From far away, this is how it looks: There is a country out there where tens of millions of white Christians, voting freely, select as their leader a black man of modest origin, the son of a Muslim. There is a place on Earth — call it America — where such a thing happens... --New York Times, Nov. 5, 2008
For the purpose of clarity and reigned-in expectations -- and to curtail sudden outbursts of tears -- I've tried not to think about this much until now. But the outside-the-issues symbolism and significance of Obama's victory are of an earth-shaking nature whose possibility I dismissed just four -- even two -- years ago. The irony that it took Bushian debauchery to open the door tempers my shock and satisfaction only slightly. If Bush wasted our precious time in climate and energy advances, the least he could do was inadvertently accelerate the healing of an awful scar from our history.
As a young kid I naively assumed racism and homophobia would be obsolete like Xerox by the time I was an adult. "All these people will soon be old, and the evidence in front of their face will change them," I thought. Alas, adulthood arrived with bad news. Silly kid. Hadn't realized as a child how views are passed on. Hadn't understood how limited exposure --> limited understanding --> unlimited fear.
"Rosa sat, so Martin could walk Martin walked, so Obama could run Obama ran, so our children could fly"
--Heard all around us
Racism will still fester, hate will still find fuel. But new recruits will require even greater cognitive dissonance to sign on when every day an object of their superficial hate shows competence and compassion in the White House. Ignorance always "ain't never seen that before" -- until it has.
So waking up today to see a big chunk chopped off this Original Sin gave me a feeling of unburdened weightlessness. OMG, indeed! To see the looks in people's eyes at the polls yesterday -- black people in particular -- as they tasted that the unimaginable could happen. To see others participating for the first time, after years of resignation to the notion that there is no place for them in this fixed process. (On that note: the margin between McCain and Obama in Missouri at this moment is about a third of the number of Missouri votes given to Nader. Who says their vote doesn't matter?)
"...The world’s view of an Obama presidency presents a paradox. His election embodies what many consider unique about the United States — yet America’s sense of its own specialness, of its destiny and mission, has driven it astray, they say. They want Mr. Obama, the beneficiary and exemplar of American exceptionalism, to act like everyone else, only better, to shift American policy and somehow to project both humility and leadership..."
To see reactions around the world and know that the U.S. will once again hold both sides of its mythical role as inspirational example and empire of unreachable expectations.
But back to the symbolism: Obama's heritage and path is the logical landing point of the "American dream."
Not a dream of WASPs, connected bankers, and "keep the pot with the privileged" set, but of a globalized gene pool stirred by whoever dreams of making it here.
Not a dream that any old "Joe Sixpack" can become President by sweatin' and shootin' and talkin' football under a POW flag, but the dream that any old smart, thoughtful-yet-engaging human can reason his way to the role of inspirational President and policy mover, regardless of what he or she (still working on "she") looks like, regardless of what category and stereotypes we assign to that look.
On the relevance of ill-defined, touchy-feely "inspiration:" There is something to it, oh yes there is. Humans are often stupid, we know this. Yet we love them (Us!) still. So there are two possible responses to our "condition": Resignation to its inevitable futility is one. Trying to nudge the needle for good is the other. So when an Obama comes along and inspires people who had given up, it matters. When it's someone like that making a gesture so small (yet so big) as telling parents it's up to you to be there for your kids, to take them away from the TV -- to give the seed a bit of water so that the education system that later receives them has a fighting chance to help them grow ... THAT is nudging the needle.
If parenting, poverty, education and greed are at the root of what ails us, simply letting these rot will do no one service. Small gestures in transformational packages will matter.
"... There is another paradox about the world’s view of the election of Mr. Obama: many who are quick to condemn the United States for its racist past and now congratulate it for a milestone fail to acknowledge the same problem in their own societies, and so do not see how this election could offer them any lessons about themselves..."
Foreigners so often expect more from the U.S. than they do from their own insular societies precisely because the U.S. is supposed to be the land of openness and equal opportunity. It's a shame that other nations too often don't expect the same from their own cultures, but there's no harm in expecting the U.S. to strive to be better. It's better for us and, ultimately, better for them. Expectation comes with being the state in the captain's chair. Now, we are life forms after all, so conflict and weakness will happen. But study of history, collection of data, and the practice of thought and earnestness can reduce the frequency of our follies. All our issues will not be resolved in my lifetime, but somehow a lifetime feels better spent when we're inching toward the goal.
