Children Left Behind

An opinion piece in today's New York Times states:

The Bush administration responded characteristically this week when it put a positive gloss on national math and reading scores that were actually dismal - and bad news for the school reform effort. Faced with charges that his signature reform, the No Child Left Behind Act, was failing, the president played up the minor positive results. He should have seized the moment to acknowledge the bad news and explain what it would take to make things right.

He should also, of course, have reminded the nation that as long as it fails to take school reform seriously, American children will fall further and further behind their peers abroad.

Public Education just isn't one of those sexy issues. You know the issues I mean--the ones it's so much fun to get all worked up over and scream at each other: war, scandal, indictments, criminal neglect after hurricanes, and all manner of corruption and dirty deals.

In fact, instead of addressing our kids' crappy science scores, we're debating teaching the Intelligent Design speculation* in our science classes. Because what the heck? It's not like we're actually teaching science very successfully anyway, right?

"A 2004 study by the National Science Foundation found that the United States ranks 17th in the proportion of 18- to 24-year-olds earning science and engineering degrees, down from third place in 1975." (Houston Chronicle)

Ironically, Congress cut the National Science Foundation's budget in 2004.

Figures, huh? This is the same party that wants to yell about family values and prioritizing, yadda yadda yadda.

We better get our heads out of our asses pretty soon and start educating our children, though.

I was talking with friends who have a toddler. They've started the application process to get her into a good private school. Apparently, there's quite a waiting list. Also, it's quite expensive. It made me wonder what the heck happens to kids with parents who just can't afford to do that? They go to public school, of course. They get an education that might--if they're lucky, bright, and motivated--equip them to fill out W*l-M*rt applications.

For the record, I don't blame teachers for this situation. I think the whole system is broken. I think far too much of the money we spend on education gets syphoned off into administrative bureaucracy, and far too little gets spent on things like books, computers, and lab equipment.

Also for the record, I could care less whether people believe in a supreme being who designed the life with deliberate intent. I do think that supreme being might have put a bit more effort into designing more efficient backs for bipedal primates who walk upright. . .

Which only further reinforces that ugly gap between haves and have-nots, doesn't it? Right now, we're building what America will be for the next generation. Why, for heaven's sake, can't we just once show a little forethought?

*I refuse to refer to ID as a "theory" because, in fact, it is NOT a theory in the same sense and definition of the word as the theory of evolution. No amount of referring to it as such can make it so. The media has been treating the word as if it means the same thing when applied to either evolution or ID--which is either ignorant or intellectually dishonest, but certainly inaccurate and misleading.

Orphan books: a shameless promotional pitch for someone else's writing

Here's a post from the Zack Company blog that's pretty educational for the writers out there.

Sometimes it happens that a book gets sold to a publisher, but then the editor leaves. That editor is the person who sold everyone else in the house on publishing that book. He or she is the champion and voice of that book. So when the editor leaves before the book goes into print, it can be devastating.

The Dead of Winter apparently lost both its editor and its publisher, and pretty much everyone else who was originally involved with the decision to publish the book. (Except, apparently, its dedicated agent.)

"...More than half a century after the last shots of World War II were fired, a team of forensic scientists and relic hunters enlisted the aid of several veterans of the Bulge for one last mission: to return to the battle site and recover the lost remains of their brothers-in-arms, to ensure they would be buried with all the honors they deserve. Written by a member of the expedition, this is a story of loyalty and the bonds of war, a compelling scientific mystery, and a long-awaited homecoming for families who waited decades for the return of their loved ones." (from the Amazon editorial review.)

I love WWII history stuff.
It also looks like a damned good book.
Andy Zack has been a seriously stand-up guy in terms of helping writers for free whenever and wherever he can. He blogs, and he answers questions on the Ask The Agent forum on AW. He doesn't ask for much in return.

Mostly, though, good books deserve to be read.

Here's an interesting thing...

So while cruising the blogosphere in avoidance of real work, I came upon this Ginmar post, linked at Philobiblon via Carnival of Feminists. Go read, or at least skim. I'll wait.

Ginmar quotes one of her posters as saying:

What you and other commenters have said about anger got me thinking. I'm not afraid to express my anger when provoked, but one thing I've noticed is that people often laugh.
Actually, I say people, but the faces that come to mind all belong to men. See, I go clubbing a lot because I enjoy dancing to loud music. What usually happens is that some idiot thinks that because my clothes are tight he can grab my ass. I turn and get angry. Invariably, these guys laugh at me and are all "what's the big deal?"
One particularly bad night I had been groped maybe ten times in under three hours. I was standing outside a club waiting to get in, feeling really on edge. Someone standing behind me grabs my ass. I whirl and almost punch the guy in the face before I realise I know him; he's a friend of a friend. I glare at him and say "that was not cool." He grins. I repeat, vehemently, "that was not cool." He says "aw, c'mon, I was just joking around!"

Now, I don't know if you read the comments following, or not, but what struck me most was that nearly every poster had a story about being touched, grabbed, groped, or otherwise man-handled--and laughed at when she objected. Both the offending groper and other men in the crowd laughed or otherwise dismissed her objections.

What really freaks me out is when other women participate in this bizarre and alarming attitude.
I remember one night an acquaintance's husband (who was a complete creep) grabbed my ass when we were all out at a bar together. I whirled around, planted the heel of my hand in his chest, and shoved hard. Then I told him off in no uncertain terms, and in pretty graphic language. I was furious.

He was indignant and offended. His wife was perplexed. She laughed and told me I was overreacting. Explained that, since I was a lesbian, I apparently just didn't understand that I should be pleased and flattered by the attention.

Yeah. She really said that.

Gag, retch, blech, ptoooie, ICK.

Now. At the time, I thought this was mostly about gender-preference. I was very young--mid-twenties--and self-absorbed. Largely, though, I interpreted both his and her actions as sexual aggression in response to my open lesbianism. The bigger picture was a lost on me. I did realize that I really didn't want to know anything more about the dynamics of their marriage. Whatever freaking kink they shared that made it okay for them to participate in molesting unwitting acquaintances in social situations was just too icky to contemplate.

Now I'm wondering, though--is this attitude something women do to other women on a regular basis? Is this something straight women do to lesbians, to keep us in line? Some of both? Because women participating in the subjection of other women happens a lot.

What's the social motivation for that? It cannot possibly be pleasant for a woman to go to a bar with her husband, for chrissakes, and defend his entitlement to grope other women.

In a sane world, she would have been as pissed at him as I was.

No. Scratch that. In a sane world, it would have never occured to the guy that it was in any way appropriate, acceptable, or otherwise okay to grab a woman's ass in public.

hmmmm...

I'm too sleepy to write anything political, or to think very hard about things controversial.

Instead, I'll share a realization I had the other day. Perhaps it's indicative of getting older, I don't know.

When I think back over romantic attachments in my past, the people I remember most fondly are seldom the ones I actually went to bed with. Rather, the almosts hold my memory: The single kisses, that for one reason or another never went any further; the flirtations, with the too-long eye-contact that never quite turned into anything. The potential interrupted. It's just irresistable.

I'm not sure what that says about me. Commitment-phobe, my ex would probably say. Heh.

How 'bout y'all?

The trouble with thought crimes...

I remember when the first hate-crimes laws were proposed. I had a queasy feeling about it, even though I'm a member of one of the groups of people thought to benefit from such laws.
Now, as you can imagine, mine isn't a popular view with my gay and lesbian peers.

It seemed to me that attaching stiffer penalties to crimes based on motivation of the perpetrator created an uncomfortable dynamic, whereby we defined and assigned value to individuals based on their "otherness". My sister was bartending at the time--and it seemed horribly wrong that should she be assaulted and murdered in an alley some night upon leaving work, it could be prosecuted differently than if I were assaulted and murdered in the same alley, upon leaving a gay bar. It also seemed both rash and wrong to make the motive--the thought--part of the crime itself.

