P 183 As Analogy

I realize that by writing this I may be contradicting myself, but I can live with that. Reading The Guardian online today brought my attention to P183, the Russian graffiti artist (http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/shortcuts/2012/feb/26/russian-banksy-paints-for-motherland).

So far I really like what I have seen of his work, but thinking about P183 made me consider an interesting analogy between blogging and graffiti; much graffiti is just tagging and/or a mundane semiotics intended only to be interpreted by a small group of viewers, or those unlucky enough to be confronted by it in a confined space, like a bathroom stall. Very rarely does graffiti carry a powerful message via clever imagery. Our recent exchanges with the Wrongful Thinking Blog Posse (WTBP) would qualify, analogically speaking, as a tagging of the virtual online space. But tagging is not nearly enough for me. I crave something edifying, creative, thought provoking, potentially threatening, and memorable. If I try hard enough I may get there, but I can say this to the WTBP and those like them: Stop tagging and try creating. Your conservative/evangelical tags engender no great insights; instead they tell the world that your little bit of turf is controlled by people more worried about barriers and qualified membership than productive exchanges with your neighbors. What a waste of potential.

Today’s Snake Oil Is Tomorrow’s Tea Party

Fellow Fans of the Written Word:

I must confess that I have become despondent in regards to the state of American politics. What between Rick Santorum’s frightful comments regarding the need to undo the separation of church and state and the inane banter of our blogger friends of the theocratic right, I fear for the future and the youth of this country. What never fails to shock me is how so many of these professedly critical folk never realize that today’s snake oil is tomorrow’s tea party.

So in order to preserve my waning faith in our (flawed) political process, fellow citizens, and the proper place of rational argument, I think I may hew toward other matters for a time. There is plenty to be discussed about the dissertation, and popular culture always makes excellent fodder for our rather eccentric commentary. Until the next time—-Thesaurus.

Disingenuous Visitors Thanks to Small Minded, Conservative Blog Sites

Readers:

Our exchanges with the followers of Michael Eden’s blog continue. Today I received a comment in response to one of my previous postings related to Mr. Eden. This anonymous respondent wrote: “See, I came from his blog hoping well thought out responses, but, I'm sorry, he uses actual numbers and sources. Not to mention that you seem to automatically take your responses as final, which is disheartening, as from your initial post on his blog I thought you would be more reasonable. Granted, I think he responded to harshly, but I had hoped that at least you would ignore that and give a formal response to his points with equal sources, numbers, and backed-up statements. You, however, seem to take your own opinion as fact, as you showed throughout this post. Your entire argument to him was that he doesn't know what socialism is, worships fox news, and lies until people believe him. The question here is: do you have support for these claims? It's easy to call someone a liar, but the real truth comes out through the evidence. As of now, I think you both are acting a bit childish towards each other, but out of the two of you, at least Eden backs up what he says as opposed to just spewing opinion as fact.”

Here is my reply for all to see:

Dear Anonymous:

I am going to call you out as false. Despite your claims to the contrary, I really doubt anyone who frequents the Start Thinking Right blog would really be looking for, as you say, “well thought out responses.” Having read a selection of Mr. Eden’s posts I cannot believe anyone who knows much about statistics, ethical reporting, or good argument would agree with him. Your claim that Eden “uses actual numbers and sources” is only superficially true; having sources and data is dependent on the accuracy of the quoted material, the parity between the source material and the new use of it, and, most importantly, the argument being supported by the data in question. Just because Eden pastes text from predominantly conservative sources does not make his arguments well thought out or accurate. Has he ever read The Economist? They use better data to make insightful statements about politics and economics without resorting to hyperbole, slippery slope fallacies, and hasty generalizations. Do you or he even know what these terms mean?

Let me give you an example of Eden’s shortcomings. In Eden’s post of February 27th he argues that the U.S. is in worse shape than Greece by reposting questionable material from The Washington Examiner, not exactly a credible or unbiased source by the way. Furthermore, the original material does not come from a neutral, trusted entity, but via the office of conservative Republican Senator Jeff Sessions, who really manipulated IMF data to come up with it. Importantly, Sessions is no economist and neither am I. However, I do know that debt does not necessarily mean, to use Eden’s phrasing, “we’re WORSE than Greece.” Greece has nowhere near our standard of living, our natural resources, our GDP, or any of the other myriad factors that determine a country’s risk of economic collapse, default, probability for large-scale rebellion, and crippling depression. This is what I mean when I write that Eden uses faulty reasoning and fear mongering. In short, Eden is guilty of a hasty generalization and the same sort of data manipulation that Sessions and others use to get people to support their political platforms and candidates of choice. How, Anonymous, could you have missed this?

Furthermore, Eden makes two very problematic claims at the end of his post. First he writes, “Barack Obama is leading this nation to a quick suicide that will result in a lingering and painful economic death and the media won’t report the truth.” Where is the data to back up such an overly exaggerated claim? Can our current situation be likened to “suicide” and “economic death”? Members of the financial community (not a particularly left-leaning group of souls) do not seem to agree, particularly because they have not downgraded our country’s financial rating to anything like that given to Greece. Next, what is one to think of his final words, “The beast is coming”? Not only one must share Eden’s apocalyptic religious perspective but s/he must agree that his questionable economic indicators are proof thereof. Since you believe Eden to be so infallible, please prove to me that his last two claims are accurate.

Anonymous, you are both insufficiently critical and unable to discern good argument from hollow posturing. The whole point of my original invitation to Eden was to have each participant marshal arguments and evidence in support of a position on a mutually selected issue. Such an activity would have provided all readers with an opportunity to analyze and reflect upon the strength of each person’s position. When my courteous and innocent suggestion for a formal debate was “harshly” (to use your own word for it) rebuffed, you seem to expect me to blithely go on and waste more time arguing Eden’s logical inconsistencies, misrepresentation of data, and specious claims. This is not going to happen. I only did some of this to prove that your own comments, along with Eden’s ravings, lack merit.

In sum, I am done with you. Please return to whatever intellectually unchallenged (virtual) territory that you and Eden inhabit. Neither of you seem capable of playing in the sandbox of critical, ethical, and rational deliberation.

