Tom: always the first to know! Like FOX 10:00 News!

Here's something that's mildly safistfying: picking up a piece of news a full week before indie news media giant Pitchfork Media. BOOYAH!

And I managed to do it without sophomoric references to marijuana too.

Sister Act

First, the article that could have been:

We've all been hearing a whole lot lately about the process of evacuating major cities, and how this process may need an overhaul. With this in mind, it seemed fairly obvious to me that since getting in and out of Philadelphia on even a normal day is a complete nightmare, it isn't even worth trying to overhaul it and make it more efficient because our highways will never be able to handle that much volume (since about 1.5 million people live in Philly, and an additional 4.7 million live in the surrounding area). Never. Forget about it. If we want traffic jams that aren't 100 miles long, we're doing to need to literally double the amount of traffic our highways can handle.

I considered backing this up purely with anecdotal evidence (tales of sitting on the Schuylkill Expressway and moving about half a mile in 45 minutes... at 11:30 p.m. on a Saturday night), but decided to make a more convincing argument and dig a little deeper. So off I went in search of facts to support my argument, when I realized that I'm not a city planner, and would have to learn an entire canon of knowledge to make a convincing argument (I started looking into local highway capacities vs. population densities, etc.), and that in the end, the facts might not support my claim anyway. So that post is gone the way of Freddie Mitchell's contract with the Kansas City Chiefs (ba-zing!), because somebody at Slate is bound to do it more thoroughly in the next couple days anyway.

Instead, here's an interesting tidbit I found while looking up demographic information about Philadelphia: "Philadelphia has ten sister cities, as designated by Sister Cities International, Inc.: Douala (Cameroon), Florence (Italy), Incheon (South Korea), Nizhni Novgorod (Russia), Tel Aviv (Israel), Tianjin (China), Torun (Poland), Aix-en-Provence (France), Kobe (Japan), and Mosul (Iraq)."

If you'd asked me what Philadelphia's sister cities were, I'd probably have answered, "Camden, NJ, and... Upper Darby?" I honestly had no idea that "sister cities" and "twin cities" were a big program undertaken by places all over the world. I'd always thought that the entire concept of "twin cities" was a half-baked explanation for why Minneapolis and St. Paul only have one international airport between them (this is where my one Minnesotan reader will tell me that's not actually true, assuming she actually reads this).

So now, if somebody asks me what connection I have with Florence, Italy, I'll have a real answer! Or at least I'll have a better answer than, "I read Hannibal, and parts of that take place in Florence." And the next time I read about a suicide bombing in Mosul, I'll pause a little longer, and reflect on my fallen brothers and sisters.

Sister cities are fun! Who wants to undertake a world tour with me, to visit all of our brothers and sisters, bringing good tidings from the City of Brotherly Love?

And we'll hook them up with some Eagles gear while we're at it, because they probably have geographic neighbors that are sisters with Boston or Atlanta... and Phillies caps for those situated near a sister of Houston or... ok, still Atlanta. I'm just saying, Florence or Aix-en-Provence, if you want to swap some soccer jerseys for some (American) football or baseball gear, I'll trade some sports karma with you.

Tom digs Kanye

I'm willing to admit that maybe I just don't really "get" rap music. It seems like a genre in which even the best albums are hopelessly bogged down in cliches (the irritating skits between songs, the extended stream-of-consciousness "bonus" track), and a genre in which I can't really tell the good apart from the bad.

I often rely on first impressions to judge hip hop artists, and as often as not they're wrong. OutKast seemed too self-consciously "eccentric" to be truly good (they're actually both), and Jay-Z seemed like the living embodiment of every decadent-rap-star cliche (bling, bitches, and a Benz!), but it turns out he's also a master of the infectious pop hook (just try not to be mesmerized by "Big Pimpin'"), and also possesses the massive amounts of talent and charisma that it must take to make Linkin Park momentarily seem like they're not the stupidest band on the planet.

So what does it mean when I actually like a rap album? If it's Kanye West, it means that I have something in common with pretty much everybody else these days.

