Have you read "The Rise of American Authoritarianism" by Amanda Taub on Vox? It's making the rounds on social media, at least my social media. It's fascinating. I know nothing about her or the website that published her article, but... wow. Reading it creates in my head the sound of tumblers clicking as they fall into place.
And as these things do, it clicks because it meshes with recent experience in my own life. Not political experience. Nothing to do with Donald Trump, or immigration. But still, it was an experience of fear of The Other taking from me what I see as my own, my right. My experience has no place here, as it is not my story to tell, for the most part. Let it suffice that my "other" is just a blowhard drunkard (read: douche!), not the specter of a horde of inhuman invaders (read: Muslims, LGBQT, atheists, environmentalists, etc.) whose values are terrifyingly foreign to my own experience. Although that particular douche is, in my mind, inhuman. And his values are as foreign to me as they could be. But still!
What I noticed in my own experience is this: the fear was more real than the reality. The possible was more real than the actual. As such, it was not a possibility, it was a certainty. And thus it demanded something from me: a response, a prevention. Action!
Does this make me authoritarian? God, I hope not.
What my own fear experience taught me, though, is a lesson I should have learned before now, because I've had this epiphany before, particularly when I gave up reading What to Expect When You're Expecting about a third of the way through, when little Thumper was still a bun in the oven: the fear experience can be nearly orgasmic. The pomposity of feeling like you're expertly preparing for the thing you fear is also nearly orgasmic.
But! The thing you fear and prepare for is likely not the thing that will happen, and the thing that will happen is likely not the one for which you prepared. And obsessed. And worried. And drove yourself to ecstatic levels of stress and anxiety imagining.
Don't read that book, by the way. If you're expecting, don't expect all those worst-case scenarios. Expect joy, instead. Deal with what comes, if it comes, as it comes. But don't read the book first. It preys on fear. It profits by the uncertainty of the inexperienced and their powerful desire to be ready for whatever experience may be coming.
But! That's the nature of life. You can't be prepared for every possible experience that is approaching you from beneath the curve of the horizon. Besides, if you did know with certainty that the worst-case scenario was actually coming, would that make you any more prepared, really?
And here's the thing: in some of those cases, the fear itself brings about the very experience of which you were afraid.
For instance: the military industrial complex, of which Eisenhower warned us, employs over decades the rhetoric of fear of Islamic fundamentalism (which, by the way, is to Islam as the KKK is to Christianity) to help justify and build support for what is largely a gigantic money grab. So for fear of Islamic fundamentalism spreading across the globe and attacking us at home, we approve of putting boots on foreign ground and everything that entails, which engenders a deep hatred of us globally even beyond the existing Islamic fundamentalists and fuels the growth of fundamentalism, providing new motivation for exactly the kind of attacks on American soil of which we were originally afraid. Which makes us more afraid.
Oversimplified? Yes, of course. But to some degree, we fueled, because we were terrified, the growth of the very thing that terrified us, and now we're even more afraid.
So is fear the answer? Is voting for Trump going to make anything better? Instead, be not afraid. Be not afraid of the Mexican immigrant. Be not afraid of the protestor who wants only for his child to have as little chance of being murdered as your child does. Be not afraid of the woman on the bus who has covered her hair out of the same kind, if not the same flavor, of piety that motivates you as a good Christian church-goer. Be not afraid of the sex lives of those that aren't having sex with you. Be not afraid of those who suggest that unrestrained consumerism may, in fact, be ultimately destructive. Be not afraid that the weed will lead to the heroin will lead to the children dying in droves, impaled on the pikes of syringes on every street corner. Do not dehumanize the other, nor fear his values, though they seem on the surface foreign to your own.
Please don't vote for Trump. Forgiving for the moment that he speaks in sentences and thinks in patterns far less complex, sophisticated, and nuanced than even my 8-year-old does, remember always that a political leader cannot defeat your fears. Only you can. Instead of fearing, live. You do you. I'll do me. Let each of us be calm. Take deep breaths. Meditation is good for that. So is yoga. But hey, I'm not militant, so if that's not your thing, that's cool.
Showing posts with label Fight the Power. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fight the Power. Show all posts
Thursday, March 3, 2016
Thursday, January 14, 2016
Age, Wisdom, and Radio Pop
I woke up this morning with the phrase "grammatical relativism" in my head, which makes no sense at all because I had a dream about samurai, with lots of fleeing and hiding and beheadings and blood, and katana that moved through the air like seaweed swaying in an ocean current. Which also makes no sense. But I'm determined to work "grammatical relativism" into conversation at some point today.
If you're keeping score, the blog post proper begins here:
I am grateful that Adele's "Hello" has been supplanted on the radio by her "When We Were Young" not because I don't like the former and do like the latter but because radio repetition can make me react to even the best of songs the same as I might nails on a chalkboard. Not that "Hello" is the best of songs. Or the worst. I'm just saying, Jesus, do I have to hear it ten times a day? Similarly, why can't they play more Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats songs? That whole album is great, but all we get, over and over and over again, is "S.O.B." Why? Why you damned, rich music industry fat cats, with your pinky rings and cigars and...
Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. For someone who famously names her albums for her age, and whose latest is 25, she uses a lot of phrases like, "after all these years," "we ain't kids no more," "when we were young," "that was a million years ago," etc. At first, I was like, "Girlfriend, please." Because, you know, I'm a 43-year-old white man from the suburbs who likes to appropriate as my own outdated pop culture tropes that I have no business using.
Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. Today it occurred to me: no matter how old we get, there will always be someone older, devaluing our age and experience because they are not as great or as extensive as their own. I imagine in the nursing home, there will always be a 95-year-old looking at the 75-year-olds and thinking, "Punk ass kids. Think they know shit about how things really are..." Hmm. Wait a minute. "Someone" is singular. "Their" is plural. Therefore, my '80s public school education tells me that there is no agreement among my pronouns. I should have used "his," because it is the correct choice both for masculine antecedents and those of neutral or unspecified gender. The judgmental 95-year-old in my imagined scenario is not described as either male or female. I should have said, "[t]here will always be someone older, devaluing our age and experience because they are not as great as his own." But I recall vaguely somewhere some discussion that we are living in a non-binary world now, and assignment of the masculine pronoun when the gender of the antecedent is undetermined is a construct of the patriarchy, meant to keep women and the LGBT (LGBTQ? Are we adding a Q to that now? Sounds familiar...) population oppressed, silent, under-represented. Traditional notions of grammar be damned, much like the rich music industry fat cats! Singular/plural agreement isn't as important as human equality! So bam. Grammatical relativism, right there. Done and done.
Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah, Adele. You go on and be jaded and world weary, young lady. Your (or perhaps your songwriter's? Do you write your own lyrics? I don't even know) life experience is as valuable as my own. Hell, more so, because the older I get the only thing I know with more and more certainty is that the scope with which my knowledge and experience can be applied to real life situations becomes more and more narrow with every passing day, week, month, year. Perhaps by the time I'm a 95-year-old in a nursing home, I'll know that it doesn't actually apply to anything in the present or future at all, only the past. Which is pretty damned (like traditional notions of grammar and rich music industry fat cats) useless, actually.
Wait, What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. I give her my permission to sing about the passage of time and the lessons it imparts, even though she is young. Also: I like Taylor Swift. There, I said it. "Blank Space" is a good song, I don't care what you say.
If you're keeping score, the blog post proper begins here:
I am grateful that Adele's "Hello" has been supplanted on the radio by her "When We Were Young" not because I don't like the former and do like the latter but because radio repetition can make me react to even the best of songs the same as I might nails on a chalkboard. Not that "Hello" is the best of songs. Or the worst. I'm just saying, Jesus, do I have to hear it ten times a day? Similarly, why can't they play more Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats songs? That whole album is great, but all we get, over and over and over again, is "S.O.B." Why? Why you damned, rich music industry fat cats, with your pinky rings and cigars and...
Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. For someone who famously names her albums for her age, and whose latest is 25, she uses a lot of phrases like, "after all these years," "we ain't kids no more," "when we were young," "that was a million years ago," etc. At first, I was like, "Girlfriend, please." Because, you know, I'm a 43-year-old white man from the suburbs who likes to appropriate as my own outdated pop culture tropes that I have no business using.
Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. Today it occurred to me: no matter how old we get, there will always be someone older, devaluing our age and experience because they are not as great or as extensive as their own. I imagine in the nursing home, there will always be a 95-year-old looking at the 75-year-olds and thinking, "Punk ass kids. Think they know shit about how things really are..." Hmm. Wait a minute. "Someone" is singular. "Their" is plural. Therefore, my '80s public school education tells me that there is no agreement among my pronouns. I should have used "his," because it is the correct choice both for masculine antecedents and those of neutral or unspecified gender. The judgmental 95-year-old in my imagined scenario is not described as either male or female. I should have said, "[t]here will always be someone older, devaluing our age and experience because they are not as great as his own." But I recall vaguely somewhere some discussion that we are living in a non-binary world now, and assignment of the masculine pronoun when the gender of the antecedent is undetermined is a construct of the patriarchy, meant to keep women and the LGBT (LGBTQ? Are we adding a Q to that now? Sounds familiar...) population oppressed, silent, under-represented. Traditional notions of grammar be damned, much like the rich music industry fat cats! Singular/plural agreement isn't as important as human equality! So bam. Grammatical relativism, right there. Done and done.
Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah, Adele. You go on and be jaded and world weary, young lady. Your (or perhaps your songwriter's? Do you write your own lyrics? I don't even know) life experience is as valuable as my own. Hell, more so, because the older I get the only thing I know with more and more certainty is that the scope with which my knowledge and experience can be applied to real life situations becomes more and more narrow with every passing day, week, month, year. Perhaps by the time I'm a 95-year-old in a nursing home, I'll know that it doesn't actually apply to anything in the present or future at all, only the past. Which is pretty damned (like traditional notions of grammar and rich music industry fat cats) useless, actually.
Wait, What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. I give her my permission to sing about the passage of time and the lessons it imparts, even though she is young. Also: I like Taylor Swift. There, I said it. "Blank Space" is a good song, I don't care what you say.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
The Nail in the Coffin
My brother and his wife had a bad experience with an airline recently. They flew to Montana for a friend's wedding and had a wonderful time. Then, the Facebook Status Updates began:
First: "I am a slow learner, I guess, and have to be presented with the same lesson again and again at times, before it sticks. Well, this time I've got it, and here it is:
Delta is a terrible airline. NEVER fly Delta.
Burned into my mind, now. Thanks."
Then: "When I fly Southwest, nothing goes wrong.
When I fly American and something goes wrong, they make things right in some way.
When I fly Delta and something goes wrong, they make me pissed."
And then (THE NEXT DAY): "is back at the gate in Salt Lake. We were already behind, because our flight attendant was delayed. Then, we taxied out about 25 yards, before returning to the gate for maintenance.
Now, we sit."
So of course they eventually made it home. What does any of this have to do with me? Nothing really until we get to yesterday, when I dropped Thumper off at their house for a sleepover. Aerie was out of town, and they kindly agreed to take care of the boy so that I could keep my shift at the big Dance Pop/Pop Rock show. There are precious few opportunities for ushering work over the summer, so I was grateful for the chance to earn a paycheck.
Still no tie-in to Delta, I know. Stick with me.
As I was driving to their house to drop Thumper off, I touched my face and realized: I hadn't shaved. The grooming standards for ushers aren't very strict, but I generally try to show up with a clean, or semi-clean, shave. So I asked if I could borrow a disposable razor from my brother. What I got was an unused, individually wrapped disposable razor, complete with a tiny pouch of shave gel. It came, SWSIL ("Social Worker Sister-in-Law") told me, from a complimentary travel toiletries pack that Delta gave them to compensate for the fact that their flight was canceled for mechanical problems. I was grateful to have it and hurried off to the arena in time to get semi-close free parking, which is so much better than distant free parking.
Still early enough that I had time for a shave before clocking in, I busted out my cello-wrapped pack. I tore it open, applied the gel, which wouldn't lather up, and dragged the razor across my cheek. I was stunned. I talked, grumbled, and cursed to myself in the empty bathroom. The razor simply would not cut. After nearly 10 minutes of toe-curling pain, I had reduced the stubble on my face almost not at all. I may have done better if I'd tried to shave with a plastic knife from one of the concession stands.
When I exited the bathroom, I was facing a promotional stand from one of the tour's sponsors, a major brand of women's razor. Would that they had samples, but alas, they did not. I ain't too proud to shave with a girly razor.
So there you go. When Delta cancels your flight due to mechanical problems, stranding you overnight, and then delays your next day's flight, first because a flight attendant is late and then because of a "maintenance issue," they make it up to you by offering you the least effective and most painful shaving experience of your life. You're welcome!
First: "I am a slow learner, I guess, and have to be presented with the same lesson again and again at times, before it sticks. Well, this time I've got it, and here it is:
Delta is a terrible airline. NEVER fly Delta.
Burned into my mind, now. Thanks."
Then: "When I fly Southwest, nothing goes wrong.
When I fly American and something goes wrong, they make things right in some way.
When I fly Delta and something goes wrong, they make me pissed."
And then (THE NEXT DAY): "is back at the gate in Salt Lake. We were already behind, because our flight attendant was delayed. Then, we taxied out about 25 yards, before returning to the gate for maintenance.
Now, we sit."
So of course they eventually made it home. What does any of this have to do with me? Nothing really until we get to yesterday, when I dropped Thumper off at their house for a sleepover. Aerie was out of town, and they kindly agreed to take care of the boy so that I could keep my shift at the big Dance Pop/Pop Rock show. There are precious few opportunities for ushering work over the summer, so I was grateful for the chance to earn a paycheck.
Still no tie-in to Delta, I know. Stick with me.
As I was driving to their house to drop Thumper off, I touched my face and realized: I hadn't shaved. The grooming standards for ushers aren't very strict, but I generally try to show up with a clean, or semi-clean, shave. So I asked if I could borrow a disposable razor from my brother. What I got was an unused, individually wrapped disposable razor, complete with a tiny pouch of shave gel. It came, SWSIL ("Social Worker Sister-in-Law") told me, from a complimentary travel toiletries pack that Delta gave them to compensate for the fact that their flight was canceled for mechanical problems. I was grateful to have it and hurried off to the arena in time to get semi-close free parking, which is so much better than distant free parking.
Still early enough that I had time for a shave before clocking in, I busted out my cello-wrapped pack. I tore it open, applied the gel, which wouldn't lather up, and dragged the razor across my cheek. I was stunned. I talked, grumbled, and cursed to myself in the empty bathroom. The razor simply would not cut. After nearly 10 minutes of toe-curling pain, I had reduced the stubble on my face almost not at all. I may have done better if I'd tried to shave with a plastic knife from one of the concession stands.
When I exited the bathroom, I was facing a promotional stand from one of the tour's sponsors, a major brand of women's razor. Would that they had samples, but alas, they did not. I ain't too proud to shave with a girly razor.
So there you go. When Delta cancels your flight due to mechanical problems, stranding you overnight, and then delays your next day's flight, first because a flight attendant is late and then because of a "maintenance issue," they make it up to you by offering you the least effective and most painful shaving experience of your life. You're welcome!
Monday, June 6, 2011
Media Contact
Maybe I'm not the best choice for this role, but as the current administrator of my dads's group, I not only schedule the weekly play dates and approve new members, I'm also the contact for media inquiries. In January, I was contacted by a freelance writer who was working on an article for a major, national women's magazine. He's made it pretty clear from the beginning that he had already written the article and was mostly looking for quotes from members of the group that he could plug into the article to support the conclusion he'd already come to before talking to any of us. As of today, his article has now been returned to him for final edits, and he wants a couple of more dads to talk to for about 10 minutes tomorrow to cull a few more quotes, I suppose.
In May, the photo editor for said magazine contacted me to schedule a photo shoot with our group. She's waffled on dates, saying maybe this week, maybe next week, maybe the week after that to send a hired photographer to shoot us. I suggested she take advantage of the talents of one of our members, who has shot some excellent photos, some of which he took at past play dates. She was non-committal, until today, finally saying she wanted him to take more photos of us at upcoming play dates. She stressed that it's important to her magazine to represent diversity in their photo shoots, especially those involving real people, which struck me as manipulating reality to make it fit some idealized version, true reality be damned.
After 5 months of emails with these two journalistic professionals who won't make a decision and stick with it, I got a little fed up. So I sent the following email to my group today to promote the Wednesday play date, which will be taking place at the business of one of our members:
And thus you see why maybe I'm not the best choice for media contact.
In May, the photo editor for said magazine contacted me to schedule a photo shoot with our group. She's waffled on dates, saying maybe this week, maybe next week, maybe the week after that to send a hired photographer to shoot us. I suggested she take advantage of the talents of one of our members, who has shot some excellent photos, some of which he took at past play dates. She was non-committal, until today, finally saying she wanted him to take more photos of us at upcoming play dates. She stressed that it's important to her magazine to represent diversity in their photo shoots, especially those involving real people, which struck me as manipulating reality to make it fit some idealized version, true reality be damned.
After 5 months of emails with these two journalistic professionals who won't make a decision and stick with it, I got a little fed up. So I sent the following email to my group today to promote the Wednesday play date, which will be taking place at the business of one of our members:
First, let me say that the rest of this message is tongue-in-cheek, and I don't give a rat's ass about satisfying [national women's magazine], since I'm sure the article will not in the least represent us (or at least me) and what it means (to me) to be a stay-at-home dad. I'm sure that the author wrote the article before speaking to any of us, and the gist of it will be that "silly, incompetent dads think they can be moms! Isn't that cute?"
That said, I would really appreciate it if we could turn out in large numbers for Wednesday's play date this week. First, it will be great to see what our own [Dad #1] and his family have come up with as a business idea and to throw our support behind it. It sounds unique, and a lot of fun, and priced more than reasonably, compared to other indoor play spaces. Second, I'd like to see [Dad #2] get national exposure as a photographer, too, if that's also what he wants. So let's come together and support these two dads and see what good can come of this mess for them. Maybe [Dad #2] can get some shots of us in front of a sign or a logo, or a web address on Wednesday.
I suggested to [national women's magazine]'s photo editor from the beginning that she take advantage of [Dad #2]'s talents, but she hemmed, hawed, delayed, and was generally a giant pain in the ass about picking a date to send a hired photographer to. Now she's come full circle and wants [Dad #2] to shoot us Wednesday at All Things Kids, and presumably any other play dates we turn up to over the next few days. Or weeks. Or whatever. I have no idea when they plan to actually pull the trigger on this project and publish the damn article already. It can't be soon enough, as far as I'm concerned.
