A Hatred of Speech

Meg Baird--"I Don't Want To Talk About It" (mp3)

Sometimes I feel so weak I just want to explode. Seriously. It usually comes when I see too much television and when, on that television, there are a multitude of people talking. Just talking, talking, talking, as if they were paid to talk, which they are, as if they were paid by the word, which I don't know if that's true or not.

A given football game has a minimum of 6 people weighing in on the action--the play-by-play guy and the color guy, plus the four fucknuts sitting in the studio in New York City, offering their "insights" before the game, at halftime, and after the game. That does not even begin to include the talkers who have been previewing this game for a week or a month, or the ones who will break down the action after the fact for as long as there are words to say about it.

The same thing with economic recovery or how to fix unemployment. The same with health care or immigration or Afghanistan or the moon mission or the latest Iphone or how much money we think the poor American suckers spent at Christmas. Turn the TV dial (symbolically) or turn the radio dial and it's talk, talk, talk. Sometimes I can't take it.

Here is the modern world in a nutshell: we all wonder what should I, we, he, she, they, it do? In response, everyone in the world has an opinion. And those who are paid to do it spend all of their time telling us what we should do, what we should eat, how we should invest, where we should live, what we should believe, who we should trust. If Hamlet had had all of these spin doctors, prognosticators, and "experts," he'd still be hesitating. How is one to progress in such an environment?

The stupidest man in America is Rush Limbaugh. He's not the dumbest, for he certainly has the business savvy to turn being a bag of hot air into a very, very lucrative and influential career. No, he's the stupidest. Why? Because he wants to pretend that what he and his ilk babble and pontificate about week after week and year after year doesn't affect the way people act.

In particular, of course, he wants to believe that hate speech doesn't make people hate and then act on that hate.

Let me prove you wrong, you stupid ass. Simply. President George Herbert Walker Bush declared one day that he hated broccoli. We all know what happened. Sales of broccoli in this country plummeted. Broccoli growers were outraged that a president would use his "bully pulpit" to impact an industry so negatively. Yeah, Rush, it was just a man who hated a vegetable that his Mommy probably shoved down his throat when he was a kid. But people heard.

And then, of course, his son, in response to a Saudi Arabia-based terror attack on the U.S., created his famous "Axis of Evil" and started, with his staff, hammering home the idea that Saddam Hussein was responsible for 9/11. And guess what people believed? Guess who people hated? People hate what they are told is evil. And hated it enough to support an irrelevant war!

Now, I have no interest in making a connection between Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck, Sarah Palin and the motives of the shooter in the Arizona slaughter (though I certainly do enjoy that these people are on the hot seat!), but I do want to argue the more general case: people who become well known become influential and have the power to impact the ways that people act. That shouldn't come as a surprise, and for Limbaugh to pretend otherwise is more than disingenuous; it's cowardly.

When the Hannitys and the Becks and the Limbaughs hammer away at a president, not his actions or policies, but at his very being to suggest that he is a "socialist" or a "racist" or a "Muslim" or a non-American or a person who "hates America" or "hates white people," then, yes, Rush, the people who listen to those types are going to develop hatred, and, yes, the less stable of this listeners may be more inclined to take or try to take some kind of confused, misguided action. When a president suggests that those who don't support his war are un-American, he creates the same kind of hatred.

But back to my original problem--there are thousands of bully pulpits out there now. That is no longer exclusive to the president. Sarah Palin has one, Glenn Beck has one, various commentators on ESPN have them (that they used to keep Peyton Manning from winning the Heisman), the Kardashians have one. Heck, even a comedian like John Stewart has one, which he used to break the logjam over a bill that would provide health care for First Responders on 9/11.

So when something like the Arizona tragedy occurs, the opinions from the talking heads come almost immediately and all of the talk, talk, talk, talk, talk becomes the point, becomes the story, becomes the purpose. While people lie dead or injured, those television faces and those radio voices have to be heard and then the story becomes the talkers reacting to what each other has said. It's kind of disgusting.