But what I think it really means when I like a rap album like Late Registration (which, by the way, I like a lot more than last year's The College Dropout), is that it is, deep down, a good pop album. In Kanye's case, I think it's a combination of great pop hooks and socially conscious lyrics. Much has been made of the latter attribute, and I certainly wouldn't suggest that addressing problems in society makes something automatically good, but a song like "Diamonds from Sierra Leone" offers a take on a less-publicized issue that's smart and subtle, and acknowledges an inherent conflict between wanting the best for ourselves and wanting the best for those less fortunate than us. It's certainly a more nuanced and thoughtful position than "George W. Bush doesn't care about black people." Oh wait...

So the lyrics are good, but what really appeals to me is the actual music. The College Dropout is an album that bursts with energy, with lush and intricate backing tracks. Much has also been made of the addition of producer Jon Brion, whose credits include mostly weepy singer/songwriter types like Rufus Wainwright, Badly Drawn Boy, and Aimee Mann (he also appeared on the last album released during the lifetime of the weepiest of all singer/songwriter types, Elliott Smith, may he rest in peace). I have no idea what Kanye did and what Brion did, but I do know that Late Registration is a whole lot more appealing on an aesthetic level than The College Dropout.

All of which is to say that I'm not necessarily a fan of rap music, but it's hard to resist such well-made, lush, orchestral pop music like that on Late Registration, regardless of how the words are put on top of it. It gets my personal thumbs up, with extra points because there's not likely to be a better album that's more popular than this one this year (an honor stripped from the hands of Coldplay, who put out an album that wasn't really that great).

Side note: my friend Denise has suggested "T Says" as a new title of this blog (see my post from September 10), which sounded good at first, until I realized that it was a reference to Mr. T. I brought this up with her:

"Wait a minute, that's a Mr. T reference isn't it?"
"No... well, yeah, kind of."

I have to admit that this aspect makes it much less appealing to me. So "On the Corner With Tom" stays until a better name comes along. Sorry, Denise.

Gratuitous lists... by others, not by me.

I'm a sucker for lists. I love making lists of my own, and debating lists by others. So in a random internet search for albums of covers (to supplement the Espers post a couple days ago), I was mildly excited to find a website that featured dozens of lists for me to look over and think about.

I have no idea who compiled these lists (haven't got around to looking yet), but for the most part they're pretty predictable, although some of the picks are mind-boggling. For instance, they are apparently of the opinion that The Mars Volta's Frances the Mute is the third greatest album of this decade. Yes, over Radiohead's Kid A, over Brian Wilson's Smile, and over Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Hell, Frances the Mute is easily one of the worst albums I've ever heard. Not just in the 00's, I mean ever. And keep in mind I have a sister who's seven years younger than me who used to love Hanson and The Spice Girls.

Anyway, the one that surprised me the most that I've looked at so far was their list of greatest vocal performances. I was expecting the predictable, and got some of it ("Stairway to Heaven"? Check. "Bohemian Rhapsody"? Do you even need to ask?), but guess what was number 1. "Love Reign O'er Me" by The Who!

Ok, so The Who aren't exactly unknown, but that song isn't particularly one of the more famous ones. It was on one of their less popular albums (Quadrophenia, although "less popular" is a relative term with a monstrously popular band like The Who), and is easily less famous than probably a dozen Who songs that the average rock fan would have picked. Like "Bargain" ("the best I ever HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!") or "Won't Get Fooled Again," which may have the most famous rock scream ever. Or "Baba O'Riley," which is so recognizable by it's memorable vocal that most people still think it's called "Teenage Wasteland." Or they could have gone with the great Who harmonies and picked "Who Are You" or "I Can See for Miles," or sheer melodicism and rock power and gone with "Pinball Wizard" or "The Kids are Alright." But they dug deeper, and found the one song in the Who catalog that almost makes me put down Keith Moon's air drumsticks and pick up Roger Daltrey's air microphone.

There are other surprises on that list too. There are actually a lot of songs that I would have picked, not just songs that I would predict others would pick. Like "Grace" by Jeff Buckley (#8), or "Life on Mars" by David Bowie, which somehow beat out "Space Oddity" as the top Bowie song. And not only did "God Only Knows" by The Beach Boys make the list at #14, it was properly attributed to Carl Wilson! Hallelujah! And "Exit Music (For a Film)" by Radiohead was buried pretty far down on the list, but the fact that it made it at all is impressive to me.

So that's that. There are other pleasant surprises that I've found, like The United States of America ranked as the #1 underrated rock album of all time, and Todd Rundgren's Something/Anything as the #5 greatest forgotten album, both of which I have discussed in this blog (here and here, respectively).

