Citizen Kane wins five primaries

Donald Trump swept the Republican primaries last night... and all I could think of was Hedley Lamarr, and the evillll for which he stands.

Yes, the Trump campaign makes me think of BLAZING SADDLES. Lots and lots of similarities.

Links:

Donald Trump Declares Himself 'Presumptive Nominee' After Tuesday Wins (NBC)

Trump sweeps GOP races (CNN)

Donald Trump completes sweep of five northeast states (USA Today)



~*~

I didn't post on this blog for quite a long time, and in the meantime, stored up a few stray links to discuss later.

And you probably know what happened, right?

About half of these are gone already, especially the tweets. Must have been some hard-hitting, gotcha tweets, for me to make a quick footnote of them. And now they are gone.

Dear Radicals, as I said two days ago, GET A GRIP! Citizen Kane and the Twilight Days of Empire await us. Stop feverishly erasing whatever it was that desperately needed to be said. STOP BEING AFRAID! Charles Foster Kane is who you need to be afraid of right now, not some damnable tweet that might have been heavy-handed, might have hurt some liberal's feelings. (Or worse, brought out the attack dogs.)

To sum up: Whoever deleted that tweet is not someone I want in my radical cell. If you are afraid of the consequences of a tweet, you are not going to be there when they start rounding people up, you will be out hiding in your shed or under your SUV. Count on it.

This is serious, people. THIS IS SERIOUS.

[Aside: See how it is? I eventually devolve into a hysterical splay of capital letters and explanation points because... what else can you say? How do we get the suburban white kids to panic? Take away all the phones?]

~*~

Other links of note:

[] Written during the 2012 election campaign, this post is now more pertinent than ever: Rethinking how we think about voting. THIS MEANS YOU!

[] Suzanne Vega found her old letter from Prince. (sigh)

[] Ted Cruz, John Kasich join forces to stop Trump. A day late and a dollar short, guys.

Speaking of old letters, I wish I had saved the nasty note I once received from Kasich, back when he was in congress and I was a born-and-bred citizen of the great state of which he is now governor. I wrote to him first and I was nasty, he replied and he was nasty right back, and we understood each other just fine.

I never dreamed he would be governor, let alone run for president.

My advice: Save those nasty letters from even the low-level politicians, kids! They could be worth something someday!

[] The diversity rally I tried to avoid, but in this town, I am spotted everywhere I go. Really.

Sometimes I wonder what life might be like in a really BIG town.

[] What you need to say to the smug atheist liberals who assure us religion is on the skids and down for the count: Not so fast.

Please understand, when they dwindle to "the remnant" -- that is exactly when they will fight like hell. And perhaps that is exactly what is happening right now.

Who among you, like me, grew up on the Christian term REMNANT? It was considered a compliment; the diehards who stay loyal until the Second Coming... and do you get it? They WANT to be The Remnant!! Looking around and deciding they are the legendary REMNANT will crank them up like nothing else you can imagine. They will REMNANTIZE the entire discourse, with Armageddon, the Rapture and the Tribulation right around the corner.

And see, here's the thing: they will MAKE Armageddon if they have to.

They will PUT US ALL through the Tribulation, my friends. (Does the term SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY mean anything to you?)

Fight them from within (as I once tried to do) or fight from without, but fight. Armageddon is an evil concept, and we must fight it that way. Accuse them of wanting to start it themselves, which I've learned, DOES make them blink and hesitate for a second.

Because I am sorry to tell you, its true. They can't wait for the endtimes war. Its behind everything they do.

~*~

Postscript/Obit

I lost a treasured friend right before Thanksgiving... in fact, right as I was getting ready to pick up this blog again, she passed away. Her death hit me hard and I once again dealt with acute writer's block.

I wrote a few words on tumblr, with photos. I always tell everyone that one of the worst aspects of aging is losing your friends, your teenage idols, your neighborhood, etc. Even though inevitable, it deeply hurts; what Buddha called "the suffering of change" (vipariṇāma-dukkha).

Tricia Earle always encouraged me and thought I was creative; she gave a generous speech/introduction for me once, and presented me with my 10-year AA chip. I realized, in reading the Facebook pages about her: not everyone knew she was in AA. After all, its supposed to be anonymous, and everybody isn't like ME, broadcasting all their innermost secrets to the world. I therefore didn't know if I should mention our friendship or not. Finally I decided, yes, I would. "Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our traditions," but it does not extend beyond death.

And what I needed to say about Tricia was also about Alcoholics Anonymous itself.

Tricia, whose last name I didn't know for years, came from an elite old-South family. And I didn't know it. ME, the ultra-class-conscious socialist who can ferret out Harvard posts online... I did NOT KNOW she came from THE EARLES (there is a street here named after her family). She did not in ANY WAY act like she was elite, and this was the power of AA. We were "all in it together"-- and just as the homeless and poor are part of that deep, blood-brotherhood fellowship, so are the rich, so are the famous. When AA works correctly, when people are working the program correctly, you shouldn't be able to tell who the rich people are.... and I couldn't tell.

This means she did it right.

This is the greatest thing I can say about her, the highest compliment I could give her.

And you know what? She would hands-down agree with me. :)

Rest in peace, dearest one.

Music and age: you've always wondered

I could once veer effortlessly from reggae to country to punk to old Rogers & Hammerstein to RED DETACHMENT OF WOMEN (which was especially fun to listen to, if you consider the fact that Richard Nixon was forced to sit through it and even applaud afterwards) and then start all over again. Last year, I finally sold the ancient vinyl record collection (which you may remember I threatened to do HERE), and was embarrassed to find GUY LOMBARDO AND HIS ROYAL CANADIANS, good Lord, where did THAT come from?

For every White Light, White Heat (which made local collector/entrepreneur Gene Berger's heart go pitty-pat when he saw it), there was something goofy like HEAVY METAL TOP HITS, which featured B-sides nobody ever heard of, they weren't top hits at all. Scanning the cover, I realized I bought it dirt cheap just to listen to Golden Earring's RADAR LOVE.



At left: poster advertising the famous communist opera/ballet, RED DETACHMENT OF WOMEN. It sounds pretty much like you think it does.



I find it difficult to listen to new music now, in the proper open-eared fashion. At first, didn't think much of this, but later, I worried. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME? I think we know the name for it: its called getting old.

I have lost so many of my favorite musicians recently, age and death are unavoidably on my mind. David Bowie lived on the edge for years, so it was not as surprising that he didn't hit age 70, although still heartbreaking. But Prince? He was a vegan, didn't even drink. And (take note) he is YOUNGER THAN ME. I repeat, YOUNGER THAN ME. People younger than me ain't supposed to die. Alarming and saddening.

Also alarming and saddening, regarding the musical tastes of aging people, here is a fascinating account of some research by Stanford University neuroscience professor (and great author) Robert Sapolsky:

[Sapolsky], irritated by his young administrative assistant’s eclectic taste in music, tested whether there are maturational time windows during which we form cultural tastes. He and his research assistants called oldies radio stations, sushi restaurants in the Midwest, and body-piercing parlors and asked the managers when their service was introduced, and how old their average customer was. They found that if you’re more than thirty-five years old when a style of popular music is introduced there’s a greater than ninety-five per cent chance that you will never choose to listen to it. For sushi restaurants, the window of receptivity closed by age thirty-nine; for body-piercing, by twenty-three. The findings were reminiscent of studies that show that creativity declines with age. These studies also indicate that great creative minds not only are less likely to generate something new but are less open to someone else’s novelty. Einstein, in his later years, fought a rear-guard action against quantum mechanics.