But I also can't pretend that the spotlights aren't on this situation, and so I have these takeaways: 1) Mrs. Palin is also a coward for hiding behind Facebook and Twitter to respond to the tragedy; coincidence or not, her PAC had crosshairs on key races, had a crosshair specifically on Rep. Giffords' race and she should have confronted this more directly, 2) Much as Mrs. Palin might like to celebrate Alaska as the last American frontier, once again, we see what an incredible mess Arizona is; the last state to embrace MLK's birthday is such a chaotic blend of immigration troubles, racist laws, "maverick" senators who have declared that they were never mavericks, violence, assassination, that it feels like Arizona has never gotten beyond the Wild West, and finally, 3) I wish that all of you professionals on TV, regardless of your professions, would just shut the fuck up for awhile, stop talking, stop backtracking, stop analyzing, stop trying to sell your positions.

If you want to relay the news to us, that's fine. I guess. I won't be watching. But other than that, all of you, from the left, the right, or just from your own ego, I'm really not interested in what you have to say. Maybe if you could think about it for awhile and then write it down, maybe it would have a little more weight. Maybe.

My apologies if you are offended by the highly-controversial editorial cartoon, which has outraged and disgusted some people, but it does make an important point. You might, for balance, take a look at Paul Revere's engraving of the Boston Massacre, which was published all over the country in 1770. As for the song, someone on another blog mistakenly identified it as a "Rod Stewart cover." The song was written by Danny Whitten, the Crazy Horse rhythm guitarist in the original line-up of Neil Young's off-again/on-again band, and it appears on Crazy Horse's first album away from Neil. There's a nice version out there by the Indigo Girls.

Flaky White Stuff

White Winter Hymnal - Fleet Foxes (mp3)
Life is White - Big Star (mp3)

Sunday, my family spent more than $200 on clothing items, another $50 at Ace Hardware, and another $100 in groceries in spite of the fact that we’d been grocery shopping less than a week prior. My boss called me three different times. This is not usual on a Sunday.

Yesterday, My aunt and uncle rearranged their vacation and chose to remain with us longer than originally planned. Our friend who had to attend a relative’s funeral in Arizona is still out in Arizona. Almost a dozen people sent me pictures on my cell phone before noon, when most weeks I’m lucky to get two or three pics, and usually from just one or two specific people. Pics from school. Pics from Wal-Mart. Pics from driveways and living rooms.

My very selective Facebook friends (ha) posted at least a few hundred pictures yesterday. My friends don’t generally post many pictures.

Most unusually, I met four of my neighbors for the first time. We spent several hours sharing space with more than a dozen other children, teenagers and adults we hardly knew and hardly ever see.

All because it snowed.

Granted, Chattanooga didn’t just get a flurry. Most of the Southeast was slammed with a winter storm that woke us up Monday morning to more snow than we’ve seen in almost 20 years, since the freakish storm of March 1993. Perhaps the most astonishing part about this snow is how dead-on accurate the weather forecasts were. They’ve been spot-on all year regarding snow, actually.

Maybe you’re a person who has faith in weather forecasts. If you’re a person like that, you’re most definitely not from Chattanooga, because our particular geographical issues make us a damn tough place to predict weather. We know better. Weather forecasting might as well involve chicken blood or rolling dice.

Milk and bread jokes aside, what happened in our little neighborhood today, and what happened in neighborhoods all over the South, was something that just doesn’t happen much in our modern society. People actually hung out at length with their neighbors, and they did so outside and without the need for some party or BBQ or pre-determined Event. We shared sleds. We offered each other hot chocolate or other fun winter amenities. We took pictures of other families with their cameras and told stories while our children disappeared from view at moderate speeds.

One of my neighbors spent almost an hour shoveling the driveway of an elderly neighbor before ever even thinking of doing so for his own driveway. (In fact, I don’t know if he shoveled his own driveway at all today.) Two of us helped push the newspaper delivery dude down the road. Clearly the guy needed the money, because no other explanation fit his risking it with the piece of trash he drove.

