when you have not been to a cemetary in several years, and you go to your mother's gravesite after so much time has passed, emotion comes upon you like a stranger accosting you on the street.
you drive to rose hills tentatively, not knowing the route exactly but knowing the offramp and that there will be signs to guide you. you remember vaguely that it's not far from the main front gate to your mother's grave-she is up and to the left. just stay left you tell yourself and you will certainly find it.
you pick up some flowers to lay there wondering how long it has been since flowers graced her stone.
you recall how you actually went to visit the grave often back in the early '90s, when you returned from serving in the military abroad and your life was rudderless. you were unemployed and you could not afford your car. eventually you had no place to live, your car was repossessed, you saw yourself where the road diverges. one path lead to drugs and self-destruction. you could see yourself embracing some of the kind-hearted but misguided people you met at reggae concerts all over southern california, delving into drugs with them, crashing where they crashed, posing as the heart and soul of rastafari.
you had these thoughts as you sat their atop your mother's grave. it was 1991 and '92 and you went there every couple of weeks because it was peaceful and you felt solitary there. you felt alive, even if the entire world found you inconsequential. here you felt things and you were there and people could see you and you could see them and you borrowed flowers from other graves because you could not afford them and you set them there for your mom who seemed to be the only person who listened to you back then.
the other road, the one you chose, involved doing just enough begging of your family and friends to get by, hoping to find yourself in a different place, somewhere on your feet down the road somewhere. you moved back in with your dad and his new wife. you asked a best friend if you could sleep on the floor of his living room. you hated the asking and you inwardly railed against a perceived vacuum of generosity that occurred, even though your friends and relatives came through and gave to you.
you finally got a job and you asked for favors from the manager who was kind to you because she loved you in a way. and lo, two or three years went by and you did find yourself elsewhere and elsewhere was better. you had not been the active take charge of your life type but you had made conscious efforts to do well at whatever you did and to try to improve yourself along the way by ingesting the classic novels and learning new skills.
you worked it out right there, at fir lawn.
on this day you grab flowers down the street on your way into the park. you stop to talk to the guy about directions just because you know it is all about staying left, and you have a feel for how far up it is but you can imagine walking around a few rows off and feeling like you might not even be on the right lawn. so you say her name to the man and he types it into his computer and he gets the spelling right and her name pops right up along with the phrase on her stone, "his living stone." the man says it out loud, "his living stone," he says. "oh, that's very nice," he adds generously. you turn immediately and nearly run into the man who walked in behind you without you realizing it. you scuffle by, out the door, and you grab your emotions with a stranglehold because it feels oddly discomfiting to lose your composure in public.
you get back to the solitude of your car, to the flowers there on the floor of the passenger seat, to the keys. you drive up cautiously because a sheriff passed you in the opposite direction and you wonder if he would bust anyone up here for a fix-it ticket, or expired registration, or driving on the wrong side of the road even.
you park and you walk directly toward the grave. you glance around a bit, only slightly confused then you seemingly turn around, look down, and there she is. or, rather, there is her stone. "his living stone." sure enough. it is still a classy looking stone. 'his living stone' was a reference from the book of acts, you think you recall. something about jesus being called the living stone, the rock the church is built on or some such thing. but the stone is actually living in you. you remember clearly how good your dad felt about that phrase on her stone. the imagery of the church as the bride of christ compared favorably with him and he imagined his bride and how special that relationship had been.
it must have been agonizing for him to even imagine his life going forward without her; the person who had loved him unconditionally since the day he became a man. you remember the tenderness present in his grief. gone was the guy who got mad because as teenagers you were exposed to the secular world and wanted to partake. he admonished you to avoid it, stomping around and yelling as if... gone was the macho sports-oriented guy. here was the most honesty you had ever known from him. his period of mourning, what you saw of it, was the shining moment of his fatherhood, the humble, honest and giving father setting a deft example of how to conduct oneself in a real-life situation.
you pull the flowers from one another and you spread them on her grave, below the letters. you have a realization tears are running down your face. your reaction is innate and unconscious. actively you think of how she was like a peer to you in many ways, the strife between you was honest and childlike, devoid of any structured systems or philosophies-it was just two humans conflicting without pretense.
she was, of course, your mother. since you were 11, anyway. your dad was your uncle because his sister, your mother, was unable to care for you. you had two moms, really.
further down somewhere you know she represents innocence. she represents a time before you knew ultimate pains, perhaps before you could have known ultimate joys. the absence of pain can be an intoxicating memory, you think.
you glance over at her father's grave, unadorned and you borrow some of her flowers to put on his stone. here was the embodiment of kindness. he played steel guitar and the organ for you as if he had been playing it all his life, (which he had,) getting you to sing along to 'it's a small world.' you remember him, grey at the temples, a devout baptist of 6 feet and perhaps 4 inches.
that is when the focus changes for you. you realize it is about mortality, coming to grips with it for yourself, something you expect to be a life-long struggle, and being ready to speak to your children about it. your thought process exhibits a life of it's own, being born and innocent then maturing even unto death.
you drive home in silence, turning the volume on your liberal talk radio from zero to two only after 10 minutes. 30 or 40 seconds later you gently move it to four and you can begin to hear words. you repeat the intervals slowly arriving back to your life of keeping a stiff upper lip, back to the time when you do your work and prepare for what's next.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
omar vizquel
did you bay area fans know about omar vizquel's art? i guess you must. jon miller is no slouch, after all.
http://www.skylinepictures.com/La%20Fiesta%20%20full%20%20image%20-%20Vizquel.htm
to see his painting, la fiesta, paste that link into your browser. i understand it adorns his own name brand of salsa back home, (for omar,) in venezuela.
yeah, i am an apologist for vin scully but this is the kind of stuff vin brings to the game of baseball, (so i can google it right in the middle of a slow, 4-0 death for the giants at the hands of one chad billingsley,) that imbues a snaillike exercise in athleticism with a flavor and color worthy of appreciation. omar vizquel paints? what?!
so i google images and i see at least one bad painting. omar peers over the top of his own glove and the painting is called "the look," or some such cheeseball thing. it would be one thing if he was a killer closer or something but shortstops are not exactly known for the stare they issue over the tops of gloves. (nor should they be.) they're about motion and poise, nimble, fleet-footed thieves of glory. omar might have painted a contorted back, diving, parallel to the earth, leather outstretched like the head of a giraffe eating fruit.
still, other paintings were quite good. i saw motion in the paintings, and depth. i saw hidden things to look at and some thoughtfulness in the brushstrokes, even if that aspect lacked meaning for me. ultimately i came away with an appreciation for omar vizquel as a guy who loves sport and plays it at the highest level, (truly the highest level and for a long time,) but is not locked into a stereotype.
these are some of my favorite athletes. this is why i choose kareem abdul jabar, muhammad ali, roberto clemente, wayman tisdale, todd christenson, and yeah, vin scully an artist of a baseball broadcaster.
oh, and my new favorite shortstop from a team despised, omar.
http://www.skylinepictures.com/La%20Fiesta%20%20full%20%20image%20-%20Vizquel.htm
to see his painting, la fiesta, paste that link into your browser. i understand it adorns his own name brand of salsa back home, (for omar,) in venezuela.
yeah, i am an apologist for vin scully but this is the kind of stuff vin brings to the game of baseball, (so i can google it right in the middle of a slow, 4-0 death for the giants at the hands of one chad billingsley,) that imbues a snaillike exercise in athleticism with a flavor and color worthy of appreciation. omar vizquel paints? what?!
so i google images and i see at least one bad painting. omar peers over the top of his own glove and the painting is called "the look," or some such cheeseball thing. it would be one thing if he was a killer closer or something but shortstops are not exactly known for the stare they issue over the tops of gloves. (nor should they be.) they're about motion and poise, nimble, fleet-footed thieves of glory. omar might have painted a contorted back, diving, parallel to the earth, leather outstretched like the head of a giraffe eating fruit.
still, other paintings were quite good. i saw motion in the paintings, and depth. i saw hidden things to look at and some thoughtfulness in the brushstrokes, even if that aspect lacked meaning for me. ultimately i came away with an appreciation for omar vizquel as a guy who loves sport and plays it at the highest level, (truly the highest level and for a long time,) but is not locked into a stereotype.
these are some of my favorite athletes. this is why i choose kareem abdul jabar, muhammad ali, roberto clemente, wayman tisdale, todd christenson, and yeah, vin scully an artist of a baseball broadcaster.
oh, and my new favorite shortstop from a team despised, omar.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
2 american political figures?
two american political figures died this week: george carlin and tim russert. perhaps it is because i watch msnbc, but it seems to me tim russert has been released with great fanfare, while the news of carlin's demise has been somewhat muted.
they both seem like nice men who deserve to be mourned but carlin is a saint. there is a temptation to label carlin as iconoclastic or sharp-witted but these are mere words that do not serve in his case whatsoever.
you had to know his life, follow his work, understand the power of satire and comedy. carlin went into everything on his own terms. he was like lenny bruce, only he survived, thrived even, to grow old for us and refine his act and more importantly, his ideas.
russert hosted the sunday morning political chat show and george carlin challenged us through his comedy.
russert was a nice man and while others have called him a first rate journalist, i will stop short of that. as mainstream journalists go, i found him to be competent and certainly above average. russert wrote books about his relationships with his dad and his son. he extolled the virtues of hard work and sang the praises of the american dream which allowed a working class kid like him to grow up and anchor meet the press.
i can't imagine begrudging tim russert's life in any way, but when companies other than his own broadcast tributes and friends and family refer to russert miracles that occurred in and around the mourning process, while carlin is mentioned almost as a means to bring up the titillating seven words you cannot say on television, i can't help but be dismayed.
george carlin was a john the baptist for our day. he was the voice crying in the wilderness warning us about the numbing effects of marketing and decrying organized religions penchant for playing the naked emperor. carlin was a coarse man who would be unwelcome at a bush family dinner, which is to say he was unimpressed by wealth or place.
the issue with the words is important, too. the media coverage seemed to trivialize the issue as fox news anchors were chuckling as they explained, "you still can't say those words on tv." of course, the point is lost on the obtuse. the point carlin made, (and lenny bruce before him,) was that words are only words while only the ideas they represent should have the power to offend.
perhaps carlin would have asked why does shit have the power to offend while poop seems clean and nearly cute. they are both words and they mean basically the same thing but one is considered derogatory primarily because it has come to popular use as an expletive. this is the basic point of carlin's rant about words-they have only as much power as one gives them. when writing i find i tend to choose the curse word over the milder option because it has power, because it gets attention and often bothers people. to parents i guess carlin might suggest they use the bad words that would come up on television or elsewhere as an opportunity to parent, to explain why a certain word was used and how a mature mind should think about being confronted with that word.
i love that tim russert championed the common man. i enjoyed hearing his son say russert was especially comfortable coming up to his son's college to watch a game and drink beer with him and his friends. it is okay, too, that he was beloved.
on the other hand, maybe it is not okay that carlin is not more beloved. people cannot be blamed for what they are not exposed to but at the same time, it is a sad testament to america that this voice was not more hallowed. for those who do miss carlin and plan on carrying a bit of his hell-raising spirit with them through the rest of their own lives, i know it will serve them and i congratulate them on their thoughtfulness and taste.
they both seem like nice men who deserve to be mourned but carlin is a saint. there is a temptation to label carlin as iconoclastic or sharp-witted but these are mere words that do not serve in his case whatsoever.
you had to know his life, follow his work, understand the power of satire and comedy. carlin went into everything on his own terms. he was like lenny bruce, only he survived, thrived even, to grow old for us and refine his act and more importantly, his ideas.
russert hosted the sunday morning political chat show and george carlin challenged us through his comedy.
russert was a nice man and while others have called him a first rate journalist, i will stop short of that. as mainstream journalists go, i found him to be competent and certainly above average. russert wrote books about his relationships with his dad and his son. he extolled the virtues of hard work and sang the praises of the american dream which allowed a working class kid like him to grow up and anchor meet the press.
i can't imagine begrudging tim russert's life in any way, but when companies other than his own broadcast tributes and friends and family refer to russert miracles that occurred in and around the mourning process, while carlin is mentioned almost as a means to bring up the titillating seven words you cannot say on television, i can't help but be dismayed.
george carlin was a john the baptist for our day. he was the voice crying in the wilderness warning us about the numbing effects of marketing and decrying organized religions penchant for playing the naked emperor. carlin was a coarse man who would be unwelcome at a bush family dinner, which is to say he was unimpressed by wealth or place.
the issue with the words is important, too. the media coverage seemed to trivialize the issue as fox news anchors were chuckling as they explained, "you still can't say those words on tv." of course, the point is lost on the obtuse. the point carlin made, (and lenny bruce before him,) was that words are only words while only the ideas they represent should have the power to offend.
perhaps carlin would have asked why does shit have the power to offend while poop seems clean and nearly cute. they are both words and they mean basically the same thing but one is considered derogatory primarily because it has come to popular use as an expletive. this is the basic point of carlin's rant about words-they have only as much power as one gives them. when writing i find i tend to choose the curse word over the milder option because it has power, because it gets attention and often bothers people. to parents i guess carlin might suggest they use the bad words that would come up on television or elsewhere as an opportunity to parent, to explain why a certain word was used and how a mature mind should think about being confronted with that word.
i love that tim russert championed the common man. i enjoyed hearing his son say russert was especially comfortable coming up to his son's college to watch a game and drink beer with him and his friends. it is okay, too, that he was beloved.
