this blog is intended to be an online journal. i consider myself a public man and as such, i think it is fitting some part of my views are available to the public. i hope my blog is positive and constructive rather than derisive or political.
i may write about politics or sports or my childhood or what it is like to long to be a citizen of the world.
Secrecy is the cornerstone of all tyranny. Not force, but secrecy...censorship. When any government, or any church, for that matter, undertakes to say to its subjects, "This you may not read, this you must not see, this you are forbidden to know," the end result is tyranny and oppression, no matter how holy the motives. Mightily little force is needed to control a man who has been hoodwinked; Contrariwise, no amount of force can control a free man, a man whose mind is free. No, not the rack, not fission bombs, not anything. You cannot conquer a free man; The most you can do is kill him.-- Robert A. Heinlein, Revolt in 2100
i am having trouble believing the cacophony of voices i am hearing complaining about the latest revelations from wikileaks. from hillaryclinton, (who let's face it is just doing barackobama's bidding,) to a hack of a cornell law professor; william a. jacobson, myriad commenter's have been decrying wikileaksfor making public so much secret or classified information.
this is a fundamental issue because as heinlein so aptly pointed out, secrecy is part and parcel to tyranny. in america too often we are told we cannot know certain information. if you have seen 'loose change,' you have an idea about the conspiracy theories around the 9/11 attacks on new york city, the pentagon and united airlines. what we can absolutely know about those theories is that they serve as a reminder there is too much secrecy in our government.
did america stage thee events of 9/11? i doubt it. is there a good reason america could not see the video footage from the shell station across the street from the pentagon? i doubt that, too.
are there things in the wikileaksdocuments that could damage our national security? perhaps. does that possibility outweigh whatever good could come from the wikileaksdocuments? no. given the level of secrecy currently practiced in our government, (to say nothing of the tacit permission granted by our press,) and in order to avoid the fate heinlein implies wikileaksis absolutely necessary.
so don't let anyone tell you wikileaksis somehow bad or harming america. that is crap. at this point wikileaksis covering for the poor journalism in this country. wikileaks is real news getting out in spite of the public's watchdog being paid to sleep in.
because we still can't know parts of the warren report, because the united states army tried to give us a completely fabricated version of pat tillman's death, because of the downing street memo, because of judith miller and scooter libby, because of 16 words in a presidential address, and so on and so on and so on, wikileaks is important and needs to be defended.
did i tell you the one about mark and olivia and pam? (it's kind of classic.)
one day mark let me know that he wanted to change his name. i objected of course.
"why would you want to change your name, buddy," i said? "your mother and i picked that name out. "it's your grandfather's name, too, you know."
he just insisted that he wanted to change his name. so i asked what he wanted to change his name to and to my horror he replied, "pam."
pam? what the hell is pam?! since when do gender crises begin at three?
a few days later my wife tells me mark wants to change his name to pam. she was as puzzled as me. jokes followed about my son being gay and i'll tell you, i really considered it. i thought about all it would mean. i imagined his life, (and my life in relation.) my grandchildren disappeared before my eyes.
in a way i suppose it was a healthy consideration for me. i know i am going to love my son for the rest of my life no matter what. and while i do not consider myself homophobic i do recognize that some aspects of that lifestyle can be difficult, more difficult than perhaps a straight lifestyle, (as it were.) so there is a part of me that sincerely hopes mark is not gay.
several days later mark again insisted he wanted to change his name to pam.
"damn," i thought. (this thing is not going away.)
so on friday i had some pizza and salad brought in for my team at work for lunch and as we sat around a big table in the warehouse chatting it up i told my story. i was sharing about how i was a little bit worried but mostly just thought it was funny that my son had been asking to change his name to pam.
"pam," i highlighted? not just a girl name but an out-of-fashion, girl name.
just then a girl sitting across the table who i had just hired and who was spending her first day with us chimed in. "does he watch olivia?" she said.
i answered in the affirmative and the new girl went on to tell us how her little guy also watches olivia and on a recent episode a new girl had joined olivia's class named olivia. at first the new girl was known as olivia 2 but it was all too confusing for olivia and so, she decided she wanted to change her name to, (you guessed it,) pam. (in the back of my mind i actually recalled the episode ever so slightly.)
everyone at the table began giggling including me. and in a way i was also relieved. yes, mark had gotten this idea from olivia, (and latched onto it.) 20 minutes later i emailed my wife to let her know where mark had gotten that "pam," thing, so she could also be relieved.
for his part krakauer kicks ass. is this guy the single best journalist in the world today? his construction of time lines, his knack for making valid connections and drawing relevant, insightful conclusions is par excellence. in an age of faux news journalism, in a time when what sells passes for news, when the institutions of journalism suffer from a dearth of credibility, krakauer treats his subjects objectively, thoroughly and with true journalistic integrity. his work reminds me ofgarcia-marquez's 'news of a kidnapping.'
tillman the man came through in krakauer's biography as a study in contradictions, a beautiful, artful, determined, motivated man of action.
i love this gray world i live in. i love the fact that the stories we used to tell have given way to complexity: truthful, black and white, white and black, sun dried, gemstone complexity. gray is the new hero. gray is who we are and what we do. (gray is the way we are feeling.) pat tillman was gloriously gray and deserves the adoration of a hero as few other in our day and age.
when tillman was a high school football stud in northern california he went out for pizza one evening after a big game and became in involved in an altercation between his circle of friends and another group from across town. tillman arrived late to the violent action but interpreted what he saw as an injury to a friend and so he set out to the right that wrong by pummeling someone who had zero involvement in the fisticuffs tillman had missed. he brutalized that person and administered severe injury.
as a reader i did not care for pat tillman at that point in his story. he was a prototypical, cro-magnon jock. however, tillman's parents, to their real credit, parented pat in such a way as they took him to the hospital to and made him apologize to the boy he injured and his family. they made him face his consequences in the criminal justice system and they loved him through the entire ordeal. this event seems to have colored tillman's life to a large degree.
there are other moments in 'where men win glory,' wherein the dark pat tillman can be seen, such as when he is vacationing in france and he gets drunk and tells some locals about we saved their asses in world war II then goes back to his hotel room and pukes all over the place.
