welcome to dodger stadium!

i took the family to dodger stadium on thursday night.

yes, we got the matt kemp action figures and the manny ramirez figures too. my kids played with the kemp dolls throughout the game since i liberated two of them from their boxes. at the end of the evening matt kemp and mark raced back to the car with the loser having to ride home in the bed of the truck. luckily mark edged kemp at the last second and touched the truck first. at that very moment kemp hit a solo homer in the bottom of the 6th. yes, we left early. our tix sucked and the kids got antsy, (read: faith got antsy,) and so we took off but heard the roar of the crowd. i jumped in the car and flipped on the radio to discover it was matt's big night all the way around, (save for the lonely ride home in the trunk.)

to be completely honest, the game was a mixed bag. i kept thinking about how much i would like to tell frank mccourt about my experience with horrible seats, terribly designed seating, a bad usher, no straws, a ridiculously long line to get the free action figures, (it did move fast however,) confusing tickets, (again, just poorly designed seating,) more bad seating as the dust of my cracked peanuts kept flying into the hair of the people in front of me because of a breeze that passed through a wire, mesh fence underneath and behind my seat that should have been a solid fence...and then there was the really bad part. parking at dodger stadium used to be a breeze. (didn't frank mccourt formerly own parking lots? you would think he'd be better at this.) one knew there were two loops going opposite directions. one had choices. i came in at stadium way off the 110 and was funneled right into a lot to the right. i had to walk all the way up 3-4 flights of stairs, (with a 3-year-old in my arms,) to will call at right field reserved only to enter and walk all the way around to my seats in left field reserved.

because i was watching a game on the weekend and saw a commercial for $17 reserved seats for matt kemp action figure night and thought, "gee, bad seats but cheap. "my kids are little. "it'll be fun." (what a moron.) i felt penalized for not sticking to my usual standard of just not really going to baseball games in person unless i have some kind of a line on decent seats, typically on the field level, occasionally loge or club. the $17 ticket price became $22.75 per by the time the ticketmaster surcharges were paid. (it is both collusion and a monopoly-i am pretty sure. i am not a lawyer but i feel certain.) what sounded like $68 on the commercial bounced right up to $91. okay, big deal i can handle giving away an extra $23. fuck it. but to then have to deal with a parking situation that used to be par excellence but now is strictly a convenience for the organization? (i believe it must result in getting people off the property more quickly than in the past. that is the only rationale I can come up with. geezus chrimus i miss the o'malleys.)

from our seats in left field, (the first seats in the top row of the reserved section, my wife and myself along with my 3 & 5-year-old kids,) we could see my car on the opposite side of the ravine. "look kids, it's the bug truck! See it?!" "yep."

with lapfuls of hot dogs, cokes, licorice, action figures, and peanuts on our persons, we were booted from those really bad seats. a lady approached from my right and said to me, "you're in my seats."

"wtf," i thought?! "you mean these effed up seats, the single worst location i have ever sat in at any event ever are not even the right seats?!??"

how could that be possible. it was reserved. it was section 17. it was row jj. why there was an 'm,' in front of the seat number '10,' i had no idea but i thought i was in the right place. well, i guessed we were probably slightly further down the left field line in the same last or top, row, but a section over so like a reasonable person i took my family down a few rows and plopped down in the first available seats i found. they were better than that crowded, inaccessible back row.

for the next two innings we enjoyed the game, playing with our matt kemps, eating peanuts, posting pix to facebook, you know, all that night at the game kind of stuff. then came the couple who were supposed to be in the seats we were in. i asked them if we were in their seats before they could tell me and they confirmed my suspicion. i asked faith if we should move down a row and she asked them if they wanted to sit in the seats in front of us to which they agreed. cool. we would spend another inning right there as takahashi and kuroda battled like two samurai on a diamond-shaped war ground.

next came a mysterious kid with a ticket. he approached the couple in front of us, ticket in hand, (matt kemp in his other hand,) and said, "you're in my seat. "i'm only one." he was only one?! he was 11. how is he only one? despite 3 or 4 empty seats further in next to the couple they turned and looked at me. i looked at faith who could not have been more inconvenienced said, (matter of factly,) "we have to move."

i grabbed my 3-year-old and his sprite, put a matt kemp in my pocket and urged faith and terra to get out of the row we were in. they did and down we went. at the exit faith turned as if to
leave the stadium. i grabbed terra and pulled her back in my direction and went down to better seats, to a huge section of 30 or 40 seats that had been empty all night. i went down four rows, turned and went out into the middle of that mass of unoccupied seats where i sat myself and my kids down. faith joined us but notified me if it happened again we would be leaving. we were still in the 4th inning.

at that point the cotton candy guy arrived and i shelled out $3 for about 10-cents worth of sugar and pink food coloring. james loney got thrown out attempting to steal 2nd base and i booed heartily after which terra and mark booed too. with bases loaded in the top of the 5th and two outs kuroda faced his counterpart and I yelled out, "strike out the bumb!" (i think they heard me down in the loge section.) mark mimicked me and repeated the phrase. now this was why i came to the park. i told terra matt kemp's licorice was in fact a freeze ray and just one of many
superpowers kemp had in addition to hitting baseballs out of the park and throwing runners out from miles away.

all went well for a couple of innings. the dodgers held their slight advantage and the family maintained our grip on our latest seats of choice. unfortunately, a bad odor soon became noticeable. no, it wasn't dodger stadium sewage. it was mark. my three-year-old had gas, which of course means only one thing, he would soon need to go number two. i had to do something and fast. briefly i imagined the dodger stadium restroom. i imagined getting mark into a stall and having to wipe down all manner of disgusting human byproduct. i turned to faith and informed her mark had passed gas no less than 10 times in about the last 90 seconds and suggested we leave, which we did.

we made our way from left field to right field, exited the stadium, walked down three or four flights of stairs, traversed the parking lot from the right field bleachers nearly to the exit, at which point mark won his race against the matt kemp action figure. as soon as we got home mark went directly to the restroom to do his business. mission accomplished. i turned on the game and saw kuo get the last three outs of the dodger victory. (goodbye six game losing streak.) i am just not going to bother with those bad seats in the future.

the smiths

you know who was better than that band you really like? the smiths.

make no mistake. your band is good, way up there, but they're not better than smiths.

to this day the smiths feels like a favorite t-shirt. their music is familiar and comfortable and i wonder about the sensibilities which drew me to the smiths so many years ago.