Psychologist Dean Keith Simonton has shown that the decline in creativity and openness among great minds isn’t predicted by age so much as by how long people have worked in one discipline. Scholars who switch disciplines seem to have their openness rejuvenated. That may be because a new discipline seems fresh and original, or because a high achiever in one discipline is unusually open to novelty in the first place. Or maybe changing disciplines really does stimulate the mind’s youthful openness to novelty. Or it may just be that established generations resist new discoveries because they have the most to lose by them. The explanation is not neurological: in most brain regions there isn’t any dramatic neuron loss as we get older, and there is no such thing as a novelty center in the brain. Given that aging contracts neural networks and makes cognition more repetitive, it would be a humane quirk of evolution if we were reassured by that repetition. There may even be some advantage for social groups if their aging members become protective archivists of their cultural inheritance.

But the writer remains dispirited by the impoverishment that comes with this closing of the mind to novelty. If there’s a rich, vibrant world out there, he figures it’s worth putting up a bit of a fight, even it means forgoing Bob Marley’s greatest hits every now and then.

It also seems important to listen to as much different music as you can before this cultural "window" closes.

The problem isn't just that the window seems to close, but that we haven't seen everything out that wide window first... therefore, expand those boundaries as far as you can. Best advice would appear to be: Listen to it all when you are young and have open-ears.

RED DETACHMENT OF WOMEN still doesn't annoy me the way it does most people... and its undoubtedly because I heard it so many times as a young pup, even if I WAS forced by the Progressive Labor Party.

And what would the eager young comrades in this 70s, old-school Maoist opera-ballet company say if they saw modern, hyper-capitalist China? Relieved, upset, suicidal, happy? The opera is the sound of a whole nother China, which sounds more familiar to me than today's China... just as I feel oddly warm and cozy when I see now-extinct cold-war thrillers on TV: Its all over now kids, at least the worst! Whew, was that some shit or what?

Entertainment like The Hunt for Red October used to stop my heart, and now I am thinking: I never noticed how Sean Connery's Russian accent needs some work.

Too late for Tuesday Tunes

I woke up and thought, I'm wide awake, I'm not sleeping... and then I thought, wait, what song is that?

BAD - U2



~*~

... which of course, made me think of ...

I'm only sleeping - Beatles



~*~

And finally, when you sleep, you get...

Dreams - Allman Brothers Band



... which I might have posted here before?

That last song is so intense for me as I age, I can barely listen to it.

After so many years, it remains a masterpiece. Duane was amazing.

Thumb update, with cats

The sweet feline brothers featured in this post need good homes! I almost took them home with me. (Local folks: Check out Feline Urgent Rescue.)














Its been awhile since I did a health/TMI update, and I know yall simply CRAVE more medical details from Daisy. (sigh)

In fact, my absence over the past week has been due to my increasingly-large Sissy Hankshaw thumb, which unbelievably, I haven't mentioned in about five years now. Rest assured, my thumb is still attached, although I suppose it's a blessing that I don't have bilateral, huge, swollen thumbs like Sissy's, which might attract undue attention. Its the thumb-joint that is enormous, bulbous, painful and angry. On Saturday, it was nearly the size of a golf ball.

The good news is that such physical ailments do not ALARM me as much as they clearly did in that last post (I'm getting pretty accustomed to this aging stuff), but they remain a giant pain in the ass to deal with. I have taken a break from typing unless it is absolutely necessary. I hope to be back in good form after the current cold front passes. We actually have a frost warning tonight, after a weekend of heat. Strange weather. (I hope it doesn't destroy the beautiful hydrangeas.)

On my way from the market today, I saw a bumper sticker: GLOBAL WARMING? (accompanied with graphic of a rising temperature, obviously meant to signify HELL, of course) HOW ABOUT GLOBAL PRAYER????

Well, I guess that settles it, huh?

~*~

Speaking of fundies, what brought me back here today, even in acute pain? Schadenfreude and scandal-mongering--need you ask? I have an extra-special Doug Phillips update:

A leading advocate of the patriarchal Quiverfull movement groomed a teenage girl as his “personal sex object” and then used the purity culture to shame her into silence, according to a lawsuit filed by his victim.

Douglas Phillips resigned last year from Vision Forum and Vision Forum Ministries over what he described at the time as an extramarital affair.

But the lawsuit, reported by Right Wing Watch, revealed more details about this relationship and the ways that women are treated in the Quiverfull movement – which has been popularized by the prolific Duggar family and their TLC reality show, 19 Kids and Counting.

Attorneys claim Phillips, a close friend to the Duggar family and an associate of actor Kirk Cameron, “methodically groomed” Lourdes Torres since she was 15 years old and led her to believe they would be married.

Read it all. I told you he was a sleaze!

~*~

Have a happy TAX DAY and as always, stay tuned, sports fans.

Name that car!

Another old car, for you antique-car fans who sometimes drop by (((waves at car-photo lurkers))) ... and I profusely apologize that I don't know what kind of Ford this is. Falling down on the job. (ashamed)

My late father, proud UAW-member and GM-assembly-line worker, would chuckle at that and say Fords are not worth remembering, so don't sweat it. (However, he WOULD know the make and model just the same, which makes me jealous.)

He would then add that Ford stands for "Found On Road Dead."

I did dutifully read the name of the car when I first spotted it on Laurens Rd (and you can SEE the name next to "500"--but so hard to read, even when you click to enlarge) ... and I told myself that of course, I would remember it when it came time to blog it. Weeks later, having forgotten totally about the cool car, I also forgot the name of it. (embarrassed)

I have done some random sleuthing, to no avail. Although it would certainly help if I knew the year too! I have NO idea what it is, but if you do, speak up! I love CHERRY RED and I love this vehicle, although it was not in the best condition, I still enjoyed the ancient steering wheel, radio, and general AMERICAN GRAFFITIesque interior.

~*~

We have been doing a bunch of radio shows about the NSA and Edward Snowden, in case anyone thought I had been noticeably delinquent on the subject. I assure you, I have been doing my share of fulminating, and probably your share too. Other recent radio shows:

[] The trial of our radio consigliere Gregg Jocoy, for carrying a sign that was officially TOO BIG (really). Yes, he was found guilty in a jury trial and had to pay $55.

[] An interview with Richard McIntyre, the US Trade Representative for the Green Shadow Cabinet, discussing the Trans Pacific Partnership Agreement.

[] An interview with the redoubtable Rev. Billy of the Church of Stop Shopping. Great inspiration for activism and street theatre, you can find the Church HERE.