Denominations of a thousand different deities Congregations, endless carnivals of gaiety Why should I fear? Why should I cling on to anything? It's not how long long I live but how beautiful it is
And I saw crying, there was turmoil in the marketplace I saw economies perpetuate the next arms race And I felt helpless: there was nothing I could do or say And then I noticed there's a change that's coming over me: Tapping into the aeon Tapping into the aeon
Myriad experiences of billions of humans Recorded in the memory the compassion of their gods Beauty defined by disfigurement and symmetry Re-evaluate their history, reassess their symbols
And I saw crying, there was turmoil in the marketplace I saw economies perpetuate the next arms race And I felt helpless: there was nothing I could do or say And then I noticed there's a change that's coming over me: Tapping into the aeon Tapping into the aeon
Balance of the ecosystem, self-reliance beckons us Windmills and waterfalls, strawberries and lily ponds When skyscrapers no longer block the Sun's meridian When we awake to the whisper of the voice
Walked down to my polling place today. The line snaked outside the building even more than it did for Bush v. Gore (and I think Clinton v. Dole, but that was when they were rehabbing the church basement and we were rerouted through the kitchen). Fifty-60 deep outside, then nearly the same snaked once you got inside the door. Took me about 90 minutes to get through.
It was early in the morning, but I was still struck by how quiet the line was. No one spoke. Definitely got the sense people were being respectful (we really CAN all behave like grownups ... away from the Internet and cable news). Also got the sense people were on a mission. Saw laborers looking at their watches, hipsters interacting with their iGadgets -- but sensed a common determination of "I'm here, it's taking a looong time, I'm late but I'm voting, dammit."
I love these settings where I can observe and take in people from all walks of life. Common, cohesive threads (even if only marginally so) are nice to find.
When I hit the polls, once I get inside the 25-foot green zone Radiohead's "Electioneering" always comes into my head (There's a sign announcing 1-year imprisonment and/or $2500 penalty for electioneering within). But today, reflecting on the last eight years -- and then about the last 28 -- Killing Joke's "Empire Song" came into my head.
More so for the art on the single than for the melody or lyrics. Although it is all part of the same coin, capturing the same regretful tone.
No, I didn't fall off the face of Planet Home. Yes, I have more funereal and travel stories to tell.
But first I selected the "upgrade" that Sampa is pushing through all of its sites, so at the moment, everything is a bit jumbled as I try to figure out what this upgrade has done, and how to manage things within. (Although I think this change shouldn't affect the blog -- just the rest of the site's hanging fruit.)
I apologize for the wacky format of things. Do bear with us while we conduct this government-mandated test...
But sometimes, we remember our bedrooms, And our parent's bedrooms, And the bedrooms of our friends. Then we think of our parents: Well what ever happened to them? --Arcade Fire, "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)"
Today, it's sinking in more.
Yesterday was a daze and maze of "Are we flying over? Can we make it in time for the service? Who's going? What's $2500? What are you thinking?...I don't know, what are YOU thinking?"
We siblings always knew it would be complicated whenever we got The Call. We also knew, after all my father's medical ups and downs, we wouldn't get any call until he's already passed. There's no off-the-shelf plan for dropping everything AND flying for 16-22 hours AND taking the train out of Prague AND finding transport to the village where not even the bus line goes.
After pow-wowing with siblings last night, my brother and I played some already scheduled hockey and had beer with the guys afterward. Several of them have met my father, and all of them have heard the stories. There were many toasts with Czech beer.
On the way home, my brother and I cracked each other up with stories. Like this one:
The time, shortly after the divorce, when my dad made dinner of salisbury steaks (from the frozen box) for my friend Wiley and me. We were 9. My dad asked Wiley what he wanted to drink. "What do you have?" Wiley asked, the way kids probe the full inventory of goods available under their friend's parents' regime.
My dad, playing the new host: "Water, Sanka, tonic water, Tang, beer, President's Choice." (Notice the distinct budget-conscious nature of this menu.)
Wiley and I stared at each other, eyes wide. "Beer?" Wiley asked, raising one eyebrow the way no one else in our class could. "Um, dad...?" I uttered feebly, feeling like I had to be the adult but knowing I had no power.
"Well, it is Busch, so American. It is not really beer," he said in his authoritative accent -- Who were we to question him? Wiley didn't need to ask twice.
So while I drank freaking Tang, my nine-year-old friend had a beer with his salisbury steak dinner, and I sat there stewing in a mix of jealousy and fear of unknown consequences. Lord knows how the Busch got there in the first place, because my dad sure didn't drink it. This was a budgetary way of getting rid of undesirable inventory without "wasting" it.
* * * *
Anyway, last night when I dropped my brother off after the hockey and toasts, as I was pulling away, he flagged me and said: "In case you get hit by a cement truck or something, I love you. You're a good brother." Heh heh, awesome. Ain't that life? I love the balance, in those scenarios, between "I want you to hear this in case something happens" and "I want to have told you this, in case something happens."