"it was the lyrics," is what comes to mind first. but i know the rhythm section fit the rest of the band like a glove, imbuing the music with a light, sometimes jaunty, sometimes comedic touch. then i think it was johnny marr's style, his running, bouncing, moody guitars and his dark, forward leaning into technology. but then i think it could just be the divine voice and whimsy of steven patrick morrissey.

kitchen confidential

i know i am late to the party on this, but the man is interesting and therefore deserved an examination. kitchen confidential is as much pop culture epic as it is epicurian journal. it reads such that the reader feels like he is directing the course of the narrative. one finds oneself thinking, "i wonder what-" only to have the thought answered before it was fully formed. intuitive writing like that is as rare a form as can be found. it is void of pretense and full of sounds and focus and communion. anthony bourdain has found his voice and is here exercising it like a booming artist.

read the passage below wherein bourdain defines what it is to want to drink, what it is to a sentient man to want to engage with his peers in an atmosphere of lowered inhibitions, and how thoroughly satisfying it can be to speak openly on all the taboo subjects, religion and politics and sexuality and whatever. whatever gets people uptight and private. it is in these conversations that a man comes to truly define himself after all. he can use bentley's or jewels only as a mask. but as a man thinks a man is. it is the forming of opinions and real values that say the most about a man and that matter in the scope of humanity or existence. anthony bourdain is a badass-i am here to say.

this paragraph describes a time in bourdain's life after he had sort of cleaned his act up. he is married and not addicted to heroin and working his ass off as chef at a prominent new york city restaurant. he spent this chapter writing about the work and the people. he describes his assistant chefs and those who could do in a world of pace and vigor in rich tones, speaking of their ethnicity and work ethic and describing the action in and around the kitchen such that you can sense the sweat on their brows and envision the wrinkled expressions on the faces of those who strain. sous chefs accomplish feats of daring-do. some waiters get it-others don't. at this particular point he has described a 16 or 17 hour day in the restaurant business in all its gory, fantastic detail and finally leaves the restaurant and walks off into the night.

I'm thinking about going home but I know I'll just lie there, grinding my teeth and smoking. I tell the cabbie to take me to the corner of 50th and Broadway, where I walk downstairs to the subway arcade and the Siberia Bar, a grungy little underground rumpus room where the drinks are served in plastic cups and the jukebox suits my taste. There are a few cookies from the Hilton at the bar, as well as a couple of saggy, bruised-looking strippers from a club up the street. Tracy, the owner of the joint, is there, which means I won't be paying for drinks tonight. It's 1:00A.M., and I have to be in at 7:30 mañana, but the Cramps are playing on the jukebox, Tracy immediately fiddles with the machine so there's twenty free credits-and that first beer tastes mighty good. The Hilton cookies are arguing about mise-en-place. One of them is bitching about another cook nicking salt off his station, and the other cook doesn't see why that's such a big deal-so I'm gonna be involved in this conversation. The Cramps tune is followed by the Velvets singing "Pale Blue Eyes," and Tracy suggests a shot of Georgian vodka he's got stashed in the freezer...

and what's next? next is a ride away from the utilitarian grind of the every day, away from all the pretending that you give a shit about certain things and instead expressing your true, sincere feelings of love and adoration for some art form or another, a friend, a new idea you heard about or something profoundly trivial. to call this time escape from responsibility is to deny the cure for responsibility. i don't trust people who don't drink or engage in some form of inhibition combating vice. they hide things and put on airs. they're covering up self-perceived inadequacies. they are not generous and they do not share their selves on a level of those who trust on such a level they are comfortable getting out of sorts.

this is bourdain's charm. he portrays a class of people often shunned or in some way denigrated by society in a shameful case of a naked emperor. in fact these are the salt of the earth. these are god's children if ever there could be a god of love. these are the open, tradesmen of the trade winds sharing in and out like great, big, interrogative marks, poets by action, seekers by day and night, friends to be sure. he portrays by representation, and the voice of a kind, engaged sage comes through.

kitchen confidential is the evidence of an individual from the drinking, cooking, working, connecting, enjoying, struggling, winning and losing, succeeding and failing, beautiful-loser class, capturing some of the magic of his life to share.

bloody sunday

bloody sunday in ireland was more than 38 years ago and yet justice was finally served. (i love justice. i savor it. i require it.)

when i read this story today, (after reading this blog post,) i was excited to see some real justice. the key facts of what happened on bloody sunday in derry, (northern ireland,) are outlined in the saville report, which took all of these 38 years to arrive at the conclusion that the actions of members of the british army were unjustified and unjustifiable.

nowadays we can look backwards and enjoy consensus on myriad points of justice, which were contested by masses of people in their time. i think of the warren commission report and the fact that some parts are sealed until 2017, (and can then remain sealed by executive order,) and the injustice confounds me.

all justice is important but slow justice is impotent.

writing this blog post is like trying to run with my shoelaces tied. this ilk of blog post, the class of entries having to do with political issues and ideas, makes for hardly readable, nearly incomprehensible essays and i really do not know why. i have had trouble organizing my thoughts on these things. it seems i start with one idea i think worthy of exploration then it seems the ideas themselves, those connected to the main, feel like they must be connected in a certain way and before i know it i have connected so many tangents, (or large ideas,) the piece itself sounds like altruistic proverbs at best, or folksy, uneducated ramblings at worst.

the point i want to make here is that it is good to look back and recognize truth. it is important to seek justice everywhere at every level. it is even good to hold people accountable, the perpetrators of crimes as well as the systems that support them. this video was posted at firedoglake and shows the faces of some of these irish citizens, who peacefully protested imperialist policies of their british occupiers, (some suffering a martyr's death,) and helps illuminate the plight of masses of humanity.

california politics

it has always been odd the way california has elected such a mix of politicians, to say nothing of the inconsistent propositions and ballot measures. it has been suggested the mix was a product of the liberal north and the conservative south but too many outcomes have defied that logic. some have suggested it was the wind that produced such strange results, as in, whichever way the wind may be blowing in a given season. but from governors like the browns to reagan or wilson, (where arnold schwarzenegger is the median politically speaking,) to candidates as varied as barbara boxer and duke cunningham, california has always been a political riddle.