Some rowdy teenage boys with awesome blade sleds, the kind of boys who tend to soar down a hill with reckless abandon and fail to think about small children or dogs who might get in their way, were nothing but polite and considerate. They offered their sleds to my daughters and several times shouted down as I was walking up to make sure the path was clear for them to be reckless and stupid.

It was the kind of neighborhood day people romanticize about, where everyone gets along, and no one talks about politics or broaches icky subjects like the NRA or traffic cameras. Everyone smiles at one another, because snow days are bigger than us in our little Dixieland and certainly bigger than our even littler neighborhood, and everyone around us has enough bread and milk and food, and we can all just smile and savor this rare occurrence together.

So we had that going for us. Which was nice.

Good Day Monday!

Good Morning! 

I'm in a fairly decent mood for a Monday morning, it must be because I tuned out reality for most of the weekend!  HA!  Coming back to reality is usually a bummer, but in today's case it's not.  Thank the universe for small wonders!  :)

Anyway, I spotted this image of a beautiful entryway/foyer over on Apartment Therapy and thought I'd share it with you.  Personally, I would choose another entrance table and mirror, but the floor and stained glass paned turquoise door are spectacular!  

Be patient with me as I warm up my engine this week, I have so many ideas on the brain that it's gonna take some time to calm them down and organize them all into cohesive posts.  Also, as I mentioned in my hiatus breaking post the other day, my boyfriend and I are collaborating on a new blog that will cover a range of social issues along with our theoretical analysis and discussion of them.  It's just another outlet for our passions.  As it is we can only discuss them between us for so long before longing for more of an audience!  Here in Miami it isn't easy to find others on our level.  I don't say that in snobby way, I just mean that the prevailing culture here in Miami is very superficial and rides predominantly on image, money and power rather than substance and real life issues.  I know that's a major generalization and does not apply to everyone living in Miami, however from what I have observed and experienced in 26 years here, it certainly applies to A LOT of people!

Okay, I'm not going to get carried away.  I have stuff to do, catch ya later!  ;)

 

Festival Of A Light

Cold War Kids--"Long As I Can See The Light" (mp3)

Yes, the holidays are over, but there is a celebration here that continues day after day.

Eighteen years ago, way back near the end of 1992, we moved into this house. My older daughter, about to graduate college, was three years old; my younger daughter was about to be born. My wife had finished law school the previous spring, and was in her first year of practice. My friends John, Hank, and Billy were unmarried. My friend Steve did not live across the street. Bill Clinton had just been elected for the first time. There had only been one war in Iraq. The Steelers still only had 4 Super Bowls. My mother was alive and well, with no hint of the cancer that would take her eight years later.

I could go on and on about how different the world was back then, but you get the idea. Inside the house, the same litany of changes since then.

But through it all, there is one thing that hasn't changed. Down in the basement, in a very small, tight bathroom that has all the trappings of having been homemade, there is a flourescent light that burns to this day, every time we turn it on.

We did not install the light. It was in place when we moved in, so I have no idea when it started its life of light. The fixture is actually a two-light fixture, but the lower light has long since worn out.

But this one light continues. And it has not been spared heavy use. For years, I have showered in that bathroom every morning; my wife usually does, too. We do not shower in the dark. I often use that room as my escape from the rest of the house, a place to sit and read. The larger room that the bathroom supports has served at different times as our den, my niece's hangout room when she lived with us, my older daughter's bedroom, a guest room, my younger daughter's room (briefly), the locale for untold sleepovers, Super Bowl parties, Tennessee football parties, including the second half of the championship game, plus clothes-folding marathons and music fests of various sources. I can't even begin to guess how much beer has been swallowed down in that room. We do not pee in the dark.

We are also not a family known for turning off lights, and that light has run for hours, sometimes run for days, even for the duration of brief vacations when we have neglected to turn it off.

