Orlando, Florida, Gingrich 2012 Campaign HQ
The mood in the Gingrich campaign isn’t as upbeat as it was immediately after the South Carolina primary. Mitt Romney regained his footing after the last debate and once again looks like the presumptive GOP nominee.
Despite being despised and mistrusted by many members of his own party, Romney has opened a double digit lead over Gingrich in Florida.
Helping Romney’s cause is the fact that the GOP establishment -- or what remains of it, anyway -- hates Newt Gingrich with passion and prejudice. Bob Dole, a relic of the Establishment, always believed that Gingrich was a crackpot and a megalomaniac -- and now he’s not afraid to say so publicly. “Oh sure,” Dole said the other day, “Gingrich had a lot of ideas when he served in Congress -- and every one was nutty. He was never as smart as he thought he was, and all his grandstanding and grandiosity pissed off a lot of people. If he’s the nominee, the GOP is dead meat come November.”
Gingrich’s campaign staff play it close to the vest most of the time, but late at night, after a couple of rounds of drinks, when only the most intrepid reporters are still around, they let down their guard. While there are a few true believers in the group, most of the staff thinks Gingrich is full of shit, arrogant, and living in his own fantasy world where people like him get elected president.
“He’s serious about colonizing the moon,” one staffer said in the bar of the Sheraton. It was past 1:00 a.m. and the guy looked fried, like he’d been mainlining Red Bull for days. “Newt’s plan is to colonize and then send our illegal aliens and undesirables up there, in the same way Britain once sent convicts to Australia. Newt’s nuts, man.”
“The other day,” another chimed in, “Newt walked in and stood in the middle of the office and apropos of nothing announced, and I quote: ‘I am the smartest man in America and one of the great minds in the history of the world. I consider myself the equal of Aristotle and Plato and far superior to Socrates, and it’s a surprise to me -- truly a surprise -- that no sculptor has come forward to render my likeness in marble or granite. That will change when I’m elected president. The White House grounds will be peppered with statues of me.’ And then he turned around and left. How fucking bizarre is that?”
Nobody is willing to talk in detail, on or off the record, about Newt’s wife, Calista, though rumor has it that by comparison Calista makes Hillary Clinton look friendly and warm.
A female staffer looked up from her iPad and said, “The word is that Newt likes his sex kinky. He dresses like Julius Caesar and Calista like a slave girl, and they play out scenes involving leather restraints and oversized dildos. There’s videotape, apparently.”
It’s a weird vibe for sure, and South Carolina feels like a long time ago. National political campaigns are always strange, part circus, part revival meeting, part freak show. The candidate is “on” twenty-four hours a day, the pace is exhausting, and the news cycle short and unforgiving. A candidate as voluble as Gingrich is always one slip of the tongue away from disaster.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Rise of the Toad
I’ll be damned if the Human Toad (Newt Gingrich) didn’t win the South Carolina GOP popularity contest, easily besting Mitt “Easy Money” Romney. Now the Toad is atop this sad heap of would-be rulers and heading to Florida with what the politicos like to call the Big Mo’.
If the Toad appears capable to a segment of the Republican base it’s only because Easy Money is so incredibly wooden on the campaign trail, and so totally out of step with the people of this country. Referring to more than $350,000 in speaking fees (nine speeches in all) as chump change -- not that Romney said it quite like that, but the way he brushed off the income as almost not worth counting, like finding a couple of dollars in quarters between the sofa cushions -- is damned insulting when millions of Americans are struggling to put enough food on their tables.
Romney clearly doesn’t get it, and neither does the Toad -- the Toad is simply better at appealing to the baser instincts of his audience.
An egomaniacal crackpot without peer, the Toad treated his marriage vows like political promises, and did his best to have his cake (an open marriage) and eat it too (keep his mistress,) and now passes himself off as a righteous man, a reformed and rehabilitated philanderer, bathed in the light of the Catholic faith.
Make no mistake, the Toad is no stranger to hypocrisy and if the adulterer’s loafer was on Romney’s foot, you can bet the Toad would be howling about “character” from every rooftop. He’d quote Churchill, Gandhi and Rabbi Hillel on the dangers of backing a leader with questionable character.
More amusing still, Gingrich makes the incredible claim that he is a Washington DC outsider, the only candidate with sufficient independence to disrupt the culture of corruption in our capitol. Thieves, perverts, and con artists beware! Sheriff Toad is coming to town.
The claim strains credulity to the breaking point. Word to those of you not paying attention: Gingrich served in the House, and was in fact Speaker of that body, around the time P.J. O’Rourke dubbed it a Parliament of Whores. What P.J. meant was that almost every one of those so-called “public” servants was on the take in one way or another, doing political favors in exchange for campaign dough, plum private sector jobs, or sky box seats for the Super Bowl.
Not much has changed; the whores still have the run of the place.
When Gingrich left government covered by a shroud of disgrace and failure, he became a shill for private interests, using his contacts and knowledge of the political machinery to enrich his corporate clients and himself. Basically, the Toad graduated from common streetwalker to high-class hooker. Instead of servicing clients in the Men’s Room he began entertaining them in luxurious boardrooms. But let’s not split hairs here -- a blowjob is a blowjob no matter where it is administered. You can dress it up, call it fellatio, but it’s still a blowjob.
OK, glad we got that out of the way.
It doesn’t require any genius to see that the GOP is in disarray, tearing itself apart from within, lurching so far right that the party faithful would reject Dwight Eisenhower if he were running today. Gingrich is banking on naked fear to carry him along, and by that I mean the fear white people have of blacks, Mexicans, lesbians, gay men, skateboarders, transsexuals, vegans, and any person who drives a Prius.
Romney, on the other hand, believes that his business background qualifies him for the Oval Office, the theory being that he knows how to grow the economy and create jobs. While this may sound logical, it’s utterly batshit. I ask you this: after the colossal failure of corporate America during the first decade of this century, why would anyone trust a businessman?
Today the Toad may be rising, but we can take comfort in the fact that gravity is on our side.
If the Toad appears capable to a segment of the Republican base it’s only because Easy Money is so incredibly wooden on the campaign trail, and so totally out of step with the people of this country. Referring to more than $350,000 in speaking fees (nine speeches in all) as chump change -- not that Romney said it quite like that, but the way he brushed off the income as almost not worth counting, like finding a couple of dollars in quarters between the sofa cushions -- is damned insulting when millions of Americans are struggling to put enough food on their tables.
Romney clearly doesn’t get it, and neither does the Toad -- the Toad is simply better at appealing to the baser instincts of his audience.
An egomaniacal crackpot without peer, the Toad treated his marriage vows like political promises, and did his best to have his cake (an open marriage) and eat it too (keep his mistress,) and now passes himself off as a righteous man, a reformed and rehabilitated philanderer, bathed in the light of the Catholic faith.
Make no mistake, the Toad is no stranger to hypocrisy and if the adulterer’s loafer was on Romney’s foot, you can bet the Toad would be howling about “character” from every rooftop. He’d quote Churchill, Gandhi and Rabbi Hillel on the dangers of backing a leader with questionable character.
More amusing still, Gingrich makes the incredible claim that he is a Washington DC outsider, the only candidate with sufficient independence to disrupt the culture of corruption in our capitol. Thieves, perverts, and con artists beware! Sheriff Toad is coming to town.
The claim strains credulity to the breaking point. Word to those of you not paying attention: Gingrich served in the House, and was in fact Speaker of that body, around the time P.J. O’Rourke dubbed it a Parliament of Whores. What P.J. meant was that almost every one of those so-called “public” servants was on the take in one way or another, doing political favors in exchange for campaign dough, plum private sector jobs, or sky box seats for the Super Bowl.
Not much has changed; the whores still have the run of the place.
When Gingrich left government covered by a shroud of disgrace and failure, he became a shill for private interests, using his contacts and knowledge of the political machinery to enrich his corporate clients and himself. Basically, the Toad graduated from common streetwalker to high-class hooker. Instead of servicing clients in the Men’s Room he began entertaining them in luxurious boardrooms. But let’s not split hairs here -- a blowjob is a blowjob no matter where it is administered. You can dress it up, call it fellatio, but it’s still a blowjob.
OK, glad we got that out of the way.
It doesn’t require any genius to see that the GOP is in disarray, tearing itself apart from within, lurching so far right that the party faithful would reject Dwight Eisenhower if he were running today. Gingrich is banking on naked fear to carry him along, and by that I mean the fear white people have of blacks, Mexicans, lesbians, gay men, skateboarders, transsexuals, vegans, and any person who drives a Prius.
Romney, on the other hand, believes that his business background qualifies him for the Oval Office, the theory being that he knows how to grow the economy and create jobs. While this may sound logical, it’s utterly batshit. I ask you this: after the colossal failure of corporate America during the first decade of this century, why would anyone trust a businessman?
Today the Toad may be rising, but we can take comfort in the fact that gravity is on our side.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
American Mishmash
It’s been a number of years since Bob Dylan made the claim that “people are crazy & times are strange,” but the claim remains valid as ever. Here’s a case in point: according to the latest Harper’s index, today more Americans believe that human activity isn’t a cause of global warming than did so a decade ago. That’s a tribute to the power of massive PR from corporations and their media flacks and political allies. The more conclusive the science, the more industry -- and its vocal mouthpieces -- call science into question. BP is particularly masterful in this game of smoke and mirrors, having restored the Gulf of Mexico to its former condition less than a year after one of the worst oil spills in US history. What, you doubt BP’s sincerity? According to BP’s chirpy TV ads, the Gulf’s beaches are pristine, restaurants are open, restitution has been paid to anyone with a valid claim, and fish harvested from Gulf waters are free from deadly contaminants...enjoy your meal.
Moving on to more corporate manure...of late I’ve heard and seen many commercials for Anthem Blue Cross, all pumping the theme that Blue Cross is made up of kind and caring people who only have your health in mind; they have kids of their own, dreams of a healthy retirement, grandchildren and dogs, exotic birds and horses, so therefore they understand your needs. Clearly, none of these kind and caring people work in Anthem’s underwriting department, where denying care to patients is an art form. Your personal physician may possess sound medical reasons for ordering an MRI on your ailing knee, but if the underwriters at Anthem happen to be in an uncharitable mood, you can forget the MRI. Despite the self-reverent advertisements, Blue Cross is only in it for the dough. Nowhere does the average American get hosed more thoroughly than when it comes to health care. But we plow forward with our absurd, inefficient and wasteful for-profit system, paying more for treatment and medications than any other industrial nation. Bow and pay homage to the Free Market God and the angels from Big Pharma.
How many times did Madonna refer to “my film” on the Golden Globes the other night? She was nominated for a song she wrote, but in Madonna’s mind the song was an afterthought; she wanted only to talk about her film, her creation, her baby, her pride & joy. Good to know that Madonna’s ego is still intact after all these years, even though on her best day Madonna had as much talent as Lady Gaga on her worst. Lady Gaga with a wicked hangover, menstrual cramps, and an out of tune Steinway is still better than Madonna ever was. I can see why Sir Elton John was aghast, but then again, it’s the Golden Globes.
By the way, is it just me or does Angelina Jolie resemble an alien from a galaxy far, far away...?
Finally, a moment of levity from the campaign trail. Newt “The Human Toad” Gingrich’s presidential hopes were bolstered yesterday when Todd Palin, husband of Sarah, endorsed Gingrich. Wow! Talk about a seismic shift...Todd Palin is such an important political figure that his endorsement just may propel the Human Toad right to the top of the GOP heap. Perhaps Todd and the Toad will hit the campaign trail together, wow patrons of roadside diners and VFW posts with their wit and charm. I can see the reality TV show now...it will air right after My Strange Addiction...