well guess what. i think i have solved it. i think it has something to do with voter turnout. i had every intention of turning out today but i failed to make it happen. early returns are suggesting a couple of these loony propositions may pass and i think it is a product of a seasonally uninformed electorate. in the big elections we do pretty good, (and by pretty good i mean only relatively speaking.) we choose some very good legislators and public officials and then we sometimes choose the least of however many evils. even schwarezenegger was socially liberal and thereby a study in contrasts, (even if he did come into office because the electorate was hoodwinked in the gray davis affair.) then on days like today we show up in modest numbers and anything can happen. if some special interest is energized enough they can sweep an initiative into law that really has no business even being considered by an informed electorate. (for its part money works hard and well to dumb down the electorate.)

i don't think ronald reagan or pete wilson could ever be elected in california again. we are the most complex, informed and sophisticated electorate in the united states and as such we are on an arc. we trail blazed the reagan and nixon politicians, the tea baggers of their day in as much as they were the near-far right, they demonized taxes and the governments they ran, and championed ideals of self determination as if we could all win in capitalism. and we're moving beyond that now. carly fiorina and meg whitman are going to spend record amounts of money to win barbara boxer's seat, (boxer is likely the best politician currently holding office in california,) and to win the governorship, (over retread jerry brown, who seems to bounce back and forth between being an excellent politician and fighter for justice and just another career politician,) and it will be especially interesting to see if they can win even with their gobs of cash. if they are defeated in the general election it will show california trailblazing again and showing that this most sophisticated of electorates in the country can be the first to overcome the influence of cash in elections.

i suppose we should also focus on getting the vote in between cycles so these crazy ballot measures don't slip into law.

your nightmare about parenting in 90 seconds

you never know when one of those moments in life will happen to occur, one of those moments you will remember until the day you die.

one moment you're finishing dinner and two beers in a mexican restaurant, your stunning wife sitting across from you, your adorable little girl and your super cool little guy adjacent, the mariachi band you just tipped five bucks singing quizas next to your table, it is one of those perfect moments when all the work and self-discipline is worth it because your life is rife with joy and beauty, but the next second, your three-year-old screams out loud as if to signal something other than an outburst of bad behavior or anything you are familiar with.

there is no terror like your three-year-old son choking on a peppermint candy in a restaurant.

your wife cries out to you, "he's choking."

you don't know if it is necessarily true. the kid is yelping and he is clearly in pain but you're just not sure. still, you immediately tell her to hand you the boy. you take him by his ribs and you get his face up close to yours and you establish eye contact and you demand of him, "mark, are you okay?"

he cries back to you, "no."

you step out of the commotion, past the mariachi singer and the sublime trumpeter with the ridiculous hairpiece, by a waitress and onto the sidewalk where people take their dinner outside as if dining on a boulevard in paris. you see the people sipping coffees outside next door at the hip, independent coffee shop and you see all the street fair patrons travelling to and fro at the entrance across the street.

you move past a planter to the street's edge and you flip your son onto your left forearm, holding his chest in your hand. your memory of your training in advanced first aid and as an emergency medical technician comes to you like an old friend. it's been 20 years since you even thought about what to do when a child is choking but it feels good to have a friend show up in a crisis and you rap your son firmly between the backbones hoping to jar something loose from in his throat. your wife had added as you walked out that he had a candy in his mouth.

your son screams though not as loud as you have heard before when something less tragic, (like your daughter would not give him the leapster,) has happened. you are worried. a man walks up and offers to call 9-1-1. you tell him maybe, you're not sure. you pull mark up and you ask him again if he is okay or if the thing is still stuck.

he sobs a little and in a high-pitched squeal says, "stuck."

your heart breaks right then and there but at the same time, you're not panicked. you flip him over again and rap him two, three, four times on the back. the boy is tilted towards the ground at about a 38-degree angle. you think of that dinner and the two cups of horchata moving towards his esophagus by sheer force of gravity. nothing happens. your son is crying but not crying, because he is choking. he is crying and he is choking.

you slap him on the back another time or two and you are beginning to panic and you look at the kind stranger who looks at you like he is freaked out and needs something to happen. you flip the boy back up but he is just all furrowed brow and worry and tears falling fatefully down his cheeks. he looks like he wants to quit and you decide that no, nobody is quitting and you are not going to need the 9-1-1 call because that candy that is stuck in your son's throat is coming out and you turn him over again and you lean down and rap him firmly between the shoulder blades and you get your face down next to his ear and you tell him to cough. you say it two or three times, "cough mark. i need you to cough. cough, mark," you yell.

the heel of your right hand bounces onto his back and he coughs and immediately throws up and the stranger is on the front side of him and he is bent down real low near the upchuck and he points with a certain elation and says, "there it is!" "it's out!"

you hold mark in that position so he can throw-up some more if he needs to and you gape at the mostly white peppermint candy with the thin ridges around the edge. it may be slightly larger than a dime but it is as menacing as anything. he turns and tries to pull himself up so you lift him and hug him and the stranger advises you to still take him to the hospital. you say you think he is okay and the stranger, (who is not only not a stranger at this point but as kindred as anyone you have ever met in his kindness and his tender humanity, and his willingness to be involved,) he asks if the candy in the puke is the only one and you tell him it is. your boy had only had one peppermint candy, (you're pretty sure.)

you ask your little guy if he is okay and he responds in the affirmative, his face wet and his eyes swollen. you want to let his mother, (and sister,) know he is okay, so you thank the stranger a couple of times, noticing his cleft upper lip but thinking of the comfort he brought you and how he could not be more beautiful and he tells you it happened once to his four-year-old daughter. you nod and wave and go back into the restaurant squeezing your son extra tight, thankful beyond words for the gift of a tragedy averted.

they are sitting at the table, your wife and your daughter, acting normal as the mariachi band disperses, and you think about how long the ordeal had lasted. it was probably a minute-and-a-half but you remember every detail and think it seems like it had been 5-10 minutes, easy. you tell them he is okay and you explain the story briefly, telling your wife he had finally thrown-up as you tenderized his back, and the candy had dislodged at that moment but you thought he was fine. you sit with him on your lap and you comfort him and rub his back endlessly and kiss his forehead and ask if he is okay and he burrows his head into your armpit and wraps his arms around your middle and you ask your wife if the bill has been paid and she says the waiter took her card but has not returned it yet.