Hate crime legislation doesn't seem to have made much of a dent, at least not here from the front lines. We're trapped in a painful tension of valuing ourselves based on diversity--embracing our "otherness"--and being separated from the greater part of our own culture and society by that same difference. I deeply fear that every time we create some official means of separation, we only deepen that dichotomy.

It's still a pretty regular occurrence to hear of someone getting beat up coming out of the wrong bar. There's apparently been a new rash of cross-burnings in the midwest, lately, too.
Recently, someone vandalized a local African American couple's house, here in the Seattle suburbs. They spray-painted racial slurs, swastikas, and obscenities all over the exterior.
It turned out to be a couple of local teenagers. They confessed. You've got to wonder just where they learn this stuff, don't you. The local news team interviewed people. The neighbors all professed their shock and dismay. I'm sure most of them were sincere.

Unfortunately, there seem to be some unforseen consequences stemming from an attempt to prosecute ideology. In the hysteria following the 9-11 attack, we passed a bunch of terrorism and Homeland Security legislation--a natural progression of trying to sort crime by the thoughts and motives behind it. Now we've come to a place where nine United States Senators and the White House all think it's just fine to torture people--as long as we think they're terrorists. It's just fine to hold even American Citizens indefinitely and without charge--as long as we think they're terrorists.

We've long made distinctions that benefit someone who commits a crime, with mitigating circumstances, self-defense, and other grounds for leniency. Is that really intrinsically different than finding grounds for even stiffer penalties? I actually think it is. Recent emphasis and movements for victim's rights aside, I applaud compassion built into our laws for both the perpetrator and the victims, whenever possible. I remain distinctly uncomfortable by attempting to impose greater penalties by peering into the motives of the defendant.

Hobbit Bones

Wee little bones from wee little people, found in Indonesia. Perhaps there was a hobbit massacre, involving orcs and balrogs and evil wizards.

I had a lovely post all planned

Don't worry. I saved it. It can go up some other day.

Today, though, I wanted to direct your attention to Writes Like She Talks. Jill has been taking us through modern traditional observance of Yom Kippur, and writes about a version of a confessional prayer recently sent to her. She's posted this sensitive, incisive, and eloquent "Al Cheit"--called "If Dubya were a Jew, he'd be in trouble on Thursday."

See you there.

"Not that I'm a feminist, or anything..."

I hear a lot of women--especially youngish women--preface some fairly innocuous statement with the semi-apologetic disclaimer, "Not that I'm a feminist, or anything, but..."

I wonder how on earth that happened? How did it come about that women are embarrassed to be identified with an ideological movement committed to promoting women's equality?

A couple of days ago, I had a brief property line skirmish with a new neighbor. The guy has spent I don't even know how many hours with a hundred-foot measuring tape and a ball of twine and a handful of stakes, figuring out the edges of the lot he just bought. His lot sits right against the back of our lot.

The guy measures out his property line again a couple of weeks ago, about the same time I start constructing a dog run behind the house. We visit amiably about where he thinks his property line runs, and I set the fenceline on my side, by several inches. I set the posts in concrete because that's just the right way to set posts. He watches me do this.

A couple of days ago, the guy comes back with his measuring tape and other paraphanalia. Remeasures everything. Decides his line is actually not where he originally marked it. Decides my posts are actually on his property. Tells me so.

The really curious part of all this, though, is that it was so important to Mr. Wonderful that he could perceive himself as being in-the-right, to be justified in his anger, that he actually accused me of going back after he was gone and moving all those posts--posts he'd watched me set in concrete. The total difference? Less than six inches.

Now, I'm an extraordinarily competent woman. I'm not, however, an idiot. Nor am I an amazon. I'm pretty sure I would need a tractor to pull those posts out of the ground.

At this point in the conversation, I made a strategic error. I laughed at him. Then I might have, sort of, maybe accidentally, presented a logical false dilemma suggesting he was either a lunatic, or just not the brightest crayon in the box. I briefly considered asking him if this meant I was off the hook and he was going to finish building the fence--but was stopped by the purplish hue of his face and the veins bulging from his temples.

He demanded I move the posts the four or five inches, to comply with his newly-measured property line. I responded that he was welcome to solve the problem either by calling an actual surveyor, and presenting me with a legal property boundary--or he was welcome to pull the damn posts himself--I'd be happy to compromise and reset them, should he choose either option.

Actually, I may not have been quite that polite about it.

He opted to pull the posts himself. It was frankly a bit alarming. He started flinging himself against the posts to loosen them. The guy was literally running at these big posts, slamming his body into them, grunting and all but foaming at the mouth. I didn't stick around to watch him heave them out of the ground with fifty pounds of concrete clinging to each base.

My housemate managed to smooth it over, at least a bit. Much later.

She informed me that I could have handled the situation in a more calming manner. That seemed completely ridiculous, to me. Maybe that guy's poor wife has to calm his almighty temper, but frankly, I could friggin' care less if he strokes himself out having a tantrum like a two-year-old. She told me, "That's just how men are. You're not straight, so you've never really had to deal with it. But that's pretty much just how men are. Women learn to deal with it."

First of all, I honestly do not believe that's how all men are. Then I started thinking about a comment I would have sworn Kira left--but now I can't find it--to the effect that women engage in calming and affirming behavior towards inferior men, as a sort of culturally programmed response, to keep the peace.

The problem is, when bad behavior is rewarded with that kind of attention, it only reinforces the bad behavior. Why the hell would women want to participate in that crap? That brings us around full-circle, to the beginning thought: why do so many women reject a feminist identification?

Perhaps someone can explain this to me...

From now and ever after...

They will be called The Nazgul:

1. Wayne Allard, Colorado
2. Kit Bond, Missouri
3. Tom Coburn, Oklahoma
4. Thad Cochran, Mississippi
5. John Cornyn, Texas
6. James Inhofe, Oklahoma
7. Pat Roberts, Kansas
8. Jeff Sessions, Alabama
9. Ted Stevens, Alaska

These nine senators (all Republicans) voted against the McCain ammendment banning torture of prisoners.

"...they entered into the realm of shadows. The Nazgul were they, the Ringwraiths, the Enemy's most terrible servants; darkness went with them, and they cried with the voices of death."
From The Silmarillion: "Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age"

PNH has declared this a new meme. Feel free to pick it up and pass it along.

(via Makinglight, via Jim Henley at Unqualified Offerings, via Procrastination.)

Just for JM

Come on out to Seattle any old time, Jean Marie. I know how you feel--there's nothing like horses.

Housekeeping

Okay--in the previous comments thread, I promised a post when I'd recovered from spending the last three days piloting a truck and horse trailer across the Pacific Northwest. In the rain. (I went to eastern Oregon to fetch a friend's pregnant broodmare...but that's a whole other story.)

I've fed the dog, consoled the cat, put the horses to bed, poured myself three fingers of top-shelf bourbon over ice, and checked my email.

You can imagine my consternation to return from three days out of town to discover the inestimable and effervescent Miss Snark posted a link here while I was gone. Even if it was to...errrr...gently chide me for not posting my email within plain sight, at the same time she said kind things about the blog. My email is available in my blogger profile--should anyone else be wondering.

I couldn't help but notice another Mac commented on the Joke post--causing a bit of confusion. At least, it caused some confusion for me. I had a weird moment during which I had to consider seriously whether or not it might be possible that I'd posted something quite intelligent, but utterly not in my own voice. That possibility brought up all kinds of unpleasant and self-reflexive questions about multiple personalities, checkbook balances, future therapy bills, and just how much time it's okay to be missing. Then I clicked on the link in the user name, and it took me to some complete other "Mac". At least, I'm pretty sure.


For my beloved regulars--that actually wasn't me. Welcome, other Mac--nice to see you here. Welcome to Fran and the others who found their way here from Miss Snark, as well. Pull up an opinion and stay for a while.