Moving on to more corporate manure...of late I’ve heard and seen many commercials for Anthem Blue Cross, all pumping the theme that Blue Cross is made up of kind and caring people who only have your health in mind; they have kids of their own, dreams of a healthy retirement, grandchildren and dogs, exotic birds and horses, so therefore they understand your needs. Clearly, none of these kind and caring people work in Anthem’s underwriting department, where denying care to patients is an art form. Your personal physician may possess sound medical reasons for ordering an MRI on your ailing knee, but if the underwriters at Anthem happen to be in an uncharitable mood, you can forget the MRI. Despite the self-reverent advertisements, Blue Cross is only in it for the dough. Nowhere does the average American get hosed more thoroughly than when it comes to health care. But we plow forward with our absurd, inefficient and wasteful for-profit system, paying more for treatment and medications than any other industrial nation. Bow and pay homage to the Free Market God and the angels from Big Pharma.
How many times did Madonna refer to “my film” on the Golden Globes the other night? She was nominated for a song she wrote, but in Madonna’s mind the song was an afterthought; she wanted only to talk about her film, her creation, her baby, her pride & joy. Good to know that Madonna’s ego is still intact after all these years, even though on her best day Madonna had as much talent as Lady Gaga on her worst. Lady Gaga with a wicked hangover, menstrual cramps, and an out of tune Steinway is still better than Madonna ever was. I can see why Sir Elton John was aghast, but then again, it’s the Golden Globes.
By the way, is it just me or does Angelina Jolie resemble an alien from a galaxy far, far away...?
Finally, a moment of levity from the campaign trail. Newt “The Human Toad” Gingrich’s presidential hopes were bolstered yesterday when Todd Palin, husband of Sarah, endorsed Gingrich. Wow! Talk about a seismic shift...Todd Palin is such an important political figure that his endorsement just may propel the Human Toad right to the top of the GOP heap. Perhaps Todd and the Toad will hit the campaign trail together, wow patrons of roadside diners and VFW posts with their wit and charm. I can see the reality TV show now...it will air right after My Strange Addiction...
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Race to Nowhere
Mitt and Barrack. Romney versus Obama. Rich white guy against rich mixed race guy.
There’s your presidential sweepstakes match-up come November and everybody knows it, even the nitwits on Good Morning America. Gingrich and Huntsman and Ron Paul and Santorum will hang around a while longer, but when push comes to shove, Republicans will hold their noses and select Romney. Evangelical Republicans will demand that Romney throw them a bone, so Romney will come out in support of one or more of the Bible thumper’s pet issues. He will say that he has always supported this or that, even if his past statements or actions contradict his assertion.
It’s going to be a long year of political blather, and you can bet the farm that neither Obama nor Romney will say jack shit about the real issues facing our country. Persistent high unemployment. Continuing foreclosures. State budget deficits. Income inequality. Rising poverty. With Romney it will always be morning in America, while Obama will claim that if not for his crack team of ex-Clintonistas, things would be much worse than they are.
My wife watches our local ABC affiliate every morning and by default we are subjected to the GMA team -- George, Robin, Josh and Sam -- not to mention the hacks they habitually turn to for “expert” commentary and analysis. Top flight journalism it’s not, unless you happen to be a believer in corporate media, and extremely gullible to boot. I will give this group credit for being sunny and upbeat, but I can go no further than that. Most mornings they incite my inner crank and make me want to hurl a shoe through the TV.
Don’t expect Obama or Romney to challenge the stranglehold that corporations have on the country, or the fact that “predatory” capitalism doesn’t work worth a damn -- unless the goal is to enrich the few at the expense of the many. For doing that, predatory capitalism is unbeatable, and Republicans – and far too many wimpy Democrats -- have supported this atavistic version of capitalism since Reagan. But if the goal is to create a vibrant middle class, with decent jobs at living wages, with reasonable access to medical care and higher education, with due respect for the fragility of the environment, predatory capitalism isn’t the answer.
Romney claims that his experience running a venture capital firm makes him uniquely qualified to create jobs. This is one of those Republican tropes that sounds good on the morning news but means absolutely nothing in the real world. At the heart of the claim is the belief that the private sector can do no wrong, and that government is always wasteful, inefficient, and inept. The answer, of course, is to kneel before the all-powerful, infallible Market God.
There’s nothing left in the Republican economic playbook. The pages are torn and yellowed, stained with bourbon and blood. In a nutshell here’s what they’ve got: tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations, privatization of public assets, massive military spending, further deregulation, and a never-ending assault on “entitlement” programs. These ideas have failed. If you don’t believe me, look around.
Obama is vulnerable on the economy, but Republicans conveniently forget that Obama inherited an economic calamity from George W. Bush. This doesn’t excuse Obama – he’s governed far too timidly – but it does place his four years in the proper context.
Romney’s focus group tested attempts to pass himself off as a regular Joe are risible. He can roll up the sleeves on his plaid shirt all he wants, trot his wife and kids out for the obligatory photo, and eat corn on the cob with the yokels, but it cannot erase the fact that Romney is a man of privilege with a limited sense of what life is like for average folks.
The race is on, but it’s less a race to Pennsylvania Avenue than it is a race to nowhere.
There’s your presidential sweepstakes match-up come November and everybody knows it, even the nitwits on Good Morning America. Gingrich and Huntsman and Ron Paul and Santorum will hang around a while longer, but when push comes to shove, Republicans will hold their noses and select Romney. Evangelical Republicans will demand that Romney throw them a bone, so Romney will come out in support of one or more of the Bible thumper’s pet issues. He will say that he has always supported this or that, even if his past statements or actions contradict his assertion.
It’s going to be a long year of political blather, and you can bet the farm that neither Obama nor Romney will say jack shit about the real issues facing our country. Persistent high unemployment. Continuing foreclosures. State budget deficits. Income inequality. Rising poverty. With Romney it will always be morning in America, while Obama will claim that if not for his crack team of ex-Clintonistas, things would be much worse than they are.
My wife watches our local ABC affiliate every morning and by default we are subjected to the GMA team -- George, Robin, Josh and Sam -- not to mention the hacks they habitually turn to for “expert” commentary and analysis. Top flight journalism it’s not, unless you happen to be a believer in corporate media, and extremely gullible to boot. I will give this group credit for being sunny and upbeat, but I can go no further than that. Most mornings they incite my inner crank and make me want to hurl a shoe through the TV.
Don’t expect Obama or Romney to challenge the stranglehold that corporations have on the country, or the fact that “predatory” capitalism doesn’t work worth a damn -- unless the goal is to enrich the few at the expense of the many. For doing that, predatory capitalism is unbeatable, and Republicans – and far too many wimpy Democrats -- have supported this atavistic version of capitalism since Reagan. But if the goal is to create a vibrant middle class, with decent jobs at living wages, with reasonable access to medical care and higher education, with due respect for the fragility of the environment, predatory capitalism isn’t the answer.
Romney claims that his experience running a venture capital firm makes him uniquely qualified to create jobs. This is one of those Republican tropes that sounds good on the morning news but means absolutely nothing in the real world. At the heart of the claim is the belief that the private sector can do no wrong, and that government is always wasteful, inefficient, and inept. The answer, of course, is to kneel before the all-powerful, infallible Market God.
There’s nothing left in the Republican economic playbook. The pages are torn and yellowed, stained with bourbon and blood. In a nutshell here’s what they’ve got: tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations, privatization of public assets, massive military spending, further deregulation, and a never-ending assault on “entitlement” programs. These ideas have failed. If you don’t believe me, look around.
Obama is vulnerable on the economy, but Republicans conveniently forget that Obama inherited an economic calamity from George W. Bush. This doesn’t excuse Obama – he’s governed far too timidly – but it does place his four years in the proper context.
Romney’s focus group tested attempts to pass himself off as a regular Joe are risible. He can roll up the sleeves on his plaid shirt all he wants, trot his wife and kids out for the obligatory photo, and eat corn on the cob with the yokels, but it cannot erase the fact that Romney is a man of privilege with a limited sense of what life is like for average folks.
The race is on, but it’s less a race to Pennsylvania Avenue than it is a race to nowhere.
Sunday, January 08, 2012
Too Many Questions, Not Enough Answers
God doesn’t climb up to the Balcony very often. I figure the Lord (good Lord, bad Lord? I don’t know) has better things to do than visit an obscure man living quietly with his family on the California coast. But since I’ve been reading Christopher Hitchens, religion is on my mind, and I can’t help but ruminate on my own religious background and experience. Not that I can identify the year, month, week or day when the notion of a God, benevolent or otherwise, became impossible for me to accept. It must have been the moment when my questions about religion far outnumbered the answers religion offered.
I don’t believe that religious faith is a prerequisite for ethical or moral behavior in the world. Quite the contrary, some of the most unethical and immoral people can easily quote scripture, wear religious medallions, cross themselves for no particular reason or bow their heads in prayer at the dinner table, and then proceed to lie, cheat, steal and kill. Look at all the sexual scandals and child abuse episodes in the Catholic Church for a perfect illustration of my point. Priests known to the church hierarchy to be dangerous and predatory were protected rather than prosecuted.
My mother was raised a Catholic and so, carrying on the family practice, my brother and I were baptized into the faith without being consulted beforehand or given any other option. This seems cruel and unusual to me now, and is the reason my wife and I didn’t baptize our children. Having stood in the delivery room when they came into this world, all purplish-blue and covered with blood and fluid, it was perfectly clear to me that they arrived completely innocent, with no proverbial sin to pay for. When they’ve had an opportunity to consider the notion of religion for themselves they are welcome to adopt a faith and practice it. I will no doubt be disappointed if this should happen, but I won’t stand in the way or try to change their minds. If they choose to put faith in biblical fables like Adam & Eve or the Ten Commandments or Moses and the burning bush, that’s their choice, though I would obviously be far happier if they choose to believe in reason, skepticism and rational inquiry.
Religion is most obnoxious when it comes to sex. I was poking around a website called Catholic Answers and found this gem regarding contraception and procreation:
“Contraception is wrong because it’s a deliberate violation of the design God built into the human race, often referred to as "natural law." The natural law purpose of sex is procreation. The pleasure that sexual intercourse provides is an additional blessing from God, intended to offer the possibility of new life while strengthening the bond of intimacy, respect, and love between husband and wife. The loving environment this bond creates is the perfect setting for nurturing children.
But sexual pleasure within marriage becomes unnatural, and even harmful to the spouses, when it is used in a way that deliberately excludes the basic purpose of sex, which is procreation. God’s gift of the sex act, along with its pleasure and intimacy, must not be abused by deliberately frustrating its natural end—procreation.”
Well, isn’t that nice? Infantile, but very nice.
First of all, I don’t buy the proposition that God was involved in any way, shape or form in the design of the human species. Forget the six days to create the universe and everything in it; forget as well that humankind was forged in God’s image. Only humans, operating under the delusion of following God’s will, would place absurd and impossible prohibitions on something as pleasurable as sex. More often than not humans fuck for pure pleasure, not procreation, and I see nothing wrong with this. More marriages run off track because sex isn’t pleasurable rather than the other way around. How many times have you heard a married person complain that his or her sex life is too good?
I often see the unfortunate and inevitable result of religious indoctrination like that promulgated by the likes of Catholic Answers on the side of Santa Barbara where I live, near the eponymous high school or on the corner of Milpas and Cota streets. The sight is common: a Hispanic mother in her early to mid-20’s, pushing a baby stroller, with two young kids trailing behind and another in her belly. Quite possibly poor to begin with, she becomes poorer still every time she has another child. Perhaps she believes the tripe that bearing a lot of children is her duty and renders her rich in the eye of God, and that foregoing birth control scores her piety points and punches her ticket to heaven, but when it comes to feeding and clothing and educating her brood, she will receive no practical help from God.
Christopher Hitchens liked to say that religion was necessary when mankind was in its infancy, unable to rationally explain the workings of the physical world. When a volcano erupted or an earthquake rattled the ground, the explanation that the gods were angry made some sense. But just as children outgrow their fear of monsters hiding in the bedroom closet, our species matured and invented complex methods of scientific inquiry and rational analysis to explain the mysteries of the world.