I pulled into my driveway under that unmistakable afterglow of having soaked up the the presence of friends and family, again reaffirming that life never gets better than that. My wife and I talked and shared until we fell asleep -- probably the only time I'll ever get a free pass for waking her up with my dog-disturbing racket when I come in late from hockey. I fell asleep smiling.
Today feels a little different. With plans a little more solidified, I'm not as distracted by business-like logistics. The transition from present "is" to past "was" is poking me in the back of the head; soon it will move down to the heart. The stories keep flowing in. And the music. Yesterday, in the car, I wasn't sure what to play. It's been all NPR lately because I'm fascinated by the financial crisis -- so many economists, recognizing problems but with different perspectives on what is needed -- but I thought, given my personal news, I should put music on.
Staring at me from the sun visor was Arcade Fire's "Funeral" album, which knocked me in the gut when I first heard it a few years ago. But I wasn't ready for that yesterday. Today though, "Funeral" has come on organically via alphabetized iTunes. So now I'm in that mode, and other people's memories are adding to the effect.
* * * *
Like the university cafeteria memories:
My dad was, ah, "frugal" in the stereotypical "cheap Czech" sense, but also in the Depression-era habits of a guy who had nothing, lived in fear under Nazi occupation and then without much to his name as an immigrant here. When I was a kid, we drove around town looking for 87-cent gas vs. 88-cents. When it was his turn to drive the carpool with my friends, the rag he used to wipe the windshield -- because "defrost" didn't work on our ancient cars -- was a pair of my Fruit of the Loom briefs from two sizes ago. My friends would point at it and laugh -- but not too loudly, because ultimately his mysterious nature scared the crap out of them.
So my dad always loaded up on food -- which he loved in all forms but Indian -- wherever he could. Professors used to get lunch free (then later half-price) at the university cafeteria. So for his cheapest meal of the day, he LOADED that tray. Memories coming in from old colleagues mention his academic brilliance and, inevitably, "that overflowing tray!"
One from today said, "We were still telling stories in the cafeteria recently about his prodigious salads."
Ah life. It's about friends; family; and oh yeah don't forget: Food.
I suppose I should clarify, in case anyone hearing the news should stumble upon this via "the Internets," that all my thoughts here are out of sincerity and love. I can sound flippant in much of my writing, but it is generally in the spirit of embracing human frailties and -- with relation to my father -- the spirit of marveling, understanding, and processing the inimitable experience of growing up under his complex shadow. You either laugh at our foibles, or drown in the sorrow. (For drifting visitors, another post about him that others seemed to enjoy can be found here. But as several have teased, you could argue that he is the main topic of this blog.) "Families are messy," a college English professor once said as she discussed a book. That sentiment has rarely been far from my mind.
As I was getting into the shower this morning, the phone rang, with AT&T's ever-helpful caller ID reading "Out of Area." Accustomed to a flood of political polling calls lately, I thought nothing of it. Until...
... Until it dawned on me that it was an odd hour even by telespammers' standards. And wait, did I hear someone leaving a message on the machine downstairs? Disrobed and already wet, I tracked water across the floor and dialed in from the upstairs receiver to learn that, sure enough, there was a message from a woman in a thick Czech accent. Uh-oh.
In the message, I heard "urgent" and a phone number that I knew would take several listens to decipher.
So I did what I always tend to do in these circumstances: I went about my usual business and finished my shower, taking the opportunity to press "pause" on life for a few more minutes before the storm comes in. (Yeah, you probably don't want me making battlefield decisions.) I've been swamped with work lately (largely self-imposed), feeling pulled in a lot of different ways. I needed a moment to process and reprioritize. To think of what I'd need to ask a stranger about my father on that stranger's dime, thanks to back-end-charged international phone minutes.
"They've never called before when he's in the hospital," I thought. "He probably tells them not to. This must be it. We're going to New York this weekend, for a long-planned trip to see a long-missed band. That may be off. Is my passport expired? I might miss the bachelor party I just sent out invites for. I'm out of vacation days ... do I get family leave? You saved up vacation days last year for this eventuality, then burned them this year when you reconfirmed that life does not adhere to plan... I'm not making this morning's staff meeting. I've work yet due this week... But you know what, he's had false alarms many times before; don't get prematurely worked up... he's probably just sending a message about adjusting his finances during the economic crisis. Or asking why I let his AAA membership expire."
