Johnny Angel Wendell

What $40 million buys

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OPINION I am a diehard and devoted follower of the round-ball. Basketball. If the game did not exist, I wouldn’t spend a minute — hot or cold — planted in front of telly, save the half hour my kids and I watch the new Regular Show. I have no idea who wins the beauty contests or who is villain or hero on reality TV, couldn’t ID you the hit sitcom star of today, don’t know and don’t care.

For this reason, I am intimately aware of the massive anti-Prop 29 campaign waged by the tobacco companies (their target audience is male and of a certain age).

Prop. 29 narrowly lost last Tuesday, almost entirely due to the $40 million plus poured into its defeat from out of state interests, specifically RJ Reynolds.

Without that money, Prop. 29 passes easily, a no-brainer. A dollar-a-pack tax to raise $735 million a year for cancer research, with the secondary effect of smoking reduction (the costlier cigarettes are, the more likely one will quit — also, despite the misinformation, a raised tax on cigarettes doesn’t lead to bootlegging, as is Internet myth).

But at least a half dozen times per NBA playoff game, a grave looking woman in a medical outfit came on the air to warn us of the incipient dangers of this horrible idea — a new bureaucracy, new taxes (well, duh), money going out of state — relentless repetition of talking points ramrodded down the throats of the viewer.

I am told that Lance Armstrong made a pro-29 spot. Never saw it and now, I never will.

In most instances, I would have opposed Prop. 29 myself. I dislike sin taxes. I dislike the idea that one person’s poison is more pernicious than another when less than 15 percent of our state smokes and a much higher percentage is overweight. But the pounding of the tobacco industry — a far more diabolical and lethal group of parasites than even the lowliest dope dealer (but legal, of course and subsidized by the taxpayer) planted enough doubt in the minds of semi-interested sports fans to send a well-meaning and job creating piece of legislation onto the shoals of defeat.

This event, coupled with the Koch family’s purchase of the Wisconsin recall, signals the possible death knell for American democracy. The fact that money is speech and corporations are people has been codified into law doesn’t change the reality that said sentiment is gibberish intended to consolidate a permanent plutocrat class that, on any whim, can simply bury their opposition in an avalanche of half truths and outright lies.

If you own the megaphone, the transmitter, and the mouth, we are not equal — if you are heard and I am not, no one ever hears my side. And that’s where we’re going.

The saddest moment in all of this was taking a trip to a liquor store the other day with my kids to get some sodas and hearing the owner’s justification for supporting No on 29 — “this will wipe me out.” When I pointed out that maybe soon he could sell marijuana in the place of cigarettes when it becomes legal, he turned pale and exclaimed “I don’t want that shit in here”.

Marlboro’s and Jack Daniels, ok. The chronic, no.

And that’s the mindset in America’s most progressive state. I wasn’t made for these times at all.

Johnny Angel Wendell is a talk show host at KTLK-AM1150 and KFI-AM640 in Los Angeles and an American roots musician

Saying goodbye to the Nuns singer Jennifer “Miro” Anderson

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Jennifer “Miro” Anderson, former co-lead singer and keyboardist of one of SF’s first punk bands the Nuns, died in New York, December 16th, of complications from breast and liver cancer. She was 54.

A striking, statuesque blonde beauty, Ms. Miro began her interest in music as a devoted member of the David Bowie fan club. She joined the Nuns in the mid ’70s and co-authored some of their better known songs, including the punk classic “Suicide Child.” One of the city’s first punk bands, the Nuns became popular rapidly that they were selling out the Mabuhay Gardens on consecutive weekends and subsequently earned the opening slot on the Sex Pistols infamous “farewell” at Winterland.

The Nuns continued into the ’80s and Jennifer pursued a solo career as well. I met Jennifer in 1990 in LA, where she was giving acting a go and found her to be one of the funniest and wittiest people in the scene, endlessly bemused by all of the madness swirling around her. We continued to to see each other when she returned to Marin in the mid ’90s and one of my favorite memories of my own time in the Bay Area was spending the day with her at her place in Belvedere.

Later, she moved to New York and became a dominatrix and would occasionally do Nuns projects – oddly enough, her presence on the Net was somewhat below the radar and so I never did get a chance to say goodbye to her.

So, I do now. To one of the most uproarious companions I ever had, wherever you are now, keep them baffled, my love – you were a gifted, wonderful friend on those rare occasions when I could see you. And no – I don’t have those shiny leather trousers you loved so much; maybe when we see each other again, okay?

J Angel.

Rand Paul’s baby talk

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Last week, Rand Paul (R-KY) — man, there’s a double entendre just waiting to happen — went shithouse ballistic (pun intended) over what he sees as one of the most pressing issue in the nation today — low-flush toilets.

