Days and thoughts turning to autumn

As the days of the calendar fall away announcing the approach of autumn, my thoughts turn to the sights, sounds and smells of my favorite season. Since my childhood I've looked forward to the leaves ripening like fruit and releasing their hold on the branches; falling in twisted paths toward the ground that they will feed with decomposition.

I love the season's steady rains: the water glistening on the fiery colored leaves that blanket the ground and brighten the gray skies overhead; the pit-a-pat of the drops drumming the earth; the awakened aroma of damp decay. It is a time marked by sensory reminders of Nature's cycling toward death. There is a sadness in that imminent demise, but it is tempered by the hope of inevitable renewal and rebirth.

I dug out this old poem of mine to salute the coming of the season.

I listen to the Fall
by Francis C. Scudellari

I listen to the Fall;
alone, walking.
Walk through ...

Orange-yellow murmurs,
red and brown sighs,
... settling.

The autumnal voices,
many, muted,
I hear ...

Rhythmic rain chants,
Gray, gusted groans,
Wilting whispers.

The Earth speaks soft response,
... mother-echoes,
... welcomes.

Draws cold children to her
black soil,
nurtured embrace.

I hear her sounds
without language

I sense emotion
unexplained.

Remain outside,
both thought and dream.

Now under-ripe,
too proud, unlearned.

One day, understanding,
the words will come.

Then joy, ...
To join my voice with hers

Calling others
... homeward

Search & Rescue Redux

Last week I wrote about the costly but ultimately futile search for tech legend Jim Gray who mysteriously disappeared at sea without a trace last January (see Search & Rescue: Solving big problems to honor Jim Gray). In an eerily similar development, adventurer Steve Fossett has now dropped from sight while piloting a single-engine plane over the Nevada mountains (see the Guardian Unlimited's story Rescuers scour desert for signs of Fossett's plane).

Both men began their journeys in ideal weather conditions, but at best guess fell victim to a sudden violent change in their surroundings. As with Jim Gray before him, Fossett's plight has mobilized a combination of public (civil air patrol and national guard search teams) and private (billionaire friend Richard Branson of Virgin has requested Google Earth's assistance) high-tech resources. Fossett is widely admired for his risk-taking exploits in the vain of past American aviator legends Charles Lindbergh, Amelia Earhart and Howard Hughes, as Gray enjoyed far-reaching mythical status in the 'Net community.

On a very superficial level, it makes one wonder if such attention would be mustered for the loss of you or me. Of course that would require the capacity to embark on such adventures, which is beyond the means of most of us, at least with comparable glamor. I might be able to manage a starless trek across country on my mountain bike, but I doubt my succumbing to mid-continental fatigue, drought or storm would elicit more than a flier posted at the local café (don't make me prove it!).

More seriously, it should challenge us to consider what other impending loss of life ought to compel a wider social focus — be it the man-made tragedy of Darfur, the various worldwide health crises, or the more general threat to our climate. Why does the lack of one man, no matter how influential or interesting, merit so much when millions of others receive so little? Do our limited human minds need a very specific face to place next to our sadness? Do tragedies on a global scale ever register, or do we require the narrowed down demise of the individual to provoke reaction?

Stuck in a mood as ugly as it seems

Sometimes our moods are as capricious as Chicago's summer weather; shifting at a moment's notice from black storm clouds to warm sunshine. Other times, there are autumnal fronts that squat over us for many days before they finally dissipate.

Predicting when these changes will arrive and depart is as difficult as dependably forecasting meteorological systems. Probing their causes is equally inscrutable, especially for we amateurs, but that won't stop me from speculating.

Some of us with a supernatural bent may blame these funks on external forces. Perhaps blackguard spirits who have hijacked our soul, like a virus exploiting an opening made when our emotional defenses wear down. Perhaps we're influenced by the movement of the stars, and the music of the spheres has shifted from a lively lilt to a deathlike dirge.

We rationalists, however, are more likely to look to the internal affects of body, mind and heart. Maybe we've turned blue from ill chosen food or drink indulged in a misplaced desire for short term satisfaction. Maybe our thoughts are stretched too thin by worries over family or friends, or grown too ponderous from the weight of shadowy memory or glaring anticipation. It could be our chest has taken a beating from society's many sadnesses; the pulsating images of illness, hunger and poverty.

No matter what the cause or prognosis for eventual cure, none of us are pleasant to be around when the darkness descends. At war with god, others or self, it's best to steer clear of those following a tumultuous course, and seek out the shelter of the nearest inlet until the pacified ocean returns. If it's a mood as ugly as it seems, those boats lifted by it may get overturned.

As Ugly As I Seem
by The White Stripes

I am as ugly as I seem
Worse than all your dreams
Could ever make me out to be
And it makes me want to scream
When it's Halloween
And the kids are laughing
The rogue is a bank he's never broke
But worth as much as a joke that no one is laughing at

Can you believe some things are not
Appealing and there's a spot
On the ceiling of my childhood bedroom
And of these dreams that you can't imagine
But none of them match the vision
That you have decided for me

You want to take away from me
Things that are mine and it's not your right
I'll bet you wouldn't expect a fight, oh
Can it be that I don't want what you want?
And the only thing I could care for
Is a place in a home that is safe and warm
Safe and warm, safe and warm, safe and warm
Safe and warm.

