Ava was moving out, "due to some serious complaints!" she shouted, "from a person who shares this room!"
"I guess," she sauced,"they thought I was too loud."
Packing her boxes, emptying her cubicle, she found a book she had a question about.
"Hey, Marshall...here's a book on how to work in a multi-cultural workspace.... Shall I leave it for you?"
"Well, I,..hmmm, you can leave them and then Robin can take alook and see if they're materials we could use here."
"I'm leaving," says Ava, "so I can be closer to Jeff."
Jeff is the assistant who produces videos for the County, though he wants to make feature films. He's a sweet kid, works hard, stammers, a bit in a slightly overseas Asian accent, and speaks in a manner that makes me feel the resentment behind the filial piety overtones like a bludgeon.
Jeff only works about a cubicle away from Ava, now, and frequently, her demands that Jeff "come over" ring through the small room on the 4th floor of the 4 story building on 6th and Vermont in Korea Town, Los Angeles. So moving her closer, would be essentially, moving them both together into the same cubicle.
Yesterday, our visionary offered his vision for the staff. I wrote down each significant item, and it was magnificent: human rights, sustainability, leadership develpoment, community engagement, dealing with social tensions as they build in the social fabric, bringing the bottom to the top, levelling the playing field, equal rights issues, intersectionality...
There were 37 items in the list, total. Maybe we will stick it up on the internet so everyone can see it. But most likely not, because of the many eyes who might wonder at our mandate. Mor later.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The Roots of MR. NIMBY
The Eaton Canyon waterfalls are oasis in the desertscape of the San Gabriel Mountains. A short, one mile hike gets anyone from the electric sprawl to a cascade of mountain waters in a box canyon, breathing rich oxygen from oak and bay laurel, where the city seems like an unlikely myth.
It was 330 on the Sunday before MLK Day, when I parked to take my daughters, 2 and 1 years old, to check out the falls. Enough time sitting in the house, car seats, sidewalks, cafes..these girls needed to be free- climbing boulders, chucking rocks, swinging sticks.
What better way to demonstrate the freedom MLK died for than to set loose two racially diverse girls into the American wilderness?
There are three public access points into Eaton Canyon- the closest to the waterfalls being the gated entrance to a fire road in a residential neighborhood nestled in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains, surrounded by clifftop estates overlooking the public lands to the north and east.
Pulling up, I noticed no cars were parked by the gate, prompting me to read parking signs very closely: "No parking on weekends."
I parked a few blocks away, where the signs ended, then walked along a 12 foot high chain link fence topped with barbed wire to the fire road gate, where I read another sign stating,
"GATES OPEN FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET. CITY OFFICIALS DO NOT HAVE KEY TO GATE."
So, we have to get back by sunset, I thought, and hoisted one of the girls over a shoulder, then got to the trail.
It was pretty packed- a church group milling around a small swimming hole, some tatted, shirtless homies pulling leashed pitbulls down the trail, Chinese couples in matching hiking gear, small groups of teen agers and college kids giggling in packs, a few elderly with backpacks and walking sticks; a busy holiday sunday.
There are normal delays when working with a two year old girl- not wanting to wear pants, or shoes, or wanting to observe the stinkbug crawl through the granite sand. Or, not wanting to be held while a parent tried to balance on wet logs while crossing the creek, flowing fast from snow run off. Also, she refused to follow the trail, or walk for more than three or four minutes at a time. Carrying 26 pounds of weight is alright, unless it's squirming and talking back, and can degenerate into tantrum in less than a second.
But the hike was great- cool, clean, a river of green. Time passed, and the sun blasted the canyon walls gold. Red tail hawks circled above without flapping a wing. The girls got their feet wet, jumped off rocks, grabbed handfuls of bay leaves and sage, ran down the trail and swung tiny purple flowers in their tiny hands.
I had no interest in having to walk back to the car without daylight, so before we had gotten to the falls, it was time to turn back.
The punchline to this little essay is probably already clear.
The gate was locked. Sun was still setting, but the gate was locked.
I was the first to stand around and wonder just how this came to be, so it was clear that many of the others who had parked at this gate had recently walked through it. A group of Asian kids walked up, radio blaring. A few bikers arrived. A Latino couple waltzed up.
"The guy with the key lives about a block away," volunteered a biker. "And he never unlocks the gate for anyone."
The task ahead was to carry the two girls down canyon about a mile and a half to another gate, then walk back up the road to my car.
It gave me an hour or so to ruminate on the situation, first walking through a pleasant fading light down a wide, flat trail, then, as it got dark, balancing across a comibination of slick logs and granite rocks to cross the river and get to the gate, then, walking up a dark street without sidewalks as SUV's whizzed by.
Here's what I imagined:
Mr. NIMBY, an older white male, lives very close to the fire road gate in a fabulous home perched on the arroyo, from which he takes in the view of the public lands at his leisure. Sunset is particularly spectacular, but he doesn't notice that, as he has the routine of walking to the fire road gate, and locking it with his key.
To get this key, he had to talk to County officials, for a very long time, perhaps make donations to certain campaigns. He had to express, in no uncertain terms, his issues, and press for a "local" solution.
Let me enumerate the many threats to his well being.
Too many people came "up" from the valley "below," a valley holding the highest numbers of Asians and Latinos in urban America.
They bring with them their problems- leaving trash, grafitti on rocks and structures, and sometimes, virile, unspaded pit bulls. They play loud rap music. Some smoke pot. Sometimes, they laugh loudly, and their car engines can be heard halfway down the block- all the way to the next house.
