Well, I'd written a good part of a post about seasons, gas prices, and global warming before I pressed the wrong button combination and lost it.

It started with some reflection on the cost of getting around in the city: I take my son to pre-school on the subway in preference to driving him, because we like the train and because I like the idea that I'm not contributing to global warming and pollution. But this morning as I walked in the Spring sunshine I realized that it costs me $4 for a round trip on the subway, while the cost of driving him to school would only be about 54 cents. That sucks. Shouldn't we make public transportation more economically attractive than driving to encourage people to use it?

I then lamented the defeat of mayor Bloomberg's congestion pricing plan. I then got into the ineffectiveness of government in dealing with problems like global warming. President Bush is an extreme example. After eight years the best he could do was to make some feel good statements encouraging a voluntary reduction in emissions of greenhouse gases. But governments in general seem to be ill-matched to the situation.

Part of the problem seems to be that we're not really very good at dealing with long term threats. Evolution has wired us to focus on the here and now in a very vivid and immediate way. We can conceptualize and prepare for what may happen today or tomorrow, but the further out the problems get, the less able we are to act in ways that recognize them and respond to them effectively.

I then had started to write about the changing seasons and the way that this affects our conceptual view of the world. I was thinking about referencing lyrics from a record I was just listening to (The Mountain Goats - Get Lonely, on which a track begins with the words "Autumn came around like a drifter to an on ramp…"). It was as I was trying to develop this idea that I pressed the fatal combination of buttons and erased the post.

But now I feel engaged by the idea of 'the lost blog,' or, more generally, the lost anything.

The idea of 'no longer being' can be juxtaposed with the idea of constant renewal. The changing cycle of the seasons reinforces our concept of the world as a place where things come around again. In the Fall the trees shed their leaves as we enter the long dead winter, but in Spring the natural world appears to be reborn. We integrate this and similar ideas of regeneration into our conceptual view of the world. (The cycle of day and night, of waking and sleeping reinforces this concept.)

It is no surprise then that many cultures and religions have conceptualized life and death as a cycle. Reincarnation, life after death. Renewal of life reflects our regular impression of the world, and it salves the pain of total loss.

But things do get lost. My original post is gone. Even if I were able to recall it word for word and write it out again, it would be something subtly different from the original post.

In reality, existence never repeats itself. The present moment is unique and new. The earth never quite rotates about the same sun, which is ever so slowly burning away and cooling. The child born today is born into a world different from the world his or her parents were born into.

This is not true of the conceptual world, in which concepts remain firm and fast and reproducible over and over, where the concept of a square remains always the concept of a square, where a logical analysis remains always logical.

As we become more sophisticated in our understanding of the world, more aware of our effect on the environment, more cognizant of the way we can improve the long term lot of humankind and a whole host of other species, we face the challenge of shedding our concept of reality and existence as something that forever renews, of life as a short term that will be repeated in the long term.

We have both the intellectual capacity to acknowledge this new conceptual world-view and the capabilities to act on it for the good of the world and for the good of humanity.

For more rational, science-based explanations of life's meaning and purpose, please refer to my book: LIFE! Why We Exist… And What We Must Do To Survive.

In a 1929 interview, Albert Einstein apparently said: "I'm enough of an artist to draw freely on my imagination, which I think is more important than knowledge."

In order to have an opinion on Einstein's statement, we first need to decide what he means by "more important." Einstein was speaking of his own process. He had been asked whether intuition or inspiration accounted for his theories. Certainly, when devising a new theory, imagination plays a very significant role, and without it a new theory can't emerge.

Einstein's contribution to science was creative. For him, then, imagination was more important that knowledge.

As my wife and I visited our newborn son in the ICU today we talked about the role of the nursing staff. So much of what they do is routine — they learn how to care for the newborns and follow the instructions they've been given. But the difference between a competent nurse and a nurse who contributes something important is the degree to which she is engaged with the baby and his parents.

The competent nurse follows the correct procedures, attends to her tasks with care and dedication. The engaged nurse does this too, but also sees things, listens, and reacts.

Artist Mark Rothko said this about art: "It is a widely accepted notion among painters that it does not matter what one paints as long as it is well painted. This is the essence of academicism. There is no such thing as good painting about nothing."

Rothko could have been speaking about nursing. One looks at Rothko's paintings and one could be forgiven for asking what they are about. But does this mean that they aren't about something?