I was surprised to see that the joke issue seemed to hit a chord with many of you--and pleased, too. Jokes are strange things. I loved the splendid deconstruction that Lisa did. I was thinking I'd need to pester Ms. M to talk about jokes and cultural status issues, too.

Don't go all paranoid on me, folks. It's interesting that the funniest jokes often have a bit of an edge to them. Which, I imagine, makes them intrinsically unfunny for the object, at least in some cases--the lesbian joke that I started the post with, for example. That joke has always seemed even funnier to me than to any of the straight folks I know--who "get it" but don't internalize it the same way.

Of course, that might just say something unflattering about my sense of humor, too.

A joke.

Q: How many politically-correct lesbians does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: (delivered deadpan) That's not funny. You think that's funny? That's not funny.


So I did that thing--that obnoxious thing so eloquently captured in the joke above. I stepped on a guy's joke. The joke had to do with the ideal woman--about three feet tall, with removable teeth and no vocal cords, so the joke goes. The guy made the joke on a public forum, in a sort of joking, just-for-fun thread. He wasn't off-topic or anything.

I just thought it was breathtakingly offensive and misogynistic. So I said so. Talk about a conversation-stopper. Finally, another woman piped up, said something to ease the awkward silence, and the conversation resumed.

I started thinking about whether or not I'd have done/said the same thing in a real-life social setting. Yup. I'm pretty sure I would.

I don't think I'm a typically humorless person. Heh. However, I do think there are situations where something might by hysterically funny--but in other situations, desperately innappropriate and offensive.

I also think misogyny continues to be a very real and serious problem in our culture. I came quite late to feminism, and by a rather sideways and circuitous route--and I'm not accustomed to thinking of myself as one of those chicks with no sense of humor...

You know what, though? It wasn't fucking funny.

Okay.

You know what? The spam is getting out of control. If I actually was a person who slept more, I'd never be able to keep up with the onslaught.

Here's the thing. I really loathe those little verification boxes, where you have to type in the jumble of distorted letters, to prove you're a real poster. I hate those. I find them insanely difficult, all out of proportion to how difficult I imagine I should find them, for one thing...

So for those of you who have added the verification to your comments, do you find it helps? Is it really worth it?

Because those little boxes are a serious check on my impulse to comment on other people's blogs, I gotta admit. I'll type a long comment, then I encounter the dreaded verification box, and it's about 50-50 whether I take a stab at deciphering the letters I'm supposed to type, or just say, "Aw, hell. Forget it" and delete the comment and go read something else.

Miers' nomination

So we don't know anything about her, really.

The NY Times reports that she did make a conversion to evangelical Christianity, simultaneous with her move towards the Republican party.

"Just a closer walk with thee..."

I know more than a little bit about evangelical Christians and Republicans, both, having been raised among them.

The shape of the US Supreme Court is going to be very different, for the next generation or so.

"You remind me of the man...(what man?)"

"In hoodoo practice, after one completes a "job of work" or magical ritual, the most neutral way to dispose of remnants such as left-over candle wax, incense ashes, footprint-dirt, or ritual bath water is to carry everything to the crossroads, throw it into the intersection, turn and walk home without looking back. (Alternative methods for the disposal of ritual items include throwing them into running water for get away or moving spells, taking them to a graveyard for hard-core enemy work, or burying them in one's yard for drawing influences toward one.) "

--from this site

"The man with the power...(what power?)"

Can't you just see the crossroads? Robert Johnson's crossroads, where he sold his soul to the devil, the story goes, in return for genius. Oh, what we would trade for our heart's desire.

It's a metaphor, of course.

At least, in the clean light of day, I'm pretty sure it's a metaphor. We make those trades every day, right? Stealing time and energy from families and jobs, to put towards the monster we're building in our basement, or that manuscript we're assembling, or that degree that's supposed to take us somewhere, or...Well...You get the idea.

"The power of hoodoo...(Hoodoo?)
You do..."

It seems so simple and clean, in comparison, just to take your guitar down to the crossroads at midnight and wait for that big black guy to show up and offer to tune it for you.

It's a way of thinking, too, though--what do you want badly enough that you'd trade everything else you have, just for that one thing? Sacrifice everything? I think there are things we think we want that badly, but when the rubber hits the road we don't want it so badly after all. Not badly enough to go find our own crossroads late one night, anyway.

That isn't a bad thing, by the way--it's about balance versus insanity. I don't believe you have to be tortured and driven to get what you want.

"Standin' at the crossroads, risin' sun goin' down
Standin' at the crossroads baby, the risin' sun goin' down
I believe to my soul now, po' Bob is sinkin' down"
(From Crossroads Blues, Robert Johnson)

I also don't believe you have to be tortured and driven to be brilliant.

But if you did...how bad do you want it?

Oh, look!

Tom Delay has been indicted...

Michael Brown melts down and blames the Katrina response on everyone from the president to local faith-based organizations...

The Rita response was sadly lacking, too...

The National Enquirer says W fell off the wagon...(who cares if it's true--it's gotta be embarrassing)

A google for "impeach Bush" brings up over 2 million hits...

Sane and normal people are unhappy about the push to put religious mythology into our science classrooms...(go ahead, ask me how I really feel about "Intelligent Design"...)

Just by glancing at the headlines for the last couple of days, I'd almost think the whole BushCo house of cards is teetering.

But I've always been an optimist.

After the War Between the States...

An influx of northerners sought to exploit the condition of the South to make a bunch of money.
The carpetbaggers had little real interest in helping repair the nation after the civil war--mostly they wanted to buy up property and manipulate the political disarray for their personal benefit.

Just sayin'.

Cool people

You know how it is. Sometimes, in the course of an otherwise utterly horrible day, you happen across some stranger who does something so unexpectedly kind and thoughtful that you're caught flat-footed with surprise...

You go away from the encounter feeling much better about humanity in general, and your own lot in life, specifically.

That's how I felt about the girl at the Motel 6 in California in the middle of the night. I'd stopped maybe 20 other places--they were all either full, or wouldn't take my dog. Moreover, it was getting late: midnight...one a.m....two...The night clerks were getting ruder and ruder, as the night wore on.

By two-thirty, feeling desperately tired, wanting a shower and a stiff drink and to get the hell out of my vehicle and into a bed, I stopped at the last of five motels off of the interstate exit--a Motel 6. Normally, I probably wouldn't even have considered it. I like wifi in my room. I like a bar and restaurant on-premises.

But it was two-thirty in the morning, I'd been driving nearly 20 hours, and their jaunty radio-slogan was running through my head, "We'll leave the light on for ya!" So I swung the truck and horse trailer into the parking lot, on my way back to the freeway to push on--however unwillingly--to the next town.

The kid at the night desk window looked up from her book and gave me a sunny grin when I showed up. I'm sure I didn't look happy OR approachable under the sodium-vapor lights of the parking lot. I said, without preamble, "PLEASE tell me you have a room."

She did. A clean, spartan little room. Bless 'em. And she was NICE about it, too.

Re-reading "The Dead Zone"

Does anyone remember what on earth the lightning rod salesman has to do with anything else in the whole friggin' book? His name is Andrew Dohay, we meet him on page 83 (Signet, 1980) in a bar called Cathy's, where the proprietor declines to buy any lightning rods. He climbs in his car and apparently departs the story on page 86. The scene is written from the seller of lightning rods' point of view.

I'm now on page 316. About a hundred pages ago, I started to wonder what ever happened to the guy. I'm right on the verge of having to stop reading and backtrack to see if I missed anything.

Self-indulgence.

Some bright autumn morning, you might decide to lace on your hiking boots and walk. You might cross the horse pasture behind the house, your trail stretching through the wet grasses of the pasture behind you, arrowing back the way you came. Perhaps you pause, turn and look over your shoulder at the place where you dwell, pale sun slanting off the windows, the last of the frost glinting from the shaded part of the lawn, protected by the single cottonwood profiled against the sky.

