Monday, September 29, 2008

The Noble Ambition

Presidents aren't noble; they're just ambitious.

Or, so goes the conventional wisdom. Many agree that to run for the president of any nation, especially a western, world-leading, industrialized nation, and particularly the United States, takes a great amount of ambition, and says something about the ego of that person. No argument here. That's why I'm an artist. No ego required.

Or is there? Okay, so maybe you knew I was going there. Well, that still makes the question no less sensible. The question being: Are we, who pursue the arts, any more noble or any less ego-driven, than a presidential candidate?

Well, frankly, I don't know. But let's at least try to examine it.

At first glance, the answer may seem to be no. Many artists work in obscurity, and never seek the limelight. They are happy trading sketches or prints, etc., with fellow artists, or providing work for their family's enjoyment. Many simply create art for their own enjoyment. They make something, then they admire it themselves. Some try to sell their work, not because they want fame and fortune, but because they only want to do art full-time, and so would prefer to have their income derive from what they love. But they seek no more than enough profit to live without worry and to continue to afford to make their art.

Likewise (believe it or not), many politicians are very similar. Whatever their views, they believe that they have something to offer their community, and many politicians, though getting plenty done, happily work in relative obscurity. Who's the city councilperson for District 12 in New York City? Who's the mayor of Minden, Nevada? Did you know a state senator in Nebraska makes just $12, 000 a year? Chances are that you know none of the three. And there's nothing wrong with that. Nor do I (or, at least I didn't before writing this).

However, there are a substantial number of artists working toward eminence, and they are probably not greatly disproportionate to the number of politicians doing the same. I (for a time) was working toward notoriety, and I am friends with several very talented artists in many different disciplines doing the same. Obviously (or maybe not) we are not doing art just for fame. There are many other things we could do to more easily achieve that goal. We all love art, and do it because we love it. As well, we all feel that we have something important to say about (or to contribute to) the world we live in, and we all think this is information that we need to get out there, or no one may ever hear / see / feel it, etc. However, we would like some notoriety and financial stability to accompany it.

So, are our goals 100% noble? Of course not. We are human. We change our minds on issues. We learn. We grow. We're stubborn. We regress. We're cynical; all of those wonderful things that human beings are and do.

So why shouldn't a politician be expected to do the same? Granted, a politician's ambitions are probably more dangerous than an artist's. The great oppressive regimes in the world weren't created by artists. Now, before you get up in arms, I know Hitler was an artist, but people didn't follow him on those merits. However, it would be naive of me to say that art and its control didn't play a very important role in those regimes. Art absolutely swayed people. If oppressive leaders were the premise, arts were the supporting argument.

Still, politicians can't be expected to be completely noble, in fact, just as artists, they can often times be quite ignoble, and that is why the checks and balances system is so important. Artists don't need a checks and balances system (at least these days) because no one cares about us until it's too late. But politicians do, so we can avoid the "too late" scenario.

So, the looming, slightly rephrased, question remains: Are we, who pursue the arts, any more noble or any less ego-driven, than a political aspirant?

Short answer: No. But given power, we're likely less dangerous.


FYI:
Minden, NV has no mayor. It is governed by five elected advisory Town Board members.

NYC District 12 Councilman - Larry Seabrook (as of 9/29/08)

Friday, September 26, 2008

Real Life Makes for a Painful Movie

I thought I was in a bad comedy this morning by the creators of Scary Movie (3 and onward), Epic Movie, Date Movie, Meet the Spartans, Superhero Movie, etc., (yes, worse than those), when, on my way to work, I was passed, in succession, by two young black women, unrelated to each other, who were both pregnant. It's not that two is a lot, it's just that they were walking not more than 15 feet apart from each other in the same direction, and came off of the same bus. I was walking in the opposite direction. It was as if someone had just made a throwaway comment in one of those movies and this was the related descriptive scene.

I work in a poor neighborhood, which in some twisted way, makes me feel good, because though the neighborhood is black, there is not a high incidence of crime. Certainly there's plenty of niggerish behavior, but fortunately, it hasn't (largely) degenerated (yet) into violence and theft. But what I hadn't thought about before, is the high incidence of teenage pregnancy. These women were no more than 18, probably right at 18, and likely 16 or 17. I call them women because once you bear a child, unfortunately you can be a child no more. But make no mistake, in terms of age and mental maturity (if not innocence), these were children; teenagers.

I realized I had no idea how high the incidence of teenage pregnacy was in the black community - my community. Sure, I've read the statistics, but numbers on a page are not the same as living something day to day, and day to day, I see many pregnant mothers, as well as mothers with born children, and in many cases, mothers with both. For some reason it never dawned on me until this morning (which I know makes me an idiot), but this is a huge problem. Let me correct myself - I knew this was a huge problem. Several years ago I even began the process of creating a photoessay that deals with this issue (among many others in the black community). However, what I mean to say is, I had never experienced the problem on a daily basis like this.