Judge yourself if you feel the need
Just let me alone to be
In search of the truth myself
There is a drop of blood on the ground
And it seems to me that it's not my kind
And I can't be sure if it's yours or mine

I am as ugly as I seem
Worse than all your dreams
Could ever make me
Could ever make me
Could ever make me
Could ever make me

Egoyan's 'Next of Kin': Role playing and dysfunctional family values

Through the recommendation of a friend, I discovered Atom Egoyan's first film Next of Kin (not to be confused with the 1989 silliness of the same name that starred Patrick Swayze), which despite its tiny budget and unknown actors delves into some themes I find fascinating. Its look at identity, role playing, and the ways we escape and accept the roles society offers us, is still very relavent 23 years later.

The tale's central character is Peter Foster, a 23 year-old with a penchant for pretense who feels stifled by the expectations of his controlling upper middle class background. He enters group counseling with his parents to try to unlock the source of his existential ennui, and is captivated by his therapist's ability to direct his patients' lives toward happy endings.

The sessions are videotaped, and Peter likes the idea of performing for the camera, speaking the lines expected of the dutiful son. Later, while at the doctor's office reviewing himself interacting with his parents, he discovers a tape of another family. Watching the Armenian triad of father, mother and daughter try to cope with the memory of a son given away for adoption, Peter sees an opportunity to pursue a new kind of role playing — taking the place of both the prodigal child and the probing counselor.

It's an interesting reversal, where a white, well-to-do kid trades in his already assimilated identity for that of the scion of Armenian immigrants still trying to adapt to North America. His new father, George Deryan, has his own hangups, especially when it comes to controlling his artist daughter Azah, but that just allows Peter to practice his ability at interpersonal problem solving. The new situation is no less dysfunctional than the one he came from, but the difference is the level of familial control Peter is able to enjoy as the miraculously returned Bedros.

It's a very humanizing look at both sides of the cultural divide. The advantage Peter enjoys is his ability to redefine himself and escape the trap of expectations. Each of us faces similar artificial limits on what we can do and who we can become, and depending on our personal adaptability and social context, some of us will be more successful than others at escaping them.

A leisurely labor day ... looking for the end of work

As you may have heard between trips out to the backyard grill or the beer stand at the nearest ballpark, today is Labor Day. We Americans are generally vague on what exactly the holiday represents, and we've grown pretty hazy on the history of the labor movement over the years as well.

For many of us, Labor Day is just one of those rare nationally observed occasions on which we take a much needed break from the work-a-day world and enjoy some valuable time with family and friends. Unless of course we toil in the never 9-to-5 service industry, as more and more of us now do, in which case we still have to slog off and punch our card, holiday or not. The military is becoming an employer of last resort for many young Americans as well, and Uncle Sam's defense is a 24/7 occupation these days, so the only break our young soldiers can expect is a surprise visit from the grandstander-in-chief (see the BBC's Bush visit seeks to bolster Iraq will).

American pundits and cultural guardians since the Industrial Age have preached the virtues of hard work and warned against the wicked ways of idleness. To this day you'll read white-collared columnists and amateur corner comedians alike mocking the holiday, which they describe as hypocritically extolling work while granting time off. The fiery sermonizing has made some of us so guilt-wracked about leisure time that we never even take the time off we're stingily granted.

It is the ability of the men and women of this country to do all the little things that make our economy go and grow that we toast when we grab a cold one from the fridge. As much as the heralds of American myth like to sing the praises of the moneyed mavericks and self-made businessmen, the truth is it was the unflagging strength of millions of workers of all stripes (and varying amounts of pay) that built this country's wealth. As just one example, we couldn't have made it through World War II, certainly one of the most pivotal moments in our history, without the women who answered the call of Rosie the Riveter (pictured above).

The American worker is a humble and conflicted sort — torn between the dream of wealth and the reality of bills due. In our self-deceiving desire for upward mobility, we often convince ourselves we've got more in common with the corporate execs who run those mass media opinion-makers than the folks selling their newspapers to us at the corner store and coffee shop.

Everyone in America believes they're climbing that social ladder despite the economic trends that show an ever narrowing ledge around the topmost floor. As the gap betwen rich and poor continues to widen, the safety net meant to catch those precariously perched and about to plunge has been worn thread bare by years of neglect.

The fact is that the nature of work is changing and our societal thinking tends to lag far behind the times — often taking generations to catch up. Back in 1995, economist Jeremy Rifkin wrote a book called The End of Work: The Decline of the Global Labor Force and the Dawn of the Post-Market Era, which was pretty popular among those left of center politically. It described the spread of automation and the resulting decline in manufacturing sector jobs. It challenged us to face up to the changing global economy and do some forward thinking to soften the crush of the inevitable waves the technology is churning up.

So far the economy has proven flexible enough to forestall the predicted crisis. It's also helped that the American worker is more than willing to run a lot faster to keep up with the shifting rules of the new global rat race. Productivity has continued to go up as wages have stagnated over the past 20 years.

This doesn't mean, however, that we've cleared all the hurdles. The nation's economy is being propped up by a lot of debt, and as the threat of the housing crisis shows, one good shake could bring it all down on us. If that happens, we'll certainly need to rethink our attitudes toward leisure, as we'll have plenty of spare time on our hands.

The boom and bust cycles of the past have thrust that reality on us before, as XTC sang about in the Margaret Thatcher led England of the '80s. Whether or not Rifkin's prediction of a more systemic crisis proves correct, there's no doubt working people from around the world will be asked to shoulder some heavy burdens again in the future.