YALL TUNE IN, we are on every day, LIVE AT FIVE ... you can listen to us on the radio-livestream HERE. (Podcasts are HERE.) Yesterday, I had to do without my usual opening music and I sailed through it like a pro. Only a few months ago, I would have had a nervous breakdown. (There IS something to be said for 'practice makes perfect' and getting fairly good at it... that 10,000 hour rule and alla that.) As we get better, we cut down on DEAD AIR lapses (we all think its pretty damn funny that my blog was named this YEARS before I started in radio); have almost stopped interrupting each other... and have nearly eliminated the dreaded brain-fart, during which *whatever* you were thinking (and had planned to say) just EVAPORATES into the ether... as you stare at the radio mike in front of you: DUH!

We are also getting fairly good at rescuing each other when this happens.

~*~

In a couple of weeks, I am having finger surgery, which I realize sounds mildly ridiculous. But really.

I figure something incredibly blog-worthy will happen around that time, and I will want to type and find it impossible. So, I am making up for it now and apologizing for not using my fingers for GOOD whilst I have the chance.

I briefly mentioned HERE (another car post!) that I had this thing on my finger, which turns out to be a mucous cyst ganglion. As time goes on, it gets angrier and angrier, and has started rupturing with regularity. GROSS STUFF (which looks remarkably like vaseline) pops out, which at least makes the nasty swelling go down. For awhile. And then it starts all over again. (sigh)

At the current rate, its been popping open (spewing its gross vaselinesque material) every week or so. Although I have had this thing for years now, it is only currently causing problems beyond the general warping of my fingernail. Since it stays 'open' (sorry for the TMI, yall), it is an active infection risk... and this could quickly morph into a JOINT infection, not just a lil ole fingernail/cuticle infection. Apparently, it has something to do with having osteoarthritis. (sigh again)

Ah, aging, the fun just never ends. From Web MD:

Mucous cyst ganglions usually occur when osteoarthritis symptoms develop, at middle age or older. This type of ganglion is more common in women than men.

Mucous cyst ganglions are found at the joint nearest the fingernail (distal interphalangeal [DIP] joint). The ganglion is firm and does not easily move under the skin. These ganglions may be painful and may break open, increasing the risk of infection. The fingernail may grow irregularly or be misshapen because the ganglion is near the growth cells for the fingernail.

Because of the risk of infection, a mucous cyst ganglion should not be broken open on purpose. Occasionally a ganglion opens on its own. Home treatment may be all that is needed.

Treatment measures include removing the ganglion fluid with a needle (aspiration) to temporarily shrink the cyst, injecting the cyst with hydrocortisone to reduce inflammation and possibly lower the chance that it will return, or removing the ganglion with surgery. The ganglion may return after treatment. Bone spurs (small, bony growths that form along a joint) are often present in the joint next to a mucous cyst, and removing the bone spurs makes it less likely that the cyst will return.

I've had the cortisone shot into my finger already (certainly not pleasant, but not nearly as bad as the thing itself, if you can believe it) which did shrink it for awhile, but it regrouped and planned its next massive assault with a real vengeance.

I'd even suggest it got MAD that it got a shot and decided it would show me whose boss. And so it has.

I am soon getting the joint and bone spurs scraped, as well as the cyst removed. I'm sure it sounds like lots more fun that it is!

I will keep you posted. (For those of you who have missed my periodic gross TMI posts, you should be in for a real treat, whenever it heals enough for me to type!)

~*~

One of my ALL TIME favorite trees is currently blooming! It is called Calliandra surinamensis and is also known as Surinamese Stickpea, Pink Tassel-Flower and Pink Powderpuff. I used to call them "bottle brush trees" because the bloom looks just like an old-style bottle-brush. My daughter finally looked it up at the library (long before there was the internet) and found the name for me. (Thus, I also associate it with her childhood.)

These beautiful trees are all over the upstate, and I took the photos below while hiking the Swamp Rabbit Trail. (you can click to enlarge)



So purty!


~*~

I now have a very lax and anemic TUMBLR of my own. I mostly did it to keep up with the various SJW-wars that have broken out online, and to lend my name to the truth-tellers who are sick of dopey, politically-correct excesses (as well as the attempted wholesale silencing of opinion). After dealing with THIS LATEST DEBACLE (see comments for gory details) -- I wanted to vent with others of a like mind, and decided to START A TUMBLR, God help me, even after declaring the place a total sewer. NOTE: I still think it is, but then, I used to contribute to DIGG and other sewers, so I am not above mucking about in the sewer... I mean, I'M BLOGGING, right? (I have declared Reddit a bridge too far, and although I've looked at it from time to time, try not to make a habit of it.)

The gangpiling, which I used to put up with as the price of admission to Blogdonia, has lately reached the level of patent insanity. In fact, TUMBLR would seem to be ONE LONG EXERCISE in gangpiling and dumping verbal abuse on people you simply disagree with... and usually the disagreements are not very serious or profound. Nonetheless, the stakes are raised immediately by issuing countless fatwas and edicts declaring that various bloggers are evil/genocidal/fascist and what-all. Thus, when something truly IS evil/genocidal/fascist and what-all (i.e. the prison-torture of Bradley Manning, the calls for the prosecution of Edward Snowden for being a saint, the shooting of Trayvon Martin by a vigilante-wannabe, etc etc) the 'social justice warriors' (not) are already bored by their own overwrought-language-feuds and therefore... DO ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

In fact, they don't even seem to have any opinions about these incidents, they are too busy honing their victim status and obsessing about themselves and their 'otherkin'. Real activism (even just writing about it), local political issues that need addressing and in general, real life, does not enter into their little just-so stories.

For this reason, I often find myself wondering if they are real or just decided to take on certain 'oppressed identities' to have something to whine about.

I would like to collectively paddle all of their spoiled asses and send them to Time-Out. I can't, so I have climbed onto the Tumblr soapbox to join the choruses making fun of them instead.

I mean, what else can you do?

~*~

In happy news, our beautiful FALLS PARK here in Greenville, was just voted one of the top 10 parks in the country (includes the big cities, peeps! WOO HOO!) by TripAdvisor, whatever that is.

We already knew that. :)

Yes, I trashed my L-Carnitine

Currently having an existential crisis over my stash of L-Carnitine, a supplement I have used off and on for about 10 years. I am now being loudly informed it can cause heart disease. Oh, such fabulous news!

The reason I started taking it, was because I learned it was an amino acid mostly concentrated in red meat and dairy... and as a vegetarian I assumed (there's that word, ASSUME) that any nutrient I would be missing out on (by eliminating meat from my diet), must somehow be necessary. That is so WESTERN of me; it certainly never occurred to me that one basic reason vegetarians have lower rates of heart disease might be due to the actual CARNITINE ITSELF, duh! (who knew?)

Apparently, it is. From HuffPo comes the following report, emailed to me simultaneously by three different people:

Two years ago, [cardiology researcher Dr. Stanley] Hazen and his research team discovered that microorganisms in the intestines can convert substances found in choline, a common dietary fat, to a by-product known as TMAO, trimethylamine-N-oxide.

This new study looked at l-carnitine, which has a similar chemical structure to choline.

Carnitine is a nutrient found at high levels in red meat, but fish, poultry, milk and other dairy products are also good food sources of it. Carnitine is also a popular over-the-counter diet supplement, often billed as helping to boost energy and bulk up muscle. It's found in some energy drinks and muscle milks.