you wait. you are in a bit of shock yourself. you hold your boy. you rock a little marvelling at all the people completely unaware of your drama endured. and the waiter shows up and your wife asks how much to tip and you tell her, remembering the uneven delivery of food, the forgotten tortillas to accompany her fajitas, the unsavory taste of her shrimp...you think, (off night.)

you go outside and sit on a bench, your son still safe in your arms, which are tensed with muscle memory. when your wife comes out peering around you point her towards the obstruction laying in the vomit, which she walks over towards shielding it from your daughter's view who is interested but knows not where to look.

she returns and kisses your son and looks at hims and tells you he has broken blood vessels under both eyes, which when you see them they spark a reconsideration of the panic you skirted throughout the interminable minute-and-a-half.

as you walk home amidst the friday, summer evening revelers, mostly teenagers escaped from their parents who plod through the street fair certain they are having a fabulous time, everything slowly and gently returns to normal. you take a deep breath and dare momentarily to think of another outcome than this one. you shudder. it makes you angry and you want to cry just thinking of such bad things.

at the end you know life is this way. it surprises and shocks you occasionally. you are optimistic in thinking life is not absurd but rather you put your best foot forward every day. you see all the positive ground amassed throughout history, and you trust in personal dignity and good karma and you embrace your vulnerability, your position of limited power, and you hope and convince yourself it is enough and you know that it is enough.

true love waits

true love waits

i'll drown my beliefs, to have you be in peace

i'll dress like your niece, to wash your swollen feet

just don't leave, don't leave

i'm not living, i'm just killing time

your tiny hands, your crazy kitten smile

just don't leave, don't leave

and true love waits, in haunted attics

and true love lives, on lollipops and crisps

just don't leave, don't leave

just don't leave, don't leave

the first time i heard true love waits it was a warbly, bootleg recording. radiohead would bust the song out occasionally, tease audiences with this sickly sweet crooner of a tune, then just as quickly act as if it never happened and they had no idea what song people were talking about. (eventually they acknowledged the song's existence by releasing a live version on the 'i might be wrong,' ep.)

if you clicked on it above and listened however, you will know what i am talking about when i say 'true love waits,' is beautiful. when i heard it, all warbly and thom yorkey, falsetto spooning my ears with that chorus, "true love waits...don't leave...just don't leave..."

yeah, it's desperate but perfect.for me it arrived post any fantastical notions about fairy tale true love and all that but it served to remind me and revive the memory of those feelings and so on a nostalgic level it appealed to me anew. i can listen to it any time. it conjures children so deeply in love they could hurl themselves in front of a speeding train if denied. i miss that feeling in a way, though i would never return to it. still, i visited it every so often by listening to this song.

however today i learned of something called a true love waits pledge. the pledge is used by christian youth to affirm their faith and commitment to remaining chaste until marriage and it goes like this:

believing that true love waits, i make a commitment to god, myself, my family,
my friends, my future mate and my future children to a lifetime of purity
including sexual abstinence from this day until the day i enter a biblical
marriage relationship.

and as you may have guessed, i saw radiohead's 'true love waits,' a completely new light. now it seems to me the real meaning on commentary are not as the surface may suggest, that true love, real love, the meaningful pure love, waits, that it somehow knows itself and guards itself and waits out circumstances. no. rather it seems the idea that true love waits is commentary on the immaturity and perhaps even ignorance of chastity vows. obviously choosing not to have sex, at any age, is not immature, but choosing not to have sex because of mythology, be it belief in imaginary creatures or afterworld punishment or that a future relationship will somehow be soiled or sullied, is silly.

it was this article that got me to thinking about all of this and it is a truly interesting read.

brothers in a mine

i feel like holding my breath over and over and over until some miners are rescued, (preferably four,) from deep in the earth in west virginia. it could be my little act of fraternity. i hope they're alive. i hope they're doing everything they can to conserve breathable air. i hope there is more than one and they are together and they are taking heart in the spirit of humanity, in knowing that a tremendously calculated rescue effort is underway and in feeling the energy of millions of their species hoping and pulling in their minds for an outcome of life.

there is something about people trapped, such as in a mine. their lives probably ended a couple of days ago, or maybe a couple of hours ago, or maybe they're alive, huddled in a safety chamber, hoping. the terror of being trapped in a small space without much air, (to say nothing of the other necessities for human life,) along with the inability to know anything whatsoever is compelling. so many humans who typically struggle to agree on anything, are like-minded on this one. they're hoping against odds for life to prevail.

as it is 25 are dead. 25 men who were surely the salt of the earth, surely hard-working, colorful brothers and fathers and husbands and exes and coaches and pupils and friends and enemies and bosses and subordinates and strangers and neighbors, have deceased. they will not dig dirty coal from the ground ever again for the massey energy company.

it seems massey ceo don blankenship has not been a big proponent of safety in the face of slimmer profits. he has thrown a lot of money at lawmakers and been closely tied to a corrupt administration, which suggests he may be one of those millionaires who loves money so much he exemplifies the root of all evil. i hope this disaster, (an utterly ineffectual word if ever there were one,) changes him on a deep and personal level.

massey is a national flagship of union breaking, unfortunately, which is likely a factor in declining safety. (please rent the movie; matewan, for an understanding of the roots of the struggle between miners and corporations.)

i am somber tonight. i feel brothers. i feel them far away mourning and working to find and raise our other brothers. good luck-be strong.



i am sure it is dark as a grave tonight in the upper big branch mine. this song, spring hill mining disaster, written by ewan maccoll and peggy seeger but sung here by bono, (about the springhill mining disaster in nova scotia in 1958,) is poignant in both its lyrics and mood.

stability

i like the idea of overcoming odds and i am surprised by some of my outcomes.

once upon a time it was all the victory i needed to merely avoid heroin, keep from becoming a junkie. nowadays i find myself trying harder than ever to have a successful marriage, create a successful career. according to statistical data i recall hearing when i was a kid, i was supposed to do heroin. i think there is also demographic evidence suggesting i would have a high likelihood for divorce if married or maybe even that i would be a failure in such an endeavor or end up incarcerated.

one of the things i do not blog about is my relationship with my wife. that is not for public consumption, (not that anyone would particularly be interested.) what i will say is marriage is difficult with two small children, two years apart. it's a lot of work and includes the pressure of responsibility. it is a stark contrast, for most people, from life before children. having said that it is nice that rewards are all the sweeter in proportion to levels of difficulty.

i am focused on doing well by my children and so far, so good. there are things that could be better, but overall i feel like things have gone well and they will likely only get better.