krakauer also shows the determined pat tillman who was drawn to severe challenges and seemed to need to push himself to achieve in those situations. on vacation in sedona he dared leap from treetop to treetop, risking life on limb, for no other reason than to challenge himself and sharpen himself. on the gridiron tillman overcame and achieved. in spite of his diminutive size he lead his high school football team to glory. in turn he lead his college football team to over achievement and ultimately he became an arizona cardinal and lead the team to elusive success and established a reputation as one of the best players at his position in the national football league.
the rest of the story you know up to the tragic end. pat tillman was so affected by the 9/11 tragedy he decided to halt his nfl career from a sense of altruism to enlist, (despite his undergraduate degree from arizona state university which would have allowed him to enter the army as an officer.) he wanted to fight the enemy who wreaked such damage on the united states in real combat.
in this way tillman was simply naive. to think he could enlist and somehow end up across the field from the real enemy, the real perpetrators of those planes flying into those skyscrapers, defending all our honor in violent confrontation, was an idealistic notion that showed itself as such to tillman gradually throughout the course of his tenure in the us army, according to his journal entries.
in fact after having served in iraq and actually been near to thejessica lynchrescue farce, tillman returned stateside and through a friend made contact withnoamchomskyfor the purpose of arranging a meeting tillman wanted to occur only after his enlistment expired.
'where men win glory,' is, of course, a tragedy. pat tillman was shot down by ssgttrevor alders at relatively close range. the army and the bush administration tried desperately to lie to the american public, (again,) and tell us tillman died fighting heroically against a real enemy to be reckoned with, for the purpose of increasing support for an ugly, hate-filled, warmongering agenda. in the age of information however, lies like this are beyond difficult to sustain.
krakauer ruminates on the idea and consequences of friendly fire. he studies the complexities and contradictions of tillman's life. he puts the reader in the mind of tillman's wife and family as news trickles back home of his death. the sorrow is paralyzing.
on the other hand the light of coming to know some of pat tillman is edifying and enlightening on myriad levels.
this election season californians are considering the idea of legalizing it. proposition 19 is currently showing 42%-49% support statewide in polling and represents the state's best chance of jump-starting the economy. those entities opposed to legalizing it in november can't seem to come up with any good reasons for maintaining the status quo. instead they are resorting to the old standby of suggesting this particular law is poorly written and contains any number of bugaboos all californians should fear.
i'll leave it to the pros. click on the header to read jon walker's refutation of all the prop 19 opposing views.
amc's 'mad men,' (which began its fourth season on july 25th,) is a fascinating look back at who we were. "mad men," is set in the early '60s and revolves around a group of people who are employed in or connected to the advertising industry on madison avenue in new york city. the show sheds copious light on the age, who we were and how we lived, and the nature, (and history,) of advertising. it is an amazing thing to behold.
the main character is don draper, (played by jonhamm,) a man to whom advertising is simply an extension of human nature. if a man is only as sick as his secrets, draper is unwell. he is a study in contrasts and perhaps the single most complex character ever seen on television. on one hand his secrets are of the largest variety. through every plot line draper's hidden past lays in wait as a potential catastrophe. by turns these secrets have threatened his marriage, his career and his credibility. they have been used against him by his closest associates and have haunted him in his loneliest moments.
at the same time don draper is an everyman who acts on a set of principles that have been slowly revealed and defined over the course of mad men's run thus far. when a foolish playboy shows up at the ad agency intent on spending his inheritance on promoting the sports business of jaialai, as if the american public will lap it up and multiply the young man's fortune, draper sees a moral dilemma and refuses to take the rube's money. (in true to form fashion the agency finds a way to overrule draper and capitalize on the job.)
on the other hand when draper's brother finds him in new york city, wanting only to be near his family and to have a relationship with him, draper throws money at him and orders him to get out of, and stay out of, his life, which ultimately sends his brother to an early demise. this moral black mark, however, can just as easily be seen as a virtue. draper's dilemma revolves around a choice he made, a choice from which there was no return. so when his brother appears draper's secrets, facts wholly hidden from his wife and three children, (and just about everyone else who knows him,) threaten the fragile structure of a life he has built against all odds and with careful precision. he has a trophy wife, children, a fantastic career, a suburban mini-mansion and the matching cadillac, and a certain freedom of movement common to career men in the '50s and early '60s.
in some ways draper is that typical poor, farm kid who grew up certain only of the fact he would not live this destitute life his "family," has given him forever. moreover for draper the need to climb is a moral imperative. he regards his father, (visited by don draper flashback,) with disdain for his life choices and his lowly station.
draper's morality guides his action but it is a subjective morality. he is unfazed by any moral implications of his extramarital affairs. it is as if he believes his behavior is his business and that so long as he provides for his family at a high level, compartmentalizes his life so that his wife is protected from the knowledge that would hurt, and otherwise chooses right action he is moral. (who is to say don draper is wrong on this?) for him it is as if his choices are in harmony with his persona or his personal zeitgeist. they seem to work for him. so when he apologizes to an underling or helps another subordinate who once tried to blackmail him or makes a kind gesture to a secretary, (all actions which contrast with so many of the others characters in the offices of sterling cooper,) draper is the hero of mad men. he is true to himself and consistent within his own boundaries.
mad men marks the end of the age when fictional characters had to be drawn in bold shades of good and bad. remember how pure and white and virtuous the characters of yesteryear were? could fredmacmurray of, 'my three sons,' ever have acted badly much less made a mistake? could mike brady have had an affair unbeknownst to carol? would phyliciarashad, (as clairhuxtable,) ever have sat down in a motel room with a couple of hitchhikers to smoke some dope? (don draper did.)
mad men is setting a new television standard. as we the viewers come to demand higher quality programming, soon we will no longer accept cardboard cutout characters the likes of cosbys or bradys or even the simpsons. by contrast mad men gives us complexity and nuance. whereas 'happy days,' and 'the six million dollar man,' or 'beverly hills 90210,' gave us black and white characters, mad men offers gray ones. the lives of these characters prompt us to think about our own lives and decisions and judgments.