The researchers looked at fasting levels of blood carnitine in nearly 2,600 men and women. The findings showed that carnitine levels could quite strongly predict participant's risk of existing coronary artery disease, as well as the risk of having a major cardiac event, such as heart attack, stroke, or death over a three-year period, but only in adults who had high blood levels of TMAO.

Hazen's group also compared mice fed their normal chow, which is basically a vegetarian diet, with mice whose food was supplemented with carnitine.

"We saw that carnitine supplements doubled the rates of atherosclerosis in the mice," Hazen said. It did this by dramatically increasing levels of TMAO, which is produced by gut bacteria that metabolize l-carnitine.

As for how carnitine in red meat may be linked with heart disease, Hazen explained that chronic ingestion of carnitine fundamentally shifts the metabolism of cholesterol. "It's changing it in a way that will make you more prone to heart disease," he said. Eating carnitine causes more cholesterol to be deposited onto artery walls, and less to be eliminated from the body.

Italics mine.

My existential crisis also comes from the fact that I have counseled approximately 40,000 (give or take) people to use it, also. (sigh) It was my job, remember? (sigh again) I even talked to a vegetarian cardiologist from India who told me he believed heart-conduction disorders in vegans might be related to a general lack of carnitine in vegan/vegetarian diets. He believed this because heart-conduction issues are more common in India (he said) than in the West, although coronary artery disease is more common in the West than in India. (Maybe they are both right? Is there NO WAY to win?)

And now, of course, you know what's happening... I am worrying about all of my other supplements. Good God. Its the domino effect! (I refuse to relinquish my beloved Ashwagandha, but I am now skeptical of other amino acids, such as L-Arginine... even though I really like its effects!)

In any event, I figured I would try to undue some of the damage by sharing this disturbing health information. I guess the vegetarian impact on my karma is intact (which is comforting), but the health effects? Probably a wash, at this point. Since carnitine is expensive (and I guess that will quickly change!), I have often gone without it for long periods. I have usually picked it up again because I noticed an energy boost from it... perhaps this mimics the energy boost from red meat? I assumed (there's that word again) that this meant it was a good thing, since ENERGY = GOOD. Again, Western stupidity writ large, yes? I mean, meth gives you energy too, and we all recognize that its not the good kind.

(sigh)

Yes, I trashed my L-Carnitine, and so should you.

Check those spots!

We were in Atlanta around October 12th, and I saw this AWESOME ANTIQUE AUTOMOBILE! (As always, you can click to enlarge.) DEAD AIR regulars know how much I love old cars, and simply can't resist snapping a photo whenever I see them.

Not sure of make and model, since I didn't get a good shot of the front.

~*~





I had a BIG BROWN BLOTCH (I guess that would be the most accurate description) surgically removed from my left calf yesterday. They are biopsying it and I will find out if its harmless or not. I also had cryosurgery on another strange-looking facial spot diagnosed as seborrheic keratosis. As a middle-aged blonde, I am finally taking all the admonitions about skin cancer seriously and having my various odd skin-blotches looked at. And the big one on my left calf got chopped off in short order... yow! Four stitches, which isn't so bad.

But hey, they don't waste any time, do they?

I also learned the name of the THING on my finger: myxoid cyst. (That sounds so much more impressive than, the thing on my finger.) This happened after I smashed my finger in a drawer, years ago. Now, my nail grows just like a canoe, as Roseanne Roseannadanna once said. (And she described it perfectly!)

You know all those online skin-cancer questionnaires? The question that made me laugh hardest is, "Have you ever had a blistering sunburn?" Are they joking with that one? I mean, they aren't serious?

How many blistering sunburns a YEAR would be the question.

The dermatologists look suddenly GRIM when you say that. They do not find this amusing AT ALL.

Thus, duly chastened, I am being a serious person and finally getting my skin examined and taken care of. I feel so responsible, like when I quit smoking in 1989.

~*~

Flipping through all the post-mortems of the debate, as both sides claim success... drinking delightful Pumpkin Spice Silk (it's SO good)... getting my laundry done and intermittently enjoying relaxing Yoga Sol, a music compilation by Shiva Rea.

The fact that my leg feels like a huge animal bit me, doesn't bother me too much at all.

Public health notice: Get those blotches and bumps checked out, especially you blondes and redheads. We were supposed to be living in Ireland, where it rains all the time, not hiking the Appalachian Trail and/or hanging out at Myrtle Beach and scorching! Wear hats and sunscreens, and start answering those unpleasant questionnaires directed at baby-boomers that ask funny questions about those hundreds of sunburns.

At some point, you will think, OMG! and do exactly as I have done. Better safe than sorry.

I'll keep you posted. :)

My problem with "Men's Rights Advocates"

I try to read the Men's Rights Activists... I really do. I try to see their point of view. I have spent hours arguing with the ones who are willing to argue.

And... I... well, I hardly know what to say. Because I usually can't get past the first paragraphs of what the MRAs write. I can't even get to the heart of their arguments, assuming they have any.

For example, take this blog post from earlier this year (recently emailed to me), titled I am Schrodinger's Rapist. This piece was based on a popular, widely-circulated feminist essay titled Schrodinger's Rapist, which was about women's fear of strange men. And just like in hip-hop, a witty "reply post" was inevitably required.

Although I had read the original, I had never read the "reply"--which is why my correspondent just HAD to email it to me. It is definitive!--he promised.

Really? Oh, dear God.

This is my ongoing dilemma with the men intent on improving what we here at DEAD AIR call, The Male Dilemma. I can't read beyond the sarcastic intro-paragraphs of their blog posts.

From the above link:

Hello, average looking, aging, perimenopausal female hipster. Yes, you with the horn rim glasses.

Translation: She's old, and therefore unattractive.

Ageism is a given with many of the MRAs, of course. I've been insulted with "You're old!" more times than I can count. Now, just why this is supposed to be automatically bad is never explained in depth. It just IS, grandma! (When I fully admit that I am old, it means they do not have to reply to me, since I cease to exist.)

An old and/or unattractive woman is not worth taking seriously. She is dowdy, and thus unimportant. She has mousy glasses.

Not that men only judge women by their appearance, you understand! In MRA-universe, this is a SEXIST thing to say; you are a man-hater if you suggest that! Therefore the MRAs can still attack women's appearance with impunity, while trashing you as a man-hater for suggesting they shouldn't do it. Good work if you can get it.

What's wrong with being an average-looking, aging, perimenopausal (us awful post-menopausal women are not even important enough to address AT ALL) hipster? Is it supposed to be self-evident that such a person is simply bad, just from the description? We certainly need LOTS MORE of them here in upstate South Carolina/Bob Jones University-land!

Wait, I think this means the writer of this piece comes from a cool place on the coasts with lots of these people. But don't you DARE call him privileged, you anti-male feminist, you!

Yes those frames which were chic-retro back in the 90′s

OH MY GOD! An unfashionable woman! How horrible!

But as stated above, no anti-male comments about how men judge women purely on appearances, that is SEXIST AGAINST MEN! Man-hater!

