‘ And now I thought we might have a moment, however brief, for some sincerity. If that’s okay – I know that there are boundaries for a comedian / pundit / talker guy, and I’m sure that I’ll find out tomorrow how I have violated them.
So, uh, what exactly was this? I can’t control what people think this was: I can only tell you my intentions.
This was not a rally to ridicule people of faith, or people of activism, or look down our noses at the heartland, or passionate argument, or to suggest that times are not difficult and that we have nothing to fear–they are, and we do.
But we live now in hard times, not end times. And we can have animus, and not be enemies. But unfortunately, one of our main tools in delineating the two broke.
The country’s 24-hour, political pundit perpetual panic conflictinator did not cause our problems, but its existence makes solving them that much harder. The press can hold its magnifying glass up to our problems, bringing them into focus, illuminating issues heretofore unseen. Or they can use that magnifying glass to light ants on fire, and then perhaps host a week of shows on the dangerous, unexpected flaming ants epidemic. If we amplify everything, we hear nothing.
There are terrorists, and racists, and Stalinists, and theocrats, but those are titles that must be earned! You must have the resume! Not being able to distinguish between real racists and Tea Party-ers, or real bigots and Juan Williams or Rick Sanchez is an insult–not only to those people, but to the racists themselves, who have put in the exhausting effort it takes to hate. Just as the inability to distinguish terrorists from Muslims makes us less safe, not more.
The press is our immune system. If it overreacts to everything, we actually get sicker–and, perhaps, eczema. And yet… I feel good. Strangely, calmly, good. Because the image of Americans that is reflected back to us by our political and media process is false. It is us, through a funhouse mirror–and not the good kind that makes you look slim in the waist, and maybe taller, but the kind where you have a giant forehead, and an ass shaped like a month-old pumpkin, and one eyeball.
So why would we work together? Why would you reach across the aisle, to a pumpkin-assed forehead eyeball monster? If the picture of us were true, of course our inability to solve problems would actually be quite sane and reasonable–why would you work with Marxists actively subverting our Constitution, and homophobes who see no one’s humanity but their own?
We hear every damned day about how fragile our country is, on the brink of catastrophe, torn by polarizing hate, and how it’s a shame that we can’t work together to get things done. The truth is, we do! We work together to get things done every damned day! The only place we don’t is here (in Washington) or on cable TV!
But Americans don’t live here, or on cable TV. Where we live, our values and principles form the foundation that sustains us while we get things done–not the barriers that prevent us from getting things done.
Most Americans don’t live their lives solely as Democrats, Republicans, liberals or conservatives. Americans live their lives more as people that are just a little bit late for something they have to do. Often something they do not want to do! But they do it. Impossible things, every day, that are only made possible through the little, reasonable compromises we all make.
Look on the screen. This is where we are, this is who we are. These cars. That’s a schoolteacher who probably think his taxes are too high, he’s going to work. There’s another car, a woman with two small kids, can’t really think about anything else right now… A lady’s in the NRA, loves Oprah. There’s another car, an investment banker, gay, also likes Oprah. Another car’s a Latino carpenter; another car, a fundamentalist vacuum salesman. Atheist obstetrician. Mormon Jay-Z fan.
But this is us. Every one of the cars that you see is filled with individuals of strong belief, and principles they hold dear–often principles and beliefs in direct opposition to their fellow travelers’. And yet, these millions of cars must somehow find a way to squeeze, one by one, into a mile-long, 30-foot-wide tunnel, carved underneath a mighty river.
And they do it, concession by concession: you go, then I’ll go. You go, then I’ll go. You go, then I’ll go. ‘Oh my God–is that an NRA sticker on your car?’ ‘Is that an Obama sticker on your car?’ It’s okay–you go, then I go.
And sure, at some point, there will be a selfish jerk who zips up the shoulder, and cuts in at the last minute. But that individual is rare, and he is scorned, and he is not hired as an analyst!
Because we know, instinctively, as a people, that if we are to get through the darkness and back into the light, we have to work together. And the truth is there will always be darkness, and sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t the promised land.
Sometimes, it’s just New Jersey.’
You have discovered arachnoanarchy
otter clan omarian otter oasis
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Jon Stewart's closing comments...
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Zombies?
I am very confused with the way Zombies are presented in the media these days. They don't make any sense, on any level. With new films and a television series coming out this time of year, i think it is time to question our Zombie representations.
For example, how do Zombies become cannibals? Neither of the two base root representations of Zombies offers answers to this question. First, we have the cultural root of Zombie from the voodoo and santeria. The Zombie is a human being who has been given certain drugs to cause a near death trance. Then it is ordered to obey the wishes of its maker/master that may include the murder of other humans, but more likely simply carrying out the activities of a slave (growing out of the history of West Africans in the slave trade). After some time the Zombie is either released from the spell (the drugs have run their course), or is killed outright. Wade Davis, a Harvard ethnobotanist and researcher in entheogens, wrote one of the treatises on zombies in "The Serpent and the Rainbow."
Secondly, we have the cultural root of Zombie from cognitive science studies, and the study of consciousness. This root is predicated on the establishment of a base value level of a human being free of any conscious thought, whose sole relationship with the surrounding world is reaction to various stimuli through the sensory organs. The highly theoretical representation is offered as prima facia evidence for a base value that progresses from a null or zero state to one that reacts to stimuli to form conscious choice ("It is argued that the concept of a philosophical zombie, as it figures in arguments designed to refute functionalism or physicalism, contains inherent contradictions"). At no time, in any of the cognitive science literature, has this Zombie committed murder of any beings. One caveat may be that the implied killing of other species exists is predicated on studies surrounding eating and taste.
