Happy New Year

In the nearly eight years of the Balcony’s existence, I don’t think I’ve ever posted a holiday message. I’m too cynical for that sort of thing, generally speaking, and besides, this isn’t that kind of blog. I’m amazed that anyone actually reads my self-indulgent and turgid rantings, and particularly amazed that so many people outside the United States do.

Here’s to you, folks, wherever you are in this insane and perplexing world, short and sweet – Happy New Year.

Peace!

Goodbye, Santa

The silliest day of the season comes to a merciful end, though the lights on our tree flicker, and the inflatable Santa in the front yard stands at attention, as proud as he was on Christmas Eve. The recycle bin is full of flattened cartons and crumpled wrapping paper; the care that goes into selecting gifts, hiding them from the kids, and then wrapping them far exceeds the minute or so it takes to open them.

Hours of preparation for a minute of glory.

I haven’t kept up with the news of late, opting instead for a collection of essays by Gore Vidal, so I can only assume the nation remains poised to tumble over the fiscal cliff, and that president Obama will find a way to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. When it comes to dealing with a dysfunctional and dim-witted congress, our president lacks killer instinct; the minute he puts his opponent on the canvas, cut, bleeding and dazed, he loses his nerve and stops attacking. Obama’s mercy is misplaced; if the tables were turned, John Boehner and his GOP cronies would pulverize Obama’s skull with a claw hammer. 

I wonder if the United States, France and England will become entangled in Syria in 2013. That report a few weeks back about Syria’s biological weapons seemed a harbinger of major power involvement, a convenient pretext to gin up the NATO war machine. Global powers need enemies, and though that report hit the news media and vanished, like the trial balloon I suspect that it was, I wonder if Syria will be transformed into a significant threat to its neighbors. Although the ruling regime has its hands full on its home turf, I’m sure Turkey can be convinced to quake in its sandals in exchange for US, French and British military hardware.

But what do I know of geopolitical scheming and intrigue, the calculations taking place in foreign capitols? I’m just an average guy, father of two, husband of one, trying to make ends meet, do as little harm to myself and others as possible, watch my favorite soccer clubs (Chelsea and Liverpool) when I can, and spend more time reading than staring at the drivel that spills from the TV. Admittedly, I’m mired in the mundane, pedestrian, unexciting grind of a middle-aged existence.

Youth is fleeting, my friends.

Some nitwits here on the fruited plain believe that placing loaded firearms in the hands of schoolteachers is a brilliant idea and defense against future mass shootings. Outside this violent nation I’m sure this notion is greeted with derision. I admire public school teachers – the ones I know personally are dedicated, concerned for and committed to the wellbeing of children -- but I do not want them anywhere near loaded firearms. The public stance of the NRA is shameful, yet typical; when criticized, launch an all-out PR campaign attacking one’s attackers. Call into question their love of freedom and devotion to the spirit of the constitution; assert from the rooftops that the solution to America’s gun problem is not fewer guns in fewer hands, but more guns in more hands. Arm everyone! Doctors, lawyers, nurses, bus drivers, plumbers, cooks, maids, babysitters and Wal-Mart greeters! 

What the NRA is doing is like the GOP calling for deeper tax cuts and harsher austerity as a way of jump-starting the economy, even though this formula has failed miserably for all but the super wealthy.

What’s the old saying? – the thinking that landed us in the grip of these problems cannot get us out of them, or something to that effect. 

The wind has picked up, agitating the chimes on our deck. Out the front window I see the inflatable Santa, listing to one side like an inebriated sailor on his final night in port.

Insatiable

Two days after the mass shooting in Newtown, Connecticut, my daughter, wife and I are in the Game Stop, shopping for a Wii game for our son, Epic Mickey or some such. I rarely venture into Game Stop, not being a gamer myself – except for a mild addiction to FIFA Soccer that I play on my iPad – and I was shocked by how many games are devoted to violence: Call of Duty, Gears of War, Halo 4, Dead Space, and more too numerous to mention.

It seems our appetite for make believe violence is only marginally greater than it is for the real thing. I should mention here that, although I have no desire to own, display or shoot a firearm, I’m not opposed to responsible, well-trained people owning them because these are not the people who launch rampages in movie theatres, on college campuses, and in elementary school classrooms. Outside of a firing range, these people rarely brandish or fire their weapons.

As expected, pundits, secular and otherwise, are churning out volumes about the latest American mass killing. Mainstream media outlets speak less about the politics of guns and more about personal tragedies – the daughter who was the light in her father’s eye, the son who delighted his mother with his sense of humor.  Political considerations don’t produce the kind of engaging morning drama that rivets people to the tube – stories of overpowering loss and heartbreak do that, coping with unthinkable devastation does that, as does engaging in psychological speculation about the mind of a misfit killer.