I fully realize that this means nothing to you. It's an anomaly, a quirk, a meaningless occurence. It's the toy in the drawer that still works, the lawnmower that starts after being left outside all winter, the dead Ipod that starts working after you whack it against the wall.

But I think there is something to these smallest of miracles.

Miracle? Yes. Miracles are signs. Miracles startle us with the unexpected; they make us pause and rexamine everything beyond us. As Miriam-Webster reminds us:

Definition of MIRACLE
1: an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs
2: an extremely outstanding or unusual event, thing, or accomplishment

I'll leave the choice of more appropriate definition to you. For me, that light coming on each day, especially now as it takes longer to "warm up" and how it needs to "blink" one time before it's fully on is a reminder that the laws of the universe, the rules of physics, the expectations of nature and science don't always apply. Whoever made this light expected me to have to place it ten or more years ago, way back when all of the other flourescents went out. There was money to be made from the replacement. That size light may not even exist anymore. I don't know who made it or why it's still working, but no one else can explain it either.

For some reason, I find great comfort in that.

Cold War Kids' cover of the classic Creedence song comes from Cover Me Songs.

Stranger Than Fiction?

Frank Black--"Los Angeles" (mp3)

I saw a man I knew last month. He was at the bowling alley, actually just a lane or two over. I did not speak to him. I have known him for over 25 years. At times, he has been very important to me. In very tangible ways, he has been a mentor. There is no anger, no bitterness between us. In fact, there has hardly ever been a cross word between us. But I didn't speak to him.

He really wasn't bowling very well (not that I displayed the skills of a champion), so there wasn't even cause to congratulate him across the lanes. We never even made eye contact. But that isn't what this is about.

I am writing this play. It uses my basic work setting as a foundation. It is also inspired by aspects of people that I know. And in this play, I have used him, this man, to suit my purposes, and those purposes, quite frankly, involve him dying in the 2nd Act. The circumstances of that death are unclear, but it is very, very clear that he is dead.

So, imagine my surprise. To see him up, walking around, still doing quite well was, to say the least, disconcerting. I think he was joking with his teammates and drinking beer. I think he had a special shirt that he wears for bowling. I had no use for that. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't say, "I thought you were dead." How would that go over? I couldn't ask what he's been up to. That didn't fit, either. He wasn't supposed to be doing anything.

And so, I ignored him and went back into my play, stalled as it probably is until Spring Break when I can think for long stretches of connected time.

Take this little scenario, if you like, as some kind of convoluted allegory for retirement and what happens to those who do. That was not my original intent; I was just trying to work through something in my head.

But.

There are two things that I am pretty certain happens when you retire: a) you become what you once were, or b) you become what others want you to be. I am thinking from the perspective of the place where you once worked. As in, when your name comes up, it is in connection to things that you said or did years ago. Or, you may serve some institutional purpose by becoming a narrower version of yourself. You might be held up as a paragon; you might be thrown out as an example of an employee gone wrong in any number of ways. You probably won't be seen as both simultaneously.

But you do not become what you are. You can't. Because what you are doesn't fit.

I mean, you can't just bust back onto the scene and yell, "Hey, I'm doing great, having a great time, living a really meaningful existence now that I am away from the rest of you and the petty contraptions of this place where I once worked." How would that go over?

And so, the fledgling playwrights and the cynical bureaucrats have taken control of you in your retirement. And you probably don't even know it. But it's probably better that way. While you cavort about in relative freedom, parts of you are trapped forever, or maybe not forever, just until they are forgotten altogether.

If you're wondering why the classic Frank Black song accompanies this post, listen to the words and it becomes simple: "I want to live in Los Angeles, but not the one in Los Angeles." That says it all, doesn't it?

A New Year!

Hello everyone!  Happy New Year!  

Peace, Love and Happiness to you and your loved ones!

Please please forgive me for my long unannounced blogging hiatus!  My end of year move was hectic and riddled with struggles and problems.  But guess what?  It's finally over!  I feel free as a bird and ready to do great things this year.  By the way, that reminds me of a funny little quote I saw floating around on Facebook yesterday....