on the other hand, maybe it is not okay that carlin is not more beloved. people cannot be blamed for what they are not exposed to but at the same time, it is a sad testament to america that this voice was not more hallowed. for those who do miss carlin and plan on carrying a bit of his hell-raising spirit with them through the rest of their own lives, i know it will serve them and i congratulate them on their thoughtfulness and taste.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
u23d
after seeing the u23d movie, i feel like i have just engaged in a guilty pleasure. i suppose deep down i do not find them as relevant as i once did, though they remain both noble and important. still, i love the music and the spirit in which it is delivered.
relevance is relative and subjective. in some ways, u2 is more relevant than ever as can be seen in the movie when u2 promotes the coexist brand, where letters are symbols of belief (or thought,) systems and the message is tolerance. (hence, the word "coexist," as a directive.) when u2 promotes an idea like this, they are relevant and they do make a difference.
in this movie and in the live concerts the film was culled from, u2 is reaching millions of people around the world with this coexist message and while the people they are reaching may not represent the demographic in power, those who can make change, the millions they reach will be in that demographic someday. this is real change, the kind of change politicians can only aspire to. it takes time, but this is how change happens.
u2, as a brand, is managed especially well.
by producing this movie, u2 satisfied fans who have wanted to see them and simultaneously added to their legend. 3d is not what it used to be. it's better. the technology has evolved and in this movie all the improvement is on display as the viewer, through the lens, hovers over larry's shoulder as he pounds away at the drums, perches just above and behind the front few rows of fans as they dance and cheer and snap photos from their cell phones and wave arms and sing their lungs out, joins the band on-stage to peer out at a sea of humanity, sees the u2 live show experience from every imagineable angle, in all it's joyful, serious, warm glory .
relevance is relative and subjective. in some ways, u2 is more relevant than ever as can be seen in the movie when u2 promotes the coexist brand, where letters are symbols of belief (or thought,) systems and the message is tolerance. (hence, the word "coexist," as a directive.) when u2 promotes an idea like this, they are relevant and they do make a difference.
in this movie and in the live concerts the film was culled from, u2 is reaching millions of people around the world with this coexist message and while the people they are reaching may not represent the demographic in power, those who can make change, the millions they reach will be in that demographic someday. this is real change, the kind of change politicians can only aspire to. it takes time, but this is how change happens.
u2, as a brand, is managed especially well.
by producing this movie, u2 satisfied fans who have wanted to see them and simultaneously added to their legend. 3d is not what it used to be. it's better. the technology has evolved and in this movie all the improvement is on display as the viewer, through the lens, hovers over larry's shoulder as he pounds away at the drums, perches just above and behind the front few rows of fans as they dance and cheer and snap photos from their cell phones and wave arms and sing their lungs out, joins the band on-stage to peer out at a sea of humanity, sees the u2 live show experience from every imagineable angle, in all it's joyful, serious, warm glory .
u2 is a rock band and so they are about sound. they make music and getting to hear that music in a movie theatre trumps your car or your house. getting that level of sound quality and being able to see the edge's facial expressions as he effortlessly moves from song to song is a treat and again, trumps those seats in the 80th row that cost $100 in certain ways.
ultimately, u2 continues to push out at the boundaries that would constrict them as artists. they want to appeal to all of your senses if they can and in u23d, they get your ears and your eyes, while teasing the tactile, as everyone in themovie seems like someone you could just reach out and pat on the back. if a day comes when they can feed you a coexist wafer while vibrating your seat at various time and filling the theatre with odors of snacks, other people, the night air, or ireland, they will.
this film is a tribute to u2 in so much as it exemplifies the spirit of their art to always invest in its own quality, push every boundary imagineable, especially that of technology, and seek relevance through meaning.
personal philosophy
everyone should have a personal philosophy. i think i have been developing my own ever since reading heinlein's job: a comedy of justice, when i was 21, borrowing liberally from the dean.
i can't say i have a reason why anyone other than me might be interested in my personal philosophy. i offer it none the less, like this blog, obsolete by math but filled with heart and soul.
my personal philosophy borrows from eastern thought in promoting virtue and right action. i also think it is important to maintain a macro-oriented, holistic and big picture view of one's life, (which is probably not the norm in our society.)
in youth we should come to recognize the flaws and inconsistencies in our fathers. some of us may rage and some of us may have little reason to rage, the point is to figure out, some time perhaps between 16 and 40, that our fathers are real and human and imperfect. and since they are imperfect it makes sense we would be upset about certain things.
the trick is not be paralyzed by that dissatisfaction. limiting that which renders us unfocused or less effective in our endeavors makes a foundation for taking responsibility for one's life, so we seek to conduct and command a life we can be proud to base our parenting on, so we grok the brotherhood of man in such a way as to feel a part of the massive organism humanity, so we gain meaning through doing and interacting and touching and growing and perpetual learning.
in our primes, (40 to 60?) having acquired balance we should learn to forgive most if not all transgressions of our fathers. as sons we come back to the middle, understanding the complex nature of life, having flaws and inconsistencies of our own.
and yeah, it seems to me life comes at us in 20 year segments. from 0-20 we confront the physical world, learning how to use our bodies and getting a sense life. from 20-40 we enjoy our physical prime but develop interests in headier subjects, climbing maslow's pyramid through love, competition, avocation, work, worship, self-awareness, aesthetic sensibilities, subtlety, taste, interaction, dynamics of every variety, dynamic in every way. youth, mournfully adored in our society is certainly a fun and interesting time of life. this segment represents the physical apex, or adult prime, of life.
as we are mental creatures, the 40-60 segment represents the overall prime of life, the mind being more firmly attached to our essence as well as more enduring. if one has a life's work, it should be accomplished in this period. (and one should have a life's work.)
60-80 should be about coming to grips with our nature, including the temporal aspect. it should also be about sharing wisdom
for me, in the early part of this third, prime segment, being a new father, i am interested in parenting as a life's work. i also feel like i have developed this certain world view, my own credo if you will. it borrows liberally and loosely from any number of traditions but it is in itself akin to a belief system.
- we should always seek to be noble.
- noble, or right, action, begets nobility.
- the absence of nobility is the absence of value by measures.
- humanity is evolving.
- evolution has been utterly positive for humanity.
- anything that pushes forward the envelope of evolution is noble.
- that which detracts from or impedes evolution is ignoble, even if it creates a beautiful and demonstrative reaction.
- right action is its own reward.
- karma is less a law than an inevitable outcome.
- a light heart does sleep well.
- a heart engaged in deceit beats tensely and feeds upon itself.
these are of the main tenets, off the top of my head. it is not as if i am organizing a new religion. rather, i find religion obsolete. still, if all peoples could all agree on a similar set of basic values, i believe we would see the evolution of belief.
at the same time i wonder about people who do not construct and order their beliefs and values. i suppose some take them all from an institution or a book. others may rely on their own conscience to know what is right and wrong. many likely bend these things regularly making convenience the ultimate law.
as for me, i take pride in my morality, which may sound ridiculous but here's the bottom line: if i was in any way uncomfortable with myself in that way whatsoever, i would make a change, (which happens occasionally.) it is important for me to think on the important things in life and the big picture.
i also think it is worth talking about these things.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
skepticism
perhaps this is one of those questions i should leave unanswered. maybe this is an area where labels, in spite of our affinity for them and their usefulness, should be purposely avoided. still, i have been considering the contrast between atheism and agnosticism.
i know this is an odd subject. our society avoids big questions like this. still, if i am to blog i prefer to spend some time blogging about the biggest of issues. if someone read this and was given pause, i could ask for no more.
strictly speaking i am an agnostic. i don't claim to know there is not a god anymore than i claim to know martians do not exist, (or the easter bunny or father time or the tooth fairy for that matter.) rather, i employ inductive reasoning in assuming there is not a god, in the sense most people think of such a being or creature.
i have not seen any evidence of god's existence nor do i know of any in the history of mankind. i have seen the folly of belief. i have the seen the tremendous amount of disagreement on the subject. i have seen the fruit of that disagreement in the form of holy wars and crusades. i understand why confucius would call belief the opium of the masses since the poor seem to harbor far more zeal than the wealthy.
belief is so subjective that if god did exist and was represented by a set of properties, the number of those who had it exactly right would be miniscule. it would probably be like 42 people in the history of mankind.
i know this is an odd subject. our society avoids big questions like this. still, if i am to blog i prefer to spend some time blogging about the biggest of issues. if someone read this and was given pause, i could ask for no more.
strictly speaking i am an agnostic. i don't claim to know there is not a god anymore than i claim to know martians do not exist, (or the easter bunny or father time or the tooth fairy for that matter.) rather, i employ inductive reasoning in assuming there is not a god, in the sense most people think of such a being or creature.
i have not seen any evidence of god's existence nor do i know of any in the history of mankind. i have seen the folly of belief. i have the seen the tremendous amount of disagreement on the subject. i have seen the fruit of that disagreement in the form of holy wars and crusades. i understand why confucius would call belief the opium of the masses since the poor seem to harbor far more zeal than the wealthy.
belief is so subjective that if god did exist and was represented by a set of properties, the number of those who had it exactly right would be miniscule. it would probably be like 42 people in the history of mankind.
still, i can't claim, as a textbook atheist might, that i know there is no god. it is, after all, another unproveable belief. however, i prefer to call myself an atheist over an agnostic anyway. it feels less ambiguous and more honest. the fact is, i think this mass of people around the globe of varying degrees of zealotry, are mislead, deceived, confused, wrong.
the dictionary definition for agnostic:
ag·nos·tic (ag näs′tik)
noun
a person who believes that the human mind cannot know whether there is a God or an ultimate cause, or anything beyond material phenomena
Etymology: coined (1870) by Thomas Henry Huxley < a- + gnostic
adjective
of or characteristic of an agnostic or agnosticism
huxley was basically saying if it was not tangible, it could not be verified and therefore, could not be accepted as fact, which happens to be a large part of my argument against belief.
the dictionary definition for atheism is:
athe·ism (ā′t̸hē iz′əm)
noun
the belief that there is no God, or denial that God or gods exist
godlessness
it is my belief there is no god and i do think of myself as godless so this label works too. however, in believing something i do not and cannot know, i feel just like any other believer. so you see my quandary?
it's just semantics i suppose-i have no faith. still, ask me sometime and see what i say.Monday, June 09, 2008
justice (part 1)
Injustices in society make me angry. Perhaps, angrier than most. I am bothered by things out of tilt, seeing the vulnerable taken advantage of, people who seem out of balance in a karmic respect.
I am easily perturbed by my country's self-perception. As Americans we grow up with this idea that we are the greatest country on earth. We are the white hats of the world and we stand for everything good and honest and wholesome. Whenever I feel the presence of this notion, I feel an anger rise inside of me along with a massive compulsion to dispel such mythology. In fact I love this country but I would prefer we as Americans were honest with ourselves about our past, present and future. In that way I think we can attain some of these ideals we merely profess to embrace.
This anger tends to be perceived as some form of self-hatred, (or anti-Americanism anyway,) instead of being recognized as sheer disappointment at how little of our potential we realize.
I suppose I have been conditioned in ways which define me and make me who I essentially am. My world view came from never having met my Father, from growing up with my Mother incarcerated, from living with grandparents and aunts and uncles, (all on my Mother’s side, of course.) This world view came from the methadone clinic, from oldies but goodies, from going out on Halloween as a “beer belly.”
This world view came from a dearth of familial intimacy, from a detachment from any cultural identity amidst a society so overwrought and overblown and supremely over-interested in their race and ethnicity and color and background that their heads are stuffed with pounds and chunks of self-aggrandizing local color and flavor, which serves to occupy the mind like Cops or American Idol or the TV Land reruns, dulling and stupefying like a bulldozer of mediocrity, pile-driving the shit out of sensibilities, so people are unable to connect with one another, unable to discern truth when it confronts them, unable to feel or empathize with those less fortunate and by less fortunate I do not mean that cute, starving vision of innocence in the pamphlet for your favorite charity, I am talking about the freaking murderer who seems so heinous and evil but who obviously had some crazy stuff happen to him to render him inclined to do the nasty and dark deeds he committed, unable to imagine anything outside one’s own realm, outside borders or economic strata, unable to organize and fight back against naked powers that be, be they simple propaganda or long held fallacies, unable to make a fucking move.
This world view came from speaking in tongues, a late blooming sex life, deprivation of the classics, the jockacracy, Ronald Reagan, "I Found It!", Christian schools, John Hughes, Josh McDowell, beach cruisers, La Puente, Covina, and Cardiff by the Sea, The Six Million Dollar Man, and smog.
This world view came from waking up in a perpetual frat party existence and realizing I neeeded to start reading the great writers. It came from giving up on my faith at 28 followed by 10 charming years. It came from being poor and nurturing the anger of youth. It came from spending a few days in LA County, booked on irresponsibility.
From all this, this life, I offer justice as something to speak on or of. It is what interests me and I think you might find it interesting in the same way.
Justice is like a rare, stolen, underground Picasso to me. It’s like a million bucks or anything perfect. It is nearly intangible, but it does exist and I love it as much as I love life itself. When Andy Dufresne pulls his shirt off in the driving rain after crawling through a tunnel of sewage to his freedom, and the warden blows a hole in his own head at the end of Shawshank Redemption, that’s the kind of justice I crave.
And that’s just the phony stuff. When it is real life, when I. Louis Libby gets convicted of a crime and is disbarred, my heart soars in spite of the knowledge it is not nearly enough justice for Libby. For a moment anyways, I cannot be bothered by the fact Libby will continue to lead a life of financial comfort, never coming close to the measure of justice he should know. (My world view suggests Libby feels the rest of the justice he deserves in an unseen, karmic sort of retribution.)