Five days out of the week, the silence and serenity of the wilderness surrounds him. But every weekend, they return, parking their cars in every available spot on his street. He has no idea who is walking his street, which is why he built a wall round his home.
He is in fear, even with a wall, some guns, elaborate alarm systems, a law enforcement agency a phone call away.
Who wants to live under these conditions?
So, he sets up regulations. Rational solutions to his irrational fears.
A gate. A lock. A key. Barbed wire to keep people from climbing out of that wilderness at night. Because the precise time, in hours and minutes, that sunset and sundown take place cannot be determined, there are no posted times of open and closure. The timing of opening and closing the gate then, is up to him.
Once a gate is closed, it will not be re-opened for any reason, because, who wants rules that aren't rules? The rules need to be respected. The gate gets closed at sunset. The gate re-opens at sunrise. Mr. Nimby decides exactly when that is. That's why he has the key.
Now, I know the presumptions of my imagination very well.
1) Rich white landowners always get cast in my imagination as fearful nativist racists who seek to compound their privledge the way they compound their interest. They use this political capital to control natural resources, exploit other nations/races, and destroy all threats to their self-perceptions as ruling class alpha males.
2) Rich white landowners consider themselves the "stewards of the land," which my imagination presumes means seeing the poor, the immigrant, the less educated, as threats to the "pristine wilderness"- eliciting an environmental elitism which cuts along racial and class lines. (Ed Abbey himself, God rest his soul, was afflicted with this myopia.)
3) Los Angeles is a city built for the automobile, not the human. Restricting parking near public lands/ rare open space in LA is a policy created by such rich white landowners/ stewards of the land, to limit the poor, the immigrant, the less educated from enjoying the uncrowded serenity of natural beauty that the rich white landowner considers to be his natural environ.
To be fair, the guy might not be white.
To be fairer, there is another parking area with an gate that is always open (1.5 miles down.)
I had a long time to get pretty specific about some solutions as well.
First, find out who Mr. NIMBY is. There must be public record of the private key holder to a fire road accessing public lands.
Second, write up a nice story about him for the local press. Or, if the local press doesn't want it, then on-line.
Third, advocate for a policy that gates to public lands be open on Holiday weekends until a certain hour, say, 8 PM, so that families carrying young children can enjoy the sunset at the waterfall, and leisurely return to their cars.
Fourth, explain that it's a safety issue. Had anything happened to one of my daughters because I fell in the dark on a rock in the river, or was hit by a car on the walk back, I would have blamed him, personally, for trying to keep people like me out of "his" neighborhood.
More later.
It was 330 on the Sunday before MLK Day, when I parked to take my daughters, 2 and 1 years old, to check out the falls. Enough time sitting in the house, car seats, sidewalks, cafes..these girls needed to be free- climbing boulders, chucking rocks, swinging sticks.
What better way to demonstrate the freedom MLK died for than to set loose two racially diverse girls into the American wilderness?
There are three public access points into Eaton Canyon- the closest to the waterfalls being the gated entrance to a fire road in a residential neighborhood nestled in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains, surrounded by clifftop estates overlooking the public lands to the north and east.
Pulling up, I noticed no cars were parked by the gate, prompting me to read parking signs very closely: "No parking on weekends."
I parked a few blocks away, where the signs ended, then walked along a 12 foot high chain link fence topped with barbed wire to the fire road gate, where I read another sign stating,
"GATES OPEN FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET. CITY OFFICIALS DO NOT HAVE KEY TO GATE."
So, we have to get back by sunset, I thought, and hoisted one of the girls over a shoulder, then got to the trail.
It was pretty packed- a church group milling around a small swimming hole, some tatted, shirtless homies pulling leashed pitbulls down the trail, Chinese couples in matching hiking gear, small groups of teen agers and college kids giggling in packs, a few elderly with backpacks and walking sticks; a busy holiday sunday.
There are normal delays when working with a two year old girl- not wanting to wear pants, or shoes, or wanting to observe the stinkbug crawl through the granite sand. Or, not wanting to be held while a parent tried to balance on wet logs while crossing the creek, flowing fast from snow run off. Also, she refused to follow the trail, or walk for more than three or four minutes at a time. Carrying 26 pounds of weight is alright, unless it's squirming and talking back, and can degenerate into tantrum in less than a second.
But the hike was great- cool, clean, a river of green. Time passed, and the sun blasted the canyon walls gold. Red tail hawks circled above without flapping a wing. The girls got their feet wet, jumped off rocks, grabbed handfuls of bay leaves and sage, ran down the trail and swung tiny purple flowers in their tiny hands.
I had no interest in having to walk back to the car without daylight, so before we had gotten to the falls, it was time to turn back.
The punchline to this little essay is probably already clear.
The gate was locked. Sun was still setting, but the gate was locked.
I was the first to stand around and wonder just how this came to be, so it was clear that many of the others who had parked at this gate had recently walked through it. A group of Asian kids walked up, radio blaring. A few bikers arrived. A Latino couple waltzed up.
"The guy with the key lives about a block away," volunteered a biker. "And he never unlocks the gate for anyone."
The task ahead was to carry the two girls down canyon about a mile and a half to another gate, then walk back up the road to my car.
It gave me an hour or so to ruminate on the situation, first walking through a pleasant fading light down a wide, flat trail, then, as it got dark, balancing across a comibination of slick logs and granite rocks to cross the river and get to the gate, then, walking up a dark street without sidewalks as SUV's whizzed by.
Here's what I imagined:
Mr. NIMBY, an older white male, lives very close to the fire road gate in a fabulous home perched on the arroyo, from which he takes in the view of the public lands at his leisure. Sunset is particularly spectacular, but he doesn't notice that, as he has the routine of walking to the fire road gate, and locking it with his key.