more, as a historical drama, mad men is set in the early '60s and makes clever use of the real historical events of those days. just as we remember where we were when the twin towers fell, people who were alive on november 22 of 1963 recall exactly where they were when the president was shot. in mad men we see people agonizing over personal crises, getting at the work of day, and engaging in furtive encounters in hotel rooms, (as kennedy was felled in dallas.) similarly the drama that was the civil rights movement is seen coloring the lives of these everyday characters. this historical context adds a layer to mad men so that when marilynmonroe is found dead and every feminine eye at sterling cooper is wet with tears of profound sadness, we are informed about a certain innocence or ignorance of the day. afterall, mass media was a baby.
the business of sterling cooper is manipulating people, persuading them to buy things some of which have great value, others of which have no value. the advertising industry was in its infancy in the late '50s and early '60s but the basic mission is unchanged; represent clients by targeting demographic groups to persuade to buy something.
in those days marketing and advertising were new concepts just beginning to penetrate the american psyche. in mad men we can see businesses refusing to advertise or refusing to advertise in a certain way, (e.g. bible belt purveyors of bikinis who consider the two piece wholesome and refuse any hint of sexuality in their ad campaign,) and we know with certainty they are businesses who will fail. similarly we see tycoons, (based on real, historical figures,) embracing the new and we implicitly understand why they succeeded.
today the american society is under an intense pressure from advertising. it is in many ways a blight on our lifestyles. it is at once ubiquitous, malignant and benign. advertising is so powerful it dictates large swaths of our lives. not only do we elect public officials who most successfully advertise to us but it could be said our form of government itself is heavily influenced by how advertising makes us feel about certain issues thereby changing our attitudes. perhaps one day soon marijuana will be a legal substance. in that scenario advertising will have played a major role. likewise americans do not value liberty and some of the basic tenets of the constitution as we once did and advertising has played a role in that too, convincing us that fearing criminals and terrorists, (for example,) is more important than protecting our own rights to privacy.
'mad men,' serves as a study in how advertising came to be, what it represents and how it affects us. some of us advocate, (or merely pine away,) for responsible legislation regulating carbon emissions, but we think nothing of a truck polluting the atmosphere, (as trucks do,) for the sole purpose of pulling a facade up and down beach boulevard with an advertising message on it.
upon reviewing the commercial above we can see clearly how ridiculous the claim lucky strike cigarettes made was and yet, that commercial was successful. people bought it, which is to say they bought the cigarettes. our ads today are more complex but they work in just the same way, (only with greater precision i would assert.) in any 'mad men,' episode one can find insights such as might be gleaned from the lucky strike commercial some 50 years after it was made. what will be effective advertising for an airline? in 'mad men,' it is a little girl asking her father what he brought her home from distant lands. how advertising was sold in those days is also interesting in as much as it depicts the early days of schmoozing, taking the clients out and getting them drunk and showing them a good time in order to win the desired outcome. moreover it is important to think about these things if we are to immunize ourselves against advertising or what ails us.
televison shows which illuminate and educate are special. in this way 'mad men,' is the second best television show i have ever seen. it is both thoughtful and thought-provoking. the writers, (mathewweiner chief among them,) achieve on such a high level the little screen has become art. as viewers we can watch 'mad men,' and be entertained while simultaneously observing human behavior in a way that actually provokes insight. as a side note, januaryjonesand christinahendricks make yet another reason to watch 'mad men;' eye candy. (if hendricks does not singlehandedly destroy the waifish supermodel, she may be invincible. hendricks has won me over.)
i took the family to dodger stadium on thursday night.
yes, we got the mattkemp action figures and the mannyramirez figures too. my kids played with the kemp dolls throughout the game since i liberated two of them from their boxes. at the end of the evening mattkemp and mark raced back to the car with the loser having to ride home in the bed of the truck. luckily mark edged kemp at the last second and touched the truck first. at that very moment kemp hit a solo homer in the bottom of the 6th. yes, we left early. our tix sucked and the kids got antsy, (read: faith got antsy,) and so we took off but heard the roar of the crowd. i jumped in the car and flipped on the radio to discover it was matt's big night all the way around, (save for the lonely ride home in the trunk.)
to be completely honest, the game was a mixed bag. i kept thinking about how much i would like to tell frank mccourt about my experience with horrible seats, terribly designed seating, a bad usher, no straws, a ridiculously long line to get the free action figures, (it did move fast however,) confusing tickets, (again, just poorly designed seating,) more bad seating as the dust of my cracked peanuts kept flying into the hair of the people in front of me because of a breeze that passed through a wire, mesh fence underneath and behind my seat that should have been a solid fence...and then there was the really bad part. parking at dodger stadium used to be a breeze. (didn't frank mccourt formerly own parking lots? you would think he'd be better at this.) one knew there were two loops going opposite directions. one had choices. i came in at stadium way off the 110 and was funneled right into a lot to the right. i had to walk all the way up 3-4 flights of stairs, (with a 3-year-old in my arms,) to will call at right field reserved only to enter and walk all the way around to my seats in left field reserved.
because i was watching a game on the weekend and saw a commercial for $17 reserved seats for mattkemp action figure night and thought, "gee, bad seats but cheap. "my kids are little. "it'll be fun." (what a moron.) i felt penalized for not sticking to my usual standard of just not really going to baseball games in person unless i have some kind of a line on decent seats, typically on the field level, occasionally loge or club. the $17 ticket price became $22.75 per by the time the ticketmaster surcharges were paid. (it is both collusion and a monopoly-i am pretty sure. i am not a lawyer but i feel certain.) what sounded like $68 on the commercial bounced right up to $91. okay, big deal i can handle giving away an extra $23. fuck it. but to then have to deal with a parking situation that used to be par excellence but now is strictly a convenience for the organization? (i believe it must result in getting people off the property more quickly than in the past. that is the only rationale I can come up with. geezuschrimus i miss the o'malleys.)
from our seats in left field, (the first seats in the top row of the reserved section, my wife and myself along with my 3 & 5-year-old kids,) we could see my car on the opposite side of the ravine. "look kids, it's the bug truck! See it?!" "yep."
with lapfuls of hot dogs, cokes, licorice, action figures, and peanuts on our persons, we were booted from those really bad seats. a lady approached from my right and said to me, "you're in my seats."