I rejoice when big corporations get it right in the pocketbook.
I love it when little towns in New England or countries in Europe legislate Donald Rumsfeld's fate to be arrested for war crimes if he ever sets foot in their territories. That is sublime to me, if only a stopgap unit of joy meant to tied my otherwise angry and dissatisfied person over until the next morsel of justice happens along.
I am easily perturbed by my country's self-perception. As Americans we grow up with this idea that we are the greatest country on earth. We are the white hats of the world and we stand for everything good and honest and wholesome. Whenever I feel the presence of this notion, I feel an anger rise inside of me along with a massive compulsion to dispel such mythology. In fact I love this country but I would prefer we as Americans were honest with ourselves about our past, present and future. In that way I think we can attain some of these ideals we merely profess to embrace.
This anger tends to be perceived as some form of self-hatred, (or anti-Americanism anyway,) instead of being recognized as sheer disappointment at how little of our potential we realize.
I suppose I have been conditioned in ways which define me and make me who I essentially am. My world view came from never having met my Father, from growing up with my Mother incarcerated, from living with grandparents and aunts and uncles, (all on my Mother’s side, of course.) This world view came from the methadone clinic, from oldies but goodies, from going out on Halloween as a “beer belly.”
This world view came from a dearth of familial intimacy, from a detachment from any cultural identity amidst a society so overwrought and overblown and supremely over-interested in their race and ethnicity and color and background that their heads are stuffed with pounds and chunks of self-aggrandizing local color and flavor, which serves to occupy the mind like Cops or American Idol or the TV Land reruns, dulling and stupefying like a bulldozer of mediocrity, pile-driving the shit out of sensibilities, so people are unable to connect with one another, unable to discern truth when it confronts them, unable to feel or empathize with those less fortunate and by less fortunate I do not mean that cute, starving vision of innocence in the pamphlet for your favorite charity, I am talking about the freaking murderer who seems so heinous and evil but who obviously had some crazy stuff happen to him to render him inclined to do the nasty and dark deeds he committed, unable to imagine anything outside one’s own realm, outside borders or economic strata, unable to organize and fight back against naked powers that be, be they simple propaganda or long held fallacies, unable to make a fucking move.
This world view came from speaking in tongues, a late blooming sex life, deprivation of the classics, the jockacracy, Ronald Reagan, "I Found It!", Christian schools, John Hughes, Josh McDowell, beach cruisers, La Puente, Covina, and Cardiff by the Sea, The Six Million Dollar Man, and smog.
This world view came from waking up in a perpetual frat party existence and realizing I neeeded to start reading the great writers. It came from giving up on my faith at 28 followed by 10 charming years. It came from being poor and nurturing the anger of youth. It came from spending a few days in LA County, booked on irresponsibility.
From all this, this life, I offer justice as something to speak on or of. It is what interests me and I think you might find it interesting in the same way.
Justice is like a rare, stolen, underground Picasso to me. It’s like a million bucks or anything perfect. It is nearly intangible, but it does exist and I love it as much as I love life itself. When Andy Dufresne pulls his shirt off in the driving rain after crawling through a tunnel of sewage to his freedom, and the warden blows a hole in his own head at the end of Shawshank Redemption, that’s the kind of justice I crave.
And that’s just the phony stuff. When it is real life, when I. Louis Libby gets convicted of a crime and is disbarred, my heart soars in spite of the knowledge it is not nearly enough justice for Libby. For a moment anyways, I cannot be bothered by the fact Libby will continue to lead a life of financial comfort, never coming close to the measure of justice he should know. (My world view suggests Libby feels the rest of the justice he deserves in an unseen, karmic sort of retribution.)
I rejoice when big corporations get it right in the pocketbook.
I love it when little towns in New England or countries in Europe legislate Donald Rumsfeld's fate to be arrested for war crimes if he ever sets foot in their territories. That is sublime to me, if only a stopgap unit of joy meant to tied my otherwise angry and dissatisfied person over until the next morsel of justice happens along.
I see justice in how the puritans who conducted the Salem Witch trials are viewed today. I see justice in Nuremberg. I see justice in Pinochet's legacy, how he will be remembered as the despotic military dictator placed in Santiago by Washington DC who ruthlessly killed his people, villifying him and those who supported him from abroad. I see justice too, in Reagan's legacy. Reagan will be remembered for taking the solar panels off the white house and restoring our dependence on foreign oil, for authorizing the sale of arms to Iran to supply a ruthless regime in Central America, (or two,) for using the bully pulpit against the college kids of People's Park as well as hoses, gas and clubs, for marketing propaganda more effectively than any person in his time with his nine most terrifying words in the English language, ("I'm from the government and I'm here to help,") and his "War on Drugs," for telling the air traffic controllers to go screw themselves because he could and because of the message it sent, for trickle-down clearly not trickling down, and for lying like Nixon.
Justice makes me smile. It sets my mind at ease. I am not referring to the justice that occurs in court rooms, though I am sure that justice plays its role. The justice I adore occurs more organically and is closer to truth.
I am happy to exclaim I see plenty of justice. It seems always at the heels of injustice.
"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."
-Martin Luther King Jr.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
an open letter to keith olbermann
tonight i watched hillary clinton and barack obama give speeches as the tallies rolled in from the final two primaries in montana and south dakota. both showed a great deal of poise and class. i was especially impressed with how they showed appreciation and admiration for one another.
an open letter to keith olbermann:
dear keith olbermann,
for all the good you have done in holding the president accountable for any number of crimes and misdemeanors, your vitriol against hillary clinton has become unbearable. even tonight as chris mathews blathered on as usual during terry mcauliffe's introduction of mrs. clinton, you emerged later to inform us of what mcauliffe had actually said. apparently he introduced her as the next president of the united states. you scoffed as if it was just more dirty pool from the clintons, your perspective spinning off its axis and into utter chaos. so hillary's audience was amassed in a basement that does not allow for cell phone contact. so there were no television monitors in the room. you and your ilk are not so important and i thought you knew that.
i suppose you were too close to all of this to have the vision to see that hillary made a choice back around the time of the texas and ohio primaries to stay in this thing and fight. she had plenty of reason to do so, too. this was a close nomination process. indeed clinton won the majority of states most likely to be won by the democrats in november. (if you would challenge this idea, let's just point out then that she won california big.) the actual vote margins as well as delegate margins across the country were especially tight. so what's a bit of theatre in politics? apparently to you it was some major affront. the point the clinton campaign was making, keith, was that her campaign stayed relevant and vibrant right up to the last day of the primary season. hillary single-handedly invigorated the process even making puerto ricans and the typically irrelevant south dakotans and montanans feel important and involved. (why else would they turn out in such numbers?)
it was not easy for clinton and obama to draw distinctions from one another. it seemed at moments the clinton campaign wanted to bring up the fact that some people in this country are racist and would automatrically dismiss obama from the possibility of receiving their vote. since her campaign had always focused on beating the republicans prior to realizing they would need to shift their focus to the formidable obama, clinton had courted the independent and left-leaning republicans in the key swing states of ohio and florida from day one. hence why she was strongest in those places. however, you were enraged by her every maneuver.
you claim to not vote because you think it is inappropriate given your watchdog position as a journalist and yet, your preferences could not be more transparent.
when clinton depicted herself the more experienced candidate, better suited to answer a late night phone call alerting a president-leader to some unknown but massively dangerous threat in the world, you showed a particularly thin skin. obama responded, (because the media has broadcast his every move throughout the entire season,) and moved on.
the point is, these two great candidates have understood the nature of the endeavor they are engaged in from the beginning. it is obvious already they have not taken the fact that the other campaigned hard and tried to show themselves the better choice for the most high office personally.
within the next two days obama will announce hillary as his choice for vice president. and so, while you may have fallen in love with obama during the primary season as one is wan to do , it will be time to fall in line for the general election.
so quit killing your credibility when you attack president bush for subverting the constitution instead of protecting it, by disparaging the clintons. you do not owe it to this country to serve it, though you do in a capacity. similarly, the clintons have not owed it to the people of this country to serve and yet they have with distinction and for a long time. they have not been perfect by any stretch but they have been a force for positive change.
your voice has been so important these last several years. you are finally beating the propagandist bill o'reilly in the ratings on some nights and you deserve a great deal of credit for this and your work is important. the free pass the present administration was granted in the wake of 9/11 was phenomenal and your voice, (along with only one or two others, really,) has finally started to penetrate the fear and paranoia that permitted that free pass in the first place.
as you might say to president bush, please sir, regain your perspective.
an open letter to keith olbermann:
dear keith olbermann,
for all the good you have done in holding the president accountable for any number of crimes and misdemeanors, your vitriol against hillary clinton has become unbearable. even tonight as chris mathews blathered on as usual during terry mcauliffe's introduction of mrs. clinton, you emerged later to inform us of what mcauliffe had actually said. apparently he introduced her as the next president of the united states. you scoffed as if it was just more dirty pool from the clintons, your perspective spinning off its axis and into utter chaos. so hillary's audience was amassed in a basement that does not allow for cell phone contact. so there were no television monitors in the room. you and your ilk are not so important and i thought you knew that.
i suppose you were too close to all of this to have the vision to see that hillary made a choice back around the time of the texas and ohio primaries to stay in this thing and fight. she had plenty of reason to do so, too. this was a close nomination process. indeed clinton won the majority of states most likely to be won by the democrats in november. (if you would challenge this idea, let's just point out then that she won california big.) the actual vote margins as well as delegate margins across the country were especially tight. so what's a bit of theatre in politics? apparently to you it was some major affront. the point the clinton campaign was making, keith, was that her campaign stayed relevant and vibrant right up to the last day of the primary season. hillary single-handedly invigorated the process even making puerto ricans and the typically irrelevant south dakotans and montanans feel important and involved. (why else would they turn out in such numbers?)
it was not easy for clinton and obama to draw distinctions from one another. it seemed at moments the clinton campaign wanted to bring up the fact that some people in this country are racist and would automatrically dismiss obama from the possibility of receiving their vote. since her campaign had always focused on beating the republicans prior to realizing they would need to shift their focus to the formidable obama, clinton had courted the independent and left-leaning republicans in the key swing states of ohio and florida from day one. hence why she was strongest in those places. however, you were enraged by her every maneuver.
you claim to not vote because you think it is inappropriate given your watchdog position as a journalist and yet, your preferences could not be more transparent.
when clinton depicted herself the more experienced candidate, better suited to answer a late night phone call alerting a president-leader to some unknown but massively dangerous threat in the world, you showed a particularly thin skin. obama responded, (because the media has broadcast his every move throughout the entire season,) and moved on.
the point is, these two great candidates have understood the nature of the endeavor they are engaged in from the beginning. it is obvious already they have not taken the fact that the other campaigned hard and tried to show themselves the better choice for the most high office personally.
within the next two days obama will announce hillary as his choice for vice president. and so, while you may have fallen in love with obama during the primary season as one is wan to do , it will be time to fall in line for the general election.
so quit killing your credibility when you attack president bush for subverting the constitution instead of protecting it, by disparaging the clintons. you do not owe it to this country to serve it, though you do in a capacity. similarly, the clintons have not owed it to the people of this country to serve and yet they have with distinction and for a long time. they have not been perfect by any stretch but they have been a force for positive change.
your voice has been so important these last several years. you are finally beating the propagandist bill o'reilly in the ratings on some nights and you deserve a great deal of credit for this and your work is important. the free pass the present administration was granted in the wake of 9/11 was phenomenal and your voice, (along with only one or two others, really,) has finally started to penetrate the fear and paranoia that permitted that free pass in the first place.
as you might say to president bush, please sir, regain your perspective.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
a day in the life of a sports nut
from the why i enjoy sports department... for me today began with an early morning car crash. i was jolted from a standstill on the 405 this morning by a mercedes ramming into me from behind without even braking. I'm fine despite some stiffness in my neck but the disruption and subsequent shock caused me to turn around and come home for the day so i could get comfortable and start the process of dealing with insurance companies and possibly doctors.
the opening day of the tournament is a solid vacation day choice so to wind up at home, (literally,) by accident on this day, was ironically pleasant. i kept the volume low and glanced enough to keep up with games as i gave statements over the phone and accomplished some of my normal work.
by the time the evening session rolled around i focused in on the usc-k state game. the trojans responded especially poorly to k state's pressure around the perimeter and their point guard hackett seemed defeated by it. it was disappointing to see sc lose but still exhilerating to see all of the outcomes unfolding as they do: four games staggered by a few minutes at four sites around the country four times per day, (for these first two days of the tourney.) it is truly a spectacle of madness. i missed the caesar's palace sportsbook of years gone by when every missed free throw draws a collective groan and every slam dunk a cacophonous roar.
as usc lost, cbs let me see the end of the duke-belmont game, which in spite of the turnout is what the tournament is really all about. i flipped into the upper reaches of my cable system and found sam cassell was on tv only in a celtics uniform. i had no interest in that one and never returned to it.
when ucla finally took the court, my sports evening was in full bloom. besides the number one seeded bruins opening game, the lakers were in utah, the kings were in phoenix to play gretzky's coyotes and despite the void of charisma in the men's tennis game, nadal was in the desert to play james blake. that's two, nine, 30 and 31 on my cable system and i worked it like a champ. the slightest hint of a carl's jr commercial got my thumb busy and tonight, the advertisers lost.