Rothko's children are suing to have his remains unearthed and moved to a Jewish cemetery. I don't know how Rothko would feel about this. Judged as a creative act, one imagines that he would find it rather obvious. Judged as an action in the world, one imagines he would find it somewhat depressing.

Another child of a famous person — Max Mosley, son of Oswald Mosley the notorious British Nazi — has been in trouble for exploring his imaginative world in a sadomasochistic orgy with prostitutes in London. Apparently, shades of Nazism can be detected in the role-play. Mosley is the chief of the Formula One motor racing federation and has been asked to resign.

The thread that I'm trying to mine is the concept of engagement. A nurse engaged with her role as caregiver. A scientist engaged with his role as a pursuer of new ideas. A painter engaged with the direct communication of otherwise uncommunicable ideas. And a man engaged with his legacy and its demons.

But what does any of this have to do with Bacon? Stanley Fish writes about deconstruction and Sir Francis Bacon.

Bacon predicted that rational though would eventually win out; that we would one day have a consistent , complete understanding of the world we live in, but that we would go through tough times to get there. He predicted that language would get in the way. That the terms we use to talk about and define things would become recursively problematic.

Rothko sought to eliminate words. Bacon recognized their challenges. Einstein sought to subjugate knowledge.

There is a reason, I think, for such struggle. Rothko, Bacon and Einstein all felt painfully the distinction between ideas and reality. We experience reality, and we conceive of ideas.

Ideas can be consistent and whole and concrete. Reality must be felt and experienced and can never be pinned down. Einstein eluded language, Rothko avoided it, Mosley seeks to bend it, and Bacon wanted to wrestle with it, but found it stronger than him. Language, I would argue, can be accurate and complete when it expresses ideas, but not when it seeks to represent the world and our experience of it.

On the universal criticality of April Fools Day.

The susceptible age of four seemed to me too young for our son to be introduced to the joys and miseries of April Fools Day. My wife thought otherwise. And so it was that this morning he gusted into our dreams bright and early with a panoply of pranks all aimed at making himself happy at our expense.

April Fools Day is clearly the oldest and most significant holiday of any season, predating any other religious or secular holidays, and resonating so deeply with the very fundamental core of our existence, nay the existence of anything, that it hardly bears talking about. That being said, one still doesn't need to share its rituals with a four year old.

For those who may not have found time to research the long history of April Fools Day, or who have delved back only so far as to the time of Chaucer and his Nun's Priest Tale (c. 1400) or to the French and Dutch references dating back to the 16th century, I'll touch on the foundational aspects of the holiday.

The celebration of a prank is a reference to the creation of something out of nothing. The prankster begins with a fiction, something untrue or fabricated, and ends up with an event of significance — the fooling of someone. This ritual sequence evokes the appearance of something out of nothing, which in turn recalls the origin of existence as we know it. What scientists now call the Higgs Boson — the superheavy particle the appearance of which they believe precipitated the big bang — used to be referred to as the Grande Bufon or, roughly translated, the "Large Idiot." (This was, of course, in pre-scientific times.)

Archimedes, or the Greek's geek, as he was known, was fascinated by the idea of the biggest prank of all time, and spent much of his middle and later life trying to perfect a trick on humankind that would last well beyond his death. He finally succeeded by calculating more accurately than any before him the irrational number Pi that relates the radius of a circle to its circumference. Archimedes would have been thrilled to know that even today, thousands of years later, schoolboys and schoolgirls the world over still tie their brains in knots trying to recall Pi to a large number of decimal places.

It was Archimedes, too, who jumped out of his bathtub shouting "Eureka!" This was not because he'd had an epiphany about the displacement of water, which is the commonly held myth, but because he'd figured out how to fool the king into thinking that he'd made him a suit out of golden thread. Hence Archimedes subsequent naked romp through the streets to the king's palace. Archimedes was a true prankster.

Sadly today very few people think about the original significance of April Fools Day. It's been turned into a circus of silly jokes and goofy tricks. I see this as a reflection of the times we live in. We spend too much time chasing material possessions, success, love, wealth, redeemable coupons, and not enough time focused on the essential void of meaning that underscores existence. If only we could all take this day to prank one another with a heartfelt sense of life's irony and insignificance the world would be a better place.

