Christmas on my iPod

This year, I broke my decades-long tradition of running as far as I can from the stores and malls on Black Friday.  While visiting family, I braved the crowds and went looking to see how much money I could spend.  There was no particular agenda; ideas came and went as the afternoon progressed.  In the midst of all this, I ended up looking for Christmas music.  Everybody needs Christmas music, and I haven’t bought anything new in recent years.  Alas, the stores only seemed to have Christmas music which is rendered (or, more accurately, rent) by pop music artists.  I remember seeing something by Johnny Cash, who has an interesting voice but does better with subject matter such as rings of fire rather than peace on earth and all that nice Christmassy stuff.

All the same, I already have rather an assortment of holiday music, and tonight I sat down to make a Christmas play list on my iPod.  Now, before I go any further, readers must understand that I am a complete dork, and so most of what I’m about to discuss is pretty esoteric by most standards.  This is not an apology; it is a mere warning.  The advantage of being a weirdo, however, is that I have a lot of things to share that others have never heard of before which ultimately, I trust, prove to be interesting and edifying.  So, here’s a sampling of some of the music which made the cut into my Christmas play list.

First, a concession to the grumps and purists who will complain that this is only November, that Thanksgiving is barely over, that Advent is just starting, and that Christmas is four weeks off:  This list is headed up by several compositions proper to Advent.  Gabriel Jackson’s Creator of the Stars of Night, a dreamy rendition of a famous ancient text, is first in the queue.  Jackson is a modern, living, breathing composer, from, if I am not mistaken, England—God’s favorite place on Earth, no matter what Dallas Cowboy fans might say.  This recording was made by The Crossing, a choir in Philadelphia which specializes in modern repertoire, under the direction of Donald Nally.

The other Advent item is one of my most treasured records:  An Advent Procession with Carols, performed by the Choir of King’s College in Cambridge, England.  I once saw a t-shirt which was entitled “The Religions of the World,” and under that were diverse descriptions of various creeds, all of which began, “When sh*t happens….”  In the middle of the list, there was “Episcopalian:  When sh*t happens, form a procession.”  Indeed, the Anglicans know how to produce good ceremony, something certain other liturgical wings of Christianity could take a lesson from, and this recording demonstrates the sonic aspect of these pageants.  Perhaps my favorite selections on this CD are the last two:  the famous hymn, Lo, He Comes with Clouds Descending, along with one of J.S. Bach’s settings of Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland (“Savior of the Nations, Come”).

But enough of the weeping and wailing of Advent.

On a visit to Leipzig, W.A. Mozart visited the famous Thomaskirche, where J.S. Bach had been Kappelmeister for so many years. The musicians there performed for him some of Bach’s Cantatas, and the story goes that Mozart jumped up from his chair, the music spilling from his lap, exclaiming, “What is this???  What is this???”  I had a similar moment some years ago while listening to taxpayer-funded radio, when they played Chanticleer’s recording of Franz Biebl’s Ave Maria.   Though it contains all the sweetness of 16th century counterpoint, this composition was nonetheless penned in 1964, Biebl having been commissioned to write it for a local chorus of firemen.  (Yes, that’s correct:  There was a time when the impulse toward music-making was ubiquitous and organized in the most surprising of organizations.)  The tenderness of this work is broadened and deepened by the all-male texture.  This is a piece for all time—as long as its overwhelming popularity, which has resulted in such dreck as an arrangement for handbell choir, does not consign it to the bin of the trite and over-performed—and is available on Chanticleer’s recording, “Our Heart’s Joy.”

Those who are familiar with the study of history will know that inevitably much of it ends up being guess work. Some of this guess work is more worthwhile than other efforts.  One project deserving of commendation is Paul McCreesh’s recording with the Gabrieli Consort and Players which attempts to reconstruct how the Third Mass of Christmas might have been celebrated in the church of Santa Maria Maggiore around the year 1620.  One of the more appealing aspects of this recording is that the historical efforts are undertaken humbly and submitted as a tentative thesis, which is a relief from more dogmatic exertions with which the musical world is often accosted.  McCreesh begins with Preter rerum seriem (“Outside the natural order of things”), composed by the 15th-16th century figure Josquin.  This may well be the most interesting piece on the record, but there are no weak links in this lineup, which does a remarkable job of replicating a real liturgical situation.