You can push your hands deep in fleece pockets against the cold of the fall morning, and think warm thoughts about the smell of bacon in your kitchen, but walk on. Climb through the barb-wire fence on the edge of the pasture and walk down the hill. There are wagon ruts still carved into the earth, here--grassed over, now, but your feet find the track and follow, unerringly.

At the bottom of the long hill, the old road hidden beneath the grass veers sharply right, away from the rim of the coulee. You can leave the path, though, and go and stand on the edge looking down. Perhaps deer are still feeding in the canyon bottom, lulled by the cool sunlight. Knowing that winter is surely coming.

At the top of the coulee the good earth falls away beneath your feet. The prairie ends in sandstone cliffs where the coyotes and buffalo dance forever, etched into the stones by hands long since gone back into the sod beneath the long brown grasses and wild roses covered in brilliant red hips.

And it abides. Even when you turn back, cheeks flushed, to go home to your coffee and the day--it abides.

War is very ugly

Images from Iraq. Only if you haven't eaten recently.

At last...

The truth comes out. The destruction of the Gulf Coast is all Ellen Degeneres' fault. I found it via the very fabulous Shakespeare's Sister, who found it on the way-too-cool TBogg.

Pat Robertson said:

“This is the second time in a row that God has invoked a disaster shortly before lesbian Ellen Degeneres hosted the Emmy Awards,” Robertson explained to his approximately one million viewers. “America is waiting for her to apologize for the death and destruction that her sexual deviance has brought onto this great nation.”

The first time, apparently, was 9-11.
Pat Robertson is a fucking idiot.

Behold the all-encompassing power of our lesbian sexuality. Tremble, weak-kneed and wanting, before us queers! BWahHahhAaahahahaaaaa!!!!


(Okay--the article is really satire. It's a fake. Robertson didn't actually say that stuff. The scary part is that it's completely believable that he would. *sigh*)

Another September 11

This is how my mother feels about the day JFK was killed. She was in Dallas that day.
She's said that the country seemed to change, after that. Things went inexplicably sour.

From a historical standpoint, I know that the pendulum swings back and forth, and September 11, 2001 was not really the beginning of this country's slide into the new dark age of neo-conservatism, anti-intellectualism, and get-whatcha-can and fuck the poor...but I think the events of that day hastened the slide.

And shame on us, for allowing it.

I was going to say...

I was going to write more about Katrina. More about the grief and anger and outrage and disgust I've been immersed in for the last two weeks.

Perhaps talk about Michael Brown being recalled to Washington, to prepare for Ophelia, now swirling around out in the Atlantic.

Or yet another villain, Rep. Baker of Baton Rouge saying, "We finally cleaned up public housing in New Orleans. We couldn't do it, but God did."

Or, certainly more inspirational than Baker or Brown, 6 year old hero Deamonte Love.

It just seemed terribly self-indulgent, though, considering what the victims of the storm are going through. Besides, other bloggers are saying it all, and saying it better.

Meanwhile, the perfidy goes on. From the NY Times: "WASHINGTON, Sept. 9 - A three-judge federal appeals court panel ruled unanimously on Friday that President Bush had the authority to detain as an enemy combatant an American citizen who fought United States forces on foreign soil."

We can't afford to get too exhausted. We can't stop watching what happens. Because this administration has lots more people to kill, and the deaths of a few thousand of our poorer, more marginalized citizens mean precisely nothing to them. That's becoming more clear, every day.

Perhaps in another few days, I'll be able to think and say something intelligent about something else. Biodiesel and alternative energy sources. Or hope for an almost-forgotten endangered species. Or how the Red Cross first-aid class went. Something besides the smirking villainy residing in the White House.

I remember being a kid, and reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln. I was filled with profound admiration (and a blossoming but then-unrecognized love of history) and read every book about presidents that I could find in the little school library.

I understand very well that this administration's actions and attitudes will be fascinating, from a historical perspective. From a safe distance.

Sort of like Idi Amin.

Timelines

Timeline of events Leading up to Katrina.
by Evan Derkacz - alternet.org

Katrina Disaster timeline
ThinkProgress.org

Reports of the media being blocked - via Talk Left

Personal accounts from Inside the Astrodome - via BoingBoing

MSNBC Video - video editorial by Keith Olbermann

I'll say more about this link round up later, I'm sure. I had to take a step back for a couple of days. The grief and rage were on the verge of overwhelming me. Also, I had to do some work on the deck before the winter rain starts.

Because that's what we do, before the seasons change, right? We prepare. We reinforce. We replace that which is crumbling.

It goes on...

This is from today.
“One of the Worst Abandonments of Americans on American Soil Ever”
Crooks and Liars has the video.
Part of the transcript follows:

"The president of Jefferson Parish in New Orleans, Aaron Broussard, just issued an emotional appeal on NBC’s Meet the Press. By the end, he was completely broken down, sobbing uncontrollably:
RUSSERT: You just heard the director of homeland security’s explanation of what has happened this last week. What is your reaction?
BROUSSARD: We have been abandoned by our own country. Hurricane Katrina will go down in history as one of the worst storms ever to hit an American coast. But the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina will go down as one of the worst abandonments of Americans on American soil ever in U.S. history. … Whoever is at the top of this totem pole, that totem pole needs to be chainsawed off and we’ve got to start with some new leadership. It’s not just Katrina that caused all these deaths in New Orleans here. Bureaucracy has committed murder here in the greater New Orleans area and bureaucracy has to stand trial before Congress now.

Broussard then discussed the difficulties local authorities had with FEMA, including one case where they actually posted armed guards to keep FEMA from cutting their communications lines (*MacNote--but don't miss the way that Russert tries to shift the blame onto Mayor Nagin and Governor Blanco):
'Three quick examples. We had Wal-Mart deliver three trucks of water. FEMA turned them back. They said we didn’t need them. This was a week ago. FEMA, we had 1,000 gallons of diesel fuel on a Coast Guard vessel docked in my parish. When we got there with our trucks, FEMA says don’t give you the fuel. Yesterday — yesterday — FEMA comes in and cuts all of our emergency communication lines. They cut them without notice. Our sheriff, Harry Lee, goes back in, he reconnects the line. He posts armed guards and said no one is getting near these lines…

Finally, Broussard told the tragic personal story of a colleague, and broke down:

I want to give you one last story and I’ll shut up and let you tell me whatever you want to tell me. The guy who runs this building I’m in, Emergency Management, he’s responsible for everything. His mother was trapped in St. Bernard nursing home and every day she called him and said, “Are you coming, son? Is somebody coming?” and he said, “Yeah, Mama, somebody’s coming to get you.” Somebody’s coming to get you on Tuesday. Somebody’s coming to get you on Wednesday. Somebody’s coming to get you on Thursday. Somebody’s coming to get you on Friday… and she drowned Friday night. She drowned Friday night! [Sobbing] Nobody’s coming to get us. Nobody’s coming to get us...'"

We are surely damned, if we continue to attempt to rationalize or countenance this behavior on the part of our elected officials.

NOLA View Weblog

Heroes

Celine Dion - you've got to watch the video.
Anita Roach -"Roach stood out as a beacon of beauty and strength against a backdrop of death and despair."

"Roach never stopped singing, never stopped smiling, never stopped comforting a crowd of some of the last of Hurricane Katrina’s victims to receive even a shred of assistance. She sang from her belly with a voice that could be heard down the block, drowning out cries for help and the rumble of National Guard trucks. One by one, family, friends complete strangers joined her, clapping and singing as she led them as she had choir director at New Jerusalem Missionary Baptist Church in Bridge City..

"When this world
Is tossing me
Like a ship on the raging sea
Thou who rulest the winds and water
Stand by me, stand by me"

Bystander says song prevented possible rioting Song for broken souls Roach had arrived at the Convention Center to find a chaotic scene, where the only food or water or booze came from looters and people desperate to survive."

Marisol chef/owner Pete Vasquez -

"Chef Pete is still in New Orleans. Marisol is undamaged. Please help us to help others.