On the function and power of creativity, and the particular value of music as an artistic medium.

Art Schop is a name I've been recording under for material that's more spontaneous, philosophical and odd. This is the second year I've entered the RPM Challenge to record an album in the month of February. With a whole bunch going on this year and my wife pregnant (and therefore needing sleep when I wanted to record) I thought I wasn't going to make it. But today, with her encouragement, I knuckled down and hid myself away and finished up. (This entailed writing or editing lyrics for several songs, recording vocals for nine of ten songs, and mixing all ten.)

Creativity is a funny thing. When you least expect it, something lovely happens. I wasn't thrilled by much of what I had to work with this morning when I started, fragments of lyrics isolated from the music, and with the pressure of time thought that I'd perhaps get my album done, not much more. But in the course of a few short hours some beautiful moments (or so I hope) found their way out of my subconscious.

Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams had a house a couple of miles from where I live in Brooklyn. I saw Heath around a few times and our kids circled one another once at a local coffee shop. Apart from his talent and charisma, he seemed like a wonderful, warm, nice guy. I was very sad when he died. One of the songs I recorded today is in memory of Heath…

from here to there (song for Heath Ledger)

(A few of the other tunes are posted on my RPM profile.)

Where does the creative impulse originate? Why do people so love music, playing music and singing, listening to music, creating music?

When we create we translate a feeling or impression into some communicable form. Rationally then, the urge to create would seem to originate in the urge to communicate things that we feel otherwise unable to communicate fully. I could tell people I'm sorry that Heath Ledger died. But this wouldn't quite capture the essence of my sorry, a whole mix of emotion and ideas. When I listen to the song, on the other hand, it expresses my feelings much more coherently, much more warmly, without the same archness or analysis that I'd wrap around them in conversation.

Art gets us closer to a raw form of communication, where the symbols of the art represent feelings that cannot otherwise be measured and processed for someone else to apprehend. It's akin to a hug or a kiss or a touch.

Arthur Schopenhauer wrote about existence as having two aspects — our perception of it through our senses, which is an indirect representation, and the thing itself, which he called the "will." Schopenhauer quite rightly stated that we can never directly apprehend the will. It will always and only be revealed to us through our immediate experience. For Schopenhauer, music came closer than anything else to revealing the nature of the will. Intuitively, Schopenhauer's perspective on music has great weight. Just as music flows and never "is" so existence can't ever be apprehended and stopped. Just as music follows forms and ideas, repeats patterns, so does existence.

(And we must remember that music originates from human perception via the subconscious. So any mirroring of the will in music is a mirroring of our perception of the will.)

People so enjoy art because it communicates to us on a non-verbal, emotional level; it is release and relief from our insularity of experience. And music has a particularly powerful aspect — it is immediate and transient, it flows. It cannot be frozen and held up to the eye. It forces us to submit to immediate, unstudied perception.

For more rational, science-based explanations of life's meaning and purpose, please refer to my book: LIFE! Why We Exist… And What We Must Do To Survive.

On what people want to see and believe.
"Audiences don't want to see realistic films about the war in Iraq. They want to escape all the bad news." So says Howard Suber (UCLA Film and TV Producers Program founding chair and author of "The Power of Film,") reacting to this year's decidedly gloomy crop of Oscar nominees. I agree. And then, I disagree.

Since the nominated films haven't done well, relatively speaking, at the box office, Suber's claim holds water; people tend not to flock to downer movies. But those who enjoy provocative, thoughtful films made with great craft and artistic vision do go to see the kinds of movies on the Academy's short-list. The Oscars aim to reward notable artistic achievements in film, not rampant popularity. They provide much-needed counterweight to the rather less lofty day-to-day goals of the film studios.

This confusion of box office success and artistic merit masks a positive phenomenon in the American film industry — artistry can make its furtive way into movies that have no purported artistic aim, and block busters can have great artistic merit without needing to be labeled "art" movies. The movies "Knocked Up" and "Superbad," for instance, both big draws in 2007, both pitched and consumed as "raunchy comedies," accomplished their low, uncouth objectives while revealing flashes of superior, if uneven, comic artistry.