ucla took a big lead early but the game was still entertaining. the kings and coyotes scored 10 goals in regulation and i must have missed eight of them in real time. the lakers jumped on the jazz right out of the gate and for a change, maintained a comfortable lead throughout.
blake outplayed nadal but lost the first set. he outplayed him again in the second set and won the crucial points to take it 6-3. they were on serve at 4-3 in the third when i had to grin to myself...who would have thought i would spend more time watching the tennis than any of the other games? it was refreshing to see a tennis match that commanded my attention, which had much to do with the blake being the only american player i deem interesting enough to watch. blake took nadal's serves early and put his opponent off balance by drilling returns at his feet all night. nadal for his part showed his class by winning most of the pivotal points on which the match turned. he lost two crucial points in a row in the second set which blake gained confidence from but when the critical points came around again in the third set, (yes, in the infamous eighth game,) blake wilted and nadal came to life. in a matter of five minutes, the 2+ hour match ended with a whimper. still, i won because i was glued to the tv set for tennis.
the kings-coyotes game went to overtime and eventually a shootout. neither team will play in the post-season but it's still a great game and the four-on-four hockey for the ot was exciting and the shootout took an extra round for anyone to beat a goaltender and lo and behold, it was the king's patrick o'sullivan with the game-winner. (4 for 4 in shootouts on the season.)
back to channel nine for the lakers where the jazz pulled to within nine but the lakers closed it out. kobe was super down the stretch except for one ill-advised three. at game's end kobe made an over-the-shoulder-while-spinning-in-the-air 40-foot pass to odom for a dunk and turned to jazz fans while tugging on his jersey to emphasize his number 24 and make a case for his mvp campaign. the clinton campaign has nothing on kobe and while some laker fans in the arena could be heard chanting "m-v-p," another threw a water bottle from on high to the surface of the court and others boohed a malicious, malevolent boo. i wish kobe was a more respectful and classy kind of superstar. i wish he was all the young kevin love seems poised to be. but he is not and i have been disappointed enough by this simple fact. i am ecstatic the lakers are in first place. gasol and ariza are readying to return and the playoofs loom.
what a day. (what a night!) oh, and look at that? while a dull baylor squad that had no business in the tournament got bounced today without fanfare, a flip to espn finds the snubbed sun devils of arizona state beating the southern illinois salukis in the nit by 15 with 30 seconds left.
the opening day of the tournament is a solid vacation day choice so to wind up at home, (literally,) by accident on this day, was ironically pleasant. i kept the volume low and glanced enough to keep up with games as i gave statements over the phone and accomplished some of my normal work.
by the time the evening session rolled around i focused in on the usc-k state game. the trojans responded especially poorly to k state's pressure around the perimeter and their point guard hackett seemed defeated by it. it was disappointing to see sc lose but still exhilerating to see all of the outcomes unfolding as they do: four games staggered by a few minutes at four sites around the country four times per day, (for these first two days of the tourney.) it is truly a spectacle of madness. i missed the caesar's palace sportsbook of years gone by when every missed free throw draws a collective groan and every slam dunk a cacophonous roar.
as usc lost, cbs let me see the end of the duke-belmont game, which in spite of the turnout is what the tournament is really all about. i flipped into the upper reaches of my cable system and found sam cassell was on tv only in a celtics uniform. i had no interest in that one and never returned to it.
when ucla finally took the court, my sports evening was in full bloom. besides the number one seeded bruins opening game, the lakers were in utah, the kings were in phoenix to play gretzky's coyotes and despite the void of charisma in the men's tennis game, nadal was in the desert to play james blake. that's two, nine, 30 and 31 on my cable system and i worked it like a champ. the slightest hint of a carl's jr commercial got my thumb busy and tonight, the advertisers lost.
ucla took a big lead early but the game was still entertaining. the kings and coyotes scored 10 goals in regulation and i must have missed eight of them in real time. the lakers jumped on the jazz right out of the gate and for a change, maintained a comfortable lead throughout.
blake outplayed nadal but lost the first set. he outplayed him again in the second set and won the crucial points to take it 6-3. they were on serve at 4-3 in the third when i had to grin to myself...who would have thought i would spend more time watching the tennis than any of the other games? it was refreshing to see a tennis match that commanded my attention, which had much to do with the blake being the only american player i deem interesting enough to watch. blake took nadal's serves early and put his opponent off balance by drilling returns at his feet all night. nadal for his part showed his class by winning most of the pivotal points on which the match turned. he lost two crucial points in a row in the second set which blake gained confidence from but when the critical points came around again in the third set, (yes, in the infamous eighth game,) blake wilted and nadal came to life. in a matter of five minutes, the 2+ hour match ended with a whimper. still, i won because i was glued to the tv set for tennis.
the kings-coyotes game went to overtime and eventually a shootout. neither team will play in the post-season but it's still a great game and the four-on-four hockey for the ot was exciting and the shootout took an extra round for anyone to beat a goaltender and lo and behold, it was the king's patrick o'sullivan with the game-winner. (4 for 4 in shootouts on the season.)
back to channel nine for the lakers where the jazz pulled to within nine but the lakers closed it out. kobe was super down the stretch except for one ill-advised three. at game's end kobe made an over-the-shoulder-while-spinning-in-the-air 40-foot pass to odom for a dunk and turned to jazz fans while tugging on his jersey to emphasize his number 24 and make a case for his mvp campaign. the clinton campaign has nothing on kobe and while some laker fans in the arena could be heard chanting "m-v-p," another threw a water bottle from on high to the surface of the court and others boohed a malicious, malevolent boo. i wish kobe was a more respectful and classy kind of superstar. i wish he was all the young kevin love seems poised to be. but he is not and i have been disappointed enough by this simple fact. i am ecstatic the lakers are in first place. gasol and ariza are readying to return and the playoofs loom.
what a day. (what a night!) oh, and look at that? while a dull baylor squad that had no business in the tournament got bounced today without fanfare, a flip to espn finds the snubbed sun devils of arizona state beating the southern illinois salukis in the nit by 15 with 30 seconds left.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
ralph nader
who is will durst and why isn't he funny and why is everyone bashing ralph nader? are they dumb? did eddie vedder lose his mind? is stephanie miller and thom hartmann suddenly delirious. did susan sarandon and tim robbins accidentally flip on the stupid switch?
as much as i like dennis kucinich, he is no ralph nader. his illustrious record hardly holds a candle to ralph nader's. perhaps this is the greatest testament to how low our expectations have fallen within the realm of politics.
what happened in 2000 was unfortunate but face facts, ralph nader is a much better candidate for president than al gore. nader has a long and storied history of standing up for the american people, (and by domino effect the people of the world.)
so it seems we have come to have two sets of preferences: one might be our preferred candidate then two would be our preferred candidate of those we consider electable. isn't that sort of pathetic? and isn't this what ralph nader represents and why he is still a candidate? his candidacy is like a finger wagging in our faces to remind us of just how low are expectations have gone.
hillary clinton and barack obama are light years better candidates than the lying warmongers who would mutilate the constitution on the republican side but they are just alike in terms of policy. their health care plans both suck. neither has suggested a single payor system. hillary clinton kowtows to the fearmongerson the right and barack obama refused to vote in favor of a billl that would cap credit card interest at 30% interest. so if you're wealthy or a trial lawyer, perhaps the mainstream candidates really are for you. but otherwise, if you're of the people, ralph nader is far and away better for you, (and me.)
i have recently heard many people i respect immensely come out against ralph nader as if he owes it to us not to run. every single one of these people can choose not to vote for him and they can also choose to shut their fat traps. so far they only seem to be choosing the former.
i was discussing the ralph nader documentary; ralph nader:an unreasonable man, with a friend recently, and she said after watching the movie she found ralph adorably unreasonable. i could hardly give him a better endorsement.
as much as i like dennis kucinich, he is no ralph nader. his illustrious record hardly holds a candle to ralph nader's. perhaps this is the greatest testament to how low our expectations have fallen within the realm of politics.
what happened in 2000 was unfortunate but face facts, ralph nader is a much better candidate for president than al gore. nader has a long and storied history of standing up for the american people, (and by domino effect the people of the world.)
so it seems we have come to have two sets of preferences: one might be our preferred candidate then two would be our preferred candidate of those we consider electable. isn't that sort of pathetic? and isn't this what ralph nader represents and why he is still a candidate? his candidacy is like a finger wagging in our faces to remind us of just how low are expectations have gone.
hillary clinton and barack obama are light years better candidates than the lying warmongers who would mutilate the constitution on the republican side but they are just alike in terms of policy. their health care plans both suck. neither has suggested a single payor system. hillary clinton kowtows to the fearmongerson the right and barack obama refused to vote in favor of a billl that would cap credit card interest at 30% interest. so if you're wealthy or a trial lawyer, perhaps the mainstream candidates really are for you. but otherwise, if you're of the people, ralph nader is far and away better for you, (and me.)
i have recently heard many people i respect immensely come out against ralph nader as if he owes it to us not to run. every single one of these people can choose not to vote for him and they can also choose to shut their fat traps. so far they only seem to be choosing the former.
i was discussing the ralph nader documentary; ralph nader:an unreasonable man, with a friend recently, and she said after watching the movie she found ralph adorably unreasonable. i could hardly give him a better endorsement.
Monday, February 18, 2008
brotherly love
"i love yous," have always been like daggers to me. they make my ears prick up whenever and wherever i hear them. they're like streakers. they call to me and i just can't ignore them.
i suppose anyone who was not raised by their natural parents can likely relate to my emotional reaction to this phrase. my aunt and uncle loved me. they loved me enough to take me into their home and raise me from the time i was 11-years-old. they never did adopt me, opting instead to keep me officially a ward of the court. I think this status provided them a modest monthly income.
the "i love yous," my aunt and uncle shared with me tended to be of the written variety, scrawled in greeting cards on my birthday. the dearth of "i love yous," in my childhood made my uncle keith sound weird when he would visit and tell me he loved me virtually every time he saw me. i can still remember those "i love yous." i remember my uncle keith offering them up and me thinking it was odd and that he seemed uncomfortable in delivering them but in retrospect, i see it was me who was uncomfortable in receiving them.
today my brother paged me out of the blue and said he loved me. it's not the craziest thing ever for him to do this though i don't think he's done it before. he has told me he loves me though, even recently. he has been out of prison for about eight months and i think he has a fresh lens on life and he has perhaps been trying to speak his mind and let his loved ones know he appreciates them. still, this "i love you," was unexpected and it caught me like a left hook.
i love my brother. i loved him when we were reunited at 6 and 11, when i took to kissing him goodnight but was chided by my uncle not to do that as it was not manly. i loved him when we were kids playing matchstick in the pool out back. i loved him in the ocean when he surfed past me as i lay on my boogie board, wishing i had his talent for hanging ten. i loved him when he left and went to denver, even though i felt like i did not know him in those days. i loved him when he was locked up. i sent him books and wrote him letters, reported my thoughts on the sports world and waxed poetic.
we celebrated our birthdays together this past year for the first time in a number of years and at the end of the night, (or the beginning of the morning,) eating pistachios on a balcony and swigging the last of many beers, he revealed some insecurity. i spoke my mind in saying he had a unique opportunity in so much as he has the chance to live two lives. Yes, he is the man who made some mistakes and spent some eight years locked up, neck deep in the prison gang culture. unlike most of his peers in those days, he is out and has chosen a completely different environment for himself. that is laudable in and of itself.
i think the "i love you," stems from that evening. it comes from all that he is going through but in addition to saying he loved me, tommy said something about how i was always there for him and i never wore a mask. (of course, i do wear masks but the one that represents my brother's best friend feels completely honest and authentic.)
"i love you" is just too intimate. it means too much to me and it has a certain power that makes it like a gun i can't know if it's loaded. i just don't mess with it.
at home with my little girl and my son, i consciously say i love you often, (i think.) i want to be sure they hear it and from me. i want them to be able to use the word appropriately, easy enough but not without sensing the gravity of it. and i want to be sure i can say it to them. "i love you" means i continue to get healthier as i grow older. and i do love my two little darlings, like nobody's business. i love them so much i am afraid of the pain i could conceivably know.
i love my brother too. he's been here with me through it all. i love my dad who was my uncle. i love my wife. i love my sister and my friends and the rest of my family and my extended family and yeah, in a way, i love that 21-year-old girl from work who helped illustrate this lesson for me.
here: check this out. i can say it to you right now and i don't even know who you are.