We can feed the hungry with your help.

Massive clean-up and rescue efforts are finally underway and all of those rescuers and remaining displaced New Orleanians are very hungry.

Chef Pete is co-ordinating with one of our specialty produce suppliers, who is now in exile in Texas. The two of them believe that they will be able to round up enough supplies to feed many people for many days & weeks, but only with your help."

(excerpted from an email sent to Chuck Taggart, posted on his blog Looka. You'll have to scroll down, I can't find the permalink.)

Jabbar Gibson - "Jabbar Gibson's first time behind the wheel of a school bus was spent transporting dozens of people from New Orleans to the Reliant Astrodome."

Ernest Washington - "While Thomas was figuring his family's fate that first night, little Ernest bolted to the rooftop.

He had fashioned a white flag on a piece of stick, and began waving. "That is one courageous boy," Thomas said.

A helicopter passed them by. A National Guard unit passed them by."

Derrick Trahan - "the world's maddest unofficial paramedic"
"The medic, Mr. Traham, said nine people have died in the centre named after Dutch Morial. They're kept in what everyone calls "the fridge." They were taken there, not by any authorities, not by police, but by the people who watched them die and wither away, and who now can hardly bear to remember that for a few days here, these strangers were family."

Lt General Russel Honore - General Honore is quoted as saying, "By-and-large, these are families that are just waiting to get out of here. They are frustrated; I would be, too. I get frustrated at the cash register counter when the paper runs out."

[From the CNN article linked]
Hundreds of National Guard and active duty troops are carrying weapons in the city. But the way they carried those guns was a concern to the general.

He ordered all he encountered to point their weapons down, said CNN Pentagon Correspondent Barbara Starr, who was with the general. Honore repeatedly went up to military vehicles, National Guardsmen standing sentry and even to New Orleans police officers, telling them to please point their weapons down and reminding them that they were not in Iraq.

I'll add to this as I find stories. Feel free to point to the stories YOU'VE heard, too.

Chief Justice dead

Chief Justice William Rehnquist died this evening.

"We are you."

Anne Rice's NY Times statement, here.

Among other things, she says:

I know that New Orleans will win its fight in the end. I was born in the city and lived there for many years. It shaped who and what I am. Never have I experienced a place where people knew more about love, about family, about loyalty and about getting along than the people of New Orleans. It is perhaps their very gentleness that gives them their endurance.

They will rebuild as they have after storms of the past; and they will stay in New Orleans because it is where they have always lived, where their mothers and their fathers lived, where their churches were built by their ancestors, where their family graves carry names that go back 200 years. They will stay in New Orleans where they can enjoy a sweetness of family life that other communities lost long ago.

But to my country I want to say this: During this crisis you failed us. You looked down on us; you dismissed our victims; you dismissed us. You want our Jazz Fest, you want our Mardi Gras, you want our cooking and our music. Then when you saw us in real trouble, when you saw a tiny minority preying on the weak among us, you called us "Sin City," and turned your backs.

Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you.

I don't have any links for this

My housemate (she's a dialysis and critical care nurse) just informed me that a doctor has managed to procure a New Orleans area Wa* Mart. He's setting it up to help the most medically compromised, out of that facility.

He only has five staffing volunteers so far, but she signed up to go. She goes on the hero list, too.

This is what it's going to take. We are going to have to do this ourselves.

I weep for New Orleans

Patrick Nielsen Hayden at Making Light point out this story, at Respectful of Otters.

Why The Aid Wasn't There

The Red Cross has been ordered not to enter New Orleans with relief.

Hurricane Katrina: Why is the Red Cross not in New Orleans?

• Acess to New Orleans is controlled by the National Guard and local authorities and while we are in constant contact with them, we simply cannot enter New Orleans against their orders.


• The state Homeland Security Department had requested--and continues to request--that the American Red Cross not come back into New Orleans following the hurricane. Our presence would keep people from evacuating and encourage others to come into the city.

"Our presence would keep people from evacuating and encourage others to come into the city." See, and here you thought that tens of thousands of people spent the last few days trapped in the Superdome or the Convention Center without food, water, medical care, electric power, or basic sanitation, in constant fear of violence, surrounded by the unburied corpses of their fellow victims, because they couldn't evacuate. But all this time, they've been there by choice. If they had a Red Cross station distributing fresh water and sandwiches, they'd choose to stay in their fetid, corpse-riddled, life-threatening, lawless swamp of a city indefinitely. You know what those people are like, always sitting around waiting for a handout. Humanitarian aid just encourages them.

Yes, clearly, it's far better to evacuate Katrina's victims than to leave them in place in New Orleans. But when you can't get them all out right away - and they haven't even been able to finish evacuating the hospitals, much less the lower-priority evacuees - you need to provide aid in place. Immediately, not five days later. To willfully withhold basic life support from tens of thousands of desperate people because you think it will discourage evacuation is - actually, I have no words strong enough for what it is. Unconscionable. Morally depraved. A crime against humanity. Nothing seems strong enough.

How about "murder"?

One of the commenters at Making Light pointed out this report of people TRYING to evacuate...but being turned back.

So, what do we call it when thousands of people are trapped in a box, and we don't let them out, and we don't give them any food or water...?

*update: Feds refuse aid from Chicago, too. Reported from Talk Left.
**new update: Daily Kos has some frightening things to say about what begins to look less like incompetence, and more like systematic obstructionism.

Meanwhile...

Remember all those reports of widespread violence? Remember how it just wasn't safe to try and rescue or take relief into the city?

From Canada's The Globe and Mail:
"Everywhere Fred and I went yesterday, people came running up to us. They knew, by Fred's cameras, we were press. They knew we couldn't help. But they were so grateful that their story might be told (and, I believe, to see a couple of white people who were not afraid of them because of their skin colour) that they embraced us like friends.

Most of them were brought here, or told to come here, from the safe high ground of local highways where many of them spent days waiting for buses and help, after they were rescued from roofs and attics.

Nothing happens. Nothing changes. And yet as each new rumour arises of an army of buses on its way, they line up, orderly-like, their old people and babies up front and wait."

"Let Them Eat Cake..."

"Out of the rubble of Trent Lott's house -- he lost his entire house -- there's going to be a fantastic house. And I'm looking forward to sitting on the porch." --George W. Bush, quoted in the Washington Post.

Rolling up our sleeves

New Orleans mayor Ray Nagin said last night:

...we authorized $8 billion to go to Iraq, lickety-quick. After 9/11, we gave the president unprecedented powers -- lickety-quick -- to take care of New York and other places. Now you mean to tell me that a place where most of the oil is coming through... a place that is so unique, when you mention New Orleans anywhere around the world, everybody's eyes light up... you mean to tell me that a place where you probably have thousands people that have died, and thousands more that are dying every day, that we can't figure out a way to authorize the resources that we need? Come on, man.

You know I'm not one of those drug addicts, I am thinking very clearly. And I don't know whose problem it is. I don't know whether it's the governor's problem, I don't know whether it's the president's problem. But somebody needs to get their ass on a plane, and sit down, the two of them, and figure this out right now."

The transcript is here--(from Friday, September 2.)

You can listen to the interview here, or if you have trouble with that link, the CNN link is here.

It is obvious at this point that our federal government is fucking useless, worthless, incompetent, and callous-to-the-point of criminality.

The Rude Pundit has this to say about the situation: "But the Bush adminstration has broken the basic social contract in New Orleans, the one that goes all the way back to Thomas Hobbes and John Locke, the one that says we adhere to laws because you agree to protect us, and thus the city and its citizens have returned to the state of nature, which is to survive, motherfuckers, just survive."

He's absolutely, succinctly correct.

That observation isn't going to help a single human being, though. Moreover, it's no surprise.The help that has arrived in the Gulf Coast region is too fucking little, too fucking late, and god bless the men and women on the ground, there, doing the best they can with little support and apparently no effective command structure.