To get this key, he had to talk to County officials, for a very long time, perhaps make donations to certain campaigns. He had to express, in no uncertain terms, his issues, and press for a "local" solution.
Let me enumerate the many threats to his well being.
Too many people came "up" from the valley "below," a valley holding the highest numbers of Asians and Latinos in urban America.
They bring with them their problems- leaving trash, grafitti on rocks and structures, and sometimes, virile, unspaded pit bulls. They play loud rap music. Some smoke pot. Sometimes, they laugh loudly, and their car engines can be heard halfway down the block- all the way to the next house.
Five days out of the week, the silence and serenity of the wilderness surrounds him. But every weekend, they return, parking their cars in every available spot on his street. He has no idea who is walking his street, which is why he built a wall round his home.
He is in fear, even with a wall, some guns, elaborate alarm systems, a law enforcement agency a phone call away.
Who wants to live under these conditions?
So, he sets up regulations. Rational solutions to his irrational fears.
A gate. A lock. A key. Barbed wire to keep people from climbing out of that wilderness at night. Because the precise time, in hours and minutes, that sunset and sundown take place cannot be determined, there are no posted times of open and closure. The timing of opening and closing the gate then, is up to him.
Once a gate is closed, it will not be re-opened for any reason, because, who wants rules that aren't rules? The rules need to be respected. The gate gets closed at sunset. The gate re-opens at sunrise. Mr. Nimby decides exactly when that is. That's why he has the key.
Now, I know the presumptions of my imagination very well.
1) Rich white landowners always get cast in my imagination as fearful nativist racists who seek to compound their privledge the way they compound their interest. They use this political capital to control natural resources, exploit other nations/races, and destroy all threats to their self-perceptions as ruling class alpha males.
2) Rich white landowners consider themselves the "stewards of the land," which my imagination presumes means seeing the poor, the immigrant, the less educated, as threats to the "pristine wilderness"- eliciting an environmental elitism which cuts along racial and class lines. (Ed Abbey himself, God rest his soul, was afflicted with this myopia.)
3) Los Angeles is a city built for the automobile, not the human. Restricting parking near public lands/ rare open space in LA is a policy created by such rich white landowners/ stewards of the land, to limit the poor, the immigrant, the less educated from enjoying the uncrowded serenity of natural beauty that the rich white landowner considers to be his natural environ.
To be fair, the guy might not be white.
To be fairer, there is another parking area with an gate that is always open (1.5 miles down.)
I had a long time to get pretty specific about some solutions as well.
First, find out who Mr. NIMBY is. There must be public record of the private key holder to a fire road accessing public lands.
Second, write up a nice story about him for the local press. Or, if the local press doesn't want it, then on-line.
Third, advocate for a policy that gates to public lands be open on Holiday weekends until a certain hour, say, 8 PM, so that families carrying young children can enjoy the sunset at the waterfall, and leisurely return to their cars.
Fourth, explain that it's a safety issue. Had anything happened to one of my daughters because I fell in the dark on a rock in the river, or was hit by a car on the walk back, I would have blamed him, personally, for trying to keep people like me out of "his" neighborhood.
More later.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Homeless Youth Leadership Council
This is a fictionalized account. All resemblances to real individuals and situations are merely coincidental.
Notes from today's meeting:
Maya leans toward Meadow- who is dressed in red shoes, red belt ( as if we don't know anything about gang affiliation when we see it)- on the corner in front of the PACT, a shelter for homeless youth.
"My roomate has got a dick..." says Meadow in a low voice, "and I can't stand her."
Turns out, Meadow's talking about Kye, a tranny from Pennsylvania, who showed up at the PACT, and into our "leadership group" one week ago.
So, when Today's discussion on the demographics of homeless youth in Hollywood begins, Meadow gets up, and walks out after Kye takes over the discussion, leaving an unsigned contract on the table.
It's not resolvable, says Simon, the PACT clinical director, who says,"we place clients in housing according to their self-identification, so even if Kye is biologically male, she's going to be placed in a woman's dorm room, with a female room mate."
"There just aren't any other rooms available...and imagine if we just let people change rooms for whatever reason they wanted to...this place would be chaos," continues Simon.
It's another in the litany of reasons for lack of cohesion, lack of follow through in our group. The task of putting together a speaker's bureau of homeless youth, with a long term goal of creating a council to ponder policy issues is looking a bit dubious today.
Now, we're in week 7, and at a point where there should be camraderie, some group dynamic, some trust, but every week there are these reasons.
Today's include Meadow's, but Kareem is also MIA. Apparently, he's in Lancaster, meeting a newborn child that's his.Funny, I thought he was having a kid with Meadow, who three weeks ago said SHE was pregnant, but that it was time for her and Kareem to go separate ways- "I just don't see him being a good long term partner," she said.
As we move past Meadow's absence, a discussion of education and homelessness takes place.
Kye was in five high schools.
"Do we count schools we went to while locked up?" asks Pepe, knee high white socks up to his plaid shorts.
"Of course," I answer.
"OK," he says,....."Then, 6."
"And how about you DJ?" I ask an African-American man, who is as close to lying down as possible in his chair as one can be while still sitting.
"Me?...I was in 5."
Notes from today's meeting:
Maya leans toward Meadow- who is dressed in red shoes, red belt ( as if we don't know anything about gang affiliation when we see it)- on the corner in front of the PACT, a shelter for homeless youth.
"My roomate has got a dick..." says Meadow in a low voice, "and I can't stand her."