As a counterpart to historical reconstructions, I would like to offer a very recent undertaking for your consideration, Kile Smith’s composition of an Epiphany Vespers, which was commissioned by the early music ensemble Piffaro and conducted by Donald Nally, whose aforementioned group The Crossing (“the best chorus in Philadelphia,” according to one critic) joined in the music making.  (Full disclosure:  I know a number of the people involved in this recording very well, and consider many of them to be friends.  Nevertheless, take my word for it; this is great stuff.)  Smith, a practicing Lutheran, develops a work that uses the outline, style, and language of a Renaissance German Vespers service, complete with period instruments—but with a decidedly modern sensibility.  It is an organic work which adds fabric to the seamless garment of Western culture that stretches from antiquity to today.  The second movement, Wie schoen leuchtet der Morgenstern, is a very popular melody and is perhaps my favorite, but other high points are in ample supply.  The third movement features tenor Steven Bradshaw singing a virtuosic flourish with a heavenly clarity, and in recent playbacks, I have become smitten with the Magnificat, which, for the most part, makes use of only the women of the choir.  This is a stunning work from start to finish, and melodious proof that the art of music is alive and well in the 20th century.

Some other notable selections:

Peter Richard Conte plays the second movement (“Nativity”) of Marcel Dupre’s Symphonie-Passion on the famous Wanamaker organ,  the largest functioning pipe organ in the world. Dupre composed this piece for this very instrument, and Conte brings it back to life in this recording (from “The Wanamaker Legacy”) which was made live at the 2002 AGO national convention, where it received a well-deserved raucous ovation.

Olivier Messaien plays his very own Dieu Parmi Nous (God Among Us), the last section of his Nativity Suite.  To be truthful, I rather prefer the interpretations offered by other organists, but there is obvious reason to acquaint oneself with the composer’s interpretation of his own piece.  As always, this work shows off Messiaen’s distinctive harmonic language in a kaleidoscopic frenzy that depicts angels rejoicing, among other gleeful things fitting for the time of year.

Finally, a John Rutter piece.  I dislike much of Rutter’s work and find a great deal of it to be without enduring value, but his setting of What Sweeter Music, a poem by Robert Herrick, never fails to get to me.  Set in the warm glow of the key of G-flat major, this piece proves that sometimes there is truth to the sentiment that simple is beautiful.

There is more, of course, on my Christmas play list.  iTunes tells me that there are 129 songs totaling 8.4 hours of playing time, and I haven’t even finished importing them all yet.  I would, for instance, like to figure out just where the Favorite Carols from Kings College CD has gotten to.  I have the box, but not the all-important contents.  Similarly, I have not seen my recording of Christmas Matins from the Solesmes Abbey in a few years.

Black Friday shopping trips aside, I can’t get much into the gift-giving aspect of Christmas.  My relatives will tell you that I often struggle to come up with a wish list worthy of the term.  For me, Christmas is about the music and the lights.  November has been dark and dreary, but now I get to listen to music about peace on earth, about a festival “that turns December into May,” about bright stars and wise men; music old and new that has been sung by so many diverse people who all had something to say but for whom mere words did not suffice.  May you, too, have many songs to sing this Christmas.

Do we live in a police State?

A few weeks ago, the Young Fogey made a passing comment that we live in a police State.  One of his frequent visitors took abrasive exception to this, and I was quite glad to have managed to stay out of the debate.  But it got me to thinking.  Here are some ruminations.

Homeowners who can’t pay their income taxes or property taxes might have their houses taken away from them and sold cheaply at auction, but we do not live in a police State.

Throughout the history of this country, police have shot into crowds of peaceful demonstrators, most notably labor strikers, but we do not live in a police State.  (A side note:  What employer is going to realize the capitalist ideal of mutuality between worker and business owner when he’s got a police force on his side?  Yet again, it’s not the market that fails us, but the government.)

Protesters are arrested in places where public access laws otherwise obtain, but we do not live in a police State.

Cops are trained to give citizens the impression that they are required to remain at the scene when in fact they might not be, but we do not live in a police State.  They are trained to snag people in the midst of routine questioning, but we do not live in a police State.

A Philadelphia jury was selected through the litmus test of being ultimately willing to give an accused cop killer the death penalty, but we have fair trials and do not live in a police State.

