Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Post-Race Sky-Gazing
Ran a hard race this morning and took about two minutes off of my time from last year. There were 7 races in between, over the last year, so this is Improvement. Still not my best time (which was an unprecendeted 24:11; in the pouring rain; on a hilly course) but felt good, so I'll go with that. Hit up brunch afterwards, then randomly decided to cash in a coupon for a full-body massage, and now going in and out of naps by the pool. Most excellent day.
In other news, hooray for New York and progressive policy-making. Perhaps the rest of the nation will follow suit.
In other news, Bristol Palin's memoir apparently reveals details that smack of sexual assault by Levi. Too many wine coolers on a camping trip in the wilds of Alaska. While I would never encroach upon any woman's right to the safety of her own body, I have to wonder why this is coming out now, years later, in a book. If BP is such an advocate for abstinence, why would she shy away from the vitally important message that sexual assault is something to be reported? Her mentioning of the incident in a memoir, long after the fact, cheapens it and relegates the act to the unfortunate hush culture of similar assaults. And where the hell was Grizzly Mom Palin, advocating for her daughter's rights to due process in the aftermath of what BP describes as confusing and without her consent? Busy proselytizing about teen abstinence and family values, no doubt.
I'm not going to try and debate whether or not what Levi may or may not have done in a tent on a camping trip constitutes rape. But I take serious issue with BP bringing it up now. If that's indeed what happened, speak out against non-consensual sex and underage drinking, and the relationship between the two. To do anything else smacks of an attempt to reconstruct a public image in the light of Good Girl.
Granted, I have not read the book, so I could be missing something. But the review I read mentioned nothing about follow-up to the incident or advocating against date rape and for the voices of silenced girls to speak out against their attackers. And that, to me, is a greater issue than worrying if BP might have remained a virgin until marriage.
In other news, the BF returns (hopefully) later this week from a long work trip overseas. I hope he brings me a pony, as requested. I do not think this is asking too much. Miniature ponies, when babies, are even small enough to pack as carry-on, and I'm sure customs will have no problems processing its sheer cuteness.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Trouble the Water
One awesome thing about three girls living together: amassed, we now have 7 Netflixes coming to the house. Rifling through the pile in the living room, I found one of Jaunt's- Trouble the Water.
It's been just over a year since I was in New Orleans, and the reverberations are still reverberating. I still read and watch anything I can get my hands on that addresses Katrina and the aftermath, still email with people I met down there asking for updates, and still look for ways that things are improving and how mistakes might not be repeated.
Trouble the Water is, so far, the single most terrifying body of footage about Hurricane Katrina I have seen. You can look at stills of damage, you can view helicopter shots of people swimming through dirty levy water, and you can hear stories, but until you see that water rise from the viewpoint of a handheld gripped by someone lodged in the upper beams of their attic, I don't think you can really get your mind around the devastation of that storm. And, as if I couldn't be more enraged about the aftermath, the story continues to unfold nastily and frighteningly.
It's been just over a year since I was in New Orleans, and the reverberations are still reverberating. I still read and watch anything I can get my hands on that addresses Katrina and the aftermath, still email with people I met down there asking for updates, and still look for ways that things are improving and how mistakes might not be repeated.
Trouble the Water is, so far, the single most terrifying body of footage about Hurricane Katrina I have seen. You can look at stills of damage, you can view helicopter shots of people swimming through dirty levy water, and you can hear stories, but until you see that water rise from the viewpoint of a handheld gripped by someone lodged in the upper beams of their attic, I don't think you can really get your mind around the devastation of that storm. And, as if I couldn't be more enraged about the aftermath, the story continues to unfold nastily and frighteningly.
Friday, February 18, 2011
I STAND WITH PLANNED PARENTHOOD.
Go here to sign the below open letter:
To the members of the House of Representatives who voted for the Pence Amendment to H.R. 1:
How could you?
How could you betray millions of women — and men, and teens — who rely on Planned Parenthood for basic health care?
How could you condemn countless women in this country to undiagnosed cancer, unintended pregnancies, and untreated illnesses?
Your vote was not only against those who seek care at Planned Parenthood health centers, but against every one of us who has ever sought care there, and against every one of us who knows that when we are healthy, when we are in charge of our lives, we thrive.
It was a vote against me.
To every senator who will soon consider this legislation:
I stand with Planned Parenthood to say to you: STOP THIS.
I stand with Planned Parenthood and the hundreds of thousands of people from every walk of life and every corner of this country who join me in signing this letter to tell you that we will fight this bill and we expect you to do the same.
I stand with and for the millions of women, men, and teens who rely on Planned Parenthood, and I expect you to do the same.
To every member of Congress, know that we stand together today against this outrageous assault, and together we will not lose.
AN OPEN LETTER TO CONGRESS
To the members of the House of Representatives who voted for the Pence Amendment to H.R. 1:
How could you?