Turns out, Meadow's talking about Kye, a tranny from Pennsylvania, who showed up at the PACT, and into our "leadership group" one week ago.
So, when Today's discussion on the demographics of homeless youth in Hollywood begins, Meadow gets up, and walks out after Kye takes over the discussion, leaving an unsigned contract on the table.
It's not resolvable, says Simon, the PACT clinical director, who says,"we place clients in housing according to their self-identification, so even if Kye is biologically male, she's going to be placed in a woman's dorm room, with a female room mate."
"There just aren't any other rooms available...and imagine if we just let people change rooms for whatever reason they wanted to...this place would be chaos," continues Simon.
It's another in the litany of reasons for lack of cohesion, lack of follow through in our group. The task of putting together a speaker's bureau of homeless youth, with a long term goal of creating a council to ponder policy issues is looking a bit dubious today.
Now, we're in week 7, and at a point where there should be camraderie, some group dynamic, some trust, but every week there are these reasons.
Today's include Meadow's, but Kareem is also MIA. Apparently, he's in Lancaster, meeting a newborn child that's his.Funny, I thought he was having a kid with Meadow, who three weeks ago said SHE was pregnant, but that it was time for her and Kareem to go separate ways- "I just don't see him being a good long term partner," she said.
As we move past Meadow's absence, a discussion of education and homelessness takes place.
Kye was in five high schools.
"Do we count schools we went to while locked up?" asks Pepe, knee high white socks up to his plaid shorts.
"Of course," I answer.
"OK," he says,....."Then, 6."
"And how about you DJ?" I ask an African-American man, who is as close to lying down as possible in his chair as one can be while still sitting.
"Me?...I was in 5."
Friday, December 10, 2010
Cheyenne
Austin, Texas, is the nectar in the sun flower of Texas. And Cheyenne is the sweet kernal of pollen that flew from its petals, blown by westward winds across the stoned and sun blasted South West, and into the industrial basin of Los Angeles.
18, and LA was the place to be. A bit of California Dreaming. But she didn't come here to "make it big," the way that Hollywood has become a cliche for migrating 18 year olds.
During her three months she wove an elaborate existential web, equally laden with the questions of career, goals, love, nature, health, work, family.
Perils followed: she braved Glendale drivers to and from work on a bike. She was woken in the morning by enterprising 2 year olds curious about the young woman sleeping in their living room. She endured limited privacy, shared bathrooms. There was an inept, but very real attempted murder in the home above her. She almost, but not quite, witnessed her cousin slip from the edge of a cliff.
Successes followed: She made three kinds of business cards, one for film making, one as a nanny, and the last as a city planner. She found work in all three fields. She began a documentary film about women's empowerment. She had her fair share of celebrity sightings too, a Glee actress, and Michael Cerra, amongst others. She began blogging. She volunteered for the Los Angeles County Commission on Human Relations. She taught a two year old girl to say please and thank you, and was in the process of teaching the same two year old that sometimes she'd just have to wear a certain dress, no matter what. She became a god mother.
There was a trip to New York City, and Washington DC. There were hikes to hot springs, red rock formations, and hidden beaches in Malibu.
She discovered how to find $400 dollar dresses for $8, and re-made an entire wardrobe in 4 months.
Essentially, she stuffed her college admission applications.
And of course there were the relationships she built, becoming close to everyone she lived with.
And most importantly, she was, she wrote in a "good bye, see ya soon letter," happy. So she wants to come back.
For me, nearing age 40, and having left behind the moment of being 18 years of age nearly two decades ago, it was fascinating for me to see this daily excercise in self defintion up close. The longing for freedom, the intoxication and anxiety for an unknown future, the coming judgement of college admission committees, the search for permanence in her relations, while building new, professional ones, the balance of attaining personal hapiness while much of life was not yet in one's control. So much driven by optimism, hope, and dreams originating in childhood that nonetheless serve as life's rudder even at age 40.
It's ironic that at 40, I would develop the tenacity with which an 18 year old could conquer the world, and that the 18 year old has the ease of learning and the creative flexibility with which a 40 year old could conquer their world.
Done right, the strengths could come together to produce inspirational experiences. Coach and Player. Supervisor and Staff. Professor and Student.
Of course, Cheyenne did not come here to be MY student, and in fact, came here to leave formal education altogether for a year. But lessons are learned, truths are found in many surprising ways, often by experience, or by osmosis, and it was in this ocean of serendipity that we dipped, together, during her time here.
Next year?
She's going to get into a school, get a car to drive around, finish her documentary film, and hopefully, get her own room.
Lots to look forward to, for all of us who have been touched by her sweet, intelligent approach to life.
Miss ya cousin!
Your adoring family in LA!
18, and LA was the place to be. A bit of California Dreaming. But she didn't come here to "make it big," the way that Hollywood has become a cliche for migrating 18 year olds.
During her three months she wove an elaborate existential web, equally laden with the questions of career, goals, love, nature, health, work, family.
Perils followed: she braved Glendale drivers to and from work on a bike. She was woken in the morning by enterprising 2 year olds curious about the young woman sleeping in their living room. She endured limited privacy, shared bathrooms. There was an inept, but very real attempted murder in the home above her. She almost, but not quite, witnessed her cousin slip from the edge of a cliff.
Successes followed: She made three kinds of business cards, one for film making, one as a nanny, and the last as a city planner. She found work in all three fields. She began a documentary film about women's empowerment. She had her fair share of celebrity sightings too, a Glee actress, and Michael Cerra, amongst others. She began blogging. She volunteered for the Los Angeles County Commission on Human Relations. She taught a two year old girl to say please and thank you, and was in the process of teaching the same two year old that sometimes she'd just have to wear a certain dress, no matter what. She became a god mother.