The cops shoot harmless black labs to death in suburban Washington, DC, attack ambulance drivers while on duty, and taser old women, but we do not live in a police State.

Abraham Lincoln, Woodrow Wilson, and George W. Bush all suspended habeas corpus, but we live in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, not a police State.

The freedom of speech does not really exist because of the Smith Act, the Espionage Act, and perhaps even the Patriot Act, but don’t worry, the government will only limit speech within “reason.”  After all, we do not live in a police State.

Doubtless the reader has by now apprehended my ironical tone of voice.  Maybe we don’t, in fact, live in a police State.  I am, after all, a jackass, and could very well be wrong.  Nevertheless, how could the foregoing give us any comfort?  You see, if I, in maintaining that we do live in a police State, am wrong, I am merely a fool or a crank.  Someone else, however, in maintaining that none of these things portends trouble, becomes an enabler, an apologist of an approach to civic order that dangerously impinges upon freedom.

There is more.  We must never forget that a government, though it be large and powerful, is still executed by mere mortals—other jackasses just like me.  It is a force that some argue is necessary, but even if it is (and as frequent readers know, this is a notion that I am not prepared to accept), it must be watched carefully, for it is prone to all the foolishness and cruelty that are intrinsic to human nature.  I would always rather err on the side of limiting such a malevolent apparatus.

Can There Be an “After Socialism”?

Professor Alan Kors of the University of Pennsylvania has written a fantastic essay entitled, “Can There Be an “After Socialism”? I am indebted to a friend who is a former student of the professor’s for having called this article to my attention.  Laying aside any quibbling that could possibly be engaged in concerning peripheral matters, this is perhaps one of the best concise defenses of the free market—and one of the most damning condemnations of collectivism—that I’ve read.  It can be read in one sitting, and the rhetoric is excellent.

It speaks for itself.  Take and read.

What is a Rogue State?

A few days ago, I was flipping through the TV channels looking for something interesting to watch between football games.  Golf just doesn’t do it for me.  I zoomed past C-SPAN, which can be interesting at times, even if it’s also annoying.  I was on this channel long enough to hear some Republican congressman whipper-snapper use the term “rogue state.”

“What is a rogue state?” I thought to myself.  In the eyes of the U.S. government, a rogue state is a government that enjoys a monopoly on violence which refuses to do the bidding of America.  Certain governments are not allowed to do what all governments naturally do:  make weapons, enforce monopolies, engage in conquest, etc.  These governments are referred to as rogue states by the arrogant quacks who run the American machine.

In essence, however, the “good governments” are no worse than the bad ones.  They use the same monopoly on violence to drive weaker nations and peoples into submission.  A rogue state has simply suffered the misfortune of getting on the bad side of the sanctimonious oligarchs in Washington, DC.  Many of these “rogue states” were victims of American baiting and switching.  Saddam Hussein, were he still alive, would be able to testify to this.

A more basic question, however, is, What is a rogue?  A rogue is a criminal, a thief, gangster, mobster, murderer, etc.  So are all governments.  They steal the money of innocent civilians under threat of penalty as if the fruits of a man’s labor are not his own; force young men into military service as if the bodies of the citizenry are owned by the state; erode private property rights almost to the point of meaninglessness; go on conquest to enforce oil monopolies; and install puppet governments in far away lands against the consent of the people who live there.

In other words, all states are rogue states.  To use this term is redundant; it is like saying “yellow canary” or “red cardinal.”  The politicians get away with it, however, because most of us are unwilling to re-examine the assumptions that were taught to us in school.  Recently Sen.Harry Reid claimed that taxation is “voluntary.”  There should have been protests everywhere, but the remark went nearly unnoticed.  If memory serves, not even Matt Drudge took note of it.

The sad part of this whole story of “man’s inhumanity to man,” as Ronald Reagan called it, is that this kind of violence reigns on the throne of human ignorance and indifference.  If even a tithe of the citizenry were wide awake, most of the awfulness we see today wouldn’t be happening.  This leads to the most sobering lesson of all:  Most countries end up with the government they deserve.

America: Not good enough to get upset

When I was in college, I had a classmate who loved to unleash melodious, profanity-laced tirades whenever he didn’t play up to his own standards.  He was famous for this.  One day, while playing for one of the conservatory’s more notoriously tough professors, he did this.  The professor was not impressed.  He said to the student, “You’re not good enough to get upset.”