Now, frankly, it's the mothers who really experience this, and I'm not trying to make their hardships and experiences about me. But what I mean is, I've never been around it to this degree, and it is troubling.

It has me thinking, again...

Here's to Friday (or Christmas Every Weekend)

Today is Friday, and I've come to feel that Friday is the best day of the week. It's the best day because if you don't completely hate your job, you get to spend time during the day working, thereby making money, and in the evening you can stay up as late as you want because you know you don't have to work the next day (for us weekday-ers). For some, that translates into going out to a dance club or a bar or a party or any number of nighttime events. For others, it translates into curling up with their lover and having a mini movie marathon. For others it translates into getting some personal work or hobbies done and sleeping in the next day. And still, for others, it translates into a night of energy-draining, mindless, mind-blowing, semi-coma the next morning, sex. For some it translates into all (or most) of the above.

For me, it means none of the above, as, due to a lack of exercise over the past year and a half, I have the energy for almost none of those things. And, because I work as a temp, I rarely have the money either. I do stay up though, because I can. It's like being a kid again in some way; a day (or evening) to regain the innocence and freedom I lost to rent payments, student loan payments, utility payments, credit card payments, tax payments, go nowhere jobs, murdered dreams and an adult body (and the hair to go with it). I can (subconsciously) be the kid who was finally allowed to stay up after a week of (in my case, not very) strong effort at school. I still enjoy Friday, because it's the anticipatory day. The day before the big day. The day before it all slowly starts to go to pieces, and subsequently, downhill. It's Christmas Eve.

Saturday is OK, but most people waste half of the day sleeping Friday off. There's nothing wrong with that at all. I personally love it. It just makes for a lot of rushing around to do things in half-a-day that could be done more leisurely with a whole day. Saturday is the equivalent of Christmas day. I try to get up early on Saturday. Sometimes it's very easy. Most times it is not. Whether I'm tired or not, sometimes I stay in bed just because I can. Now, granted, "staying in bed" for me really only extends to about 10am at the latest, and I naturally wake up around 7am on most days, period. That likely makes my Saturday a bit longer than others'. Still, despite the ability to sleep in remoreselessly (I'm positive that's not a word), Saturday kind of sucks. It's good in the morning, when you unwrap the present of "sleeping in", but for me, Christmas day always ended with a bit of a let down. Though not impoverished, my family had very little money, and after the presents, there wasn't much else. There was the cleanup of the wrapping paper, the discovery that the toy I wanted to play with the most needed batteries, and that my parents had forgotten to buy them (or in some cases, couldn't afford them until the following week). So there was all the elation of Christmas morning, followed by the gradual decline in spirit throughout the day.

My parents did all they could (and many Christmas' it was considerable), but even as the understanding child I was, it was still a bit of a letdown. And so, that is how Saturday feels. After the intital fun of sleeping in, and maybe even some morning-sex, there come the tasks of cleaning the house, doing the laundry, going to the bank, going to the post office, going to the store, etc., etc., etc. If you're lucky, maybe you get to go the park or the museum or play sports, or something, and hanging with friends and/or family may take some of the edge off. However, the chore requirements always introduce some let down, as so much of the remaining day is consumed by them.

Sunday (for me) is the day after Christmas. It's relaxing, and you may have little to do, but you know that the next day, things will largely be back to "normal" and the "holiday spirit" has already started to fade, if it hasn't completely done so already. Many are using the morning to relax after a chore and activity-filled Saturday, but they (who work) know the evening becomes the time when all the preparation for the next workday begins. The hair starts getting done, the clothes are laid out, the lunch is made, and the earlier bedtime is reintroduced.

I would wish for everyday to be Friday, but Friday can't be Friday without Saturday and Sunday, otherwise Friday becomes Monday, and that's the last day I look forward to seeing.

Come Sunday, the holidays are over.

Back to the regular, cruel world.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

A little help?

I currently work as a temp at a community college, where it's my job to sign people up for GED testing and classes. We have this free program (as many institutions do) to help those in the surrounding community acquire the ability to attend college. As I field several hundred calls and walk-in inquiries a day, it has become apparent to me that no one has our phone number or knows the name of our department. Students and staff alike are routinely transferred or forwarded to my phone and desk from other places that they have incorrectly called or visited. This has led me to wonder what the hell is going on? Why does no one know who we are, and why is it so difficult to contact us? At the outset, one might wonder if it is the ineptitude of those trying to reach us. On closer inspection, one discovers (for an as yet undetermined reason) that getting information on just about any place is nearly impossible. Even in the "cyberspace age", old or broken links, as well as misdirection, is pervasive. Why is this? I must re-ask the now cliche' question: What makes businesses think that less service is better business? Even for programs, services and businesses that generally want to be found.