That means Americans are going to have to help each other as best we can, and deal with the massive, tragic, and internationally embarrassing failings of the Bush Administration later.

Right now, our own desperately need help.

The American Red Cross donation site

The American Red Cross volunteer match site

http://www.volunteermatch.org/

Network for Good: resources for non-profit organizations

USA Freedom Corps--volunteer network

WorldVision.org

Northwest Medical Teams, international

Very likely, local organizations in your own community are also mounting relief efforts. Please get involved. If you can't give money, or space in your house, give an hour or two of your time.

____________

Another "I'm okay" registry some of these sites really need to combine their efforts. There are just too many to keep track of, of perform effectively.


Katrina Information map--this is an interactive and ongoing project.

Just a few disorganized thoughts.

The more I find out about just how very many people are affected by the hurricane disaster, the more I deeply believe that this moment in history will define us for a very long time to come--the same way the War Between the States defined generations of Americans, continuing all the way to the present.

This moment--more than 9/11 or Iraq, more than the Clinton impeachment, more than any thing that's happened since Vietnam--will determine more than we realize about what this country becomes in the future.

Now. What the fuck do we do about it?

Listen up!

From Chuck Taggart's blog, Looka
"Listen to "Down Home" with me tonight.

I have to go into KCSN tonight and do a radio show that consists primarily of New Orleans music. [snip]

I'll have some New Orleans friends with me, and that'll be a comfort. And it'll be additionally comforting to know that some of my friends out there are listening too. Tune in at 7pm Pacific Time, locally at 88.5 FM or via the webcast at kcsn.org. We'll let Kermit do the talking, all about "what is New Orleans"; we'll listen to Jack Fine and his Palmetto Bug Stompers; we'll listen to Louis singing about knowing what it means to miss New Orleans. Let's do it together."

So if y'all are somewhere you can listen to a webcast tonight--the party's at kcsn.org.

Cheers for Houston's citizens

From NewsFlash:
"Standing in the Rose Garden, Bush said, "This recovery will take a long time. This recovery will take years."

He said buses were on the way to help take thousands of storm survivors from the overwhelmed Superdome in New Orleans to the Astrodome in Houston."

Meanwhile, from assorted word-of-mouth sources, rumor has it the bulldozers and earth-movers are already rolling on neighborhoods, but I've yet to be able to confirm that.

David Benzion* of The Lone Star Times, blogging from the Holiday Inn at the Astrodome, says:

"In a stunning and completely inexplicable display of compassion and generosity, citizens of Houston have begun to offer assistance to arriving refugees without ever having been directed to do so by a properly authorized governmental authority.

Your reporter witnessed this bizarre behavior principally in the Fiesta parking lot across from the Astrodome at Kirby and La Concha. Throughout the evening, several hundred refugees attempted to enter the Astrodome parking lot in crammed and crowded cars, only to be told that they would not be allowed in, since they hadn’t been part of the "official" Superdome caravan and the necessary supplies could not be guaranteed.

Ignoring their lack of proper bureaucratic classification, the plight of these "renegade refugees" was soon alleviated by a steady stream of private individuals and groups who gathered together in the above mentioned parking lot and began to offer assistance. It is not clear when, if ever, this parking lot was designated by federal officials to serve as a "refugee relocation and relief" zone.

One local anarchist boldly grilled and handed out upwards of 400 pounds of free hot dogs, knowingly flouting his lack of public food preparation permits."
*advisory: this blog tends to be over-sensational, with a right-wing agenda I dislike intensely. He was the only eyewitness-on-the-web I could find (so far) posting about the Astrodome situation.

Basin Street Blues, Louis Armstrong

Won't you come and go with me
Down that Mississippi
We'll take a boat to the land of dreams
Come along with me on, down to New Orleans

Now the band's there to greet us
Old friends will meet us
Where all them folks goin to the St. Louis Cemetary meet
Heaven on earth.... they call it Basin Street

I'm tellin' ya, Basin Street...... is the street
Where all them characters from the First street they meet
New Orleans..... land of dreams
you'll never miss them rice and beans
Way down south in New Orleans

They'll be huggin'.... and a kissin'
That's what I been missin'
And all that music....lord, if you just listen'
New Orleans....I got them Basin Street Blues

(instrumental break)

Now ain't you glad you went with me
On down that Mississippi
We took a boat to the land of dreams
Heaven on earth...they call it Basin Street


More images.

More Check-in Links

If you're in the hurricane aftermath zone, let someone know you're okay. There are also areas for discussion of the hurricane and aftermath at the following links.

craigslist>New Orleans>lost & found (Again, with thanks and a nod to TNH at Making Light.)

Katrina Check-In

NOLA refugees.com check-in site

Patrick Connors' check-in site, now automated

Jim Macdonald's check-in site

Responses are beginning to trickle in. There are an enormous number of people missing and unaccounted-for.

Another way to help: Send a flood-bucket.

The sheer magnitude of human suffering as a direct result of this catastrophe cannot even be estimated, yet. Tens of thousands--perhaps more--have lost everything. Many of those people abruptly no longer have jobs, while they begin to face rebuilding.

This is an old, old story for the inhabitants of the Gulf Coast and the Mississippi River flood plains. There's an rich tradition of music and culture and cuisine unique to the region, stemming directly from its mixed and painful history.

If anyone in the world can rebuild--these people can. They will. I have complete faith.

Look, maybe I seem a little obsessive about this. Hell, I probably am. There's a reason for that. My experience of New Orleans--especially the neighborhoods in and around the Quarter--is that reality is a bit suspended, there.

For the rest of my life I will remember walking home from the New Orleans French Quarter in the fog, at around 4:30 in the morning, singing "Stand By Me"--really belting it out. From a balcony maybe a block away, a woman with a gorgeous voice picked up the harmonies on the chorus, weaving in and out around the melody. Then, somewhere else in the fog, a guy picked up the bass line.

The friend I was walking with stopped walking, and later swore that he stopped breathing to listen.

I know I was a little drunk--but every note was pure, and dead-on. There was a weird . . . synergy. The song ended all at once, as if we'd rehearsed it. Something about the acoustics of the streets, in the fog--you could still hear the last notes ringing overhead.

There's not much I can do, from here. I can go to the Red Cross site and donate money. I can spread the word about check-in sites. You can do those things, too.

Katrina Links

Swiped from "Making Light":

Katrina
(Posted by TNH at 12:59 AM)

"Check-in pages: let people know you’re okay, and where you are.

Jim Macdonald’s page at SFF Net.

Patrick Connors’ check-in page.

Basic info and primary data:

NOAA/NWS’s National Hurricane Center website.

The National Weather Service Telecommunication Operations Center, the National Weather Service Forecast Office for New Orleans and Baton Rouge, and the NWS Nonprecipitation Warnings. Even the weather junkies amongst us have never seen the NWS use language like they’ve used tonight. It’s terrifying.

Wikipedia is doing a magnificent job of collecting and compiling information on Katrina.

New Orleans webcams. http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/006666.html#006666

More NOLA webcams.

Even more NOLA webcams. There’s some overlap from site to site.

Brian Robak has a spectacular collection of animated and still radar and satellite images.

A satellite image of New Orleans, for reference.

The concise New Orleans Hurricane Impact Study Area page, with assorted useful links, maps, and charts, including a shaded wireframe map of areas of New Orleans that are below sea level.

News compilers and knowledgeable watchers:

Jeff Masters’ extremely knowledgeable Weather Underground site.

Steve Gregory’s Weather Underground page.

Stormtrack: Frequent updates, bleakly humorous titles.

New Orleans Metroblog is collecting storm reports and substantial first-person accounts.

So is the NOLA View weblog.

MetaFilter is accumulating material as usual: much signal, much noise.

Insomnia is collecting storm reports at his Live Journal.

Background articles

Hurricane Risk for New Orleans: one of the two prescient articles everyone’s quoting.