In the American film industry, art will out, it seems, despite the drive for popular appeal and profit. Movies can't be divided into "art" and "popular" movies, because some popular movies involve incredible artistry and some purportedly artistic movies are mediocre imitations or approximations of art. (Big names can make seriously flawed movies and pass them of as serious.)
The Academy then has a tough job, rewarding artistic achievements where they see them, without there being any kind of reliable delineation between the serious and the silly.

Pastor Casimiro Roca also has a tough job persuading his flock to give credit where credit is due. The poor priest presides over a small church in Chimayo, New Mexico, where people come seeking to be cured. Roca despairs that many of those who come believe that the dirt in a pit in the middle of the church has miraculous powers. Roca believes it's the Lord. (The dirt he replenishes regularly, having it trucked in.)

It seems odd that Roca enables the perpetuation of the myth by importing the dirt and keeping the shrine, as he does, as something of a destination. But perhaps, like the Academy, Roca does what he does not in support of the masses but in support of miracles that reveal themselves despite the masses.
Postscript: As a rationalist one can't dismiss out of hand things that defy our current comprehension. Reason must allow for doubt. Science has revealed its own share of completely unexpected findings. Einstein's general relativity, quantum mechanics, and supersymmetry, for instance, all require us to move beyond everyday reason. The term miracle misleads, though, and perhaps when we come across evidence of events that defy reason, the term "unexplained phenomenon" is more appropriate.

Perhaps it is ironic to write about the philosophy of love on the eve of Valentine's day. Why? Because love knows no time nor calendar, as Shakespeare probably once wrote and swiftly deleted. The predictability and premeditation of the modern Valentine's day ritual conjures up something other than love — we buy flowers and make special efforts either because we don't want to disappoint our loved one, or because we know we'll be in the dog house if we don't. The only other reason would be to deceive by kindly gestures. In other words, to increase our chances of winning affection.

Wikipedia suggests that Valentine's day might have its roots in an ancient festival (predating the Valentine martyrs); a festival that Plutarch described as "noble youths running up and down through the city naked, for sport and laughter striking those they meet with shaggy thongs." This sounds like a lot more fun than a limp red rose and a bag of Hershey's kisses.

But I'm a grumpy old curmudgeon, so don't listen to me.

Then again, no lesser curmudgeon than Arthur Schopenhauer regarded love as

"more important than all other aims in man's life; and therefore it is quite worthy of the profound seriousness with which everyone pursues it."

"What is decided by it is nothing less than the composition of the next generation"

He is, of course, exactly right about the evolutionary role of romantic love. Romantic love has evolved as a powerful mechanism that attracts people sexually and psychologically so that they will perhaps reproduce.

I'm not sure I'd agree that it is more important than all other aims in a man's life. Successfully reproducing and protecting and raising one's offspring are undoubtedly at least as important as falling in love. But the point is well taken, it's far from a frivolous pursuit. But we treat love frivolously, often, and seem to regard it generally as a mystery that shouldn't be too deeply analyzed or questioned.

The psychological theory of love, and much of the therapy we pay for, rests on the notion that we're attracted to certain people so that we can replay problematic relationships from our childhood; these fatal romantic attachments allow us to try to address those unresolved issues. But we could also surmise that we would find a way to replay our deep-seated childhood issues in any relationship.

If we accept that love has evolved through natural selection as a way of ensuring propagation of the human race, can we evaluate love rationally? Or are the ways of love too subtle and obscure to submit to rational analysis?

The answer seems to be that love cannot be reasoned into being, nor reasoned away. But with reason we can understand its place and respect its role.

Romeo, loving Juliet, could have reasoned that nature was giving him a strong hint about the genetic favorability of his coupling with this Capulet, but could have also understood that there were unfavorable aspects to the union. Armed with an understanding of love's rational role in life, he might have concluded that a trip with the boys to the Amalfi coast would be just the ticket to resettle his hormones and avoid a tragedy.

And, conversely, avoiding love because it doesn't seem appropriate or convenient can be a mistake in the other direction. If we ignore nature's hint, we aren't living up to our nature as human beings.

Understanding love doesn't diminish its hold on us, but it may help us put love's clutches into context.

How do we value things?

Armed robbers stole a Van Gogh, a Monet, a Degas and a Cezanne valued at $163 million from a private art collection in Zurich, Switzerland. In what was perhaps the biggest (in financial value) and boldest (in broad daylight) heists of its kind, the art thieves apparently selected the paintings because they had been hung next to one another, leaving behind more valuable works of art. Experts speculated that the added weight of glass frames dissuaded the thieves from taking more.