After the shower, I was ready. For some reason, the get-to-business-paced fuzz bass tones of Radiohead's "The National Anthem" played in my head. After several listens, I boiled the message down to two or three possible international phone number variations. With the third option, I reached her. She called herself my "cousin" -- to my dad, an only child whose parents were taken out by the episodic wars that define Europe's history, every friend or relative there was my cousin.
This cousin, I've never met, but she said, "I think you stayed with my parents once." (Probably so. It was my father's general practice to obligate us to stay with "family" wherever we were in the Czech Republic, freeing us from the "burden" of paid lodging and subscribing us to a lifetime of unknown familial obligations and/or guilt to be repaid in kind. The guilt usually began with, "They will be insulted if you do not stay with them" and continued with, "Everyone asks about you. They wonder why you do not yet have any children.")
Anyway, the cousin lives two hours away from the scene of the passing, but she's the closest relative who speaks English, so whenever she visited her parents, who live next to my dad, he leaned on her to decipher tax forms and banks statements he could no longer read, and to send the occasional "email," a technology he would never, ever adopt. No doubt she assumed these duties with the same familial sense of forced obligation.
So I really felt for her, because she had to deliver a stranger this news: "I'm sorry, but your father passed away tonight." She said she was sorry. I said I was sorry. She said sorry again ... I said really, I'm sorry the job of messenger falls on you. I guess I expected more info to flow out, like a news story. Then I realized she may be waiting for me to ask. So then:
Me: "How did it happen?" Her: "In his sleep ... he had pneumonia for a week, but he didn't want to go to hospital."
Good for him, I thought. He's been saying he's ready to go for years, and losing his vision really had to be the last straw. If I were in his condition, I wouldn't have wanted to live through another Czech winter.
*awkward silence* "Um ... how is everyone?" I asked. (Yes, yes! Go for the family interest bit!) "I think they are coping," she said. Which, if you knew my dad the way we do, you would laugh at the open-ended ambiguity of that statement. Anything from, "It's a bummer," to "They're relieved. He's cute and idiosyncratic, but lord he can be a pain."
Then another feared question emerged. See, my father was stubbornly reluctant to commit to any end-of-life arrangements with us (despite his repeatedly professed welcoming of the end of life). Things like wills and power-of-attorneys and anything else that would help his family handle necessary affairs from overseas through a language barrier.
So I asked, "Are there arrangements?" hoping my cousin would pick up on the lovely English euphemism for "is someone taking care of the body and stuff?"
Turns out yes. He did take care of that. He requested two services: a small one in the village church, and a larger one in the city next week. Again: my father was impressive in many ways. But the thought of a second service, as if to be held in State, evokes images of grandiosity and his tendency to overstate his accomplishments and those of his children. (e.g., I cost myself an NHL career by not playing high school hockey in the Czech Republic.) I can say this because I'm his son, and because a real Czech expat "relative" of his, in a bit of nostalgia, just said as much to my brother about an hour ago.
So that is the news, and how I learned it. I spent the morning calling siblings. After the calls, the more subdued notes of Radiohead's "The Reckoner" surfaced in my head. I still haven't processed it. Not sure when that figmentary moment of "it hits you" will hit. I'm still a much duller shade of numb, since this is an occasion long forecast and much rehearsed -- and complicated by the overseas nature, in which daily life has not really changed, yet things are necessarily different.
As with most of life, I find it a curious process to watch unfold. It interests me that he believes -- or when alive believed that he would now be -- he is in "heaven" (or is it The Purg' first, and then heaven only after The Rapture? I lost my pocket schedule.). Whereas I tend to think he has now disappeared as an entity, his influence and physical particles scattered faintly among us, as evidenced below. But maybe we're talking about the same thing, in inferior terms neither religion nor physics can explain.
I didn't mean for this to be his tribute post (that should be more thought out, me thinks, whereas this is a very self-centric, immediate reaction to how I heard the news). But I don't know when I'll get to that. So here is a sampling of kind thoughts from my friends, and from the university where he worked, which have poured in to my family.
As is the way of these things, it's fun to pick up on little bits of impressions he left -- for example, his overflowing cafeteria tray! Among his colleagues, he was a vigorous debater and a thought provoker whose arguments were always respected even when they were patently disagreed with -- the true, pure spirit of academia minus the politics.