"love!"
i suppose anyone who was not raised by their natural parents can likely relate to my emotional reaction to this phrase. my aunt and uncle loved me. they loved me enough to take me into their home and raise me from the time i was 11-years-old. they never did adopt me, opting instead to keep me officially a ward of the court. I think this status provided them a modest monthly income.
the "i love yous," my aunt and uncle shared with me tended to be of the written variety, scrawled in greeting cards on my birthday. the dearth of "i love yous," in my childhood made my uncle keith sound weird when he would visit and tell me he loved me virtually every time he saw me. i can still remember those "i love yous." i remember my uncle keith offering them up and me thinking it was odd and that he seemed uncomfortable in delivering them but in retrospect, i see it was me who was uncomfortable in receiving them.
today my brother paged me out of the blue and said he loved me. it's not the craziest thing ever for him to do this though i don't think he's done it before. he has told me he loves me though, even recently. he has been out of prison for about eight months and i think he has a fresh lens on life and he has perhaps been trying to speak his mind and let his loved ones know he appreciates them. still, this "i love you," was unexpected and it caught me like a left hook.
i love my brother. i loved him when we were reunited at 6 and 11, when i took to kissing him goodnight but was chided by my uncle not to do that as it was not manly. i loved him when we were kids playing matchstick in the pool out back. i loved him in the ocean when he surfed past me as i lay on my boogie board, wishing i had his talent for hanging ten. i loved him when he left and went to denver, even though i felt like i did not know him in those days. i loved him when he was locked up. i sent him books and wrote him letters, reported my thoughts on the sports world and waxed poetic.
we celebrated our birthdays together this past year for the first time in a number of years and at the end of the night, (or the beginning of the morning,) eating pistachios on a balcony and swigging the last of many beers, he revealed some insecurity. i spoke my mind in saying he had a unique opportunity in so much as he has the chance to live two lives. Yes, he is the man who made some mistakes and spent some eight years locked up, neck deep in the prison gang culture. unlike most of his peers in those days, he is out and has chosen a completely different environment for himself. that is laudable in and of itself.
i think the "i love you," stems from that evening. it comes from all that he is going through but in addition to saying he loved me, tommy said something about how i was always there for him and i never wore a mask. (of course, i do wear masks but the one that represents my brother's best friend feels completely honest and authentic.)
i do not begrudge my aunt and uncle for withholding their "i love yous." i would sooner be angry if they had said it from a sense of obligation. i had a chip on my shoulder growing up in their house. my sister was loved obviously and i could not begrudge her that, either. she deserved it and i wanted her to have it. the relationship she had with her mother was intense like only a mother and her child can have.
i appreciated her honesty, too, in not faking it with me. i nurtured the chip on my shoulder and was angry at the world for the fact i had no mother, (or rather, my mother was incarcerated for the length of my youth and died from a drug overdose when i was barely a man.) but i withheld, too. at christmas time as gifts were spread over the breadth of the living room, i opened mine one by one and feigned shock and ecstasy.
in my first year in my aunt and uncle's home my shock and ecstasy were real. i went from receiving one present per christmas to this year in which i received an air hockey table and a host of lesser presents. it was like winning the lottery and my amazement was real and palpable. in years that followed i could never duplicate that emotion, which had clearly impressed my aunt and uncle. i think it was like a drug to them. i think they felt pretty great at being able to affect a child in such a way. in later years i sensed their disappointment at my inability to duplicate that first christmas response.
in reality, i could have done it. acting is easy. but i would not have been true to myself which is the golden rule of my life and so, no. i could not act as impressed as i initially was. and i could not act like i meant "i love you" to them when i had no real idea what "i love you" meant in those days. i was able to lie on occasion. embarking on band camp or church camp or some such thing when i would be away for several days we often acted out this real family saga in which we would exchange tepid "i love yous," like alligators pushing up on front legs as if to stand and walk but merely exposing stumpy haunches, barely creating way for a snail's passage beneath. such grandiloquence.
in offering these "i love yous," i traded on my survival skills. i never felt good about socking someone in a fight either but if it was me or him, i socked. "i love yous," were the punches that kept me in my family and away from the unknown foster parents who would make my life so much more hellish and angry.
a girl at work said i love you to me recently and i was quietly flabbergasted. i knew she only meant well and i recognized it came from her 21-ness and that's all nice. the very next day i heard her say it to someone else and i could not help but think how nice it must be for her that she can throw that phrase around. when she said it to me, my response was to say, "right back atcha." that's it. that's the best i can do.
it is interesting to me too, that this girl says the phrase full-on. she intones every part of it: "i llluvvv you." when i have used the phrase under duress i have tended to shorten it, turn it into "love ya," or "i love ya." in this way i feel truer to myself while also doling out the phrase that pays."i love you" is just too intimate. it means too much to me and it has a certain power that makes it like a gun i can't know if it's loaded. i just don't mess with it.
at home with my little girl and my son, i consciously say i love you often, (i think.) i want to be sure they hear it and from me. i want them to be able to use the word appropriately, easy enough but not without sensing the gravity of it. and i want to be sure i can say it to them. "i love you" means i continue to get healthier as i grow older. and i do love my two little darlings, like nobody's business. i love them so much i am afraid of the pain i could conceivably know.
i love my brother too. he's been here with me through it all. i love my dad who was my uncle. i love my wife. i love my sister and my friends and the rest of my family and my extended family and yeah, in a way, i love that 21-year-old girl from work who helped illustrate this lesson for me.
here: check this out. i can say it to you right now and i don't even know who you are.
"love!"
Friday, January 04, 2008
D smile
i am looking at a picture of my son, atop of a phony burro on olvera street, garbed in a colorful zarape style poncho and underneath a 10-gallon sombrero, and I can’t help wondering when his station in life will dawn on him. in the photo he is so hopeful it could make you cry. the picture was taken on a bright, sunny day and his disposition fit it perfectly. he was perhaps 8 months old when the picture was taken.
the sombrero sits back on his head the way a cowboy in an old western film would have worn his hat after all the fighting and hubbub were done, when he was ready to kick up his feet and relax. carefree.
i wonder if there are any babies in the bush family, or the mellons or the rockefellers or kennedys and if so, if mark would appear as less than in some way if stationed next to one of them. i imagine myself a servant to one of these great families living downstairs and mark being born into that life of servitude, learning from day one that he is not the person his economically advantaged peers from upstairs are.
i struggle to pay my bills every month and i am remiss about the fact that i have brought mark into this world of disadvantage. with me as his father, it may very well be that he cannot afford to attend college. i don’t own a house. i have no real savings to speak of. i have a retirement account that equates to about as much security as mark’s poncho would provide in an alaskan snowstorm.
in the picture mark looks like romulus returning to rome after conquering yet another addendum to his empire. he is looking directly into the camera and he is smiling but with his tongue out, pressed down over his bottom lip, giving the effect of a ‘D’-shaped mouth. he could not be happier.
i suppose there is another half mark’s fortune compares so favorably to. i suppose he could have been born on the african continent. i suppose he could have had a father who did not love him as i do, who was not committed to him in the way i am even if my resources are limited. perhaps he has reason to be so bright-eyed and smiley.
in fact, i hope he is not so self-centered. i hope his happiness is not so clearly linked to his own fortunes but are perhaps more tied to the fortunes of his community near and far. i hope mark becomes a citizen of the world, one of those people who votes for the candidate who does not necessarily promise to do so many things for his finite demographic but rather who runs on a platform of doing what is right and what is right for the most people, for humanity at large.
if that comes to pass i’ll be the old guy with my hat pushed back on my had and the ‘D’-shaped smile.
the sombrero sits back on his head the way a cowboy in an old western film would have worn his hat after all the fighting and hubbub were done, when he was ready to kick up his feet and relax. carefree.
i wonder if there are any babies in the bush family, or the mellons or the rockefellers or kennedys and if so, if mark would appear as less than in some way if stationed next to one of them. i imagine myself a servant to one of these great families living downstairs and mark being born into that life of servitude, learning from day one that he is not the person his economically advantaged peers from upstairs are.
i struggle to pay my bills every month and i am remiss about the fact that i have brought mark into this world of disadvantage. with me as his father, it may very well be that he cannot afford to attend college. i don’t own a house. i have no real savings to speak of. i have a retirement account that equates to about as much security as mark’s poncho would provide in an alaskan snowstorm.
in the picture mark looks like romulus returning to rome after conquering yet another addendum to his empire. he is looking directly into the camera and he is smiling but with his tongue out, pressed down over his bottom lip, giving the effect of a ‘D’-shaped mouth. he could not be happier.
i suppose there is another half mark’s fortune compares so favorably to. i suppose he could have been born on the african continent. i suppose he could have had a father who did not love him as i do, who was not committed to him in the way i am even if my resources are limited. perhaps he has reason to be so bright-eyed and smiley.
in fact, i hope he is not so self-centered. i hope his happiness is not so clearly linked to his own fortunes but are perhaps more tied to the fortunes of his community near and far. i hope mark becomes a citizen of the world, one of those people who votes for the candidate who does not necessarily promise to do so many things for his finite demographic but rather who runs on a platform of doing what is right and what is right for the most people, for humanity at large.
if that comes to pass i’ll be the old guy with my hat pushed back on my had and the ‘D’-shaped smile.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
judge
"judge not, lest ye be judged."
-luke 12:57
everyday, and all over los angeles and parts connected, during this celebratory and festive season, you are being asked, (prodded really,) to snitch on your neighbor. that's right. narc, blow the whistle, tattle-tale, rat, sing like a canary, etc.
the signs say, "report drunk drivers. call 911." the radio ad from the office of traffic safety suggests it is your civic responsibility to call 911 and report suspected drunk drivers. the verbiage on their website goes like this:
DUI Crackdown
How often have you seen someone driving down the road that you were pretty sure was drunk, or at least driving dangerously? Haven't you said to yourself, "I wish a police officer was here to see this and pull this guy over!"Now, you can be the one on the spot. Now, as you travel California's streets and highways, you can do something to help get drunk drivers off the road.The Office of Traffic Safety, California Highway Patrol, and local law enforcement want everyone to drive safely and responsibly. Always designate a sober driver, and if you see a drunk driver on the road, call 911. The public can use the emergency number to report and help the CHP identify drunk drivers before it is too late.
(http://www.ots.ca.gov/Media_and_Research/Campaigns/DUI_Crackdown/default.asp)
on how many levels is this a bad idea? oh, let me count the ways...
as citizens, it is not our responsibility to pass judgments on others. this is the primary problem with this idea of having us inform on one another. often we do not see the slippery slope as we step out onto it but it is here and it is real. i liken this to why we should not condone the current administration's circumventing of the fisa court in order to do warrantless wiretapping on americans. most americans think, 'i have nothing to hide-go ahead and listen to me talking to my sister about the church social she missed, if it will help stop terrorists.' similarly, when it comes to reporting drunk drivers, americans may be inclined to think, 'i do not drive after drinking and others should not do that either and so, sure, why not help out law enforcement? like the ad says, i have spotted them before and wished a police officer was around. next time, i'll call 911.'
if one thing about the united states can be pointed at as a single, major contributing factor to our success, it is our constitution. it is not that we stole the precious and valuable land of others when we arrived and throughout expansion. it is not that we enslaved an entire race and built a great deal of wealth on their backs. it is not that we effectually stole land from mexico, or that we have leveraged our wealth around the globe for decades to increase our wealth to the detriment of the societies we involved ourselves with.
those unsavory acts have resulted in a great deal of prosperity for americans but as those behaviors have unfurled, they have been followed by corrections. these corrections came about because we have the best constitution the world has ever known. we cannot go back in time and undo what has been done but because of the constitution, native americans have been given certain lands and certain rights beyond the scope of what the balance of americans can or would expect. because of the constitution african-americans have benefitted from affirmative action and other policies meant to repair in some way the damage of slavery.
the constitution is slow but effective. it does two things that have been most important: it allows for a strong central goverment and it seeks the will of the people and by that i mean, the will of the majority of people, which is to say the lower and middle classes, (without infringing on the rights of the wealthy class.) in fact, in many instances, the constitution has been the protector of the lower and middle classes from the wealthy class. in turn, protecting the constitution should be paramount to the interests of the american middle and lower classes.
just as sanctioning the administration's warrantless wiretapping is akin to contributing to the erosion of the constitution, so is informing on your fellow motorist whom you suspect of driving while intoxicated.
in orwell's 1984, big brother sees everything not because there are cameras everywhere and he is literally seeing everything, (though there are and perhaps he does,) but because the populace has been dumbed and numbed to the point of seeing themselves as unworthy of the rights they might once have otherwise taken for granted. in the totalitarian society orwell imagined, individuals exist in a state of perpetual fear of what the reader recognizes as imaginary wars. the values of questioning authority and employing critical thinking have been cast aside, likely because at some point, big brother told people there was a very dangerous war being waged in eastasia which had to be won there so it would not be fought here.