Besides, you aren't fashionable enough to have an opinion.

- yes, you, the one drinking soy-milk latte and clutching a purse-sized single-use can of pepper spray in a white-knuckled grip behind your pant-leg. Yes, hello: I’m Schrodinger’s rapist.

Now soy-milk latte is bad, too? Can I ask why? Is this another self-evident thing on the coasts? (For the record, here in upstate SC, we can hardly find a place around here to buy one!)

Oh I get it: she is too unattractive to be raped, so its funny that she has a can of pepper spray! HAHA!

That MRA humor! Ain't they just a HOOT?!

Now I know you’re neurotic and probably taking mood stabilizing drugs, so you might be a little confused. I’m not an actual rapist–well, I might be–but what I mean to say is, I’m a man, and therefore, only a rapist in potential, since I haven’t – you know, raped anyone – that you know of.

Ah, so she is CRAZY, too! So she is DOUBLY ridiculous... or should I say triple, quadruple? Let's tally it up: old, unattractive, unfashionable, drinking the wrong thing... now she is ON SOME LOONEY MEDS, so that makes her quintuply uncool, doesn't it?

Insult after insult after insult... and look at the kind of insults they are.

If you thought I would read that last part of your paragraph and take it seriously after all the insults (assuming I got that far)... why would you think that? You are too busy assuring me how superior you are. I am not GOOD ENOUGH to read your post, obviously!

And after all, I’m a rather bland looking fellow, even though on the daytime TV you’ve allowed to shape so much of your concept of reality, they always seem to have an average looking actor playing the sexual predator role don’t they? Your fear sells more nail polish, Paxil and granola bars than your confidence does.

Daytime TV? Ah, a dimwitted hausfrau! It is simply assumed that she is home watching the dreaded dumbass DAYTIME TV! Dumb bitch!

But don't you call him a sexist, since it is sexist of you to say that.

And the references to nail polish (superficial old biddy) and Paxil (crazy old biddy) and granola (just plain OLD biddy, and likely a hippie too) finish her off.

If the author included a good point in there about TV-casting, and I think he did, I was too busy noticing the insults to catch it.

Remember, I’m not a real man, I’m a probabilistic man. I’m a cloud of possibilities. So here’s another possibility to consider: I’m a peaceful, loving, compassionate human being, and I’m an adult. And despite being subjected to more than a decade of physical, emotional and sexual abuse as a child, I am now totally repulsed by the prospect of violence and abuse – even your hypothetical, probabilistic speculations of violence and abuse.

Repulsed!

Now, since you have alerted me that I am a ridiculous stereotype not to be taken seriously, and likely a crazy, drugged-up hippie who is drinking THE WRONG THING... why would I ever think this about you?

You have just engaged in ageism, stereotyping, cultural superiority and prejudice... and now you want me to know you are peaceful, loving and compassionate? Are you serious?

Why do you judge women negatively based on their advanced age, what they drink, their uncool glasses, their viewing habits and if they might have depression... and then claim to be a compassionate guy?

Do you understand how funny that is?

Do you understand that I have already stopped reading?

Yes, you, Miss LonelyHearts, you who have declared yourself my humble instructor – and who have given to my kindness to children and animals, and to my donations to charity, your approval.

First though, what part of appointing yourself my instructor and judge lead to you also declare yourself humble? What combination of diazapam, seraquel, lorazapam, trazadone and the four Grey Goose martinis you had at lunch led you to imagine your approval or your disapproval was of even slight interest to anyone?

More ableist insults of people who use meds... and by now, I think it's plenty obvious this author is in Canada, since nobody in the USA can afford all of that unless they live on Park Avenue.

But really, this is the kind of nastiness one continually reads on MRA websites. This particular writer recently called all feminists "termites" (and he specified he meant ALL OF US--no exceptions!) on his radio broadcast, and I had actually been listening with interest to some of his economic points (about unemployment) up to that point.

But hey, TERMITES? Really? That was that. Click, off went the broadcast. I guess I never will know the rest of his ideas. Just like I will never read the rest of his post.

I don't think postmenopausal southern termites (that can't find a decent soy-latte anywhere) are his intended audience, anyway.

I do worry about the folks who are, though.

Got bugs?

The elusive furry yellow resident in my uncle's green bean fields. Photo is from The Homestead Fritz.










I love the way the South Carolina state Farmers Market SMELLS... its 1000% stronger (better) in summer, but it smells great all year round.

I've never seen any open markets in the north during the winter (the heating costs would be staggering), but if they do exist, they probably can't sustain that heady, heavy "soil scent" the southern markets have. The earthy scent reminds me of the fields in Ohio where my uncle grew green beans. Every year, we went out to pick them for ourselves and then my grandmother made huge pots of fabulous, scrumptious beans, cooked all day in onions. It was a wonderful yearly ritual. I loved the scent of the fields, as I knelt and started harvesting the fat beans.

I also remember the tiny fuzzy yellow 'bugs'--which were usually on the leaves.

As a kid, I remember thinking the yellow bugs were just so cute... but I couldn't find their eyes. I tried to turn them over and look for eyes on the underside, and they weren't there either. Bugs with no eyes? How weird is that? I remember them as "furry yellow bugs with no eyes"--I would come home from picking the beans and they would be stuck to me, all over my clothes. They didn't bite, and as a child, this meant they were 'good' bugs. And I thought they were just so cute. But no antennae and no eyes? I remember looking in an insect book at the library and not finding the yellow mystery bugs.

Lo and behold, three seconds on that modern marvel, Google, instantly yields my answer: they were larvae, not bugs. This explains the lack of eyes. They are the larvae of the Mexican Bean Beetle. (I also remember seeing the adults, but I didn't know they were related.)

I often wonder how it is to grow up in a culture in which one can find out anything in three seconds flat, but without any actual contact with those things? When I was growing up, if you were moved to look something up in a book at the library, it signaled it was pretty important to you and you really wanted to know. It wasn't simple idle curiosity.

~*~

I've been on an unofficial blog break, due to a major quandary about troublesome life events that I would love to blog about (which I regard as a form of exorcism, banishing various emotional boogeymen once I subject them to my mean-redneck cultural analysis and withering wit)... and yet, knowing that this might well come back to bite me in the ass. Especially where work is concerned. I have decided not to. Better safe than sorry, blah blah blah.

And so (as a similarly-catty consolation prize), here are links to the last two radio shows: September 28th and October 6th. Have a listen!

The amazing Albino Skunk Music Festival was a much-needed balm to my soul. And just in the nick of time!

Hope your weekend was as terrific as mine was.

The 10,000-Hour Rule

My first-ever diary entry was about my cat, Smokey. I wrote: "I love my cat."

Some things never change. :)

~*~







The upstate's local GLBT pride event was Saturday in Spartanburg. I announced it on my radio show as being on "Saturday"--totally spacing the fact that I was taping the show (on Thursday) and therefore my announcement would be HEARD on Saturday, so I should have said the event was "today"--right? Argh! (Link to the show here)

This is the kind of dumb error that makes me want to scream when I hear the show replayed, and why I sometimes refuse to listen to more than a few minutes.