Leisure
by XTC

Leisure ...
They taught me how to work, but they can't teach me how to shirk correctly.

As you see, Science once again robs us of our jobs.
They've put a micro-chip in my place,
I hide behind a screen of aggression nowadays,
It's just a way of saving some face.

So now I'm permanently drunk, like the rest of the race with ... Leisure.
If you think I'm clowning, I assure you that I'm drowning here in ... Leisure.
They taught me how to work, but they can't teach me how to shirk correctly.

I spend all day, and all my allowance on T.V. games.
Amusement heaven at the flick of a switch.
Instead of a lathe I busy my fingers nowadays,
By scoring goals with the gentlest twitch.

I've forgotten how to use my legs to invade the pitch of ... Leisure
If you think I'm clowning, I assure you that I'm drowning here in ... Leisure
They taught me how to work, but they can't teach me how to shirk correctly.

They had retired me 'fore I left school,
(just saw no point in the standing in line)
So I spend lots of time lounging at home,
(why not come in 'cause the carpet is fine)
What a waste of breath it is,
Searching for the jobs that don't exist.

So now I'm permanently drunk, like the rest of the race with ... Leisure.
If you think I'm clowning, I assure you that I'm drowning here in ... Leisure.
They taught me how to work, but they can't teach me how to shirk correctly.

Lazybones, looking through The Sun,
How'd you ever expect to find your day's work?

Labor Day 2007: Planting the seed of a song

In honor of the workers past, present and future who have made this country what it is and what it will become, here are a few links to fill in the gaps of our laboring minds:

1. Answers.com has a collection of articles on the history of the Labor Day, which was first conceived by the Knights of Labor in 1882 before being formally recognized by the U.S. Congress as a national holiday in 1894.

2. The AFL-CIO has a very resource-full page of links to Labor History Sites on the Web. The industrious can bone up on the struggles that won us such now taked-for-granted rights as collective bargaining, worker's comp and the 8-hour work day. Of course, in many ways that's all up for grabs again in our era of automation, out-sourcing, and global competition.

3. To explore labor history through a less prosaic prism, check out two web sites: Labor Arts and the Labor Heritage Foundation. There's a definite old-school lefty look to some of the art, but there's also a wealth of information on union-themed songs, books, photographs and paintings.

If all of that research is too much effort on a well-deserved day off, simply celebrate the day by listening to a song by working-class balladeer Woody Guthrie. The struggles today are quite different, but from within the kernel of that past our future path is unfolding.

I Guess I Planted
by Woody Guthrie

I guess I planted some long lonesome seed of a song
Way down inside me long ago
And now I can't remember when it was
But it joined up with the rest of them and grows
It's such a little song it don't compare
With all your big ones you hear everywhere
But when it dawns away in the back of your mind
The big ones are made up of the little kind

Union song. Union battled.
All added up. Won us all what we got now.

I can't even start to look around me here
Without hearing this song
And seeing all of us first separated
Hurt, apart, and afraid
And hungry for the union
And so we kept on
Singing and working, fighting till we got it.
And this is the big union song I guess I hear.

We fought there at your place
We fought there on your ship
And I guess if you missed out on the fight for our union
You missed out on one awful big step
Us people took.

Honoring a many faceted gem: Lily Tomlin

Today, September 1st, is the 68th birthday of Lily Tomlin, a great comedian and actor whose versatility I've admired for many years. She's one of those performers who can identify and fondly embrace the many personsonalities that are tucked away in the corners of our human consciousness.

Many of us were first introduced to Ms. Tomlin via her regular bits on the 70s TV sketch comedy show Laugh-In, where she took turns as Edith Ann — a precocious little girl with an oversized attitude and rocking chair — and Ernestine — the nosy operator with the distinctive chortle (pictured at left). They were just two quills in her comedic quiver, and I was lucky enough to see her perform her one-woman but many character show The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe at in downtown Chicago theater in the mid-80s. The range of types she played was impressive enough, but the fact that she made them all not just real but interesting, and quite often touching, was truly artistic.

Tomlin has also done some wonderful film work, ranging from the dramatic Nashville to the screwball All of Me. I was very pleasantly surprised to discover her again in the 2004 comedy I Heart Huckabees where she played along with Dustin Hoffman as the wife-and-husband Existential Detectives inspecting the connections between their clients apparent coincidences.

Ours is a society that likes to pidgeon-hole everyone, forcing us at an early age to choose a life path and stick to it. We're all obsessed with our identities, and we often get bogged down in this propensity to over-emphasize one single aspect of our very complicated selves. Maybe it's our parents' ethnic heritage, our gender, our age, our hobbies, or our profession, but we all feel pressured to project an image that others can quickly grasp and understand.

I've never been very comfortable with that socially easy but individually limiting demand. I prefer the freedom that comes with frequent changes in costume and persona; mimicking the Greek god Proteus and his talent for metamorphosis. The life of a shape-shifter may frustrate outside observers, but it's in many ways the most reflective of the multi-faceted beings we inherently are.

Stare long enough in the mirror, and you might just see a variety of faces looking back. Some might find that a frightening prospect, but for me its the doorway to some interesting possibilities. Lily Tomlin has certainly stepped through the looking glass, taking us on a journey down the rabbit hole to discover people aren't always who or what they seem. It's been quite an enjoyable trip.