How could you betray millions of women — and men, and teens — who rely on Planned Parenthood for basic health care?
How could you condemn countless women in this country to undiagnosed cancer, unintended pregnancies, and untreated illnesses?
Your vote was not only against those who seek care at Planned Parenthood health centers, but against every one of us who has ever sought care there, and against every one of us who knows that when we are healthy, when we are in charge of our lives, we thrive.
It was a vote against me.
To every senator who will soon consider this legislation:
I stand with Planned Parenthood to say to you: STOP THIS.
I stand with Planned Parenthood and the hundreds of thousands of people from every walk of life and every corner of this country who join me in signing this letter to tell you that we will fight this bill and we expect you to do the same.
I stand with and for the millions of women, men, and teens who rely on Planned Parenthood, and I expect you to do the same.
To every member of Congress, know that we stand together today against this outrageous assault, and together we will not lose.
Heliosphere
A brief scroll through Facebook and Twitter tells me that everyone seemed to have trouble sleeping last night. Lot of 3 and 4am posts about insomnia from all corners of the earth.
I blame this.
The whole energy of the world seems off this week, with a lot of tension and uprising visible in everything from strangers bumping angrily into one another on the sidewalks to violent protests in Yemen. Seems too convenient to blame all of this on solar energy, but it does give one a little peace of mind to think that if something is causing all of this worldwide anxiety than at some point it will pass, if that makes sense.
On another note, this random February spring has left me feeling buoyant enough to start hoping for real spring. I took a leap of faith and didn't wear socks today, and the delicious, forbidden feeling of a sockless day in February is just downright exotic.
I blame this.
The whole energy of the world seems off this week, with a lot of tension and uprising visible in everything from strangers bumping angrily into one another on the sidewalks to violent protests in Yemen. Seems too convenient to blame all of this on solar energy, but it does give one a little peace of mind to think that if something is causing all of this worldwide anxiety than at some point it will pass, if that makes sense.
On another note, this random February spring has left me feeling buoyant enough to start hoping for real spring. I took a leap of faith and didn't wear socks today, and the delicious, forbidden feeling of a sockless day in February is just downright exotic.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
I Called. You Should Too.
If you support Planned Parenthood of Maryland:
Anti-choice leaders in the House are forcing a vote that would deny Planned Parenthood health centers every dime of federal funding. Without this funding, many people would lose access to their only source of basic health care.
Critical public health programs including Title X provide funding for birth control, cancer screenings, HIV testing, and other lifesaving care for those who can't otherwise afford it — and all of this funding is in danger. For many women, Planned Parenthood clinics are the only source for these services.
CALL CONGRESS. TELL YOUR REPRESENTATIVE TO PROTECT PLANNED PARENTHOOD AND FUNDING FOR WOMEN'S HEALTH.
Please dial 202-730-9001 and tell your representative to vote NO on any attempt to defund Planned Parenthood. When you reach the office, leave a message for your representative demanding a vote to protect Planned Parenthood and women's health.
Anti-choice leaders in the House are forcing a vote that would deny Planned Parenthood health centers every dime of federal funding. Without this funding, many people would lose access to their only source of basic health care.
Critical public health programs including Title X provide funding for birth control, cancer screenings, HIV testing, and other lifesaving care for those who can't otherwise afford it — and all of this funding is in danger. For many women, Planned Parenthood clinics are the only source for these services.
CALL CONGRESS. TELL YOUR REPRESENTATIVE TO PROTECT PLANNED PARENTHOOD AND FUNDING FOR WOMEN'S HEALTH.
Please dial 202-730-9001 and tell your representative to vote NO on any attempt to defund Planned Parenthood. When you reach the office, leave a message for your representative demanding a vote to protect Planned Parenthood and women's health.
Monday, January 17, 2011
MLK, jr.
I know I should dip into my current passion for peace and social justice and write some pithy observation of today's holiday.
But, to be honest, like so many other Americans I am appalled and frustrated with the state of things today; both in the US and the world at large.
I wish I could say that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. would look upon our society today and see the advances we have made against outright and blatant hate in any form.
I suppose all we can do is have a little optimism and a little faith that perhaps although progress is slow, it is happening somewhere, in some form, and that maybe it will grow.
In observation, I simply plead the case for a little bit of peace and understanding in everyday interactions. Start small, I suppose, because that's about all we can control on some level.
Peace.
But, to be honest, like so many other Americans I am appalled and frustrated with the state of things today; both in the US and the world at large.
I wish I could say that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. would look upon our society today and see the advances we have made against outright and blatant hate in any form.
I suppose all we can do is have a little optimism and a little faith that perhaps although progress is slow, it is happening somewhere, in some form, and that maybe it will grow.
In observation, I simply plead the case for a little bit of peace and understanding in everyday interactions. Start small, I suppose, because that's about all we can control on some level.