For example: I recently needed to locate a nearby Staples store. I searched online, and after getting to the overloaded front page of their website, I finally found a tiny little link, off in a corner, that read "Store Locator". Great. I usually know where to look on a page to find such a thing, but because their home page is so busy, it took me nearly seven or eight minutes to see theirs. I clicked on it, and located the store I wanted. I got a phone number, which did not go to the actual store (though the site led me to believe it did), but instead went to a call center. The call center then transferred me to the store. Once I was transferred to the store, no one answered for an extended period, then when they did, they transferred me to the wrong department.

Now why would all of this happen? Well, corporate doesn't want you to walk into a store when you can buy online. The employees don't realize it, but they have been poorly trained in handling customers, in order to better serve corporate's goals. If everyone moves to online purchasing, corporate can then start closing stores, laying people off (those very same low-wage, poorly-trained salespeople), dramatically cutting their overhead in the process. Of course, their online prices are somewhat cheaper, but it is more than made up for (on your end) by the shipping charges. Sure, Staples doesn't get that money, it goes to FedEx or UPS or whomever, but that makes little difference to your pocket. It still stings.

Case in point, I was merely looking for a $2 sketch pad that I thought they might carry. They didn't have it in-store or online, but if they had, the shipping charges to have them send it to me were well in excess of double the cost of the pad. However, they (institutionally) did everything imaginable to keep me from 1.) talking to a human and 2.) coming into the store, effectively making it impossible (if not just very difficult) to buy it any other way (from them). All this, by the way, while doing everything imaginable to eliminate competition so that, despite the poor service, you have to spend your money with them. Guess it's the American way.

But why is this the case at a college or university, like the one at which I work? Surely, they must want students, as it means more revenue and exposure. This one is less obvious to me. Perhaps the gigantic bureaucracies which run colleges and universities are to blame. No one knows what the other is doing, every call is passed off and redirected and ultimately, students and prospective students are lost in the shuffle. Or perhaps academia is subject to the same trends as business. With more offerings online, they can cut some overhead by not having on-campus classes. Fewer buildings means lower real estate costs. As well, fewer professors can teach more classes online, allowing the schools to hire less. More students, fewer teachers and expenses, as well as the support staff that accompanies those things.

I don't know the answer, but I know it's infuriating. A little help? Anyone?

Monday, September 22, 2008

Fight Club '08

Another day, another post. With the (tantamount) collapse of the investment banking industry, and the conversion of the United States into France (or some similar semi-socialist Western European republic), I think of my fiancee'. She says we should have just let the banks collapse and started over again. I wholeheartedly agree. It would have hurt many, including the international markets, but maybe then, we could have some sort of moratorium on greed and the (huge) negative side of laissez-faire capitalism. Maybe then (maybe), poor, red-state people would finally start to see the Republican party for what it currently is - the party of the rich red-state people.

So, what am I, (country accent) "Some sorta damned communist?" Well, yes, frankly, to a large degree. But that doesn't mean I'm wholly against the "on paper" Republican philosophy. By the tenets of the REAL Republican party, I could be a Republican. I believe in small government. I believe in "pull yourself up by your bootstraps...". I believe in low taxes. I believe in self-determination and I believe in free AND FAIR trade. In fact, I believe in no government, everyone pulls his weight, no taxes, completely open trade and completely individual determination. Much like life would be on a small commune. So, I guess that makes me a Republican Communist.

But ay, here's the rub. In reality, the Republicans are all about big government, higher taxes, restricted trade, and party determination of what the individual should do. And we can look at all of this. So, let's do so.

SMALL GOVERNMENT
The Republican party, as it exists currently, advocates some of the largest, and sweeping government, and the least individual determination that the nation has seen. The party wants to determine whether gays (individuals) can be married to each other by passing legislation opposed to it (government). The Republican party, as it exists currently, wants to determine a mother's (individual) right to choose to have an abortion by passing legislation banning it (government). The Republican party, as it exists currently, wants to determine whether or not a citizen without insurance (individual) receives medical treatment by passing legislation against universal health care (government). Republicans are the very ones who support the legislation that bans the individual's right to decide when he / she should die. If you are in the hospital, in unimaginable pain, with a terminal illness, the Republicans want the government to tell you (the individual) that you are not allowed to have assisted suicide. Yet, if they lose millions in the stock market and pull the trigger on themselves, that is acceptable. They can have what they want. You can't. Each of these examples is an individual, and very personal right.