"Dear God, my prayer for 2011 is for a fat bank account & a thin body. Please don't mix these up like you did last year. AMEN!!"

To be honest, it's hilarious and cute but I know better than to pray to a higher being for such things.  I need to make them happen myself!  I don't care too much for money ("....money can't buy me love!") but a little to spare would certainly be a relief this year.  As for the thin body, I've gotta hit the gym and tone up, as they say, no more beating around the bush!  I know these aren't exactly original New Year's resolutions, in fact I'm fairly sure they are two of the most common!  However, this year won't just be about saving money and losing weight, it'll be about getting the so-called ducks in a row and fully accepting that at 26 I'm a full-blown adult and there's no turning back.  I've got to start moving forward consistently instead of taking two steps forward and three steps back (it feels like that is what I've been doing for the past few years).  

Except, of course, for Inspire Bohemia, which has been a great leap forward with regard to acting on my passions.  I have my boyfriend to thank for inspiring me to start this blog, and especially for encouraging me to press on when it seemed like I had no audience.  Now, almost a year and a half after I first started Inspire Bohemia I have over two hundred followers and have received a lot of compliments, attention and exposure from all different directions.  For that I am very thankful, it encourages me to charge on and most importantly, it serves as a small personal affirmation that I am headed in the right direction, towards fulfilling my passions and developing the things that I'm good at.

With that said, I know I will always be a work in progress.  I need to gain some peace of mind and do some major self-reflection.  I want to find ways to be happier and improve my life and the lives of those around me that I care about and I want to eliminate as much of the negative from my life and my thoughts as possible.  I need to understand myself better and learn how to control my anger and my snap judgments, my insecurities and jealousies, and my own harsh judgment of myself.  I need to stop overwhelming my mind with the frustrations of how to get where I'm going, how to be all that I can be and all that I'm meant to be  in this life, and how to bring my passions to fruition.  In the words of Paul McCartney/The Beatles, I just need to let it be!  I need to trust my instincts, trust the power of my convictions and trust that continuing to follow my passions, all of them (however scattered they may or may not be) will get me where I want to be and where I should be.  I need to trust that at the end of my life I will be happy with how I've lived it.  Why?  Because at this moment I know that I have not betrayed who I truly am so far in life.  I have not lived a lie or denied myself the things I love to do and the things that I'm good at.  That is why I trust.  Be true to yourself and you will find happiness, even when things are bad and seem insurmountable, they inevitably lead to better things.

Wow, I better be careful or I'll turn this blog into a spiritual and theoretical think tank on life overnight!  And believe me, I can.  I've written a plethora of college papers on everything from Philosophy and The Gordon Rule, ghosts and spirits, Buddhism and other religions, sociological issues, anthropological issues, gender issues, men and women, sexuality, women and sexuality in the media and the list goes on and on!  I have been meaning to start another blog that focuses on those other major interests that are part of who I am on an everyday basis; however, I don't want to mix it in here so as not to drive away those with conflicting views who just want to stop by for some design, decor or gardening inspiration.  In fact, my boyfriend and I are going to start that blog tonight and collaborate on it together.  We are both great thinkers and, in our own way, philosophers... we are both great writers too, so it should be a fun endeavor.  I will keep you posted on the status of that new blog.

In the meantime, I invite you to check out a very interesting site that I stumbled upon yesterday called Thought Munchies.  Thought Munchies is written by an anonymous person and consists of exactly what it is titled - thought munchies, a.k.a food for thought, a.k.a. very interesting ideas, thoughts, observations, perceptions and analysis of various topics relating to humanity and the struggles of life.  It really impressed me.  I find a lot of this person's ideas and thoughts to be profound, insightful and incredibly identical to many of my own thoughts and beliefs.  If anything, it will really get you thinking, hence the name of the site, hehe.  

Oh, and guess what?  It's Friday!  Waaaahooooo!  I hope you've all had wonderful holidays and I wish you nothing but the best for 2011 and beyond!  I'll be back soon with some great posts to kick off the new year.