"wtf," i thought?! "you mean these effed up seats, the single worst location i have ever sat in at any event ever are not even the right seats?!??"
how could that be possible. it was reserved. it was section 17. it was row jj. why there was an 'm,' in front of the seat number '10,' i had no idea but i thought i was in the right place. well, i guessed we were probably slightly further down the left field line in the same last or top, row, but a section over so like a reasonable person i took my family down a few rows and plopped down in the first available seats i found. they were better than that crowded, inaccessible back row.
for the next two innings we enjoyed the game, playing with our mattkemps, eating peanuts, posting pix to facebook, you know, all that night at the game kind of stuff. then came the couple who were supposed to be in the seats we were in. i asked them if we were in their seats before they could tell me and they confirmed my suspicion. i asked faith if we should move down a row and she asked them if they wanted to sit in the seats in front of us to which they agreed. cool. we would spend another inning right there as takahashi and kuroda battled like two samurai on a diamond-shaped war ground.
next came a mysterious kid with a ticket. he approached the couple in front of us, ticket in hand, (mattkemp in his other hand,) and said, "you're in my seat. "i'm only one." he was only one?! he was 11. how is he only one? despite 3 or 4 empty seats further in next to the couple they turned and looked at me. i looked at faith who could not have been more inconvenienced said, (matter of factly,) "we have to move."
i grabbed my 3-year-old and his sprite, put a mattkemp in my pocket and urged faith and terra to get out of the row we were in. they did and down we went. at the exit faith turned as if to leave the stadium. i grabbed terra and pulled her back in my direction and went down to better seats, to a huge section of 30 or 40 seats that had been empty all night. i went down four rows, turned and went out into the middle of that mass of unoccupied seats where i sat myself and my kids down. faith joined us but notified me if it happened again we would be leaving. we were still in the 4th inning.
at that point the cotton candy guy arrived and i shelled out $3 for about 10-cents worth of sugar and pink food coloring. jamesloney got thrown out attempting to steal 2nd base and i booed heartily after which terra and mark booed too. with bases loaded in the top of the 5th and two outs kuroda faced his counterpart and I yelled out, "strike out the bumb!" (i think they heard me down in the loge section.) mark mimicked me and repeated the phrase. now this was why i came to the park. i told terramattkemp's licorice was in fact a freeze ray and just one of many superpowers kemp had in addition to hitting baseballs out of the park and throwing runners out from miles away.
all went well for a couple of innings. the dodgers held their slight advantage and the family maintained our grip on our latest seats of choice. unfortunately, a bad odor soon became noticeable. no, it wasn't dodger stadium sewage. it was mark. my three-year-old had gas, which of course means only one thing, he would soon need to go number two. i had to do something and fast. briefly i imagined the dodger stadium restroom. i imagined getting mark into a stall and having to wipe down all manner of disgusting human byproduct. i turned to faith and informed her mark had passed gas no less than 10 times in about the last 90 seconds and suggested we leave, which we did.
we made our way from left field to right field, exited the stadium, walked down three or four flights of stairs, traversed the parking lot from the right field bleachers nearly to the exit, at which point mark won his race against the mattkemp action figure. as soon as we got home mark went directly to the restroom to do his business. mission accomplished. i turned on the game and saw kuo get the last three outs of the dodger victory. (goodbye six game losing streak.) i am just not going to bother with those bad seats in the future.
you know who was better than that band you really like? the smiths.
make no mistake. your band is good, way up there, but they're not better than smiths.
to this day the smiths feels like a favorite t-shirt. their music is familiar and comfortable and i wonder about the sensibilities which drew me to the smiths so many years ago.
"it was the lyrics," is what comes to mind first. but i know the rhythm section fit the rest of the band like a glove, imbuing the music with a light, sometimes jaunty, sometimes comedic touch. then i think it was johnny marr's style, his running, bouncing, moody guitars and his dark, forward leaning into technology. but then i think it could just be the divine voice and whimsy of stevenpatrickmorrissey.
i know i am late to the party on this, but the man is interesting and therefore deserved an examination. kitchen confidential is as much pop culture epic as it is epicurian journal. it reads such that the reader feels like he is directing the course of the narrative. one finds oneself thinking, "i wonder what-" only to have the thought answered before it was fully formed. intuitive writing like that is as rare a form as can be found. it is void of pretense and full of sounds and focus and communion. anthonybourdain has found his voice and is here exercising it like a booming artist.
read the passage below wherein bourdain defines what it is to want to drink, what it is to a sentient man to want to engage with his peers in an atmosphere of lowered inhibitions, and how thoroughly satisfying it can be to speak openly on all the taboo subjects, religion and politics and sexuality and whatever. whatever gets people uptight and private. it is in these conversations that a man comes to truly define himself after all. he can use bentley's or jewels only as a mask. but as a man thinks a man is. it is the forming of opinions and real values that say the most about a man and that matter in the scope of humanity or existence. anthonybourdain is a badass-i am here to say.
this paragraph describes a time in bourdain's life after he had sort of cleaned his act up. he is married and not addicted to heroin and working his ass off as chef at a prominent new york city restaurant. he spent this chapter writing about the work and the people. he describes his assistant chefs and those who could do in a world of pace and vigor in rich tones, speaking of their ethnicity and work ethic and describing the action in and around the kitchen such that you can sense the sweat on their brows and envision the wrinkled expressions on the faces of those who strain. sous chefs accomplish feats of daring-do. some waiters get it-others don't. at this particular point he has described a 16 or 17 hour day in the restaurant business in all its gory, fantastic detail and finally leaves the restaurant and walks off into the night.