Dear Anonymous,

Turn off your radio, Fox News, and take a break from blogs like Start Thinking Right, and START thinking for your self.  Just because someone repeats something over and over does not make it true.  Your claim that all, or the majority, of the "mainstream media" is liberal is a tired trope.  You seem to be confusing and conflating the editorial page of some newspapers and individual talking-heads on some of the info-tainment television shows you identify as this singular entity - "the media".  First off, there is simply no such thing as THE media.  This trope you deploy was invented to both claim victimhood by various institutions and political perspectives, and more importantly create a perpetual bogeyman that can be trotted out daily to justify the need and existence for Limbaugh, Fox News, and so on.  Both political parties use similar devices (Democrats: all republicans are wealthy, big business whores / Republicans: all democrats are yellow-belly on national defense).  What should trouble you most is that journalism was once rooted in the belief that its job was to hold those in power accountable to the people - the Fourth Estate.  Guess what, those in power did not like this, so what did they do - began an unrelenting campaign to demonize the media.  Today, the media you speak of has one bias and one bias only - money.  And by the way, why is it a waste of time reading and talking to those you disagree with?  We live in a deliberative democracy, where ideas are debated, issues discussed in a civil manner.  We were and are interested in having an honest, civil debate - instead we are called names, the last time I had an argument like this, I was in grade school.

Getting Riled

Bollocks—I have been advised Michael Eden was not the author of that comment to which I responded earlier. Still, I guess I can be pleased that Mr. Eden called me to task on his blog for not taking on the content of his posts. Admittedly, he has a point, though I really wanted to make the invitation in a civil fashion before I got down to responding to his thinking; that was going to be the point of the debate-—a respectful consideration of an issue from differing (not necessarily opposing) viewpoints. Also, I would have just e-mailed him my invitation if I had his e-mail address.

Mr. Eden also went right to the ad hominem, which is unsurprising given that this fallacy is favored by the topically uncreative. Should you be wondering, I was likened to the character of Syndrome from the movie The Incredibles. While I could be flattered in some respects I think I will fixate on my anger instead. Apparently, Michael Eden believes three sentences forming an invitation is actually a monologue. Clearly, he should have read more William Shakespeare or Robert Browning. Moreover, because I do not feel that my efforts to maintain a civil tone will result in a similar response from him I am going to be more hostile. To wit, Michael Eden is an example of what makes our citizens such a joke to the rest of the world. For him Obama is a socialist and socialists are those who never take personal responsibility (http://startthinkingright.wordpress.com/2012/02/16/what-leftists-are-best-at-socialist-obama-blames-bush-for-all-his-problems-socialist-greece-blames-germany-for-all-its-problems). I am confident that Mr. Eden does not know what a socialist is. Not only does his knowledge of socialism seem absent but his use of this term as an insult indicates his greater ignorance of political theory. Here is a quick test for Mr. Eden: please define the word socialist in 1000 words (of your own making, not simply pasting up the ideas of others) or less, taking note of its historical origins and theoretical underpinnings. Also note those elements of Christian theology that overlap socialist ideology.

Just for Mr. Eden’s benefit, I briefly want to take on the substance of his February 17th post where he tried to compare Greece’s economic problems and the German Chancellor’s comments related thereto to the situation in the U.S. Put simply, this effort is nothing more than a false analogy. Try again, Mr. Eden. I am sure that you, just like your heroes at Fox News, can keep articulating falsehoods until the less critically minded finally accept them. In the meantime, I suggest you better familiarize yourself with the terms you so haphazardly employ.

Calling Mr. Eden

Dearest Readers:

I must begin with a guess—-Michael Eden has graced us with a response. This is only a guess, as the individual who hazarded a comment on my “Missed Opportunities” post opted to remain anonymous. However, I feel somewhat confident that my guess is correct, particularly because our blog’s statistics tell me that some of our recent traffic is coming from his site. Whether or not the comments we received were from Mr. Eden or someone else is unimportant; the option remains for this individual to debate a topic of our mutual selection. Right now I have only a rather paltry response on which to comment. I will post his response below and then follow it with my own thoughts:

Our anonymous respondent wrote, “Fox News smear tactics? You do realize that the vast majority of the mainstream media is liberal, including but not limited to, CNN, MSNBC, CBS, ABC and NBC. Don't forget such rags as the New York Times and Newsweek. Besides talk radio, conservatives have Fox News and not much more in the mainstream. Why did the mainstream liberal media try so desperately to demonize the Tea Party but somehow overlook the massive problems within the OWS movement? Why did the liberal media try to smear Tea Party Conservatives in the house who were trying to cap government spending and reduce national debt. During this time the libs were shouting that old people would not get their social security and that everything would be shut down (fear mongering), despite the fact that the government was bringing just under 200 billion a month in revenue. The current president and liberal establishment are the true demagogues and use fear as a tactic on a regular basis, not the conservatives, as you claim. I could go on and on about how the liberal media distorts the truth and out right lies about anything conservative, but I don't have the time.

As far as Michael Eden is concerned, I cannot speak for him, but I would presume that such a debate with an ideologue, "super intellect" like yourself would be a complete waste of time.”

Allow me to pull apart the various weak threads of this argument’s fabric.
1) I am told that “the vast majority of the mainstream media is liberal, including but not limited to, CNN, MSNBC, CBS, ABC and NBC.”
a. Clearly, the writer knows little of true liberalism (historical or contemporary) or what a liberal position is. So let me ask, for the sake of clarification, what our nameless respondent means by the word “liberal.” Here is a hint: If you want to know what left-leaning journalism looks like then read some self-acknowledged leftist French and Italian newspapers. Some of them are, gasp, formerly communist newspapers. When you are done reading then tell me how these organizations compare to the ones you mention above. You might want to start here (http://www.liberation.fr/).
b. Next, consider that each and every one of my respondent’s aforementioned news sources is not a charitable or government sponsored entity, meaning that their motives are not philanthropic or even ultimately about the public good. Rather they are business entities whose end purpose is to generate a profit. Their stock in trade just happens to be journalism. I bring up the idea of a profit motive because the owners and shareholders of these companies are not going to sit by if these businesses aggressively push a leftist agenda that has no great public or advertiser appeal. To bolster my argument I urge the unnamed respondent to research cases where mainstream news media have shelved stories, muzzled reporters, and otherwise squelched journalism that threatened their corporations, largest shareholders, or biggest advertisers. Alternately, just read Robert McChesney’s book Rich Media, Poor Democracy.
c. Relatedly, what are these for-profit, capitalistic organizations trying to do? I think we are to believe that there is some socialist cabal or a political machine operating behind the scenes, which smacks of conspiracy theory and oversimplification to me. The main shortcomings I see in the American mainstream media are its blatant pandering to spectacle (see Auditus’ recent post), sexualization, a reliance on simplistic dualisms when approaching an issue, and an unwavering support for late-stage capitalism.