Peace.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Give Peace a Chance
Ten years ago, when I was eighteen and stupid, I sat on a bus for eight hours from Salisbury to New York City just to go to the Imagine Circle and commemorate the twentieth anniversary of John Lennon's death with my hippy boyfriend at the time.
I should mention that I am stupid mostly because I had mono at the time.
Regardless, we stood around the Imagine Circle in Central Park late at night, absolutely freezing, with hundreds of people who had also made the trek to stand in a giant circle and wave lighters in the air. It's cliche, really, but certainly there is something powerful that compels people to participate in these things. I was young and feverishly sick, but somehow I knew that it was something I wanted to be- and should have been- a part of. Ten years later, I'm glad we made the trip.
Mostly because I still believe in John's mission and now I'm lucky enough to incorporate his values of social justice, art, and aesthetics in my everyday personal and professional life. There is no one on the pop culture radar these days doing what John and Yoko did (which I've talked about before.) The silencing of his voice was the silencing of a lot of voices, although Yoko has further pursued their shared vision in her work with Amnesty International and other world justice organizations.
Lighting a candle for you today, John. I would have jumped on a bus to go wave my lighter around at the Imagine Circle but, well...in my old age I prefer to remember you in the warmth of my home. I should stage a bed-in. Comfy.
I should mention that I am stupid mostly because I had mono at the time.
Regardless, we stood around the Imagine Circle in Central Park late at night, absolutely freezing, with hundreds of people who had also made the trek to stand in a giant circle and wave lighters in the air. It's cliche, really, but certainly there is something powerful that compels people to participate in these things. I was young and feverishly sick, but somehow I knew that it was something I wanted to be- and should have been- a part of. Ten years later, I'm glad we made the trip.
Mostly because I still believe in John's mission and now I'm lucky enough to incorporate his values of social justice, art, and aesthetics in my everyday personal and professional life. There is no one on the pop culture radar these days doing what John and Yoko did (which I've talked about before.) The silencing of his voice was the silencing of a lot of voices, although Yoko has further pursued their shared vision in her work with Amnesty International and other world justice organizations.
Lighting a candle for you today, John. I would have jumped on a bus to go wave my lighter around at the Imagine Circle but, well...in my old age I prefer to remember you in the warmth of my home. I should stage a bed-in. Comfy.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Longest. Documentary. Ever.
The documentary last night was fantastic: creative, artistic, enthralling, poignant, pithy, and lllllloooooooooonnnnnnggg.
I don't know what possessed me to think this thing was going to be brief, or why it would be a good idea to go to dinner AFTER the event. I got so hungry halfway through that I had to dig some gum out of my purse and chew it to keep my stomach from protesting too loudly.
It's hard to get really into art and politics when you're hungry. I think that goes without saying. I can be sophisticated, mature, and articulate most of the time, but when I'm hungry and it's late I am reduced to an antsy four-year-old whose only focus is blood-sugar maintenance. I should probably keep snacks in my bag for such occasions.
Four of us piled into Donna's in Charles Village immediately after, ordered more food then was probably necessary, and polished off a bottle of wine far too quickly for four people who had had nothing to eat prior. Still, it was a lovely evening and even though I couldn't seem to properly pin the red ribbon to my sweater (it kept turning itself sideways and looked more like a small snarl of discarded fluff) I do think that I adequately supported HIV/AIDS education and prevention.
Tonight: the lighting of the Washington Monument in Mt. Vernon. Every single year, I say that I am going to this event. Every single year, something "comes up." THIS YEAR, I AM GOING. HOLIDAY CHEER, DAMMIT.
I don't know what possessed me to think this thing was going to be brief, or why it would be a good idea to go to dinner AFTER the event. I got so hungry halfway through that I had to dig some gum out of my purse and chew it to keep my stomach from protesting too loudly.
It's hard to get really into art and politics when you're hungry. I think that goes without saying. I can be sophisticated, mature, and articulate most of the time, but when I'm hungry and it's late I am reduced to an antsy four-year-old whose only focus is blood-sugar maintenance. I should probably keep snacks in my bag for such occasions.
Four of us piled into Donna's in Charles Village immediately after, ordered more food then was probably necessary, and polished off a bottle of wine far too quickly for four people who had had nothing to eat prior. Still, it was a lovely evening and even though I couldn't seem to properly pin the red ribbon to my sweater (it kept turning itself sideways and looked more like a small snarl of discarded fluff) I do think that I adequately supported HIV/AIDS education and prevention.
Tonight: the lighting of the Washington Monument in Mt. Vernon. Every single year, I say that I am going to this event. Every single year, something "comes up." THIS YEAR, I AM GOING. HOLIDAY CHEER, DAMMIT.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Really? REALLY??
Oh, GWB.