The Republicans, as they now sit, want to take these from you. They want the government to legislate whether two individuals who sincerely love each other can have the benefits a marriage certificate provides. They want the government to legislate an individual mother's right to carry a child to term, when that mother is no more prepared to take care of that child than she was to make it in the first place. Further interesting, is the Republicans' nearly unwavering support of the death penalty which, it is well documented, disproportionately affects poor, underprivileged Americans, and especially blacks. The current Republicans know that the child will have little opportunity in life, but in the apt and cogent words of my fiancee', Republicans want to punish any woman who conceives a child - even in cases of rape and incest, so they'll have someone to sentence to death in 17 years - or less (in Texas, a 15 year old was once sentenced to death). This way they can guarantee the further existence of prisons and we all know prisons are big business. Apparently, dooming a child to a life of little opportunity and much distress is perfectly acceptable.

So, the republicans want the government to determine who gets married, who gets to live, who gets to die, who gets health care, and let's not forget the famous "Patriot" Act, which allows the United States government to spy on ordinary American citizens domestically, supposedly in an effort to fight foreign terrorists internationally. That makes perfect sense, right? Oh, and by the way, if, in the future this is found completely illegal and unconstitutional (you know, like it is right now, but the conservatives have loopholed their way out of prosecution for now), they want the companies who assist in it to be immune from prosecution, under the guise of "They were just doing what they were ordered to do." Nazi troops only did what they were ordered to do. The American soldiers at Abu Ghraib only did what they were ordered to do. Let me also add that this is a major point where I diverge from Democratic presidential candidate, Senator Barack Obama (along with his position on the death penalty).

This all sounds like a lot more and a lot bigger government intrusion on our daily lives - at least to me.

LOW TAXES
Which party now wants to use taxpayer money to bail out the private financial companies that their buddies run? Where will all that taxpayer money come from? Well, taxpayers, of course. Let me appendix that by saying this is another point where I diverge from Democratic presidential candidate, Senator Barack Obama. He agrees with the bailouts (at least as of now). he only reason the republicans voted the measure down (despite it being introduced by their party) was that there were too many concessions for the average American. Go figure that one out: We're giving too much to the victims and not enough to the perpetrators.

As well, Republicans are known for (and proud of) being the party that spends the most on the military and weapons and war technology. More money for more spying on Americans and more weapons to keep them in place if they get out of line, as well as to assert our military dominance over the rest of the world. Where does that money come from? Taxpayers. So the Republicans are comfortable with corporate welfare but not individual welfare. Billion dollar corporations need the government's help, but not the impoverished individual. That sounds like the party that has lost focus on what the government's role is supposed to be. To stand up, help and defend those who can not do so for themselves. Indeed, instead of defending the weak, they build the military to suppress them.

PULL YERSELF UP BY YER BOOTSTRAPS
Well, the current Republican party has made this all but impossible. As Sen. Obama quipped, most no longer have boots to put straps onto. Additionally, many are in health states too poor to allow them to even lift their own weight, and lack adequate insurance coverage to help them get the care they need. Frankly, if the previous two sections of this essay were taken into account by the party, one could pull themselves up.

FREE TRADE
Laughable. It should actually be called: Free Trade Among Nations (including oppressive totalitarians) That Support the United States.

CONCLUSION
So why did I title this post: Fight Club '08? Well, one, it was an effort (I believe successful) to be cryptic. Two, because I envision a Marxist revolution (adapted to the time) to be the answer; the failure of the banks and credit companies, and the collapse of the investment banking industry, and a "reboot" if you will, of the United States' and world's economy. The difference is, I don't get to plant dynamite at the base of these institutions' headquarters.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Fun While Wasted or Wasted Fun?

(originally written as an essay 5/3/06)
I’d like someone to explain to me the “fun” in being “wasted”. I couldn’t help but overhear a group of my contemporaries at work the other day, discussing where they were going after work to “get wasted”. As usual, this dissolved into talk about the previous week when they got “wasted”, or “smashed”, “blasted”, “blitzed”, "shit-faced" or some other slang-ed adjective, all (supposedly) in the pursuit of the ever-elusive “fun”. Maybe I’m wrong here, but I’ve always held the notion that getting so drunk that you had to be carried home in a wheelbarrow was the domain of burned out cops and disgruntled and bitter newspapermen. My belief about these cops and newspapermen, was that they had seen so much degradation of the human condition through their policing and reporting, and had grown so tired of their disagreeable marriages, that they preferred the idea of passing out on the sidewalk than continuing to think or going home to their wives. They hung out in an Irish pub at late hours and the bartender’s name was “Mack”. It doesn't sound (to me) like much "fun". Indeed, it was their (unsuccessful and destructive) way of dealing with their problems - and creating new ones to replace or compound them. Ok, maybe I’ve been watching too much of Turner Classic Movies, nevertheless, I haven’t quite come to understand why those who “just want to party”, don’t just party.