2) Next I am asked “Why did the liberal media try to smear Tea Party Conservatives in the house who were trying to cap government spending and reduce national debt.?” This is both a straw man fallacy and logically inconsistent.
a. First off, this is a straw man fallacy because not every news organization above demonized the Tea Party. Trying to use this unjustified example as proof of the mainstream media’s liberal bias is just making an easy case in order to knock it down. For my own part, I watched many stories that happily chronicled the rise of the Tea Party and their “impressive” effects on national politics, and many of these segments said nothing critical of the Tea Party. Really, how much of the Tea Party logic was deconstructed on national news? Second, by tracking the growth of the Tea Party there was likely a bandwagon effect and, given that a number of Tea Party candidates were elected, are we to believe that the mainstream media hurt, instead of helped, them? On a side note, is not Fox News the most popular and thus mainstream of news organizations? This makes claims of media bias problematic, particularly when the bully pulpit is occupied by one’s champion.
b. As for the “Tea Party Conservatives in the house who were trying to cap government spending and reduce national debt” I can only sigh. Many of these “conservatives” refuse to allow really massive spending cuts. What of cases where a Tea Party candidate like Representative Vicky Hartzler of Missouri’s 4th district refused to cut any defense spending? Defense is the largest part of our national budget, but this sacred cow is untouchable to many members of both parties. This makes the claimed effort to balance the budget unrealistic and claims thereto logically inconsistent.

3. In the third instance we are told “the libs were shouting that old people would not get their social security and that everything would be shut down (fear mongering), despite the fact that the government was bringing just under 200 billion a month in revenue.”
a) At least the nameless one has one thing right—-there is fear mongering. Sadly the truth of the matter is missed; fear mongering is used by all sides of our silly little two party system. The fear mongering that Republicans perpetuate when they say that taxes on the richest Americans will kill growth and lead to further recession is no better. Consider that the tax rate for the wealthiest Americans was much higher under Richard Nixon (and many other presidents before G. W. Bush) and our growth rate was higher than it is now. History does not bear out such claims that taxes, in and of themselves, mean an end to growth. The problems of our country and our economy are too important for fear mongering of any sort, which is why I support neither party using it. Did our respondent read my post called “Our Own Fault”?

4. In the fourth place we are told that “The current president and liberal establishment are the true demagogues and use fear as a tactic on a regular basis, not the conservatives, as you claim.” Here is naiveté in its most blatant form. If only our conservative respondent could see that all sides use this form of attack then maybe our underlying critical approach to all matters would be heeded. Moreover, one ought to wonder if the issue is one less of republicans versus democrats and more one of big business, problematic campaign contributions, and an uninformed electorate.

5. Lastly, my critic is not above ad hominem attacks. What is one to take from the phrase, “I would presume that such a debate with an ideologue, ‘super intellect’ like yourself would be a complete waste of time”? Never on this blog have I referred to myself as a “super intellect.” Resorting to such comments just proves the author’s lack of intellectual security. Maybe the person in question attended an institution, or seminary, whose primary criteria for enrollment is based on an acceptance of particular beliefs instead of documented intellectual achievement. To make my point more directly, does Talbot (the alma mater of Mr. Eden) require outstanding GRE scores, impressive college transcripts, and good letters of recommendation? If what I infer from their website is correct, a belief in the inerrancy of the bible, a willingness to pay fees, and a sense of religious calling are all that mark one out as a suitable candidate for Talbot’s program. If this is the case then I am unimpressed, but think I may understand my respondent’s insecurity.

laughter and knives

“No, seriously, I’m tellin’ you, these girls will play with themselves, grab your balls,” Jimmy boasts.  “Shit if you pay’em enough they’ll fuck you right there man!”

This is the eighth time Jimmy has made this proclamation.  No one is really listening anymore because we are all too busy pounding down as many Pacificos as possible before we leave for the night’s fun.  The drinks are expensive at Fantasia, students in Mexico for four months have spent too much money on too much shit, so we are forced to search downtown Cuernavaca for beer specials each night.

I don’t mind, Los Arcos is great, in the zocalo of our city, tables and umbrellas cover a corner of the center, and the band is playing something by Luis Miguel.  Cortes overlooks the entire scene from his post at the east end of the mall.  And of course tonight is 4 for 1 beers, so our order of 8 beers covers our table with 32 bottles.  Really, I’m just happy to take a break from the techno music assaulting my senses at the over-priced discotheques these assholes insist we go to every fuckin’ night.  I’ve memorized the playlists, and I continue to go back each night thinking tonight will be the night they’ll play something by the Pixies.  But they don’t.  And I go. 

Tonight holds different expectations though.  While I’m not a connoisseur of the gentlemen’s club, I’ve had just enough experience with this thing to know that you watch a girl undress and if you like what you see, you open your wallet to get a closer look.  This is Mexico so I think the rules may allow for a little more room to maneuver as well, if I remember the Godfather II correctly? 

“Just tell me if we’re gonna get shived in the back while takin’ a piss?” I ask trying to be funny, but sounding a little racist.

“Ah, man, this place is cool,” Jimmy says.  “High class, we’ll be alright,”

The beers are emptied business-like, too soon after their arrival.  A couple of us take an extra step to get out of our chairs, Andrew grabs one of the metal chairs for support, which scratches the cement in response to the weight. 

But we are geady to ro, shit man, give me the keys, I’ll drive.   But the curb on Calle Hidalgo returns me to my current condition. 

Jimmy and Andrew are ahead arguing with the cabby about our fare, the only thing I can figure out is that the driver continues to say that Fantasia is a long drive, in a bad part of town.  I probably should be nervous, I guess that’s the real reason we drank so much so fast before leaving tonight.

The wrestling match over cab fare has ended without any bloodshed or fish hooks, and we are crisscrossing through downtown to the outskirts. I think we are headed east, maybe south.  Downtown is quickly a memory, and Jimmy pulls out a joint he rolled back in his room.  I stare at it in between my fingers and take a long drag liked I used to and let the smoke escape slowly from my mouth.  So now I am pretty drunk and really stoned and going to a strip club in Mexico and this is only my fourth month ever speaking the language and a thousand other potentials I can’t think about or foresee.   I’m not gonna be a pussy though, that’s for sure.  They say puta gringos, I say fuck’em. 