Wasted crime: How to disappear completely

It was quite a surreal adventure in my neighborhood today, with media circulating rumors about a bank robber taking hostages and helicopters audibly circling throughout the afternoon. Barricades were erected, streets closed off, and gawking residents told to keep their distance, yet in the end the wannabe thief disappeared with nothing stolen, no hostages taken, and quite a few folks scratching their heads.

The facts are still murky, but it appears that a man in hospital scrubs talked his way into the back entrance of First Commerical Bank, a scant three blocks from my apartment. The man may or may not have been armed. At first it was thought that he took hostages, but now they say he didn't. The building was surrounded by Chicago police, FBI and swat teams yet somehow the perp walked away, allegedly empty-handed.

Police and news helicopters spent the day either looking for him or looking for a story. The good news is that no one was hurt in the ordeal that wasn't. The Chicago Sun Times gives us the sketchy details in their story Officials: Armed man escaped without cash.

It all puts me in mind of a favorite song by Radiohead. Wouldn't it be nice to walk away from a big mistake, and just disappear as if nothing ever happened.

How To Disappear Completely

That there, that's not me
I go where I please
I walk through walls
I float down the Liffey

I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here, I'm not here

In a little while
I'll be gone
The moment's already passed
Yeah, it's gone

I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here, I'm not here

Strobe lights and blown speakers
Fireworks and hurricanes

I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here, I'm not here ...

Our own dam nation: Remembering Katrina

Two years ago, on August 29th, Hurricane Katrina made landfall near Buras, a small town in Southeastern Louisiana. The storm moved along the Gulf Coast leaving a path of devastation in its wake. In New Orleans, the surge overwhelmed the city's levees in 53 places and the flooding that resulted destroyed homes and displaced thousands. There were over 1,800 deaths confirmed in the states of Louisiana and Mississippi.

The images of the chaos in New Orleans that followed the levees breaking will flood back over our collective minds to mark this anniversary. Two years later the city and region are still recovering from the physical, emotional and psychological damage suffered. George W. Bush likes to conjure the spectre of 9/11 to coerce absolute cooperation with his radically anti-democratic agenda, but it is this tragedy — the abandonment of Katrina's victims — that should act as the alarm that shakes us from our political slumber.

It's difficult for many Americans to make common cause with those folks we saw frantically flagging down rescuers from rooftops transformed into islands. They can't see themselves mirrored in the cot rows of shellshocked faces that peeked out from the refuge of filthy blankets in the Supderdome. Maybe they think that those ill-fated survivors were much poorer, were much darker, had much less to lose. Little do we priveleged many realize how precarious our own position in the world is becoming; how the walls of our own dams have thinned.

Various global tides have started to rise while we've been comfortably enclosed within our once-strong barricades. The American people have fallen into a drowsy complacency and ignored the many warning signs, convincing ourselves that good times last forever. We've opted to play a game of chance, blithely taking money from our rainy day funds and hoping that a big storm never hits. When adversity does arrive, the echoes of Katrina will certainly haunt us once more.

Today, the President made a show of sympathy with the city his federal government left to its own meager devices until too late (see the Washington Post's Bush Touts 'Strong Commitment' to Rebuild New Orleans). Bush's empty rhetoric won't fool the people of Louisiana, who know very well what to expect from him after two long years of little progress. They learned the hard lesson that the federal government no longer cares whether they live or die. It serves a much different master these days, one coldly disinterested in the well-being of the impoverished and disadvantaged.

It's time that the rest of us recognize our plight is the same, no matter how secure our finances may currently appear. If we don't take back our government, making it truly representative of us all, we'll soon see our own fortunes sinking as quickly as the flood waters rise.

To quote Louisiana's own Buckwheat Zydeco and his song Make a Change:

Make a change in your life
And make it for the better
Don't you wait no longer
It'll just set you back further

It's not for the black and white
not for the young and gray
not for the sick and homeless
not for just one race
not for one generation
for the whole damn nation

Search & Rescue: Solving big problems to honor Jim Gray

The August issue of Wired magazine has a fascinating article on the sudden disappearance at sea and the extensive search for Techy hero Jim Gray (see Inside the High Tech Hunt for a Missing Silicon Valley Legend). The piece does a great job of revealing Gray's influence on multiple generations of Silicon Valley luminati, including key figures at Microsoft, Oracle and Google whom he mentored.

Largely because of those connections, as well as Gray's wide repute for selflessly opening the door to numerous Internet advances, an amazing array of technological and human resources were mobilized to determine if his sail boat Tenacious was still adrift in the Pacific ocean.

Here's a good summary of the social net cast out to try to pull Gray back into safety.

Gray's mysterious disappearance inspired one of the most ambitious search-and-rescue missions in history. First the Coast Guard scoured 132,000 square miles of ocean. Then a team of scientists and Silicon Valley power players turned the eyes of the global network onto the Pacific. They steered satellites and NASA planes over the Golden Gate and mobilized the search for Tenacious on blogs and on Amazon.com. This group included some of the best minds in science and technology, among them Amazon.com chief technologist Werner Vogels and top executives at Microsoft and Oracle, including Bill Gates and Larry Ellison. Oceanographers and engineers from the US Navy, NASA's Jet Propulsion Lab, and the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute joined the effort, as did astronomers from leading universities.

I really enjoyed author Steve Silberman's description of Gray's life and impact on the computer industry, but what I found particularly interesting was how these major corporate and governmental entities were able on short notice to shift their various activities to the single-minded purpose of locating a missing person.