my goal with them is to help keep as many options open to them as they wind toward adulthood, as possible. you see my theory is that as we grow up and age, possibilities fall away from us like shimmering mirages. perhaps a more precise way of putting that would be, as discipline fades, so do outcomes.

for example, let's say president of the united states and nuclear biophysicist are on the top tier of career outcomes. it may be accurate to say some outcomes such as these, can disappear from a child's realistic horizon as early as age five or six. i mean, if terra was eating poorly, taking in the sugary kid's cereals, if she did not get a good night's sleep, if we weren't reading to her regularly, (to say nothing of actual traumas some kids endure,) perhaps her ability to discipline herself, to develop an attention span, or to make complex connections could have already dropped to a level that makes this tier of career outcomes unattainable.

so when i ensure her diet, sleep pattern and reading mentoring, are kept in a range i deem acceptable, (important,) i am just trying to keep those possibilities, those outcomes, open and available to her. any choice will be hers. if she doesn't even go to college but chooses instead to marry and have children and stay home and raise her brood, i will love her just as much. but i have to help her have choices some day. the more, the better. that's my job.

she can choose not to be academic once she is an adult. until then, it would be very difficult for her. she can choose to live like a hermit avoiding human contact some day, but that would be impossible for her as a child because her mother and i are trying hard to help her have a healthy childhood, (filled with human interaction.) as an adult she will be free to choose not to maintain her physical fitness, but as a child, no chance. she will be strongly encouraged to engage in physical activities for the purpose of increasing her strength and agility, similarly so she can have more possibilities available to her when she becomes interested in making choices, in this case about activities she may want to pursue on a higher level.

faith was talking about class sizes, worrying that terra could metaphorically fall through the cracks. i responded saying it would be impossible for her with two present and engaged parents like us, in spite of any imperfections.

(i am having a little thing for a sentence with a comma and a little, extra, independent thought attached, lately. sorry.)

anyway, i never valued stability much in my life. what i needed in that way i took and expected. as a husband and a father i find myself embracing stability, thinking about it along with my health and insurance and investments, (and health insurance.) these changes in life of late were not so much unimaginable to me in my former life, (my single, carefree life,) as they were simply unimportant to me. i needed my family and i was pretty much forced to maintain those relationships, (this is to say i went to them and it was especially rare for them to come to me,) which i did and did not mind.

stability is king now. stability is the byproduct of loving my family and wanting the best for them and me. stability is the through-line in my values. stability is me walking home from the bar. stability is analyzing my childhood, (blogging about it even or writing in my journal,) and learning from it instead of self-destructing in alcohol and

irresponsibility. stability is my new nature.

why business?

i have been thinking a lot lately about what i like about business, (and how i ended up here.) the thing is, i actually have an aversion to business.

business is strategy. business is calculating as many metrics as you can possibly discover and define in order to leverage the forces they represent to your favor.

when i was kid i loved to play chess and stratego, so there is something about business that i enjoy. as i have worked in businesses and business environments, my aim has been to rise in the business world as high as i possibly can so that i can reach a position of influence and show a different way of conducting business. you see, i believe there is a different way. i believe there is a better way.

as it is, (in the world but particularly in our country,) business is fairly ruthless. capitalism is, in it's truest form and unchecked, an economic system that values profits above anything else. profits are more important and more of a consideration than state, than morality, than human harmony or any notion of brotherhood, than future generations, than mother earth, than family, than church or god. this is not to say there are not those who conduct business in a fashion that runs against the grain of capitalism's truest definition. (However, visionaries like ray anderson are few and far between.)

so how did i end up doing business? i love art.

in particular, i love film. film has power. it is extra sensory and it appeals to me on multiple levels. it makes me feel. it opens my mind. it brings a million other lives into my focus. in this way it is more important than electricity, (for those who may be dependent on it.) the end of central station put me in touch with more emotions and insights relevant to my life and to my education than high school. film, like the great novels, has taught me my path.

i love music. in particular rock music, classic rock, alternative rock, progressive rock, ambient, house, techno, pop, glam, (sometimes,) blues, jazz, bossanova, metal, punk, emo, groove, rap, folk, classical, opera, all that stuff. music moves me. it has the power to calm me or excite me. it adds.

additionally, i love just about every art form i have contacted. i have at one time or another envisioned myself as virtually every type of artist. that said, i have never appreciated the discipline of any art form, (well perhaps writing however, that's been a dirge of an affair thanks to maslow's hierarchy of needs,) at least not enough to dedicate myself to it.

my motivation and passion in this world is rooted in justice and humanism. i consider myself informed by the arts but i have endured in my relationship with business since stumbling into it at low level jobs for a couple of corporations, (and now a small business owner,) because of a belief that one must know the dragon before it can be slain. my greatest satisfaction would come from the realization one day that i have a made a difference in business, in how it is conducted, perhaps in some who conduct it inside and outside of my realm, inside and outside of my time. (points short of such lofty goals would also bring me great satisfaction.)

as an aside, an even greater aspiration would be to figure out how to win consensus on a large scale. i guess this is leadership. iconic leadership. the men who have accomplished this in the past are the men of history. to get people together around the idea that the influence of the masses could transform our world, our realities, in an incredibly short time, this idea powers my life.

if i conducted business in such a way as to hold humans at the center of my idea of success, if providing not only fair employment but the kind of employment that offers dignity and a level of prosperity that is commensurate with the talents, effort and dignity of the worker, represented my ideal outcome and my greatest satisfaction, i want a world where these ideals are prized.

if i ran a company that marketed itself in such a way... actually, if i nurtured the consumer who was willing to pay more for a thing because the company aspires to a set of agreeable values and embarks on a relationship with its clientele based on trust and marked by transparency, i could change the world. if my company heralded itself as the company with the slightly higher price but which maintains an average employee salary 20%, (hell, 12%,) above industry average, which does the very best it can by the environment and which practices a level of disclosure unprecedented in modern times. that company would immediately dry up and go bankrupt in today's business climate. however, if people agreed to pay extra to patronize that company, and if that company created a groundswell of support, made the ideas famous in a way the business model began to apply pressure to all businessmen to change their ways to compete or die, well, it's possible, (especially in our modern age of mass communication.)