Now, I have to intimate that I’m not an idiot when it comes to the effects of alcohol. Some amount of inebriation is an enjoyable experience, and for many people, helps them “lighten up”. Alcohol is often a precursor to sex, so much so, in fact, that it sometimes seems to be mandatory for the continuation of the species. If you don’t agree, just ask Curtis and Charlene in any mobile home complex in the United States. A few beers have never hurt the chances of conception, and even seem to improve it. It calls back to the days when that bitter cop or newspaperman (or the people he wrote about) would burst through the door shouting “Doris! Come here!” Moments later, anywhere from ten to one hundred million potential micro-suitors would be heading up the birth canal, hoping to add another unwanted expense to the family, and annoyance to the world.

Personally, I’ve only been “wasted” once, and it wasn’t really by choice. My girlfriend at the time (now fianceĆ© – go alcohol!) had convinced me, to accompany her to hang out with a friend of hers. I don’t generally like hanging out with her friends because I feel I have nothing to add when two or more women are talking. They only turn to me when they want “the man’s opinion.” It’s the same when I hang with a group of white people and they want “the black opinion.” That being the case, I decided I’d best be unable to talk if my mouth was full of alcohol. Up to that point, vodka had been my favorite of the hard liquors, but I had never had more than a couple of shot glasses in an evening, and I’m not one to hold strong alcohol well. That night I had three tall glasses (or four, or five – who can remember at this point), each one roughly equivalent to about four shot glasses. I was actually doing well until I got to the end of the third (or fourth). I remember the bar being very loud earlier that evening, but after that third (or fourth) vodka, all of my memories are intermittent. I remember the bar being the same after I got drunk, in terms of activity, but there was no sound. The waitress would come over and ask if we needed anything from time to time, but I don’t personally remember hearing her. I just remember seeing her. I figure that’s what she had to be doing because why else would she have kept coming over? I do remember just zoning out and staring at the ceiling, chiming in to my girlfriend’s conversation when something caught my ear during my intermittent hearing return. I also remember trying to give the appearance that I wasn’t drunk, though I’m not sure how well it worked, since the waitress gave me a strange smile joined with a confused look on one of her trips over to our couch. It was as if I had just told a dirty (and bad) joke about space aliens and classical music and she was trying to find the humor, but instead her search for the punch line turned into the search for her customer's sanity.

The next thing I remember was saying to my girlfriend “We've got to get a cab. I won’t make it on the subway.” Then she asked me what was wrong, which is when I informed her that I was a sniff of alcohol away from vomiting. She didn't bother to ask why I thought a NYC taxi was less vomit-inducing than a subway. She did tell me she hadn’t even noticed, which led me to question how that was possible, to which she responded that I had maintained myself remarkably well. I got home and collapsed face down onto our unmade bed, wholly sure that I would soon be inhaling the dinner I was about to regurgitate.

I managed to keep my dinner down, but for all of the following day (and much of the next two) I felt as if my head and small intestine were two politicos who had overheard each others' opposing views on the merits of the Iraq war and decided the only way to solve their differences was to wrestle each other, upward, through my esophagus. During this period, I decided definitively (though I had decided, tentatively, years earlier) that being “wasted” wasn’t the thing for me.

But apparently it is the thing for many. I often overhear people bragging about themselves being in similar physical circumstances, leading me to believe that many people enjoy this state of being. "Dude, last night was awesome! I fucking puked my brains out all over this waitress, then again on my girlfriend. Let's do it again next week!" Indeed, the conversation at my job seemed to support that.

Still, no one can tell me why? The only explanation I’ve been able to get is so uniform and repetitive (everyone gives it) and so bland, that you would think I’ve just asked Ms. Universe why people like playing with puppies, “Because, like, you want to have a good time.” Though sufficient in the case of Ms. Universe, that answer doesn’t quite provide enough information in the case of why people drink themselves to oblivion. However, if ever one needed proof that the entire world can indeed see eye to eye on something, the proof is in that response. Ask anyone, anytime, anywhere, and that will likely be the answer you get. If you get any more than that, God bless you. I sometimes felt I was in a Lord of the Rings story, “One ring to rule them all.” Substitute the word “ring” with the word “response”.