I collect them here because I want to, so there. Anyone who stumbles upon this is of course welcome to leave your thoughts in comments, too. I've withheld others' identities and hope they won't sue me for unauthorized broadcasting:
Sorry to hear about your dad. I very much enjoyed meeting him and sharing our interest and appreciation in the same music. Like your dad mine was a big band/swing drummer and he introduced me to all the great bands and drummers of that era. No doubt your father was very proud of the legacy he left with you and your siblings. I don’t know how the Czech’s honor the deceased but we Irish figure it’s an occasion for remembering the good times and hoisting a Guinness or two or even a Pilsner Urquell. My sense is your dad would be in agreement. -a good old friend, who met him at my Meet the Father party
i'm so sorry to hear of the passing of your father. as you well know, i liked him very much. he was a unique and entertaining individual, and in a world cloaked in shades of grey, he added a good bit of color. sometimes clashing, disjointed color in jarring patterns, but welcome nonetheless. he will be missed on many levels.if there is anything i can do to help, let me know. -A good friend, and the guy whose bachelor party I just soiled
My condolences to you and the family. Please send my regards to Dominic. -The university nurse, who I remember fondly
Thank you so much for letting us know. I have many memories of R. but perhaps the strongest one is his indomitable spirit. He just never believed something couldn’t be done. Despite the fact that sometimes when I didn’t think he was right I wanted to smack him, we could use a lot of that right now and I aspire to it every day.
Shine on, R___. -longtime always-helpful university administrator
I am very sorry to hear about R's death. I have such great affection and respect for him. Whatever anyone says, we can all agree that he was completely unique. (I am sure that you know this much better than we do.) I will add him to my prayer list.
-an old legendary colleague
I was forwarded your e-mail. I am deeply saddened to learn about R. I knew of his faltering health, but none of us are ever ready to hear the bad news. I think you know I was (and am) an admirer of his great intellect and always learned from him in short and/long visits with him. He had asked me to visit him in Czech Republic.
You and the family members are in my thoughts and hope all of you can capitalize on the best of times from the past as move forward. Through [colleagues] I hear about your kids. Last time when I saw them the oldest one was a young teen age.
With Kind regards, -a former colleague/student?
Please accept my deepest sympathy. Please let your children know you are all in my prayers. -a colleague
My condolences to you and especially to Dominique who was in my first freshman seminar group! -My awesome freshman seminar group professor! That is just cool.
Thank you for letting us know about his passing; I have fond memories of R.
Mainly our meetings were in the cafeteria, where his tray flowed over!
I know that he did his best to help A-B resolve their brand problems with the Czech republics. He lived most of his time in the U.S. with a death sentence hanging over his head – a true political refugee. -Longtime marketing professor
What a surreal day! Has there been a moment in modern memory when the President and the leaders of both parties were pushing a piece of legislation -- seen as pivotal for our economic well-being -- and it failed to pass because of rebellion in both parties?
Sending a shiver through the globe, the move:
... lowered a fog of uncertainty over economies around the globe. Its authors had described the measure as essential to preventing widespread economic calamity.
The markets began to plummet even before the 15-minute voting period expired on the House floor. For 25 minutes, uncertainty gripped the nation as television showed party leaders trying, and failing, to muster more support.
What's funny -- in a dark comedy way -- is that this moment of crisis comes when all of these U.S. reps are heading back for re-election in six weeks, and this legislation is associated with a very unpopular president. [Wait, haven't they gerrymandered enough so that they don't need to worry about re-election?] So, members were not only pissed that they had to, you know, do the job for which they were elected. They were also pissed that they might have to articulate the reasons for their vote to their constituents. Perish the thought!
In impassioned speeches on the House floor, Democrats and Republicans alike vented their frustration over the nation’s perilous economic condition and the uncomfortable position they were in, facing pressure to approve an unpopular bailout package during an election year, with no guarantee that it would work.
“This is a huge cow patty with a piece of marshmallow stuck in the middle of it and I am not going to eat that cow patty,” said Representative Paul Broun, Republican of Georgia.
“Nobody wants to do this,” said Representative Edward J. Markey, Democrat of Massachusetts, who nonetheless voted for it. “Nobody wants to clean up the mess created by Wall Street recklessness.”
Furthering the irony, there seems to be consensus that some piece of legislation needs to be passed ... so those who voted against it likely thought they were scoring points back at home with their vote -- but without the risk of the measure actually failing. Whoops!
The outcome after a slightly more than 40-minute vote on the House floor left lawmakers almost speechless. Even the strongest opponents of the measure did not expect to prevail, and the leadership of both parties, while increasingly nervous, figured they would squeak out a victory despite a parade of Republicans and Democrats to microphones to assail the measure.
Not that they seem to be proposing a better plan (although one seems to be badly needed). My head spins imagining how this will be recorded in the history books of tomorrow.
Step 1: Put your iPod player on random. Step 2: Post the first line from the first 30 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song. Step 3: Let everyone guess what song and artist the lines come from. Step 4: Bold the songs when someone guesses correctly. (Looking them up on Google or any other search engine is CHEATING!)