:)

xoxo

Kindle II: Revenge of the Kindle

I Could Write a Book - Harry Connick, Jr. (mp3)
Calling America - Electric Light Orchestra (mp3)

NOTE: Bob wrote a piece on his new Kindle back in July. Read it here, ‘cuz most of what he observes, I ain’t gonna re-observe.

I got the super-simple stripped-down Kindle for Christmas. After a month of somewhat intensive research and contemplation -- iPad? Droid Pad? Kindle? -- I decided the wisest move was to go with the cheapest and simplest option, the option that is almost universally loved in spite of its vast limitations. I’ve yet to hear someone complain that their Kindle “is too complicated” or “doesn’t do everything I expected it to” and that they regret the purchase. (I’m sure they’re out there, but not in my circle.) And, ultimately, isn’t that the best we can hope for in our modern capitalistic world?

Two weeks into my ownership, I’m giddy at the call. Worth every penny.

Yes, the weight and size are great. The user-friendly nature of the device is great. The ability to control how the text is presented in about 10 different ways is incredibly useful. But here are the 2 ½ most compelling reasons I’m loving this Kindle:

1. FREE SAMPLES!

You can download an introductory chunk -- usually the first chapter -- of almost any book sold for the Kindle free of charge. While far too many books cost a little more than I’d prefer when all you’re getting is the digital residue -- not like I can trade it into a used bookseller when I’m done, and paying merely for the information feels steep at times -- free samples are guaranteed to save me between $50-100 every year.

You see, pre-Kindle, if a book intrigued me, I had two options: (a) buy it and put it on my “In the Queue” shelf at home, where a long stack of books I bought in the hopes of one day reading linger, sad and forlorn like ugly pound puppies, or (b) make a mental or physical note of said book and hope to God I don’t forget or lose the note until some magical future time when I have time to give a flip. Neither of these options were ideal, and Option A can be painfully cost-ineffective at times. Buying a book used is even more doomed, because my screwed-up logical self then decides that, since I didn’t have to pay as much for said book, I need not feel the same urgency to read said book.

Now, if I want to keep a book in mind for consideration, I just download the free sample. It sits there -- Free. Brief. Harmless -- until I read that chapter. When finished with that chapter, I can then decide whether I want to pay for the whole book. This feature, dear friends, was made for idiots like me.

2. NOTES & HIGHLIGHTS!

Anyone who writes a blog for three years without ever earning much or building an arena-sized following must be in love with their own clever thoughts. But I’ve always been handicapped about marking up books I buy, and I have no logical explanation for it. I don’t like having to keep a writing utensil handy, and something about soiling the pages bothers me, but I don’t see how these reasons are quite enough.

Regardless, I bet I haven’t scribbled notes or underlined passages in more than half a dozen books since I graduated college. Yet here I am on my second Kindle book, and I’ve written more than 50 comments to myself and highlighted more than 100 passages. This is almost certainly New Purchase Overkill; however, something in me has long been wanting to have this power -- to add my own side commentary or observations to works with which I’m enthralled -- and it’s already clear that jotting notes and highlighting passages allows the book to make a deeper mark in my memory.

OH YEAH, NOT TO MENTION...

One of my biggest and baddest reading habits is to predetermine where I will stop reading. I find my bookmark and then immediately flip ahead to see where the chapter ends or where an ideal stopping place seems to be. Not having this ability on Kindle actually results in me reading more. I also now have the Kindle app on my Droid and, if stuck in a dark place with nothing to do (or the toilet stall next to Bob in the mall), can get through a few more pages on my phone.

So, in conclusion, It fits nicely and lightly into my backpack. It helps me better remember what I read. It minimizes my unnecessary purchase of books I might never read, and the books I do buy are a little (sometimes a lot) cheaper. And I read more ‘cuz I can’t as easily predetermine a good stopping place or too easily read the last page in advance.

Amazon, feel free to send all my advertising royalties ℅ “Bottom of the Glass.”