Hey look, it's Christopher Walken!

For about as long as I've known who he is, Christopher Walken has been regarded as an almost mythical figure of comedic creepiness, the kind of person whose mere presence in a movie is funny. We don't come out of Wedding Crashers talking about anything he did in the film, we just laugh at the fact that he was actually in it.

What I'd like to know is: how long has this been going on?

It's easy to forget that Walken is an honest-to-God Oscar winner (for The Deer Hunter), and that he won it for a performance that, in my opinion, ranks right up with Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates in Psycho and Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lector in The Silence of the Lambs as one of the most disturbing ever captured on tape (why were the first two examples I thought of both guys whose first name is Anthony and last name ends with "-kins"?).

These days, to the extent we consider him "good," it's not because he actually is, but because he's not. He is now camp personified, and like an acting equivalent of Ed Wood, we're never quite sure if he's in on the joke or not (actually, it would seem obvious that Ed Wood wasn't, in fact, in on the joke, but still... one can never really be sure). His legendary appearances on Saturday Night Live are memorable not for any sense of comedic timing he brings, but because he has none whatsoever. "By the time I'm done, you'll be wearing gold-plated diapers." An awkward pause follows, as Walken stares straight ahead at nothing, leaning forward and wobbling ever so slightly as he stands silently. I imagine the cue cards reading, "Ferrell, Fallon, Parnell: stare at Walken in disbelief for at least 5 seconds" after every one of his lines.

I'm not the one to say for certain when Walken made the transition from serious actor to Shatneresque comic prop (the kind of actor whose roles are usually discussed by beginning with, "Hey look, it's..."), although his appearance in Heaven's Gate, Michael Cimino's notoriously disastrous follow-up to The Deer Hunter, probably didn't help. All I know is that something happened between 1978 and his Fatboy Slim video. (Hey look, it's Chris Walken! And he's dancing! How droll!)

Any suggestions? Comments? Etc.?

In the meantime, an interesting tidbit of Walken trivia: he was George Lucas' second choice to play Han Solo.

Espers tease Tom

As you may or may not know, Espers are one of my favorite new bands right now, along with Espers leader Greg Weeks' solo recordings. His solo stuff is its own thing, but I consider it all part of the same canon, I guess. And they're from Philadelphia, to boot!

Anyway, I started seeing references on Espers' record label's page to a recording called The Weed Tree, and I've been wondering what it could be for a few months now. Tonight, I decided to hit up my old pal Google and discovered the best possible news: The Weed Tree is, in fact, a new Espers album! New Espers! Only a year after their first album! and only eight months after the latest Greg Weeks album! What a wonderfully prolific man/group!

Then I started reading further on a couple of the sites I found... it's not a new Espers album. It's an album of cover songs. Oh, why do you mock me so?! An album of covers? When has a full album of covers ever been a good idea?

Oh well. They're apparently releasing this as something to tide the fans over (in other words, to make sure we don't forget about them) while they work on something new for 2006. So at least I still have that to look forward to. And a show on November 19th at the Khyber with none other than Gary Higgins! (More on him later.)

Life's not all bad in the world of Espers.

To Jenny, the sweetest canine ever to live.

My dog is slowly dying.

It may not look like it to the casual observer, but she is, make no mistake about it. Every time I come back to my parents' place, she's a little slower, a little wider around the belly, and a little grayer under the chin. She no longer has much interest in playing catch or fetch with the squeaky toys that used to enthrall her. She responds to her favorite words in the whole wide world, "You want to go out?" out of habit, but once outside, she quickly wants to come back in. If you take her to her favorite place in the whole wide world, Nottingham County Park, where people are so sparse that she can run free, unleashed, chasing (and never catching, of course) squirrels, rabbits, and birds to her heart's content, she'll still do all of those things, but will barely move for the next two days.

The meaning of "dog years," and the notion that dogs age 7 times faster than humans do, become much more poignant as they age. In November, Jenny will be nine (or 63) years old, and she shows it.