My most pressing concern is the fact that Alejandro is tossing me around in this backseat with a stomach full of beer and some guacamole, which is coming up if I don’t get out of this car.   And Jimmy is laughing and finishing off the joint and talking about getting a senorita to sit on his face.  Andrew has been cold cocked by the weed, I think he’s asleep against the window, he might be prayin’, there are several beads of sweat running from his left temple when we stop at a light.

Not quite like Vegas, but the neon sign for Fantasia lights up the street as we round another corner and the cab comes to a stop outside the gate guarded by two extras from that movie about mobsters.  Greetings are exchanged, and the gate opens and we drive in.  This doesn’t look so bad, a couple of nice cars parked in the lot and some fresh paint on the walls, no pools of blood on the ground, we might be alright.  We single file past the door man and walk into someone’s fantasy.  I keep my eyes on the head in front of me as I assume someone knows where they are going, and we walk, 4 gringos, walk around the ring, we catch a few stares, and we walk.  Finally another extra points us to our table, next to the center dance floor. 

Now I can take in these surroundings, and the eyes on me.  The maroon curtain from my high school’s theater drapes the outer wall.  The lights are dim, candles remain unlit, none of the ceiling fans move. We are the only white faces in the place.  More beer is ordered, and the DJ plays a salsa song.  Old men and pretty, young, barely dressed girls slow dance in the center.  And we watch, and another song comes on as more couples enter the floor.  This is it.  This is what that dumbass has been talking about for the last week.  And I laugh, uncontrollably, were watching old men dance.  I look at Jimmy shaking my head as my eyes water over.

“Seriously fellas, these girls were raw when I was here last, titties and pussy, all over the dance floor,” Jimmy proclaims as he tries to prove his innocence. 

Fortunately we are all under some kind of influence so no one cares, and we watch for an hour as old men dance with young girls.

“This is bullshit, complete fuckin’ shit, man,” Jimmy says periodically.

And I am still laughing and drinking and dancing with my own odd visions, not sure if it is real or compliments of the weed.  It’s so fuckin’ hot in here.  And I think we’ve lost our attraction to the regulars in this place.  The faces of my amigos continue to hurt my stomach, mouths open, heads shakin’, Andrew nodding off in his chair.  But then a tap on my shoulder brings me to attention.

A five foot dark hair, caramel skin beauty leans in and says something like “Tomar parte” with her hand extended.

“………,” nothing comes out of my cotton mouth.  And her head nods towards the dance floor.

My heavy legs break free and I move to the dance floor towed by her out to sea.  She laughs when we stand together on the dance floor, her head barely reaches my first rib.  And we dance, and she lies about being a student in Mexico City, and I don’t care, too busy trying to keep a beat and not bump one of the couples closing in around me.  Andrew has left his sleeping chair for sleeping against some breasts.   Jimmy appears too, and cocks his head to tell me that he told me so. 

We return to our table and the girls order drinks.  I break out my Spanish skills and amuse everyone at the table with how pathetic I am.  And so the night has gotten interesting.  Victoria leans over and kisses me, I taste powder on my lips.  And so the night continues with more drinks and more lies from all of us, and Jimmy and his girl go to the back room for awhile, and Victoria and I hold hands and kiss and she tells me she’d  like to see me again.

Jimmy returns to the table with a cocky smile bronzed to his face, and they continue to go at it with the table as support.  His hands are all over her, and I laugh at his insecurity.  But the laughing stops when a monster appears from behind and whispers into the girl’s ear sitting on Jimmy’ lap.  She shakes her head furiously and Jimmy’ smile just broke.  And the monster places his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and tells him to get his hands off the girl. 

“Gentlemen, we need to settle up your bill,” the suit said at my end out of nowhere. 

My eyes are focused on the monster, and Jimmy releases his grip on the girl, and Andrew stares at his eyelids.  But the girl grabs Jimmy’s cheeks and kisses him violently. 

“Senores, dinero, ahora!”

In one motion Jimmy and the girl are propped up onto their feet by the monster.  A man wearing a Bulls 23 jersey appears on my side.  Jesus, Michael Jordan’s gonna kick my ass in Mexico.  The girl is pushed aside, and Jimmy is grazed by the first punch, then the sound of shattering glass, and a second punch that flattens Jimmy.  Our table is up, ready for the slaughter.  I am done before anything starts, the blow to the back of my head fogs over the next twelve hours or so. 

I kind of remember someone standing over me asking to pay up, the monster dragging that girl away from the scene, Andrew going to a deeper state of sleep, and Jimmy braggin’ about getting laid through a bloodied mouth. 

Eventually this fog lifts when I wake up the next afternoon in my bed with some dried blood in my hair, dirty clothes, empty wallet and a matchbook with some girl named Nina’s phone number on it.  My head hurts and I wonder how bad off Jimmy is and if Andrew is still asleep. 

500 pesos, a lot of fun Mexico style.  And even though it hurts, I can’t help but laugh.   And wonder if that’s a knife scratch across my stomach.

Panem et circenses

I have been reminded of this phrase of late after reading Thesaurus’ post “Our Own Fault” last week and Chris Hedges “Empire of Illusion” over the weekend, which has me thinking about my country and the spectacles that are weighing it down.  I first came across this idea in Professor Tom’s killer undergraduate trilogy of courses on the history of rhetoric from its Mesopotamian origins up to the recent work of Kenneth Burke (for Professor Tom, all discussion and need for such discussion of rhetoric ended with Burke – post for a later date?).   I came across this term again after a recent reading of “The Hunger Games” – yes, categorized as “young adult” fiction, but too many “adult” friends had mentioned the book – a post-apocalyptic world of slavery and spectacle and revolution that culminates in an annual spectacle of teenagers fighting violently to the death – it was a good read, overall. 

The phrase translated to “bread and circuses” is often considered a metaphor for the superficial agencies of consent and appeasement. First emerging in the Roman Republic as a political strategy for the manipulation and diversion of public approval through distraction and the simple satisfaction of instant, shallow gratifications of the public, panem et circuses, thus produces an erosion of the citizen and brings about an ignorance of civic responsibility.  For instance, this drummed-up argument about religious liberty and female access to contraception.  I am not going to wade into the argument itself as there is no use because the circus is in town and since the only strategy that matters in most media forums is the volume of your voice, the arguments are lost (but it’s not about religious liberty!).  But what I do want to discuss is that this portion of the healthcare legislation that over 60 percent of this country wanted at the time of its passage has been public for months, m-o-n-t-h-s.  In addition, this mandate is already on the books in 28 states.  So why in the second week of February 2012 did this argument “naturally” appear on the national landscape?  Well, political strategists and media operatives created this supposed controversy, plain and simple.  And because we have a commercial media system that needs to be fed every minute, they need programming to fill these 24 hours every day like a dog licks his balls, and since stories about corporate theft or a billion dollar prison industry (doesn’t that sound odd to you, the industry of prison?) don’t get the ratings that produce the best advertising rates, the public is fed these food pellets of manufactured urgency, hysteria, threats, and so on.   