What she seems most concerned about is "diversity," though she never specifically defined what she meant by that. They like their photo shoots to be diverse, "especially of real people," even if reality is semi-homogeneous. I presume she means it in the "racial diversity" sense, but she didn't specify, so if you're coming on Wednesday, please come at your most diverse. If [Dad #3] shows up, we'll have "white man with blond kids" covered, though that beard isn't quite "Middle America" enough. [Kid #1] and [Kid #2] should definitely come, but maybe it would best if their mom brought them and [Dad #4] stayed home. [Dad #5] and [Dad #6] certainly should be there, and if anybody has any black friends with kids that they can convince to take the morning off from work, I'd appreciate it. As the only woman in the group, [Mom #1], you better show up, or I'm kicking you out, and whichever dad it was that had something about a "partner" in his bio, I'm counting on you, too. [Dad #7] should come, but only as a real person and not as an actor. As the definitive "blue-eyed devil," I'm not sure I should be in any of the pictures, but [Thumper] and I will be there to check out [Dad #1]'s ultra-cool imported European toys. [Dad #2], please make sure to get some self-portraits with the mohawk and the baby strapped to your chest. I can only hope this will be one of the weeks that your hair is blue or some other unnatural color.
Anyway, please come. It's $5 per kid, unless we show up in a group of 10 or more kids, which will prompt [Dad #1] to give us a 20% discount, or $4 per kid. If we can't be racially diverse, maybe we can be, I don't know, politically diverse? If [Dad #8] and [Dad #1] are in the same room with the rest of us, we'll pretty much have the spectrum covered. Religiously diverse? Fashionably diverse? Or diverse heights and weights? Shoe sizes?
That said, I would really appreciate it if we could turn out in large numbers for Wednesday's play date this week. First, it will be great to see what our own [Dad #1] and his family have come up with as a business idea and to throw our support behind it. It sounds unique, and a lot of fun, and priced more than reasonably, compared to other indoor play spaces. Second, I'd like to see [Dad #2] get national exposure as a photographer, too, if that's also what he wants. So let's come together and support these two dads and see what good can come of this mess for them. Maybe [Dad #2] can get some shots of us in front of a sign or a logo, or a web address on Wednesday.
I suggested to [national women's magazine]'s photo editor from the beginning that she take advantage of [Dad #2]'s talents, but she hemmed, hawed, delayed, and was generally a giant pain in the ass about picking a date to send a hired photographer to. Now she's come full circle and wants [Dad #2] to shoot us Wednesday at All Things Kids, and presumably any other play dates we turn up to over the next few days. Or weeks. Or whatever. I have no idea when they plan to actually pull the trigger on this project and publish the damn article already. It can't be soon enough, as far as I'm concerned.
What she seems most concerned about is "diversity," though she never specifically defined what she meant by that. They like their photo shoots to be diverse, "especially of real people," even if reality is semi-homogeneous. I presume she means it in the "racial diversity" sense, but she didn't specify, so if you're coming on Wednesday, please come at your most diverse. If [Dad #3] shows up, we'll have "white man with blond kids" covered, though that beard isn't quite "Middle America" enough. [Kid #1] and [Kid #2] should definitely come, but maybe it would best if their mom brought them and [Dad #4] stayed home. [Dad #5] and [Dad #6] certainly should be there, and if anybody has any black friends with kids that they can convince to take the morning off from work, I'd appreciate it. As the only woman in the group, [Mom #1], you better show up, or I'm kicking you out, and whichever dad it was that had something about a "partner" in his bio, I'm counting on you, too. [Dad #7] should come, but only as a real person and not as an actor. As the definitive "blue-eyed devil," I'm not sure I should be in any of the pictures, but [Thumper] and I will be there to check out [Dad #1]'s ultra-cool imported European toys. [Dad #2], please make sure to get some self-portraits with the mohawk and the baby strapped to your chest. I can only hope this will be one of the weeks that your hair is blue or some other unnatural color.
Anyway, please come. It's $5 per kid, unless we show up in a group of 10 or more kids, which will prompt [Dad #1] to give us a 20% discount, or $4 per kid. If we can't be racially diverse, maybe we can be, I don't know, politically diverse? If [Dad #8] and [Dad #1] are in the same room with the rest of us, we'll pretty much have the spectrum covered. Religiously diverse? Fashionably diverse? Or diverse heights and weights? Shoe sizes?
And thus you see why maybe I'm not the best choice for media contact.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Sick
I used to be a daily Today Show viewer. Most of the time, I complained about it. I disliked Katie Couric and how she really, really, really wanted the families of the Columbine victims to squeeze out a few more tears. But it was better than the other network morning shows, I liked watching TV while eating my breakfast, and it made me feel like I was somewhat informed about national news. So I watched it, and I ridiculed it.
I didn't want to watch it with Thumper around, though, so we've been daily viewers of Sesame Street instead. Elmo is a whole other kettle of fish when it comes to the horrors of television, but I certainly haven't missed Matt and Meredith at all. In fact now, when I do catch a few minutes of it because Thumper isn't up yet, and Aerie was watching the local newscast for the weather which then bounced back to the network feed, I'm mildly horrified. It's an endless parade of tragedies and celebrity freak show voyeurism. Why did I watch that?
This morning, Thumper was still asleep, and Aerie was hanging around the house a little later than usual. She had Today on when I walked through, and I caught a few details. The sad story of Michael Brewer was particularly bleak, and it made me realize another way in which parenting has changed me. Before, I would have consumed the entire segment and felt superior to the people who could commit such an atrocity and to the parents who spawned them. I'd feel a twinge of empathy, a hint of horror, and my certainty about the black pit at the center of human nature would be confirmed. And then I'd sit there and wait for the next three-minute segment of human depravity to be paraded before me.
This morning, I had to walk away. As soon as I heard enough of the story to imagine Thumper as the victim of such an act, I couldn't watch another second. Now I know what people mean by "chilling."
Hypocritically, when I thought about writing a blog post, I searched for the segment on the show's website and watched it in its entirety. I wanted to see if I could find an answer to the question in my mind: Why would the mother agree to be on the show, to let herself and her child be this week's morsel drooled over by Meredith as she serves it up for our consumption, to be forgotten in favor of some other morsel tomorrow or next week? The mother did make a plea for peace, for the rejection of violence as a solution to human problems, but Meredith sidestepped that plea without comment and came right back, prodding for the soft spot that would get the tears flowing. The mother didn't break down completely during the interview, so at the end, Meredith tells Matt that the interview was filmed before the show went on the air, and the mother did break down after the interview was over. While still on camera! And we have it here! We asked her if it was OK if we showed it, and she said yes! So they show several moments of her sobbing, and we, the audience, we slurp it up.
I don't want to be a part of that anymore. The celebrity gossip! The murders! The rapes! The abuse! The 18-year-long kidnap victim! and Michael Jackson on endless loop! I mostly get it now only from the magazine covers when I stand in line at the grocery store. I'm going to try to avert my eyes from now on. I also watch TV Guide Channel because we don't have digital cable and never know what's on. I put the Mute on and suffer through the slow motion scrolling of the schedule beneath Michael Jackson and Flava Flav and New York and Ashton Kutcher, but still. Even muted, it seeps in through the eyes. If this is being informed, I'd rather be ignorant.
Sick.
I didn't want to watch it with Thumper around, though, so we've been daily viewers of Sesame Street instead. Elmo is a whole other kettle of fish when it comes to the horrors of television, but I certainly haven't missed Matt and Meredith at all. In fact now, when I do catch a few minutes of it because Thumper isn't up yet, and Aerie was watching the local newscast for the weather which then bounced back to the network feed, I'm mildly horrified. It's an endless parade of tragedies and celebrity freak show voyeurism. Why did I watch that?
This morning, Thumper was still asleep, and Aerie was hanging around the house a little later than usual. She had Today on when I walked through, and I caught a few details. The sad story of Michael Brewer was particularly bleak, and it made me realize another way in which parenting has changed me. Before, I would have consumed the entire segment and felt superior to the people who could commit such an atrocity and to the parents who spawned them. I'd feel a twinge of empathy, a hint of horror, and my certainty about the black pit at the center of human nature would be confirmed. And then I'd sit there and wait for the next three-minute segment of human depravity to be paraded before me.
This morning, I had to walk away. As soon as I heard enough of the story to imagine Thumper as the victim of such an act, I couldn't watch another second. Now I know what people mean by "chilling."
Hypocritically, when I thought about writing a blog post, I searched for the segment on the show's website and watched it in its entirety. I wanted to see if I could find an answer to the question in my mind: Why would the mother agree to be on the show, to let herself and her child be this week's morsel drooled over by Meredith as she serves it up for our consumption, to be forgotten in favor of some other morsel tomorrow or next week? The mother did make a plea for peace, for the rejection of violence as a solution to human problems, but Meredith sidestepped that plea without comment and came right back, prodding for the soft spot that would get the tears flowing. The mother didn't break down completely during the interview, so at the end, Meredith tells Matt that the interview was filmed before the show went on the air, and the mother did break down after the interview was over. While still on camera! And we have it here! We asked her if it was OK if we showed it, and she said yes! So they show several moments of her sobbing, and we, the audience, we slurp it up.