There was a trip to New York City, and Washington DC. There were hikes to hot springs, red rock formations, and hidden beaches in Malibu.
She discovered how to find $400 dollar dresses for $8, and re-made an entire wardrobe in 4 months.
Essentially, she stuffed her college admission applications.
And of course there were the relationships she built, becoming close to everyone she lived with.
And most importantly, she was, she wrote in a "good bye, see ya soon letter," happy. So she wants to come back.
For me, nearing age 40, and having left behind the moment of being 18 years of age nearly two decades ago, it was fascinating for me to see this daily excercise in self defintion up close. The longing for freedom, the intoxication and anxiety for an unknown future, the coming judgement of college admission committees, the search for permanence in her relations, while building new, professional ones, the balance of attaining personal hapiness while much of life was not yet in one's control. So much driven by optimism, hope, and dreams originating in childhood that nonetheless serve as life's rudder even at age 40.
It's ironic that at 40, I would develop the tenacity with which an 18 year old could conquer the world, and that the 18 year old has the ease of learning and the creative flexibility with which a 40 year old could conquer their world.
Done right, the strengths could come together to produce inspirational experiences. Coach and Player. Supervisor and Staff. Professor and Student.
Of course, Cheyenne did not come here to be MY student, and in fact, came here to leave formal education altogether for a year. But lessons are learned, truths are found in many surprising ways, often by experience, or by osmosis, and it was in this ocean of serendipity that we dipped, together, during her time here.
Next year?
She's going to get into a school, get a car to drive around, finish her documentary film, and hopefully, get her own room.
Lots to look forward to, for all of us who have been touched by her sweet, intelligent approach to life.
Miss ya cousin!
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Assange: Internet Anarchy?
Bakunin.
Emma Goldberg.
The Unabomber.
And most famously, the Joker.
Anarchists all.
So, Julian Assange?
In his own words, Assange seeks to diminish the Empire's ability to conspire, limit its ability to communicate to its attaches. Disrupting internal communications. Keeping the world abreast of how the Empire speaks of it, and the influence such interests have upon other nation-states.
Transparency, and self-examination.
I can only guess that the belief that information leads to informed decisions pulses at the base of his actions. But I can't be sure.
WikiLeaks had its most recent "success"- tearing the lid off of moldering American coorespondances with other nations....As if Uncle Sam kept a journal lying around, and you picked it up, took a long dump, and read what he's been up to.
The sheer quantity is amazing. As is the guy, the mole/private charged with delivering such goods (what were his motives?)
But states jostling each other in forthright, or manipulative means isn't really a revelation.
Perhaps the revelation comes to those who were not sure what the high paid staff do for the governments they serve. Or that there are conflicting opinions and stories behind the seeming wall of unanimity that comes from public declarations?
I guess what surpises me most is that there is surprise that the minions of the Empire are involved in politics- which is by (my) definition, the use of power to benefit one's self-interests. Or surprise at those goverments who allow US activity in their nations while simultaneously blasting them for the sake of public opinion. (Qatar's president might have to dig himself out form his own grave.)
But who considered Qatar's government to be public servants concerrned with public opinion to begin with?And when was the last time, you personally believed in a public figure's integrity? Serioulsy?
We all assume that the "backroom deals," the "special interests" and the "getting down to brass tacs" means saying one thing and doing another, just as "keeping strange bedfellows" and "keeping your enemy close at hand" are part of the game as well.
These "revelations" are a small drop in the conspirator's bucket...in fact, these Obama era shananigans are jack when discussed with the "W" era.In fact, most recently proclaimed conspiracy theorists cut their teeth during the Bush era.
Remember prior to 9/11, when there was no real threat to American power after the collapse of the Soviet Union, and China's emergence as a trade partner?
It was a golden moment for change, when the global order could have shifted to soft power, a more equitable re-shuffling of natual resources during "globalization," facilitating the levelling of the playing field of the haves and have nots....
And then Florida determined the American election, W was delivered a win by court rulings on hanging chads, a staff of war hawks was assembled, and the domestic preparations for the use of unnecceasry force were upon us.
How was American population psychologically prepared for a Pearl Harbour-like event, prior to 911?
A year earlier, by a movie called, wonder of wonders, Pearl Harbour, awarded the highest of ratings from all the critics you'd never heard of , and those paid by FOX and Entertainment Tonight! (My question--- who produced that historically inaccurate, jingoistic whitewashed version of history anyway? How did that movie, to any of you who remember, generate such amazing press prior to its release, sending the American public to see the kind of movie that generally flops, big time, in theatres?)
And prior to that, how could anyone interested in the Empire, not be disturbed by the much more disturbing COINTELPRO- domestic surveillance of disident identity politic groups within the US, throughout the last half of the 20th Century?
So back to the point-
There's much discussion about Assange. There are even pending rape cases being used to tie his hands for more public disclosures of goverment activities.
But, in the end, it seems like all of this information, alas, will only make an impact to those who listen, those who care, and those who make meaning of it.
In the meantime, no matter the levels of shrinkage of the system, or the diminshing ability for the Empire to conspire, it will be up to the collective conciousness of the world (the literate world, who can read these missives) to somehow form a sustainable collaborative that can change business as usual, if the impact is going to be more than a hard punch to the champion's gut, and then the Empire is off the ropes, and mowing down its opponents once again.
Emma Goldberg.
The Unabomber.
And most famously, the Joker.