Chris Mooney’s Thinking Big about Hurricanes: the other prescient and much-quoted article.

And another bit from Chris Mooney.

An old Making Light post about New Orleans’ vulnerability.

Popular Mechanics published an article on what could happen if New Orleans gets hit by a Cat. 5 hurricane. The article might have gotten more attention if it hadn’t been published 9/11/01." (end quote)

________________________________________________________________

They're having a terrific ongoing discussion over there.

Also, blogs out of New Orleans:
Looka! I Am Dubious

WSDU Katrina Blog

Polimom--Algiers and East Bank update
________________________________________________________________

How you can help:

DisasterHelp
Salvation Army
Red Cross

The More Things Change...

When the Levee Breaks ("Kansas" Joe McCoy, 1929)

If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break (2x)
And the water gonna come in, have no place to stay

Well all last night I sat on the levee and moan (2x)
Thinkin' 'bout my baby and my happy home

If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break (2x)
And all these people have no place to stay

Now look here mama what am I to do (2x)
I ain't got nobody to tell my troubles to

I works on the levee mama both night and day (2x)
I ain't got nobody, keep the water away

Oh cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do no good (2x)
When the levee breaks, mama, you got to lose

I works on the levee, mama both night and day (2x)
I works so hard, to keep the water away

I had a woman, she wouldn't do for me (2x)
I'm goin' back to my used to be

I's a mean old levee, cause me to weep and moan (2x)
Gonna leave my baby, and my happy home

Last night, I overheard someone point out that Katrina hit
the Gulf Coast at the end of the month.  I suspect a number
of those folks who "chose" to stay and ride it out actually
just flat couldn't afford to evacuate.

Meanwhile I'm watching a dumbass news story about a
vacationing family that couldn't find a car to rent, so they
took a limo--all the way back to Chicago.

Katrina's Aftermath

The worst weather is over, from this storm. For the next several weeks or even months, people will be digging out, rebuilding, putting in new plate glass, and so on.

There's going to be some loss of life. How much remains to be seen.

You might offer a silent thought, positive energy, or even a prayer to the higher-power of your choice, for the people in the path of this storm.

Remember the "Redneck" discussion?

Pete just posted this in the comments on the Redneck entry.
I think it's fucking brilliant.

I'm especially impressed that he managed to read the damn thing, in its current state of template-mucking garish bright-yellow-on-light-gray semi-invisibility.

Pete said...

> You might be a redneck if: It never occurred to you to be offended by the
> phrase, "One nation, under God."

You might be a liberal if: You respect Americans of all cultures.

> You might be a redneck if: You've never protested about seeing the 10
> Commandments posted in public places.

You might be a liberal if: You believe passionately in your own faith, but would never dream of pushing it on someone else.

> You might be a redneck if: You still say "Christmas" instead of "Winter
> Festival."

You might be a liberal if: You know that it doesn't matter what you call it, it's about love, family and giving.

> You might be a redneck if: You bow your head when someone prays.

You might be a liberal if: You bow your head when a Christian prays, you turn to face Mecca when a Muslim prays, and you respect people who don't want to pray at all.

> You might be a redneck if: You stand and place your hand over your heart
> when they play the National Anthem.

You might be a liberal if: You have such a strong sense of pride in your country that you don't get upset if people don't do things your way.

> You might be a redneck if: You treat Viet Nam vets with great respect, and
> always have.

You might be a liberal if: You are proud of the men and women who fought for America, and allow yourself to question whether they needed to die.

> You might be a redneck if: You've never burned an American flag.

You might be a liberal if: You believe the part in the Bible about idol worship, and understand that the flag is just a symbol.

> You might be a redneck if: You know what you believe and you aren't afraid
> to say so, no matter who is listening.

You might be a liberal if: You have enough humility to listen to other people's opinions and aren't afraid when they're different from yours.

> You might be a redneck if: You respect your elders and expect your
> kids to do the same.

You might be a liberal if: You respect people of all ages and expect your kids to do the same.

> You might be a redneck if: You'd give your last dollar to a friend.

You might be a liberal if: You actually have given money to a friend in the last week.

Thanks, Pete.

How Do You Feel About...

So here's a little anecdote about Mac's sordid past.

Years ago, as a frequently-drunken undergraduate working too many jobs to pay for my education, I was sitting in a dorm lounge with some friends late one weekend night.

Now, my 19-year-old self knew just exactly how very clever I was, on the one hand--but also, my 19-year-old-self was doing some struggling with gender-identity and feminist issues. I'd been raised in a magnificently repressive fundamentalist Christian home and church-culture. I knew without any discussion or articulation that all queers went straight to hell, do not pass go, do NOT collect two hundred dollars. Queers die, get hauled straight to the basement, and popped in a kind of torpedo tube direct to the underworld, right? So my 19-year-old self had never so much as kissed a girl, and I certainly couldn't directly confront the odd...longings...starting to manifest themselves.

But I could and did approach the snarly problem from a feminist perspective. That approach was, in fact, quite encouraged in this particular little liberal-arts institution. I don't know why it was all right for me to first address the problems of misogyny in fundamentalist Christianity--but I suspect it was because my mother was a sort of underground feminist, in her more lucid and rebellious moments. She'd planted seeds of questions and anger about the injustices of misogyny that were more approachable to me than were questions of personal sexual identity.

So here I was with a group of similarly beginning-to-seek-enlightenment friends--both male* and female--sitting in a dorm late one Friday or Saturday night, probably a bit drunk. So the whole topic of female bodies comes up, and the upshot of the whole discussion leads us to decide we must conduct an impromptu and unscientific survey, right then, of whoever happened to walk through the lounge on their way to their room.

The survey questions were simple: "How do you feel about your breasts? Do you like them? Why or why not?"

This led, quite predictably, to a fairly wide variety of responses. Lots of the young women we asked promptly grabbed their own breasts, and put an exaggeratedly thoughtful look on their faces, and answered with a wide range of mostly very positive observations.

More than one guy grabbed his girlfriend's breasts, then grabbed his own chest in comparison, to offer his input, as well.

A couple of girls just averted their faces and fled for their rooms.

Meanwhile, almost twenty years later, I still recall this episode with disturbing clarity. Because it seems to me what we were really asking is something akin to, "how do you feel about the sex of your body--outside of normal gender conventions, if you can go there; or inside those conventions, if you cannot."

So I want to ask it again. In a more thoughtful and less drunken way, this time. How do you feel about your breasts? (Or your vagina, for that matter--but we just weren't goin' there, that night. We weren't that brave and clever.)

More specifically, how do you feel about the condition of being a woman, in a woman's body? And for the guys out there reading this (you know who you are...) I'd like to broaden that question to include you, as well. How do you feel about your male body? What do you think about the condition of being a man in a man's body?

How does this shape who we are--which is so much more than either just our brains or just our bodies, but seems to me to be a synergistic sum?

Because the harder I look at those questions, the more I realize how right we almost got it, that night so long ago. So very much of our personal identity is wrapped up in our sexual identifiers. Which explains an awful lot about interpersonal dynamics, when we damn well ought to know better by now.

*Interesting side-note: two of the three guys involved in this event later came out gay.

"We Have Met the Enemy..."

No, I'm not going to bitch about Iraq. Promise. Well, probably not, anyway.

I was thinking about build-it-yourself boogeymen, though. You know what I mean, right? Those terrors that assume gargantuan proportions in our own minds--then when we face them, the reality seems oddly anticlimactic.

And something more than the everyday neurosis--I'm not talking about run-of-the mill hypochondria, for instance. I mean something more on the order of Stephen King's The Dark Half...

Take, for example, the troubling idea of tulpa creation. Essentially, the idea is continued focus brings a being to life. From the site linked:

When Alexandra David-Neel journeyed through Tibet, one of the many mystical techniques she studied was that of tulpa creation. A tulpa, according to traditional Tibetan doctrines, is an entity created by an act of imagination, rather like the fictional characters of a novelist, except that tulpas are not written down. David-Neel became so interested in the concept that she decided to try to create one.