Spectacle is becoming an organizing principle of everyday life and  more and more of our political and social life is shaped by [media] spectacle as social and political conflicts are played out nightly on media screens that display spectacles like sensational violence (Phil Specter, O.J., that girl in Italy – fuck, why do I know this?), celebrity deaths (Whitney Houston the latest example); perpetual terrorist threats, celebrity and political sex scandals (too many to name), sporting spectaculars (Super Bowl that just passed) – the bread and circus that distracts us all, soothes some of us, helps others get through another day.  This is nothing new, obviously as noted above, the Romans figured something out about us humans and our needs and the comfort of the now that produces complacency, acceptance and conformity.  Maybe for us Americans the Jersey Shore, American Idol, and the like is the real, dangerous heroin in this country?   Or do we need these diversions and distractions because the American Dream marketing plan we were sold since the 1950s has finally been uncovered by the majority of us for exactly what it is – a hoax.  And I do love my country, but I don’t love being lied to - so stuff that fallacy up your ass.  Guess what, not everyone in this country can be president.  Not everyone in this country can be a millionaire.  Not everyone in this country can pull themselves up by their bootstraps, because, guess what, they don’t have boots.

I do not begrudge anyone their joys, their entertainment desires – my love of college basketball is no different than a follower of The Voice for its absurdity on several levels (there are no such things as guilty pleasures, you like what you like, you don’t have to defend it) – but why can we not also balance these spectacles with the responsibilities that come with living in a deliberative, participatory democracy.  It breaks my heart when I hear 19, 20 year old college students proclaiming they do not vote because it does not matter.  Naturally a void like that is filled with misinformation, parental passing-down of prejudice and ignorance, and continuous spectacle.  And of course the biggest growth industry in the U.S. right now: strategic impression management.  In an election year, hell, in every year – the help wanted sign is always lit.          

        

Missed Opportunity . . .

Dearest Readers:

We had hoped to give you all something different. Actually, our plan was to invite Michael Eden, the author of the Start Thinking Right blog (http://startthinkingright.wordpress.com), to a respectful debate. However, our offer was not taken up and we find ourselves feeling snubbed. Why, we ask, would such an advocate of Republican politics, evangelical Christian theology, Fox News smear tactics, and various other attributes that we do not share avoid a little online repartee? The answer to this question remains unknown, but fret not. In lieu of his presence here we will be doing a bit of rhetorical deconstruction of his site and few others like it. All we have to say is too bad Mr. Eden. Here was your chance to engage in a bit of public debate for the sake of a political perspective you seem to champion, if only in the limited sphere of your own blogspace. Are you overworked, trepidatious, or simply fearful of the results? We remain open to the idea of having a debate with you, but since that does not seem to be possible at this time we will analyze the limitations of your thinking evident in your posts. Do not say there were not alternatives.

Our Own Fault

The next presidential/congressional election is months away and I am already fatigued. Therefore, now seems like an ideal time for a rant in order to prepare myself once again for the further political maneuvering that is taking place as I write this.

My point today is rather simple--we are all at fault. I say this because prior to Obama we elected and supported a president who thought we as a country could fight two wars simultaneously (not to mind erroneously) without raising taxes. Not only did we not increase our government’s revenue but we allowed Congress to cut taxes. There was a brilliant strategy. Hey Republican majority, where was your fiscal conservancy then? Next, we allowed this same President to stop his agencies from enforcing laws related to the safety of various industries and the populace. What was the result? We had mine collapses, extensive damage from natural disasters, and a new Department of Homeland Security. By the way, when was the last time you were treated humanely by one of those Homeland Security people?

How about the sorry state of the banking industry before the economic collapse? Did we, as a society, heed the warnings of those who noted the opaque practices of banks, investment firms, and brokerages? Heck no! We just let them pull us into a morass of economic decline and then bailed them out. Who was in charge? The answer is pathetic—several of the same folk who are now complaining about Obama’s handling of the economy. Well gents, and let’s face the fact that most of the most strident critics of Obama are men, I hold you all accountable. And to those blathering, illogical, and sensationalist demagogues like Sean Hannity, go gag yourself. You failed to cry out when, economically speaking, the country was heading toward the precipice and now that we have gone over the edge I have no interest in hearing your latest claims of calamity, particularly if you think the real danger is the threat to (your pathetic) religion. Oh please, as if that was in danger.

Now what? I really do not know, but I would start by spreading the blame well beyond the current President. Next, I extend a metaphorical middle digit to Fox News and other such Republican bolsters. And no, I am not another disgruntled democrat. Rather, I am one of those dissatisfied independent voters you so often try to lure to your side of the ballot when you fear your candidate’s chances are too close to call. You might have had a chance for my vote at one point, but not now when you are so willing to prostrate yourself before various industry leaders (remember Enron?) and the religious right. I loathe you all!

In closing, I wish your power mongering would be exposed and your threadbare claims of political insight were labeled for what they were—a blatant and extended strategy of misinformation. As for your myriad supporters—crackpot religious defenders and employers of fallacies (here is an example: http://startthinkingright.wordpress.com/)--I am ready to debate. Bring your holy swords, for I will be employing my feral claws, teeth, and a rough tongue. The badger is ready!

Buzz Kill (for a moment)

I was introduced and given a full demonstration of progressive muscle relaxation this morning and came away impressed and hoping it becomes a regular part of my life.  As I continue to struggle with nighttime sleeping, it was recommended that I try PMR (everything has a fucking acronym these days).  In brief, you begin by concentrating on your body (it is best to be lying down), start at the toes and move up your body trying to feel each area as you move along, eventually arriving at the top of your head.  Next you clench the muscle in your toes, moving to your feet and heel and ankle, up to the calf and thigh and hips and pelvis, culminating with an intense clench as you lift and hold your legs up for a five seconds and then big release.  This is repeated three to four times.  Next you move to the upper half of your body.  Here you begin by clenching facial muscles, forehead, cheeks, nose, chin and also push your tongue into the top of your mouth.  Move on to your neck, shoulders, arms, chest, abdomen, belly, and hold and again, big release.   Repeat three to four times.  Finally, before coming out, you take deep breaths through your nose, pulling from your belly and holding for three to five deep pulls, move this breathing to your chest, and finally combining both with shoulder lifts and release.