Anarchists all.
So, Julian Assange?
In his own words, Assange seeks to diminish the Empire's ability to conspire, limit its ability to communicate to its attaches. Disrupting internal communications. Keeping the world abreast of how the Empire speaks of it, and the influence such interests have upon other nation-states.
Transparency, and self-examination.
I can only guess that the belief that information leads to informed decisions pulses at the base of his actions. But I can't be sure.
WikiLeaks had its most recent "success"- tearing the lid off of moldering American coorespondances with other nations....As if Uncle Sam kept a journal lying around, and you picked it up, took a long dump, and read what he's been up to.
The sheer quantity is amazing. As is the guy, the mole/private charged with delivering such goods (what were his motives?)
But states jostling each other in forthright, or manipulative means isn't really a revelation.
Perhaps the revelation comes to those who were not sure what the high paid staff do for the governments they serve. Or that there are conflicting opinions and stories behind the seeming wall of unanimity that comes from public declarations?
I guess what surpises me most is that there is surprise that the minions of the Empire are involved in politics- which is by (my) definition, the use of power to benefit one's self-interests. Or surprise at those goverments who allow US activity in their nations while simultaneously blasting them for the sake of public opinion. (Qatar's president might have to dig himself out form his own grave.)
But who considered Qatar's government to be public servants concerrned with public opinion to begin with?And when was the last time, you personally believed in a public figure's integrity? Serioulsy?
We all assume that the "backroom deals," the "special interests" and the "getting down to brass tacs" means saying one thing and doing another, just as "keeping strange bedfellows" and "keeping your enemy close at hand" are part of the game as well.
These "revelations" are a small drop in the conspirator's bucket...in fact, these Obama era shananigans are jack when discussed with the "W" era.In fact, most recently proclaimed conspiracy theorists cut their teeth during the Bush era.
Remember prior to 9/11, when there was no real threat to American power after the collapse of the Soviet Union, and China's emergence as a trade partner?
It was a golden moment for change, when the global order could have shifted to soft power, a more equitable re-shuffling of natual resources during "globalization," facilitating the levelling of the playing field of the haves and have nots....
And then Florida determined the American election, W was delivered a win by court rulings on hanging chads, a staff of war hawks was assembled, and the domestic preparations for the use of unnecceasry force were upon us.
How was American population psychologically prepared for a Pearl Harbour-like event, prior to 911?
A year earlier, by a movie called, wonder of wonders, Pearl Harbour, awarded the highest of ratings from all the critics you'd never heard of , and those paid by FOX and Entertainment Tonight! (My question--- who produced that historically inaccurate, jingoistic whitewashed version of history anyway? How did that movie, to any of you who remember, generate such amazing press prior to its release, sending the American public to see the kind of movie that generally flops, big time, in theatres?)
And prior to that, how could anyone interested in the Empire, not be disturbed by the much more disturbing COINTELPRO- domestic surveillance of disident identity politic groups within the US, throughout the last half of the 20th Century?
So back to the point-
There's much discussion about Assange. There are even pending rape cases being used to tie his hands for more public disclosures of goverment activities.
But, in the end, it seems like all of this information, alas, will only make an impact to those who listen, those who care, and those who make meaning of it.
In the meantime, no matter the levels of shrinkage of the system, or the diminshing ability for the Empire to conspire, it will be up to the collective conciousness of the world (the literate world, who can read these missives) to somehow form a sustainable collaborative that can change business as usual, if the impact is going to be more than a hard punch to the champion's gut, and then the Empire is off the ropes, and mowing down its opponents once again.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Tales from Cul De Sac, LA County
So I know this 21 year old kid who just tried to commit murder.
The near victim (so you know no one dies...) was my upstairs neighbor, a kid with 19 years- who has a sister who's 16, going on 17.
Not too tough to see what took place here.
21 year old drinks with 19 year old, then talks shit about the 16 year old. Big brother swings at dumb ass. Dumb ass is knocked through a door. Dumb ass picks up some glass shards and begins carving up big brother. Big brother gets the fuck outta there, sprinting for his life into the suburban night.
Oddly, the real story begins here.
The 21 year old, whom I'm now imagining as the enebriated equivelant of Wolverine, in full berserker glory, shows up at my upstair's neighbors home, enters the kitchen silently at 1 AM
- carrying three knives- (not sure how you carry three of em at once, but this guy knows...)
and meets up with Cristian,
a long haired, 40-year old German guy, wearing slick bottomed house slippers, boxers and a t shirt
for a late night snack.
"Hey...Who's that?" asked cristian.
"Jack."
"You're Bruce's friend?"..
yeah,..Im here to kill your son...
I don't have a son...oh, you mean my step son?
yeah..Bruce..
hes not here. why do you have three knives?
im going to kill him..hey man, i hear you're really good at guitar...
uh, yeah...
i want to take some lessons from you man...
well, uh sure.. (at this point, Cristain told me later, "I was looking for a bottle or something to break over his head...but I didn't want to fight him, because i had those slippers on..but just in case this crazy guy tries to attack me, I had to be ready...")
yeah, i really want to learn how to play guitar...
ok...well, yeah...hey..do you...i'll tell bruce you were looking for him..
Remember, I'm asleep a few feet below this crazy shit...
Jack staggers back into the night, christian calls the cops, and the 16 year old girl, who was going to have her "after" party at Jack's house in a month when she turned 17, receives a text
"Sorry for trying to kill your brother."
After the hospital, and 17 stitches, after Cristian ID's Jack at Jack's home at 3 AM, Jack goes to jail- where he currently awaits trial for attempted murder....