I have no axe to grind with believers as long as they refrain from imposing their faith on me. I don’t appreciate having a posse of Jehovah’s Witnesses knock on my door, but neither do I run them off with a pitchfork. Faith and atheism can coexist. What really boils my blood is watching American political aspirants – regardless of party affiliation – pander to and grovel before the Christian faithful. Every candidate tries to out “Jesus” his or her opponents, clearly forgetting Article VI of the Constitution. Adding God to the corrosive cocktail of money and influence peddling only makes our political process more of a travesty.
I don’t believe that religious faith is a prerequisite for ethical or moral behavior in the world. Quite the contrary, some of the most unethical and immoral people can easily quote scripture, wear religious medallions, cross themselves for no particular reason or bow their heads in prayer at the dinner table, and then proceed to lie, cheat, steal and kill. Look at all the sexual scandals and child abuse episodes in the Catholic Church for a perfect illustration of my point. Priests known to the church hierarchy to be dangerous and predatory were protected rather than prosecuted.
My mother was raised a Catholic and so, carrying on the family practice, my brother and I were baptized into the faith without being consulted beforehand or given any other option. This seems cruel and unusual to me now, and is the reason my wife and I didn’t baptize our children. Having stood in the delivery room when they came into this world, all purplish-blue and covered with blood and fluid, it was perfectly clear to me that they arrived completely innocent, with no proverbial sin to pay for. When they’ve had an opportunity to consider the notion of religion for themselves they are welcome to adopt a faith and practice it. I will no doubt be disappointed if this should happen, but I won’t stand in the way or try to change their minds. If they choose to put faith in biblical fables like Adam & Eve or the Ten Commandments or Moses and the burning bush, that’s their choice, though I would obviously be far happier if they choose to believe in reason, skepticism and rational inquiry.
Religion is most obnoxious when it comes to sex. I was poking around a website called Catholic Answers and found this gem regarding contraception and procreation:
“Contraception is wrong because it’s a deliberate violation of the design God built into the human race, often referred to as "natural law." The natural law purpose of sex is procreation. The pleasure that sexual intercourse provides is an additional blessing from God, intended to offer the possibility of new life while strengthening the bond of intimacy, respect, and love between husband and wife. The loving environment this bond creates is the perfect setting for nurturing children.
But sexual pleasure within marriage becomes unnatural, and even harmful to the spouses, when it is used in a way that deliberately excludes the basic purpose of sex, which is procreation. God’s gift of the sex act, along with its pleasure and intimacy, must not be abused by deliberately frustrating its natural end—procreation.”
Well, isn’t that nice? Infantile, but very nice.
First of all, I don’t buy the proposition that God was involved in any way, shape or form in the design of the human species. Forget the six days to create the universe and everything in it; forget as well that humankind was forged in God’s image. Only humans, operating under the delusion of following God’s will, would place absurd and impossible prohibitions on something as pleasurable as sex. More often than not humans fuck for pure pleasure, not procreation, and I see nothing wrong with this. More marriages run off track because sex isn’t pleasurable rather than the other way around. How many times have you heard a married person complain that his or her sex life is too good?
I often see the unfortunate and inevitable result of religious indoctrination like that promulgated by the likes of Catholic Answers on the side of Santa Barbara where I live, near the eponymous high school or on the corner of Milpas and Cota streets. The sight is common: a Hispanic mother in her early to mid-20’s, pushing a baby stroller, with two young kids trailing behind and another in her belly. Quite possibly poor to begin with, she becomes poorer still every time she has another child. Perhaps she believes the tripe that bearing a lot of children is her duty and renders her rich in the eye of God, and that foregoing birth control scores her piety points and punches her ticket to heaven, but when it comes to feeding and clothing and educating her brood, she will receive no practical help from God.
Christopher Hitchens liked to say that religion was necessary when mankind was in its infancy, unable to rationally explain the workings of the physical world. When a volcano erupted or an earthquake rattled the ground, the explanation that the gods were angry made some sense. But just as children outgrow their fear of monsters hiding in the bedroom closet, our species matured and invented complex methods of scientific inquiry and rational analysis to explain the mysteries of the world.
I have no axe to grind with believers as long as they refrain from imposing their faith on me. I don’t appreciate having a posse of Jehovah’s Witnesses knock on my door, but neither do I run them off with a pitchfork. Faith and atheism can coexist. What really boils my blood is watching American political aspirants – regardless of party affiliation – pander to and grovel before the Christian faithful. Every candidate tries to out “Jesus” his or her opponents, clearly forgetting Article VI of the Constitution. Adding God to the corrosive cocktail of money and influence peddling only makes our political process more of a travesty.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Atheist and Rebel
It’s probably not wise to read Christopher Hitchens on religion during the holiday season, as doing so can create intense cognitive dissonance. I mention this from harsh experience. While Andy Williams croons in the background about this most wonderful time of the year (always a debatable assertion no matter how many times it’s repeated), Hitchens -- in his polemic God is Not Great -- shreds cherished religious traditions and pokes huge holes in dogma doggedly held by millions of believers. An equal opportunity atheist, Hitchens skewers Christians, Jews, and Muslims alike, and for good measure tap dances all over Joseph Smith and his Mormon tribe. While the lights on our tree twinkle, and Bing Crosby replaces Andy Williams, I find myself thinking about Almighty God, though I focus less on his (her?) supposed generosity and benevolence than I do on his darker utterances. For one supposedly all-powerful and all-knowing, he wasn’t very kind to women, children or skeptics. The eternal question enters my consciousness: if God created the universe and everything in it, who created God? Turn that question around any way you want, as many times as you want, and the logical answer is that we did, “we” being mankind.
If one is interested in an honest Christmas tune try The Rebel Jesus by Jackson Browne:
And once a year when Christmas comes
We give to our relations
And perhaps we give a little to the poor
If the generosity should seize us
But if any one of us should interfere
In the business of why there are poor
They get the same as the rebel Jesus
No surprise that Hitchens and Christmas are not a jolly mix. Mindless piety and crass commercialism collide head on, like two tanker trucks laden with jet fuel. Even though I take the silly season with a boulder-sized grain of salt, it’s next to impossible to ignore the general anxiety as Christmas Day approaches. People in the mall are grim and determined, focused on their shopping tasks, underpaid workers in the stores are sick and tired of dealing with demanding people, children are antsy, UPS drivers are harried, and nearly everyone who must attend one dreads the annual office party. There’s endless chatter on the radio and TV about happy families coming together in peace and harmony, and of course the obligatory stories about the holiday homecomings of brave American military men and women. There’s no harm in any of this, except when it reaches the saturation point, as it inevitably must, and then December 26th cannot arrive fast enough.
After the 18th the man who runs the Christmas tree lot in the County Bowl parking lot knows the jig is up, and that he will sell no more trees for $10 a foot. Optimistic to the bitter end, the man keeps the lot open morning till night the final week before Christmas, but his big red and white banner no longer entices passersby, and his giant inflatable Santa leans to one side in weary defeat.
For convenience sake we buy a tree from the man every year, no earlier than the 10th, no later than the 15th. As I write this, my wife and daughter are taking ornaments from the tree and packing them away in storage boxes. See you next year. Tomorrow I will saw the tree in two and place the pieces by the curb. We’ll pick pine needles from the rug for the next week or so.
And so it goes. I certainly have little to complain about, living here on the Platinum Coast, where the temperature on Christmas Day was in the mid-70’s, with blue sky overhead and a clear view to the Channel Islands.
Although I began with Christopher Hitchens I’ll give Jackson Browne the last word:
Now pardon me if I have seemed
To take the tone of judgment
For I’ve no wish to come between
This day and your enjoyment
In a life of hardship and earthly toil
There’s a need for anything that frees us
So I bid you pleasure
And I bid you cheer
From a heathen and a pagan
On the side of the rebel Jesus
If one is interested in an honest Christmas tune try The Rebel Jesus by Jackson Browne:
And once a year when Christmas comes
We give to our relations
And perhaps we give a little to the poor
If the generosity should seize us
But if any one of us should interfere
In the business of why there are poor
They get the same as the rebel Jesus
No surprise that Hitchens and Christmas are not a jolly mix. Mindless piety and crass commercialism collide head on, like two tanker trucks laden with jet fuel. Even though I take the silly season with a boulder-sized grain of salt, it’s next to impossible to ignore the general anxiety as Christmas Day approaches. People in the mall are grim and determined, focused on their shopping tasks, underpaid workers in the stores are sick and tired of dealing with demanding people, children are antsy, UPS drivers are harried, and nearly everyone who must attend one dreads the annual office party. There’s endless chatter on the radio and TV about happy families coming together in peace and harmony, and of course the obligatory stories about the holiday homecomings of brave American military men and women. There’s no harm in any of this, except when it reaches the saturation point, as it inevitably must, and then December 26th cannot arrive fast enough.
After the 18th the man who runs the Christmas tree lot in the County Bowl parking lot knows the jig is up, and that he will sell no more trees for $10 a foot. Optimistic to the bitter end, the man keeps the lot open morning till night the final week before Christmas, but his big red and white banner no longer entices passersby, and his giant inflatable Santa leans to one side in weary defeat.
For convenience sake we buy a tree from the man every year, no earlier than the 10th, no later than the 15th. As I write this, my wife and daughter are taking ornaments from the tree and packing them away in storage boxes. See you next year. Tomorrow I will saw the tree in two and place the pieces by the curb. We’ll pick pine needles from the rug for the next week or so.
And so it goes. I certainly have little to complain about, living here on the Platinum Coast, where the temperature on Christmas Day was in the mid-70’s, with blue sky overhead and a clear view to the Channel Islands.
Although I began with Christopher Hitchens I’ll give Jackson Browne the last word:
Now pardon me if I have seemed
To take the tone of judgment
For I’ve no wish to come between
This day and your enjoyment
In a life of hardship and earthly toil
There’s a need for anything that frees us
So I bid you pleasure
And I bid you cheer
From a heathen and a pagan
On the side of the rebel Jesus
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Big Crazy
Would the American electorate choose a man named Newt for its president? Never mind that the Newt in question is an ethically and morally challenged blowhard, a fat toad despised by most members of his own party.
President Gingrich? Have we fallen so far so fast?
I don’t think this can or will happen – but then America in 2011 is a bizarre, unpredictable place. Look at the GOP presidential field and tell me we’re not in the middle of Big Crazy. Newt, Mitt, and what’s his name – the womanizer – ah, yeah, Herman Cain – though the Pizza King has been silent since dropping out of the race. Throw in Rick “I’m dumber-than-Bush” Perry and it’s no wonder that a pall of despair hangs over GOP headquarters.
But when one wing nut drops out another rises to take his place. The other morning Donald Trump was proclaiming that he might have to run for president after all – for the good of the nation, of course. How is it possible for one human ego to metastasize so grotesquely?
President Trump?
Every time Good Morning America does a segment on Jerry Sandusky, the alleged pedophile from Penn State, the more Sandusky looks like a man guilty of buggering young boys in the locker room shower. Once that suggestion is planted in your mind it’s not easy to let it go. No matter what clip of Sandusky GMA shows – walking from a black SUV into the courthouse, tossing footballs on the sideline, shoveling snow from his driveway, dropping coins in the collection basket at church – the man looks creepy, just the type to lure impressionable young boys into a dark, sound-proof basement.
And then there’s Tim Tebow, quarterback of the Denver Broncos, a strapping lad who thumps his Bible at least as well as he runs a 2:00 offense, a fact which captivates people and makes them say ridiculous things. When I heard Diane Sawyer on ABC News talking about Tebow and God I was sure she wet herself. Calm down, Diane, God has nothing to do with it.
Tebow for President? Tebow and Jesus!