I caught some snippets of your interview with Matt Lauer (insert weird, inexplicable celebrity crush sigh here) this morning on NPR. And, along with the rest of most of society, I damn near stabbed myself in the sinus cavity with my toothbrush when you said that Kanye West's comment ("George Bush doesn't care about black people") was one of the worst days of your Presidency.
I feel for you, man; I really do.
No, actually, I don't. I'm totally lying.
You stood by and watched while thousands of people lost their homes, their sense of safety and security, and every shred of a right to the pursuit of happiness in a domestic national disaster that was one of the worst in documented history. You shrugged your shoulders and "Boy, is my face red!"-ed your way all over the press when it was revealed that not only were there no WMD's in existence in Iraq, but perhaps further documentation that perhaps this information was readily available to you much earlier then you let on. You sat there, shell-shocked and most likely leaking some sort of bodily fluid in front of a classroom of kindergartners when someone whispered in your ear the the US had just been the victim of a series of heinous, shocking, and axiom-shattering terrorist attacks. And these are only the big-ticket news items.
But yet you, strutting around claiming that the Lord has saved you and that you will do good in His name for the rest of your life, called someone's attack on your personal character "one of the worst days" of your Presidency. You can crush much of the middle class under your cowbooted heel with the power of policy, grind out entire lower-income neighborhoods after a hurricane with one sweeping gesture of highly inappropriate ennui, and you can point your finger and declare war and chase after imaginary WMD while families of 9-11 victims wring their hands and wonder how everything got suddenly so very frighteningly out of control. You can do all of these things and take criticism and deflect accusations, but GOD FORBID someone point out an aspect of your personal character in a way you find offensive. That, GWB, is apparently where your line of reason gets crossed.
Oh, really? Is it now? THAT was one of the worst days of your Presidency?
How DO you keep the inside of that bell jar in which you reside free of your skunk-smell?
I caught some snippets of your interview with Matt Lauer (insert weird, inexplicable celebrity crush sigh here) this morning on NPR. And, along with the rest of most of society, I damn near stabbed myself in the sinus cavity with my toothbrush when you said that Kanye West's comment ("George Bush doesn't care about black people") was one of the worst days of your Presidency.
I feel for you, man; I really do.
No, actually, I don't. I'm totally lying.
You stood by and watched while thousands of people lost their homes, their sense of safety and security, and every shred of a right to the pursuit of happiness in a domestic national disaster that was one of the worst in documented history. You shrugged your shoulders and "Boy, is my face red!"-ed your way all over the press when it was revealed that not only were there no WMD's in existence in Iraq, but perhaps further documentation that perhaps this information was readily available to you much earlier then you let on. You sat there, shell-shocked and most likely leaking some sort of bodily fluid in front of a classroom of kindergartners when someone whispered in your ear the the US had just been the victim of a series of heinous, shocking, and axiom-shattering terrorist attacks. And these are only the big-ticket news items.
But yet you, strutting around claiming that the Lord has saved you and that you will do good in His name for the rest of your life, called someone's attack on your personal character "one of the worst days" of your Presidency. You can crush much of the middle class under your cowbooted heel with the power of policy, grind out entire lower-income neighborhoods after a hurricane with one sweeping gesture of highly inappropriate ennui, and you can point your finger and declare war and chase after imaginary WMD while families of 9-11 victims wring their hands and wonder how everything got suddenly so very frighteningly out of control. You can do all of these things and take criticism and deflect accusations, but GOD FORBID someone point out an aspect of your personal character in a way you find offensive. That, GWB, is apparently where your line of reason gets crossed.
Oh, really? Is it now? THAT was one of the worst days of your Presidency?
How DO you keep the inside of that bell jar in which you reside free of your skunk-smell?
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Election Night Coverage Commentary
Politics. Only the important stuff:
"O'Malley's daughter is hot."
"His wife looks concerned. No- now she's happy. No, wait, concerned?"
"Where is this taking place in Federal Hill? I think I would notice a large crowd in the neighborhood. They have lighting rigged up. Where is this? The park? I didn't see anybody over there."
"She's got to be, what- 19? At least. She's really hot."
"Look at Elijah Cummings...what a happy man. He is totally wearing a shiny suit. He brought that out special."
"Or maybe I just think she's hot because her dad is powerful."
"Seriously- there are a LOT of people there. Where IS this?"
"That guy in the back comes into Metro. He's intense. He even looks intense."
"HOW SHORT IS BARBARA MIKULSKI?!"
"Maybe she looks that short because she's standing next to O'Malley? How tall is he, like 6 feet?"
"No way, O'Malley is like 5'10". Mikulski is like 4'8". She is a tiny, tiny woman."
"I often get attracted to girls who have power. Maybe she's not really that hot."
"Is this at the 8x10? Or AVAM? WHERE IS THIS TAKING PLACE? The news crew says 'Federal Hill,' but I'm IN Federal Hill and I do not see this giant crowd!"