Not good enough to get upset.  I try to remember this whenever I have  a bad run a day or so after drinking too much beer or eating too much cake.  The contemporary tendency is to lean toward a megalomania which is encouraged by the empty-headed self-esteem that is taught in most places these days.  This encourages an attitude of entitlement, which is certainly a dangerous thing.  I can tell you that my worst performances as a musician have come at times when I thought that fate somehow owed me a better showing than I had earned through my own efforts.

You’re not good enough to get upset.  There is more than one sports star that could benefit from hearing this, and more than a million people glued to ESPN who pick up on the childish behaviors of these stars and translate them to everyday life, where the rest of us are left to dealing with it all.

Another parallel jumps out at me, though.  It relates, of course, to politics.  Right now, America is dealing with a lot of things that suck:  a poor economy, fascistic and socialistic dilutions of the free market, two failing wars—one of which is completely illegal and the other of which is utterly ill-advised, a political system which has descended into epithet-exchanges, an increasingly debased language (and I’m not talking about profanity), and a whole host of other things which presage the imminent collapse of this society.

The truth of the matter is that we had all of this coming to us, one way or another.  The Federal Reserve, the New Deal, borrowing money from China, and widespread deficit spending have visited economic disaster upon us.  American imperialism, snot-nosed self-righteousness, Messiah complexes (beginning not with Obama but with Wilson and championed by Bush the Lesser), and the like have have gotten us embroiled in a shaky situation that threatens the peace and well-being of most of the world.  Parents and their children stare at idiot boxes for hours a day, while the average American reads less than four books a year—and who knows what the exact quality of these books really are.

And after all of this, we have the stubbornness and stupidity to shrug our shoulders and wonder why we’re in such bad shape these days and to insist, illogically, that we deserve better.  We have, quite simply, asked for it, and we have no right to be upset about it.  America has been sucking and rewarding mediocrity and downright corruption for years, and a situation like that cannot last forever.  We are dealing with the consequences of a century of stupidity.  Much human breath is expended upon America’s ability to regain the good will of the rest of the world, but a worse problem remains:  We have to rebuild a society that has been existing for a hundred years on false pretenses.  This is not going to be pretty.

Money, the root of all virtue

A few days ago, I was having lunch in my usual place when another customer walked in.  He was a bit strange, kind of hard to understand, and maybe a bit rude and demanding to the workers.  Nevertheless, his needs were met, and everything worked itself out smoothly.

We often hear ridiculous sayings such as that “Money is the root of all evil,” but these are naive.  The root of all evil is human nature, which is often hampered by a myopic stupidity.  A perfectly good example of this is the attitude that money is, in fact, the source of iniquity.  Greed causes us to do horrible things with money sometimes, and it would be foolish to pretend that such things do not happen.  But is money the real cause of this?

Consider all this in light of my experience at lunch the other day.  The merchant-customer relationship is not one of power and servitude, but rather one of mutuality:  the customer wants  a sandwich, and the merchant wants a livelihood.  Each helps to provide to the other what he needs.  This results in a very wonderful thing:  tolerance.  I know many fine business owners who are very nice to me when I patronize them who probably wouldn’t have a beer with me if I paid them a million dollars—and vice versa, for that matter.  This is not to be lamented.  The fact is that we can provide for each other’s needs, and so we bear with whatever annoys us about the other person.

What could be a better illustration of the peace which free trade promotes?  War is not trade, but rather organized usurpation run by the tyrants of the world and paid for with the blood of the handsome sons of our best mothers.  Tolerance and co-existence are not spread by fiat, or by force, or even by a morbid self-sacrifice, but rather by a mutuality, by the realization that we need each other.  Economic exchange helps us all to realize this more clearly.

Sometimes I think this truth is too simple for many people to accept. Virtue is supposed to be a product of “doing your duty” or of somehow suffering miserably, but in reality fraternity is nurtured by equality, by helping each other achieve the needs that we have, and no other system has proven to be better at this than the free market.