I'm thinking about going home but I know I'll just lie there, grinding my teeth and smoking. I tell the cabbie to take me to the corner of 50th and Broadway, where I walk downstairs to the subway arcade and the Siberia Bar, a grungy little underground rumpus room where the drinks are served in plastic cups and the jukebox suits my taste. There are a few cookies from the Hilton at the bar, as well as a couple of saggy, bruised-looking strippers from a club up the street. Tracy, the owner of the joint, is there, which means I won't be paying for drinks tonight. It's 1:00A.M., and I have to be in at 7:30 mañana, but the Cramps are playing on the jukebox, Tracy immediately fiddles with the machine so there's twenty free credits-and that first beer tastes mighty good. The Hilton cookies are arguing about mise-en-place. One of them is bitching about another cook nicking salt off his station, and the other cook doesn't see why that's such a big deal-so I'm gonna be involved in this conversation. The Cramps tune is followed by the Velvets singing "Pale Blue Eyes," and Tracy suggests a shot of Georgian vodka he's got stashed in the freezer...
and what's next? next is a ride away from the utilitarian grind of the every day, away from all the pretending that you give a shit about certain things and instead expressing your true, sincere feelings of love and adoration for some art form or another, a friend, a new idea you heard about or something profoundly trivial. to call this time escape from responsibility is to deny the cure for responsibility. i don't trust people who don't drink or engage in some form of inhibition combating vice. they hide things and put on airs. they're covering up self-perceived inadequacies. they are not generous and they do not share their selves on a level of those who trust on such a level they are comfortable getting out of sorts.
this is bourdain's charm. he portrays a class of people often shunned or in some way denigrated by society in a shameful case of a naked emperor. in fact these are the salt of the earth. these are god's children if ever there could be a god of love. these are the open, tradesmen of the trade winds sharing in and out like great, big, interrogative marks, poets by action, seekers by day and night, friends to be sure. he portrays by representation, and the voice of a kind, engaged sage comes through.
kitchen confidential is the evidence of an individual from the drinking, cooking, working, connecting, enjoying, struggling, winning and losing, succeeding and failing, beautiful-loser class, capturing some of the magic of his life to share.
bloody sundayin ireland was more than 38 years ago and yet justice was finally served. (i love justice. i savor it. i require it.)
when i readthis storytoday, (after reading thisblog post,) i was excited to see some real justice. thekey factsof what happened onbloody sunday in derry, (northern ireland,) are outlined in thesaville report, which took all of these 38 years to arrive at the conclusion that the actions of members of the british army were unjustified and unjustifiable.
nowadays we can look backwards and enjoy consensus on myriad points of justice, which were contested by masses of people in their time. i think of the warren commission report and the fact that some parts are sealed until 2017, (and can then remain sealed by executive order,) and the injustice confounds me.
all justice is important but slow justice is impotent.
writing this blog post is like trying to run with my shoelaces tied. this ilk of blog post, the class of entries having to do with political issues and ideas, makes for hardly readable, nearly incomprehensible essays and i really do not know why. i have had trouble organizing my thoughts on these things. it seems i start with one idea i think worthy of exploration then it seems the ideas themselves, those connected to the main, feel like they must be connected in a certain way and before i know it i have connected so many tangents, (or large ideas,) the piece itself sounds like altruistic proverbs at best, or folksy, uneducated ramblings at worst.
the point i want to make here is that it is good to look back and recognize truth. it is important to seek justice everywhere at every level. it is even good to hold people accountable, the perpetrators of crimes as well as the systems that support them. this video was posted at firedoglake and shows the faces of some of these irish citizens, who peacefully protested imperialist policies of their british occupiers, (some suffering a martyr's death,) and helps illuminate the plight of masses of humanity.
it has always been odd the way california has elected such a mix of politicians, to say nothing of the inconsistent propositions and ballot measures. it has been suggested the mix was a product of the liberal north and the conservative south but too many outcomes have defied that logic. some have suggested it was the wind that produced such strange results, as in, whichever way the wind may be blowing in a given season. but from governors like the browns to reagan or wilson, (where arnoldschwarzenegger is the median politically speaking,) to candidates as varied as barbara boxer and duke cunningham, california has always been a political riddle.
well guess what. i think i have solved it. i think it has something to do with voter turnout. i had every intention of turning out today but i failed to make it happen. early returns are suggesting a couple of these loony propositions may pass and i think it is a product of a seasonally uninformed electorate. in the big elections we do pretty good, (and by pretty good i mean only relatively speaking.) we choose some very good legislators and public officials and then we sometimes choose the least of however many evils. even schwarezenegger was socially liberal and thereby a study in contrasts, (even if he did come into office because the electorate was hoodwinked in the gray davis affair.) then on days like today we show up in modest numbers and anything can happen. if some special interest is energized enough they can sweep an initiative into law that really has no business even being considered by an informed electorate. (for its part money works hard and well to dumb down the electorate.)
i don't think ronaldreagan or petewilson could ever be elected in california again. we are the most complex, informed and sophisticated electorate in the united states and as such we are on an arc. we trail blazed the reagan and nixon politicians, the tea baggers of their day in as much as they were the near-far right, they demonized taxes and the governments they ran, and championed ideals of self determination as if we could all win in capitalism. and we're moving beyond that now. carlyfiorina and meg whitman are going to spend record amounts of money to win barbara boxer's seat, (boxer is likely the best politician currently holding office in california,) and to win the governorship, (over retread jerry brown, who seems to bounce back and forth between being an excellent politician and fighter for justice and just another career politician,) and it will be especially interesting to see if they can win even with their gobs of cash. if they are defeated in the general election it will show california trailblazing again and showing that this most sophisticated of electorates in the country can be the first to overcome the influence of cash in elections.
i suppose we should also focus on getting the vote in between cycles so these crazy ballot measures don't slip into law.
you never know when one of those moments in life will happen to occur, one of those moments you will remember until the day you die. one moment you're finishing dinner and two beers in a mexican restaurant, your stunning wife sitting across from you, your adorable little girl and your super cool little guy adjacent, the mariachi band you just tipped five bucks singing quizas next to your table, it is one of those perfect moments when all the work and self-discipline is worth it because your life is rife with joy and beauty, but the next second, your three-year-old screams out loud as if to signal something other than an outburst of bad behavior or anything you are familiar with.
