I don’t like this a damned bit.

Abortion has always been and will always be a difficult and contentious issue.  Few ideas are so immediately and so passionately divisive among Americans as is abortion, with all of the ethical and spiritual and social nuances it encompasses.  Agreement will not be forthcoming any time soon, if ever; fundamentally conflicting beliefs inform opposing viewpoints on the subject—and such views, in their variety and in our duty to allow and preserve them though their holders may vehemently disagree with one another, are in fact one of the key virtues of our national character.  It is an issue that cannot but polarize us because we are Americans.

But still—I don’t like this one god damned bit.

What the legislative body of South Dakota have made, what Governor Rounds is poised to make law, is a cynical, regressive play to lay foundation for an attack on a 33-year-old Supreme Court decision.  This is politics, and is, essentially, par for the course, and I can accept if not necessarily respect that aspect of the situation.

What I can’t accept is the message the lawmakers of South Dakota are willing to send to their own citizens in the course of their politicking:  that rape, incest, serious medical harm, even mere stark unpreparedness to raise a child are no excuse for an abortion.  The emotional and physical well-being of every woman in South Dakota has been made collatoral damage in a war of ideology.  No matter that the law will be challenged.  No matter that in fact abortion in South Dakota will likely become no more difficult than it already is, in the short term.  The principle stands:  South Dakota prefers its ideological hardlining to the health of its women.

It is evidence of my own strong feelings on the subject that today’s issue so ill-humored—for that, I apologize on behalf of The Aural Times, and pledge to return to a lighter touch next issue.  Until then, I wish you all the best of health, or, if fate has barred that door to you, the freedom to look after yourself as best you see fit.

We’ve got a strict ordinance here at The Aural Times, as well.  We call it the No Puppies statute.  It doesn’t address critters in general so much as images of critters incorporated into motivational posters.  Anyone who puts up a pictures of a kitten dangling from a tree limb, subtitled with a cheerful “Hang in there!”; anyone who moves about the office bearing on their chest a picture of a baby dalmation; anyone who waggles about a mug with a soaring eagle or a winking owl or, god help them, a marmot—is fired.

Now, that may seem harsh.  “Eagles”, you says, “are patriotic!”  I’m not one to dismiss out of hand the pride and dignity of our American Avian (though consider old Ben Franklin’s proposed candidate for that title—the turkey), nor what one could rightly call healthy patriotism.  But kitschy posters drawn up from the saccharine dreams of Bette Midler fans, employing wide-spanned birds in an effort to portray to me, visually and verbally in poster form, that I, or anyone else in this office, is the wind beneath some other staffer’s wings?  Fired.  Fired, fired, fired.

Insofar as inspirational posters go, here’s some folk eteymology for you:  “Patriotic” is, in this case, a foreshortened blend of “Patronizing” and “Neurotic”, the two qualities which seem to come together, like Batman and Robin, to assault office-goers with these schmaltzy, brain-melting missives.  Courage?   Endurance?  Fired.

And so I applaud the City Council of Homer, Alaska; may a scarcity of eagle snapshots, like freedom, ring.

I’ll be frank:  I cannot go a single morning without a cup of tea.  Granted, I prefer the strong black—or perhaps, if I am feeling exotic, Mate—but as I see it, caffeine and DMT may as well be cousins.

And I suspect the US Customs agents who confiscated an inbound shipment of hoasca back in 1999 may have missed their own morning cuppa.

And am I envious of these New Mexicans?  Perhaps.  When I drink my tea, all I see are the needy, hapless faces of The Aural Times’s junior news staff.

Diplomacy is a tricky thing, a statement that remains true whether one means the current Russo-Iranian nuke discussion or the classic Avalon Hill board game.  Flaring tempers, miscommunications, promises broken: it’s a mess.

And running The Aural Times isn’t any easier.  Sure, we don’t have to worry about nuclear proliferation per se, but there are times when I regret not pursuing a career in military journalism in order to avoid so much fighting.

Apropos of which, the Times’s editorial staff has found a compromise on an issue of considerable contention in our offices—the issue of muddy, ambient vocals.  For, while it is ever my goal as Editor of this publication to assure that my musical staff have the freedom to express themselves unfettered by any prejudicial bias, it is also the goal of The Aural Times to provide not just sounds but news.

Call it a tale of two Olgas: Reports on the current Pyleva scandal have been, if not invariably, at least frequently referencing the Russian doping scandal of the 2002 Olympic Games in Salt Lake City. At that time, Russian skier Olga Danilova ran into similar troubles (as did a few other athletes, Russian and otherwise).

Speaking of 2002: following from the figure-skating controversy at the 2002 Games there came an opinion piece from Steve Wilstein bearing the headline, “If figure skating isn’t fair, get rid of it.”

On behalf of the whole of the staff of The Aural Times, I would like to take this opportunity to assert that figure skating is not fair. Now will someone please take Mr. Wilstein up on that? Because we would, frankly, prefer to watch the Curling qualifiers than to ever have to hear Scott Hamilton fawn over another triple lutz.

Peter Benchley, author of the classic, best-selling novel-cum-summer-blockbuster ‘Jaws’, died Monday, February 13th at the age of 65. Benchley had written several other books.

Mr. Benchley has, in a number of the obituary columns written since his death, been quoted as having said, “If I were to be elected pope or if I cured cancer, still, at my funeral, should anybody care, they’ll play, ‘Duh dum, duh dum’.”

And, with earnest respect for the man, we could not resist. While John Williams was not available for a consultation, we were not non-feasant in our adaptation of his submarinal theme: the whole of the Times‘ writing and editorial staff met for a lengthy hum session to be sure we had it right.

US Vice President Dick Cheney shoots 78-year-old Austin-based attorney Harold Whittington while hunting quail in Corpus Christi. VP Cheney was hunting quail without a properly stamped license. At press time, inquiries as to whether Cheney’s license was stamped for attorneys remain unanswered.

And with that, allow me to say hello and welcome to the inaugural edition of The Aural Times. It is my very great pleasure to introduce this fine new publication; and it is my great hope that you will find it a uniquely satisfying supplement to your standard news and/or musical diet.

Which is not to say I think you need to diet.

No, no, you look great. Really. I was—look, can we just forget—

Right. Anyway, welcome to The Aural Times. Read. Listen. Enjoy. And remember:

We Sing The News So You Don’t Have To.