i believe a company marketing itself in such a way it pleads for customers based on it's innate goodness and symbiosis with man, if it gained that trust by publishing itself in every way, well, an environment can be created in which companies compete with each other by outperforming each other in goodness. can you imagine that?! maybe not and isn't that a sad testament? we are capable of so much and yet, we are easily confused, (en mass.)

so quietly and discontentedly, i plod on in business. i don't know if perhaps i am a tragicomic figure. in many ways my path has been that of least resistance. my lack of discipline has limited my achievements and yet i have educated myself. my former insecurity about my self-education has recently been replaced by a peace associated with my understanding and my understanding of my station in life, (as it were.) outside of slightly long hours my quality of life is good, though it could be better. more importantly i want for a better quality of life for all people.

i want to work at a company where the employees work harder than those at most companies because they appreciate and are a part of the ethos of the company. that is to say they know they are paid more and appreciated more, they know that their jobs are less specialized and thereby of a higher quality than the former model. they know they are respected and treated fairly and so their output dwarfs that of the masses of men who would toil for companies of the practices of the past. they know that the people at the top of the company make more than those at the bottom but they know the gap is equitable.

i am going to continue to do business. in spite of the fact that i have found precious few kindred spirits in business, in spite of the fact that i tend to look soft as a manager, i am going to keep doing what i do, which is to live my own example and keep pressing on in the direction that represents my path.

chomsky trumps zirin and hitchens

if you have read my blog before you may know that i participate in a yahoo group called the sporthinkery. it is moderated by my good friend, bill gould. sportswriter dave zirin has been involved with the sporthinkery for some time even if his participation consists primarily of posting his 'edge of sports,' articles, (or his articles that appear in the nation.) (Click on the header to read dave's most recent article on christoper hitchens' broad attack on the winter olympics and all things sport in newsweek.) often times what i read on the sporthinkery compels me to write in to the group in response and occasionally my response seems worthy of a blog post...

it seems zirin may have had a thing for hitchens at one time and feels betrayed nowadays. personally, i can't stand hitchens and i think zirin has it right when he accuses him of "amputating with rhetoric." in spite of the fact that i enjoyed 'god is not great,' i found it to be far short of scholarly in terms of debunking the mythology of belief. rather, it was a fun romp through the foibles of so many belief systems.

what is more interesting about zirin's piece, however, is how he defends sport. it is as if billie jean king and muhammed ali and jackie robinson would not have existed as activist heroes were it not for sport. (personally, i think they would have but probably with different names. after all, martin luther king jr. was a preacher and not a celebrity or sports star. nor for that matter were most of the other prominent players in the civil rights movement or any other righteous movements for justice or peace or fair treatment.) it is nice that some sports stars stand up to be counted from time to time. i rooted for drew brees and the saints recently just because he had a moment like this. i love jim brown and john ameche and mahmoud abdul raouf and all of the others who speak up from time to time. (perhaps more importantly i can't stand the vacuous sports stars like tiger woods who reap huge rewards in terms of upward mobility, something that is less likely for an individual in the united states than just about any other first world country, and seem to instantly forget their roots, their working fathers and mothers, their neighbors, the working class.)

still, i could not help but wonder if zirin has ever seen or read noam chomsky's 'manufacturing consent,' wherein the sage of m.i.t. speaks of sport as that which occupies our minds and renders us impotent by means of activity as numbing and distracting agent as opposed to allowing us to demand the equality we deserve, (justice,) as a proletariat waging a class war. (of course as dennis kucinich recently pointed out, in this country we have already lost class warfare.

i don't feel guilty about my affinity and preoccupation with sports but i do recognize that my time could be better spent. in fact i have seen as much beauty in sport as can possibly exist. i have been as thrilled as is possible by miraculous outcomes. the human drama has transfixed me and i can never again engage at a level i once did. while i love sports that are new to me as if i were still a child, while i love hockey and even have a new favorite player in la kings defenseman drew doughty as if i was 12 again, (about the same age as doughty,) while i can be amazed ad-nauseum by the maneuvers of the greats on the soccer pitch, these twists and tricks that are so foreign to me, and such, my interest in the nba and mlb wanes a bit every year as it seems it should with any aging man. if my team is good i get closer, more interested, more aware. when they suck, (see the dodgers from the early 90s through two to three years ago,) i am bored and hold only a passing interest. i have friends too, who would belittle me, as if it is not my interest in sport that is falling away but rather my manhood and i am sad for them their immaturity and inability to grow and change.

as i get older i am increasingly interested in legacy, in leaving something good behind me. many of my friends would consider that sensibility absurd. i consider it ennobling. who knows what i can possibly leave behind me but i want to try and so as i negotiate my days i feel a simple happiness when i recognize my waning interest in sport and an increase in time i am able to spend trying to find ways to fight the powers that be. zirin and hitchens should just defer to chomsky on this issue. in this clip he talks specifically about sports, (as well as supermarket tabloids and astrology as that which is meant to dull the brain.) the message is clear, sports dull the brain. "sports," chomsky asserts, "is a way of building up irrational attitudes of submission to authority."

iced mountains

dear coors,

please leave the device that is cold blue mountains off of your beer. it's insulting.

look, i know that you are merely creating an impression of value. i know that the raw ingredients in one of your beers costs pennies. even the mass produced glass bottles are only a few cents more. the dollar per you extract from me is something of a gouge but i am at peace with it. your massive profit margin is merely annoying.

all of your marketing efforts, like the blue mountains in case i am certifiably brain dead and cannot otherwise know if my beer is in fact, technically, or certainly, cold, add value, (you believe,) above and beyond the basic cost of the ingredients. the feature that is these cold activated images is your justification for charging a certain amount more for your beer.

i'd prefer you just charged me the amount and left the asinine white or blue mountains off the label. they just make me think you think i'm like, "duhhhh, yeah. these mountains are so cool, plus they could actually be handy in an ice chest when a warm six-pack has been added."

i don't want my wine-drinking friends to think i am a dumbass because i drink beer.

fear

no fear.

don't fear the reaper.

fear not.

fear and loathing.

fear the lord thy god.

fear. fear. fear.

fear [feer]

noun

a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.
a specific instance of or propensity for such a feeling: an abnormal fear of heights.
concern or anxiety; solicitude: a fear for someone's safety.
reverential awe; esp. toward god.
that which causes a feeling of being afraid; that of which a person is afraid: cancer is a common fear.
-verb (used with object)
to regard with fear; be afraid of.
to have reverential awe of.
-verb (used without object)
to have fear; be afraid.