there is no terror like your three-year-old son choking on a peppermint candy in a restaurant.
your wife cries out to you, "he's choking."
you don't know if it is necessarily true. the kid is yelping and he is clearly in pain but you're just not sure. still, you immediately tell her to hand you the boy. you take him by his ribs and you get his face up close to yours and you establish eye contact and you demand of him, "mark, are you okay?"
he cries back to you, "no."
you step out of the commotion, past the mariachi singer and the sublime trumpeter with the ridiculous hairpiece, by a waitress and onto the sidewalk where people take their dinner outside as if dining on a boulevard in paris. you see the people sipping coffees outside next door at the hip, independent coffee shop and you see all the street fair patrons travelling to and fro at the entrance across the street.
you move past a planter to the street's edge and you flip your son onto your left forearm, holding his chest in your hand. your memory of your training in advanced first aid and as an emergency medical technician comes to you like an old friend. it's been 20 years since you even thought about what to do when a child is choking but it feels good to have a friend show up in a crisis and you rap your son firmly between the backbones hoping to jar something loose from in his throat. your wife had added as you walked out that he had a candy in his mouth.
your son screams though not as loud as you have heard before when something less tragic, (like your daughter would not give him the leapster,) has happened. you are worried. a man walks up and offers to call 9-1-1. you tell him maybe, you're not sure. you pull mark up and you ask him again if he is okay or if the thing is still stuck.
he sobs a little and in a high-pitched squeal says, "stuck."
your heart breaks right then and there but at the same time, you're not panicked. you flip him over again and rap him two, three, four times on the back. the boy is tilted towards the ground at about a 38-degree angle. you think of that dinner and the two cups of horchata moving towards his esophagus by sheer force of gravity. nothing happens. your son is crying but not crying, because he is choking. he is crying and he is choking.
you slap him on the back another time or two and you are beginning to panic and you look at the kind stranger who looks at you like he is freaked out and needs something to happen. you flip the boy back up but he is just all furrowed brow and worry and tears falling fatefully down his cheeks. he looks like he wants to quit and you decide that no, nobody is quitting and you are not going to need the 9-1-1 call because that candy that is stuck in your son's throat is coming out and you turn him over again and you lean down and rap him firmly between the shoulder blades and you get your face down next to his ear and you tell him to cough. you say it two or three times, "cough mark. i need you to cough. cough, mark," you yell.
the heel of your right hand bounces onto his back and he coughs and immediately throws up and the stranger is on the front side of him and he is bent down real low near the upchuck and he points with a certain elation and says, "there it is!" "it's out!"
you hold mark in that position so he can throw-up some more if he needs to and you gape at the mostly white peppermint candy with the thin ridges around the edge. it may be slightly larger than a dime but it is as menacing as anything. he turns and tries to pull himself up so you lift him and hug him and the stranger advises you to still take him to the hospital. you say you think he is okay and the stranger, (who is not only not a stranger at this point but as kindred as anyone you have ever met in his kindness and his tender humanity, and his willingness to be involved,) he asks if the candy in the puke is the only one and you tell him it is. your boy had only had one peppermint candy, (you're pretty sure.)
you ask your little guy if he is okay and he responds in the affirmative, his face wet and his eyes swollen. you want to let his mother, (and sister,) know he is okay, so you thank the stranger a couple of times, noticing his cleft upper lip but thinking of the comfort he brought you and how he could not be more beautiful and he tells you it happened once to his four-year-old daughter. you nod and wave and go back into the restaurant squeezing your son extra tight, thankful beyond words for the gift of a tragedy averted.
they are sitting at the table, your wife and your daughter, acting normal as the mariachi band disperses, and you think about how long the ordeal had lasted. it was probably a minute-and-a-half but you remember every detail and think it seems like it had been 5-10 minutes, easy. you tell them he is okay and you explain the story briefly, telling your wife he had finally thrown-up as you tenderized his back, and the candy had dislodged at that moment but you thought he was fine. you sit with him on your lap and you comfort him and rub his back endlessly and kiss his forehead and ask if he is okay and he burrows his head into your armpit and wraps his arms around your middle and you ask your wife if the bill has been paid and she says the waiter took her card but has not returned it yet.
you wait. you are in a bit of shock yourself. you hold your boy. you rock a little marvelling at all the people completely unaware of your drama endured. and the waiter shows up and your wife asks how much to tip and you tell her, remembering the uneven delivery of food, the forgotten tortillas to accompany her fajitas, the unsavory taste of her shrimp...you think, (off night.)
you go outside and sit on a bench, your son still safe in your arms, which are tensed with muscle memory. when your wife comes out peering around you point her towards the obstruction laying in the vomit, which she walks over towards shielding it from your daughter's view who is interested but knows not where to look.
she returns and kisses your son and looks at hims and tells you he has broken blood vessels under both eyes, which when you see them they spark a reconsideration of the panic you skirted throughout the interminable minute-and-a-half.
as you walk home amidst the friday, summer evening revelers, mostly teenagers escaped from their parents who plod through the street fair certain they are having a fabulous time, everything slowly and gently returns to normal. you take a deep breath and dare momentarily to think of another outcome than this one. you shudder. it makes you angry and you want to cry just thinking of such bad things.
at the end you know life is this way. it surprises and shocks you occasionally. you are optimistic in thinking life is not absurd but rather you put your best foot forward every day. you see all the positive ground amassed throughout history, and you trust in personal dignity and good karma and you embrace your vulnerability, your position of limited power, and you hope and convince yourself it is enough and you know that it is enough.
i'll dress like your niece, to wash your swollen feet
just don't leave, don't leave
i'm not living, i'm just killing time
your tiny hands, your crazy kitten smile
just don't leave, don't leave
and true love waits, in haunted attics
and true love lives, on lollipops and crisps
just don't leave, don't leave
just don't leave, don't leave
the first time i heard true love waits it was a warbly, bootleg recording. radiohead would bust the song out occasionally, tease audiences with this sickly sweet crooner of a tune, then just as quickly act as if it never happened and they had no idea what song people were talking about. (eventually they acknowledged the song's existence by releasing a live version on the 'i might be wrong,' ep.)