Obviously, I am still relatively new to the radio biz.

My talented producer and consigliere, Gregg Jocoy, has repeatedly reminded me of Malcolm Gladwell's famous '10,000-hour rule': One can only master a skill after doing it for 10,000 hours.

We have done about 55 radio shows so far, so we only have 9945 hours to go.

Brian Clark Howard writes:

One of the most interesting parts of Malcolm Gladwell’s fantastic book Outliers is his discussion of the “10,000-hour rule,” which posits that it takes about 10,000 hours of dedicated practice to truly master a skill, be it playing the violin, computer programming, or skateboarding.

Gladwell covers several tantalizing examples, from the Beatles to Bill Gates, and argues that the biggest factor in their success is not innate talent or blind luck, but rather dedication to their chosen craft. It’s an empowering message, and one that suggests that almost anyone can succeed if they put in the time (could those saccharine posters be right?).

Of course, privilege and luck can greatly ease the way, but there’s little substitute for 10,000 hours of work.

This infographic, created for the blog Zintro by Nowsourcing, takes a closer look at practice and the 10,000-hour rule.

Of course, as Kurt Cobain said, “Practice makes perfect, but nobody’s perfect, so why practice?”

As usual, Kurt had a point.

However, doing some quick math... I realize this may be good news for me. I first started writing in a diary when I was about six years old (photo of six-year-old self, above) and that means if I wrote approx 204 hours a year (which rounds out to about 17 hours a month), from then until now, I am very close to the 10,000-hour mark. The Promised Land awaits!

Unfortunately, I never kept track of that. I do know that some years I wrote passionately and obsessively for many hours a day, every day... and some years I didn't write at all. (I guess even feverish, teenybopper letter-writing about David Cassidy counts?)

I am not sure if it all evens out, but the hours do add up, after decades.

In any event, I must be getting close! One of those unexpectedly-positive things that comes from aging.

Vegetarian intestinal distress leads to insightful thinking

I have discovered an excellent reason to stay vegetarian.

After a decade and a half, if you inadvertently eat anything made with meat, you barf your guts out.

I have been sick for several days... and my husband, who ate the same thing (and is not vegetarian) is just fine. It was not food poisoning... or rather, IT WAS, but not the usual kind.

For ME it was.

I guess there is no going back!

The item was already-prepared "chicken-fried tofu"--which I assumed (and you know what they say about that) was not actually fried in chicken. (After all, as Mr Daisy said, frying it in actual chicken fat kinda defeats the whole purpose of eating tofu in the first place, doesn't it?) It seems I have eaten it before (although hardly ever) and did not have this cataclysmic, days-long reaction... but I did eat a significant amount on this occasion. It has been horrific. I am genuinely surprised at my body's response.

It could also be that the person frying it, in this particular instance, went ahead and actually chicken-fried it and didn't consider trying to make it vegetarian. I have often tasted Chinese and other foods, duly advertised as technically "vegetarian" (as in, no meat in the actual recipe) but tasted suspiciously as if possibly dumped into the same wok as the chicken-fried rice, made earlier in the day... after a long time without meat, it jumps right out at you. But imitation-meat flavors are, admittedly, much harder to gauge... the whole focus of the flavor profile is the imitation-meat flavor.

I am not a purist, and I have eaten imitation-bacon-flavored potato chips and so forth, with no negative reactions. I read labels! (Of course, with prepared hot-bar foods, you can't do that.) A "flavor" is usually a chemical, and real meat is not the same as chemically-enhanced "meat-flavor" and never the twain shall meet. So, I assumed I was eating the equivalent of tofu fried in chicken flavors.

Wrong. My ailing intestines and tummy say otherwise.

As I said, sick for days. I even recorded my radio show while still suffering (the show must go on, and all that), so my pissed-off ranting came much easier than usual. Have a listen!

And pity the poor vegetarian who no longer has the 'choice,' as one always likes to think one does.

Perhaps this is a lesson about all such choices: after a certain point, you can't undo that choice, it is permanent. It is not simply a choice of the mind; the body, the life, is irreparably marked with it.

~*~

I have been reading Susan Sontag's diaries... and I am just so jealous of her brilliance. Her one-and-two-sentence observations, just while she is sitting on a beach or whatever, are far more brilliant, incisive, and genius than anyone else's (even as they congratulate themselves for their limited brilliance and clarity). My goodness, how I miss her. I always idolized her, and now I know why: this is the kind of public female intellectual that simply does not exist anymore. She was a pure product of her time.

One thing I did, was trot out to buy a little notebook and resolve to scribble my own (decidedly non-brilliant) observations in it. I can see that she would write lines that later ended up in her other books; ideas that would later direct her thoughts and passions. I can't tell you all how many times I have tried to remember what I was thinking back on Tuesday, only to forget all about it... one thing I have liked about blogging is how it is an accurate, uncensored record of our thoughts and feelings. I have decided keeping a notebook, even of one and two line-passages, is a way to make that even more detailed, more comprehensive, more precise.

~*~


Whilst recovering from my epicurean disaster, I watched TLC network, and although its hard to avoid the constant commercials for Honey Boo Boo (saints preserve us), I was very interested in the new show about conjoined twins Abby and Brittany Hensel. The TLC documentaries about their lives were well-received and popular, and I watched them a couple of times; this show is not surprising. They are extremely likable, smart, capable... and they don't seem at all disturbed that other people are disturbed by them.

In a very real sense, their lack of being disturbed is part of their unique condition: they are together. They are not alone. A person defined as "a freak" by our society, left all alone and gawked at unmercifully (i.e. the Elephant Man), tugs at our heartstrings in an almost-excruciating way. That poor soul, we think, nobody will ever understand him. But Abby and Brittany have each other, and they understand what the other is experiencing. Their very difference itself, makes them strong together. They murmur to each other, they make inaudible one-word remarks and grin. They are able to make fun of us right back. Therefore, they plow onward, unperturbed and undaunted. You can't help but be drawn to them.

And you know, the fact is, it is going to be hard for these girls to make a living in the regular ways. It isn't like they are going to get hired for the local Burger King or Dairy Queen. They are very logical and realistic young women, and at some point, I can see them sitting down for the cost-benefit analysis: okay, how are we going to make money? The Salon article I linked above, asks the obvious question, IS THIS A FREAK SHOW?--but forgets an obvious historic reality: people went into freak shows to be able to eat and find a warm place to sleep. Many of the people in the shows took the proverbial bull by the horns and started running their own shows and were able to retire in relative comfort. Others were exploited by ruthless circus-ringmasters. It was not always obvious which was which, simply by looking.

To me, as in the prostitution business, the question is: who is making the money? The fact is the exploitation, not necessarily the "freak show" aspect. After all, people surround these girls everywhere they go. They might as well start charging. How to do that in a civilized fashion? Reality TV seems to be the ticket. After this TV-series, people will surround them as celebrities, not (only) as 'freaks'. Also, people will have heard of them. They will know who they are and not drop their iced tea in the mall, and start following them around to be sure they saw what they thought they saw, as some reporter did some years ago in Minnesota's Mall of America. (And then, writing a really rude, gee-whiz-guess-what-I-saw article about them, that of course, I cannot readily locate now to properly link.)