At a hearing while grilling a lower level Obama Administration Energy department spokesperson, Paul was in full fury.

 

“Frankly, the toilets don’t work in my house,” Paul said. “And I blame you, and people like you who want to tell me what I can install in my house, what I can do.”

 

Be it low flush crappers nouveau, newer and costlier and more energy efficient light bulbs, recycling (the new House leadership got rid of biodegradables in the House caff as a remnant of the despised Pelosi era), the angry and seething Libertarian and his followers are a bizarre variation on the Patrick Henry ethos that could have only sprung from the lunacy of our era–“Give me the liberty to waste the planet’s resources frivolously or give me…well, all of us are draft-dodging chicken-hawks anyway, so death may be extreme, let’s just say we’re gonna whine loudly about it.”

One would think that “conservatism” (Paul claims to be conservative) would include the classical definition, like prudence and caution and recognition that the finite resources of the planet have to be, well, conserved. Instead, he and his ilk rail about “treehuggers” and “environazis” and their mouthpieces mock people accustomed to husbanding their resources as silly.

 

But this is not conservatism. It is, as any parent whose ever seen a fou- year-old in action, the mindlessly childish defiance of anyone that dares impose anything for one’s own good, even when it makes complete sense to do so–this is not a drug or alcohol law of a prohibitionary stripe, nor a ban on the salacious, nor even an actual imposition–today’s “conservative” gets irate over any restriction, because, how dare you tell me what I can or can’t purchase even if it will make future generations (ie, the “unborn” that they claim to care about so much) miserable.

 

In other words, baby talk. This is kiddie shit–”I will stand up to those who would see me as a child because I, well, am being childish.” Defiance over not only the trivial, but the desire to make other people miserable by one’s own lack of sense and control. No wonder the American Right uses the expression “nanny state” so much–they are stuck in perpetual infanthood and see even the most modest measures to cut down on resource overuse as a kind of totalitarian, grown-up imposed austerity.

 

It isn’t a sacrifice to have less water in your john, Rand. It isn’t an imposition to put in them curly lightbulbs or to haul your own bags to the Safeway or to put recyclables in a different colored barrel. It’s called “accepting reality.” Which is probably why Senator Paul wouldn’t recognize it if it bit him on his toupeed ass.

 

Johnny Angel Wendell is a talk show host in LA at KTLK AM1150 and here on SFBG.com, as well as a musician  and actor

How taxes on millionaires could save the NBA

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March is heaven for basketball junkies. The NCAA tournament goes full-tilt boogie and for fans of the pro game, playoff jockeying intensifies into overdrive. As a member of the latter camp whose team sits atop the NBA East, there is a river of joy flowing through the ventricles of my pumping heart.


But this year, the happy is tempered with the specter of dread. In July, the NBA’s collective bargaining agreement expires and it is a near certainty that there will be a lockout. Despite a projected revenue increase of anywhere from 3-5% in this allegedly recuperating economy of ours, the owners will padlock their doors shut, terminating contracts they signed in supposedly good faith, because they claim that they lost $370 million last season (the union disputes this). Who loses ultimately is the game itself–fan goodwill can only bend so far.


There’s plenty of blame to go around, but ultimately all of it rests with the owners who flout their own salary caps with ridiculous deals to borderline players like a Hedo Turkoglu or a Rashard Lewis, as well as the talent dilution in having teams in exotic locales that can’t support them (e.g. The Memphis Grizzzlies and the soon to be in Anaheim Sacramento Kings). But much of the issue of inflated salaries comes back to the same problem that is plaguing the entire economy–low taxation on the very wealthy has priced the NBA out of profitability.


Suppose the 91% tax in place during the 50’s was reinstated for people making over 10 million dollars a year (it used to be over a million to be in that bracket, let’s adjust for inflation). Why would a player demand a salary of 20 million a year (or Kobe Bryant’s 24M escalating to 32M due next year), when the net wouldn’t exceed 11M? Makes no economic sense. A GM can offer a ten year deal at 99M instead of 5 years/20M, same amount of money (not counting bonuses, endorsements and the like).


What low tax proponents never ever grasp is that lower taxes on the top 1% inevitably lead to these situations, the NBA is a micro in the macro of Wall Street, CEO compensations, estates. When massive amounts of money accumulate with the few (even hard earned, no one can deny the skill and work ethic of a LeBron or a Ray Allen), the ripple effect is that the system cannot sustain–the fans will not pay higher tickets and greater merchandise charges forever. The players and owners have effectively killed off the golden goose–let’s take the ax from their hands with reasonable taxes from now on in ours.


Johnny Angel Wendell  is a talk show host at KTLK AM1150 in Los Angeles, webcaster at sfbg.com and a 30 plus year veteran of the American music scene.