1984 is fiction but it represents real outcomes and real possibilities. (witness north korea.) how do societies like that come about? well, it starts on a small scale and it starts with the revocation of rights.
in our roots as americans we find groups of people who were on the run from fascism and intolerance. the pilgrims who departed merry old england for the new world were not the wealthy class who were most comfortable with their state of affairs. on the contrary, those who were willing to pick up and leave were those who had nothing to leave behind. they came because they believed they could procure land in the new world and work hard at it in order to better their stations in life. some fled the intolerance they encountered in response to their fundamentalist religious practices and as they all set up shop along our eastern seaboard, they came to value tolerance, the separation of church and state being the ultimate safeguard for said tolerance, and they agreed on ensuring this new country would be run by the people and for the people. it was king george's policy of taxation without representation that finally lead to the revolution nearly 200 years after the settlement of jamestown.
informing on your neighbors is a bad idea. it creates the sort of chaos and confusion that is anathema to a healthy democracy. at the same time, driving while intoxicated is dangerous and public safety must be considered. it is to us as a society to balance public safety with individual rights. we cannot expect to prevent every bad decision a person might make. for this reason, we have a penal system. to prevent drunk driving we have created stiff penalties. we have endorsed advertising campaigns to increase awareness of the problem of drunk driving and to stop it. we employ police forces to patrol our cities and highways and we empower them with the ability to conduct field sobriety tests.
insurance companies would sacrifice individual rights and personal freedoms if it meant lower costs associated with drunk driving but as citizens, we have to make the hard decisions. we can't simply consider the bottom line as our sole determining factor. we weigh all factors. and so, we agree to stiffer penalties and we hope they deter would be drunk drivers. we also value the sanctity and strength of the constitution so we stop short of sacrificing personal freedoms or becoming our brother's keepers.
it is a balancing act and it is difficult. but if and when we agree to snitch on our fellow citizens, just as if and when we agree to allow politicians to circumvent fair procedures put in place to address a similar balancing act, (maintaining our personal freedoms while allowing a court to act quickly and efficiently on solid evidence to overcome normal constraints in authorizing an otherwise unlawful search or seizure,) we do so at our own peril.
another reason it is a bad idea to endorse this policy of asking the citizenry to watchdog itself on drunk driving is because the citizenry is not trained to do the job. police officers are trained to look for the tell-tale signs. who will the would be informers inform on? will they call 911 to give the license plate number and other specifics of the mom who has two small children in the back seat and has swerved some on the road as she shuffled small treats into the backseat area of the car to pacify the restless mob of two? will they call on the sleepy salesman who is pressing on for just a couple of more hours despite his weariness to try to make it home to wife and kids in time to see them and spend a few precious moments with them before they head off to school and work? will they get the person who is slightly off kilter because they are adjusting to a new meidcation to control their epilepsy or diabetes or lupus? what about the girl who is watching a dvd or the guy who is smoking a cigarette and talking on the cell phone, (hands free,) but by distraction, seems to him who would make the call to be a drunk driver?
i want and i trust police officers to be efficient. i do not want them running around pulling over soccer moms and late night drivers. i want them responding to real incidents which require their attention and expertise.
besides, while drunk driving is a sin, in the truest sense of the word, and a mistake, it is not unforgivable. what happened to grace?
it would be great to eliminate virtually any behavior that leads to a loss of human life. it would be even better to admit our nature in all its complexity and frailty and seek to do the best we possibly can do.
drunk drivers have to be punished. drunk drivers who actually injure or kill someone have to suffer far more severe consequences, (as they do.) the former are punished for the behavior which greatly increases the odds on the possibility of loss. the latter pay the consequences of the myriad worst case scenarios.
but because humans make mistakes by nature, our current laws strike a fair balance by having a minimal amount of tolerance for this wrong behavior while intermittently displaying severity for the same.
i think when we hear a proposal like this idea that perhaps we can stop all drunk driving by making a better net, by employing the citizenry as detectives increasing the police force by thousands of percents, it sounds good on the surface. i mean, everyone is opposed to people getting killed in auto accidents by drunk people. however, when considered more thoroughly, this is easily seen as a bad idea.
would we also have the citizenry calling and informing the police departments when they see someone make an illegal u-turn? the turn is illegal because it was deemed dangerous. no one died because a motorist made the turn but this is a similar situation.
it is simply a bad idea. let us let our police forces do their job.
-luke 12:57
everyday, and all over los angeles and parts connected, during this celebratory and festive season, you are being asked, (prodded really,) to snitch on your neighbor. that's right. narc, blow the whistle, tattle-tale, rat, sing like a canary, etc.
the signs say, "report drunk drivers. call 911." the radio ad from the office of traffic safety suggests it is your civic responsibility to call 911 and report suspected drunk drivers. the verbiage on their website goes like this:
DUI Crackdown
How often have you seen someone driving down the road that you were pretty sure was drunk, or at least driving dangerously? Haven't you said to yourself, "I wish a police officer was here to see this and pull this guy over!"Now, you can be the one on the spot. Now, as you travel California's streets and highways, you can do something to help get drunk drivers off the road.The Office of Traffic Safety, California Highway Patrol, and local law enforcement want everyone to drive safely and responsibly. Always designate a sober driver, and if you see a drunk driver on the road, call 911. The public can use the emergency number to report and help the CHP identify drunk drivers before it is too late.
(http://www.ots.ca.gov/Media_and_Research/Campaigns/DUI_Crackdown/default.asp)
on how many levels is this a bad idea? oh, let me count the ways...
as citizens, it is not our responsibility to pass judgments on others. this is the primary problem with this idea of having us inform on one another. often we do not see the slippery slope as we step out onto it but it is here and it is real. i liken this to why we should not condone the current administration's circumventing of the fisa court in order to do warrantless wiretapping on americans. most americans think, 'i have nothing to hide-go ahead and listen to me talking to my sister about the church social she missed, if it will help stop terrorists.' similarly, when it comes to reporting drunk drivers, americans may be inclined to think, 'i do not drive after drinking and others should not do that either and so, sure, why not help out law enforcement? like the ad says, i have spotted them before and wished a police officer was around. next time, i'll call 911.'
if one thing about the united states can be pointed at as a single, major contributing factor to our success, it is our constitution. it is not that we stole the precious and valuable land of others when we arrived and throughout expansion. it is not that we enslaved an entire race and built a great deal of wealth on their backs. it is not that we effectually stole land from mexico, or that we have leveraged our wealth around the globe for decades to increase our wealth to the detriment of the societies we involved ourselves with.
those unsavory acts have resulted in a great deal of prosperity for americans but as those behaviors have unfurled, they have been followed by corrections. these corrections came about because we have the best constitution the world has ever known. we cannot go back in time and undo what has been done but because of the constitution, native americans have been given certain lands and certain rights beyond the scope of what the balance of americans can or would expect. because of the constitution african-americans have benefitted from affirmative action and other policies meant to repair in some way the damage of slavery.
the constitution is slow but effective. it does two things that have been most important: it allows for a strong central goverment and it seeks the will of the people and by that i mean, the will of the majority of people, which is to say the lower and middle classes, (without infringing on the rights of the wealthy class.) in fact, in many instances, the constitution has been the protector of the lower and middle classes from the wealthy class. in turn, protecting the constitution should be paramount to the interests of the american middle and lower classes.
just as sanctioning the administration's warrantless wiretapping is akin to contributing to the erosion of the constitution, so is informing on your fellow motorist whom you suspect of driving while intoxicated.
in orwell's 1984, big brother sees everything not because there are cameras everywhere and he is literally seeing everything, (though there are and perhaps he does,) but because the populace has been dumbed and numbed to the point of seeing themselves as unworthy of the rights they might once have otherwise taken for granted. in the totalitarian society orwell imagined, individuals exist in a state of perpetual fear of what the reader recognizes as imaginary wars. the values of questioning authority and employing critical thinking have been cast aside, likely because at some point, big brother told people there was a very dangerous war being waged in eastasia which had to be won there so it would not be fought here.
1984 is fiction but it represents real outcomes and real possibilities. (witness north korea.) how do societies like that come about? well, it starts on a small scale and it starts with the revocation of rights.
in our roots as americans we find groups of people who were on the run from fascism and intolerance. the pilgrims who departed merry old england for the new world were not the wealthy class who were most comfortable with their state of affairs. on the contrary, those who were willing to pick up and leave were those who had nothing to leave behind. they came because they believed they could procure land in the new world and work hard at it in order to better their stations in life. some fled the intolerance they encountered in response to their fundamentalist religious practices and as they all set up shop along our eastern seaboard, they came to value tolerance, the separation of church and state being the ultimate safeguard for said tolerance, and they agreed on ensuring this new country would be run by the people and for the people. it was king george's policy of taxation without representation that finally lead to the revolution nearly 200 years after the settlement of jamestown.
informing on your neighbors is a bad idea. it creates the sort of chaos and confusion that is anathema to a healthy democracy. at the same time, driving while intoxicated is dangerous and public safety must be considered. it is to us as a society to balance public safety with individual rights. we cannot expect to prevent every bad decision a person might make. for this reason, we have a penal system. to prevent drunk driving we have created stiff penalties. we have endorsed advertising campaigns to increase awareness of the problem of drunk driving and to stop it. we employ police forces to patrol our cities and highways and we empower them with the ability to conduct field sobriety tests.
insurance companies would sacrifice individual rights and personal freedoms if it meant lower costs associated with drunk driving but as citizens, we have to make the hard decisions. we can't simply consider the bottom line as our sole determining factor. we weigh all factors. and so, we agree to stiffer penalties and we hope they deter would be drunk drivers. we also value the sanctity and strength of the constitution so we stop short of sacrificing personal freedoms or becoming our brother's keepers.
it is a balancing act and it is difficult. but if and when we agree to snitch on our fellow citizens, just as if and when we agree to allow politicians to circumvent fair procedures put in place to address a similar balancing act, (maintaining our personal freedoms while allowing a court to act quickly and efficiently on solid evidence to overcome normal constraints in authorizing an otherwise unlawful search or seizure,) we do so at our own peril.
another reason it is a bad idea to endorse this policy of asking the citizenry to watchdog itself on drunk driving is because the citizenry is not trained to do the job. police officers are trained to look for the tell-tale signs. who will the would be informers inform on? will they call 911 to give the license plate number and other specifics of the mom who has two small children in the back seat and has swerved some on the road as she shuffled small treats into the backseat area of the car to pacify the restless mob of two? will they call on the sleepy salesman who is pressing on for just a couple of more hours despite his weariness to try to make it home to wife and kids in time to see them and spend a few precious moments with them before they head off to school and work? will they get the person who is slightly off kilter because they are adjusting to a new meidcation to control their epilepsy or diabetes or lupus? what about the girl who is watching a dvd or the guy who is smoking a cigarette and talking on the cell phone, (hands free,) but by distraction, seems to him who would make the call to be a drunk driver?
i want and i trust police officers to be efficient. i do not want them running around pulling over soccer moms and late night drivers. i want them responding to real incidents which require their attention and expertise.
besides, while drunk driving is a sin, in the truest sense of the word, and a mistake, it is not unforgivable. what happened to grace?
it would be great to eliminate virtually any behavior that leads to a loss of human life. it would be even better to admit our nature in all its complexity and frailty and seek to do the best we possibly can do.
drunk drivers have to be punished. drunk drivers who actually injure or kill someone have to suffer far more severe consequences, (as they do.) the former are punished for the behavior which greatly increases the odds on the possibility of loss. the latter pay the consequences of the myriad worst case scenarios.
but because humans make mistakes by nature, our current laws strike a fair balance by having a minimal amount of tolerance for this wrong behavior while intermittently displaying severity for the same.
i think when we hear a proposal like this idea that perhaps we can stop all drunk driving by making a better net, by employing the citizenry as detectives increasing the police force by thousands of percents, it sounds good on the surface. i mean, everyone is opposed to people getting killed in auto accidents by drunk people. however, when considered more thoroughly, this is easily seen as a bad idea.
would we also have the citizenry calling and informing the police departments when they see someone make an illegal u-turn? the turn is illegal because it was deemed dangerous. no one died because a motorist made the turn but this is a similar situation.
it is simply a bad idea. let us let our police forces do their job.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
crying
when is the last time you cried?
it's jimmy v week in honor of the late basketball coach over at espn and i happened to catch an airing of jimmy v giving his famous speech from 1993. (ESPN aired the speech in its entirety to kick off the week in which they will collect money for the jimmy v foundation, which was created by valvano and raises money for cancer research.) http://jimmyv.org/
in the speech, valvano suggests we should all laugh, think and cry every day. laughing made a lot of sense to me. yes, i should laugh every day. (so should you.) as for thinking, well, of course. but when valvano suggested we should all cry, every day, i was taken aback. cry? every day?
i haven't cried in months. there was a time when i cried too much. it was in my late 20s when i came to grips with my childhood. it seemed in those days i wanted to talk about it all the time, to just about anyone. and when i did, invariably i became emotional. perhaps more importantly, eventually, i got over it. i guess i considered those things enough to where i gained some understanding and some closure.
now, years removed from that time, i find i rarely cry. and i am happy about that. i feel good. i am actually happy i went through that time of sad reflection and believe it helped me to arrive at this place wherein i rarely, if ever, cry.
so i watched valvano's speech, and of course, i know the story. less than two months after making the speech on the espy's, announcing the creation of his foundation to raise money to fight cancer, jimmy v succumbed to the disease.
at one point during his speech, valvano lets everyone know that he is getting a 30 seconds warning from the teleprompter and he mocks it. he says he has tumors all over his body and implies that he simply can't be bothered by this warning to rap it up.
this revelation snuck up on me. i had never seen the entire speech before. when he said it, i gulped. and, i thought about it. i thought about this man being so stoic that he is determined to fight right up to the very last second and he has made a conscious decision to do it by raising money. i thought about him standing there, bravely telling an auditorium of mostly famous people that his body is wracked with cancer. my entire neck felt like it had cancer in that moment because it swelled up and felt thick and clotted and incapable of moving blood or saliva or anything else. i was so choked up i thought it might happen then and there. i thought i would cry.
and nowadays when i feel on the verge of crying, i think myself weak. in my late 20s when i cried so easily, i thought myself strong for crying. now i think myself strong for refusing to cry. it is a strange paradox, really.
it would not feel healthy to me anymore to cry every day. formerly, it was a part of a healing process. now, i am a man, in the sense of, i have a wife and children. i have bills and work. if i cried often, my confidence to handle the various aspects of my life would be challenged. i require a certain amount of bravado, now.
still, have you seen valvano's speech? have you ever heard someone say their body is riddled with cancerous tumors. if you ever do hear words similar to those, you will probably cry if just a little.
it's jimmy v week in honor of the late basketball coach over at espn and i happened to catch an airing of jimmy v giving his famous speech from 1993. (ESPN aired the speech in its entirety to kick off the week in which they will collect money for the jimmy v foundation, which was created by valvano and raises money for cancer research.) http://jimmyv.org/
in the speech, valvano suggests we should all laugh, think and cry every day. laughing made a lot of sense to me. yes, i should laugh every day. (so should you.) as for thinking, well, of course. but when valvano suggested we should all cry, every day, i was taken aback. cry? every day?