Now, again, why people drink at all, is not a mystery. It can be quite tasty; I love a well-crafted beer and I often enjoy a glass of Sherry or Port, though I stay away from hard liquors after that vodka story. Historically, alcohol was often the safest thing to drink, water and juice standards not being what they are today. Fruit-bearing plants were more susceptible to disease in the past, as there was no crop-dusting or chemical injection to increase the strength of plants to resist disease, or to increase yield. Water was worse. When you could get to water, if you weren’t living under some immense historical empire, you had to contend with other creatures that used the same water, and the ensuing dangers, as well as microorganisms that could make for a very bad (and final) day if you ingested them. Alcohol was simply the way to go in most cases. It was as common to a meal in the 12th century as a distant, abusive father and repressive mother are in the 20th century. However, in social situations, people then would often drink themselves unconscious as well, all in the pursuit of that grand social paradigm of “fun”.

The late English Viscountess, Nancy Astor, once stated: “One reason I don’t drink, is that I want to know when I am having a good time.” I am inclined to agree with her sentiment, though I do drink, just not into a stupor. Is the fun in going out and having a good time, not in the going out and socializing, dancing, etc., that one does when one goes out? Perhaps people are at the bar or club because they actually want to hear this new band in Williamsburg that incorporates a plastic violin with a steel bow. Maybe tonight’s crowd enjoys music that sounds like a cat being killed while violently having its claws dragged along a chalkboard. Then again, maybe the only reason people can put up with that sort of thing is because they’re so “wasted” they’re not really paying attention anyway. Even if they are, they are probably too “wasted” to know what they’re listening to. Perhaps, though for the life of me I can’t see it, the fun is in being drunk. The 1st century Roman writer Seneca wrote: “Drunkenness is simply voluntary insanity.” I’m not sure if he was supporting or denouncing drunkenness, but if supporting, maybe he’s right. But then, what’s with what I call “proofing”, in which people (while getting drunk) have to catalogue everything they did to get drunk last time and how drunk they got? People have to prove that they not only drink, but can out drink you. You have to “catch up”. Personally, I’m happy to be “drank under the table”. I prefer to have my wits about me – few as they are. I’d like to think it’s a machismo thing, but I see women doing it about as often as I see men doing it; often I see women doing it to men.

But perhaps Seneca was on to something. Maybe after a week full of being jostled and mauled on the train, having flights delayed, being cut-in-front-of on lines, re-doing all of the work we did at the office because of a misplaced decimal, being rudely served at lunchtime then getting sick from that same lunch, only to get back to the office to redo what we already re-did, maybe getting wasted offers a recuperative escape. That’s understandable. However, if that is the case, and I believe that it is, I can think of many other “fun” things I’d personally prefer to do to recuperate, and getting “wasted” is not one of them. For me, if the “fun” is in "getting wasted”, then to me it’s all just wasted fun.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Small Town Values: Who Cares?

Can anyone really tell me what, exactly, "small town values" are, and why they are so important? Often, in an election year, or any other time the "issues" are discussed, the idea of "small town values" or "small town America" are heralded as some sort of great principle or set of principles upon which all decisions should be founded. Well, frankly, who cares what small town America thinks? Now, I'm acutely aware that no politician with any national aspiration - in the current climate - could dare utter such a sentiment and hope for anything less than a very public (and hopefully symbolic-only) evisceration, but I don't have any national political aspirations, and therefore am free to be honest about the reality as I see it. Small town America knows nothing that big city America doesn't.

Many of our presidents, and indeed, many of our greatest, have come from small towns. Small towns are some of the humblest, down-to-Earth and hospitable places in the country. Likewise, small towns can also be some of the harshest places for those who are different from the people in those small towns. Cities are often known for being some of the harshest places, but likewise, they can be very rewarding and hospitable as well. The difference is, cities often breed the more worldly, sophisticated of us who can not just tolerate, but embrace the differences in the world around us. Many who have come from small towns, have gone on to willfully live in cities because they "want to experience more". Is this not what we should want, and even expect from our representatives? I neglect to say leaders because, make no mistake, they are our representatives first. And, despite all the charms small towns have to offer, it is our big towns that make for big decision making and big ideas. Even small townspeople get to the world of big politics through big cities.

When we take small town politicians, and encourage them to retain small town ideas, then set them loose on the big world, we get George W. Bush. When you take a small town politician and encourage them to learn about the big world and place them in the public arena, you get Bill Clinton. Granted, many would dispute how great of a president he was (not me), but it's hard to debate that he is greater than George W. Bush. When you take small town politics onto the world stage, you get a nation built on the principles of individual liberty invading the sovereignty of another, for its own gain.