i can imagine no condition i disdain more than the state of fear. teaching my children to fear fear and fight fear and avoid fear and challenge fear is one of my primary responsibilities as a parent.

it is the single worst thing i have ever felt. moreover, it is easily the most stultifying feeling one can harbor. i've heard some parents consciously or subconsciously hope their children do not surpass them in certain ways, (i guess the ways that are most important to them?) perhaps they do not want to be outdone by their children from a severe insecurity. that very idea is abominable.

fear comes naturally in this world. as possibly the only species on the planet with self awareness, the only creatures who know we are dying, who understand the consequences of living, who must face down the fear of our own demise either sooner or later, we have a unique relationship with fear.

i am a-scurred, too. i am afraid of things so seriously that i will not even utter what they are for fear of giving them an upper hand. (i suppose it's that old mock the devil and he will flee thing.) fear is my worst me. any prejudices i ever had were born of fear. any childish beliefs came from a basic fear, a basic fear i was born with. when i was a child i was afraid of the darkness. i feared nightly. i was afraid of getting lost in downtown la after that happened to me once. i feared brutal stepdads. i was afraid of failure, (still am.) i was afraid of success. (yeah, still am that, too.) and so on...

if i want to be my best me, i recognize that the absence of fear is a basic starting point for me. i think it is for everyone, too. whatever scares should be debunked and demystified. if foolish consistencies are the hobgoblin of little minds, the most foolish consistency of all is the act of allowing fear to persist.

do you fear terrorism? are you afraid of bullies or ghosts? does the concept of a hell bother you? does cancer scare you? heart attack? impotence? old age? lost youth? traffic collisions? government conspiracies? random violence? getting caught? your dad? guns? your boyfriend's wife? the number 13? what is it? whatever it is i hope you vanquish it.

i think as we age our fears create our illnesses. whatever we fear that is able to gain some dominion over us leads to those ways in which we become twisted. maybe it leads to physical debilitation but what seems obvious is that fear leads to mental and emotional instabilities, which can in turn lead to real psychoses.

i think it is always important to be on one's guard from fears. for me to live a healthy life i think i must try hard to render my fears powerless, recognize them for what they are, deconstruct them, then proceed in the knowledge learned unafraid.

and so it is with my kids. i want them to be fearless. i want them to be respectful, but fearless. as it is i do not allow terra to be afraid. she suggested she was afraid of the dark at one time. she said she was afraid of monsters. she said she was scared of the noises outside at night. every time i heard something like that from her i scoffed. i explained it was natural to worry about those things, (and terra is certainly one who worries about new concepts,) but that ultimately we could know certain things about what scares us. when she feared the dark at bedtime i asked her if every morning she woke and everything was fine and she confirmed the truth in that statement. when she expressed her fear of earthquakes one night recently after seeing some images from haiti at school, as she cried over something that is actually worthy of some real concern, (concern, not fear,) i spoke to her of odds. she did not understand odds. so i appealed to her sense of trusting mommy and daddy to do everything humanly possible to keep her safe, which pacified her. since then the subject has come up a couple of times if briefly, which tells me she still has some fear about earthquakes but i feel like we're working on it. we are a team, her mother, mark, me and her. we are always at work on dispelling our collective fears. i am hopeful one day as i lay on my death bed she will be there, she will be brave and thereby show me she is prepared to endure without me, and she will console me and i will die in peace knowing full well that we are and have been dignified creatures.

i'll tell you one thing i am afraid of. i am afraid of terra and mark someday harboring many and sundry fears. as one who admits the influence of conditioning, i in no way think my children are immune from the maladies of the evening local news. rather i believe it is my daily duty, my life's work, my most noble charge to help them combat fears of all types. in this way, if i am successful in my small role in mark's and terra's sphere of influence, my babies can live healthy lives, daring greatly, perhaps failing from time to time but achieving too and accomplishing balance in their lives.

fdr said it. right? "there is nothing to fear but fear itself." respect-yes. but fear? no. it is a sad state, a bad way to spend one's life, every bit as unfortunate as poverty or physical debilitation.

what to read

i will be the first to admit i can't read everything but then, it is awfully positive that there is so much good stuff out there to read, (though it looks like a coffee cup on the sea compared to all the bad published word out there.)

the header above links to a glenn greenwald story from salon.com. i used to read salon regularly but for whatever reason i had not been reading it recently. i happened to check in today however, and was rewarded with this thoughtful piece by greenwald.

it is interesting how that works, too. years ago i read salon and talkingpointsmemo.com religiously. lately i have been reading firedoglake and alternet mostly. huffpo gets me intermittently. i read mark morford regularly. i read a few blogs. i used to read mediamatters regularly but probably haven't been there in six months. great site, but who has the time? i get my sports from yahoo, espn or edgeofsports.

anyways, i wanted to share the article and the sense of pleasant surprise i got from visiting a site that had been out of my rotation a little bit.

should obama be a one-term president?

it is certainly worth considering forcing timothy geithner to step down as treasury secretary but it would also be reasonable right now to call for the resignation of barack obama.

democrats, (and probably republicans too, for that matter,) tend to think in terms of eight year blocks once they get a president elected. that has been a sound strategy too, considering the effectiveness of incumbent candidates. however it is time for change.

the democratic party, (and by that i do mean democrats,) could unseat barack obama after one term and elect another democrat president, perhaps even a more progressive, less corporatist candidate than barack obama. perhaps dennis kucinich could win, as the populist real deal. (or how old is ralph nader these days?)

please click on the header and read the bloomberg news story. the secretary of treasury of the united states, then in the capacity of head of the new york federal reserve, advised aig to hide information from the american public in order to get away with paying full price on credit default swaps, which in turn cost american taxpayers $62.1 billion. indeed, it was a back door bailout brokered by the new york federal reserve, geithner's organization. $62.1 billion taxpayer dollars?

i'll be honest, i am not sure i am advocating for unseating obama at this point, but i certainly respect the idea. not only did he appoint geithner to this vastly important cabinet position of tremendous power, but he had the best tools of investigation, to understand geithner's experience and ethos, money could buy. moreover, it is important for obama to be responsible for his decisions as president, and geithner's crime is egregious to such a degree, canning the guy who rewarded him and took advice from him, which suggests incompetence or worse, would be a revolutionary act of forsaking partisan politics in favor of simply exercising the collective power of the masses to act righteously as it concerns a matter of the utmost importance.

the federal reserve bank issues american currency and houses gold owned by some americans but also some saudis and kuwaitis and everyone else, but it is not a part of our government and it is ultimately beholden to its owners. as head of the new york federal reserve timothy geithner wielded a great amount of power, essentially on behalf of the investment bankers who own the new york fed.