I don't want to be a part of that anymore. The celebrity gossip! The murders! The rapes! The abuse! The 18-year-long kidnap victim! and Michael Jackson on endless loop! I mostly get it now only from the magazine covers when I stand in line at the grocery store. I'm going to try to avert my eyes from now on. I also watch TV Guide Channel because we don't have digital cable and never know what's on. I put the Mute on and suffer through the slow motion scrolling of the schedule beneath Michael Jackson and Flava Flav and New York and Ashton Kutcher, but still. Even muted, it seeps in through the eyes. If this is being informed, I'd rather be ignorant.
Sick.
Monday, May 11, 2009
An Informal Introduction
For those of you keeping score, first I freaked out because my longtime friend discovered and was enthusiastic about Landmark Forums. Then I thought well, hey, maybe he's getting over it. But he didn't really. He periodically calls me as part of finishing another seminar or invites me to attend one. At one point, he told me he didn't want me to do it just for him, only if I wanted to, at which point I said, well, I don't. And I thought that was the end. But it wasn't.
He offered two sessions at his home of an "informal introduction" to Landmark. He offered food. He offered child care. He offered two different dates. So I said, sure, I'll come to one. And I did. I still have no interest in Landmark, but I thought if I finally actually attended a Landmark event, he'd stop asking me. And this one was free, so I'd never have a better opportunity.
I was nervous, because I had no idea what to expect. Would there or would there not be a professional "facilitator?" Would I be the only one to show up?
I went early, for lunch. He grilled squash from his garden and burgers not from his livestock. We chatted. He's added two emus and a beehive to his little farm. The emus are supposed to be protective, driving coyotes and other predators off from the chickens, sheep, and goats. He borrowed a donkey for awhile for that same purpose, but it was noisy and under-appreciated by his neighbors.
Then two guys showed up. They turned out to be the volunteer facilitator and the volunteer assistant to the facilitator, who didn't say much but was there to keep the facilitator "on script" and on time. Hmm. And then, thank God, another of BFF's friends showed up, someone I'd never met before but who turned out to be friendly, outgoing, and talkative. I wouldn't be the only one in the probing glare of the bright Landmark lights!
So how did it go, and what was said? Oh, I don't know. Before I went, I thought I was going to do this whole big blog entry about it, but I don't know if it's worth the energy. I don't feel like it's quite as culty as I originally did. It's certainly big business, though. What's most amazing about it is the fervor it creates in its (members? followers? attendees?). The facilitator and his assistant insisted that they were there on a volunteer basis, receiving no compensation or incentives for being there. The facilitator was passionate, as was BFF. Even the nearly-silent assistant to the facilitator opened up at the end with an extremely impassioned speech about the power of Landmark and how it has changed his life.
So what's the gyst of it?
"In this giant pie chart, this little sliver is what you know you know. This little sliver is what you know you don't know. And THIS giant chunk is what you don't know that you don't know."
"Your past has nothing to do with who you are. Your past has nothing to do with your future.... If your past has nothing to do with your future, then why does your future look exactly like your past? Because you are living your past into your future."
"You are hearing and seeing everything through filters that you have installed over a lifetime of experiences."
"On day three, we teach you a technique for completing your past and taking it out of your future and putting it back into your past."
"Create a possibility for yourself. Become that possibility."
etc., etc. Essentially harmless pop-psych aphorisms that under a three-day intensive pseudo-group-therapy experience that's guided by a strong and doubt-free personality, with lots of shared stories of pain and humiliation, personal epiphanies start popping around the room like flash bulbs and many people begin to believe that they've lived through a powerful experience.
Since my first exposure to Landmark two years ago, I can't helping thinking of Sybok whenever I think of Landmark. Of course, you know who Sybok is, right? Of course you do. He's Spock's half-brother, the one who hijacked the Enterprise in Star Trek V in order to fly it to go meet God. He builds an army of followers by freeing them of their pain. If you're an impatient sort, jump to about 2:10.
Even Dr. McCoy becomes a devotee after being forced to share his memory of being unable to cure his father and subsequently euthanizing him. By sharing his pain with Sybok, he becomes free of it. But Kirk won't give in. He insists that his pain is his own, part of what defines him, and he doesn't want to be free of it.
Or something like that. I'm going on my memory of a movie I saw 20 years ago. Anyway, that's Landmark. I participated in the shortened version of the Forum that was the "informal introduction." I was honest in sharing something personal. I explored it through their worksheets and discussions just as they wanted. And then I didn't register. I told them that Landmark's heavy focus on recruitment made it suspect in my eyes. I told them that to me, that kind of personal exploration and discovery was part of a lifetime's journey and couldn't be achieved over a weekend. I told them I didn't think there was a magic pill for freeing oneself from one's less-pleasant memories. I told them I quit my job and don't have hundreds of dollars to blow on a self-help seminar.
They told me that yes, the recruitment aspect puts a lot of people off. They told me it wasn't a magic pill, it was a set of tools. The assistant facilitator told me, and yes those quotes are intentional, it was "the quickest and easiest path to spiritual evolution." I did not tell him that to me, "quick and easy" and "spiritual evolution" aren't compatible concepts.
So there you go. With this technique, I am completing my experience with Landmark and putting it into my past.
He offered two sessions at his home of an "informal introduction" to Landmark. He offered food. He offered child care. He offered two different dates. So I said, sure, I'll come to one. And I did. I still have no interest in Landmark, but I thought if I finally actually attended a Landmark event, he'd stop asking me. And this one was free, so I'd never have a better opportunity.
I was nervous, because I had no idea what to expect. Would there or would there not be a professional "facilitator?" Would I be the only one to show up?
I went early, for lunch. He grilled squash from his garden and burgers not from his livestock. We chatted. He's added two emus and a beehive to his little farm. The emus are supposed to be protective, driving coyotes and other predators off from the chickens, sheep, and goats. He borrowed a donkey for awhile for that same purpose, but it was noisy and under-appreciated by his neighbors.
Then two guys showed up. They turned out to be the volunteer facilitator and the volunteer assistant to the facilitator, who didn't say much but was there to keep the facilitator "on script" and on time. Hmm. And then, thank God, another of BFF's friends showed up, someone I'd never met before but who turned out to be friendly, outgoing, and talkative. I wouldn't be the only one in the probing glare of the bright Landmark lights!
So how did it go, and what was said? Oh, I don't know. Before I went, I thought I was going to do this whole big blog entry about it, but I don't know if it's worth the energy. I don't feel like it's quite as culty as I originally did. It's certainly big business, though. What's most amazing about it is the fervor it creates in its (members? followers? attendees?). The facilitator and his assistant insisted that they were there on a volunteer basis, receiving no compensation or incentives for being there. The facilitator was passionate, as was BFF. Even the nearly-silent assistant to the facilitator opened up at the end with an extremely impassioned speech about the power of Landmark and how it has changed his life.
So what's the gyst of it?
"In this giant pie chart, this little sliver is what you know you know. This little sliver is what you know you don't know. And THIS giant chunk is what you don't know that you don't know."
"Your past has nothing to do with who you are. Your past has nothing to do with your future.... If your past has nothing to do with your future, then why does your future look exactly like your past? Because you are living your past into your future."
"You are hearing and seeing everything through filters that you have installed over a lifetime of experiences."
"On day three, we teach you a technique for completing your past and taking it out of your future and putting it back into your past."
"Create a possibility for yourself. Become that possibility."
etc., etc. Essentially harmless pop-psych aphorisms that under a three-day intensive pseudo-group-therapy experience that's guided by a strong and doubt-free personality, with lots of shared stories of pain and humiliation, personal epiphanies start popping around the room like flash bulbs and many people begin to believe that they've lived through a powerful experience.
Since my first exposure to Landmark two years ago, I can't helping thinking of Sybok whenever I think of Landmark. Of course, you know who Sybok is, right? Of course you do. He's Spock's half-brother, the one who hijacked the Enterprise in Star Trek V in order to fly it to go meet God. He builds an army of followers by freeing them of their pain. If you're an impatient sort, jump to about 2:10.
Even Dr. McCoy becomes a devotee after being forced to share his memory of being unable to cure his father and subsequently euthanizing him. By sharing his pain with Sybok, he becomes free of it. But Kirk won't give in. He insists that his pain is his own, part of what defines him, and he doesn't want to be free of it.
Or something like that. I'm going on my memory of a movie I saw 20 years ago. Anyway, that's Landmark. I participated in the shortened version of the Forum that was the "informal introduction." I was honest in sharing something personal. I explored it through their worksheets and discussions just as they wanted. And then I didn't register. I told them that Landmark's heavy focus on recruitment made it suspect in my eyes. I told them that to me, that kind of personal exploration and discovery was part of a lifetime's journey and couldn't be achieved over a weekend. I told them I didn't think there was a magic pill for freeing oneself from one's less-pleasant memories. I told them I quit my job and don't have hundreds of dollars to blow on a self-help seminar.
They told me that yes, the recruitment aspect puts a lot of people off. They told me it wasn't a magic pill, it was a set of tools. The assistant facilitator told me, and yes those quotes are intentional, it was "the quickest and easiest path to spiritual evolution." I did not tell him that to me, "quick and easy" and "spiritual evolution" aren't compatible concepts.
