New essay at the Daily Kos:
http://www.dailykos.com/storyonly/2009/1/24/101047/798/78/688449
When I was a young, broke but care-free philosopher in the University
of Arkansas, hanging out with poets, working at a red-neck bar for
beer money, and fancying myself a writer, I worried a lot. The bar had
a big red button behind the counter, right above a double-barrel,
twelve gage shot gun. I was told it was loaded with rock salt.
Pressing the red button killed the juke box and called the cops. I
only had to use those bar-back tools once, then promptly quit.