The fact that an effort of this scale could be organized so quickly speaks to the tremendous capacity to problem solve that modern technology makes possible. If so much could be spent to locate one man, albeit a very influential one, what could we marshall to attack problems such as environmental degradation, intractable poverty, worldwide hunger and incurable disease? As a society, it all comes down to re-arranging our priorities.

Executives at some of the most influential businesses in the country temporarily set aside their usual all-consuming need to realize profit in order to help save their good friend Jim Gray. Isn't the pursuit of an end to the suffering of billions worthy of the same attention?

Comparable to the proverbial search for a needle in a haystack, sadly even the unprecedented rescue effort launched couldn't discover the whereabouts of Gray or his boat. That shouldn't diminish the significance of what was done, and it may even lead to more responsive and effective search-and-rescue in the future.

The article describes Gray as someone never daunted by large tasks, and the fact that this one didn't bear positive results doesn't mean it was a failed experiment. What better legacy could we leave to this man than to take inspiration from the efforts his disappearance prompted and dedicate ourselves to finding solutions to the social ills that have bedeviled us for centuries.

Photo: The Farrallon Islands where Jim Gray was headed when his boat disappeared.
Credit: Duncan Wright

Wish upon a falling star: To be someone ...

If you make any attempt to keep up with what passes for news these days, you're sure to come across a story about celebrities gone bad. The mainstream media is obsessed with star-crossed gossip, and it's open to debate whether they are merely spoon feeding the public what it wants or creating an appetite in exceptionally suggestive minds.

My friends and I gathered around the idiot box last week to watch an admittedly meaningless exhibition game between the hometown Bears and the Indy Colts, as we football junkies must have our fix. If the diversion of full padded violence wasn't bad enough, we discovered that the action on the field was mere backdrop to a continously looped soundtrack of updates on the salacious story of Michael Vick, the NFL's latest PR nightmare.

Vick's dog fighting vice is just one example of the current frenzied side show of ill fame. Headlines of star and starlet drug binges, car crashes, and relationship woes seem to push their way closer to the front page with each passing day. They make much more interesting reading than the various real social crises unfolding around the globe; and fanaticism of all stripes is more in vogue than ever, so why not worship a while at the cult of celebrity.

Like moths to the flame many are lured to the spotlight, and just as those fire-obsessed insects usually end up crispy critters, the lucky few who win stardom often find themselves burned by the constant attention.

We live in a lottery society that promotes exceptionalism by myth-making the one-in-a-million stories of those who strike it rich and famous. Unfortunately, it's also very unforgiving when these idols don't live up to their newly gifted status. As Icarus learned, the higher you climb, the further you have to fall. (The image above is adapted from a woodcut of Icarus by Jorg Breu as found in Andrea Alciato's Book of Emblems)

The Jam sang about this up-down ride of stardom in the track To be someone (check out a YouTube clip of it here). If as Andy Warhol predicted we each get our 15 minutes of fame, I wonder if we'll also get 15 minutes of ill-repute.

To be someone (Didn't we have a nice time)
by The Jam

To be someone must be a wonderful thing
A famous footballer, a rock singer
Or a big film star, yes I think I would like that
To be rich and have lots of fans
Have lots of girls to prove that I'm a man
And be no. 1 ... and liked by everyone

Getting drugged up with my trendy friends
They really dig me and I dig them
And the bread I spend - is like my fame - it's quickly diminished

And there's no more swimming in a guitar shaped pool
No more reporters at my beck and call
No more cocaine - now it's only ground chalk
No more taxis - now well have to walk

But didn't we have a nice time
Didn't we have a nice time
Oh wasn't it such a fine time

I realize I should have stuck to my guns
Instead shit out to be one of the bastard sons
And lose myself - I know it was wrong - but it's cost me a lot

There's no more drinking when the club shuts down,
I'm out on me arse with the rest of the clowns
It's really frightening without a bodyguard
So I stay confined to my lonely room

But didn't we have a nice time
Didn't we have a nice time
Oh wasn't it such a fine time
To be someone must be a wonderful thing ...

Recommended Read Award

I have graciously been awarded a Recommended Read Badge by Shinade at The Painted Veil and Zubli Zainordin who in Total Happiness organizes the Book Project blog.

I'm very proud to be included among the wonderful blogs who have so far received this endorsement. Thanks so much!

When Fours are not so Fab

Nothing imparts a better sense of how dull you are than compiling lists of facts about yourself. My friend Lisa McGlaun (another much deserved recipient of the Nice Matters Award) who authors the wonderful LifePrints blog has tagged me with the Fab 4 Meme, so I had to partake in just such an endeavor.

My foursomes of facts don't have the entertainment value of those mop-topped young gents from Liverpool for which the meme is named, but they'll provide ample motivation to create some more interesting life experiences going forward.

It is highly recommended that you be fully caffeinated before proceeding beyond this point, as the text has been proven to induce drowsiness ...

4 Jobs I've Held:

• Short Order Cook — My senior year at Northwestern I took a turn on the flat top grill cooking eggs to order at my dorm's cafeteria. As iffy as some of the food there was, it was always good to be able to forage my own meal from the kitchen.
  
• Research Assistant — My first real job out of college was working for a firm that provided economic data to Fortune 500 companies involved in litigation. At its least glamorous it involved making copies of articles at the local library, but I also got to read through some interesting documents, including baseball player contracts in the MLB collusion suit.
  
• Computer Aided Drafting — Just as exciting as it sounds, I created electronic versions of engineering blueprints. A high-tech version of Etch-A-Sketch.
  