But like our favorite grandparents, she's so much more than just a reminder of a once-ebullient personality. Everything that's made my family love her is still intact. When people raise their voices, she gingerly nudges her way in, as if it's somehow her fault, brandishing her irresistible "puppy dog eyes," and lifts one paw as if to say "everything's ok," and it's impossible to stay mad at anything. She'll follow people wherever they are, just to have company (in fact, right now she just came out from another room and sat by my side upon hearing my typing). And when I come back here after some time away, nobody makes me feel more welcome than she does (it's a scene I look forward to every time: the car comes down the driveway, and she makes her usual acknowledgement that somebody's home, then she realizes it's me and, for the next few minutes, is so excited that she looks five years younger).

Watching a pet age is something I've never really had to deal with. I've dealt with death before (when I was in first grade, my grandmom, my kitten, and a friend of mine died in rapid succession, and I think I'm still dealing with that in subtle ways), but I've never had to watch time take a slow and excruciating toll on a beloved animal before, which is why I'm writing this (the fact that I can see it take place in increments, rather than gradually and seamlessly, because I no longer live here every day, makes me more aware of it as well). I'm usually the first person to acknowledge that most of what we love about pets are just traits we project on to them, and I'm the person who gets frustrated by people who feel sadder about an animal death than a human death, but when Jenny passes on, there will be real and genuine grief. And just like when a friend or loved one passes on, it will be a time for remembrance and acknowledgement.

It may be sooner, it may be later, but eventually it's going to happen. I just hope that when it does, I can say that we've made the best of our time with each other, and not taken each other for granted.

I've said it countless times in the past decade, and meant it every time: you're a good girl, Jenny.

Clap Your Hands Say What?

A situation that's happened many, many times: some new, up-and-coming band or artist is getting lots and lots of buzz, and lots of people seem to think they're great, so I check out a few songs to see what all the hype is about. Sometimes I like it and get into the artist myself (Broken Social Scene when You Forgot it in People came out, Sufjan Stevens when Seven Swans came out, Grandaddy when The Sophtware Slump came out), and sometimes I don't and send the tracks off to the recycle bin (The Arcade Fire, Interpol, The Rapture).*

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah fit in the latter category. A couple friends of mine liked it, they were getting good reviews, so I found their website and downloaded a few songs. Sounds decent enough, mildly appealing upbeat jangly guitars, then WHAM! The singer comes in, and everything takes a nosedive. Never have I meant it more when using the term "grating." So I tried to make it through the songs, and never really got past that voice, and trashed them.

But they keep rising and rising and rising. I can't remember the last time somebody got this much hype this close to the release of only their first album. In fact, Amazon.com and allmusic.com list the release date as September 13. Is it not even out yet?! I'm assuming they've jumped to a bigger label that can better handle the remarkable increase in demand for them, and that September 13 is the re-release, but if this is the first release date than this is truly unbelievable.

So I figured maybe I better give them a second chance, that I may have missed something by not listening as closely the first time. I downloaded their album, which naturally is widely available via any file-sharing network, and have been listening to it off and on recently. And in the end, I'm pretty much left with the same impression I first got: more or less likeable, except those vocals, moaned out onto tape by apparent Philly expat Alec Ounsworth.

I do like a lot of aspects of it: the tasteful synth use, the interweaving guitar parts that simultaneously sound completely impromptu and exhaustively rehearsed, and the fact that, aside from "In This Home on Ice," it sounds considerably less obnoxiously "new-wave" than a lot of this year's other big buzz bands, unless you consider upbeat, four-on-the-floor drums something found exclusively in new wave music. In fact, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah have considerably more melodic talent than most of the groups to whom they keep getting compared. And is that a music box in "Sunshine and Clouds and Everything Proud"?

But then there's that voice. I keep hearing comparisons to David Byrne, but I just don't buy that. I've never listened to a Talking Heads record and wished that for the love of God, that singer had better shut up soon. Thom Yorke is probably a closer reference point, but a lot more nasal, and whiny. And kinda drunk. Ounsworth has a tendency of hitting the front ends of notes so hard that he breaks into a falsetto for just a split second, and it drives me insane. He slides lackadaisically from note to note, and it also drives me insane. I may sound too much like a "musician" to some people, so I should note that I don't always find a lack of "traditional" singing ability a bad thing. See Bob Dylan, Wayne Coyne, Neil Young, or even Fred Schneider. Hell, one of my favorite artists is Bjork, who would probably be considered an acquired taste by even her most die-hard fans (like me). But an acquired taste is what Alec Ounsworth is, and I guess I just haven't acquired it.