KayO did this, and it was fun for me despite my unfamiliarity with many of the songs (*feels shame*). So I thought I'd try it ... and promptly got carried away. I have so much Killing Joke and Radiohead on my iTunes that I worried it wouldn't work (This is where you say, "You were right: It doesn't.").
So I started removing repeat artists. But then that struck me as cheating, so I left them in ... and spiraled from 30 to 50 songs. So it probably became just a way to entertain myself (You say: "You mean like the rest of your blog?"). I will hint that out of 50 tracks, there are 38 different artists. Further mild hint: Sorry BH -- only one U2 song, and an obscure one at that (but one I suspect you enjoy singing with the lights out, anyway).
Things that might make it worth it: - There are at least a couple that I am "embarrassed" by - More than half are relevant to at least one or another "regular" reader of this site - Standing alone, divorced from tune or context, some lines are just plain funny - I did not cut songs that include the title in their first line, because I figure this is hard enough as it is, and I wasn't sure if that was cheating, too - At least with KayO's, I found it fun to read the first lines as some kind of monkeys-at-typewriters pool of poetry. Kinda feel that way about looking at this one, too. Reading them in sequence makes me guffaw - Also fun: when a line sounds like something you know ... and it turns out to be a song you've never heard in your life
Although I had to look quite a few of these up to decipher or confirm the lyrics, I was struck by how many of these songs were tacked to my bulletin board in college. Apparently I'm very into lyrics.
Right now, I'll leave the list as is. Depending on response (and time), I will probably just return to it and put the titles in white text underneath the song, for revelation by highlighting the text with your cursor. Later*, after eyes have glazed over, I'll add a post to explain why some were "relevant" to specific people if they didn't see/get it, and to sprinkle needed love on independent artists. But please don't feel obliged to play unless it tickles your fancy.
*promises on this blog are rarely kept
The Lines 1. People always talk about / Things they don't know much about / You take your chances and toss them all aside
2. You're alone in the pack / You're feeling like you wanna go home
3. You gotta stomp, whistle and scream / You gotta wiggle all over your dreams
4. One of these days I'm gonna cut you into little pieces.
5. Man watching video, the heart keeps on ticking / He doesn't know why, he's just cattle for slaughter
6. Crazy, sturdy, a tor-pedo / Crazy, brutal, a tor-pedo
7. Aim for the body rare, you'll see it on TV / The worst thing in 1954 was the bikini
8. The king's taken back the throne / The useless seed is sown
9. Signs, signs of loss. Signs disappeared, turned invisible
10. The woman was a dream I had, though rather hard to keep / But when my eyes were watching her as they closed, I was still asleep
11. I never thought I'd die alone / I laugh the loudest -- who'd have known?
12. In the morning I wake up and chase away my dreams, join the world of vertical invention / Every sip of coffee pulls some stitches into seams, tightening the span of my attention
13. Ta-whooit may concern, the power of funk will kick your ass
14. One of these mornings / won't be very long / you will look for me / and baby, I'll be gone
15. Which intelligence gave geometry? Binary systems? Complex cycles of astronomy? / Number proportion, measurement lines, angle mathematics: all appeared overnight
16. Istanbul was Constantinople, now it's Istanbul not Constantinople
17. I woke up alarmed / I didn't know where I was at first -- just that I woke up in your arms / And almost immediately I felt sorry
18. She talks of supernatural aeons in her wake / She says, 'Look behind the wave of changes, feel the future taking shape'
19. I couldn't escape this feeling, with my China girl.
20. Well the time will come when the wind will shout
21. Beg the bee's forgiveness as it's falling from your sleeve / Watch its guts pump poison into sting
22. They love me like I was their brother / They protect me, listen to me
23. The moment I was born, I opened my eyes / Reached out for my credit card
24. I'm waiting till I don't know when / 'Cause I'm sure it's gonna happen then
25. It's too much / that I keep / to myself / And I turn my back on my faith
26. The problem of leisure / What to do for pleasure. / Ideal life: a new purchase / economic circumstances
27. Sweating and bleeding, staring and thinking, sinking deeper in my troubles
28. Once again she steals away, then she reaches out to kiss me
29. My values altered, I was looking for peace / I was tired in the lands of the West -- I had to get out
30. I'm sailing away / Set an open course for the virgin sea
31. The fields of Eden are full of trash / If we beg, borrow or steal, we'll never get them back
32. Take down the walls you see before you, just so the crowd cannot ignore you / You step out toward the solemn faces, awaiting to draw you into places / That they've been before
33. Lemon, see-through in the sunlight / She wore lemon, never in the daylight
34. Oh hurt me baby, I flinch so when you do / Your kisses scourge me, hyssop in your perfume / And 'slave' I only use / As a word to describe the special way / I feel for you