So shouldn't we stop marginalizing the city-dwellers? Granted, I am biased as an enthusiastic city-dweller, but I believe that enthusiasm holds merit (of course). The majority of the nation lives in cities as it is. Cities are polluted, dark, and isolationist. Cities are also cultural centers, diverse, and a melting pot for ideas. Cities act as ports for the small towns, with ships of knowledge arriving at their docks. Without cities, small towns would know nothing of the outside world. Perhaps that is what they want. But that is not what we need.

We need representatives who are used to diversity, and who not only tolerate it, but embrace it. We need people who can operate in a world and climate that is diverse and ever-changing, not holding rigidly to isolationism and the past. We need men and women who have access to ideas and varying points of view. We need representatives with vision, and vision means seeing the picture, not just my corner of it. I am sure to be lambasted for this city-centric view, but I am personally exhausted of the small town-centric view. Small town values are fine and well for Cassville, Wisconsin vs. Baraboo, Wisconsin, but when it comes to United States vs. Germany on Russia, we need a representative and leader who understands the world they are dealing with.

Small town values = small time ideas.

Musings at 32

32 came.

No pomp. No circumstance. No celebration. Just how I wished it. And still, I feel empty; lost and devoid of value in a world that defines that value as social status and financial independence. Well, I have financial independence, insofar as I depend on no one else to pay my bills, but not in the sense that I have actual freedom to do as I please with my life - because I can't afford it.

* * *--------------------

September 16th started out well. I woke up, actually left the Cleveland, Ohio apartment that I share with my fiancee', and did stuff. True enough, it was only grocery shopping, but it was needed and it felt good to get out and do it. Also, I managed to treat myself to a few things that, though trivial pleasures, I had sorely missed and enjoyed thoroughly. There was the Meatball sub I had at Quizno's. Then there was the $11 half-pound of prosciutto I bought at Whole Foods, along with some ground lamb sausage that I plan to try in a scramble this weekend.

My favorite discovery was the Ciabatta bread available at the Whole Foods in Warrensville. I had been looking for it (or Focaccia) at Dave's, with no luck and had settled on a Saloio as a replacement, but it really doesn't work as well for me because though it is texturally similar, it is a bit bitterer than the Italian breads.

There were also the downs of the day. There was the older white woman seated at the lunch counter where I waited to place my order for the prosciutto, who promptly closed the large handbag in the chair beside her that she had previously paid no attention to, and moved to the other side of her. This, despite me having my own bag over my shoulder and having both hands full of other items I had picked up in the store, and being dressed much like any artsy white teen on a beach. The difference, of course, was that I am NOT a white teen on a beach, I'm a black man ANYWHERE. Then, there was the finding-out that I was in the wrong line to order the prosciutto in the first place. No pomp. No circumstance. No celebration. No respect.

There were also the other white people in the store, the young, thin, hippie liberal women perusing the aisles for skin products, and the middle-aged white women who, when not saving their worldy possessions from me, were getting snippy with the staff. A noteable lack of men in the store, except those who worked there and a pair of (by outward appearances) well-to-do, middle-aged, black men. They weren't together, if you were wondering.

Another "down" came after I left Whole Foods to get back on the bus (I don't own a car in a city that seems to require it). I purposely walked about a quarter mile to a bus stop in a place that looked semi-secluded, where I could read quietly while waiting. The bus benches are in shelters, thanks to Cleveland's notorious winters, and so I sat on the bench, but wishing the bench were out in the elements. It was sunny but cool - around 68 degrees - a perfect day in my book. Then, this cunt of a young woman comes and joins me and lights a cigarette - inside the shelter, which, by the way, is about 6x4. I got part of my wish. I was pushed back into the sunny, cool, 68 degree elements, whereupon two young men and one older gentleman soon arrived at my secluded bus stop, and all lit their own respective smoking implements. No refuge for the lung healthy. No pomp. No circumstance. No celebration. No respect. No courtesy.

* * *--------------------

Aside from those happenings, the day went largely well. I got back to the apartment (I took the day off - despite not being able to afford to do so), and my fiancee' came home and surprised me with a carrotcake cupcake (she couldn't afford a strawberry shortcake), and being poor, as we are, had no candles. In place of it was a match, lit by another, and burning fast. She urged me to blow it out as its flame rapidly descended, threatening to set my birthday pastry alight. No pomp. No circumstance. No celebration. No respect. No courtesy. No money.