While all this nonsense goes on something far more insidious and dangerous is happening in Washington D.C., where the House has passed legislation in the Defense Authorization Bill that would classify the American “homeland” as a battleground in the Global War on Muslim Terrorists. So what you say? The ramifications are chilling, and could lead to US citizens being detained indefinitely by military forces without formal charges, due process, or any of the protections set out in the Bill of Rights. If you’ve never heard of “indefinite detention” you might, soon enough.
As a commentator on KPFK radio put it: the distinction between dissent and terror is collapsing. A country that can’t tell the difference between the two, or have the confidence in itself to allow the former, is on the express lane to fascism.
On that cheery note…
President Gingrich? Have we fallen so far so fast?
I don’t think this can or will happen – but then America in 2011 is a bizarre, unpredictable place. Look at the GOP presidential field and tell me we’re not in the middle of Big Crazy. Newt, Mitt, and what’s his name – the womanizer – ah, yeah, Herman Cain – though the Pizza King has been silent since dropping out of the race. Throw in Rick “I’m dumber-than-Bush” Perry and it’s no wonder that a pall of despair hangs over GOP headquarters.
But when one wing nut drops out another rises to take his place. The other morning Donald Trump was proclaiming that he might have to run for president after all – for the good of the nation, of course. How is it possible for one human ego to metastasize so grotesquely?
President Trump?
Every time Good Morning America does a segment on Jerry Sandusky, the alleged pedophile from Penn State, the more Sandusky looks like a man guilty of buggering young boys in the locker room shower. Once that suggestion is planted in your mind it’s not easy to let it go. No matter what clip of Sandusky GMA shows – walking from a black SUV into the courthouse, tossing footballs on the sideline, shoveling snow from his driveway, dropping coins in the collection basket at church – the man looks creepy, just the type to lure impressionable young boys into a dark, sound-proof basement.
And then there’s Tim Tebow, quarterback of the Denver Broncos, a strapping lad who thumps his Bible at least as well as he runs a 2:00 offense, a fact which captivates people and makes them say ridiculous things. When I heard Diane Sawyer on ABC News talking about Tebow and God I was sure she wet herself. Calm down, Diane, God has nothing to do with it.
Tebow for President? Tebow and Jesus!
While all this nonsense goes on something far more insidious and dangerous is happening in Washington D.C., where the House has passed legislation in the Defense Authorization Bill that would classify the American “homeland” as a battleground in the Global War on Muslim Terrorists. So what you say? The ramifications are chilling, and could lead to US citizens being detained indefinitely by military forces without formal charges, due process, or any of the protections set out in the Bill of Rights. If you’ve never heard of “indefinite detention” you might, soon enough.
As a commentator on KPFK radio put it: the distinction between dissent and terror is collapsing. A country that can’t tell the difference between the two, or have the confidence in itself to allow the former, is on the express lane to fascism.
On that cheery note…
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
The New Barbarians
How does the classic Christmas carol go, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year…” Not for me. Not when the TV and the radio are jammed wall-to-wall with commercials hyping Black Friday and Cyber Monday, and all the news anchors talk about is the great deals down at Best Buy. Not when it’s all Christmas all the time before the Thanksgiving turkey is even cold. The season has been elongated and stretched, expanded and super-sized by retailers in search of customers. Before the last scream of Halloween fades, up go the Christmas decorations, and the faux cheer spreads like a river of sewage across the land.
Never mind that the unemployment rate is high and holding steady or that banks continue to foreclose on delinquent mortgages or that every day more Americans slide below the poverty line; everybody is a potential consumer and if they have a pulse, however faint, and can walk, however unsteadily, then by all that is holy about American-style capitalism, they must have the latest LED flat screen TV, a new toaster, an iPad or a Kindle Fire.
It doesn’t make a whit of difference that many of the people lined up twelve hours before the stores open should be buying food for their children, not the latest electronic gadget.
Did you see the video footage of the human herds stampeding in search of Black Friday bargains? Did it make you want to hang your head out the window and puke? Fighting over an iPod dock? Slugging it out over a pair of boots? Putting other customers out of commission with pepper spray? What kind of nuthouse has America become? The mindless hoards are goaded and prodded and prepped and primed all week long, tantalized with promises of deep discounts on today’s must have products, mesmerized by visions of gain, and by Black Friday people have lost all contact with reason or common sense and descend on the local mall like the barbarians of old.
If Macy’s or Target advertised a one-pound block of cow dung at a 35% discount, some fool would stand in line for an hour to buy it. Yes, I know, people have free will and critical thinking capacity, and shouldn’t be manipulated so easily, but isn’t that what happens every November? Why else is Old Navy in downtown Santa Barbara open for business on Thanksgiving Day?
Bah humbug. Bah fucking humbug. The reason for the season is buried beneath a pile of gaudy sweaters from H&M, crotch-less panties from Victoria’s Secret, and Black & Decker power tools from Home Depot. Baby Jesus rides the escalator up and down all day long, unrecognized, ignored, pushed this way and that by caffeine and Red Bull addled shoppers. “Outta’ my way you little fucker.” Recognizing a lost cause when they see one, Mary, Joseph, the three wise men, the camel and the donkey have already fled for their lives.
Never mind that the unemployment rate is high and holding steady or that banks continue to foreclose on delinquent mortgages or that every day more Americans slide below the poverty line; everybody is a potential consumer and if they have a pulse, however faint, and can walk, however unsteadily, then by all that is holy about American-style capitalism, they must have the latest LED flat screen TV, a new toaster, an iPad or a Kindle Fire.
It doesn’t make a whit of difference that many of the people lined up twelve hours before the stores open should be buying food for their children, not the latest electronic gadget.
Did you see the video footage of the human herds stampeding in search of Black Friday bargains? Did it make you want to hang your head out the window and puke? Fighting over an iPod dock? Slugging it out over a pair of boots? Putting other customers out of commission with pepper spray? What kind of nuthouse has America become? The mindless hoards are goaded and prodded and prepped and primed all week long, tantalized with promises of deep discounts on today’s must have products, mesmerized by visions of gain, and by Black Friday people have lost all contact with reason or common sense and descend on the local mall like the barbarians of old.
If Macy’s or Target advertised a one-pound block of cow dung at a 35% discount, some fool would stand in line for an hour to buy it. Yes, I know, people have free will and critical thinking capacity, and shouldn’t be manipulated so easily, but isn’t that what happens every November? Why else is Old Navy in downtown Santa Barbara open for business on Thanksgiving Day?
Bah humbug. Bah fucking humbug. The reason for the season is buried beneath a pile of gaudy sweaters from H&M, crotch-less panties from Victoria’s Secret, and Black & Decker power tools from Home Depot. Baby Jesus rides the escalator up and down all day long, unrecognized, ignored, pushed this way and that by caffeine and Red Bull addled shoppers. “Outta’ my way you little fucker.” Recognizing a lost cause when they see one, Mary, Joseph, the three wise men, the camel and the donkey have already fled for their lives.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Black Friday and Other Tales
New York City cops in full riot gear drive peaceful protesters from Zuccotti Park. Much the same thing happens in Portland, Oregon and on the campus at UC Berkeley. The powers that be in other places follow suit, citing concerns for safety and sanitation. Motionless, peaceful students at UC Davis are doused with pepper spray. Many protesters are arrested. Real democracy is messy and at times uncontrollable. The Occupy movement vows to continue.
Herman Cain, former pizza magnate, can’t keep his mitts off women. Sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger all over again, and we know what happened to Arnold. Herman’s candidacy was doomed to begin with, so it will be no surprise when he drops out of the race for the GOP nomination. Cain’s name recognition is higher than it was when he began his quixotic quest for the White House, and this will help him sell books and keynote speeches on the rubber chicken circuit in the near future.
Have you noticed that the media never mentions Cain’s race or demands that he answer questions about race? None of the “Is he too black?” or “Is he black enough?” questions about Herman. In the corporate media, race disappears as an issue once a man passes the conservative litmus test.
In the meantime, that bloated toad Newt Gingrich is rising in some polls, though nobody understands why. Gingrich was a blowhard when he was Speaker of the House and has done nothing in the intervening years except suck up to corporate donors. As a self-styled “historian,” Gingrich should know that a blind, three-legged dog has a better chance of being elected president than he does. The American electorate can be dumb, but not that dumb.
All Mitt Romney has to do to secure the GOP nomination is avoid a total mental breakdown, like what happened to Rick Perry recently – or be sideswiped by some long forgotten scandal. Everybody has a skeleton or two in the closet. Hard to say what that might be in Mitt’s case, but candidates who piously preach family values and the sanctity of marriage (only between a man and a woman of course), are generally tripped up by a skeleton of the sexual variety. Who knows, maybe Mitt had a homosexual dalliance as a curious undergraduate or dabbled in cross-dressing.
Meanwhile, Barack Obama wanders around the White House late at night wondering what became of the magic. Liberals can’t stand him. Environmentalists want his balls on a platter. Labor leaders feel betrayed by him. Young people who worked their butts off to get out the vote for Obama in 2008 now fully understand how it feels when a politician fools them into thinking he is something that he is not. Those voters are likely to stay home in droves come 2012, a possibility that contributes to Obama’s late night strolls through a silent White House. Every now and then Obama is convinced that he hears the ghost of Richard Nixon whispering in the corridors. Though for different reasons, Nixon often felt hated and trapped.
But to hell with all that political garbage. What really matters in America at this moment – beside the fact that legendary football coach Joe Paterno has been dislodged from his pedestal and Demi and Ashton are calling it quits -- is that Black Friday is drawing nigh. All over the land shop-a-holics are polishing their credit cards and planning for that magic moment when the glass doors finally swing open at Wal-Mart or Target or Best Buy, and they surge forward with the rest of the herd, trampling security guards, unattended small children, elderly ladies, and sales clerks. There will be casualties on Black Friday, brawling in the aisles, fistfights in the parking lot, and many hospital emergency rooms will be forced to turn patients away. Serious Black Friday shoppers accept the risks of bodily injury in the same way a mountain climber on Everest does.
Herman Cain, former pizza magnate, can’t keep his mitts off women. Sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger all over again, and we know what happened to Arnold. Herman’s candidacy was doomed to begin with, so it will be no surprise when he drops out of the race for the GOP nomination. Cain’s name recognition is higher than it was when he began his quixotic quest for the White House, and this will help him sell books and keynote speeches on the rubber chicken circuit in the near future.
Have you noticed that the media never mentions Cain’s race or demands that he answer questions about race? None of the “Is he too black?” or “Is he black enough?” questions about Herman. In the corporate media, race disappears as an issue once a man passes the conservative litmus test.
In the meantime, that bloated toad Newt Gingrich is rising in some polls, though nobody understands why. Gingrich was a blowhard when he was Speaker of the House and has done nothing in the intervening years except suck up to corporate donors. As a self-styled “historian,” Gingrich should know that a blind, three-legged dog has a better chance of being elected president than he does. The American electorate can be dumb, but not that dumb.
All Mitt Romney has to do to secure the GOP nomination is avoid a total mental breakdown, like what happened to Rick Perry recently – or be sideswiped by some long forgotten scandal. Everybody has a skeleton or two in the closet. Hard to say what that might be in Mitt’s case, but candidates who piously preach family values and the sanctity of marriage (only between a man and a woman of course), are generally tripped up by a skeleton of the sexual variety. Who knows, maybe Mitt had a homosexual dalliance as a curious undergraduate or dabbled in cross-dressing.
Meanwhile, Barack Obama wanders around the White House late at night wondering what became of the magic. Liberals can’t stand him. Environmentalists want his balls on a platter. Labor leaders feel betrayed by him. Young people who worked their butts off to get out the vote for Obama in 2008 now fully understand how it feels when a politician fools them into thinking he is something that he is not. Those voters are likely to stay home in droves come 2012, a possibility that contributes to Obama’s late night strolls through a silent White House. Every now and then Obama is convinced that he hears the ghost of Richard Nixon whispering in the corridors. Though for different reasons, Nixon often felt hated and trapped.