Instead, they might actually get some respect, since Reality-TV celebrity is one of the few ways physically-different people can get some respect these days.

And may I also say: Its also very nice to see a whole Reality-TV show in which so many young women are portrayed as decent for a change, instead of the usual nasty, mean-girl bitches. It is heartening to see Abby and Brittany's female support network; when the gawkers descend, they close ranks around them and don't allow them to take unauthorized pictures and videos.

Now, that's something to be proud of, too:

[The TLC show] is unrelentingly positive, and at times flatout heartwarming. In the documentary about them at 16, their mother explained just how protective their friends were, closing ranks whenever anyone would stare at them. In college, the twins seem to have duplicated this kind of sheltered social environment. Unlike so many TV shows — reality and otherwise — “Abby & Brittany” is a kind of soothing ode to the niceness of 20-year-olds, and especially of 20-year-old girls. The women who live with Abby and Brittany [in their college dorm] are normal in that explicitly Midwestern way, which is to say, normal to the point of notability, grounded, smiley, well-adjusted, well-behaved, just like Abby and Brittany. The roommates are a sort of Greek chorus, supplying the audience with the information it needs — about the girls’ physiological differences, how much tuition they pay (one and a half) and the differences in their personalities — and also expressing their endless, genuinely heartfelt admiration of the two and their astounding simpatico.

I won't be able to stay away from the show, and ain't ashamed to say so.

Note: In keeping with the disability-rights concept that disability is a social construct, as I believe it is, I am tagging this blog entry with "disability"--although it is pertinent to note that Abby and Brittany are not "disabled"--as dwarves also are not. But their man-made environment (car seats, college desks, etc) DOES disable them, as it does very small people. People are "disabled" by environments and their minority status, even if they are in perfect health. (i.e. Severely scarred individuals are disabled by other people's reactions to them, not usually by the actual scars.) Just wanted to do a quick commercial for this radical perspective, since Abby and Brittany are a perfect example of it.

~*~

Other links inspired by my new notebook habit:

The Death of Sun Ming Sheu: A Government Sponsored Assassination? Thanks to Onyx Lynx!

William Gibson on Punk Rock, Internet Memes, and ‘Gangnam Style’ Required reading!


As regular readers know, I am fascinated by the multitude of changes wrought by our relatively new internet culture. And so is Gibson:

WIRED: In your essay in the new book Punk: An Aesthetic, you write that punk was the last pre-digital counterculture. That’s a really interesting thought. Can you expand on that?

GIBSON: It was pre-digital in the sense that in 1977, there were no punk websites [laughs]. There was no web to put them on. It was 1977, pre-digital. None of that stuff was there. So you got your punk music on vinyl, or on cassettes. There were no mp3s. There was no way for this thing to propagate. The kind of verbal element of that counterculture spread on mostly photo-offset fanzines that people pasted up at home and picked up at a print shop. And then they mailed it to people or sold it in those little record shops that sold the vinyl records or the tapes. It was pre-digital; it had no internet to spread on, and consequently it spread quickly but relatively more slowly.

I suspect — and I don’t think this is nostalgia — but it may have been able to become kind of a richer sauce, initially. It wasn’t able to instantly go from London to Toronto at the speed of light. Somebody had to carry it back to Toronto or wherever, in their backpack and show it, physically show it to another human. Which is what happened. And compared to the way that news of something new spreads today, it was totally stone age. Totally stone age! There’s something remarkable about it that’s probably not going to be that evident to people looking at it in the future. That the 1977 experience was qualitatively different, in a way, than the 2007 experience, say.

WIRED: What if punk emerged today, instead of in 1977? How do you think it would be different?

GIBSON: You’d pull it up on YouTube, as soon as it was played. It would go up on YouTube among the kazillion other things that went up on YouTube that day. And then how would you find it? How would it become a thing, as we used to say? I think that’s one of the ways in which things are really different today. How can you distinguish your communal new thing — how can that happen? Bohemia used to be self-imposed backwaters of a sort. They were other countries within the landscape of Western industrial civilization. They were countries that most people would never see — mysterious places. You’d pay a price, potentially, for going there. That’s always cool and exciting. Now, where are they? Where can you do that? How are people transacting that today? I am pretty sure that they are, but I don’t have that much firsthand experience of it. But they have to do it in a different way.

He's totally nailed it... and I think this explains why I am so startled by the lack of "loyalty"--the lack of "investment"--that young people have in the ideas and lifestyles they adopt today.

That's because they ran across it on the internet, exactly as if they were leafing through a catalog.

I realize now, this is what is behind my constant requests for "cred" in young internet-denizens who challenge me... their challenges are just another fun thing to do, whereas I take them very seriously as challenges to my self. That's because I take such aspects of MY SELF seriously; I sweat for my ideas and experience. I didn't just thumb through some catalog and decide, "I believe/like this; its cool, so its me."

This may also be the reason they rarely ACT on their political ideas, since no ACT was required to gain the knowledge, other than sitting and clicking. Back in the day, you had to work hard for your counter-cultural knowledge, and thus, for some inexplicable reason, you therefore felt obligated to act.

Yes, I know, this whole post is "tl/dr"--as the kids say. (stands for "too long/didn't read"--you didn't expect them to read anything LONG, did you? Is it longer than a soundbite? Fuhgeddaboudit!)

The protracted length is precisely because: I didn't really write it for them. ;)

Democrats, Republicans and links

And the 2012 Democratic Convention commences! It should be interesting. Protests are planned in 32 cities nationwide, on September 6th.





I decided to sit this protest out, even though it's in Charlotte, which is only a stone's throw away.

Whenever I asked The Fates if I should go, I kept getting this card. Yow! Three times is the charm. I got it three times in a row, and that settles it. Staying home.

Besides, I am way too old to sleep on floors, which never bothered me when I was young. (sigh) I will leave that hardy activity to the youngsters. Thanks to the marvel of Facebook and Twitter, I have a ringside seat, with great photos being provided by my many droogs. I will try to include a few here, throughout the week.

Thanks, peeps, and I LOVE YOU!

~*~

Speaking of aging, here is a good one:

Harry's Law canceled because viewers are too old:

On paper, the cancellation looked a bit surprising, because "Harry's Law" is NBC's second most-watched drama behind "Smash." "Harry's Law" averaged 8.8 million total viewers this season, compared with 9 million for "Smash," according to Nielsen. And it drew more viewers than "Law & Order: SVU" (7.6 million), which just got renewed for next fall.

The problem? Those "Harry's Law" viewers are older than Madison Avenue wants. The show ranked very low among viewers ages 18 to 49, the demographic most advertisers care about.

~*~

And speaking of arrests, the undocumented immigrant riders of the "Undocubus" are being arrested, literally as I type this.

Outside the Democratic Convention: Labor Rallies, Protests, and the "Undocubus" (Village Voice)

Not Much Evidence That Romney Got a Post-Convention Bounce—and That Should Worry Him (The New Republic)

Mitt Romney's Bain Capital Bailout: GOP Candidate's Firm Profited From Company That Required $44 Million Federal Bailout. (Huffington Post) -- Daisy's subtitle "Government spending for ME, but not for THEE!"

