"Over the past 21 terms, the closest any member of the court got to Justice Jackson’s loquaciousness was Justice Stephen G. Breyer..."

"... who was famous for unspooling elaborate hypothetical questions featuring flights of fancy like marshmallow guns (in a case about attempted robbery) and tomato children (in a case about a federal drug law). Still, Justice Breyer... uttered an average of 818 words, or roughly two thirds as many as Justice Jackson [who averages 1263 words]. The runner-up to Justice Jackson in the four years since she joined the court... is Justice Sonia Sotomayor, at 791 words. His colleagues treated Justice Breyer’s professorial digressions with bemused tolerance. Justice Jackson’s extended questioning, by contrast, has been a source of annoyance to some of the other justices, The New York Times reported last October...."

Writes Adam Liptak, in "How a Covid-Era Scramble Transformed Supreme Court Arguments/Live audio, a new format and new voices have transformed and unsettled the court’s signature public ceremony" (NYT gift link).

Liptak offers 3 reasons why Justice Jackson seizes the opportunity to speak far more than anyone else and in defiance of clearly expressed annoyance: 1. She developed her style as a trial judge, the only judge in the courtroom, 2. Her side of the Court is outnumbered, 3. As the junior member of the Court, she's forced to go last when the Justices speak in order of seniority.

Jackson's outsized role at oral argument is so extreme, and so much attention has been paid to it. Clearly, she's choosing it, in spite of the criticism and even disdain and ridicule. She must believe she's doing exactly the right thing. Perhaps she views her contribution as proportionate if you measure not by the number of Justices but by the weight and power of the ideas they represent.

"This is not the first midcentury, middle-America food craze to find new life online: Jell-O molds, 1970s-era desserts and 1970s-themed dinner parties..."

"... have all made unexpected comebacks. That’s all 'packaged-food cuisine' born of the hyper-consumerism of the 1950s.... For some, the box mixes and cans — triumphs of postwar prosperity — are a rosy portal to an imagined 'simpler time' of family dinners and easy living. 'That is nostalgia for America,' she said. 'That is our national comfort food.'"

From "Watergate Salad Makes a Comeback/The 1970s-era dish made with pistachio pudding mix, canned pineapple and mini marshmallows has caught the curious eye of the TikTok generation" (NYT).

It's absurd that something embodying nostalgia for a lost culture should bear the name "Watergate." But the nostalgia is felt by young people today, who don't mind mixing the 50s, 60s, and 70s together, not like us Boomers who think the early 60s, mid-60s, and late 60s were distinctly different eras and have long indulged in the deep, mystic belief that the first few years of the 70s were the real 60s.

And maybe there is nostalgia for the Watergate scandal. Maybe it seems poignant and delicate compared to the scandals of today... and even for Nixon. My son Chris — who is reading a biography of each American President — texted me about Nixon recently — somewhat jocosely — "Nixon is underrated. He was liberal!/Got more done for progressive causes than democrats do today." 

Anyway, the nostalgia for lost mid-century America is about far more than food. There's a sense that people lived more rewarding, warm, and loving lives back then. Here's something I saw on TikTok the other day. Let me know how it made you feel or, better yet, if you are not young, show it to someone young and ask them how it makes them feel:

If you're going to make up fake stories for the internet.

Make them like this.

IN THE COMMENTS: Martin L. Shoemaker says:

It's fake? I don't see where it says that.

Well, first of all, if it were fake, it wouldn't say it's fake. And the news site passing a story along might not realize it's fake. But, as I say in the comments:

I didn't say it was fake. I have no idea. But it has a distinct whiff of fakery about it. Enough that I'm not trusting it. Maybe it's true. How the hell would you know?

I'm just saying this is the kind of story I like to see, so if you're going to make fake news stor[ies], make stories that bring us together and inspire us to be kinder and more inclusive.

If these nice people in the story — the white grandma and the young black man she accidentally texted an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner — really had the experience depicted at the link, then that's just lovely. Nothing against them, of course. I liked it. I liked it so much I had to be skeptical that I'm being fed fluff, marshmallow fluff. Mmm. Dollop some of that on the sweet potatoes. I'm coming over.