So there you go. With this technique, I am completing my experience with Landmark and putting it into my past.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Suspicious
I am a 36-year-old white man who is (as far as I know) in violation of no laws. Yet, when a police car cruises past, I immediately tense up. I look at him. No, looking at him looks suspicious; I look away. No, not looking at him looks suspicious. I pretend to be engrossed in something else, much as I do when the panhandlers pass by.
Of course, if I'm driving, there's reason to be nervous. If he wants to, he can always find some justification for pulling you over. But I was on foot today. Jogging. With a sleeping baby. I probably couldn't be less interesting to him if I tried. But still, I got nervous. I think it's a reflex, a response conditioned into me when I was younger and stupider, and there were more reasons why a cop would want to stop me, and more reasons why I really wouldn't want him to.
Now, though? I'm harmless. But still: don't look him in the eye. It'll just provoke him.
Of course, if I'm driving, there's reason to be nervous. If he wants to, he can always find some justification for pulling you over. But I was on foot today. Jogging. With a sleeping baby. I probably couldn't be less interesting to him if I tried. But still, I got nervous. I think it's a reflex, a response conditioned into me when I was younger and stupider, and there were more reasons why a cop would want to stop me, and more reasons why I really wouldn't want him to.
Now, though? I'm harmless. But still: don't look him in the eye. It'll just provoke him.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
I've Been Warned... Again
I received an email from BFF today, which had the title of this post as a subject line. Well, actually it was, "You've Been Warned... Again." It contained a link to this video. BFF has for years preached the impending end of oil.
At about 4 minutes into this, Matt Simmons says this in response to a question about what will happen first in the next 6 months and then in the next 6-10 years:
"I think unfortunately, the probable scenario is that we're going to basically keep dropping our inventories and feeling good about it hoping that basically that will bring around a price collapse, assuming that might be actually demand declining when it's not, and then we're going to have a shortage. And if we have a shortage, we'll have a run on the bank so fast your eyes will spin, this is basically where everyone tops off their tank. And we haven't run out of oil, but we could literally run out of usable diesel and gasoline, and then we have the great American disaster, because within a week we don't have food."
BFF followed the link with his own exhortation:
"I've said stuff about Peak Oil in the past. Now we've finally hit mainstream media and attention. If you haven't taken steps yet. You better get with it. I'm not talking Y2K where nobody knew what's going to happen. But a predictable decline in resources, especially oil which affects supplies delivery and the supplies themselves. Our culture and lifestyle is where you need to imagine radical change in appearance and operation in our lifetime. More difficult for your kids. The unknowns are how fast or slow a decline. But where we are going, or the eventual outcome is clear. Not trying to scare anyone, just make it in your long term plans how you and your family will get by. We've been spoiled for a really long time. The party's about over. You are not going to be able to depend on the usual outlets nor continuous supplies. There's no one to blame. And you're on your own. The gov't won't be able to keep it all afloat or working (think Katrina). You'll have to depend on yourself and whatever you can create yourself or with your neighbors, networks, and local communities. This ain't gonna happen over night, but neither will what you need to create and who you need to connect with."
I lapsed into a horrible doomsday fantasy that BFF periodically inspires in me about the Collapse of the System that will come with the inevitable End of Oil. The fantasy's all about how we have done nothing to prepare for it, live in nothing like a village, have no renewable agricultural or water resources at hand, and how we and our beautiful baby boy will all die in the rioting, the looting, the starvation, the disease.
I don't think BFF is crazy. Well, he is in some ways, but I believe in the inevitability of the end of the finite resource petroleum. I believe that it is more central to our way of life than we'd like to admit, and that with the industrialization of China and the ever-increasing rate of growth of the global population, we will consume it faster and faster and faster. I don't know that new systems to replace the ones so dependent on oil will be in place soon enough to avoid catastrophe. I hope so. I hope that the economic pinch of high gas prices will make people think more and more about it. But mostly, I just don't know that I can or want to change my lifestyle to become independent of petroleum, even when the prize is saving myself and my family.
But then the boy and I played with an empty box, chased a kitty around, and joked together about burps and toots. I think I'm able now to go back to pretending that all will be well, that the myriad solutions will arise and put themselves in place before that Great American Disaster breaks upon our small, happy suburban shores.
At about 4 minutes into this, Matt Simmons says this in response to a question about what will happen first in the next 6 months and then in the next 6-10 years:
"I think unfortunately, the probable scenario is that we're going to basically keep dropping our inventories and feeling good about it hoping that basically that will bring around a price collapse, assuming that might be actually demand declining when it's not, and then we're going to have a shortage. And if we have a shortage, we'll have a run on the bank so fast your eyes will spin, this is basically where everyone tops off their tank. And we haven't run out of oil, but we could literally run out of usable diesel and gasoline, and then we have the great American disaster, because within a week we don't have food."
BFF followed the link with his own exhortation:
"I've said stuff about Peak Oil in the past. Now we've finally hit mainstream media and attention. If you haven't taken steps yet. You better get with it. I'm not talking Y2K where nobody knew what's going to happen. But a predictable decline in resources, especially oil which affects supplies delivery and the supplies themselves. Our culture and lifestyle is where you need to imagine radical change in appearance and operation in our lifetime. More difficult for your kids. The unknowns are how fast or slow a decline. But where we are going, or the eventual outcome is clear. Not trying to scare anyone, just make it in your long term plans how you and your family will get by. We've been spoiled for a really long time. The party's about over. You are not going to be able to depend on the usual outlets nor continuous supplies. There's no one to blame. And you're on your own. The gov't won't be able to keep it all afloat or working (think Katrina). You'll have to depend on yourself and whatever you can create yourself or with your neighbors, networks, and local communities. This ain't gonna happen over night, but neither will what you need to create and who you need to connect with."
I lapsed into a horrible doomsday fantasy that BFF periodically inspires in me about the Collapse of the System that will come with the inevitable End of Oil. The fantasy's all about how we have done nothing to prepare for it, live in nothing like a village, have no renewable agricultural or water resources at hand, and how we and our beautiful baby boy will all die in the rioting, the looting, the starvation, the disease.
I don't think BFF is crazy. Well, he is in some ways, but I believe in the inevitability of the end of the finite resource petroleum. I believe that it is more central to our way of life than we'd like to admit, and that with the industrialization of China and the ever-increasing rate of growth of the global population, we will consume it faster and faster and faster. I don't know that new systems to replace the ones so dependent on oil will be in place soon enough to avoid catastrophe. I hope so. I hope that the economic pinch of high gas prices will make people think more and more about it. But mostly, I just don't know that I can or want to change my lifestyle to become independent of petroleum, even when the prize is saving myself and my family.
But then the boy and I played with an empty box, chased a kitty around, and joked together about burps and toots. I think I'm able now to go back to pretending that all will be well, that the myriad solutions will arise and put themselves in place before that Great American Disaster breaks upon our small, happy suburban shores.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
A Short Play
WINDOWS: Uh oh, you don't have all the updates you should.
RODIUS: I thought that's why I told you to do your endless updates automatically, so we wouldn't have to have this conversation several times a week.
WINDOWS: Click here!
RODIUS: Whatever. [Clicking] Is there any chance we can skip all the steps and just go to the big OK button at the end?
WINDOWS: Oh, wait. You don't have this other thing you need. You'll have to install it first. Click here!
RODIUS: [Clicking]
WINDOWS: OK, great! Now we're ready to go. Click here!
RODIUS: [Clicking]
WINDOWS: Hey, you know what you need? Service Pack 3. It's great. It's got security updates! Click here!
RODIUS: You do see how this might be a little annoying, right?
WINDOWS: It's good for you! You need it, I promise! Click here! You might want to backup your system first, though.
RODIUS: Uh, why? You're going to do it to me again, aren't you?
WINDOWS: No, no. It's just good policy. Click here!
RODIUS: [Clicking]
WINDOWS: Oh geez. Sorry. Can't restart. You really should have backed up. But you've got to admit: you're much safer this way.
RODIUS: ...
WINDOWS: Probably something wrong with your hardware or network settings. Click here to try the last known working configuration.
RODIUS: [Clicking]
WINDOWS: Uh, nope! Probably something wrong with your hardware or network settings. Safe mode'll lick it! You'll see!
RODIUS: [Clicking]
WINDOWS: See, told ya!
RODIUS: [Uninstalling Service Pack 3]
WINDOWS: I wouldn't do that. It's got security updates!
RODIUS: I thought that's why I told you to do your endless updates automatically, so we wouldn't have to have this conversation several times a week.
WINDOWS: Click here!
RODIUS: Whatever. [Clicking] Is there any chance we can skip all the steps and just go to the big OK button at the end?
WINDOWS: Oh, wait. You don't have this other thing you need. You'll have to install it first. Click here!
RODIUS: [Clicking]
WINDOWS: OK, great! Now we're ready to go. Click here!
RODIUS: [Clicking]
WINDOWS: Hey, you know what you need? Service Pack 3. It's great. It's got security updates! Click here!
RODIUS: You do see how this might be a little annoying, right?
WINDOWS: It's good for you! You need it, I promise! Click here! You might want to backup your system first, though.
RODIUS: Uh, why? You're going to do it to me again, aren't you?