Yep. On purpose.
But wait! It gets even better!

In time the vision grew in clarity and substance until it was indistinguishable from physical reality-a sort of self-induced hallucination. But the day came when the hallucination slipped from her conscious control. She discovered that the monk would appear from time to time when she had not willed it. Furthermore her friendly little figure was slimming down and taking on a distinctly sinister aspect.

Eventually her companions, who where unaware of the mental disciplines she was practicing, began to ask about the "stranger" who had turned up in their camp-a clear indication that a creature which was no more that solidified imagination had definite objective reality.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio...

If I may direct your attention...

I'm home from a weekend tramping through the woods on horseback, leaving me sunburnt, tired and grimy. So I'm just going to direct your attention to Kira's blog, Loving Twilight.

She has an excellent post about the new Dove ads, and female body-images: good, bad, and other fucked-uppedness...

She writes:

"I'd seen the ads in magazines, and I found them so refreshing I showed them to every woman in my office one day. Even the size 1 pixie with the glittery nails--and Ms. Glittery even commented that the women looked like real women.

Finally, I thought. Real hips on billboards! The world was a little better the day those Dove ads came out.

And then I read the post. It was written by a woman. In one sentence she undid all the praise she had for Dove.

"Thank God I'm skinnier than those women," she wrote.

Wham. All that hope of liberating the feminine ideal was dashed in one afterthought.

We can hate those other ads, with their images and ideals of the 95-pound blond in 5-inch heels all we want, but as long as we identify with said blond in our hearts, we have gained no ground."

The rest of the post is excellent, too. Go, read. I'll just grab a shower and a cold beer, and I'll be back in a wee while...

New Look

I've been tweaking the template a bit, trying to find something easier to read than the light text/dark background. When I started this blog, I liked the simplicity of this template's layout--and honestly, I just didn't realize how hard on the eyes it was going to be.

Let me know if you hate the changes too much.

Or if you like the changes, for that matter.

Everyone in the world knows more about CSS and html, than I do. I've come to terms with that--heh, and I still have lots of fun mucking about. I'll try not to lose the entire thing somewhere in the ether.

Thanks for your patience.

Blogger CYA

Dawno brought this up.

She says:

"I get CNet news alerts in my email daily. I feel a need to stay on top of certain techie news because of my job at a high tech company. Today I got a news alert and the headline was "Blogging to be Free" by Curt Hopkins, director and founder of the Committee to Protect Bloggers.

I found my self nodding my head when I read, "Newspapers, even individual Web sites, are relatively easy to shut down. But what can't be shut down is a self-perpetuating system like the blogosphere. What our experience has shown is not that a single organization, the Committee to Protect Bloggers, is a threat to tyrants, but that blogging itself is. Blogging's culture of sharing, quoting and linking has created a radical redundancy for powerful ideas." I've mentioned here and there about my fascination with the communities of interest being built in the blogosphere and even though my circle of online acquaintances, i.e. my community, might be somewhat small they have online friends who blog who have online friends who blog, etc., nearly ad infinitum."

Curt Hopkins, in C-Net's "Blogging to be Free", asserts:

"Iran has imprisoned more than 20 bloggers in the last six to eight months. But it is hardly the only villain. Bahrain, a relatively liberal country for a hereditary Persian Gulf monarchy, imprisoned three moderators of BahrainOnline, a bulletin board service, including the chief, a blogger named Ali Abdulemam. Ali and his two co-moderators were also subsequently released on their own recognizance after a similar effort by Bahraini bloggers and the CPB. China has a huge number of cyberdissidents behind bars. Security police in Malaysia and Syria have hauled bloggers in for interrogation."

It's not quite that bad, here in the States.

However, blogging in the Free World is not without risks, or sometimes consequences.
There seems to be a pretty common perception that blogging is becoming a risky thing to do.
Google turns up a ton of news articles about all this.

Then there was the whole nanny-getting-fired thing, not so long ago. I sort of followed the story in Making Light and Bitch Ph.D.

The recently infamous Dr. Richard Scott Nokes*, of Unlocked Wordhoard, discussed blogging as an academic.

It's been discussed widely elsewhere, too. There's already a Legal Guide for Bloggers, online.

I'm not sure what to make of all this. My instincts suggest that perhaps there's more going on with these employer/employee relationships than the employee's blog--but perhaps not. Keeping your job is powerful motivation to keep your mouth shut--and it always has been.

Staying out of prison is much more powerful motivation, as is avoiding torture.

Perhaps it's all been discussed to death, already. That's okay. It never hurts to float the issue across the surface of our thoughts now and then, especially in the context of the ongoing discussion we've been recently having, regarding technology, community, and interpersonal dynamics--perhaps it will serve to prevent us from becoming smug and complacent.


(*ed note: Dr. Nokes thinks The Silmarillion is boring. This pronouncement resulted in worldwide virtual protests....or, well, actually a couple of other bloggers and commenters took mild issue. Dr. Taylor at PoliBlog comes to Dr. Nokes' defense. To be perfectly honest, I've never been able to force myself all the way through the Sil--I keep falling asleep and having to start all over. I'm keeping my head down about that, though. Meanwhile, it's all been triffic good fun to watch.)

Technology, Alienation, and Sex Chat

Er...no. We aren't going to sex chat, here.

Although I'm not typically heavy-handed on the delete-comment button, and conversations have a way of going where they will; so technically, I suppose it could happen...It just isn't really my intention or point.

Since we've been discussing online communities, general alienation, and the role of technology in interpersonal dynamics; I started wondering how all that plays out in the internet dating phenomena. We all know people--or know of people--who met current partners or spouses online. Maybe we make fun of it.

There's the whole proliferation of forums and rooms specifically devoted to sex-chat.

There's the occasional unsolicited IM from a stranger, wanting to know if you'd like to cyber with him/her.

What's up with that? Is it that hard to meet real people? Is it just way more fun when sex becomes an exercise of imagination, separated from a solo act of masturbation by the presence of a participant--who isn't in the room?

Is is about flirtation from a safe distance? Some combination of all of the above, with elements as yet undiscussed, here?

Do we make value judgements about it? Sure. What's the line? What's okay online, and what do we find distasteful--even while recognizing that a great number of consenting adults not only do not agree, but enthusiastically participate?

I've never participated in the whole cyber-sex thing, but I do know people who have experimented with it. I also know of one marriage that was destroyed, at least in part, by a woman's online "extra-curricular" activity.

That suggests to me that on some level, in some contexts, people view cyber-relationships as real; therefore, on some level, that interaction has a degree of power to be both fulfilling to some extent, and potentially threatening.

I think we can safely extend that "real" status to non-sexual relationships, as well.

General Paranoia

Is any one else really creeped out by the whole OnStar thing? The radio commercial transcripts of "real-life OnStar conversations with people-in-need" have me coming out of my skin with paranoid heebie-jeebies, all by themselves.

The only bright spot here is that there are a number of mock-transcripts floating around that are funnier than hell.

Do we really need a service that can let us into our locked cars, tell us where the car is now, keeps track of our name, billing address, and god-only-knows-what-else, all via satellite? Oh--and they call 911 for you, if you have an accident. See, it works like this: you call OnStar, so that THEY can call for help.

Then, to carry the idea just a bit further, I've recently heard speculation about putting a GPS in cellphones so that parents can track their kids' movements through the kid's cellphone.

There does already seem to be some sort of deal between OnStar (owned by GM) and Verizon Wireless, whereby you can combine your wireless minutes for the OnStar service in your car, and your wireless phone. On the same bill. w00t!

Also, this way you can use your cellphone to contact 'em about your car. You know--if you lock yourself out and the ice-cream's melting, or you forget where you parked and you're already late, or you get carjacked and have to abandon your eighteen-month-old sleeping in his carseat in the back.

Cuz that happens really often.

Just friggin' lovely.