The near victim (so you know no one dies...) was my upstairs neighbor, a kid with 19 years- who has a sister who's 16, going on 17.
Not too tough to see what took place here.
21 year old drinks with 19 year old, then talks shit about the 16 year old. Big brother swings at dumb ass. Dumb ass is knocked through a door. Dumb ass picks up some glass shards and begins carving up big brother. Big brother gets the fuck outta there, sprinting for his life into the suburban night.
Oddly, the real story begins here.
The 21 year old, whom I'm now imagining as the enebriated equivelant of Wolverine, in full berserker glory, shows up at my upstair's neighbors home, enters the kitchen silently at 1 AM
- carrying three knives- (not sure how you carry three of em at once, but this guy knows...)
and meets up with Cristian,
a long haired, 40-year old German guy, wearing slick bottomed house slippers, boxers and a t shirt
for a late night snack.
"Hey...Who's that?" asked cristian.
"Jack."
"You're Bruce's friend?"..
yeah,..Im here to kill your son...
I don't have a son...oh, you mean my step son?
yeah..Bruce..
hes not here. why do you have three knives?
im going to kill him..hey man, i hear you're really good at guitar...
uh, yeah...
i want to take some lessons from you man...
well, uh sure.. (at this point, Cristain told me later, "I was looking for a bottle or something to break over his head...but I didn't want to fight him, because i had those slippers on..but just in case this crazy guy tries to attack me, I had to be ready...")
yeah, i really want to learn how to play guitar...
ok...well, yeah...hey..do you...i'll tell bruce you were looking for him..
Remember, I'm asleep a few feet below this crazy shit...
Jack staggers back into the night, christian calls the cops, and the 16 year old girl, who was going to have her "after" party at Jack's house in a month when she turned 17, receives a text
"Sorry for trying to kill your brother."
After the hospital, and 17 stitches, after Cristian ID's Jack at Jack's home at 3 AM, Jack goes to jail- where he currently awaits trial for attempted murder....
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
computing parenting dilemmas
A week ago, we got junior's report card. These inescapable judgements were later followed by a series of fiften minute conversations with each of Junior's teachers.
Now, jr. goes to a prestigious private school, so when I showed up with his mom to the first teacher conference, I thanked the teacher for her time, and she smiled, threw up her hands and responded, "That's why you pay the big bucks!" laughing..
By the time we had come to the last of 6 meetings, it was pretty apparent that our kid ..check this out..In two classes, he was noteworthy for getting up out of his chair and wandering the class during lectures. In others, he was a standout for not even reading the directions on his test, and being the first to finish, so he could...
I actually have no idea what he's doing instead.
I only have his study habits at home to make conjectural thesis statements.
A quick knock on the locked door- (don't lock your door, kid- why not?)
a quick takeover of the computer before its history can be erased, - (I'm doing my homework, DAD!)
shows that there has been recent surfing into fantasy-
fantasy football and basketball
manga
some social networking-
facebook (i'm trying to get assignemnts from people on-line, DAD!)
and the expensive private school portal.
I don't like having to police a 13 year old, when the imagination is ripe for conspiracy and oppression. But its a dad's job, so I do it.
"So, no internet until you have your homework done," I say for the nth time.
"And don't lock your door." I say as I walk out.
I wonder how much this is the typical inter-generational discussion that takes place whenever children are born.
"That damn technology isn't helping you none sonny."
I update my comments this way,"That fantasy shit is going to confuse you kid. You spend more time pretending to be outdoors and running around then you do in real life. In fact, go ride your bike."
Ironically people tell me this behavior is helping him to relate to his peers. Like, what? They can kill each other from the safety of their bed rooms. And in the near future, they can sext?
I continue, "Maybe one day you can do all this as a brain sitting in a plastic vat somewhere. Wouldn't that be cool? You can do the same things as a 95 year old man that you are right now...That's cool too."
This of course, doesn't bring us any closer, though it does make me closer and closer to sending him off to Wilderness Leadership Camp for 2 months for a massive re-programming, a harsh encounter with nature, to learn how many layers suffocate that striving physical body propelled by a prepared mind and a seething spirit.
It's amazing to see how grabbed my kid is by this artificial, technological universe. And of course, he's not the only one, he's probably typical, at least on this side of the digital divide. (What, is outdoor recreation now an activity for those living below the poverty line?)
I've even been warmed by a few, that I were to pull all the plugs, that he might indeed have very little, or should I say, even less, in common with the other kids living above the poverty line. Because you know what- kids just don't play together the way they used to- at least here in LA.
But do I begin to bang the doomsday gong? Or, do I ride the zeitgeist- because this mesmerizing tech is only going to grow more and more enveloping, more and more interesting than the bleak economic world we've created. The growth of fantasy, or the underlying need for fantasy, might just be shelter from the alienating, anomic, world we are bringing them into.
To cap, I recently read a NYT article, which showcased a Bay Area kid, who is preparing a future for himself in film making, at the expense of his academic career. He can film, edit, and manipulate media in a way that was unheard of 30 yars ago. In fact, most kids can these days. Not my kid though, who really doesn't control his technology as much as he lets it control him- at least in my opinion. I mean, he's not producing videos, or songs, or publishing blogs, or any of the traditional things one produces with these "tools."
Check out the article.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/21/technology/21brain.html?pagewanted=1&ref=general&src=me
Such technology has not only shaped our lives, but the world's. For instance, last week, there were 50,000 kids in Warsaw going to Reggae concerts, when only 25 years ago, Iron Maiden was illegal in Poland (and all of the Soviet block).