For Lukas Gloor, the museum's director, it felt like losing "family." For the collection's owner, or his insurance company, one can surmise that apart from anything else it felt like losing $163 million. For the robbers, it no doubt felt like winning the lottery. But what of the potential, underground purchaser of the four paintings?

Any purchaser would have to be wealthy. I expect that he or she would also value the stolen paintings for their artistry (otherwise why purchase them?) And the purchaser, unable to put them on public display, would have to relish his or her ownership in relative obscurity.

This brings us to a point of some philosophic importance: Intrinsic and extrinsic value. When we have vast wealth, the intrinsic value of something becomes completely or almost completely untethered from its extrinsic value. If we can afford to pay $40 million for a painting, the pleasure and satisfaction we will derive from looking at the painting cannot be related to what we are prepared to pay for it. We instead begin to ascribe value by how much others would be willing to pay.

If the purchaser of a $40 million painting became suddenly poor, it would, one can imagine, become much more important for him to eat and stay sheltered than to look at his painting, but eating and staying sheltered would cost far less.

Only when a thing is more or less ubiquitous does its extrinsic value relate closely to its intrinsic value.

A great work of literature, easily mass-produced, can be had for a few bucks. So, too, a wonderful piece of music can be heard and played over and over on vinyl or compact disk for the cost of a modest lunch. Even a live performance by the best in their field won't cost you more than a nice sweater. And a visit to a good art museum where you can see some of the most fabulous works of art on display is sometimes free. The artworks themselves are worth millions because they are rare and must be owned by one and only one person at a time.

When we get confused between intrinsic and extrinsic value we diminish our sense of life's value. I think about this, oddly, in relation to the intended purchase of Yahoo! by Microsoft. Yahoo! has spurned Microsoft's advance. But even though here we're talking about companies that have intrinsic worth (by virtue of their assets and ability to make money) I cannot help but feel that here is a similar disconnect between intrinsic and extrinsic value. Microsoft is willing to pay a hefty premium for Yahoo! in the hopes of countering Google's success by leveraging a joint presence. But Google's value derives from something quite different from assets and relationships. Google has mastered the art of leveraging finite intrinsic worth to produce vast extrinsic worth. Google is the Picasso of the Internet search world. And to beat a Picasso you don't merge the ideas of two second-rate artists counting on them complementing one another's styles.

On senators, singers, and security officials. Or, judging books by their tables of contents.

With Mitt Romney's last flip, his decision to take himself out of the presidential race, it seems a safe bet that we'll have a senator in the White House (unless Bloomberg decides to run). Something of a phenomenon, this likely senate coup has people asking why senators, despite running often, haven't often won their bids for the country's highest office. A Times piece raises several possibilities — the baggage of voting records, the Washington-insider stigma, the lack of executive experience, the relative comfort of the senate. But, being forever on the lookout for an inherently rational explanation, I wonder whether something about wanting and winning a senate race doesn't take significantly different qualifications from winning a presidential bid.

The senate is a buffer. The constitution encourages the senate to check the powers of other branches of the Federal Government (e.g., by ratifying presidential appointments).

Rationally then, those who seek a position in the senate (unless they have higher goals —Hillary Clinton, I think, viewed the senate as a stepping stone on her way back to the White House) seek to exert a moderating and deliberative influence. That's very different from someone who sets his or her sights on leading a state as governor or leading the country as president.

But, as has been demonstrated in the current race, while being a senator doesn't qualify you as a presidential contender, it doesn't disqualify you either. Clinton may have ducked through the low gate of the senate on her way to a presidential bid, but voters have decided that senators Obama and McCain have qualifications for more than checking and balancing.

As for disqualifications, Grammy-nominated recording artist, Ledisi, reveals that she had about given up on her career after hearing repeatedly that she didn't have the right look and the right sound to make it. It's good to hear that in the music industry creating music that people want to listen to can still qualify one for success. (On a personal note, and if you'll excuse the shameless plug, I was bouyed up yesterday to learn that nerdlitter, a music blog, selected a song of mine amongst its top thirty for 2007.)