I began this demonstration with a mild-morning grogginess, the potential for a stress headache behind my right eye, and came out of the PMR exercise with a tingling sensation all over, a looseness not felt in forever, no headache, and most importantly, energized.  It was, simply put, a great feeling.  Unfortunately, I left this demonstration and walked right into the dysfunction that is my weekly staff meeting.  It is a soul-sucking two hour exercise where incredibly needy people dominate the whole conversation, talk over you at every turn, say things like "no" and "I don't like that" during brainstorming sessions, and basically do not listen to anyone, including themselves.  I was proud of myself for stating directly at one point: "Are we brainstorming ideas, or are you just making decisions for all of us?"  When the meeting came to an end, I was quite exhausted by these selfish people and frustrated by my bosses inability or disinterest in stopping this now two-year pattern of behavior.  The cool feeling from the PMR session had been disturbed, but once I left that negative space, I am happy to report that it did return.  I am heading off to bed, plan to do it again before lights out and hope for a better night's sleep.  Cheers.

My soundtrack for today:

Chris Isaak, "Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing"
Washed Out, "New Theory"
Frightened Rabbit, "Nothing Like You"
U2, "Three Sunrises"
Rufus Wainwright, "Across the Universe"
The Verve, "Bittersweet Symphony" and "The Drugs Don't Work"

Meet the New Boss, Same as the Old Boss

It has now been nine days since I first came across this image and it keeps flashing inside my forehead as images dance across the screen of my imagination.  It is a scene from the Chilean Winter as the Chilean police attempt to control and disperse a crowd of Chilean students protesting its educational system in September 2011 (both secondary and collegiate) and its rising costs, corruption, and fundamental inequality (nearly 60 percent of schools are controlled by private interests).  I could not stop staring at this picture: the chaotic action, bodies in every direction and falling on to one another, searching for relief, pressed against a metal fence, the specter of the water canon blasting away, and for me, the three dogs in various states of being.  I am a dog person, no other way around it; I am now in the twelfth year of amazing companionship with my boy WP.  I cannot decide if these are strays, which are common (at least from my extended stay in Central / Southern Mexico and Costa Rica) in this region of the world.  There are no signs of collars and the cops have no compunction about firing a powerful and painful water canon in their direction.  Yet, the dogs are in one instance biting the hand of a fleeing student,  and the other dog that is not attempting a hand stand appears to be surveying the scene, ready to corral and pounce.  Plus most of the dogs I witnessed on the streets were tragically emaciated while these dogs seem as if they are well-fed.  So, strays who came upon a student protest or one tool in the State’s arsenal to control the People?

Ah, the state and the people.  Why do we reflexively, often without thought or concern, turn to extreme measures to control each other while hiding behind the public safety shield?  Yes, human history has endless examples of people rioting, out-of-control mob action, and the like.  Yes, human history has terrible and deadly examples of group think that was twisted and deployed to incite rampage and mayhem.  Yes, any state should have a desire and responsibility to protect its citizens.  But why is citizen protest lumped into this category?  Why do the police show up in body armor, full length shields, weaponry like billyclubs, pepper spray, guns (lethal and non-lethal), water canons, and massive tank-like vehicles?  Is it as simple as tradition, this is how we always have done it?  Or is it the fundamental principle and moral perspective of any person in a position of power and control?  Can we un-learn this behavior?  I guess my questions will lead to claims of naivete’ and hippie desires for peace, love and understand (but what so funny about that anyway).  But we claim behavior is learned, then why are there never any alternative methods for public gatherings and those we entrust to protect and serve?  In this country, we all were revolutionaries on July 4, 1776, with bounties on our head for treason.  On July 5, 1776, folks were already trying to figure out how to manage and control its people.            

In a Funk

This morning I am in a funk and I even contemplated not posting anything today. However, I know my audience of one (Auditus) might want to read something, so I will give you all a quick snapshot of my morning, complete with music cues for the film of my life.

5:45 Awaked with the sounds of NPR (music cue pseudo-symphonic NPR theme)

6:15 Dressing, brushing teeth, and leashing dogs for the morning walk (music cue: Black Box's "Ride on Time" [gag])

6:30 Touring the neighborhood with the dogs (music cue: Jamiroquai's "Drifting Along")

7:15 Home again to prepare the dogs' breakfast and start crock pot dinner preparations (music cue: Soul Coughing's "Collapse")

8:15 Homemade barbecue sause made, ribs quickly braised in oven, and all contents in crock pot (music cue: Moby's "Go")

8:50 Breakfasted, kitchen cleaned, and headed to shower (music cue: Goldfrapp's "Fly Me Away")

9:30 Making tea, responding to e-mail, and starting latest blog post (music cue: Doves' "Last Broadcast")

Money, Money, Money, Money

While it certainly might be photoshop magic, I could not help but laugh, cringe and feel a pang of frustration when I came across this image.  The laughter is easy for multiple reasons.   The cringe comes from the pity I feel for Romney as I have never witnessed in my life time a serious presidential candidate so inept and witless at public communication.  "I like firing people."  "I don't care about the really poor, they have a safety net."  "It was not much money made last year from paid speaking events, oh, about $374,000."  And on and on.  Yes, Bush II gave us "strategery", "I'm the decider" and the "fool me once" mess, but he had a diabolical political machine behind him that could overcome his flubs and  spin them into the bullshit everyman image they so masterfully created.  But Romney is so disconnected from the world most of us live in, a direct product of this frightening development of "power enclaves" that dot areas in Maryland, Connecticut, New York, the north shore of Chicago to name a few, where people have safely and securely separated themselves from the rest of their country, permanently.  And Mitt is so clearly one of these folks.  And yes, "the I like firing people" comment has been unfairly taken out of context, but if he doesn't realize that we live in a soundbite world, well, should he be president?  Mitt should not be criticized for being born into wealth, I am not envious of his DNA or privileged access, despite this manufactured "politics of envy" crap, but I am troubled by his claims to business acumen when he was playing with loaded dice.  He is not a venture capitalist, he is not interested in building things (the Staples investment notwithstanding), he is a private equity firm that has one interest and one interest only: make money for itself.  Did they turn around a few companies, sure, did they close and lay off many more, yes.  In either instance, they made money - is this the free market we hear so much about?  Sorry, went off on a tangent there.  I also felt frustration because this image is everything wrong with our politics: money.  We will spend several billion dollars this year on a presidential election, and the costs are not just in dollars and sense.  These campaigns will provide jobs for many folks, a good thing.  But at what cost?  It is clear to me that to run for a major political office in this country you lose forever a part of your soul, part of your moral compass.  The best and brightest don't run because they know this sacrifice is too much.  And this "corporations are people" business, give me a break.  While flawed and imperfect on many fronts, I like several things about the British elections: six weeks long and no television ads. So, photoshop magic or not, this image is perfect for these times in this place.   