Back to the point: my kid is showing signs of being controlled by his tech use, and not getting the benefits.
Short attention span, lives in a fantasy world, is angered when prodded into the "real world" - basically, any time responsibility to others is required (family, school, classroom, etc), and is not using the tools to empower himself, as is always touted...i.e.- become a producer of information, entertainment, whatever.
So where to go?
Back to the basics.
This kid needs to be active.
This kid needs to understand himself as a creation of nature.
He needs to know more species of flora and fauna than pokemon.
He needs to know how to make more things than he does how to kill another human (I'd guess he, and the rest of his Black Ops playing peers, knows more about guns, military tech, and martial art killing methods than any other generation in history.)
So now, after painting a bleak picture of the tech consumables which have become the equivelant of addictions (call them stimulants, and the metaphor works), my kid also does do sit ups, push ups, squats, and balancing excercises. He does play basketball every day at school, and with an outside team. He does go on hikes with me, at least twice a month. So, he doesn't want to "evolve" into a brain in a vat, and he's not yet sexting, though one of his friends is- age 14...yeah..
More to come.
Now, jr. goes to a prestigious private school, so when I showed up with his mom to the first teacher conference, I thanked the teacher for her time, and she smiled, threw up her hands and responded, "That's why you pay the big bucks!" laughing..
By the time we had come to the last of 6 meetings, it was pretty apparent that our kid ..check this out..In two classes, he was noteworthy for getting up out of his chair and wandering the class during lectures. In others, he was a standout for not even reading the directions on his test, and being the first to finish, so he could...
I actually have no idea what he's doing instead.
I only have his study habits at home to make conjectural thesis statements.
A quick knock on the locked door- (don't lock your door, kid- why not?)
a quick takeover of the computer before its history can be erased, - (I'm doing my homework, DAD!)
shows that there has been recent surfing into fantasy-
fantasy football and basketball
manga
some social networking-
facebook (i'm trying to get assignemnts from people on-line, DAD!)
and the expensive private school portal.
I don't like having to police a 13 year old, when the imagination is ripe for conspiracy and oppression. But its a dad's job, so I do it.
"So, no internet until you have your homework done," I say for the nth time.
"And don't lock your door." I say as I walk out.
I wonder how much this is the typical inter-generational discussion that takes place whenever children are born.
"That damn technology isn't helping you none sonny."
I update my comments this way,"That fantasy shit is going to confuse you kid. You spend more time pretending to be outdoors and running around then you do in real life. In fact, go ride your bike."
Ironically people tell me this behavior is helping him to relate to his peers. Like, what? They can kill each other from the safety of their bed rooms. And in the near future, they can sext?
I continue, "Maybe one day you can do all this as a brain sitting in a plastic vat somewhere. Wouldn't that be cool? You can do the same things as a 95 year old man that you are right now...That's cool too."
This of course, doesn't bring us any closer, though it does make me closer and closer to sending him off to Wilderness Leadership Camp for 2 months for a massive re-programming, a harsh encounter with nature, to learn how many layers suffocate that striving physical body propelled by a prepared mind and a seething spirit.
It's amazing to see how grabbed my kid is by this artificial, technological universe. And of course, he's not the only one, he's probably typical, at least on this side of the digital divide. (What, is outdoor recreation now an activity for those living below the poverty line?)
I've even been warmed by a few, that I were to pull all the plugs, that he might indeed have very little, or should I say, even less, in common with the other kids living above the poverty line. Because you know what- kids just don't play together the way they used to- at least here in LA.
But do I begin to bang the doomsday gong? Or, do I ride the zeitgeist- because this mesmerizing tech is only going to grow more and more enveloping, more and more interesting than the bleak economic world we've created. The growth of fantasy, or the underlying need for fantasy, might just be shelter from the alienating, anomic, world we are bringing them into.
To cap, I recently read a NYT article, which showcased a Bay Area kid, who is preparing a future for himself in film making, at the expense of his academic career. He can film, edit, and manipulate media in a way that was unheard of 30 yars ago. In fact, most kids can these days. Not my kid though, who really doesn't control his technology as much as he lets it control him- at least in my opinion. I mean, he's not producing videos, or songs, or publishing blogs, or any of the traditional things one produces with these "tools."
Check out the article.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/21/technology/21brain.html?pagewanted=1&ref=general&src=me
Such technology has not only shaped our lives, but the world's. For instance, last week, there were 50,000 kids in Warsaw going to Reggae concerts, when only 25 years ago, Iron Maiden was illegal in Poland (and all of the Soviet block).
Back to the point: my kid is showing signs of being controlled by his tech use, and not getting the benefits.
Short attention span, lives in a fantasy world, is angered when prodded into the "real world" - basically, any time responsibility to others is required (family, school, classroom, etc), and is not using the tools to empower himself, as is always touted...i.e.- become a producer of information, entertainment, whatever.
So where to go?
Back to the basics.
This kid needs to be active.
This kid needs to understand himself as a creation of nature.
He needs to know more species of flora and fauna than pokemon.
He needs to know how to make more things than he does how to kill another human (I'd guess he, and the rest of his Black Ops playing peers, knows more about guns, military tech, and martial art killing methods than any other generation in history.)
So now, after painting a bleak picture of the tech consumables which have become the equivelant of addictions (call them stimulants, and the metaphor works), my kid also does do sit ups, push ups, squats, and balancing excercises. He does play basketball every day at school, and with an outside team. He does go on hikes with me, at least twice a month. So, he doesn't want to "evolve" into a brain in a vat, and he's not yet sexting, though one of his friends is- age 14...yeah..
More to come.
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