if you clicked on it above and listened however, you will know what i am talking about when i say 'true love waits,' is beautiful. when i heard it, all warbly and thom yorkey, falsetto spooning my ears with that chorus, "true love waits...don't leave...just don't leave..."
yeah, it's desperate but perfect.for me it arrived post any fantastical notions about fairy tale true love and all that but it served to remind me and revive the memory of those feelings and so on a nostalgic level it appealed to me anew. i can listen to it any time. it conjures children so deeply in love they could hurl themselves in front of a speeding train if denied. i miss that feeling in a way, though i would never return to it. still, i visited it every so often by listening to this song.
however today i learned of something called a true love waits pledge. the pledge is used by christian youth to affirm their faith and commitment to remaining chaste until marriage and it goes like this:
believing that true love waits, i make a commitment to god, myself, my family, my friends, my future mate and my future children to a lifetime of purity including sexual abstinence from this day until the day i enter a biblical marriage relationship.
and as you may have guessed, i saw radiohead's 'true love waits,' a completely new light. now it seems to me the real meaning on commentary are not as the surface may suggest, that true love, real love, the meaningful pure love, waits, that it somehow knows itself and guards itself and waits out circumstances. no. rather it seems the idea that true love waits is commentary on the immaturity and perhaps even ignorance of chastity vows. obviously choosing not to have sex, at any age, is not immature, but choosing not to have sex because of mythology, be it belief in imaginary creatures or afterworld punishment or that a future relationship will somehow be soiled or sullied, is silly.
it was this article that got me to thinking about all of this and it is a truly interesting read.
i feel like holding my breath over and over and over until some miners are rescued, (preferably four,) from deep in the earth in west virginia. it could be my little act of fraternity. i hope they're alive. i hope they're doing everything they can to conserve breathable air. i hope there is more than one and they are together and they are taking heart in the spirit of humanity, in knowing that a tremendously calculated rescue effort is underway and in feeling the energy of millions of their species hoping and pulling in their minds for an outcome of life. there is something about people trapped, such as in a mine. their lives probably ended a couple of days ago, or maybe a couple of hours ago, or maybe they're alive, huddled in a safety chamber, hoping. the terror of being trapped in a small space without much air, (to say nothing of the other necessities for human life,) along with the inability to know anything whatsoever is compelling. so many humans who typically struggle to agree on anything, are like-minded on this one. they're hoping against odds for life to prevail.
as it is25 are dead. 25 men who were surely the salt of the earth, surely hard-working, colorful brothers and fathers and husbands and exes and coaches and pupils and friends and enemies and bosses and subordinates and strangers and neighbors, have deceased. they will not dig dirty coal from the ground ever again for the massey energy company.
it seems masseyceo don blankenship hasnot been a big proponent of safety in the face of slimmer profits. he has thrown a lot of money at lawmakers and beenclosely tied to a corrupt administration, which suggests he may be one of those millionaires who loves money so much he exemplifies the root of all evil. i hope this disaster, (an utterly ineffectual word if ever there were one,) changes him on a deep and personal level.
massey is a national flagship of union breaking, unfortunately, which is likely a factor in declining safety. (please rent the movie; matewan, for an understanding of the roots of the struggle between miners and corporations.)
i am somber tonight. i feel brothers. i feel them far away mourning and working to find and raise our other brothers. good luck-be strong.
i am sure it is dark as a grave tonight in the upper big branch mine. this song, spring hill mining disaster, written by ewanmaccoll and peggyseeger but sung here by bono, (about the springhill mining disaster in nova scotia in 1958,) is poignant in both its lyrics and mood.
i like the idea of overcoming odds and i am surprised by some of my outcomes.
once upon a time it was all the victory i needed to merely avoid heroin, keep from becoming a junkie. nowadays i find myself trying harder than ever to have a successful marriage, create a successful career. according to statistical data i recall hearing when i was a kid, i was supposed to do heroin. i think there is also demographic evidence suggesting i would have a high likelihood for divorce if married or maybe even that i would be a failure in such an endeavor or end up incarcerated.
one of the things i do not blog about is my relationship with my wife. that is not for public consumption, (not that anyone would particularly be interested.) what i will say is marriage is difficult with two small children, two years apart. it's a lot of work and includes the pressure of responsibility. it is a stark contrast, for most people, from life before children. having said that it is nice that rewards are all the sweeter in proportion to levels of difficulty.
i am focused on doing well by my children and so far, so good. there are things that could be better, but overall i feel like things have gone well and they will likely only get better.
my goal with them is to help keep as many options open to them as they wind toward adulthood, as possible. you see my theory is that as we grow up and age, possibilities fall away from us like shimmering mirages. perhaps a more precise way of putting that would be, as discipline fades, so do outcomes.
for example, let's say president of the united states and nuclear biophysicist are on the top tier of career outcomes. it may be accurate to say some outcomes such as these, can disappear from a child's realistic horizon as early as age five or six. i mean, if terra was eating poorly, taking in the sugary kid's cereals, if she did not get a good night's sleep, if we weren't reading to her regularly, (to say nothing of actual traumas some kids endure,) perhaps her ability to discipline herself, to develop an attention span, or to make complex connections could have already dropped to a level that makes this tier of career outcomes unattainable.
so when i ensure her diet, sleep pattern and reading mentoring, are kept in a range i deem acceptable, (important,) i am just trying to keep those possibilities, those outcomes, open and available to her. any choice will be hers. if she doesn't even go to college but chooses instead to marry and have children and stay home and raise her brood, i will love her just as much. but i have to help her have choices some day. the more, the better. that's my job.
she can choose not to be academic once she is an adult. until then, it would be very difficult for her. she can choose to live like a hermit avoiding human contact some day, but that would be impossible for her as a child because her mother and i are trying hard to help her have a healthy childhood, (filled with human interaction.) as an adult she will be free to choose not to maintain her physical fitness, but as a child, no chance. she will be strongly encouraged to engage in physical activities for the purpose of increasing her strength and agility, similarly so she can have more possibilities available to her when she becomes interested in making choices, in this case about activities she may want to pursue on a higher level.
faith was talking about class sizes, worrying that terra could metaphorically fall through the cracks. i responded saying it would be impossible for her with two present and engaged parents like us, in spite of any imperfections.