$62.1 billion. i have to say that number over and over because it is hard to imagine that amount of money. it's huge. in response to the bloomberg news story, the white house has commented to say the advice the ny fed gave aig to not report the credit default swaps happened at a level lower than geithner and he was unaware of this advice and therefore not responsible. (where have we heard that before?) geithner's bank told aig to lie so that aig could use the money it received from taxpayers to pay off gamblers. that is unforgivable and geithner's bank facilitated the heist and his head should certainly roll. $62.1 billion. the fact obama prefers to dismiss this as if the "geithner was unaware," defense is legitimate is abhorrent and oddly in contrast to obama's m.o. otherwise. typically he accepts responsibility for everything and talks about how the buck stops with him.

former new york governor eliot spitzer has been doing his best to call for the release of aig's emails, of which there are plenty. since the american people own aig, we certainly have a right to see those emails, which will likely reveal more info about who swindled the american people and how. we should all stay aware of this story and push for release of those emails.

as for obama, his behavior is distressing. we voted him in because we believed he would be different in so much as he would not play typical politics by advocating cover ups and kowtowing to the corporations. lately his behavior has been disappointing. if i believed democrats could be of one mind in refusing to nominate him for a second term and if i had faith we would take the high road is defending the decision and nominate someone like dennis kucinich to replace him from a position of strength, i could easily go along with that plan.

zealotry

umar farouk abdulmutallab was lonely and depressed. he was an adolescent and a religious zealot. his posts to an islamic message board reveal a zealous child who is ill-equipped to reconcile the mixed messages of the world. on christmas he set out from amsterdam on a flight bound for detroit intent on killing hundreds of people and himself.

here is something we should all agree on. a child with fundamentalist beliefs is dangerous.

i was a fundamentalist child once upon a time. i feel lucky to have emerged from that time with my sanity.

i accepted jesus into my heart on february 23rd of 1976. i was 10. it was a sunday evening and i was visiting bethany baptist church in west covina to see an end times preacher who my aunt and uncle (guardians,) were excited to see. (dr howard estep's organization lives on.) i had attended calvary baptist church in la puente at that time but when my family moved to covina we switched to what i would call a more actively fundamentalist denomination of crazy which was the assemblies of god.

in the covina assembly of god church i was exposed to, (and embraced,) not only the literal interpretation of the bible, (contradictions be damned,) but also the practices of speaking in and interpretation of tongues and anointing with oil. yes, we believed the literal words of the bible. jesus really was the son of god. along with the holy spirit the three comprised the holy trinity, an entity separate but apart, wholly beyond human understanding, (yet expounded on often on sunday mornings,) and god. yes miracles happened. yes, jesus rose from the dead after being crucified. yes, gay was evil and worthy of damnation. yes, women were weaker vessels.

in addition to 1-3 visits to church weekly and the camps and outings and all that, i attended a christian high school my junior and senior years and i attended an assemblies of god college for a year, too. i was a young zealot. i led peers of mine to the lord even kneeling with a friend on his porch to lead him through the sinners prayer at the tender age of 11 or 12.

i had no need of literature that was not the bible or not somehow related to the bible. i needed little policing in those days. in my mid-20s my girlfriend worked for the wycliffe bible translators-we went to church weekly and practiced abstinence. (for both of the years we were together!?!) i suppose that relationship ended because she was attuned to the fact that i was questioning my faith, which of course is anathema to fundamentalism, and thus ended those years for me even if it was gradual.

the point is; i was in those days of such severe belief in something so utterly devoid of any proof or basis in reality, i was dangerous. i truly was dangerous. in those days, when i was a young republican, when ronald reagan's dishonesty was pointed out to me, i thought the end justified the means. that is dangerous.

i read an article today in which a columnist pointed out the absurdity of some people believing in god sans any proof or evidence while also denying global warming in the face of melting glaciers of evidence. isn't that poignant?

i can relate to abdulmutallab's zealotry too, because i was critical of those less zealous or less committed than myself. when i started drinking beer, (or wine coolers more likely,) i woke up on saturday or sunday mornings with major guilt. when on the following friday night my friends suggested we drink alcohol again, something inside of me raged. it was this hypocrisy that ultimately drove me from christianity. my best friend rationalized his drunkeness by conjuring the hebrew word for sin and saying that it was essentially an archery term meaning, 'missing the mark.' the idea was that i should not be so bothered, god hated the sin but no the sinner. for my part i went into the act, (in this case of drinking,) knowing full well what i was doing and even how i would feel the next morning. in short, i felt like i had no excuse and the rationale that god was cool with it because hey, i was merely missing the mark. no big deal. my arrow was still on the board-it just wasn't a bullseye. well, that did not work for me. in retrospect, it is kind of funny how hypercritical i was of myself considering how opposite i am to that now and how forgiving i am of humanity at large.

this is where my ascent from christianity began. at some point i realized how wrong-headed it was to decry my nature, or more precisely to feel guilty based simply on my nature. it was not wrong of me to want to seek an altered state of being through alcohol. that was as natural as growing up. i could go on and on about how and why i got out, (and i certainly have in my own journals,) but i won't bore you with all those details right now.

the thing is society needs to get together on this idea. we need to recognize that fundamentalists of all stripes are certainly crazy, if only temporarily. (in fact i question the veracity of any fundamentalist over 40. anyone over 40 has lived long enough to where they should have enough life experience to have recognized the foolishness of their youth and turned from it. my friends who adhere to their fundamentalism post 40 seem to me to be in denial, choosing a life ensconced in the comfort of a familiarity they have built up and nurtured for so many years. it may even be they are mentally ill in as much as they are incapable of turning from their belief system.)

"if in the last few years you haven't discarded a major opinion or acquired a new one, check your pulse. you may be dead."

-gelett burgess

Happy 3rd Birthday, Mark Dylan James!

this is mark's pre-school class singing happy birthday to him first in english then in mandarin. terra skipped over from her kindergarten class and joined in the singing and can be seen right behind mark.

happy birthday little guy. december 18th.