Inappropriate Commercials and Consumer Products

Now that we have left cultural prescriptions for coupling and romance behind, I would like to offer a list of commercials and consumer products that we are not likely to see, and for good reason.

State or Highway Patrol Official flasks. Each container for spirits comes painted in the law enforcement agency’s official colors. Sobriety tests are sold separately.

The officially licensed anal beads of the Vatican. These handy (pun intended) items can double as rosary beads when the family is visiting.

Keith Richard’s workout routine.

Iggy Pop’s line of formal wear.

O.J. Simpson selling steak knives on television. The ad begins with O.J. “rushing” to a friend’s steak dinner where, shock, they have inappropriate cutlery.

Madonna’s songwriting workshop.

In Praise of WaterCarvers

An odd word that—WaterCarver. What is one anyway, you might ask? The answer to this question is twofold. In the first place the WaterCarvers Guild is a band from Montana with which I became familiar when I worked as an arts administrator. As for the second meaning, I see a watercarver as one who produces works of seeming ephemerality whose effect and uptake have little relation to the producer. What I will do in the rest of this post is to explain what both parts one and two of the WaterCarvers band/concept have brought me.

Let us take a moment to consider Montana. Not only did my mother attend college there until her father passed away but this state has given us Norman Maclean, Yellowstone, and herds of bison. Given that I love all three—great American prose, a spectacular national park, and our country’s largest ungulate—how could I not enjoy this state? When I try to explain to people what is special about Montana I often default to the cliché of the sky. The expanse of blue found there gives one a sense of place, or really one’s relative insignificance in a landscape so awe inspiring and vast. Understanding one’s relative unimportance in the order of things is essential, so I praise the skies of Montana for that alone. Next, I have had some memorable experiences while traveling in Montana. There was the twelve-dollar lunch I purchased at a Lewistown diner for myself and two other people that was classic Americana: tasty, fattening, comforting, and cheap. Then there are the images that have stayed with me long after I left the state: the brutal beauty of the Hi-Line landscape, the rolling dark hills between Great Falls and Benton, and the mesas of Billings. Lastly there is the WaterCarvers Guild itself. This folk band consists of a father and two of his sons, and the mother of the family is their manager. There is something so honest and unforced about their songs and playing that I cannot help associate them with the splendor of this state. Listening to their music helps me to appreciate Montana even when I am miles from it.

A watercarver is also a great metaphor for a poet or artist of any sort. Somewhat like John Durham Peter’s idea that rhetoric is essentially an act of dispersal and throwing multiple seeds to the wind in hope that some will find fertile soil, a watercarver uses an instrument to shape a small section of flowing river, never knowing what these movements will ultimately produce or where the effects might be realized. The hope in both cases is that our artistic and rhetorical endeavors will eventually find their audiences, though we as the creators of such work need not be attached to their immediate success. The point is to continue shaping the water, putting forth a sound in breath, or filling the screen with text. How and when these articulations are taken up is not the point. Instead we must continue our efforts, carried along by the stream of our passion and maintaining a faith in the shape tumbling below the surface of ever-roiling waters.

Good Morning America

I want to thank the thousands of readers that have sent their concerns for my well-being and wishes for my return to this blog (it was only a week, but reader desire was bordering on Beatle-mania levels,  and see Thesaurus, we do have readers).  Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, the folks at Gawker and the Daily Beast engaged in their typical games of misinformation to try and tear down the competition - but they will not succeed.

No, faithful readers, I have not abandoned our blog.  While there was a death in the family, the last week has been sun-up to sun-down training for my audition on "So, You Want to be on Reality TV?"  A select group of contestants were whisked away to Boone, North Carolina and the base of the Blue Ridge mountain s for training to gain entry to the country's most prestigious television show.  I met folks that could squeeze  out ornate pooh from deep inside their bowels, others adept at the lost art of salt shaping, still others that are experts at re-creating the Confederates Most Successful Battles.  As for me, I have two talents under training for my audition, I will have to pick one by the April 16 deadline, so the secret will stay with me for a bit longer.

But as I said, thank you all again for your kind words and wishes, I return to blogging and training.  Cheers.

The Bibliophile's Dream

I quite enjoyed this impressive work of contemporary animation, though the irony of using visual communication to bolster the rapture of reading books and championing orthography is also a subtle treat. Here is the link to this 15-minute piece: http://www.youtube.com/embed/Adzywe9xeIU

Memories and Light

As of late I seem to be obsessed with memory, aging, sentiment, and reminiscence. Maybe these are side effects of my dissertation, but they are rather constant themes of my thinking. Case in point: While looking out of my bedroom windows this morning I noticed the color of the sky. Denver has been visited by several snowstorms lately, meaning that snow still covers the yards and roofs beyond my window, although the major streets are clear for the commuters. The sky, usually a robin’s egg blue after a ruddy sunrise, was solid cloud. These clouds had that faint grey cast like thick tendrils of cigarette smoke or the tule fog where I was raised. Upon seeing this morning light I was transformed back into my youthful self. Somehow my Colorado morning became my Central California upbringing. More specifically, I felt those old, familiar feelings that are often described as wonder and promise that I knew as a boy back in Fresno when the world seemed to beckon me to explore it. All of these senses filled me as that color of light continued. An awareness of my displacement brought me back to my immediate surroundings, which saddened me a bit because that beckoning of the world does not resonate as strongly for me now. At least I still have the memory of it, and all I need to do is just wait for the light to change again. The promise of transport those photons hold heartens me and I move forward with a hopeful and occasional glance at the lightening sky.