"Stephanie Rawlings-Blake looks tired."
"Really? I think SRB is looking good."
"She's gorgeous. Too much make-up, though."
"Wake up, SRB! O'Malley is going to win!"
"Ehrlich is going down."
"WHERE IS THIS TAKING PLACE?"
"I mean, she looks pretty hot right now. If I didn't know her dad was O'Malley I'd probably still think that she's hot. I think."
"SRB might be coming down with the flu."
"HOW SHORT IS BARBARA MIKULSKI??"
"Wouldn't it be funny if this was taking place at Ropewalk? And ironic?"
"I love Elijah Cummings. He just looks so joyful. In his shiny suit."
"Do you think O'Malley's daughter is hot?"
"She's NINETEEN."
"So?"
"You're like....way older."
"So?"
"Is this at Ropewalk? No way they could fit that many people in there."
"I think it's a the Museum of Industry."
"That's not in Federal Hill. It's like...downtown."
"It is not, it's on Key Highway."
"SRB is so tired of standing there."
"Where is that phantom arm coming from?"
"I think O'Malley won."
"Oh, good."
"Awesome."
"SRB looks happier."
"Elijah Cummings looks shiny. And happy."
"O'Malley's daughter looks hot."
"Barbara Mikulski looks short."
"WHERE IS THIS BEING FILMED?"
Fin.
"O'Malley's daughter is hot."
"His wife looks concerned. No- now she's happy. No, wait, concerned?"
"Where is this taking place in Federal Hill? I think I would notice a large crowd in the neighborhood. They have lighting rigged up. Where is this? The park? I didn't see anybody over there."
"She's got to be, what- 19? At least. She's really hot."
"Look at Elijah Cummings...what a happy man. He is totally wearing a shiny suit. He brought that out special."
"Or maybe I just think she's hot because her dad is powerful."
"Seriously- there are a LOT of people there. Where IS this?"
"That guy in the back comes into Metro. He's intense. He even looks intense."
"HOW SHORT IS BARBARA MIKULSKI?!"
"Maybe she looks that short because she's standing next to O'Malley? How tall is he, like 6 feet?"
"No way, O'Malley is like 5'10". Mikulski is like 4'8". She is a tiny, tiny woman."
"I often get attracted to girls who have power. Maybe she's not really that hot."
"Is this at the 8x10? Or AVAM? WHERE IS THIS TAKING PLACE? The news crew says 'Federal Hill,' but I'm IN Federal Hill and I do not see this giant crowd!"
"Stephanie Rawlings-Blake looks tired."
"Really? I think SRB is looking good."
"She's gorgeous. Too much make-up, though."
"Wake up, SRB! O'Malley is going to win!"
"Ehrlich is going down."
"WHERE IS THIS TAKING PLACE?"
"I mean, she looks pretty hot right now. If I didn't know her dad was O'Malley I'd probably still think that she's hot. I think."
"SRB might be coming down with the flu."
"HOW SHORT IS BARBARA MIKULSKI??"
"Wouldn't it be funny if this was taking place at Ropewalk? And ironic?"
"I love Elijah Cummings. He just looks so joyful. In his shiny suit."
"Do you think O'Malley's daughter is hot?"
"She's NINETEEN."
"So?"
"You're like....way older."
"So?"
"Is this at Ropewalk? No way they could fit that many people in there."
"I think it's a the Museum of Industry."
"That's not in Federal Hill. It's like...downtown."
"It is not, it's on Key Highway."
"SRB is so tired of standing there."
"Where is that phantom arm coming from?"
"I think O'Malley won."
"Oh, good."
"Awesome."
"SRB looks happier."
"Elijah Cummings looks shiny. And happy."
"O'Malley's daughter looks hot."
"Barbara Mikulski looks short."
"WHERE IS THIS BEING FILMED?"
Fin.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Hide Your Children from THE GAY.
I just don't even know what to say to you, Carl.
Thankfully Cuomo spokesperson Josh Vlasto does:
"Mr. Paladino's statement displays a stunning homophobia and a glaring disrespect for basic equality. These comments along with other views he has espoused make it clear that he is way out of the mainstream and is unfit to represent New York."
Thankfully Cuomo spokesperson Josh Vlasto does:
"Mr. Paladino's statement displays a stunning homophobia and a glaring disrespect for basic equality. These comments along with other views he has espoused make it clear that he is way out of the mainstream and is unfit to represent New York."
Monday, September 13, 2010
9.11.10
Untitled, Sept 2001, The New Glitterati.
I, along with about a thousand other runners in Baltimore, lined up at the War Memorial Plaza on Saturday morning to participate in the Run to Remember 5k. It was an absolutely beautiful morning, reminiscent of that day.
Not a year passes that I don't find myself in some sort of quiet reflection on September 11, and I don't think one ever will.