Imagine, for a moment, the reverse situation.  The sandwich shop is not a business operating on the free market, but instead is a government bread distribution center in a socialist milieu.  The “customer” does not go there because he would like to, but rather because he must; and the “merchant” is simply a bureaucrat who is under orders to give the “customer” whatever has been determined is his “right” to have in this society void of markets and indirect means of exchange (money).   This creates an environment of entitlement on the part of the “customer” and of pure duty on the part of the “merchant.”  The mutual benefit is gone.  There is no incentive for each to get along with the other.  Moreover, arguments ensue about how much each person or family is entitled to have, etc.  This is a recipe for conflict, even for all-out violence.

We human beings have a tendency to see money flowing out of our hands like water through a grate, or we observe questionable behavior and wonder who has bribed whom, and we assume that maybe money is the root of all evil.  But the devil—or, rather, in this case, the angel—is in the details.  Every time you make a purchase, you are making a decision, as is the merchant every morning when he re-opens his shop and welcomes you in.  The “thank-yous” exchanged at the end of a transaction are more than perfunctory, or at least they should be.

Remember this the next time some jackass starts complaining about wealth and how filthy it is.  Yes, there are evil rich people, but I have also known dishonest poor people.  The problem is human nature, not money.  If anything, money mitigates the bad aspects of our flawed constitution, taking our selfishness and turning it into a veritable good for all parties involved in any given exchange.

Hell, Laundromats, and Capitalism

I remember as a small child the family washer and dryer would occasionally be under the weather, so off we went to the local laundromat.  It was a dreadful affair, and probably even worse for my mother, who had to deal with a four-year-old’s curiosities about the most mundane of things—how dryers work, etc., not to mention that four-year-old’s favorite question in general:  ”Why?“

Since moving to Philadelphia I have gone back to laundromat hell after many years of blessed absence, but I try to go as infrequently as possible.  At this time of year, I run without a shirt, no matter the weather, just to make the laundry cycle ever so longer.  (This upsets the prudes in the neighborhood, but they’re just jealous.)  Last night, there was no more lengthening which could be done.  I had to go to laundromat hell.

The first rule of doing laundry in a public place is to do it as far into the dark night as possible because there will be fewer people, and especially fewer running, screaming children—and there will be no soap operas on the boob tubes.  I pulled into the parking lot and found only two cars.  Good start.  Inside I went, only to discover that all the single load washers had been taken out.  This was a problem; I had three single loads of completely different colors:  black, white, and red, which certainly should not be mixed, unless one is a fan of a kind of non-descript, vomit-like purple.  So I put three single loads into double-load machines, and dropped nine bucks just on getting a modest amount of fabric washed.  I got over that and went to the soda machine.  It wouldn’t take my dollar bills.  Went for a stroll around the block to see if there were any convenience stores.  Nada.  Finally I got smart and used the quarter machine, but at the risk of running out of small bills to put onto my “Smart Card,” which is only smart if you’re the business owner who gets to keep the customer’s money whether or not he uses up the whole card.  I decided to take my chances; I needed caffeine.  (Notes on the machines, BTW, claimed that the business was not responsible for money lost therein.  Bienvenuto!)

Time for a break.  I had taken my iPod and a book, but South Park was on.  The only problem was that this particular television was in front of those cheap automatic massage chairs that old folks like to test out at the local shopping mall.  I didn’t want any massage, but I decided to sit in one of them anyway; what are the chances that anyone whom I respect will come waltzing through the doors of this particular facility at such an hour of the night?  My feet had barely begun to enjoy the respite when I heard some sort of electronic mumble come from behind me somewhere.  It sounded like Charlie Brown’s elementary school teacher.  The noise repeated itself, but I was in denial about the message.  The third time there was no mistaking it: “Please insert money.  Please insert money.  Please insert money.”  Good grief!  You can’t even sit down for free at the laundromat anymore.

Immediately, without having to search for it, I recalled a conversation I had with my friend Jeffrey Tucker some years ago.  ”Michael, Michael!” he said in his characteristic rapid delivery, “no one has ever claimed that capitalists aren’t crooks; the point is that the customers don’t want them to be.”  Quite true.  I got up from the chair.  I’ll be damned if I pay to sit down, even if South Park is on.  I found a corner, turned on my iPod, and slogged through the rest of the laundry, over-priced load by over-priced load.   I kept listening to my iPod while tolerating the tornado-like noises of poorly maintained equipment.  ”This would make a good prototype for Hell,” I thought to myself.