35. How does it feel / To treat me like you do?
36. People I know, places I go, make me feel tongue-tied
37. I am the son and the heir / Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
38. Rows of houses all bearing down on me
39. We in our infancy, led down shining paths / Shine, shine shining paths, divine our disillusion / Face our imperfections, I begin to wonder / Onion peelings scattered, we've been crying, crying
40. It's not a case of doing what's right / It's just the way I feel that matters
41. It's coming through a hole in the air / From those nights in Tiananmen Square
42. It's as clear, it's as clear, as the maps they drew / Before me and you, when there were no rules
43. Been beat up and battered around / Been set up but I've been shut down
44. You can force it but it will not come / you can taste it but it will not form
45. Confusion in her eyes that says it all: She's lost control And she's clinging to the nearest passerby, she's lost control.
46. Out where the river broke / The bloodwood and the desert oak / Holden wrecks and boiling diesels steam in 45 degrees
47. When we see people, we see people, we see people who are not whole / They have two arms and, they have two legs and / Something is missing and we just don't know -- we can't name it
48. I don't know, just where I'm going / But I'm gonna try for the kingdom if I can / 'Cause it makes me feel like I'm a man
49. I was friendly with this girl who insisted on touching my face / She told outrageous stories, I believed them / Till the endings were changing from endings before / She's not touching me anymore
50. Live, baby, live, now that the day is over / I got a new sensation in perfect moments, impossible to refuse
Amusing rendition of the financial crisis, explained in stick-figure dialog. You have to click through the slides via the arrows at the lower left. Poor Norwegian village!
To this point, it's an interesting conversation: the thought (and popular political push) to help foreclosure victims as part of the bailout. Certainly raises the question of exactly what sort of society we wish to run, anyway. And it's fascinating to watch the interplay.
Popularly: "Hey, how come the banks who are in trouble get help, but I don't?" Economically: "Because banks matter, and you don't." Popularly: "Well 'that's capitalism,' they tell me, so why help the banks?" Economically: "Because if the banking system falls, we all fall. But if we prevent the system from failing, only you fall."
At Saturday roller hockey, I overheard a construction worker and a small-biz mortgage broker shout at each other. Eventually they found common ground, agreeing that they're mad as hell at Them and not gonna take it anymore. But they didn't really hear each other, and I don't know what data can be put in front of them to get them to work together.
I think of these sorts of things when someone tells me, "Forget the people who took out mortgages. That's capitalism, baby."
Well it is, and it isn't. Completely unfettered "market" conditions leave a lot of people hurt, while power or wealth accumulates with those who lay on the hurt. Which has always been the cause, throughout this state's history, for creating and revising regulation: To prevent those (people, institutions, whatever) who have access to greater information (through privilege, education, insider access, wealth) from using it to grossly take advantage of those without it.
To the "society we desire" question, presumably we want capitalism to encourage opportunity, innovation and investment to help make life comfortable for all of us. We want regulation to prevent those same gears from making life veeeeery comfortable for the few while screwing many. Inherent in this is recognition that work and sacrifice is still required; that the mythology of American capitalism does not automatically mean a free credit ride for all. But in the politics-for-consumption medium, it is never discussed in these terms. It's always, "Get the government outta my business," vs. "Hey, must be nice that he makes so much more than me."
But philosophically speaking, it's rather evil to have a domestic policy that encourages home ownership (as a means of continuing growth and spending) while creating means and fine print for that home ownership that make the acquisition built on a "house of cards." From the uninformed guy with no credit to the executive suite to the conduct of war, everyone has been encouraged to "risk" and spend without real fear or consequence. Just charge it to the next generation, baby!
I'm not happy that people bought over their head. But I'm no happier that they were encouraged to do so -- and not educated otherwise -- by policy and by (lack of) oversight, all so others could grab short-term gain and our President could keep reassuring us, "The economy is strong and getting stronger."
Just following Krugman alone the last three, four years, the writing of reckoning was on the wall. But while the money is there for the taking ... stay outta the way. Amid Enron and the California energy scam, the red flags about our lack of transparency were there at the highest levels. And by cruel historical coincidence(?), we have this problem festering under an administration that is breathtakingly ill-prepared to deal with it, because it contradicts the upbeat narrative required to enter an insulated circle of yes-men and cronies.
And here we are, in interesting times. Just knew I shouldn't open that fortune cookie.
This is apropos of nothing. Just something from the "unfinished posts" pile within the blog software, which are not as easy to resume as I wish, but which I want to clear out so they stop staring at me.