But to hell with all that political garbage. What really matters in America at this moment – beside the fact that legendary football coach Joe Paterno has been dislodged from his pedestal and Demi and Ashton are calling it quits -- is that Black Friday is drawing nigh. All over the land shop-a-holics are polishing their credit cards and planning for that magic moment when the glass doors finally swing open at Wal-Mart or Target or Best Buy, and they surge forward with the rest of the herd, trampling security guards, unattended small children, elderly ladies, and sales clerks. There will be casualties on Black Friday, brawling in the aisles, fistfights in the parking lot, and many hospital emergency rooms will be forced to turn patients away. Serious Black Friday shoppers accept the risks of bodily injury in the same way a mountain climber on Everest does.
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Benign Neglect
I have neglected the Balcony of late. Life interferes with my scribbling. Excuses? Well, there is the job, kids, homework, dishes, bills, laundry, Halloween, errands, grocery shopping, stuff that needs to get done or else the wheels fall off. Try letting your toenails grow for a few weeks and you’ll see what I mean.
The days here grow shorter. In the evening fog rolls in off the ocean, dense in some areas, wispy in others, and in the night we hear the warning beacon sound in the harbor. A waning crescent moon rises above the pines on Anapamu Street. The County Bowl concert season is over, closed out by Deadmau5. It’s been a while since we’ve heard coyotes howl from the canyon that runs west of the Bowl.
Bob Dylan sang that people don’t come and go as much as they float, and sometimes people float to places and positions they don’t belong. Sometimes circumstances and dumb luck conspire to produce an outcome that leaves you shaking your head. Trying to understand is fruitless; it’s like trying to penetrate the meaning of a Zen koan. Whatever and whoever, it just is, and the decision you must make is to fight it or go with it. Life or death it’s not. Worse comes to worse you say, “I’m done” and hit the road. Some windmills are not worth tilting at; they will keep turning no matter what.
The illusion of control, of making sense, of logic and pattern, of rationality, of cause and effect, of being the master of one’s own fate, of being the guiding hand on the cosmic tiller. It makes no sense and perfect sense at the same time. It’s cream in your coffee and sugar in your tea; it’s a trout on the end of your line and a clear mountain stream at the end of the trail. It’s a homeless woman giving birth in a cemetery under a full moon. It’s the smartest man in the room doing the dumbest thing imaginable. It’s a beloved preacher fornicating behind the church with an underage whore.
My son is watching a rerun of Gray’s Anatomy. The show has an MD for everyone: African-American and Asian, lesbian and straight, dashing and dorky. The voice over by the actress who plays Meredith offers canned wisdom: “No matter what’s going on, a surgeon must have a steady hand.” OK, no argument with this obvious observation. My son tells me that I’ve reached an age where I cannot suspend my disbelief, and for this reason I’m incapable of enjoying the TV dramas he finds so intoxicating. Gray’s Anatomy is apparently the best show ever…my loss for not watching it.
In the world but not of the world, wandering with the people who float, beyond the point where sense is made, past the place where we cease to be what we think we are.
The days here grow shorter. In the evening fog rolls in off the ocean, dense in some areas, wispy in others, and in the night we hear the warning beacon sound in the harbor. A waning crescent moon rises above the pines on Anapamu Street. The County Bowl concert season is over, closed out by Deadmau5. It’s been a while since we’ve heard coyotes howl from the canyon that runs west of the Bowl.
Bob Dylan sang that people don’t come and go as much as they float, and sometimes people float to places and positions they don’t belong. Sometimes circumstances and dumb luck conspire to produce an outcome that leaves you shaking your head. Trying to understand is fruitless; it’s like trying to penetrate the meaning of a Zen koan. Whatever and whoever, it just is, and the decision you must make is to fight it or go with it. Life or death it’s not. Worse comes to worse you say, “I’m done” and hit the road. Some windmills are not worth tilting at; they will keep turning no matter what.
The illusion of control, of making sense, of logic and pattern, of rationality, of cause and effect, of being the master of one’s own fate, of being the guiding hand on the cosmic tiller. It makes no sense and perfect sense at the same time. It’s cream in your coffee and sugar in your tea; it’s a trout on the end of your line and a clear mountain stream at the end of the trail. It’s a homeless woman giving birth in a cemetery under a full moon. It’s the smartest man in the room doing the dumbest thing imaginable. It’s a beloved preacher fornicating behind the church with an underage whore.
My son is watching a rerun of Gray’s Anatomy. The show has an MD for everyone: African-American and Asian, lesbian and straight, dashing and dorky. The voice over by the actress who plays Meredith offers canned wisdom: “No matter what’s going on, a surgeon must have a steady hand.” OK, no argument with this obvious observation. My son tells me that I’ve reached an age where I cannot suspend my disbelief, and for this reason I’m incapable of enjoying the TV dramas he finds so intoxicating. Gray’s Anatomy is apparently the best show ever…my loss for not watching it.
In the world but not of the world, wandering with the people who float, beyond the point where sense is made, past the place where we cease to be what we think we are.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Under the Influence
Every now and then Barack Obama opens the mini-fridge in the Oval Office and removes a mason jar left over from the Bush Administration. The jar contains the elixir first brewed by Bill Clinton but not perfected until Bush and Cheney moved into the White House to begin their long reign of error. It’s rumored – but only rumored, you understand – that the secret formula for this elixir resides in a slim silver tube that Dick Cheney slips into his rectum every morning after his bowel movement.
This morning, before being interviewed by Jake Tapper from ABC News, Obama unscrewed the lid and took a quick sip, just enough to take the edge off for a couple of hours.
The elixir is a potent concoction that induces politicians to make statements they don’t believe with total conviction. For example, when Bush claimed that tax cuts for the wealthy would produce an economic bonanza for the poor, he really believed it. Cheney was totally addicted to the elixir and for eight years ran around Washington D.C. making all manner of bizarre claims. Illicit substances are not for the faint of heart or those with weak constitutions. Bush and Cheney, two alpha males who enjoyed boasting about the size and hardness of their testicles, believed they could handle the stuff in small, consistent doses.
This was hubris at its best.
By comparison, Barack Obama is a weak-kneed wanker who shouldn’t mess around with toxic substances under any circumstances. Case in point: Obama telling Tapper that the Occupy Wall Street movement has many similarities to the Tea Party. Deeply under the influence and obviously out of touch with reality, Obama claimed he understood both points of view.
WTF! OMG! Is our president serious? All one has to do is follow the money behind the Tea Party to understand what it’s all about.
Obama was serious, in the moment, but don’t forget, he was crocked to the gills. A few hours later, after the elixir wore off, Obama realized the magnitude of his gaffe and called Dr. Drew Pinsky, the reality TV addiction guru.
“Dr. Drew, this is the President of the United States. It’s very possible that I have a problem.”
“I can help, Mr. President. What is it, crack cocaine, Oxycontin, booze, hash, smack, Internet porn?”
“It’s the elixir.”
“Holy shit,” said Dr. Drew. “That’s bad, very bad. I’m afraid you’re screwed, sir. The only thing worse than being addicted to that stuff is trying to kick it. Makes kicking heroin feel like a long weekend in Barbados. Ever been to Barbados, sir?”
“What does it mean, Dr. Drew?”
“Well, to be frank, Mr. President, it means that you will continue to make indefensible statements about movements you know nothing about, continue to put the demands of bankers and hedge fund managers above the needs of ordinary people, continue to insist that the way to put more Americans back to work is to export their jobs to low-wage countries. In short, for the rest of your presidency you will think and act, well, like a Republican.”
*Expert conjecture about the formula: Combine two drops of Newt Gingrich’s blood, four strands of Ayn Rand’s hair, one cup of Alan Greenspan’s urine, three teardrops from John Boehner, a pubic hair from Eric Cantor, a teaspoon of Ann Coulter’s menstrual blood, six drops of ether, four packs of Splenda, eight ounces of Kool-Aid mix, a generous splash of Jack Daniels, an ounce of high fructose corn syrup, and a tablespoon of water from the Hudson River. Mix thoroughly and serve chilled.
This morning, before being interviewed by Jake Tapper from ABC News, Obama unscrewed the lid and took a quick sip, just enough to take the edge off for a couple of hours.
The elixir is a potent concoction that induces politicians to make statements they don’t believe with total conviction. For example, when Bush claimed that tax cuts for the wealthy would produce an economic bonanza for the poor, he really believed it. Cheney was totally addicted to the elixir and for eight years ran around Washington D.C. making all manner of bizarre claims. Illicit substances are not for the faint of heart or those with weak constitutions. Bush and Cheney, two alpha males who enjoyed boasting about the size and hardness of their testicles, believed they could handle the stuff in small, consistent doses.
This was hubris at its best.
By comparison, Barack Obama is a weak-kneed wanker who shouldn’t mess around with toxic substances under any circumstances. Case in point: Obama telling Tapper that the Occupy Wall Street movement has many similarities to the Tea Party. Deeply under the influence and obviously out of touch with reality, Obama claimed he understood both points of view.
WTF! OMG! Is our president serious? All one has to do is follow the money behind the Tea Party to understand what it’s all about.
Obama was serious, in the moment, but don’t forget, he was crocked to the gills. A few hours later, after the elixir wore off, Obama realized the magnitude of his gaffe and called Dr. Drew Pinsky, the reality TV addiction guru.
“Dr. Drew, this is the President of the United States. It’s very possible that I have a problem.”
“I can help, Mr. President. What is it, crack cocaine, Oxycontin, booze, hash, smack, Internet porn?”
“It’s the elixir.”
“Holy shit,” said Dr. Drew. “That’s bad, very bad. I’m afraid you’re screwed, sir. The only thing worse than being addicted to that stuff is trying to kick it. Makes kicking heroin feel like a long weekend in Barbados. Ever been to Barbados, sir?”
“What does it mean, Dr. Drew?”
“Well, to be frank, Mr. President, it means that you will continue to make indefensible statements about movements you know nothing about, continue to put the demands of bankers and hedge fund managers above the needs of ordinary people, continue to insist that the way to put more Americans back to work is to export their jobs to low-wage countries. In short, for the rest of your presidency you will think and act, well, like a Republican.”
*Expert conjecture about the formula: Combine two drops of Newt Gingrich’s blood, four strands of Ayn Rand’s hair, one cup of Alan Greenspan’s urine, three teardrops from John Boehner, a pubic hair from Eric Cantor, a teaspoon of Ann Coulter’s menstrual blood, six drops of ether, four packs of Splenda, eight ounces of Kool-Aid mix, a generous splash of Jack Daniels, an ounce of high fructose corn syrup, and a tablespoon of water from the Hudson River. Mix thoroughly and serve chilled.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Awake, At Last?
I’m a fan of the Occupy Wall Street movement. What started as a small encampment has grown and migrated to hundreds of cities, and is now too large for the mainstream media to ignore, though that massive house organ for the corporate status quo has done its level best to downplay, denigrate and ridicule the protesters.
This is the way powerful elites react when threatened.
The next tack the elites take is to call on the Law.
But having seen in other parts of the world what can happen when the masses become aroused, you can bet the American political and business elite -- which is now one and the same thing -- are beginning to comprehend that their long run of privilege and prerogative is nearing an end.
That end can’t come soon enough as far as I’m concerned. The Ayn Rand philosophy that seeped into the political system like toxic sludge over three decades has now poisoned that system. All the talk about producers and parasites, the inherent merits of the wealthy and the inherent imperfections of the poor, the evils of taxation and big government, immigration and equal rights, has proven to be pure, stinking, steaming BS.
America is a weaker country today, a more divided and polarized country, and a country that has misplaced its mojo and is in danger of chucking its soul – primarily because of the unfettered and unaccountable corporate power that drives the economy and controls the political system.