We're embroiled in a tense political climate with people clamoring over one another for even five seconds of ludicrous talk time to scream about mosques and spitting on the graves of the dead for attempting to erect anything that even remotely smacks of Muslim-identity anywhere near Ground Zero. It was nice to take a moment of silence, the sun emitting brilliantly against that snappy blue cloudless sky, the slightest of early-morning autumn chill in the air, listening to flags flap and just musing on everything I hate and love so very much about this country. We are, undoubtedly, sublimely fortunate to have opinions on things. Sometimes, though, I think that people take advantage of this.
I ran because it was a way to be active and involved, because it made me feel like a part of something bigger, and because, in some small and probably insignificant way, it made me feel like part of the solution. We can have conflicting opinions, we can fight, we can throw our weight around and we can even come dangerously close to hating one another over political opinions. But, at the end of the day, regardless of affinity or affirmation, we can get together and we can all run a race, elbow-to-elbow, to remember and celebrate and mourn.
If there is any message to be learned, if there is any silver lining, if there can be a tiny drop of wisdom in the midst of the rubble and smoke that still haunts us, then it must be this: we're all in this life together. Whether you like it or not.
Never forget, they say. Who could?
Untitled, Sept 2001, The New Glitterati
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Where The Voices At?
Just finished watching The U.S. vs. John Lennon.
I kept thinking about my generation, and who might be seen as the cultural, radical, innovative thinkers. Greenday?
With "the medium is the message" distorting sensationalism and creating something out of nothing, there seems to be nothing left in this world that is truly original or groundbreaking. And, when it comes to political spheres and protests and ways in which we react to the Powers That Be...well, you can plan five thousand benefit concerts and it will never- in any way- come close to what The Beatles, and John Lennon in particular, did for political movements in the 1960's and 70's.
My generation appears lazy, jaded, and cathartic. The children of the flower children, and what wars are we fighting? Sure, we're the first to embrace things like recycling, organic living, and green initiatives. But we've also watched so many wars, a ballooning defense budget, and attacks on the right to the pursuit of happiness. Where are the radicals in this country where gay people are denied basic civil rights? Where are the demonstrations and, maybe the more important question, what could anyone possibly do in this day and age to really garner attention?
In the age of YouTube, Facebook, blogspot, and all the other ways we can communicate our hard-earned (albeit certainly not by us) rights to voice our opinions publicly and safely, where's the sensationalism that is required in radical schools of thought? It seems, in this day, you have to drink the Kool Aid or marry a bunch of thirteen-year-old girls or shave your head and come after a paparazzi's van with an umbrella to get any semblance of attention.
John and Yoko spent 7 days of their honeymoon in bed, allowing reporters and filmographers and photographers access to their most intimate of moments. And it was ground-breaking. It was real, it was raw, and there was nothing to hide. They had their message, they had a captive audience, and although we might now look back on their escapades with a decided yawn (you mean they weren't photographed climbing pantiless out of the back of a limo or caught doing lines of cocaine off of an LA club toilet?? How boring.) it was absolutely radical, it was absolutely new, and it was absolutely a media-frenzy. Regardless of whether or not it made a difference (and I think it can be argued that the fact that my generation; some of whom weren't even alive to see Lennon walk the earth let alone bed down with his Japanese wife; has a very visual mental picture of Lennon and Yoko in bed together with flowing hair and white pajamas shows just how permanent sensational media images can be) it was seen and heard and held a presence.
Who's holding a presence now? I would argue that John Stewart and Stephen Colbert have made significant contributions. Maybe Family Guy and The Simpsons. South Park, to a certain extent. But where are the artists? Where are the sensationalists? What could they possibly do that hasn't already been done?
Where are our generation's John and Yoko, fighting back against Rupert Murdoch and ridiculous bigotry and the nauseating reactions to building a center that promotes religious tolerance in the Financial District of New York City? Where are they fighting against the evil of BP, against a government that will leap into action for crises halfway around the world but take five days to send aid to one of our very own cities in an act that, I am more and more convinced, is evidence of the presence of institutionalized racism here in this country? Where are our battle cries, what cards are we burning, and how long do we have to grow our hair before it's anything more than some hipster's idea of a fundraiser?
I wish I knew. I'm just as guilty as anyone else. I'm not eschewing the system; in fact, I'm very much working alongside of it. To be fair, I'm doing so in an effort to enact change and promote advocacy and activism, but honestly I'm not existing outside of any boxes here.
What will the documentaries about our generation look like? Obsessed with ourselves, with our personal growth, with our "journeys," and Facebook and personal achievements? We are the most selfish generation to cross this earth; the most highly-educated and, by far, the stupidest. And, please understand, I in no way credit myself or place myself outside of it. I'm just as enmeshed and embroiled in it as anyone else, but I watch documentaries about anger, about a genuine care for humanity and the art and beauty and innovative thinking that can arise, and I wonder just what the hell we think we are doing.
