As 2016 begins, here is my take on things. People, who espouse aging liberal political economic analysis, lack substance to challenge the Capitalist attacks on workers shriveled by underfunded compensation packages, inadequate Health Care, nationalist worker organizations and evaporating retirement/pension systems.
  First, the Capitalist worldview is to juice the workers for all the value that is produced. Second, what is worse, working families are without a clear vision of a future demanding what families need.
  Capitalism is an economic system that directs political affiliations and aspirations, decapitate thought from action, desiccate Mother Earth resources for myopic profitability, and shrivel the life of working families. The system eviscerates all imagination.

For sports fans in the state of Ohio, the year 2015 reads like something out of Charles Dickens novel. It was the first of times; it was the worst of times. And it was everywhere in between.
  The Buckeyes won it all in football … and wrestling … and synchronized swimming … and pistol … and rowing. The Cleveland Cavaliers, the Columbus Clippers and the Columbus Crew SC placed second in their respective fields. The Cleveland Browns and the Columbus Blue Jackets earned participant ribbons for their respective seasons.
  Mush it all together and you have a very odd year.

The New York Times is no match for Gov. John Kasich's slick manipulation.

  We already know that The Columbus Dispatch is an easy mark for the governor turned presidential candidate.

  In a NYT Sunday Magazine article Jan. 3, reporter Robert Draper lets Kasich have his way, failing to immediately counter misstatements.

  Some for-instances:

  Kasich quote: "I don't spend any time thinking about him" (rival and front-runner Donald Trump).

  Truth not reported:  Kasich interrupted and harshly criticized Trump a few debates ago and Trump slapped him down like a bug.

  Kasich quote: "I don't like divisiveness. I don't like negativity."

  Truth not reported: See above attack on Trump and recent brickbats Kasich hurled at rivals Chris Christie and Marco Rubio.

  Kasich quote: "I don't care what the polls say."

  Truth not reported: Kasich was in danger of not having enough polling support to make the first debate, so a friendly PAC pumped in hundreds of thousands to help him just make the cut.

Ecstasy--pure human ecstasy, not the cheap drug--is a beautiful, necessary thing. Living the modern life of civilized apes, we sometimes either impoverish ourselves of the ecstasy of life or outright outlaw it. Not good; not right. Seeing visions was essential to a great many of America's original people. How they got 'em seems natural enough--fasting, dancing, natural stimulants, worship of nature, etc...
  To which I say: Beatles = liberation.

  Thus it was at the sixth annual 'Beatles-a-thon', 12 hours of live Beatles music provided by Joe and Matt Peppercorn and their band of highly proficient deep believers in the Beatles canon. I was ecstatic simply waiting in line half-an-hour before it began at the Blue Stone at 12:30 p.m. December 26. Liverpool and nirvana, here we come!

So as it turns out, we never made it to Frenchman Street.

Every year, a few friends and I engage in a weekend of musical tourism, taking trips to cities which claim a vibrant live music scene and/or some historical interest. Past trips have included Memphis (Beale Street, Sun Records, Graceland) and Nashville (Downtown, Grand Ole Opry), among others. You know, famous places. 

This year, we decided to make our pilgrimage to New Orleans to get hammered and listen to jazz. From the moment we got into the cab at the airport, locals directed us to Frenchman street. According to pretty much everybody, this was the place to see jazz. The party was great, the music was fantastic, and you didn’t have to worry about the filth and violence of Bourbon Street. So sayeth the cabbie, the hotel concierge and the guy working at CVS.

But the problem was that our hotel was right in the middle of the French Quarter. Everything was a just a short walk away, from bars to museums to famous cemeteries – everything, that is, except for Frenchman Street. At over three miles away, it was unquestionably a cab ride proposition if we intended to drink seriously.