That may sound pretty pathetic, but despite having no money, it's that type of birthday I enjoy; the cupcake, the match in place of the candle, the simplicity. Of course, before I could eat the cupcake (and let me preface this by saying it was my own fault for asking, but how selfish and inconsiderate would I be if I hadn't), Simone' started going into a mini-tirade about what's going on in her family. It is a bad situation, and I wholeheartedly agree with, and feel for, her. But the thing I cherish most on my birthday is isolation and tranquility. Now that I'm in a relationship with someone, isolation is all but ruled out, but tranquility seems to have abandoned me these days as well. The thing I have looked forward to however, now that I'm in a relationship, is sex on my birthday. I suppose it's that primeval man-thing, that even the most educated, erudite, and self-restrained individual man still feels enslaved by. Women can have sex whenever they want. There's always a man ready, willing, able, and available for that. For a man, it's the reverse. Sex is a rare mineral that can only be mined in the perfect confluence of events. Birthdays are supposed to be one of those. Granted, we've been having a lot of sex lately (my fiancee' and I), but still, it's my birthday. Sure, it's a bit inconsistent with my general birthday philosophy, but I'm not completely without conceit. I'm still human - wait, let me check - yep, for now.

32. No pomp. No circumstance. No celebration. No respect. No courtesy. No money. No tranquility. No sex.

* * *--------------------

Much of the reason I so virulently abhor birthday celebrations is that they are so narcissistic. So I don't invite others to "celebrate" with me, frankly, I don't "celebrate" myself. Instead, it's usually just a day out of the year, where I forgive any destructive impulses I have as well as reflect upon the nature of my birth and life. My father died and was buried but a week before my tenth birthday, and since then there has been little celebration. Indeed, as I've gotten older, I've become more and more reclusive around my birthday, not telling anyone about it who would be in a position to wish me a happy one when it arrives, etc., and not making myself available to anyone but my mother and fiancee' on that day. However, 32 was different. Though starting fine (but ending differently), I no longer see recognition of my birthday as completely pointless. Now, in addition to the usual life reflections (and chance of sex), I reflect on growing older as, though I'm still quite young, I'm not as young as I was, and I never will be again. With this, I woke up in a sour mood today, and it continues. In 32 years and one day, I can not look back to a single worthwhile accomplishment in my life. No pomp. No circumstance. No celebration. No respect. No courtesy. No money. No tranquility. No sex. No accomplishments.

* * *--------------------

I live in Cleveland, Ohio. Let's take a trip back in time to 1995 when I first arrived at Johnson C. Smith University in Charlotte, North Carolina. There I am, hanging out with DJ, Keenan and James in front of my residence hall, staring at the beautiful bodied black women passing by, and talking to others. A couple of them look pretty interested in my past self, but let's see if we can pull me aside for a second. I don't look too disagreeable.

"Hi, Cory? Is it? I'm you from 13 years in the future and I go by Wesley there. Don't look so bewildered. Time travel is routine in my time. Let me just ask you a quick question, then you can get back to masquerading as an aspiring rapper or producer or whatever the hell it is you want to do. Oh, by the way, whatever it is, I can assure you that you haven't figured it out in 2008 either. If a Dr. Majer asks you about studying biology, jump on it. So anyway, the question is, where do you see yourself in 13 years, as of now?"

"I see. That's your answer? Forgive me, but I'm curious, I didn't hear the words Cleveland, or Ohio, or office temp job in there, among other things. I see. Well, of course, why would a rich rapper born and raised in NYC move to Cleveland to work as an office temp? You're right, my question does make little sense. I will take leave of you now." No pomp. No circumstance. No celebration. No respect. No courtesy. No money. No tranquility. No sex. No accomplishments. No future.

* * *--------------------

So just what DO I have? Well, to be true, I have quite a lot. I'm healthy, for one. That, in itself, is worth plenty. Next, despite her seemingly remarkably intense pursuit to drive me crazy and into an early grave, I still have my mother. And she truly cares (or seems to) about what happens to me. I have a fiancee' who is equally bent on driving me mad, and she also truly cares about me. I have two brothers who look up to me, despite the fact that they are both fully grown adults in their own right. I suppose I should be happy for that. I am, but I need more. I want more. And that is not selfishness. That is the desire of every thinking free man - to be a contributor to the world he lives in and I have not achieved that. Or anything else. In many cases I have been denied the opportunity. In others I have slacked. In others, I have been given a chance and worked hard, and failed. I don't blame the universe (wholly), but I do lament 32 years of nothing - even in (especially in) cases where I have given my all. From where I sit, I have no prospects for the next 32, making for (what will then be) 64 years of futility. My father died at 62. He thought his legacy would be me.

No pomp. No circumstance. No celebration. No respect. No courtesy. No money. No tranquility. No sex. No accomplishments. No future. No legacy.

No memory of my existence.

A social security number. Tax records. Statistical data to be collated by some computer of the future.

Letters and numbers on a headstone.

The measure of a man.