• Software Quality Assurance — No one likes a critic, or those that find fault. For this job I got to point out all the mistakes software developers were making. Thankfully, most didn't hold it against me.

4 Films I Could Watch Over and Over:

• Dr. Strangelove


• The Godfather


• Brazil


• Monty Python's Holy Grail

4 Television Shows I Watch:

• Southpark


• Daily Show


• Colbert Report


• Simpsons

4 Places I've Lived:

• Piscataway Hills, MD


• Evanston, IL


• Highland Park, IL


• Chicago, IL

4 Favorite Foods:

• Barbecued Salmon


• Stuffed Spinach Pizza


• Chicken Cacciatore


• Turkey Club Sandwich

4 Websites I Visit Every Day:

• Google News


• MyBlogLog


• Technorati


• Answers.com

4 Places I Would Love To Be Right Now:

• Watching a baseball game at Wrigley Field, Chicago


• Checking out a favorite band at a small club


• Looking out an airplane window on my way to parts unknown


• Hiking through a secluded forest

4 Favorite Colors:

• Indigo


• Emerald Green


• Burgundy


• Purple

4 Names That I Love but Would/Could Not Use For My Children:

• Galileo


• Humbert


• Uriel


• Phineas

Having now satiated you with trivia about yours truly, it is my task to tag 4 others with the meme. I'm sure they'll hate me for forcing them to engage in this exercise of self-revelation, but what else are friends for?

Here are four bloggers whose work I find particularly interesting, and whose fours I'll hope to poach for future memes:

• Jeane at Binding Ink
  
• Colin at Adelaide Green Porridge Cafe
  
• Parabunny at Pink Inquisition
  
• Kellypea at Kellementology

Nice ain't easy

Deborah, my friend and colleague at Climate of Our Future, has passed along to me the Nice Matters Award. I was a bit hesitant to acknowledge the honor at first, as there's a bit of a stigma attached to having a "nice" rep in some circles. The flowery pink image doesn't mesh well with society's macho expectations either. To a large extent, nice has been linked to weak, and our minds are impressed with the misconception that folk of that nature finish last.

That association is of course too bad. The world would be a much better place if thoughtfulness and consideration were personal traits valued as highly as ambition and self-sufficiency. Jesus sermonized on the mount that the meek would inherit the earth, but that prophecy is still pending. The world's movers and shakers learned long ago not to let morality get in the way of their business. Machiavelli's The Prince has served as the true political gospel for 500 years, and its pragmatism doesn't prize anything beyond self-preservation.

I fancy myself an optimist who believes that human beings are inherently very kind and giving creatures. Most of us are willing to reach beyond our narrow self interests and collaborate and contribute toward a better world. That gentler nature can be conditioned out of us, however, especially when we're convinced that our survival is at stake. As has been clearly illustrated over the past 6 years, fear can be used very effectively to divide us and call forth our baser instincts.

By accepting this award, I hope to do my small part to take Nice back from the nay sayers. Consider it a salvo in the war to salvage true community in a world too often given over to ruthless competition. Let's re-imagine our society so that it becomes a place where we practice what we preach, and reward those who think of others as much as themselves. I've come into contact with a good number of fellow bloggers who are after that very same thing. Deborah is one shining example.

The Nice Matters Award was created by Genevieve Olsen at Bella Enchanted. While at her site, I discovered there's a gentleman's version of the badge (shown on the left). As a recipient, it's my duty to pass on the honor, but most of the folks who have been particularly supportive to me in my virtual endeavors have already been acknowledged. Never one to get discouraged by conformity to rules, I'm going to list them among my shout outs anyway:

• Agnes at Doc It Out
  
  
• Amy at Wamylove
  
  
• Goldy at GoldyWorld
  
  
• Jackie at The Painted Veil
  
  
• Jeane at Binding Ink
  
  
• Jennifer at Goodness Graciousness
  
  
• Miriam at AnceStories
  

Lost weekend: Sandwiched reality

I know my blogging idleness this weekend must seem sinful, but I swear I wasn't doing the devil's work. In fact my hands were quite busy with loved labor lost in the physical realm.

I spent many fruitful hours (and some not so fruitfull ones) at our neighborhood arts fest pushing panini for my dear friends Terry & Nancy, who own Gold 'N Pear Catering. We met many wonderful folks who stopped by the booth at the Glenwood Avenue Arts Festival, and once we got all the logistical kinks worked out we had a great time.

The sandwiches were so good, they got credit for performing a miracle. A repeat customer exclaimed that one of the panini indeed saved his friend's life. I'd divine that it was an exaggeration, but I'm sure Terry and Nancy will take it as a ringing endorsement.

I'll apply my industriousness back to the blog tomorrow, so stay tuned. There are two awards, a meme, and a Wired article soon to appear. I'm sure I'll throw in a song lyric or two as well.

A Perfect Storm: Overcoming 'Bad Luck'

Sometimes Life likes to throw a perfect storm of negativity at us to see how we'll react. As a Job-like frenzy of ill fate falls across our path like a wind-blown tree, we're forced to decide whether to forge ahead or turn tail and run.

Yesterday was just such a trying occasion for good friends of mine who needed to prepare for a big catering job, and I had a front row seat to the drama as it unfolded. I won't go into the details here, but just as we got past one problem another popped up to test us. At times it seemed like the divine powers had lined up against the job and didn't want us to succeed.