WINDOWS: No, no. It's just good policy. Click here!
RODIUS: [Clicking]
WINDOWS: Oh geez. Sorry. Can't restart. You really should have backed up. But you've got to admit: you're much safer this way.
RODIUS: ...
WINDOWS: Probably something wrong with your hardware or network settings. Click here to try the last known working configuration.
RODIUS: [Clicking]
WINDOWS: Uh, nope! Probably something wrong with your hardware or network settings. Safe mode'll lick it! You'll see!
RODIUS: [Clicking]
WINDOWS: See, told ya!
RODIUS: [Uninstalling Service Pack 3]
WINDOWS: I wouldn't do that. It's got security updates!
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Kickin' It Old School
Thumper and I went toy shopping Sunday. Retail toy shopping, even. Since cheapness counts, we only went retail because we had a $50 KB Toy gift card, and we went to the one in the Round Rock Outlet Mall. Even after shopping, we've still got half our $50 left on the card, so we can go do it again some day! Since he's stuck home alone with his old man all the time, he loves being out among other people, so he thoroughly enjoyed walking through the outdoor mall. He flirts with the ladies and stares like a stalker at other babies. He was on sensory overload in the store, and probably increased the length of his arms by a half inch or so stretching out to reach that one! No, that one! I! Must! Have! That one! His eyes were open so wide I'm surprised the conjunctivitis germs didn't just fall right out for lack of anything to hold on to.
Since I'm a curmudgeon, I didn't want to get him anything with corporate characters. He doesn't need to become an Official Disney Consumer just yet. And when Sesame Street Live! was in town, several people said to me, "So I guess you'll be bringing your little one next year!" I responded that if he never found out there was any such thing as an Elmo, I'd be a happy man. I know; good luck with that, right? Well, so far, anyway...
I also didn't want anything that required batteries for flashing lights and repetitive songs that leave Mrs. Rodius walking through the office singing, "Would you like some cookies? Here they are. Five different shapes in my cookie jar! You can take them out; you can put them back. Five little cookies make a yummy snack!"
So we kicked it old school. We're rollin' low tech. We went back to the Brilliant Basics™. First, we (and by we, I mean I; he would've picked out a dozen more stuffed animals if I'd left it up to him, and he's already got an army of them in his room that get up to who-knows-what in there at night) picked out Rock-a-Stack®. Shaking the "swirling beads," Mrs. Rodius pointed out that "When I was a kid, we didn't have this." I guess she's got a little curmudgeon in her, too: "When I was a kid, we didn't have no fancy 'swirling beads.' We didn't need swirlin'. We had plain, solid, primary colors, and we liked it that way!"
Then we decided on the Snap-Lock® Beads, another classic. The shapes have been updated since the '70's, but still, generations of foster kids chewed on these things at my house when I was a boy.
Then I saw the pièce de résistance. I was sure this would be the one he'd be scooting all over the floor with: the Bead Ball. What baby wouldn't like that, with the stuff, and the moving, and the rattling around?
Well, of course he doesn't give a rat's ass about the Bead Ball. And he'll poke at the snap-lock beads with his two little teeth for a minute or so before he loses interest. He'll play with the rock-a-stack a little longer, but once he gets all of the rings off the post, he figures he's won the game and starts looking around for that damn cookie jar again.
These kids today! They don't appreciate the classics! Beh!
Since I'm a curmudgeon, I didn't want to get him anything with corporate characters. He doesn't need to become an Official Disney Consumer just yet. And when Sesame Street Live! was in town, several people said to me, "So I guess you'll be bringing your little one next year!" I responded that if he never found out there was any such thing as an Elmo, I'd be a happy man. I know; good luck with that, right? Well, so far, anyway...
I also didn't want anything that required batteries for flashing lights and repetitive songs that leave Mrs. Rodius walking through the office singing, "Would you like some cookies? Here they are. Five different shapes in my cookie jar! You can take them out; you can put them back. Five little cookies make a yummy snack!"
So we kicked it old school. We're rollin' low tech. We went back to the Brilliant Basics™. First, we (and by we, I mean I; he would've picked out a dozen more stuffed animals if I'd left it up to him, and he's already got an army of them in his room that get up to who-knows-what in there at night) picked out Rock-a-Stack®. Shaking the "swirling beads," Mrs. Rodius pointed out that "When I was a kid, we didn't have this." I guess she's got a little curmudgeon in her, too: "When I was a kid, we didn't have no fancy 'swirling beads.' We didn't need swirlin'. We had plain, solid, primary colors, and we liked it that way!"
Then we decided on the Snap-Lock® Beads, another classic. The shapes have been updated since the '70's, but still, generations of foster kids chewed on these things at my house when I was a boy.
Then I saw the pièce de résistance. I was sure this would be the one he'd be scooting all over the floor with: the Bead Ball. What baby wouldn't like that, with the stuff, and the moving, and the rattling around?
Well, of course he doesn't give a rat's ass about the Bead Ball. And he'll poke at the snap-lock beads with his two little teeth for a minute or so before he loses interest. He'll play with the rock-a-stack a little longer, but once he gets all of the rings off the post, he figures he's won the game and starts looking around for that damn cookie jar again.
These kids today! They don't appreciate the classics! Beh!
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Now With Less Patriotism!
At this point in my life, I've learned that for me, a New Year's Resolution is a meaningless gesture, because I never keep them. But as I watched The Today Show this morning, a new goal for the future occurred to me. The Today Show almost always annoys me, though certainly less so now that Katie Couric is gone. I watch it because it's less annoying than the other morning shows, and it is a lifelong habit to have television on as background noise, especially while eating. Plus, the day's weather predictions are useful to know, and traffic information is occasionally helpful.
This morning, though, I was particularly depressed by the themes, and I realized they are always the same themes, morning after morning, year after year. First and foremost: consumerism as patriotism. This theme is particularly clear during the holiday season. Daily there are gloomy predictions about how reduced holiday spending is likely to doom the American economy for the year to come. Buried in the story so that it is almost unnoticeable is the fact that when they're talking about reduced spending, they're usually talking about reduced growth in spending. Somewhere they'll mention that spending through the holiday season this year is up only 4 percent over last year, which is slower growth than over the past X number of years, etc. Then they talk about how it's a snapshot of the economy, and Wall Street is pessimistic, and gloom doom gloom doom gloom gloom gloom. Consumption is good!
Next they jump into an environmental story. Today it was about the melting of the polar ice and the several reasons why this is bad, and how it's tied to carbon dioxide emissions, like those produced by automobiles and the burning of coal for electricity. When our children are having children, they will live in an entirely different global climate. Consumption is bad!
Then we cut to commercial after commercial telling us what a great Christmas gift a Lexus makes, and diamonds, and sweaters, and housewares and appliances and toys and electronics and more and more and more. The message is always that happiness and satisfaction and individualism are achievable through consumerism. Consumption is good!
There is never once a sense of irony on the faces or in the voices of the anchors or the reporters. This morning there was a segment on Tools! For Women! The reporter presenting the segment was breathless and nearly shouting her excitement over this empowering trend! Yet the segment began with "Tupperware parties and kitchen gadgets" being the old expression of the female realm of homemaking and Tools! For Women! being the new, more equitable expression of the still inherently female realm of homemaking. The entire segment, as are so many morning show segments, was an extended commercial, with brand names and prices conveniently provided.
Now, I'm still trying to process what I think and feel about this, so I'm not sure how to wrap it up. I know that it's just a morning show. But I still feel like, even with the expansion of the number of channels that cable and satellite have meant over the last thirty years, network television is one of the broadest expressions of shared American popular culture. And network news, and network morning shows, are a large aspect of that expression of popular culture. It's just such a corporate, mercenary culture.
So anyway, I'm going to do my best in the days ahead to turn off the TV more. I've been enjoying Discovery and History Channel shows lately, but when you watch a weekly show's daily reruns, you run out of new material pretty quickly, and I've noticed the boy staring blankly at the TV when we're playing on the floor. Already, without even the context or language to understand what he's looking at, he gets sucked into the box such that he can't pay attention to the Tummy Time. It really should be off more.
Does that make me a poor patriot? I hope Homeland Security doesn't come calling.
This morning, though, I was particularly depressed by the themes, and I realized they are always the same themes, morning after morning, year after year. First and foremost: consumerism as patriotism. This theme is particularly clear during the holiday season. Daily there are gloomy predictions about how reduced holiday spending is likely to doom the American economy for the year to come. Buried in the story so that it is almost unnoticeable is the fact that when they're talking about reduced spending, they're usually talking about reduced growth in spending. Somewhere they'll mention that spending through the holiday season this year is up only 4 percent over last year, which is slower growth than over the past X number of years, etc. Then they talk about how it's a snapshot of the economy, and Wall Street is pessimistic, and gloom doom gloom doom gloom gloom gloom. Consumption is good!
Next they jump into an environmental story. Today it was about the melting of the polar ice and the several reasons why this is bad, and how it's tied to carbon dioxide emissions, like those produced by automobiles and the burning of coal for electricity. When our children are having children, they will live in an entirely different global climate. Consumption is bad!
Then we cut to commercial after commercial telling us what a great Christmas gift a Lexus makes, and diamonds, and sweaters, and housewares and appliances and toys and electronics and more and more and more. The message is always that happiness and satisfaction and individualism are achievable through consumerism. Consumption is good!