Sandy Hook Elementary school will never be the same any more than Aurora, Colorado will be the same, or Oklahoma City or Oak Creek, Wisconsin.  No matter how many prayers believers direct God’s way, the stain cannot be removed from these places.

What to say about a country where firearms are easier to come by than college loans; and the political class devotes trillions of dollars to war or war-making potential; and the economic system promotes cut-throat, deadly competition that reduces most citizens to desperate serfdom;  and access to decent, affordable health care is a privilege of wealth rather than a right of citizenship; and members of our all-voluntary military are called “warriors” and “heroes,”; and our government launches drone strikes against unarmed and innocent civilians; and that same government props up dictators with cash and weapons for decades; and our local police are militarized as if the citizenry are poised to revolt. What to say?

I have no fucking idea.

Do you?

Shooting to Kill

Another mass shooting in America.

We adore our firearms.

Another disturbed man with semi-automatic weapons launches a rampage, killing his own mother, more than a dozen innocent children, and then himself. His motive is unknown. His weaponry was purchased legally.

Movie theatre. Shopping mall. Elementary school.

After the fact, our leaders and pundits wring their hands, call for action but when all the noise subsides, business will continue as usual. Politicians quake before the lobbying power of the NRA. Gun advocates frame the argument as “Gun Rights” instead of “Gun Control.” The venerable Second Amendment to the United States Constitution is trotted out as proof that Americans have an inalienable right to arm themselves to the teeth.

Nothing will change. We know that. We’ve seen this before, the grieving survivors, the TV psychologists, the politicians who claim that guns don’t kill people – people do. But if these people didn’t have such easy access to semi-automatic weapons or military-style weapons, they wouldn’t be able to kill ten or fifteen or twenty people in a fell swoop.

Movie theatre. Shopping mall. Elementary school.

If a public conversation comes, it will quickly descend into the usual arguments pushed by the usual advocates; what the president means by “meaningful action” will be parsed until it means nothing, and when both sides are finished spinning, the public will be confused and dazed, divided into opposing camps, until the next mass killing when this impotent process repeats itself. 

Colon Blow

A colonoscopy is a ritual for those of us over fifty. Had mine this morning. I’m struck by how the preparation the day before is more odious than the actual procedure. Drinking what feels like a gallon of Moviprep solution is no joy – the stuff tastes awful, especially at 4:00 a.m., which is when I started drinking my second dose. Once I was on the gurney with some Demerol on board, not a care. Nurses Diana, Sabrina and Sally were brisk and professional, efficient but not impersonal; my heart rate never rose above 55 and my blood pressure stayed low. My doctor was the same man who did my first colonoscopy three and a half years ago, and when I jokingly asked if his skills had slipped in that time he said, “The day I feel that I’m not getting better is the day I call it a career.” He actually whistled while he manipulated the scope.

Hot damn! It’s groovy when things work as they should, unfold according to plan, and the actors follow the script. Into the Ambulatory Surgical Center at 7:30 in the morning, out at 9:15 or so, no complications, apparent tumors or other abnormalities, a mellow high from the Demerol, and my wife waiting for me in the recovery room.

Thinking of my rectum in particular and assholes in general leads to thoughts of the so-called Fiscal Cliff, the looming disaster that will strike unless congressional Republicans and President Obama reach an accord on taxes and spending cuts. The battle lines are familiar: John Boehner and his band of acolytes demand that tax cuts for the wealthy remain in place, forever and ever, while “entitlement” programs must be slashed for the sake of future generations; President Obama wants to let tax cuts for the wealthy expire and take a less blunt object to what remain of American social programs. Both parties are under the thrall of deficit hawks. Every morning on Good Morning America, after lively banter about William & Kate’s pregnancy, a breathless report from outside the hospital where Kate is being treated for acute nausea, and the same stock footage of William stepping out of a Land Rover and ducking into the building, comes an update on the Fiscal Cliff.

We are told the parties are miles apart and making no progress whatsoever, while the clock continues to tick, louder and louder, until --what? Automatic tax increases and horrific cuts to federal spending that will affect seniors, toddlers, defense contractors, airline passengers, students, horses, dogs, cats, etc. It’s an epic showdown, Boehner against Obama, vanquished against victor – and it’s all gloom and doom playing out against the backdrop of the happiest season of the year. The agony, the horror, the cliff! What happens if the country tumbles over?

Not much, most likely. The Cliff is really a Curb, and the “crisis” is wholly manufactured to appear more than it is, to make drama where there should be none at all. Social Security does not cause deficits any more than tax cuts for the wealthy create jobs for the middle class and the poor; raising taxes will not squelch our economic recovery, such as it is; these arguments are tired, and false.

I suspect that average folks, like myself, are more concerned about the security of our jobs, the high cost of college for our kids, and $500 medical co-pays like the one I paid this morning.