The culmination of the day of bad luck was the damaging thunderstorms that hit Chicago yesterday afternoon, causing a very inconvenient power outage. I know we all felt like tossing in the towel a few times during the day, but we held it together and got through it. The prep work is now done, although a little later than we hoped, and the success is a little sweeter because of the tribulations we had to overcome. It will help us to appreciate those boring days when nothing unexpected happens, and everything goes according to plan.

As bad as it seemed at the time, it also could have been a lot worse. For example, today is the anniversary of the AD 79 eruption of Mt. Vesuvius that buried Pompeii and two other Roman cities in volcanic ash, killing thousands.

Rather than shoveling out ash, I just have to dig into my music libary and pull out an appropriate little tune. When things don't go our way, it's tempting to blame bad luck. We'll get a lot further, however, by looking at it as an opportunity to prove ourselves; a challenging maze of circumstance to navigate. I've always been fond of puzzles. That thunderstorm was actually pretty cool to watch too (check out this YouTube video), as long as you were safely inside.

Bad Luck
by Social Distortion

Some people like to gamble,
But you, you always lose.
Some people like to rock 'n' roll,
You're always singin' the blues
You gotta nasty disposition,
No one really knows the reason why,
You gotta bad, bad reputation,
Gonna hang your head down and cry...

You got bad, bad luck
Bad, bad luck
You got bad, bad luck
Bad, bad luck

Thirteen's my lucky number,
To you it means stay inside.
Black cat done crossed my path,
No reason to run and hide.
You're looking through a cracked mirror,
No one really knows the reason why.
Your enemies are gettin' nearer,
Gonna hang down your head and cry

You got bad, bad luck
Bad, bad luck
You got bad, bad luck
Bad, bad luck

Some people go to church on Sundays,
Others they pray at home.
You tell them that there ain't no God,
that they're better off standin' alone.
You're always scratchin'
At the eight ball,
No one really knows the reason why.
You get to the top and then you fall,
Gonna hang down your head and cry.

You got bad, bad luck
Bad, bad luck
You got bad, bad luck
Bad, bad luck

Google gives us the stars, but where's our New World?

Today's tech news has an interesting little piece about Google's latest upgrade to its Google Earth app, which allows users to zoom in on satellite images from around the planet. The new feature, called Sky, reverses the view, and turns our virtual gaze out into the universe (see Google puts universe online for more details).

It's the perfect enhancement for computer-chair-bound star gazers, especially those like myself who live in urban environments where the night sky is obscured by bright city lights. I love the fact that you can call up these images for free on your computer and take a virtual ride through the galaxies — a nice little space travel fix for all of us recovering Star Trek geeks.

The project has had strong backing from the scientific community, and it's envisioned as a future storehouse for astronomical data. The collaboration is another small step toward the still unfulfilled great promise of the Internet, delivering a tasty sampling of the social change the technology has dangled before us like Tantalus for years now.

My expectations may be too high, but Web 2.0 — extolled by many as the Internet's renaissance — has so far proved little more than a marketing gimmick. In theory, ever-expanding social networks should break down old prejudices and unite people around the world as never before. In reality, they're over-run by spam and get-rich-quick schemes, not to mention plenty of blogs that spew hate and stoke division.

Ideally, the advent of digitized content should lead to the dawning of a new information age of enlightenment with all of the world's stored knowledge easily accessible to any querying mind. Instead, we're refining search algorithms to call up the latest viral videos of pensive cats playing piano, and regressing into a middling muddled era of inanity.

Maybe I'm just being impatient for changes that will inevitably come, or maybe the problem lies with the overarching social system that controls the applications of these technologies, and handicaps them to suit its self-preserving needs. My inkling is toward the latter, but my digression was really just an excuse to post about a favorite song that I've been listening to again recently.

In the safety of our home we may be able to escape into virtual worlds built from the collective observations of the cosmos, or the accumulated remnants of past civilizations. Once we step out into the street, however, we still find ourselves face-to-face with the problems of a broken society: homeless men and women pleading for change.

The New World
by X

"honest to goodness the bars weren't open this morning
they must have been voting for a new president of something
... do you have a quarter?"
I said yes because i did, honest to goodness
the tears have been falling all over the country's face
it was better before before they voted for what's his name
this is supposed to be the new world

flint ford auto mobile alabama
windshield wipers buffalo new york
gary indiana, don't forget the motor city
baltimore and d.c., now all we need is ...
don't forget the motor city
this is supposed to be the new world
don't forget the motor city
this is supposed to be the new world

all we need is money, just give us what you can spare
twenty or thirty pounds of potatoes, or twenty or thirty beers
a turkey on Thanksgiving, like alms for the poor
all we need are the necessities and more
it was better before they voted for what's his name
this is supposed to be the new world
it was better before they voted for what's his name
this is supposed to be the new world

Trial & Error in 21st Century America

I recently watched Orson Welles' interpretation of Franz Kafka's novel The Trial, and was struck with the film's eerie resonance for our own time. Welles treatment was made in 1962 (see the Internet Movie Database entry for details on the production), and his lens onto the story differed quite a bit from Kafka's 1920 central European perspective (the novel was published in 1925 from an unfinished manuscript, after the author's death). There are, however, certain universal themes in the plot that span generations and languages.