i haven't cried in months. there was a time when i cried too much. it was in my late 20s when i came to grips with my childhood. it seemed in those days i wanted to talk about it all the time, to just about anyone. and when i did, invariably i became emotional. perhaps more importantly, eventually, i got over it. i guess i considered those things enough to where i gained some understanding and some closure.
now, years removed from that time, i find i rarely cry. and i am happy about that. i feel good. i am actually happy i went through that time of sad reflection and believe it helped me to arrive at this place wherein i rarely, if ever, cry.
so i watched valvano's speech, and of course, i know the story. less than two months after making the speech on the espy's, announcing the creation of his foundation to raise money to fight cancer, jimmy v succumbed to the disease.
at one point during his speech, valvano lets everyone know that he is getting a 30 seconds warning from the teleprompter and he mocks it. he says he has tumors all over his body and implies that he simply can't be bothered by this warning to rap it up.
this revelation snuck up on me. i had never seen the entire speech before. when he said it, i gulped. and, i thought about it. i thought about this man being so stoic that he is determined to fight right up to the very last second and he has made a conscious decision to do it by raising money. i thought about him standing there, bravely telling an auditorium of mostly famous people that his body is wracked with cancer. my entire neck felt like it had cancer in that moment because it swelled up and felt thick and clotted and incapable of moving blood or saliva or anything else. i was so choked up i thought it might happen then and there. i thought i would cry.
and nowadays when i feel on the verge of crying, i think myself weak. in my late 20s when i cried so easily, i thought myself strong for crying. now i think myself strong for refusing to cry. it is a strange paradox, really.
it would not feel healthy to me anymore to cry every day. formerly, it was a part of a healing process. now, i am a man, in the sense of, i have a wife and children. i have bills and work. if i cried often, my confidence to handle the various aspects of my life would be challenged. i require a certain amount of bravado, now.
still, have you seen valvano's speech? have you ever heard someone say their body is riddled with cancerous tumors. if you ever do hear words similar to those, you will probably cry if just a little.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
into the wild
sean penn's into the wild is like a promise fulfilled. virtually every movie aspires to be a cohesive work of art, wherein the story, writing, cinematography, music and art come together to make up a final product of great quality and value. However, it is rare when a director actually achieves a final piece of art that stands as a whole, instead of as a sum of so many parts. it is rarer still when all parts contribute to the same affect, when the art conveys a sensibility on multiple levels and imbues the beholder with emotion and movement.
into the wild delivers on the promise of film. unlike so many movies of great style and little substance, or those that assemble a memorable soundtrack albeit detached from the film, or blockbuster hollywood films that cater primarily to the baser senses, neglecting to engage the mind, into the wild works well on virtually every level imaginable.
chris mccandless' life story proves timeless, perhaps growing more poignant in the time since he lived it. penn and emile hirsch discover a soft balance in coloring mccandless' days on earth. the man lived an amazing life because he believed so greatly, with such ardor, that life could be different, that the trappings of our utilitarian society did not represent an unchangeable sentence neither to be deviated from nor struggled against. this, in and of itself qualifies mccandless as extraordinary. that the film portrays large aspects of mccandless' life and imagines myriad details in such a way as to avoid being patronizing or sensational but rather artfully realistic, is a testament to the quality choices penn and his crew made.
into the wild delivers on the promise of film. unlike so many movies of great style and little substance, or those that assemble a memorable soundtrack albeit detached from the film, or blockbuster hollywood films that cater primarily to the baser senses, neglecting to engage the mind, into the wild works well on virtually every level imaginable.
chris mccandless' life story proves timeless, perhaps growing more poignant in the time since he lived it. penn and emile hirsch discover a soft balance in coloring mccandless' days on earth. the man lived an amazing life because he believed so greatly, with such ardor, that life could be different, that the trappings of our utilitarian society did not represent an unchangeable sentence neither to be deviated from nor struggled against. this, in and of itself qualifies mccandless as extraordinary. that the film portrays large aspects of mccandless' life and imagines myriad details in such a way as to avoid being patronizing or sensational but rather artfully realistic, is a testament to the quality choices penn and his crew made.
the story follows mccandless from his college graduation to a solitary lifestyle in the wilderness of alaska, flashing back on occasion to a typical american family life rife with so many contradictions which surely contributed to mccandless' overall sense of dissatisfaction with the status-quo. what really comes through though is not that mccandless is an insecure kid who acted irrationally or was disillusioned because he held too many illusions to begin with. rather, mccandless is seen as one of the sane few, living boldly and without pretense. this is not a cowboy movie and when mccandless is caught freeloading a train ride, he is beaten up just like would happen in the real world. despite the fact the train car was empty and the door was wide open and in no way did the train line lose money because of his ride, (he did not have the money to pay for a ride in any case,) mccandless is physically punished for freeloading, which seems ludicrous.
penn is fair, too, in his treatment of his characters. in some stories mcandless' character would be seen as irrational and irresponsible while hal holbrook's elderly retiree would be seen as safe and respectable. here we see the two characters as equals. holbrook's character has something to learn from mccandless, something about getting up and doing while one is still able, something about getting out in the world and staying busy with the business of living. mccandles in turn begins learning his own personal ultimate life lesson, the one thing he overlooked or took for granted when he was growing up in georgia, the simple fact that man is a social animal and therefore, man thrives in company and dies when cut off from it.
into the wild could easily have been an imax film. the cinematography is that breathtaking. and it's not just the footage in the alaskan wilds. yes, the views mccandless woke to every morning were sumptuous to behold on screen and the lighting guy for this production crew comes off looking like a genius, but when mccandless kayaks into mexico, or emerges from a homeless shelter to a menacing night time los angeles, or when he is seen working in the fields of the midwest aboard heavy machinery, the camera work is amazing. it takes you to these places and does not even seem to try to make it look beautiful, it just is and as the viewer, you know it.
the soundtrack for into the wild is an extension of the overall artistic endeavor. watching and listening it becomes obvious that eddie vedder was privy to a screening of the film without music because in crafting the songs, he succinctly matched them to the movie, to the characters, to the settings, to the feel of it all, and it touches the viewer listener in the heart and brain, yeah, but mostly in the gut. these songs are basic. they're that sound you make out loud or in your mind when you achieve something; "unnh." they're as simple and sparse as the alaskan wilderness and as complex and substantive as the notions of personal freedom and utilitarianism the film addresses.
Ed’s voice is unconventional and so sometimes it may not fit certain sounds or genres but it is achingly beautiful here. The recording is of a high quality as well but when his voice cracks on the front end of some words, it is fitting. it gives the song and the lyrics a crackling, hollow sort of quality that fits with a certain theme of wide open disconnection.
emile hirsch is superb as mccandless. while some may complain his performance was understated, they would be missing the point. mccandless did what he did for himself. his story is worth the telling because of how atypical he was in the choices he made, in his actions. there are no indications in jon krakaur's book nor sean penn's film that mccandless was in any self-serving. the fact that he considers writing a book about his experience later in life merely reveals the introspective nature he obviously possessed and one would expect from a writer. at times hirsh stands aside and lets the settings tell the story. at other times, he is keenly keyed in to the emotion mccandless must have felt at failing to translate what he read in books into his real life experience in the wild.
they really do not make films like this in hollywood anymore. it is complex and it embraces contradiciton, revealing it as not only the norm, but worth embracing in order to ask the appropriate questions, in order to have a full life. into the wild is perhaps edifying before it is entertaining, and as art, it satisfies at the highest aesthetic level. sean penn achieves something through this film few american directors achieve these days; art.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
texas comfort
george w bush is okay with being disliked. if there is one thing we can say with certainty about this president, it is that he does not lose sleep over people disagreeing with him or thinking ill of him.
a few years ago i saw gary trudeau interviewed on tv. trudeau went to yale with george w bush. he described the would be president as frat guy-ish, and it was clear trudeau at least did not think much of bush and possibly disliked him.
since he has taken office he has thumbed his nose at public opinion to such a degree he has reaped the worst approval ratings of any president ever, including previous criminal presidents. he hires his friends, bypassing a healthy level of nepotism choosing instead the paranoid practice of surrounding himself with yes-men, sycophants and like-minded idealogues. this practice indicates a blatant disregard for the good of our nation.
george w bush represents a blend of mediocre intelligence and egomania. it all makes sense, too. he grew up in an environment where he wanted for nothing, (though he obviously wanted for everything simultaneously.) at school, he probably got away with being a little rude, being a respecter of persons, not apologizing for his class and prestige consciousness. his father was a war hero and a major political player. he went to the best schools. his family had money and associated in elite circles. we know he had those years of drinking a lot of beer and doin' some coke. i guess it was easy to get or be lazy about study habits in his formative years, relying instead on bullying people and maintaining his lifestyle.
it has not mattered to bush when his behavior has been challenged or exposed. he just stands there and takes, or deflects, the heat. it is likely the majority of decisions in bush's administration have been made by dick cheney and karl rove. even when bush made the decision, it likely stemmed from the idealogy he learned from these two pariahs. while rove's role was to gain power, and cheney's role was to set the agenda for how to use the power, bush's role was first to use his pedigree to be electable and second, to stand there and take the heat.
when his cohorts decided it would be worth it to out the cia agent wife of the guy who dared challenge their propaganda campaign in order to send a message about how they viewed authority and how absolute they expected their power to be, bush's role was to answer questions, even if his answers were of the, "i will not comment on an ongoing investigation," ilk.
"we don't torture," bush said knowing the answer was not an answer at all and would infuriate those who knew better or expected a real answer. bush just said it though. he's the decider and this is his big skill. he is the ultimate nose-thumbing president.
who would have the nerve to tell the american people, the most educated nation on the planet, that iraq had weapons of mass destruction? someone who figured as president he had the ultimate comeback to anyone who would challenge him. bush's neocon henchmen did play their role, they did all they could to spread the propaganda and frame iraq as the threat it just could not be. they muddied all the waters, creating links between saddam hussein and osama bin laden, iraq and al qaida, that did not exist, but it was bush who had to say it to the american people to truly begin the campaign that became our phony war on terror in iraq.
jack abramoff received $82 million from indian gaming interests as he peddled influence around the capitol. he also visited the white house a number of times. bush said he did not necessarily remember abramoff. while people do not like liars or being duped in the face of a mountain of evidence, to bush it does not matter. he does not mind if people do not like him.
bush had the nerve to nominate harriet miers for the supreme court, despite her lack of credentials for the position. he appointed a horse guy in michael brown to head fema. he stood up to tremendous pressure to keep donald rumsfeld and alberto gonzalez around as long as possible. he has been the commander in chief during an era of unprecedented torture on the part of americans. from abu ghraib to gitmo to sites of extraoridinary rendition, (the horrifying details of which have yet to come to light,) around the world, bush stands above it all seemingly comfortable with being the object of derision.
many debate how intelligent this president is or how devious and evil he really is. one thing we can know for sure is that he is not bothered by being disliked or questioned or derided. he deflects this stuff if only in his own mind by making up nicknames for the white house press corps and trying to bully the occasional reporter who tries to stand up to his bully pulpit tactics.
he has no shame, whatsoever.
a few years ago i saw gary trudeau interviewed on tv. trudeau went to yale with george w bush. he described the would be president as frat guy-ish, and it was clear trudeau at least did not think much of bush and possibly disliked him.
since he has taken office he has thumbed his nose at public opinion to such a degree he has reaped the worst approval ratings of any president ever, including previous criminal presidents. he hires his friends, bypassing a healthy level of nepotism choosing instead the paranoid practice of surrounding himself with yes-men, sycophants and like-minded idealogues. this practice indicates a blatant disregard for the good of our nation.
george w bush represents a blend of mediocre intelligence and egomania. it all makes sense, too. he grew up in an environment where he wanted for nothing, (though he obviously wanted for everything simultaneously.) at school, he probably got away with being a little rude, being a respecter of persons, not apologizing for his class and prestige consciousness. his father was a war hero and a major political player. he went to the best schools. his family had money and associated in elite circles. we know he had those years of drinking a lot of beer and doin' some coke. i guess it was easy to get or be lazy about study habits in his formative years, relying instead on bullying people and maintaining his lifestyle.
it has not mattered to bush when his behavior has been challenged or exposed. he just stands there and takes, or deflects, the heat. it is likely the majority of decisions in bush's administration have been made by dick cheney and karl rove. even when bush made the decision, it likely stemmed from the idealogy he learned from these two pariahs. while rove's role was to gain power, and cheney's role was to set the agenda for how to use the power, bush's role was first to use his pedigree to be electable and second, to stand there and take the heat.
when his cohorts decided it would be worth it to out the cia agent wife of the guy who dared challenge their propaganda campaign in order to send a message about how they viewed authority and how absolute they expected their power to be, bush's role was to answer questions, even if his answers were of the, "i will not comment on an ongoing investigation," ilk.