If Lennon were alive today to see what BP has done, to witness our ridiculous "Operation Freedom" and "Patriot Acts...." what would he say? What would he do?
Where's our John Lennon?
Friday, May 21, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Spike Lee's "Requiem"
Damn.
DAMN.
New crush: Wendell Pierce. Native New Orleanian, star of The Wire and now Treme lends his commentary to Spike Lee's infinitesimally-researched documentary.
Every time I think I get some scope of JUST HOW complicated the situation is/was....
Below is just an excerpt. In the actual documentary, there is footage that is beyond disturbing.
Example: British journalists stumbled upon a home filled with un-minded children. Where's Mom? "She needs air to breathe," a child explains, pointing the journalists to dead Mom lying in her bed, hooked up to an oxygen machine that ceased to work when the power went out.
Wrap your head around that.
DAMN.
New crush: Wendell Pierce. Native New Orleanian, star of The Wire and now Treme lends his commentary to Spike Lee's infinitesimally-researched documentary.
Every time I think I get some scope of JUST HOW complicated the situation is/was....
Below is just an excerpt. In the actual documentary, there is footage that is beyond disturbing.
Example: British journalists stumbled upon a home filled with un-minded children. Where's Mom? "She needs air to breathe," a child explains, pointing the journalists to dead Mom lying in her bed, hooked up to an oxygen machine that ceased to work when the power went out.
Wrap your head around that.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
"Haiti" and What We Can Learn From Katrina
(photo- Katyn Monument, Harbor East, Baltimore. May 2008.)
"Choosing the humanistic approach to other people’s misery brings certain obligations. The first is humanitarian: the generous response of ordinary Americans, along with the quick dispatch of troops and supplies by the U.S. government, met this responsibility, though it couldn’t answer the overwhelming needs of people in Haiti. But beyond rescue and relief lies the harder task of figuring out what the United States and other countries can and ought to do for Haiti over the long term, and what Haiti is capable of doing for itself." - "Suffering," George Packer, The New Yorker, Jan 25 2010
This March, I am headed to New Orleans for a week to volunteer for a Habitat project that's building a community of homes along a devastated stretch of land by the river. The decision process in my choosing to embark on this mission came in equal parts sudden and prolonged.
The prolonged aspect was this: for the past several years, I've been at odds with myself and my place in this world. I've waxed poetical on this blog (often injecting narcissistic ruins and self-deprecating moments of doubt) about the process and, from a standpoint although not quite yet fully outside of it but clearly on the other side of something, I realized that all of this soul-searching and circular thinking was yielding....nothing. Was it wasted? Certainly not. Was it necessary? Of course. Was it productive? Depends on how you measure. But was it moving forward? Not anymore.
The realization that inaction is a form of action was no longer working culminated in a moment where I realized how very small I am, how very large the world is, and how very interconnected we are. All of this rationalizing and theorizing brought me to the idea that I should take all of this excess "I don't know what to do with myself" energy and put it to good use. And so, I decided to volunteer, to do something big, to plan and execute some sort of project that would, in some way, directly help others.
Whenever you commit yourself to something, it seems that doors open. Within the week of my decision to attempt to find some outlet for this newly-found goal, an email found its way to me via various outlets seeking volunteers for a Habitat trip to New Orleans. I met with the organizer of the trip a week later and signed the paperwork.
Once I started doing research, I became more and more fully committed to the idea of the RHINO project (Rebuilding Hope In New Orleans.) The thing with great world crises (think Katrina, the tsunami, etc.) is that there is a great momentum at the onset to help. Media outlets are on the scene, showing us graphic images of people in desperate need. We reach out to our fellow human beings, we give everything we are able, and we rush in to help in the moment of crisis.
But this is problematic because, like anything with a great initial momentum, at some point it falters if not fueled. And the state of New Orleans and the destruction of Katrina are still dire and present. However one might argue about the initial lack of help and response, it was certainly on the nation's radar through much of 2005-2006 and initiatives to help gradually snowballed as the tense political scene danced around trying to downplay the damage while putting as much emphasis as possible on the supposed outpouring of help.
But now, so many years later, is when the desperation reaches its apex. Funds are running dry and being redirected towards newer, more vogue causes. When people think to donate money, time, or other resources, Katrina is slowly but surely falling off the map. And the consequences? The levies, which were so far below code before the hurricanes, would not be able to withstand another hit. Not because people "shouldn't be living in lowland areas near rivers," as it's been argued, but because the need for stringent rebuilding procedures and uncorrupted contractors, and local politicians with an eye on the future of New Orleans as a thriving and healthy city as opposed to one hand in the pocket all require long-term help and care. Once the immediate sick and injured have been tended to, once all of the victims have a bed to sleep in and meals to count on, that's where the real work starts.