The people camping on Wall Street and marching on Bank of America and Wells Fargo branches in other cities understand, even if they struggle to articulate their feelings, that something has gone terribly wrong in this country, and that it hasn’t happened overnight; they realize that the country has tipped off its axis, that too much power rests in too few hands, and that this arrangement severely limits the options of ordinary people. You can’t graduate from college toting $25 or $30 grand in student loan debt, work a wage slave job for $9 an hour because that’s all you can find -- sans benefits or health insurance, of course -- and expect to prosper. No matter how hard you work, you can’t get ahead under those conditions.
The Wall Street protestors and the diverse group calling itself the Other 99% understand that the working class and the poor are held accountable, while the wealthy absolve themselves of all responsibility. The people also understand that American-style capitalism is prone to choke on its own excess, and that we are living in one of these periods now.
Where is it written that ours is a nation of the wealthy, by the wealthy and for the wealthy?
One of the brighter aspects of the Occupy Wall Street movement is that it has shown staying power and resilience. This alone is reason for cautious hope that the movement – if it isn’t co-opted along the way -- might actually budge the status quo back toward the moderate middle. The lesson is clear as can be: when ordinary people decide they’ve had enough and take to the streets, they must be prepared to remain in the streets until the power elite sees them, hears them, feels them and, most critically, is bothered by their presence.
If you listen closely you can hear the faint stirrings of the American people – the real American people -- not the mythic people right-wing conservatives repeatedly invoke in their speeches. Listen, that’s Joe Hill stirring in his grave, and over there, Woody Guthrie is dusting off his guitar. Cesar Chavez is moving, Martin and Malcom and Medgar are moving, John L. Lewis is moving, Walter Reuther is moving, up toward terra firma and the light of day where justice is found.
This is the way powerful elites react when threatened.
The next tack the elites take is to call on the Law.
But having seen in other parts of the world what can happen when the masses become aroused, you can bet the American political and business elite -- which is now one and the same thing -- are beginning to comprehend that their long run of privilege and prerogative is nearing an end.
That end can’t come soon enough as far as I’m concerned. The Ayn Rand philosophy that seeped into the political system like toxic sludge over three decades has now poisoned that system. All the talk about producers and parasites, the inherent merits of the wealthy and the inherent imperfections of the poor, the evils of taxation and big government, immigration and equal rights, has proven to be pure, stinking, steaming BS.
America is a weaker country today, a more divided and polarized country, and a country that has misplaced its mojo and is in danger of chucking its soul – primarily because of the unfettered and unaccountable corporate power that drives the economy and controls the political system.
The people camping on Wall Street and marching on Bank of America and Wells Fargo branches in other cities understand, even if they struggle to articulate their feelings, that something has gone terribly wrong in this country, and that it hasn’t happened overnight; they realize that the country has tipped off its axis, that too much power rests in too few hands, and that this arrangement severely limits the options of ordinary people. You can’t graduate from college toting $25 or $30 grand in student loan debt, work a wage slave job for $9 an hour because that’s all you can find -- sans benefits or health insurance, of course -- and expect to prosper. No matter how hard you work, you can’t get ahead under those conditions.
The Wall Street protestors and the diverse group calling itself the Other 99% understand that the working class and the poor are held accountable, while the wealthy absolve themselves of all responsibility. The people also understand that American-style capitalism is prone to choke on its own excess, and that we are living in one of these periods now.
Where is it written that ours is a nation of the wealthy, by the wealthy and for the wealthy?
One of the brighter aspects of the Occupy Wall Street movement is that it has shown staying power and resilience. This alone is reason for cautious hope that the movement – if it isn’t co-opted along the way -- might actually budge the status quo back toward the moderate middle. The lesson is clear as can be: when ordinary people decide they’ve had enough and take to the streets, they must be prepared to remain in the streets until the power elite sees them, hears them, feels them and, most critically, is bothered by their presence.
If you listen closely you can hear the faint stirrings of the American people – the real American people -- not the mythic people right-wing conservatives repeatedly invoke in their speeches. Listen, that’s Joe Hill stirring in his grave, and over there, Woody Guthrie is dusting off his guitar. Cesar Chavez is moving, Martin and Malcom and Medgar are moving, John L. Lewis is moving, Walter Reuther is moving, up toward terra firma and the light of day where justice is found.
Friday, October 07, 2011
A Strange and Savage Land
“He was born in a vat of snake oil.” Hunter S. Thompson on Bill Clinton
Well, that seems to aptly describe ninety-nine percent of the politicians in Washington and most state capitols. Honor is rare in politics these days, and most politicians wouldn’t recognize honor if they tripped over it. This is partly because the pols are constantly in fund raising mode, prostrating themselves before trade associations and industry groups, grubbing for cash and leaving their ideals and ethics at the door. The system is bought and paid for and the deals go down under a shroud of secrecy.
There was a time in America when we depended on print and TV journalists to expose political corruption and, for the most part, they did a decent job keeping the politicians somewhat honest. The corporate takeover of the mainstream media destroyed the muckraking tradition. Reporting now is sanitized and trivialized and delivered by friendly lightweights or -- in the case of Fox News -- shouted by rabid partisans. No average American can make sense of it all, a fact politicians from both parties use to their advantage. Confusing the hell out of the American electorate is relatively easy.
The US is now involved in several armed conflicts in the Muslim world, but most Americans are as clueless about that as we are informed about Amanda Knox -- former resident of Italy’s prison system. We know Amanda’s parents, her sisters, her lawyers (US and Italian), her minister and her childhood friends; we know her state of mind and what she ate on the plane coming home from Italy.
The Knox story is like a Lifetime network movie, replete with all the things we love: sex, drugs, murder and mystery. In comparison, our wars against Muslims are merely grim and depressing, endless and hopeless.
Dark times, Hagrid said to a young Harry Potter, dark times.
Indeed.
The forces of repression and stupidity are loose in the land, running amok, and growing stronger against feeble resistance. Mexicans in Alabama are running scared, packing up, pulling their children out of public schools, fearful of being persecuted by Alabama’s tough new immigration law. Mexicans, Arabs, Pakistanis, Ethiopians -- no arms wait here to welcome you and yours. America is pulling back, electrifying its fences, and screening undesirables like never before.
Dark times, scary times. Who will hold the line against these forces? Barack Obama? No, he was born in the same vat of snake oil that Clinton sprang from. Any of the crop of GOP presidential hopefuls? Sweet Jesus, no, those people are unhinged, as dangerous as starving jackals, and they pray to a wrathful God who doesn’t believe in redemption or forgiveness. If you’re poor, it’s your fault. If you get sick, too bad. If you get deep into debt and can’t crawl out, you will find no relief.
All our heroes sleep in the grave. We’re on our own, stumbling around in a strange and savage land where the customs of the locals are unfathomable and intruders are burned at the stake. The rich wall themselves inside environments they can control and hire private security guards to fend off undesirables; the poor are driven into shantytowns where raw sewage flows in the unpaved streets. At night the tolling of the mission bell is drowned out by the howl of coyotes.
Well, that seems to aptly describe ninety-nine percent of the politicians in Washington and most state capitols. Honor is rare in politics these days, and most politicians wouldn’t recognize honor if they tripped over it. This is partly because the pols are constantly in fund raising mode, prostrating themselves before trade associations and industry groups, grubbing for cash and leaving their ideals and ethics at the door. The system is bought and paid for and the deals go down under a shroud of secrecy.
There was a time in America when we depended on print and TV journalists to expose political corruption and, for the most part, they did a decent job keeping the politicians somewhat honest. The corporate takeover of the mainstream media destroyed the muckraking tradition. Reporting now is sanitized and trivialized and delivered by friendly lightweights or -- in the case of Fox News -- shouted by rabid partisans. No average American can make sense of it all, a fact politicians from both parties use to their advantage. Confusing the hell out of the American electorate is relatively easy.
The US is now involved in several armed conflicts in the Muslim world, but most Americans are as clueless about that as we are informed about Amanda Knox -- former resident of Italy’s prison system. We know Amanda’s parents, her sisters, her lawyers (US and Italian), her minister and her childhood friends; we know her state of mind and what she ate on the plane coming home from Italy.
The Knox story is like a Lifetime network movie, replete with all the things we love: sex, drugs, murder and mystery. In comparison, our wars against Muslims are merely grim and depressing, endless and hopeless.
Dark times, Hagrid said to a young Harry Potter, dark times.
Indeed.
The forces of repression and stupidity are loose in the land, running amok, and growing stronger against feeble resistance. Mexicans in Alabama are running scared, packing up, pulling their children out of public schools, fearful of being persecuted by Alabama’s tough new immigration law. Mexicans, Arabs, Pakistanis, Ethiopians -- no arms wait here to welcome you and yours. America is pulling back, electrifying its fences, and screening undesirables like never before.
Dark times, scary times. Who will hold the line against these forces? Barack Obama? No, he was born in the same vat of snake oil that Clinton sprang from. Any of the crop of GOP presidential hopefuls? Sweet Jesus, no, those people are unhinged, as dangerous as starving jackals, and they pray to a wrathful God who doesn’t believe in redemption or forgiveness. If you’re poor, it’s your fault. If you get sick, too bad. If you get deep into debt and can’t crawl out, you will find no relief.
All our heroes sleep in the grave. We’re on our own, stumbling around in a strange and savage land where the customs of the locals are unfathomable and intruders are burned at the stake. The rich wall themselves inside environments they can control and hire private security guards to fend off undesirables; the poor are driven into shantytowns where raw sewage flows in the unpaved streets. At night the tolling of the mission bell is drowned out by the howl of coyotes.
Saturday, October 01, 2011
Who's Next?
Good Morning America led with the news that the America-born terrorist mastermind, Anwar al-Awlaki, had been killed in northern Yemen. George Stephanopolous and Brian Ross were beside themselves with excitement, and if you didn’t know they were talking about the assassination of a man never charged with a crime or tried in a court of law, you might have thought they were reviewing a particularly exciting Super Bowl game.
I don’t know if Anwar al-Awlaki was as diabolical as he is being portrayed in the American media, or if he is just being used to justify the American War on Muslim Terrorists.
The Obama Administration speaks with the same certainty about Awlaki that the Bush Administration spoke about Saddam Hussein’s nuclear and biological weapons and the direct threat they posed to America.
Let’s not forget that the Bush gang cooked the intelligence books to buttress their justification for the invasion of Iraq; let’s also not forget that the American intelligence community frequently gets it wrong.
Osama bin Laden. Anwar al-Awlaki. Who will be the next terror czar to be taken out by the United States or its proxies? Who will be the next to die because of his “potential” threat to the United States?
I’m not making apologies for terrorists, but there is something deeply disturbing about the United States ceding to itself the power and authority to act as judge, jury and executioner, wherever and whenever it wants. How do such actions make the United States safer? Yes, Osama bin Laden is dead, and Anwar al-Awlaki is dead, but in killing them, how many additional martyrs has the United States created?
I felt a little sick to my stomach as I listened to George Stephanopolous and Brian Ross, watched as ABC’s slick graphics simulated how the American military’s technological wizardry tracked al-Awlaki’s every move. GMA’s infatuation with wizardry overshadowed any need to raise larger questions about the threat al-Awlaki posed or the legality of killing him without evidence or trial.
The website www.costsofwar.org estimates the monetary costs of the Iraq and Afghanistan invasions at $3.7 trillion. Six thousand two hundred and thirty American service people have died, thousands more have been maimed or scared for life. The number of civilian casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan is routinely underestimated by the United States, and a reliable count of the number of wounded or displaced human beings is almost impossible to come by, though after a decade of continuous war, it stands to reason that the number is very large.
And as the War on Muslim Terrorists drags on year after year with no end in sight, as the number of innocent victims grows, so does distrust and hatred of the United States.
I don’t know if Anwar al-Awlaki was as diabolical as he is being portrayed in the American media, or if he is just being used to justify the American War on Muslim Terrorists.
The Obama Administration speaks with the same certainty about Awlaki that the Bush Administration spoke about Saddam Hussein’s nuclear and biological weapons and the direct threat they posed to America.