"we don't torture," bush said knowing the answer was not an answer at all and would infuriate those who knew better or expected a real answer. bush just said it though. he's the decider and this is his big skill. he is the ultimate nose-thumbing president.
who would have the nerve to tell the american people, the most educated nation on the planet, that iraq had weapons of mass destruction? someone who figured as president he had the ultimate comeback to anyone who would challenge him. bush's neocon henchmen did play their role, they did all they could to spread the propaganda and frame iraq as the threat it just could not be. they muddied all the waters, creating links between saddam hussein and osama bin laden, iraq and al qaida, that did not exist, but it was bush who had to say it to the american people to truly begin the campaign that became our phony war on terror in iraq.
jack abramoff received $82 million from indian gaming interests as he peddled influence around the capitol. he also visited the white house a number of times. bush said he did not necessarily remember abramoff. while people do not like liars or being duped in the face of a mountain of evidence, to bush it does not matter. he does not mind if people do not like him.
bush had the nerve to nominate harriet miers for the supreme court, despite her lack of credentials for the position. he appointed a horse guy in michael brown to head fema. he stood up to tremendous pressure to keep donald rumsfeld and alberto gonzalez around as long as possible. he has been the commander in chief during an era of unprecedented torture on the part of americans. from abu ghraib to gitmo to sites of extraoridinary rendition, (the horrifying details of which have yet to come to light,) around the world, bush stands above it all seemingly comfortable with being the object of derision.
many debate how intelligent this president is or how devious and evil he really is. one thing we can know for sure is that he is not bothered by being disliked or questioned or derided. he deflects this stuff if only in his own mind by making up nicknames for the white house press corps and trying to bully the occasional reporter who tries to stand up to his bully pulpit tactics.
he has no shame, whatsoever.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
smoking
i was fortunate to be a late bloomer, so to speak, as evidenced by the fact that i never took up smoking. i've been late at everything, all of my life. there have been plenty of times when this lethargy has been painful or unpleasant, but there are also plenty of examples of my deliberate nature being fortuitous, as is the case with smoking cigarettes.
when my friends were experimenting with marlboros and camels, (around the age of 14,) i was still knee deep in baseball cards. as i turned 18 and donned a trench coat and a handful of ska buttons, i tried to smoke the clove cigarettes my friends were fond of to almost no avail. i bought a few packs of the pungent djarum cigarettes and i literally enjoyed dangling one from my bottom lip like james dean or clint eastwood, but the smoke that curled upwards into my nostrils made me cough even when i tried not to breathe it.
cigarettes are destructive. cigarettes are addictive. the cigarette industry pedals destruction and has demonstrated a willingness to act immorally. i am glad i never got into that.
when my friends were experimenting with marlboros and camels, (around the age of 14,) i was still knee deep in baseball cards. as i turned 18 and donned a trench coat and a handful of ska buttons, i tried to smoke the clove cigarettes my friends were fond of to almost no avail. i bought a few packs of the pungent djarum cigarettes and i literally enjoyed dangling one from my bottom lip like james dean or clint eastwood, but the smoke that curled upwards into my nostrils made me cough even when i tried not to breathe it.
cigarettes are destructive. cigarettes are addictive. the cigarette industry pedals destruction and has demonstrated a willingness to act immorally. i am glad i never got into that.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
asterisk
(Dateline; Milwaukee) In one day, Barry Bonds' career homerun total declined by 112. In a stunning announcement, Major League Baseball announced today the removal of the assumed asterisk by Bonds' homerun total.
Commissioner Bud Selig's office released a statement which outlined a calculation by which Bonds' homerun total has been reduced to 643 and said Selig would be available for comment at a press conference in Milwaukee at 9am (CST) Monday morning.
"Every Bonds homerun was looked at both by actual film clips and statistics from the Elias sports bureau," said JQ Publick, spokesperson for Commissioner Selig's office.
"A formula was derived for calculating the impact of steroids on Mr. Bonds' homeruns which determined the strength enhacing drugs added, on average, about seven feet to his blasts," Publick added.
By subtracting 7' from each of Bonds' homeruns, Major League Baseball determined 112 of those bases clearing hits would not have cleared the outfield wall, (without the drug enhancement.) "It is common knowledge that Bonds cheated," said a source who refused to be identified from the Elias Sports bureau. "This adjustment seeks to recognize Bonds' true status as a homerun king, while demoting him from the undeserved perch of the homerun king."
Bonds could not be reached by telephone but the San Francisco Giants released a statement which indicated Bonds' response would be tendered in a federal courtroom. The Giants' statement also suggested the organization is considering a uniform modification for the remainder of the season in protest to this decision.
Peter Gammons, of ESPN News, said he understood the decision to adjust Bonds' official homerun total involved discussion about other hitter's totals as well as game outcomes but in the end, the league had decided that in order to market this record as the greatest in all of organized sports, it would have to be responsible for protecting the sanctity of the mark. Therefore, the league has adjusted Bonds's homerun totals without affecting any other statistics whatsoever.
"The asterisk will now be up to Bonds' supporters to insert," Gammons said by phone from his home in Boston. "Certainly if he hits number 644 tomorrow, Barry Bonds' fan club may consider it number 756 on his website, with an asterisk, whether in print or imagined. "However, baseball's records will show it as 644."
According to sources from the league office, every Bonds homerun going forward will count no matter how slightly it may clear the fence. The league stands by its substance abuse policies and believes no cheaters remain in the league who can still go undetected as Bonds did for several years.
As to whether the league would adjust the career totals of other accused steroids users, that same source said it would only interfere in such a way if this record, (or another of similar magnitude,) came into jeopardy.
As to whether Bonds or Sheffield or Giambi or any of the others looks like the more prolific homerun hitter on paper when their careers are over, the league source said controversy fuels debate which is one of the most fun and interesting activities of baseball fans. "There will always be someone around who says Bonds is the greatest homerun hitter ever," the source said. "The league however and the official statistics will not support that claim. "Further, it is thought that Bonds' supporters will usually be outnumbered, lose the argument and occasionally get humiliated for supporting a cheater."
Commissioner Bud Selig's office released a statement which outlined a calculation by which Bonds' homerun total has been reduced to 643 and said Selig would be available for comment at a press conference in Milwaukee at 9am (CST) Monday morning.
"Every Bonds homerun was looked at both by actual film clips and statistics from the Elias sports bureau," said JQ Publick, spokesperson for Commissioner Selig's office.
"A formula was derived for calculating the impact of steroids on Mr. Bonds' homeruns which determined the strength enhacing drugs added, on average, about seven feet to his blasts," Publick added.
By subtracting 7' from each of Bonds' homeruns, Major League Baseball determined 112 of those bases clearing hits would not have cleared the outfield wall, (without the drug enhancement.) "It is common knowledge that Bonds cheated," said a source who refused to be identified from the Elias Sports bureau. "This adjustment seeks to recognize Bonds' true status as a homerun king, while demoting him from the undeserved perch of the homerun king."
Bonds could not be reached by telephone but the San Francisco Giants released a statement which indicated Bonds' response would be tendered in a federal courtroom. The Giants' statement also suggested the organization is considering a uniform modification for the remainder of the season in protest to this decision.
Peter Gammons, of ESPN News, said he understood the decision to adjust Bonds' official homerun total involved discussion about other hitter's totals as well as game outcomes but in the end, the league had decided that in order to market this record as the greatest in all of organized sports, it would have to be responsible for protecting the sanctity of the mark. Therefore, the league has adjusted Bonds's homerun totals without affecting any other statistics whatsoever.
"The asterisk will now be up to Bonds' supporters to insert," Gammons said by phone from his home in Boston. "Certainly if he hits number 644 tomorrow, Barry Bonds' fan club may consider it number 756 on his website, with an asterisk, whether in print or imagined. "However, baseball's records will show it as 644."
According to sources from the league office, every Bonds homerun going forward will count no matter how slightly it may clear the fence. The league stands by its substance abuse policies and believes no cheaters remain in the league who can still go undetected as Bonds did for several years.
As to whether the league would adjust the career totals of other accused steroids users, that same source said it would only interfere in such a way if this record, (or another of similar magnitude,) came into jeopardy.
As to whether Bonds or Sheffield or Giambi or any of the others looks like the more prolific homerun hitter on paper when their careers are over, the league source said controversy fuels debate which is one of the most fun and interesting activities of baseball fans. "There will always be someone around who says Bonds is the greatest homerun hitter ever," the source said. "The league however and the official statistics will not support that claim. "Further, it is thought that Bonds' supporters will usually be outnumbered, lose the argument and occasionally get humiliated for supporting a cheater."
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
first day of school
My heart feels like a sinking bag of sand, pulling downward in my liquid chest cavity. At the same time, there is a giggle inside of me I have been suppressing since this morning. It pushes in the opposite direction, upwards, sliding past self-involved organs and tapping at my esophagus, inching towards my pursed lips.
Terra started school today. Yeah. School. She’s 2.8-years-old and she is attending the Tzu Chi Great Love Pre-School where she will not be taught any sort of religious curriculum but she will receive two hours of Mandarin language instruction daily.
I got out of my truck in front of her school today and the sinking bag caught the giggle right in my throat and formed a lump the size of my neck. Suddenly I could not believe what was happening. Something deep inside of me was screaming at myself to turn back. Why was I doing this?
I definitely think I am a loon just for going to work every day instead of spending most of my time with my daughter. I rationalize it all. I am a capitalist, after all. I think I must work, more and more in fact, to provide for her as I should, as I owe her.
If it is true that the cave man spent 95% of his time at leisure, perhaps he had a great relationship with his daughter but wouldn’t he have been better served to go out and figure out how to farm?
Why would I do this to Terra? I thought about what this day represented to her. No more pajamas until 10am. No more Dragon Tails. No more walks downtown to the pet store with her Auntie Cherish. No more just being there, at home, with an Aunt as a sitter while Faith and I worked. No more.
This is the obligation of life setting in on my daughter. It will be my son’s turn next but for now, he is still hanging out with our zero-to-two baby sitter, trying to cut some teeth and learning how to crawl. Terra, on the other hand, will forever be an object in motion now. She will attend school five days per week. Later she will have after-school activities. Then college will encroach upon her and she will add labs and social events. Eventually she will join the work force. She will feel obligated, (to whatever degree,) to get up every day and go to work. She will have several jobs, some of which she will like a great deal, and some of which she will not like at all. She’ll have some bad bosses and some difficult mornings and some professional crises.
She will know fully what it is to be human. And yeah, that is a beautiful thing but it’s also a painful and ugly thing. It hurts like hell. People will die in her life. (I will die one day and she will weep.) Terra will be obliged to attend funerals. She will also visit hospitals where birth has just taken place. As much as she knows happiness and ecstasy, she will know sadness and despair. She will know them in equal proportion though hopefully not in equal portion.
And this is where it all begins. One day, you get up and go to school. The next thing you know, you’ve been going to school for as long as you can remember and it’s time to work, (though the difference will be barely perceptible.)
I feel like I could cry for all the pain that awaits my sweet little girl. She is so full of hope and energy, and she loves freely and exemplifies my world view. And the joy that awaits her too, is like a giant wave of goodness that will bathe her life in unique, interesting and thoughtful colors.
A friend from work called this the beginning of Terra's existentialist journey. I like the sound of that. Maybe I am dreaming of the realities of life encroaching on the life of my beloved daughter, or maybe I am the reality of life imagining this little man who sends his daughter to pre-school then feels melancholy about releasing her to herself.
Terra started school today. Yeah. School. She’s 2.8-years-old and she is attending the Tzu Chi Great Love Pre-School where she will not be taught any sort of religious curriculum but she will receive two hours of Mandarin language instruction daily.
I got out of my truck in front of her school today and the sinking bag caught the giggle right in my throat and formed a lump the size of my neck. Suddenly I could not believe what was happening. Something deep inside of me was screaming at myself to turn back. Why was I doing this?
I definitely think I am a loon just for going to work every day instead of spending most of my time with my daughter. I rationalize it all. I am a capitalist, after all. I think I must work, more and more in fact, to provide for her as I should, as I owe her.
If it is true that the cave man spent 95% of his time at leisure, perhaps he had a great relationship with his daughter but wouldn’t he have been better served to go out and figure out how to farm?
Why would I do this to Terra? I thought about what this day represented to her. No more pajamas until 10am. No more Dragon Tails. No more walks downtown to the pet store with her Auntie Cherish. No more just being there, at home, with an Aunt as a sitter while Faith and I worked. No more.
This is the obligation of life setting in on my daughter. It will be my son’s turn next but for now, he is still hanging out with our zero-to-two baby sitter, trying to cut some teeth and learning how to crawl. Terra, on the other hand, will forever be an object in motion now. She will attend school five days per week. Later she will have after-school activities. Then college will encroach upon her and she will add labs and social events. Eventually she will join the work force. She will feel obligated, (to whatever degree,) to get up every day and go to work. She will have several jobs, some of which she will like a great deal, and some of which she will not like at all. She’ll have some bad bosses and some difficult mornings and some professional crises.
She will know fully what it is to be human. And yeah, that is a beautiful thing but it’s also a painful and ugly thing. It hurts like hell. People will die in her life. (I will die one day and she will weep.) Terra will be obliged to attend funerals. She will also visit hospitals where birth has just taken place. As much as she knows happiness and ecstasy, she will know sadness and despair. She will know them in equal proportion though hopefully not in equal portion.
And this is where it all begins. One day, you get up and go to school. The next thing you know, you’ve been going to school for as long as you can remember and it’s time to work, (though the difference will be barely perceptible.)
I feel like I could cry for all the pain that awaits my sweet little girl. She is so full of hope and energy, and she loves freely and exemplifies my world view. And the joy that awaits her too, is like a giant wave of goodness that will bathe her life in unique, interesting and thoughtful colors.
A friend from work called this the beginning of Terra's existentialist journey. I like the sound of that. Maybe I am dreaming of the realities of life encroaching on the life of my beloved daughter, or maybe I am the reality of life imagining this little man who sends his daughter to pre-school then feels melancholy about releasing her to herself.
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