So yeah, here I am right where I was several months ago. It's not bad, and some of it is pretty good. If you pressed me for a rating, I'd say maybe a 6 out of 10. Does it warrant the hype? In my opinion, unless their live show is other wordly (which I doubt, considering that they still have to work mostly with the material on this album), not by a long shot. But I've never seen them live, so who knows?

I'll tell you one thing, though: I'm not getting past that voice any time soon.

*It should be noted here that just because I don't like something doesn't mean I think it's bad. Lots of people seem to interpret it that way. Sometimes albums are average but neither bad nor particularly engaging, or sometimes they just aren't my thing.

Conspiracies afoot in South Philly...

I was reading local sports columnist Phil Sheridan's Q & A section at philly.com, and several days ago he briefly touched on something that may be worth investigating in the eyes of a Philly sports fan:

Q. Phil- I firmly believe that the first 10 rows of the left field stands at Citizens Bank Park have to go. The Phils really dropped the ball when they had the stadium designed. Do you believe there is any serious interest on the part of their "Brain Trust" (I use the term very loosely) to do this, or something else to solve the problem?

Mark T. Dietrich, Tucson, AZ 9/07/05

A. I agree with you. I think the Phillies will handle this the same way they handle decisions on players. They'll rationalize that things aren't really that bad, and could get better on their own, and let it slide. I'm sitting in the park as I type this and it's odd: The leftfield seats include two little oddly shaped sections that make it look like there was an original outfield plan and more seats were forced in. It looks to be about eight rows' worth of seats in front of what looks like the original contour out there. Might just be a quirk of design, but it makes me wonder...

Phil Sheridan 9/07/05

Sure enough, a close look reveals that Sheridan isn't lying. Take a look at the seating chart, starting with sections 146 and 147 in left center field. Notice how a small wedge of section 146 sits awkwardly in front of the corner of section 147 (the lower left corner of the section on the chart)? Now imagine that the outfield extended out to that corner, that there were no seats in front of the corner, and imagine a line drawn parallel to the existing outfield wall coming out of that corner. See how perfectly it matches up with a very similar corner in section 141?

Verrrry interesting...

A look at a couple photos and designs shows the same thing. In this photo you can see that the railings at the front of the oddly placed sections actually continue into the stands exactly as they are when they're in play. This aerial rendering shows it too. A couple other looks at the strange center field section can be found here and here. It seems plausible to me that the outfield wall was originally supposed to be back farther between the two odd corners, but more seats were added to the plans at the last moment. Late enough that the seating couldn't be redesigned less awkwardly. And those awkward sections really do stand out in a park full of hard, straight lines and clean corners like Citizens Bank Park.

Somebody with an architecture background or something may have to confirm or deny that this last minute change is even possible, but it makes sense to me. It would certainly help explain all those routine outs that turn into home runs out there in left field. And the fact that the 369' marker on the outfield wall mysteriously moved further toward center field (and thus away from home plate) in the middle of last season (because maybe they first put the 369' sign where it would have been under the original plans, then realized that where it actually was was more like 350' or less).

Just a li'l something to think about. Like Sheridan said, nothing is likely to ever be done about it, but still... intriguing, isn't it?

Wanted: succinct, catchy, appropriate name for blog

So yeah, you read the title. I have no idea what to call this thing. It started out as "The Daily Stupid," which I put in on a whim because I hadn't thought ahead of time that I'd need a title for the whole thing. Then I realized that I wasn't writing daily, and ironic self-deprecation aside, I'm not really stupid.

So it changed to "On the Corner with Tom." Because I happened to be listening to Miles Davis' On the Corner when I decided that "The Daily Stupid" wasn't cutting it. But I'm not really liking that name either, because it sort of suggests that I'm literally on the corner, scoping things out and staying "hip" to the "scene" or something. I don't know, that's what I thought of for some reason. That's how I picture Miles Davis when he recorded that album anyway.

So I'm looking for a new name. Any suggestion will do, but I'd prefer something clever or at least meaningful, rather than "Tom's Blog," which is why it doesn't say that right now.

Back with actual writings about something soon.

Also, did you know that the spell checker built into this site doesn't recognize "blog" as a word? Crazy...

Anderson Cooper: handsome, charming, and now provocative too!