Then the dryer malfunctioned halfway through my job.  Switched dryers.  Finished.  Got the hell out of there.  What a racket!  No wonder the place was a ghost town when I got there.  I, the customer, have survived a run-in with an entrepreneurial snake, but I won’t solve the problem by calling the Better Business Bureau.  Rather, I’ll simply use the age-old, tried and true method:  I’ll go somewhere else.

For now, however, the biggest conundrum remains:  What in the world am I supposed to do with one green shirt and one orange shirt?

NEA: Propaganda Tool?

Drudge linked to this blog today, from Patrick Courrieiche, who is involved in the arts community and recently took part in a conference call in which the NEA was dangling proposals in front of artists to get them involved in the political process through their work, i.e., by making art which promotes a particular agenda.

I told you so.

A tribute to the family doctor

In light of the ongoing healthcare debate — or what passes for one, anyway — I thought I’d share with people a tribute to a practitioner of healthcare of a bygone era, who happens to be the father of my pastor. This reprint from the Congressional Record, Vol. 136, No. 69. was on the back cover of the program for his Funeral Mass, celebrated earlier today by his son. Many lessons to be learned here, and not just by doctors. (Granted, this tribute was proclaimed on taxpayer dime, but still…)

A Tribute to Dr. John McCartney
Hon. Stephen J. Solarz
of New York
in the House of Representatives

Tuesday, June 5, 1990

Mr. Speaker, I rise today to pay tribute to Dr. John J. McCartney, standard-bearer for a vanishing breed, the family doctor.

Dr. McCartney, whose 44 years of service to my constituents has coincided with many of the greatest medical advances of our age, began his practice shortly before the end of World War II. Now, after delivering legions of babies and making scores of house calls, Dr. McCartney has finally hung up his stethoscope and retired.

Alexis De Tocqueville once said, “The health of a democratic society may be measured by the quality of the functions of its private citizens.” Though I’m sure Dr. McCartney would probably shrug off such a haughty statement, this characterization of him is on the mark.

From the beginning, Dr. McCartney took pains to be something more than an average physician. His house calls, a rarity in and of themselves, often turned into car rides to the local hospital. After seeing his patient settled into the hospital, most of the time Dr. McCartney would smile and say, “You’ll be getting enough bills from the other doctors, don’t worry about me.”

A member of my staff, a lifelong Greenpoint resident, spoke to me recently about Dr. McCartney’s attitude toward nighttime emergencies. “Dr. McCartney was different than other doctors.” She said, “Many was the time that one of my children was sick in the middle of the night, and I called his service. Dr. McCartney always called back immediately; he was never angry or impatient. He was always concerned. Among the worried mothers of Greenpoint, he’ll be missed.”

In a community endowed with few Rockefellers, Dr. McCartney never pressured his patients to pay him. Many seniors and parents of large families knew if they didn’t have the money, they still could call their doctor in an emergency. Furthermore, his presence extended far beyond the parameters of his office on Leonard Street. After a patient dies, Dr. McCartney was sure to keep in touch with the family, checking up on people, providing support and advice. Just tracking down one’s doctor can be a torturous experience for most people. In Greenpoint, Dr. McCartney’s patients often heard from him. When was the last time your doctor called you to find out how you were doing?

As Dr. McCartney closes his practice to take his long-deserved retirement, he leaves behind him a trail of stories that mothers will tell to their kids for years to come. Across dozens of kitchen tables throughout Greenpoint, mothers and grandparents will tell stories about the close calls, the sleepless nights, the cold compresses and aspirins cut in half that was part of their lives. And rest assured, in the course of these reminiscenses, Dr. McCartney will play a prominent role.

On behalf of all those he helped, counseled, and cared about during his 44 years of service to Greenpoint, I pay tribute to Dr. John J. McCartney, a man who healed the sick on their terms. Thanks, Dr. McCartney.

The Book Bomb To End the Fed — LewRockwell.com

Here’s a shameless plug for a web campaign I helped create for LewRockwell.com:

The BOOK BOMB To END THE FED — Now until Sept. 16

Clicking on the link above will take you to the promo page, where you can read about the effort and from there pre-order your own copy of the book while helping out LewRockwell.com in the process. You may also directly access the pre-order page here.

LewRockwell.com also is offering, through Sept. 13, two complimentary chapters of End the Fed to those who sign up to receive them via e-mail. The sign-up form is also on the End the Fed book bomb page.