In very short order, the novel and film both tell the tale of Joseph K who wakes one morning to find himself under arrest for a charge that's never explained. He then engages in a existentialist struggle to navigate through the maze of a legal system that offers one of only two possible outcomes: madness or death. Just walking through the opressive halls of "justice" in the movie's absurdist society physically sickens K, as the stale air draws the very breath from his lungs.

The film can be a bit uneven, bouncing between the farcical and attempts at profundity, but it hits its stride in the later acts. All of the people K encounters in his wanderings through the system are trapped in their situations, much like him. Whether accused or employed by the State, they blindly accept their places in its drama and unquestioningly act out their roles. Free Will only exists within the narrow array of choices not so benevolently granted to them by the various strata of judges who interpret the system's inscrutable laws.

As The Trial draws to its climax, K discovers the impossibility of his situation, and realizes that he can only escape by not playing this lunatic's game. In the flick's most dramatic scene, K (Anthony Perkins) tries to dismiss his advocate Albert Hastler (Orson Welles). Hastler humiliates another client in order to demonstrate to K the unavoidable fate of the accused at the hands of the State. In Welles' trademark godly bass, the Advocate tells K, "To be in chains is sometimes safer than to be free." The guilt of the accused has become inconsequential, all that matters is the perpetuation of the system the laws prop up.

In George W's post-9/11 America, Joseph K's nightmare scenario has become too common a possibility for America's enemies both real and imaginary, foreign and internal. Those who fall into the ever-widening grouping of the "accused" can be detained indefinitely, hidden from public view without ever being formally charged or facing their accuser. The American people have gone along with this mad interpretation of U.S. Constitutional law, convinced that it's in the best interests of national security. We've followed Hastler's advice and bartered freedom for the appearance of safety.

Like Joseph K, we need to reject the prescribed roles we've been given in this absurdist drama. Unlike the inevitable doom faced by the hero of Kafka's dark vision, however, I believe in the possibility for us to creatively escape our condition. We just need to imagine a new set of rules and work to create a world that plays by them.

Over the Hill feelings: Happy birthday Robert Plant

Robert Plant, the musician most famous for his years fronting the band Led Zeppelin, turns 59 today. It always takes me a little aback when the iconic rock stars of my childhood start piling up the birthdays, especially since it's a medium most associated with youth and rebellion.

I've got the typical Led Zeppelin memories for a bloke my age. My brother had tickets to the DC show of the tour that got cancelled because drummer John "Bonzo" Bonham drank himself to death. I lived through those radio years when you couldn't spin the dial without encountering Stairway to Heaven several times a day.

The first thing that does and should always come to mind, however, is the music. The song that popped into my head when I read the news of Robert Plant's birthday was a catchy little tune with an appropriate title for the occasion: Over the Hills and Far Away. It evokes a certain yearning for the open road of life that appeals to me. We never know exactly where the path ahead will lead, but, if we let them, our dreams and imagination can help guide our steps and give that final destination a more pleasing shape.

I found a pretty well done video of the band performing the song on YouTube, so you can reminisce a little with me (click here). Here are the lyrics, in case you'd also like to sing along:

Over the Hills and Far Away
by Led Zeppelin

Hey lady, you got the love I need
Maybe more than enough
Oh darlin' darlin', darlin'
Walk a while with me
Oh, you've got so much, so much, so much

Many have I loved
Many times been bitten
Many times I've gazed
Along the open road

Many times I've lied
Many times I've listened
Many times I've wondered
How much there is to know

Many dreams come true
And some have silver linings
I live for my dreams
And a pocketful of gold

Mellow is the man
Who knows what he's been missing
Many many men
Can't see the open road

Many is a word
That only leaves you guessing
Guessing 'bout a thing
You really ought to know, oh...
Really ought to know, oh...
I really ought to know, oh...
you know I should...

History Lessons: Amending our ways

On this date a mere 87 years ago, the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was finally ratified by Congress giving women the right to vote. The amendment was named after Susan B. Anthony (pictured at left, looking over the shoulder of Elizabeth Cady Stanton), who was one of its earliest proponents. Its passage culminated a struggle for women's suffrage begun over 50 years earlier by Anthony, among many others.

It's a bit mind-boggling to consider that it took 131 years from the birth of our constitution for half the population to gain their due right as citizens. Of course this was just the first victory in a long struggle to gain equal rights for women, and even now there are vestiges of the old social prejudices preventing a true leveling of the proverbial playing field.

Women are certainly not the only social grouping to have faced road blocks to full participation in our civic give and take. African Americans gained their legal right to vote with the 15th Amendment 50 years earlier, but didn't win actual and unaccosted access to the levers of lawful citizenship until the passing of the 24th Amendment and the Civil Rights Act, both in 1964.

Amazingly, it's only now in the early 21st century that we have our first legitimate female and black presidential candidates. My personal politics are closer to Barack Obama's, but for either he or Hillary Clinton to win the Democratic nomination and national office would mark an historical watershed. It's hard not to harbor hope of a broader change flowing from such success.

That doesn't mean the struggle for social equity will have finally been won, however. Today's anniversary should provoke us to ponder the current groups society excludes from full participation in our democracy. It doesn't take a great leap of the imagination to conjure a couple of demographics who have been scapegoated into second-class citizenship the past few years, whether by sexual orientation or circumstance of place of birth.

What does require creativity of thought is the understanding of just how these limitations on full citizenship hurt our social organism. As with any biological entity, our community is at its best when we make use of the diverse talents and abilities of the entirety of the sum of our parts. To not only discourage but refuse those contributions is beyond foolish; it's self-defeating.