Blog Crush

If you did not know, Ana Marie Cox is now blogging for The Guardian, a UK newspaper that I peruse often. Reading her opening comments for that entity gave me a bit of a crush, at least of the prosaic sort. All I have to say here is the following, and please excuse the Jack Black voice I seem to be adopting this afternoon: Rock on fair maiden of political analysis and criticism. I look forward to your insights, and might I say you look fetching? Here is a link: http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/ana-marie-cox-blog/2011/sep/26/ana-marie-cox-introduction

End of the Relationship: A Pseudo-Haiku

My original plan was to respond to a statement I heard on the radio this morning, but I am changing my plan. In truth, my critique was a bit too hostile and did little to add to the speaker’s point about taking the sightless into account for urban design. Instead of that post, I am casting about for something interesting to blog about this morning without spending hours on this post instead of my dissertation. How about a pseudo-Haiku:

On Listening to Gotye’s “Somebody that I Used to Know”

Winter Pavement
Streaked with snow
and dark bootprints
leading away.

Drive

The windshield of this mini-van displays a brand new view of this drive home.  It provides access to more of the world.  Like the first time you smoke pot and watch the midnight showing of Talk Radio and come out of the theater to an empty parking lot and fog rolling down the street and you just feel different.  I’ve been driving so low to the ground for the last ten years while making this drive down I-57, I feel as if I’m standing on the rocks of Arches National Park at the helm of this Odyssey.  The world is new again.  I see junkyards and golf courses on the prairie I never saw on those drives.  I cannot believe the difference that twelve inches makes on my perspective. 

I’ve made this drive so often, I’ve zoned out the scenery I’ve seen so many times before.  That’s the downside of routine; there’s always something new to see, new to learn.  Routine gets in the way.  But now I see it.  I am focused.  The dad radio that usually annoys me is now the soundtrack to my drive.  The Tastee Freeze stand in Onarga, the VFW Hall in Manteno, that strange, wooden, twenty-foot arrow covered in reflecting tape pointing east near Gilman.  Maybe I once was aware of these things, but they appear new to me today. 

I like the sensation when all of your body is awake; the whole event consumed.  I haven’t had that since those first few snorts of coke many years ago.  This is substance-free though; ignited by this magical windshield.  This window.  The glass is enormous.  In daylight it adds the faintest blue tint to everything you see.  My eyes are open wide now, and I do see.  I see the signs of nature stripped from the cold.  I see families returning home from turkey and football.  I see a lone bird pecking at the remnants of a frozen TV dinner box in the median.  I see myself.  I’ve been avoiding him.  For too long.  It is all laid out before me.  It’s been laid out there before, but I chose to ignore it, hoping it would move down the street.   

           

“The tickets arrived for Missouri,” Dad says.

“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine, you told me when they arrived several weeks ago, that’s all.”

“Oh, yes.”

           

It’s becoming clear that my parent’s memory is fading.  This saddens me.  To watch two people who you remember as invincible, sharp, intelligent.  Those abilities are still there, but they have to fight against age to get out now and sometimes they lose.  Things get repeated more frequently, occasionally five minutes after its been said.  It’s just the first time there is evidence they won’t be around forever.  And so many things that haven’t been said.

“Looks like all the crops have been harvested for the year,” Dad says.

“The flatlands of Illinois exposed again,” I reply.

“Did you vote this year?”

“Yeah, voted for the guy I disliked the least again.”

I know my dad’s politics.  He knows mine as well.  I cannot blame him though, he was born before WWII to parents who lived through the depression.  He is cautious when it comes to money, so he votes for the guy with the lowest tax plan.  I’ve always thought that determining your vote on who will take the least was too narrow-minded.  But then again I’ve never earned much money for the government to tax so I don’t know how it feels to write a check to Uncle Sam with four zeroes in it.  I vote on the social issues, nowadays, for the guy who is truly pro-life and keeps abortion legal.  He believes this too, so he says, but he votes for the party that stands against it, and I can’t understand this.  We talked about this once.  And my mom sent out holiday cards with me singled-out as the black sheep of the family.

“I had to go to three stores to find a fresh turkey,” Mom says from the back seat.

“It was quite good,” I reply.

“Yes, yes, Phyllis, it was excellent,” Dad says.

[silence]

“Whatever happened to your old girlfriend Rachel?” Mom asks.

“She got married, Mom, she’s a librarian at the University of Alabama.”

“Oh, who’d she marry?”

Rachel.  I haven’t thought about her since that awkward moment several summer’s ago when we ran into each other.  She was with the future, I was drinking in Sheffield’s.  It was something like two o’clock in the afternoon.  I was a total jackass.  Trying not to care that she was there, with someone else.  Disinterested.  Cool.  And she was Rachel. 

I spent so long trying to get her to watch me.  Watch me.  It turns out she was trying to get me to watch her.  So we played this game back and forth until she slapped me one day and asked me what the fuck my problem was.  I asked her the same thing.  We were playing the same game.  She was the cliché.  She was the one.  I think it didn’t work out because I thought of her in these terms.  It’s a mistake to place that kind of pressure on another person.  But I did.  A relationship should live on its own without this bullshit, not through the eyes of Hallmark and Hollywood.  And I stopped living with her.  Afraid to make a mistake, when she was begging me to make mistakes.  She tried to get through, but I didn’t let her.  And she left. 

I used it as an excuse to get drunk.  The levels of drunkenness were increased cause my heart ached and I earned it.  Waking up drunk, drinking more and more.  Smoking pot, dropping acid, and the eight-balls start showing up.  And I snorted it, smoked it.  It is called escapism, I think it’s laziness.  It is easier to hide from the things you don’t like about yourself, then confront them.  So I close down.  My friends don’t matter, my family doesn’t matter, I don’t matter.  And the American Airlines collection agency is calling about the check you bounced, the NSF envelopes from your bank are in the mailbox.  And your parents show up at the door.  At first I don’t answer.  They wait.

“Son, we just want to help,” Dad says through the door.

“Just let us in, please!”

And I open the door.  There is no judgment or threats or anger.  They stand beside me as I get up to stand.  Does it matter that I have little in common with them?  No, it is only frustrating at times. 

Yet, now I begin to watch their life slowly come to an end.  And you think about life, death.  I wonder how do I ever repay what they have done.  Will they ever know how they have helped me and hurt me?  

“It look’s like we might get some rain,” Dad says.

“Yeah, there are some dark clouds in front of us,” I reply.

“Is the car pulling to left at all, I think it needs a realignment.”

“No, it feels fine.”

“You know there’s a report that this minivan may be recalled, the screws in the cooling fan are eroding on some of the models.”

“Really, what does that do?”

“You know I had to go to three stores to find a fresh turkey,” Mom says from her seat.

“Yeah, it was really good,” I reply.

A sports car flies by us in the right lane, and the driver has his eyes closed, missing everything.