There is never once a sense of irony on the faces or in the voices of the anchors or the reporters. This morning there was a segment on Tools! For Women! The reporter presenting the segment was breathless and nearly shouting her excitement over this empowering trend! Yet the segment began with "Tupperware parties and kitchen gadgets" being the old expression of the female realm of homemaking and Tools! For Women! being the new, more equitable expression of the still inherently female realm of homemaking. The entire segment, as are so many morning show segments, was an extended commercial, with brand names and prices conveniently provided.
Now, I'm still trying to process what I think and feel about this, so I'm not sure how to wrap it up. I know that it's just a morning show. But I still feel like, even with the expansion of the number of channels that cable and satellite have meant over the last thirty years, network television is one of the broadest expressions of shared American popular culture. And network news, and network morning shows, are a large aspect of that expression of popular culture. It's just such a corporate, mercenary culture.
So anyway, I'm going to do my best in the days ahead to turn off the TV more. I've been enjoying Discovery and History Channel shows lately, but when you watch a weekly show's daily reruns, you run out of new material pretty quickly, and I've noticed the boy staring blankly at the TV when we're playing on the floor. Already, without even the context or language to understand what he's looking at, he gets sucked into the box such that he can't pay attention to the Tummy Time. It really should be off more.
Does that make me a poor patriot? I hope Homeland Security doesn't come calling.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Crisis Point for a Lifelong Friendship
I have a friend. I remember quite clearly twisting around in my seat with the rest of the first grade to stare at him and his glasses at the back of the classroom. It was his first day at a new school. I don't remember introductions, or slowly becoming friends. We just were. His mother was our Cub Scout Den Mother. His father was our little league coach. His house was always stocked with home-made cookies and cakes and all manner of sugary delights. I may have spent more of my childhood in his house and yard than in my own. We were inseparable from 6 to 15, BFF's, though of course we'd never heard that term at the time.
After junior high, I followed Big Brother's example and transferred out of the high school that Phil Donahue once referred to as "Ken and Barbie High" to go to the rival high school a little further away. We weren't the kids whose parents bought them Mercedes and Mustangs for their 16th birthday. BFF wasn't either, but he chose to keep on at Ken and Barbie High.
Without seeing each other daily, the distance between us grew. Our activities and our circles of friends diverged, but we still remained friends. After high school, he spent a semester in the dorms of a college some 200 miles away. When he came back, I moved to Boston. We wrote letters to each other, in those days before email and instant messaging, and we played a long distance game of chess, one move per letter, over the course of years. He came to visit, and so did I.
We moved to Austin because Big Brother and his family had settled here, my parents and oldest sibling were only 200 miles away, and because I intended to go to grad school at the University of Texas. A bonus incentive was that BFF had settled here, too. With my return to Texas, our friendship was renewed. But now, it may be ending.
Since my return to Texas eight years ago, BFF has demonstrated a tendency toward evangelism. Not of the fundamentalist Christian variety, but evangelism nonetheless. He discovered The Tao of Health, Sex, and Longevity by Daniel Reid, and it became his bible. He felt healthier than he'd ever felt before. He no longer had problems with allergies or acne. He had found The Way that was right for him, and he immersed himself in it completely. He also gave copies of the book to many of the people that he knew, including me. The tenets of the book dominated his conversation for a long time.
He also became an environmental activist. Again, he gave away copies of books that were important to him, like The End of Oil by Paul Roberts. Daily, he forwarded emails from the various green listservs to which he belonged. He pointed out the dietary and environmental failings of his friends and lovers. He preached with the fervor of a born-again sinner.
It was important to him, and he was important to me, so I went along. I tried his diet for six months, and felt no different. I fasted twice a year for a few years, and I got a little bit more out of that, but not enough to make it a permanent aspect of my life. I debated politics with him, in person and in email, until I could no longer stomach the same arguments going around and around and around. As I've mentioned before, he helped curb my rampant conservatism, to a degree. But I finally had to tell him how weary I've grown of his relentess efforts to change me into the friend he wishes I was.
And now, he's discovered Landmark Forums. After a lull in our friendship, he called me out of the blue to apologize for not being a very good friend to me and to ask me to support him by attending a graduation ceremony for a class that he had taken called Landmark Forum. I was touched that he reached out like that, and I told him I'd be there. After I hung up, I Googled it. I was concerned by what I found. It struck me, rightly or wrongly, as a cynical combination of cult and corporation, manipulating their clients' emotional response to the carefully developed and presented content in order to convert them to recruiters to grow ever-larger the corporate bottom line. Is it an actual cult? I don't know. Is Scientology a cult? I don't know. Do the histories and ideologies of Landmark and Scientology intersect here and there? I think so.
The language BFF used in that phone call was repeated in the pages I found: he had been "running a racket" on me, creating "vicious circles;" he wanted to "be present" with me, and "create the possibility" of a better relationship. I read that the phone call he made to me and the invitation to the "graduation" were indeed part of the Forum, and that part of their purpose was to have current Forum attendees working on their friends and families to increase enrollment in future Forums. I found it disturbing. I called him back to tell him that, while I would attend his graduation, I'd appreciate it if he did not give Landmark my contact information and let me make the decision myself how much involvement I wanted to have with them. He agreed, though he felt I had their motives all wrong. I considered parking a few blocks away and walking, so they couldn't hunt me down through my license plate.
The graduation itself was less a celebration of what the attendees had accomplished through the class and more an hours-long marketing session for the rest of us. I managed not to fill out the contact information cards that were repeatedly offered, and they were much less pushy about it than I anticipated. Near the end, the attendees were instructed to invite the rest of us to sign up. I told BFF I was skeptical and wanted to do some independent reading on it. He seemed disappointed, but understanding. I told him that it seemed to me that what the Forum promised to teach me over a weekend were in fact the years-long lessons that make up a life, the kinds of lessons that define each of us as people. I told him I didn't believe there were any shortcuts to be had. Truthfully, I had no intention of ever signing up, and I hoped his passion for it would fade over time. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, though, and I didn't want to drive an even larger wedge between us.
I thought my hopes were being realized when he refrained from evangelizing for Landmark on the several occasions we got together for lunch since then. He barely mentioned it, only referring obliquely to his intention to take additional Forums in the future. Saturday, he called me while Mrs. Rodius and I were driving to meet some friends for dinner. He said he didn't want to distract me while I was driving and asked me to call him back when I got home. We took too long, though, and he called again as we were headed home. I couldn't for the life of me guess what was so urgent. Mrs. Rodius guessed that he was calling to tell us his ex-girlfriend was pregnant.
He was not. He was calling because he'd just taken another Forum and was again all fired up to enroll me. He told me Landmark had more power to positively affect the future of the earth and humanity than did his previously-beloved environmentalism. He wanted me to join him, because the two of us together, with Landmark behind us, could be such powerful agents for change. He told me that he knows me so well that he knows this was just the kind of thing I was looking for to make my life better. He wanted to get me into a Forum right away, before the baby comes, because he knows I won't have time for awhile after that.
I told him I don't have time now. I told him I can't spend the money. He said it's not about the money, and he'd pay for me to go. I told him I'm not looking for a change, because my life is exactly where I want it to be, and I'm happier now than I've ever been before. I told him again that I know this is important to him, and that he is important to me, but no matter what he said to me, the answer now would be no, because with the impending birth, I have no room in my life for the Forum.
But I do not want to lose him as a friend. I do not want him to become isolated from anyone in his life who is not a fellow proponent of Landmark. So I told him that if it was still important to him in six months, we could discuss it again. I did not promise to sign up, but I didn't make it clear that I won't be. I did not tell him that if he knew me so well, he would know this is exactly the kind of thing I would never want to be a part of. I did not tell him that it is about the money; it's not about whether or not I pay to attend the one Forum, it's about convincing me to be a recruiter, just as he has become. It's about convincing me to start a lifelong involvement with many more and more expensive Forums down the road. He would say that I'm "creating" that reality myself.
So now I am very sad. How do I keep my friend without signing up for a program that is utter anathema to me? Do I sign up in six months and let him pay for it (because I'm certainly not dropping hundreds of dollars on this thing after cutting our income significantly), just to keep him from feeling like I rejected it, and therefore him, without even giving it a try? What would you do?
After junior high, I followed Big Brother's example and transferred out of the high school that Phil Donahue once referred to as "Ken and Barbie High" to go to the rival high school a little further away. We weren't the kids whose parents bought them Mercedes and Mustangs for their 16th birthday. BFF wasn't either, but he chose to keep on at Ken and Barbie High.
Without seeing each other daily, the distance between us grew. Our activities and our circles of friends diverged, but we still remained friends. After high school, he spent a semester in the dorms of a college some 200 miles away. When he came back, I moved to Boston. We wrote letters to each other, in those days before email and instant messaging, and we played a long distance game of chess, one move per letter, over the course of years. He came to visit, and so did I.
We moved to Austin because Big Brother and his family had settled here, my parents and oldest sibling were only 200 miles away, and because I intended to go to grad school at the University of Texas. A bonus incentive was that BFF had settled here, too. With my return to Texas, our friendship was renewed. But now, it may be ending.