Let’s not forget that the Bush gang cooked the intelligence books to buttress their justification for the invasion of Iraq; let’s also not forget that the American intelligence community frequently gets it wrong.
Osama bin Laden. Anwar al-Awlaki. Who will be the next terror czar to be taken out by the United States or its proxies? Who will be the next to die because of his “potential” threat to the United States?
I’m not making apologies for terrorists, but there is something deeply disturbing about the United States ceding to itself the power and authority to act as judge, jury and executioner, wherever and whenever it wants. How do such actions make the United States safer? Yes, Osama bin Laden is dead, and Anwar al-Awlaki is dead, but in killing them, how many additional martyrs has the United States created?
I felt a little sick to my stomach as I listened to George Stephanopolous and Brian Ross, watched as ABC’s slick graphics simulated how the American military’s technological wizardry tracked al-Awlaki’s every move. GMA’s infatuation with wizardry overshadowed any need to raise larger questions about the threat al-Awlaki posed or the legality of killing him without evidence or trial.
The website www.costsofwar.org estimates the monetary costs of the Iraq and Afghanistan invasions at $3.7 trillion. Six thousand two hundred and thirty American service people have died, thousands more have been maimed or scared for life. The number of civilian casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan is routinely underestimated by the United States, and a reliable count of the number of wounded or displaced human beings is almost impossible to come by, though after a decade of continuous war, it stands to reason that the number is very large.
And as the War on Muslim Terrorists drags on year after year with no end in sight, as the number of innocent victims grows, so does distrust and hatred of the United States.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
POEM - Bones
Not sure why, but tonight I’m thinking
About bones
Bones buried deep in Central Africa,
Eastern Europe,
Bones between the Tigris and the Euphrates
Bones in the highlands of Vietnam
And the Mississippi Delta
Bones beneath the Vatican
Bones thirty feet below bustling avenues
Stacked in orderly rows in the catacombs
Of Paris
Mounds of femurs and ulnas, metatarsals and tibias
Bones with stories, bones with secrets
Bones blessed, bones cursed
Broken bones, misplaced bones, mismatched bones
Infant bones
Bones with memories of war and famine
Pogroms and purges
Revolutions and riots
Bones from the earth, of the earth
Bones yet to be discovered
About bones
Bones buried deep in Central Africa,
Eastern Europe,
Bones between the Tigris and the Euphrates
Bones in the highlands of Vietnam
And the Mississippi Delta
Bones beneath the Vatican
Bones thirty feet below bustling avenues
Stacked in orderly rows in the catacombs
Of Paris
Mounds of femurs and ulnas, metatarsals and tibias
Bones with stories, bones with secrets
Bones blessed, bones cursed
Broken bones, misplaced bones, mismatched bones
Infant bones
Bones with memories of war and famine
Pogroms and purges
Revolutions and riots
Bones from the earth, of the earth
Bones yet to be discovered
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Lessons from a Monarch (Butterfly)
I watch a monarch butterfly float over our deck in the sunshine; it flutters and weaves, circles a purple flower and lights for a moment before taking flight again.
The light is lovely this afternoon, here on the Platinum coast of California, the American Riviera. The morning marine layer burned off early and now it’s a postcard day, a day tailor-made for tourists. I wonder where the tourists get the money to travel, which leads me to wonder how residents of this glorious city make the nut every month. What do they do or own that pulls in the big sums needed? Unemployment is high in California – higher than the official numbers suggest – but here the beat goes on as if the economy is humming.
If well off residents of the American Riviera have taken a hit, they manage to disguise the fact with relative ease.
It’s less easy for the working poor, but then everything is less easy for the poor.
When the monarch returns for another pass at the flowers, I ponder my fate if my job were to suddenly disappear. I have no illusions that it can’t happen to me because it can; no job is safe today. In less than a minute I have created – in my head -- a doomsday scenario full of desperation and degradation. In a blink my family and I are on the street, another charity case, another casualty, another statistical entry in a government database. Homeless. Destitute. Doomed.
It’s not class warfare when the wealthy and well-connected rig the political system to rob working people and the poor – it’s only class warfare when workers and the poor push back, speak up, make demands; then the rich mobilize talking heads and pliable journalists and the airwaves fill with slogans: “We can’t create jobs by taxing the producers.” “Tax cuts are the answer. Slash tax rates and jobs will appear, like mushrooms.” The truth makes no difference – it’s the slogan that matters, the crisp sound bite, easily and often repeated.
The news I read argues that more and more middle-class folks are losing their grip on the ladder and falling into the abyss where the American Dream becomes a nightmare. These are the stories that never make Good Morning America or the CBS Evening News – stories about a generation destined to fare worse than the one before.
All this from watching a butterfly? All this from pondering how people make the monthly nut? Shouldn’t I be thinking of something else on this sun-splashed day? Why can’t I understand that tax cuts for the rich mean jobs for the poor? It’s so simple. Wealth equates to virtue. The eye of the needle is a hindrance no more.
In flight the monarch appears to be playing, like a child on a playground, floating one way for a while, then abruptly altering course as the mood strikes. Happy butterfly. The reality, of course, is that the butterfly isn’t here for leisure or fun: it’s programmed to lay its eggs and die. Every egg doesn’t produce a caterpillar, and every caterpillar doesn’t become a butterfly. The monarch fights for life and continuance like every other species.
The monarch dwells here and now, and maybe that is all I can learn from watching it dance across my deck.
The light is lovely this afternoon, here on the Platinum coast of California, the American Riviera. The morning marine layer burned off early and now it’s a postcard day, a day tailor-made for tourists. I wonder where the tourists get the money to travel, which leads me to wonder how residents of this glorious city make the nut every month. What do they do or own that pulls in the big sums needed? Unemployment is high in California – higher than the official numbers suggest – but here the beat goes on as if the economy is humming.
If well off residents of the American Riviera have taken a hit, they manage to disguise the fact with relative ease.
It’s less easy for the working poor, but then everything is less easy for the poor.
When the monarch returns for another pass at the flowers, I ponder my fate if my job were to suddenly disappear. I have no illusions that it can’t happen to me because it can; no job is safe today. In less than a minute I have created – in my head -- a doomsday scenario full of desperation and degradation. In a blink my family and I are on the street, another charity case, another casualty, another statistical entry in a government database. Homeless. Destitute. Doomed.
It’s not class warfare when the wealthy and well-connected rig the political system to rob working people and the poor – it’s only class warfare when workers and the poor push back, speak up, make demands; then the rich mobilize talking heads and pliable journalists and the airwaves fill with slogans: “We can’t create jobs by taxing the producers.” “Tax cuts are the answer. Slash tax rates and jobs will appear, like mushrooms.” The truth makes no difference – it’s the slogan that matters, the crisp sound bite, easily and often repeated.
The news I read argues that more and more middle-class folks are losing their grip on the ladder and falling into the abyss where the American Dream becomes a nightmare. These are the stories that never make Good Morning America or the CBS Evening News – stories about a generation destined to fare worse than the one before.
All this from watching a butterfly? All this from pondering how people make the monthly nut? Shouldn’t I be thinking of something else on this sun-splashed day? Why can’t I understand that tax cuts for the rich mean jobs for the poor? It’s so simple. Wealth equates to virtue. The eye of the needle is a hindrance no more.
In flight the monarch appears to be playing, like a child on a playground, floating one way for a while, then abruptly altering course as the mood strikes. Happy butterfly. The reality, of course, is that the butterfly isn’t here for leisure or fun: it’s programmed to lay its eggs and die. Every egg doesn’t produce a caterpillar, and every caterpillar doesn’t become a butterfly. The monarch fights for life and continuance like every other species.
The monarch dwells here and now, and maybe that is all I can learn from watching it dance across my deck.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
A Day to Forget?
I’ve never believed or felt that the horrible events of September 11, 2001 changed the world: what happened that day changed our perception of the world, and our perception gave birth to a mentality that has ensnared our country in a trap beyond Osama bin Laden’s wildest dreams.
I never bought George W. Bush’s assertion that 9/11 happened because Muslim terrorists hated “our freedoms”; my reading of history and geopolitics told me that the policies of the United States angered some Muslims to the point of fanaticism.
I don’t personally know anyone who died or was directly affected by 9/11. I can imagine, however incompletely, the sense of shock and loss; I can imagine the fear and grief; on an intellectual level I can understand the desire for revenge. If my wife or child had died in one of the towers that day, if I had lost a friend or colleague, a brother or sister, I’m sure my feelings about 9/11 would be different.
As it is, when I think about 9/11 I tend to focus on the American response to what was essentially a crime – diabolical to be sure -- but still a crime. Instead of engaging the world’s police resources to solve the crime, we launched a war in Afghanistan that at first succeeded and then became a failure; Bush and Cheney, along with a craven Congress (and let’s not forget our disgraced national media), compounded that error by abruptly invading Iraq on the flimsiest of pretenses. Thousands of innocent people died in these invasions; hundreds are still dying.
Iraq is a fragile and corrupt state and Afghanistan is even worse.
In between the wars, our hysterical political leadership behaved according to the script penned by Osama bin Laden and enacted the Patriot Act – a monumental assault on the civil liberties that set America apart from other nations.
The Patriot Act and the Department of Homeland Security it spawned still frighten me more than a hundred Osama bin Laden’s.
And while I appreciate the heroism of policemen and firefighters and EMT’s, and respect the bravery and compassion of ordinary people suddenly caught in an extraordinary event, I find endless memorials to them unsettling, in the same way I find endless references to our “brave men and women in uniform” unsettling. In my case, repetition of this message distracts and detracts. Yes, some members of our armed forces are brave and heroic and believe that what they’re doing protects America, but to hang the hero label on all of them is like saying that all public school teachers love kids.
We can’t let 9/11 go even after a decade of war and mourning, a decade of looking over our shoulder and around corners for humorless men in turbans, a decade of security scans and pat downs and warning messages boomed over loudspeakers, a decade of cowboy rhetoric.
We can’t forget and we can’t heal. We’ve locked ourselves into a war that can’t be won or brought to a close. And if we are any safer today than we were on 9/10/01, it’s only marginally so.
I never bought George W. Bush’s assertion that 9/11 happened because Muslim terrorists hated “our freedoms”; my reading of history and geopolitics told me that the policies of the United States angered some Muslims to the point of fanaticism.
I don’t personally know anyone who died or was directly affected by 9/11. I can imagine, however incompletely, the sense of shock and loss; I can imagine the fear and grief; on an intellectual level I can understand the desire for revenge. If my wife or child had died in one of the towers that day, if I had lost a friend or colleague, a brother or sister, I’m sure my feelings about 9/11 would be different.
As it is, when I think about 9/11 I tend to focus on the American response to what was essentially a crime – diabolical to be sure -- but still a crime. Instead of engaging the world’s police resources to solve the crime, we launched a war in Afghanistan that at first succeeded and then became a failure; Bush and Cheney, along with a craven Congress (and let’s not forget our disgraced national media), compounded that error by abruptly invading Iraq on the flimsiest of pretenses. Thousands of innocent people died in these invasions; hundreds are still dying.
Iraq is a fragile and corrupt state and Afghanistan is even worse.
In between the wars, our hysterical political leadership behaved according to the script penned by Osama bin Laden and enacted the Patriot Act – a monumental assault on the civil liberties that set America apart from other nations.
The Patriot Act and the Department of Homeland Security it spawned still frighten me more than a hundred Osama bin Laden’s.
And while I appreciate the heroism of policemen and firefighters and EMT’s, and respect the bravery and compassion of ordinary people suddenly caught in an extraordinary event, I find endless memorials to them unsettling, in the same way I find endless references to our “brave men and women in uniform” unsettling. In my case, repetition of this message distracts and detracts. Yes, some members of our armed forces are brave and heroic and believe that what they’re doing protects America, but to hang the hero label on all of them is like saying that all public school teachers love kids.