It will be the same with Haiti. One of the world's poorest countries cannot come back from devastation like this without long-term planning and continuing efforts. Five, six, seven years from now when the dead have been buried, what will we be doing to assist? How can we help pull this country up from the rubble, invest in it, and rebuild it so that it actually stands a chance of surviving anything else the universe might throw at it?
Buzz words and catch phrases and celebrity involvement put crises in vogue. Jennifer Lopez answers phones at a donations center while Wyclef Jean tearfully begs for donations for his home country. They get involved, but where will they be when the bigger questions need to be answered? When corrupt politicians and a history of desperate poverty prove to be the true ruin of Haiti?
And so, I pack up my jeans with the holes in the knees and hope that they'll have a hammer on-site (because you can't fly with jack shit these days, even in checked luggage) and I'm heading down to NOLA to put my money where my mouth is, five years after the initial fact. And five years from now, maybe I'll find some initiative in Haiti to join.
Hope and help aren't just about initial reactions. It's about long-term dedication. It's about a commitment to being there, long after the dust has literally and figuratively settled.
This March, I am headed to New Orleans for a week to volunteer for a Habitat project that's building a community of homes along a devastated stretch of land by the river. The decision process in my choosing to embark on this mission came in equal parts sudden and prolonged.
The prolonged aspect was this: for the past several years, I've been at odds with myself and my place in this world. I've waxed poetical on this blog (often injecting narcissistic ruins and self-deprecating moments of doubt) about the process and, from a standpoint although not quite yet fully outside of it but clearly on the other side of something, I realized that all of this soul-searching and circular thinking was yielding....nothing. Was it wasted? Certainly not. Was it necessary? Of course. Was it productive? Depends on how you measure. But was it moving forward? Not anymore.
The realization that inaction is a form of action was no longer working culminated in a moment where I realized how very small I am, how very large the world is, and how very interconnected we are. All of this rationalizing and theorizing brought me to the idea that I should take all of this excess "I don't know what to do with myself" energy and put it to good use. And so, I decided to volunteer, to do something big, to plan and execute some sort of project that would, in some way, directly help others.
Whenever you commit yourself to something, it seems that doors open. Within the week of my decision to attempt to find some outlet for this newly-found goal, an email found its way to me via various outlets seeking volunteers for a Habitat trip to New Orleans. I met with the organizer of the trip a week later and signed the paperwork.
Once I started doing research, I became more and more fully committed to the idea of the RHINO project (Rebuilding Hope In New Orleans.) The thing with great world crises (think Katrina, the tsunami, etc.) is that there is a great momentum at the onset to help. Media outlets are on the scene, showing us graphic images of people in desperate need. We reach out to our fellow human beings, we give everything we are able, and we rush in to help in the moment of crisis.
But this is problematic because, like anything with a great initial momentum, at some point it falters if not fueled. And the state of New Orleans and the destruction of Katrina are still dire and present. However one might argue about the initial lack of help and response, it was certainly on the nation's radar through much of 2005-2006 and initiatives to help gradually snowballed as the tense political scene danced around trying to downplay the damage while putting as much emphasis as possible on the supposed outpouring of help.
But now, so many years later, is when the desperation reaches its apex. Funds are running dry and being redirected towards newer, more vogue causes. When people think to donate money, time, or other resources, Katrina is slowly but surely falling off the map. And the consequences? The levies, which were so far below code before the hurricanes, would not be able to withstand another hit. Not because people "shouldn't be living in lowland areas near rivers," as it's been argued, but because the need for stringent rebuilding procedures and uncorrupted contractors, and local politicians with an eye on the future of New Orleans as a thriving and healthy city as opposed to one hand in the pocket all require long-term help and care. Once the immediate sick and injured have been tended to, once all of the victims have a bed to sleep in and meals to count on, that's where the real work starts.
It will be the same with Haiti. One of the world's poorest countries cannot come back from devastation like this without long-term planning and continuing efforts. Five, six, seven years from now when the dead have been buried, what will we be doing to assist? How can we help pull this country up from the rubble, invest in it, and rebuild it so that it actually stands a chance of surviving anything else the universe might throw at it?
Buzz words and catch phrases and celebrity involvement put crises in vogue. Jennifer Lopez answers phones at a donations center while Wyclef Jean tearfully begs for donations for his home country. They get involved, but where will they be when the bigger questions need to be answered? When corrupt politicians and a history of desperate poverty prove to be the true ruin of Haiti?
And so, I pack up my jeans with the holes in the knees and hope that they'll have a hammer on-site (because you can't fly with jack shit these days, even in checked luggage) and I'm heading down to NOLA to put my money where my mouth is, five years after the initial fact. And five years from now, maybe I'll find some initiative in Haiti to join.
Hope and help aren't just about initial reactions. It's about long-term dedication. It's about a commitment to being there, long after the dust has literally and figuratively settled.
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