud name of revolution. It is “romanticism of the intellectually interesting,” running into emptiness devoid of all feeling of objective responsibility.” 

Can I pause for a moment and reflect on that “Oh sweet Jesus. And I thought I was bitchy” passage?: “this carnival we declare with the proud name of revolution.” Nothing is sadder than the johnny-come-lately who paints his wagon in the color of moment just so he can catch a ride on this weeks’ cause celebre.  Hillary Clinton’s conversion to the gas tax holiday comes to mind her. 

But back to the point: these are people are, at best, blind to the injustices their zealotry causes and at worst simply crazy.  Unfortunately, these people also tend to shade over into harlotry, especially when they’ve won, but also when the fight goes on so long that they lose whatever sources of income they had independent of their political work.

c.) Then there’s your proportionate whore.  These come in two types: there’s the “prebendery” (or, to use more modern language, salaried) official.  Think of this as kind of like your regular mistress — or, if you prefer the words of the master, one who “receives either income from fees and perquisities for specific services… a money salary, or both.”  Then there are the “entrepreneurial” officials — the ones that regard their office as a sort of investment suitable for profit.  One thinks here of certain kinds of celebrity call girls, who mine their ephemeral beauty for whatever the market will bear. 

The problem here, of course, is that they’re in it for the money.  And as one should know from, well, just about everything you ought to know by now: whatever the hooker may say about the quality of your conversation, your charming good looks, or your (ahem) talents: they’re in it for the money.  The minute a higher bidder comes along, you’re looking at a long night of wondering why Senator so-and-so won’t return your calls anymore.

This then leaves two questions:

a.) given the dilemmas inherent in each category, whom would you pick? And

b.) into which category does each of the two mayoral candidates fall?

Mayor Fargo, as I recall, originally (meaning when she was first gunning for a Council position) ran as an activist — specifically an environmentalist.  I’ve been gone too long to judge her record on that subject strictly on the merits.  Though I will say that if ever I find myself driving past Natomas, I tend to feel a distinctly Bourdieuian degoute au facile.  And frankly, the rest of the city needs a little attention (K st., anyone?  And speaking of which, what hell’s going one with the railyards?).  Hence, I think Fargo probably qualifies as a zealot, for good or for ill.

What, then, might we say about Mr. Johnson?  He’s hardly a zealot, of course.  It would be difficult to know what he stands for, other than “good schools” (remind me what the mayor can do for the schools? Oh, right.  Squat, that’s what), and “low crime” (Now there’s a real tough issue.  Thanks for taking a stand on something no one’s in agreement about).  As he is independently wealthy in the strict sense of the term, it would probably be difficult to identify any specifically pecuniary interest he might have in the position.  That eliminates a second possibility.

It is worth recalling at this point that dilletantes respond not to some general call for public service, but rather to a specific call by somebody they know.  In this particular case we know how this(these) persons are, and they have specific reasons to be pissed at Mayor Fargo’s zealotry.   It would be too much, I think, to suggest that Mr. Johnson is in the pay of the developers — he does not need the money, after all.  That said, I cannot recall but with, not just disgust, but indeed utter horror, at the comment that Sacramento should take Phoenix — the largest city by land area in this country — as its model.

All of this is a way of saying pretty much what we knew already: there aren’t really any good choices.  I’m taking the Bee’s advice on this one. 

*Actually, this is really a two-fold distinction (either you do politics part-time or full-time), followed by a sub-distinction (either you take your payment in cash or in kind).

2 Reactie’s »

To quote Belize: “maybe a big city, overgrown with weeds, but flowering weeds.   On every corner a wrecking crew and something new and crooked going up.  Windows missing in every edifice like broken teeth, and a gray high sky full of ravens….prophet birds….  Piles of trash and broken bottles that are strangely beautiful likes rubies and obsidian, and diamond-colored cowspit streamers in the wind…. and voting booths…. and everyone in Balenciaga gowns with red corsages.  A big dance palace full of music and lights and racial impurity and gender confusion.  A place where all the gods are creole… mulatto… brown as the mouths of rivers.  A place where finally race, taste and history are finally overcome.”

Mind you, I haven’t bought any actual, you know, art on Second Saturday, but still: It’s pretty much heaven, as far as I’m concerned.  My favorite of the evening was the guy who did the deChirico/Dali-inspired fantasias of cathedrals-cum-panzers marching off to war, led by a drummer-boy muerto.  Or his piece on a similar theme, only with a division of klan-hatted monkeys leading the cavalry charge.

Geen reactie’s, je kan de eerste zijn »

So I went out drinking last night (at Streets of London) with the guys from the office.*

And it occured to me around about pitcher #2 that (some) straight men really are fecking clueless when it comes to picking up the chicks.

Two bits of completely unsolicited advice from a completely unbiased bystander:

#1: to paraphrase Louis, in Angels in America: married gentlemen, before cruising the Ramble, should first remove their bands of gold.

#2:  Do not, I repeat, do not, select from the jukebox Queen’s 1978 hit “Fat Bottomed Girls.”  Just trust me on this one.  If you need it explained to you, we can do that, but you better be prepared to buy another pitcher of beer.

That is all.  Otherwise, happy, you know, hunting.  Or whatever the kids are calling it these days.

*We’ll leave aside for the moment the absurd Eisenhower-era subtext of that sentence — which only become more hilarious when we consider that da partner has joined his office’s bowling league.

3 Reactie’s »

A Big Gulp-sized cup of chopped fruit, seasoned with chili powder, salt, and lime juice.  This from a guy selling off a cart at 25th and Broadway.

Jamba Juice can suck it.

God love “ethnic” businesses.  God love California.

4 Reactie’s »

So, the quiz actually had a sorta-legit purpose, having to do with the class I teach in the evenings.  In order to make the exercise work, I had to collect some “data.”  So I took ten surveys with me when I went to hear a band (VHS or Beta) at Harlow’s on Wednesday night.

I knew I was frankly out of my depth when the first person I handed it to said, “oh, a survey?  Cool.  You know, I’m working on a survey too.”

Me: “Really?  What about?”

Her: “My MD/PhD thesis.  I’m looking at transgendered teens in the Bronx.  It’s really hard to take standard survey questions and make them relevant for that population.”

Me, jaw already dropped: “Really?  Awesome.  So, uhhhh, what are you doing here?”

Here: “Oh, my boyfriend’s in the band.”

She then proceeded to give my survey to her friend (also a roadie), one of the bouncers, the cashier, two bartenders, and some guy that I think ran the valet service. 

Needless to say, the main benefit of giving a hipster quotient survey to actual hipsters is that they critique it.  Critique #1 being that it turns out that the cool kids are still buying their music, and they’re buying it in the form of vinyl.

Ya learn something every day.

2 Reactie’s »