We can’t let 9/11 go even after a decade of war and mourning, a decade of looking over our shoulder and around corners for humorless men in turbans, a decade of security scans and pat downs and warning messages boomed over loudspeakers, a decade of cowboy rhetoric.
We can’t forget and we can’t heal. We’ve locked ourselves into a war that can’t be won or brought to a close. And if we are any safer today than we were on 9/10/01, it’s only marginally so.
Monday, September 05, 2011
Hard Labor
The official unemployment in California is 12%. 14 million people are estimated to be out of work nationwide. The “real” unemployment rate is much higher. Job growth in August was flat.
Private sector labor unions are weaker this Labor Day than last, continuing their long decline, and public employee unions and their members have sustained fierce attack from Republican governors bent on solving fiscal emergencies by pushing government workers into the wage cellar with their private sector brothers and sisters.
Happy Labor Day.
After wasting the summer bickering about deficits and austerity, the political class has finally acknowledged the one issue that Americans actually care about: jobs.
And not the low-wage, no benefits, part-time jobs that Rick Perry boasts of creating thousands of in Texas – Americans want real jobs at living wages that will allow them to buy what they need, send their kids to college, see the doctor without needing to take out a second mortgage, and maybe even salt a little money away for their golden years.
President Obama will make a big policy speech about jobs this week though we’d be wise not to get our hopes up; Obama will hit the right notes as he always does, but action will not follow his rhetoric, and in any case the austerity mandarins of the GOP will immediately crow that we cannot afford to extend unemployment benefits or launch a second stimulus package. For a few days, maybe a week, the subject of jobs will sit front and center on the media stage and then be replaced by the usual economic reporting: the ups and downs of the stock market, whether or not investors are feeling confident or cautious, and how much dough CEO’s are taking home.
Most Americans are unaware of how much blood was spilled by labor activists to put a more humane face on American capitalism. Sweatshops, child labor, sixteen-hour shifts and dangerous working conditions were once the norm; workers were expendable, tossed aside when used up. No paid vacations, sick time, pension plans or overtime pay was offered until working people, men and women, took to the streets to demand a fair share and a seat at the table. This required guts and courage and determination and organization, a willingness to be bloodied today and come back for more tomorrow, to never back down, no matter how ruthless and hostile the mine and factory owners were.
Grit of that kind has disappeared.
I see them at 5:30 in the morning when I’m on my way to the gym. On foot or pedaling rickety bicycles, they carry backpacks and wear hooded sweatshirts as they make their way to jobs that I imagine are physically demanding, unpleasant and low paying. They are Hispanic or Latino, legal immigrants, maybe a few undocumented immigrants among them, here to work and make better lives for themselves and their families. That desire is immutable, crosses generations and cultures, motivates people to cross oceans, deserts and militarized borders; motivates people to make long commutes on crowded freeways; motivates people to get out of bed day after day.
Desire for something better lies at the heart of the American Dream. Work hard, play by the rules, take care of your family, and don’t expect something for nothing, and you can make a decent life for yourself. The implied promise of America, drilled into generations, and then slowly eroded by the failed ideology of free trade agreements, union busting, tax cuts on top of tax cuts, and corporate takeover of the political system.
14 million people unemployed. Millions more underemployed. Untold thousands who have given up all hope of ever working again.
Happy Labor Day, America.
Private sector labor unions are weaker this Labor Day than last, continuing their long decline, and public employee unions and their members have sustained fierce attack from Republican governors bent on solving fiscal emergencies by pushing government workers into the wage cellar with their private sector brothers and sisters.
Happy Labor Day.
After wasting the summer bickering about deficits and austerity, the political class has finally acknowledged the one issue that Americans actually care about: jobs.
And not the low-wage, no benefits, part-time jobs that Rick Perry boasts of creating thousands of in Texas – Americans want real jobs at living wages that will allow them to buy what they need, send their kids to college, see the doctor without needing to take out a second mortgage, and maybe even salt a little money away for their golden years.
President Obama will make a big policy speech about jobs this week though we’d be wise not to get our hopes up; Obama will hit the right notes as he always does, but action will not follow his rhetoric, and in any case the austerity mandarins of the GOP will immediately crow that we cannot afford to extend unemployment benefits or launch a second stimulus package. For a few days, maybe a week, the subject of jobs will sit front and center on the media stage and then be replaced by the usual economic reporting: the ups and downs of the stock market, whether or not investors are feeling confident or cautious, and how much dough CEO’s are taking home.
Most Americans are unaware of how much blood was spilled by labor activists to put a more humane face on American capitalism. Sweatshops, child labor, sixteen-hour shifts and dangerous working conditions were once the norm; workers were expendable, tossed aside when used up. No paid vacations, sick time, pension plans or overtime pay was offered until working people, men and women, took to the streets to demand a fair share and a seat at the table. This required guts and courage and determination and organization, a willingness to be bloodied today and come back for more tomorrow, to never back down, no matter how ruthless and hostile the mine and factory owners were.
Grit of that kind has disappeared.
I see them at 5:30 in the morning when I’m on my way to the gym. On foot or pedaling rickety bicycles, they carry backpacks and wear hooded sweatshirts as they make their way to jobs that I imagine are physically demanding, unpleasant and low paying. They are Hispanic or Latino, legal immigrants, maybe a few undocumented immigrants among them, here to work and make better lives for themselves and their families. That desire is immutable, crosses generations and cultures, motivates people to cross oceans, deserts and militarized borders; motivates people to make long commutes on crowded freeways; motivates people to get out of bed day after day.
Desire for something better lies at the heart of the American Dream. Work hard, play by the rules, take care of your family, and don’t expect something for nothing, and you can make a decent life for yourself. The implied promise of America, drilled into generations, and then slowly eroded by the failed ideology of free trade agreements, union busting, tax cuts on top of tax cuts, and corporate takeover of the political system.
14 million people unemployed. Millions more underemployed. Untold thousands who have given up all hope of ever working again.
Happy Labor Day, America.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Everyday Madness
Ordinary everyday madness, the DOW is up, the DOW is down, investors are wary, investors are jubilant, the recession is over, the recession is just beginning, racism is a relic of the past, racism is embedded in our DNA.
The eagle cries and the raven squawks, a caterpillar must run a gauntlet before it becomes a butterfly, water wears down rock, stupid is as stupid does; Texas Governor Rick Perry has a nice head of hair but before long his Jesus shtick will wear thin. Mitt Romney believes that every dime a corporation earns (steals, siphons, extorts, you decide…) ultimately returns to the people – yeah – Mitt said that on one of his campaign stops. Which people? How much dough does Wal-Mart return to its grunt line employees, the very same ones, mainly women, who are encouraged by Wal-Mart to apply for food stamps and any other government assistance for which they qualify? How slick is that? Are those the people Mitt is talking about? Mitt wants us to think he’s a regular guy, a can of Bud and a ballgame Everyman, but he’s a millionaire like most American politicians and his view is marred by gilded glasses. Mitt thinks the rich deserve everything they have no matter how they got it, just as he believes the poor are responsible for their own fate, their own poverty, their own ills, their own health care, their own college tuition.
In gleaming glass-enclosed Christian churches God wants you, me, every body, to be rich and blessed with a nice head of hair. But many are poor and many are balding, so there is a difference between what God wants and what God delivers. Money on the table, blood in the gutter, Woody Guthrie is trading his guitar for a pistol and Mother Theresa is sharpening a machete. Tempting fate yet again, the armadillo sets off across the two-lane blacktop, just another crapshoot, another turn of the deck, another roll of the dice. Few win, most lose, ageless, timeless, back to the garden and the fall, the primordial swamp, the Big Bang, the meteor shower. Don’t forget, Mr. Bigshot, that you lost your virginity to a 300 pound whore in Tijuana. You’ve come a long way since college: house, luxury car, stock portfolio, purebred dog, trophy wife, young mistress, lovely children and a cholesterol reading below 200. You the man! America has been very, very good to you and the gifts keep coming. Generous tax cuts and free airline miles, the complimentary first class upgrade with champagne and strawberries. Hotel maids earning minimum wage pay more Federal tax than you do. You’re one of the winners.
Ordinary everyday madness, garden variety, as common as bird shit on a statue. A woman in Florida drowns her infant in the bathtub; a man in Texas rapes his daughter because Jesus told him to; ordinary and mad, mad and ordinary, madness from the pulpit, madness from the judge’s bench, madness in the maternity ward and the Governor’s office. Only the graveyards are calm and serene. The captain of the cruise ship has gone AWOL in port and the ship is drifting on the outgoing tide. The passengers are oblivious and the entire crew is below decks, drinking pilfered booze from paper cups and dancing to Lady Gaga.
Summer is almost over.
The eagle cries and the raven squawks, a caterpillar must run a gauntlet before it becomes a butterfly, water wears down rock, stupid is as stupid does; Texas Governor Rick Perry has a nice head of hair but before long his Jesus shtick will wear thin. Mitt Romney believes that every dime a corporation earns (steals, siphons, extorts, you decide…) ultimately returns to the people – yeah – Mitt said that on one of his campaign stops. Which people? How much dough does Wal-Mart return to its grunt line employees, the very same ones, mainly women, who are encouraged by Wal-Mart to apply for food stamps and any other government assistance for which they qualify? How slick is that? Are those the people Mitt is talking about? Mitt wants us to think he’s a regular guy, a can of Bud and a ballgame Everyman, but he’s a millionaire like most American politicians and his view is marred by gilded glasses. Mitt thinks the rich deserve everything they have no matter how they got it, just as he believes the poor are responsible for their own fate, their own poverty, their own ills, their own health care, their own college tuition.
In gleaming glass-enclosed Christian churches God wants you, me, every body, to be rich and blessed with a nice head of hair. But many are poor and many are balding, so there is a difference between what God wants and what God delivers. Money on the table, blood in the gutter, Woody Guthrie is trading his guitar for a pistol and Mother Theresa is sharpening a machete. Tempting fate yet again, the armadillo sets off across the two-lane blacktop, just another crapshoot, another turn of the deck, another roll of the dice. Few win, most lose, ageless, timeless, back to the garden and the fall, the primordial swamp, the Big Bang, the meteor shower. Don’t forget, Mr. Bigshot, that you lost your virginity to a 300 pound whore in Tijuana. You’ve come a long way since college: house, luxury car, stock portfolio, purebred dog, trophy wife, young mistress, lovely children and a cholesterol reading below 200. You the man! America has been very, very good to you and the gifts keep coming. Generous tax cuts and free airline miles, the complimentary first class upgrade with champagne and strawberries. Hotel maids earning minimum wage pay more Federal tax than you do. You’re one of the winners.
Ordinary everyday madness, garden variety, as common as bird shit on a statue. A woman in Florida drowns her infant in the bathtub; a man in Texas rapes his daughter because Jesus told him to; ordinary and mad, mad and ordinary, madness from the pulpit, madness from the judge’s bench, madness in the maternity ward and the Governor’s office. Only the graveyards are calm and serene. The captain of the cruise ship has gone AWOL in port and the ship is drifting on the outgoing tide. The passengers are oblivious and the entire crew is below decks, drinking pilfered booze from paper cups and dancing to Lady Gaga.
Summer is almost over.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Poem: The Elusive Lady
My muse is on vacation tonight
Or maybe she’s dancing close
With someone else
She comes and goes
Here today, gone tomorrow
The biggest tease I’ve ever known
I reach for her
My need urgent
The well is almost dry and the words
Refuse to cooperate
I need an idea that will grab me
And hold tight until the demon is exorcised
By words on the page
Come back to me, elusive lady
Play fair for once
Or maybe she’s dancing close
With someone else
She comes and goes
Here today, gone tomorrow
The biggest tease I’ve ever known
I reach for her
My need urgent
The well is almost dry and the words
Refuse to cooperate
I need an idea that will grab me
And hold tight until the demon is exorcised
By words on the page
Come back to me, elusive lady
Play fair for once
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)