And the story of government official Julie Myers who disciplined an employee for wearing an inappropriate, racially stereotyped costume had me scratching my head. The employee was counseled and forced out on leave while Julie Myers, who posed for a photograph with the man at the party after participating in awarding him the prize for the most creative costume, went on to nomination as a top ranking Homeland Security official. "I was not aware at the time of the contest that the employee disguised his skin color," Myers wrote.

Either Myers is an idiot or a liar (or both). How she can be qualified to make decisions about immigration and deportation policy defies imagination.

Philosophically speaking, qualifications present an interesting set of concepts. A qualification begins by defining some essential skill or requirement for a given role. This immediately calls upon the concept of "that which is essential." Very often we get into gray area over the difficulty of defining "essential." This leads to ad hoc exceptions or exclusions.

Defining essential qualities for a leader, for instance, can be quite tricky. People lead in different ways. And people have many theories about what makes a good leader. Easier perhaps to define those qualities that disqualify a leader — like Myers being an idiot or a liar. But even being found out as a liar might not disqualify someone. Leaders lie all the time to gain strategic advantage. It's not the lying so much as the "what" and "why" of the lying (as I explored in a post the other day).

And this perhaps brings us to the core difficulty of qualifications. When we define the essential attributes for success in a role, we find that they are necessarily recursive. To be a successful singer, the singer must be able to be successful as a singer. The singer need not necessarily even produce wonderful music (Celine Dione is a case in point).

To borrow from Beckett, ill seen, ill said, this then is the insight: Beware qualifications.

On having fun.

Life can be oppressive at times. Several news stories today depressed me — in Baghdad, for instance, bombings killed dozens after terrorists strapped explosives to mentally disabled women, sent the women into crowds, and detonated the explosives remotely. On the personal front I'm having a low day trying to negotiate family tensions. But while it would be unnatural to be happy and have fun all the time, sometimes we could be having more fun than we are.

Giants' Coach Tom Coughlin, not generally known for his levity, has surprised his team and observers this week by talking of 'fun' and 'enjoyment.' That's surprising for a man who's team is headed into the Superbowl against such a formiddable opponent as the Patriots who haven't lost a game all season. Somehow Coughlin has found a way to stay relaxed and have some fun.

Another story describes the rambling handmade home in Arizona built over the course of two decades by artist Michael Kahn and his wife, Leda Livant. Answering a question about whether she and her husband had planned their work on their home ahead of time, Livant replies: "Michael had no definite plan except to work and see what the natural shape would be. If you stay with a preconceived notion of what you want, it could be too restrictive."

In this, perhaps, is a clue to having fun. We do many things for fun, and we do many things that could be fun but aren't. The things we do for fun typically fall into two categories:

1. Things that provide intrinsic pleasure from the release of chemicals that make us feel good (sex, exercise, watching humorous performances, consuming recreational drugs, for instance)

2. Things that engage us in opportunities for being satisfyingly surprised (games, reading, and, for some, work)

To have the first kind of fun requires that we find ways to engage in these and similar activities. To have the second kind requires us either to engage in activities that we find intrinsically satisfying, or to engage in other activities with the right mindset.

This brings us back to Leda Livant's idea of avoiding preconceived notions. If we expect to find a task monotonous, stressful or unpleasant without looking for ways to approach it differently, we will naturally not have fun. But if we set aside our expectation that a task won't be fun, we give ourselves the opportunity to make it fun.

These opportunities come up all the time. For many of us, most of what we do in a day can seem monotonous, stressful or unpleasant. Sometimes even the things we enjoy can seem daunting. But if we can catch ourselves in that moment of being daunted, we have the opportunity to find some pleasure in the task at hand.

To give a very pertinent example: Before I began this blog entry I was sitting with about fifteen news stories open on my computer screen, feeling less and less inspired to write anything. Livant's concept of "preconceived notions" didn't seem enough and I wasn't even sure I had anything to say about it. But I knew and told myself that I would enjoy the process once I began, and that beginning was a matter of committing to finding something. It worked.

My apologies for being off the air for the past 4 days. The servers at the data center that hosts my site had technical problems, in the course of fixing which my site was inadvertently deleted… (Of course, I was highly irrational while my site was down, fearing that it would never be back.)

I have a post to load up from Friday and will resume my regular Monday through Friday daily posting schedule tomorrow.

But, over the weekend, I did find time to load up three YouTube videos of new songs, one of which reprises my feelings about the Bush presidency.

The Ballad of George W. Bush