I sometimes find it difficult to comment on any journalism-related topic without the actual issue buried under frustrating red herrings like accusations of "media bias" and the like, but all the same, here is an except from CNN's Anderson Cooper 360 Degrees. It's part of an exchange between the show's eponymous host and US Senator Mary Landrieu (a Democrat from Louisiana). Taken without permission from the transcript.

COOPER: Joining me from Baton Rouge is Louisiana Senator Mary Landrieu. Senator, appreciate you joining us tonight. Does the federal government bear responsibility for what is happening now? Should they apologize for what is happening now?

SEN. MARY LANDRIEU (D), LOUISIANA: Anderson, there will be plenty of time to discuss all of those issues, about why, and how, and what, and if. But, Anderson, as you understand, and all of the producers and directors of CNN, and the news networks, this situation is very serious and it's going to demand all of our full attention through the hours, through the nights, through the days.

Let me just say a few things. Thank President Clinton and former President Bush for their strong statements of support and comfort today. I thank all the leaders that are coming to Louisiana, and Mississippi, and Alabama to our help and rescue.

We are grateful for the military assets that are being brought to bear. I want to thank Senator Frist and Senator Reid for their extraordinary efforts.

Anderson, tonight, I don't know if you've heard -- maybe you all have announced it -- but Congress is going to an unprecedented session to pass a $10 billion supplemental bill tonight to keep FEMA and the Red Cross up and operating.

COOPER: Excuse me, Senator, I'm sorry for interrupting. I haven't heard that, because, for the last four days, I've been seeing dead bodies in the streets here in Mississippi. And to listen to politicians thanking each other and complimenting each other, you know, I got to tell you, there are a lot of people here who are very upset, and very angry, and very frustrated.

And when they hear politicians slap -- you know, thanking one another, it just, you know, it kind of cuts them the wrong way right now, because literally there was a body on the streets of this town yesterday being eaten by rats because this woman had been laying in the street for 48 hours. And there's not enough facilities to take her up.

I'm not really sure where I stand with this one. If nothing else it's obviously emblematic of our tendency do want to find fault with somebody, anybody, when something bad happens. We can't very well find somebody to blame for a catastrophic hurricane as easily as we can somebody to blame for, say, a catastrophic terrorist attack (OOPS! There's that tired parallel again, but really, we couldn't find enough people to blame for 9/11), so we turn to those in charge of the cleanup. Indeed, Cooper was so insistent on doing so that he asked Landrieu, point blank, "Do you get the anger that is out there?" Tellingly, he followed up with, "Well, who are you angry at?" Because we can't just be angry that thousands of people are dead, and half a million people or more are homeless, some if not most permanently, and there's not a whole lot we can do about it. We have to be angry at someone.

But having acknowledged that, doesn't Cooper have a point? Isn't it about time somebody started cutting through politicians' irritating BS and made them face the fact that there are real people in real places who have to live with the consequences of this disaster, and the knowledge that Congress has passed a no-brainer bill isn't going to help them live through the night when relief can't seem to find its way through? Landrieu happened to make an easy target for Cooper, who was understandably upset after witnessing the conditions in Waveland, Mississippi (a severe scolding to the first person to make a joke about the name of the town), so she might not be the appropriate target here. I'm not sure who is, although I'm fairly infuriated by President Bush's assertion that it's not the time to "play politics" by questioning the apparent inadequacy of the relief efforts so far.* I guess all I'm saying is that it's perfectly natural to be upset when people seem to want to coast by on good intentions.

Final note: If you want to see the difference between a professional politician and a real person who happens to hold a political office, contrast Landrieu's reaction with that of New Orleans mayor Ray Nagin. Nagin has been on TV all week openly and passionately decrying the lack of help his city has received, culminating in his now-famous "desperate SOS," and Landrieu, a life long New Orleans resident and daughter of a former New Orleans mayor, still manages to find space in her quasi-answer to Cooper to kiss up to Harry Reid and Bill Frist.

*This is a classic Bush II tactic, the implied suggestion that this is yet another situation where you're either with us (the US led by Bush) or against us, and that if you're with us, you don't need to question things. It's also characteristic in that it's blatantly hypocritical, because when people raise legitimate questions, and he dismisses them as merely "playing politics," he demonizes and discredits anybody asking the questions by portraying them as petty partisans. Which sure sounds like "playing politics" to me.

I might catch some hell for this one (it may well remind me why I resolved to try to avoid more political issues), but... let's let 'er rip.