(i am having a little thing for a sentence with a comma and a little, extra, independent thought attached, lately. sorry.)
anyway, i never valued stability much in my life. what i needed in that way i took and expected. as a husband and a father i find myself embracing stability, thinking about it along with my health and insurance and investments, (and health insurance.) these changes in life of late were not so much unimaginable to me in my former life, (my single, carefree life,) as they were simply unimportant to me. i needed my family and i was pretty much forced to maintain those relationships, (this is to say i went to them and it was especially rare for them to come to me,) which i did and did not mind.
stability is king now. stability is the byproduct of loving my family and wanting the best for them and me. stability is the through-line in my values. stability is me walking home from the bar. stability is analyzing my childhood, (blogging about it even or writing in my journal,) and learning from it instead of self-destructing in alcohol and
i have been thinking a lot lately about what i like about business, (and how i ended up here.) the thing is, i actually have an aversion to business.
business is strategy. business is calculating as many metrics as you can possibly discover and define in order to leverage the forces they represent to your favor.
when i was kid i loved to play chess andstratego, so there is something about business that i enjoy. as i have worked in businesses and business environments, my aim has been to rise in the business world as high as i possibly can so that i can reach a position of influence and show a different way of conducting business. you see, i believe there is a different way. i believe there is a better way.
as it is, (in the world but particularly in our country,) business is fairly ruthless. capitalism is, in it's truest form and unchecked, an economic system that values profits above anything else. profits are more important and more of a consideration than state, than morality, than human harmony or any notion of brotherhood, than future generations, than mother earth, than family, than church or god. this is not to say there are notthose who conduct business in a fashion that runs against the grain of capitalism's truest definition. (However, visionaries likeray andersonare few and far between.)
so how did i end up doing business? i love art.
in particular, i love film. film has power. it is extra sensory and it appeals to me on multiple levels. it makes me feel. it opens my mind. it brings a million other lives into my focus. in this way it is more important than electricity, (for those who may be dependent on it.) the end of central stationput me in touch with more emotions and insights relevant to my life and to my education than high school. film, like the great novels, has taught me my path.
i love music. in particular rock music, classic rock, alternative rock, progressive rock, ambient, house, techno, pop, glam, (sometimes,) blues, jazz, bossanova, metal, punk, emo, groove, rap, folk, classical, opera, all that stuff. music moves me. it has the power to calm me or excite me. it adds.
additionally, i love just about every art form i have contacted. i have at one time or another envisioned myself as virtually every type of artist. that said, i have never appreciated the discipline of any art form, (well perhaps writing however, that's been a dirge of an affair thanks to maslow's hierarchy of needs,) at least not enough to dedicate myself to it.
my motivation and passion in this world is rooted in justice and humanism. i consider myself informed by the arts but i have endured in my relationship with business since stumbling into it at low level jobs for a couple of corporations, (and now a small business owner,) because of a belief that one must know the dragon before it can be slain. my greatest satisfaction would come from the realization one day that i have a made a difference in business, in how it is conducted, perhaps in some who conduct it inside and outside of my realm, inside and outside of my time. (points short of such lofty goals would also bring me great satisfaction.)
as an aside, an even greater aspiration would be to figure out how to win consensus on a large scale. i guess this is leadership. iconic leadership. the men who have accomplished this in the past are the men of history. to get people together around the idea that the influence of the masses could transform our world, our realities, in an incredibly short time, this idea powers my life.
if i conducted business in such a way as to hold humans at the center of my idea of success, if providing not only fair employment but the kind of employment that offers dignity and a level of prosperity that is commensurate with the talents, effort and dignity of the worker, represented my ideal outcome and my greatest satisfaction, i want a world where these ideals are prized.
if i ran a company that marketed itself in such a way... actually, if i nurtured the consumer who was willing to pay more for a thing because the company aspires to a set of agreeable values and embarks on a relationship with its clientele based on trust and marked by transparency, i could change the world. if my company heralded itself as the company with the slightly higher price but which maintains an average employee salary 20%, (hell, 12%,) above industry average, which does the very best it can by the environment and which practices a level of disclosure unprecedented in modern times. that company would immediately dry up and go bankrupt in today's business climate. however, if people agreed to pay extra to patronize that company, and if that company created a groundswell of support, made the ideas famous in a way the business model began to apply pressure to all businessmen to change their ways to compete or die, well, it's possible, (especially in our modern age of mass communication.)
i believe a company marketing itself in such a way it pleads for customers based on it's innate goodness and symbiosis with man, if it gained that trust by publishing itself in every way, well, an environment can be created in which companies compete with each other by outperforming each other in goodness. can you imagine that?! maybe not and isn't that a sad testament? we are capable of so much and yet, we are easily confused, (en mass.)
so quietly and discontentedly, i plod on in business. i don't know if perhaps i am a tragicomic figure. in many ways my path has been that of least resistance. my lack of discipline has limited my achievements and yet i have educated myself. my former insecurity about my self-education has recently been replaced by a peace associated with my understanding and my understanding of my station in life, (as it were.) outside of slightly long hours my quality of life is good, though it could be better. more importantly i want for a better quality of life for all people.
i want to work at a company where the employees work harder than those at most companies because they appreciate and are a part of the ethos of the company. that is to say they know they are paid more and appreciated more, they know that their jobs are less specialized and thereby of a higher quality than the former model. they know they are respected and treated fairly and so their output dwarfs that of the masses of men who would toil for companies of the practices of the past. they know that the people at the top of the company make more than those at the bottom but they know the gap is equitable.
i am going to continue to do business. in spite of the fact that i have found precious few kindred spirits in business, in spite of the fact that i tend to look soft as a manager, i am going to keep doing what i do, which is to live my own example and keep pressing on in the direction that represents my path.