I tend to find articles or sites of interest, bookmark them for later when I can write about them ... and then get distracted by other things to learn. With this article, I have no idea what I was originally going to write about, so I'll just do this:
Carl Hiaasen, the writer of hilarious Fletch-ian novels in which a protagonist tackles bad guys and environmental criminals with investigative journalist-like nobility, is a golfer. Naturally, he appears as funny about golf as he is in his novels.
I have at least one friend, plus one wife, who are Hiaasen fans, so they'll appreciate this if they didn't see it when it first printed. If you don't know him, his books are great, quick reads -- good for the beach -- written in a smart way that is perfect antidote for the distressed environmentalist or liberal.
Although this bit about quasi-rationalizing the endless acres we devote to freaking golf courses doesn't pass my completely subjective standards:
An environmentalist, who both in his books and in his weekly column for The Miami Herald has complained a lot about uncontrolled development in Florida, Mr. Hiaasen does take pleasure in the surroundings. He poked for snakes in the rocks, hoping to spot a water moccasin, and pointed out the ibises strolling the fairway, the carp, catfish and tilapia lolling in the lakes.
“The great irony is that golf courses are becoming the last bit of wildlife refuge we have,” he said. “I saw a bobcat on a golf course once, and I don’t know that there’s anyplace else you could do that now.”
There may be some truth in that, but it's a sad statement. And it makes me feel no better about the role that golf courses and luxury isolation developments play in creating overpopulated communities in places that have no natural business hosting that many people who consume that many resources (e.g., much of the southwest), where there is no real access to water without severely stressing the water supply of existing communities, and where there is no realistic understanding of the consequences two decades from now.
I like a little golf, too, but in water-scarce places I can never help feeling that the acres-warped-to-citizen-enjoyment ratio is way out of whack to justify it.
But the point of all this was Hiaasen. He's goooood.
A wee problem has emerged in the LHC super-collider, so the operations that were to commence this fall are now likely to not be resumed until spring. Apparently some of the magnets -- which one imagines are bigger than a three-car garage (but I'm just guessing) -- overheated. That caused a "ton of helium" -- how heavy is helium?!? How much helium is a ton?!? -- to leak into the corridor. Which is a problem.
So the big picture, in layman's layman's terms: the big thing that was the big deal was going to have to go dormant for winter anyway -- in part because the energy required is too great during the peak Swiss heating season. But they were originally going to do more test-drives before winter arrived. Now while they go in for repairs, they won't even get to do anymore fun test-drives.
One of the LHC's eight sectors will now have to be warmed up to well above its operating temperature of 1.9 kelvin (-271C; -456F) – which is colder than deep space – so that repairs can take place.
I'd not previously thought about how one of the issues with running something as close to absolute zero as you can get: whenever you send workers in to fix it, you've got to heat it up first.
The episode provides a lesson in PR, too. Quoth the Don't Worry spokesman:
"If you keep an eye on the big picture, we've been building the machine for 20 years. The switch-on was always going to be a long process," James Gillies, Cern's director of communications, told BBC News.
Well, right, there's that way to see it. But if you keep your other eye on the big picture, you realize they've had 20 years to plan a proper start! So if the switch-on was always likely to include birthing pains, and if you're worried* about people not realizing that when the first hiccups come, you should make that expectation clear to people when you publicize all the kick-off parties.
*I'm not certain that's the case. Since this isn't (yet) a major malfunction/postponement, any publicity and appreciation for the complexity of the project is probably healthy publicity. I'm also not qualified to say. This is just a blog. Everybody's already paid (or committed to payment) for the LCH, so all PR is in the name of keeping the spigot for science turned on, I suppose. The real feeling of good investment vs. waste will come when they tell us if they found cool stuff or not, which is later. I'm done now. Letting it go. Walking away.
As you may have noticed, the site has changed. Sampa, the free-site host, did a version 2 of some sort.
Despite an FAQ that made it sound like allowing one's site to go through v.2 surgery would be okay, there were several flexibilities that surprisingly disappeared with the click of a button. (e.g. I cannot believe sidebars like this one are even narrower than before.)
And I'm told -- miraculously! -- that the conversion cannot be undone. Truth be told, I'm actually quite pissed. But free is free. Sampa has otherwise been good to me.
So I need to sort through site "features" to see how I can make do. Except that I don't have the time at the moment, in the middle of graduate classes and Lighthousehockey.com. (btw, I've removed that Lighthouse RSS feed so that you're not clogged with random Islanders hockey gibberish).
But I promise to touch up the accessories when I get a chance, and return to irregularly scheduled blogging.
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