Since my return to Texas eight years ago, BFF has demonstrated a tendency toward evangelism. Not of the fundamentalist Christian variety, but evangelism nonetheless. He discovered The Tao of Health, Sex, and Longevity by Daniel Reid, and it became his bible. He felt healthier than he'd ever felt before. He no longer had problems with allergies or acne. He had found The Way that was right for him, and he immersed himself in it completely. He also gave copies of the book to many of the people that he knew, including me. The tenets of the book dominated his conversation for a long time.
He also became an environmental activist. Again, he gave away copies of books that were important to him, like The End of Oil by Paul Roberts. Daily, he forwarded emails from the various green listservs to which he belonged. He pointed out the dietary and environmental failings of his friends and lovers. He preached with the fervor of a born-again sinner.
It was important to him, and he was important to me, so I went along. I tried his diet for six months, and felt no different. I fasted twice a year for a few years, and I got a little bit more out of that, but not enough to make it a permanent aspect of my life. I debated politics with him, in person and in email, until I could no longer stomach the same arguments going around and around and around. As I've mentioned before, he helped curb my rampant conservatism, to a degree. But I finally had to tell him how weary I've grown of his relentess efforts to change me into the friend he wishes I was.
And now, he's discovered Landmark Forums. After a lull in our friendship, he called me out of the blue to apologize for not being a very good friend to me and to ask me to support him by attending a graduation ceremony for a class that he had taken called Landmark Forum. I was touched that he reached out like that, and I told him I'd be there. After I hung up, I Googled it. I was concerned by what I found. It struck me, rightly or wrongly, as a cynical combination of cult and corporation, manipulating their clients' emotional response to the carefully developed and presented content in order to convert them to recruiters to grow ever-larger the corporate bottom line. Is it an actual cult? I don't know. Is Scientology a cult? I don't know. Do the histories and ideologies of Landmark and Scientology intersect here and there? I think so.
The language BFF used in that phone call was repeated in the pages I found: he had been "running a racket" on me, creating "vicious circles;" he wanted to "be present" with me, and "create the possibility" of a better relationship. I read that the phone call he made to me and the invitation to the "graduation" were indeed part of the Forum, and that part of their purpose was to have current Forum attendees working on their friends and families to increase enrollment in future Forums. I found it disturbing. I called him back to tell him that, while I would attend his graduation, I'd appreciate it if he did not give Landmark my contact information and let me make the decision myself how much involvement I wanted to have with them. He agreed, though he felt I had their motives all wrong. I considered parking a few blocks away and walking, so they couldn't hunt me down through my license plate.
The graduation itself was less a celebration of what the attendees had accomplished through the class and more an hours-long marketing session for the rest of us. I managed not to fill out the contact information cards that were repeatedly offered, and they were much less pushy about it than I anticipated. Near the end, the attendees were instructed to invite the rest of us to sign up. I told BFF I was skeptical and wanted to do some independent reading on it. He seemed disappointed, but understanding. I told him that it seemed to me that what the Forum promised to teach me over a weekend were in fact the years-long lessons that make up a life, the kinds of lessons that define each of us as people. I told him I didn't believe there were any shortcuts to be had. Truthfully, I had no intention of ever signing up, and I hoped his passion for it would fade over time. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, though, and I didn't want to drive an even larger wedge between us.
I thought my hopes were being realized when he refrained from evangelizing for Landmark on the several occasions we got together for lunch since then. He barely mentioned it, only referring obliquely to his intention to take additional Forums in the future. Saturday, he called me while Mrs. Rodius and I were driving to meet some friends for dinner. He said he didn't want to distract me while I was driving and asked me to call him back when I got home. We took too long, though, and he called again as we were headed home. I couldn't for the life of me guess what was so urgent. Mrs. Rodius guessed that he was calling to tell us his ex-girlfriend was pregnant.
He was not. He was calling because he'd just taken another Forum and was again all fired up to enroll me. He told me Landmark had more power to positively affect the future of the earth and humanity than did his previously-beloved environmentalism. He wanted me to join him, because the two of us together, with Landmark behind us, could be such powerful agents for change. He told me that he knows me so well that he knows this was just the kind of thing I was looking for to make my life better. He wanted to get me into a Forum right away, before the baby comes, because he knows I won't have time for awhile after that.
I told him I don't have time now. I told him I can't spend the money. He said it's not about the money, and he'd pay for me to go. I told him I'm not looking for a change, because my life is exactly where I want it to be, and I'm happier now than I've ever been before. I told him again that I know this is important to him, and that he is important to me, but no matter what he said to me, the answer now would be no, because with the impending birth, I have no room in my life for the Forum.
But I do not want to lose him as a friend. I do not want him to become isolated from anyone in his life who is not a fellow proponent of Landmark. So I told him that if it was still important to him in six months, we could discuss it again. I did not promise to sign up, but I didn't make it clear that I won't be. I did not tell him that if he knew me so well, he would know this is exactly the kind of thing I would never want to be a part of. I did not tell him that it is about the money; it's not about whether or not I pay to attend the one Forum, it's about convincing me to be a recruiter, just as he has become. It's about convincing me to start a lifelong involvement with many more and more expensive Forums down the road. He would say that I'm "creating" that reality myself.
So now I am very sad. How do I keep my friend without signing up for a program that is utter anathema to me? Do I sign up in six months and let him pay for it (because I'm certainly not dropping hundreds of dollars on this thing after cutting our income significantly), just to keep him from feeling like I rejected it, and therefore him, without even giving it a try? What would you do?
Friday, June 22, 2007
Fight the Power
Mrs. Rodius and I did our best to buy a car that doesn't have any bells and whistles. No power locks, no power windows, no automatic seat belts. Nothing. We had automatic seat belts on our first car in 1996, and the one on the passenger-side liked to mess with Mrs. Rodius' head: sometimes it would slide back while she was getting in, catching her in the throat. Sometimes it would start to slide foward as she was getting out, but quickly decide to slide back again, catching her in the throat. Sometimes it would waver while she hovered half in and half out of the seat, trying to figure out which way it would go, like they were in a standoff. I told her there was a switch for it on my side, and it was really me trying to strangle her. But it wasn't, it was the car. So we decided we didn't want automatic anything anymore, except the transmission.
We pulled it off when we bought our last car in 2003, but we couldn't manage it this time. The no-frills model the dealer quoted us in email was no longer available when we got there. So now we have power locks and windows. Turns out Mrs. Rodius kind of likes it anyway. Admittedly, it's kind of fun to try and beat her to the lock button, or sigh dramatically when she hits the lock when I still have to get something out of the back seat. But mostly, I just wish I didn't have to have a machine making all my decisions for me.
Like these daytime running lights. Why can I not put my car in park, put the parking brake on, and turn off the headlights with the engine still running? I can flip the switch to off, but they don't turn off; it could be dangerous! It won't even let me just switch them down to parking lights. Headlights must be on while the engine is running, because, of course, I might kill somebody in the dark of night. With my parked car.
Or the power locks. When I put the car in park, all the doors unlock. When I put the car in drive, all the doors lock. I suppose this is because my car stays up late nights worrying that I'll be carjacked. I guess I just need to remember not to put the car in park if I find myself in the midst of an angry mob.
But what really irritates me is the seat belt alarm. I always wear my seat belt. But if I choose to start the car first so the air conditioner can begin cooling the interior down from the 200 degrees it typically starts at on a balmy Texas afternoon, my car has an anxiety attack that I might suddenly fly through the windshield. So I called up my old buddy Google, and he told me how to fix the problem. Well, he told me how for an '05 Avalon, but it turns out it works for an '07 Corolla just as well. You just have to know when and how long to hold down the Trip Reset button. Makes me wonder what else that little button can do.
So, that's me, just trying to do my little part to Rage Against the Machine and "Take the Power Back!"
We pulled it off when we bought our last car in 2003, but we couldn't manage it this time. The no-frills model the dealer quoted us in email was no longer available when we got there. So now we have power locks and windows. Turns out Mrs. Rodius kind of likes it anyway. Admittedly, it's kind of fun to try and beat her to the lock button, or sigh dramatically when she hits the lock when I still have to get something out of the back seat. But mostly, I just wish I didn't have to have a machine making all my decisions for me.
Like these daytime running lights. Why can I not put my car in park, put the parking brake on, and turn off the headlights with the engine still running? I can flip the switch to off, but they don't turn off; it could be dangerous! It won't even let me just switch them down to parking lights. Headlights must be on while the engine is running, because, of course, I might kill somebody in the dark of night. With my parked car.
Or the power locks. When I put the car in park, all the doors unlock. When I put the car in drive, all the doors lock. I suppose this is because my car stays up late nights worrying that I'll be carjacked. I guess I just need to remember not to put the car in park if I find myself in the midst of an angry mob.
But what really irritates me is the seat belt alarm. I always wear my seat belt. But if I choose to start the car first so the air conditioner can begin cooling the interior down from the 200 degrees it typically starts at on a balmy Texas afternoon, my car has an anxiety attack that I might suddenly fly through the windshield. So I called up my old buddy Google, and he told me how to fix the problem. Well, he told me how for an '05 Avalon, but it turns out it works for an '07 Corolla just as well. You just have to know when and how long to hold down the Trip Reset button. Makes me wonder what else that little button can do.
So, that's me, just trying to do my little part to Rage Against the Machine and "Take the Power Back!"
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