Mitt and Me -- Mitt Romney doll comes to life.

Occupy Greenville celebrates Labor Day in the pouring rain! -- Yes, we are still at it!

~*~

Time for Tuesday tuneage! I played this one on my radio show some months ago. (And here is the link to Saturday's fabulous show.)

It just seems fitting.

I Wanna Grow Up To Be A Politician - Roger McGuinn (Live) 1986

Dead Air Church: How we've changed, continued

Blast from the past: Counter-demonstrators at the Democratic Convention in New York in 1980, were given this handy-dandy "non-delegates handbook"--which looked a lot like the official delegate-guide issued to Democratic delegates. (Us scroungy types didn't have to pay the $5; that was for the press, tourists, curious-onlookers and other nosy people who looked like they could afford it.)

~*~




I have been arguing with somebody online about Ayn Rand. Why? Good question. I like banging my head against the wall, obviously.

But as one who has spent most of his life reading about politics and not actually DOING, he hasn't actually met too many Objectivists (Ayn Rand followers) in person. A lot of what I know about them, I realize, has been from arguing with them, up close and personal. For example, I remembered an argument with such a person outside the aforementioned Democratic convention. (It is remarkable how their arguments have NOT changed.)

Thus, when my online-opponent accusingly demands CITATIONS!!!???? --I don't have them. I am reporting what "I have heard Randians say" since it IS what I have heard them SAY. In person. Not write. And not online, since (like Ayn Rand herself) these conversations predate the internet. (Thus, to a great many people of ALL political persuasions, this means my account is disqualified from consideration. Pre-internet history is UNRELIABLE!)

And I heard the Randians say all manner of things, including endorsing euthanasia for old and disabled people. They didn't back down from this position or display any shame. Why should they? They would proudly tally up the savings on their pocket calculators and show you the figures. The more horrified you were, the more GLEE they would take in shocking you. Your shock at their selfishness was just more proof of what a bleeding-heart girlie-girl and/or brainwashed sheep you were. (Slight interruption for amusing link: I Was a Teenage Objectivist.)

In remembering this period of history, I sadly realized, its over. The internet has put an end to it. People just don't blurt out world-class wacko things as often as they used to. It's dangerous; they might get quoted and Tweeted on the spot, or find their rants surreptitiously recorded and saved to YouTube for posterity. This is doubly true for writing: A blog post or forum comment can be copied and circulated by the time you visit the restroom and come back and decide to delete it. Google cache strikes again! Screen shots uber alles!

And so, you just don't get that kind of extreme insanity any more, except from the internet trolls, and they don't count. They don't MEAN IT. (Or maybe they DO, but there is simply no way to know for sure.)

I have been perusing Steven Pinker's recent book, The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined. I haven't exactly been READING it, since I tend to doze off during heavy-science discussions, peppered with data, footnotes and suchlike. But I do perk up when he talks about how animal torture is no longer acceptable (for example), relating a harrowing anecdote about how he once tortured a poor rat to death by accident during a lab experiment. And how that situation simply would not happen now, in the same circumstances.

Pinker's overall concept is that violence is declining. I am skeptical. However, my recent inability to find wacko quotes from Randians (that I KNOW existed back in the day), is a telling testament to his thesis. Hmm. It seems he has a point, and I now have a real-life example of my own: there is less verbal violence and extremism than there used to be. Why? People are held accountable now. You will end up on YouTube! You will end up on Facebook and Twitter and Google Plus; your name will be mud. Your boss and your mom and your boyfriend will SEE IT and you will be HELD ACCOUNTABLE in ways your wacko self could never be held accountable back in the day, before the internet, when you could easily dismiss and deny it all.

That's a real, measurable change in our discourse.

Even the existence of anonymous troll-comments means something: it demarcates the limits of what is acceptable, what people WILL take responsibility for saying and signing their names to.

As the Old Testament, well-known for not messing around, warned us: Be sure your sins will find you out!

That verse now seems oddly prophetic, not merely descriptive.

And When the Sky was Opened

A very old woman ran into me at the market today, slammed me in the butt with her cart. She started to cry, and her daughter (about my age) swooped in to rescue her... and I realized that she was what we used to call 'senile'. I guess the acceptable term is now Alzheimer's, that catch-all diagnosis for when the mind goes. I patted her, assured her it was okay. But I was alarmed, because in her distress, I could see myself and what awaits us all.

Buddha told us to meditate on death, and I have.

I once realized the abject terror in the old Twilight Zone episode, "And When the Sky Was Opened" -- was based on the fact that it mirrored our own experience and terror of death. In the show (written by Rod Serling and adapted from a short story by fantasy-genius Richard Matheson), three men come back from a flight into space, and begin to disappear, one by one. The title of Matheson's original story was, fittingly, Disappearing Act.

On the day of their return, the newspaper headline reads "Three Spacemen Return from Crash: All Alive" and then, after a strange chain of events, there are only two. But... there have always been two. The newspaper headline has changed, and now announces: Two Spacemen have returned. It is as if the third astronaut never existed. The two astronauts remaining start to panic, as everyone around them insists, no, there were only two of them, not three. Never three.

At the end, it is James Hutton (father of Timothy) who is the last astronaut left, looking for his suddenly-missing friend, the second astronaut. He then sees the newspaper headline, which now says only ONE astronaut has returned. The expression on his face has remained with me all of my life, ever since seeing this particular Twilight Zone episode as a child. And when I Googled the image, there it was (see above). Obviously, I wasn't the only one.

He knows he is next.

And the show ends with an empty room. None of them have returned from the flight. The camera pans to where their aircraft was. It is gone, too.

My grandmother died in 2004 and my mother died in 2006; it was when my mother died that I realized, I was up next. Maybe not for awhile, one hopes, but up nonetheless. It was no longer a far-away thing that happened to the old people... I was now the old people.

And so it was today, when I saw the old woman in the store, crying and confused. I saw that it was not simply her confusion that made her cry, although it was that, too... it was that she was afraid. I saw James Hutton all over her face. And then, I saw myself.

As I comforted her, I hoped someone would do the same for me.

~*~

Speaking of which, a sweet voice of my childhood is gone. Let us take a moment to remember Scott McKenzie, who recorded John Phillips' folkie-pop hippie anthem, "San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair)".

I remember being in San Francisco, hearing the song and feeling oddly displaced, because of course the San Francisco I had moved to was not the one in the song, although it had always inspired me. I had moved to Kool and The Gang era San Francisco, the end of the disco era. I remember falling asleep under an open window and starry sky in Oakland and hearing it there too, thinking how odd it was that the song had helped make San Francisco too expensive for people like me to live in. For this reason, it made me sad to hear it, one of the first feelings of aging that I ever remember experiencing.

I came home from the market, and my experience of the woman running into me and weeping, to hear that McKenzie had passed.

It was the perfect ending to a day I had started with an extended meditation on death.

~*~

San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair) - Scott McKenzie



In this video of McKenzie performing the song at the Monterey Pop Festival, you see Brian Jones, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Mama Cass... again, the perfect ending to my daily meditation...