What's wrong with "Meet the Press" is "The Problem (Ray and I Will Be Fixing This Morning)."

Emails the Crack Emcee, alerting us to the new episode of Uncle Ray's "Psychedelic Soul" — [listen live]—  and linking to this Slate piece by David Weigel called "Will.i.am is Not What’s Wrong With Meet the Press."

On the radio show, they're counting down Ray's top albums, and we're starting with #38 N.W.A., "Straight Outta Compton," so language alert (I guess!). You can see the list by scrolling way down here, so Bob Marley, Van Halen, Stevie Wonder, U2, and Jimi Hendrix will be up soon enough.

As for "Meet the Press," somehow I didn't get to it yesterday, but Will.i.am was on. I had it on my DVR along with the other Sunday shows, but this week I watched "Fox News Sunday" and quit. Had to go sit on a rock amidst the trout lilies and consider what Jesus said about soul.

("Lynch mob... macabre..." That was a good rhyme.)

The Jesus quotes with "soul" are:

At the Dessert Café...

... dig in!

Me and Meade in Bachelor Gulch with Bachelor (the dog).

Caption contest:



(I swear I did not retouch the expression on the dog's face.)

I have many other pictures of Meade and the dog — whose name is Bachelor — but this one came up with a hilarious expression that had me thinking of the famous Obama ass-gawk photo. A camera can catch a single instant that gives an impression that something happened that no one actually present and viewing the whole scene in real time would have perceived.

The dog and Meade actually got along tremendously well. The dog liked me too, see:



Now, how did we get a dog? The hotel has a dog that you can borrow for walks — it's a "Loan-a-Lab program." Here's the hotel, nestled in Bachelor Gulch:



So, what's the story with the name "Bachelor Gulch"?

The lush mountain valley known as Bachelor Gulch rises out of the Eagle River Valley, home to the Rocky Mountain towns of Vail, Avon and Edwards. From the Ute Indians who originally settled in the “Shining Mountains” and western valleys of Colorado to a group of spry old bachelors in the early 1900s whose namesake remains, “Bachelor Gulch” as it became known has always been home to many memorable residents. The legends and lore of these bachelors became the inspiration for the secluded mountain resort and the surrounding community on Beaver Creek Mountain.

Many of these original bachelors were miners who first came to Colorado in search of silver and other precious ore. They settled in Bachelor Gulch in search of a better way of life and because they were able to purchase land, which was made possible by the Homestead Act of 1862. Seven of these most colorful men who settled The Gulch were John Anderson, Gunder “Gundy” Berg, Ed Howard, Charley Mays, John Mertz, Ferdinand Smith and Carrothers – a man whom so little is known about that he’s only recognized by his last name in historical references.

John Anderson’s original cabin can still be found around the corner from The Ritz-Carlton Hotel on Daybreak Ridge. Berg’s and Mertz’s homesteads no longer stand, but the stories of these bachelors holding court at the general store while children raced their horses down the street for their entertainment are legendary. Howard was deaf and it was said that a crowing Rooster perched atop his bedpost couldn’t wake him from his sleep. Smith was actually nicknamed Crippled Smith as Smith was lame – so that people would not confuse him with another Smith who lived up the Valley. Charley Mays was the favorite of the local children, making them lunch pails from his tobacco cans. The area’s most elusive bachelor Carrothers, local lore recounts only as having poor eyesight and making bad decisions as a result.

The bachelors stayed in the area until the 1920s when high altitude lettuce farming or “green gold” took root in Bachelor Gulch. The next generation of homesteaders found an easier way of life in the mountains, making a good living by growing lettuce. The climate was ideal and the soil was very rich with nutrients. However, the Great Depression of the 1930s affected the farmers who sold their land to two local ranchers who used the area for herding cattle and grazing sheep. The land remained privately owned for nearly 40 years until the vision for Bachelor Gulch as a vacation resort began to form.

So what do you think: an early gay community? "Spry" ≈ gay. And, of course, "bachelor" ≈ gay.

***

Hotel footnote: The Ritz Carlton is a pretty cool place to stay. We enjoyed toasting marshmallows in the firepit and eating our way through the tasting menu at Spago — among many other things.