Thus, in neither the original religious representation nor the scientific-based one, does the Zombie attack, kill, eat, and regenerate new zombies. Zombies are neither cannibals, nor viral agents of marauding attacks and reproduction. So how did zombies become so commonly represented in the media as cannibal viral agents? Why don't zombies eat whatever they ate when they were alive? How many different ways do we have to invent to kill zombies?
The simplest answer would be that we needed an agent that would terrorize human consciousness. Humans preying on humans is a classic archetype born out by millenia of humans killing other humans. The oldest recorded human war was around 2700BC, and certainly long before that (several thousands of years) small groups of humans were killing other groups. So i suppose having a cannibal virus that makes those that are bitten replicate into a cannibal virus, suffering from a leprosy-like deterioration of the flesh, is just another vision of war. But do they have to stagger around until you hit them with something?
For example, how do Zombies become cannibals? Neither of the two base root representations of Zombies offers answers to this question. First, we have the cultural root of Zombie from the voodoo and santeria. The Zombie is a human being who has been given certain drugs to cause a near death trance. Then it is ordered to obey the wishes of its maker/master that may include the murder of other humans, but more likely simply carrying out the activities of a slave (growing out of the history of West Africans in the slave trade). After some time the Zombie is either released from the spell (the drugs have run their course), or is killed outright. Wade Davis, a Harvard ethnobotanist and researcher in entheogens, wrote one of the treatises on zombies in "The Serpent and the Rainbow."
Secondly, we have the cultural root of Zombie from cognitive science studies, and the study of consciousness. This root is predicated on the establishment of a base value level of a human being free of any conscious thought, whose sole relationship with the surrounding world is reaction to various stimuli through the sensory organs. The highly theoretical representation is offered as prima facia evidence for a base value that progresses from a null or zero state to one that reacts to stimuli to form conscious choice ("It is argued that the concept of a philosophical zombie, as it figures in arguments designed to refute functionalism or physicalism, contains inherent contradictions"). At no time, in any of the cognitive science literature, has this Zombie committed murder of any beings. One caveat may be that the implied killing of other species exists is predicated on studies surrounding eating and taste.
Thus, in neither the original religious representation nor the scientific-based one, does the Zombie attack, kill, eat, and regenerate new zombies. Zombies are neither cannibals, nor viral agents of marauding attacks and reproduction. So how did zombies become so commonly represented in the media as cannibal viral agents? Why don't zombies eat whatever they ate when they were alive? How many different ways do we have to invent to kill zombies?
The simplest answer would be that we needed an agent that would terrorize human consciousness. Humans preying on humans is a classic archetype born out by millenia of humans killing other humans. The oldest recorded human war was around 2700BC, and certainly long before that (several thousands of years) small groups of humans were killing other groups. So i suppose having a cannibal virus that makes those that are bitten replicate into a cannibal virus, suffering from a leprosy-like deterioration of the flesh, is just another vision of war. But do they have to stagger around until you hit them with something?
Saturday, October 02, 2010
In the year 1965....
Perhaps the best thing i can say about MadMen this season is that it has reminded me of a time in my life that i hadn't thought about for a long time. 1965 was an amazing year for me in so many different ways. When you are eighteen, graduating high school and then going to UCLA with a scholarship, not much could bother you. Getting to see the Rolling Stones and the Beatles were icing on the cheesecake of a dozen magic moments.
The year didn't start all that well considering how it ended. On December 6, 1964, i was in my usual inebriated and high condition at a high school dance. That i was a student body officer didn't mean all that much to me either, but evidently it, and my condition, mattered to other officers and school authorities. Apparently reds and malt liquor were not compatible with a positive and contributing attitude for school support. It didn't matter that in the weeks before, i had stood in front of the assembled masses presenting awards to our school's Olympians; now i was the pariah to be punished. Friday night bled into Saturday morning, and i didn't really come to think much (i really couldn't very well actually) about the whole thing because i had to take the SAT. I don't remember the test at all; i do remember waking up enough to realize that it was afternoon, and i was taking the English subtest with an incredibly debilitating hangover. I think i scored an 1196 or so; not bad for seriously impaired.
So January started off with me having to go to another high school--Reseda was hand-picked by one of the Vice Principals--who thought that he could really punish me by withholding my athletic eligibility for 20 weeks. Reseda was the 1964 City football champions, but had not, up to that point in time, fielded a successful swim team. As i couldn't enroll in all of my classes at the new school, so close to the end of the first semester, i had the option of taking only four periods, one of which was weightlifting with the football team. That proved fortuitous, in that i got to know some of the players and the coach quite well, leading to recruiting for the swim team. It also led to wonderful mornings of drunken revelry under the guidance of the coach, who seemed not at all interested in keeping his "boys" from imbibing their pleasures. I did have another unfortunate run-in with the law right after my birthday in January. Three of us (from my old school) were out and about, cruising, because in 1965 that is what you did late on Saturday nights. We chose to follow a couple of guys to a "witches" house in north Van Nuys (near the Granada Hills border). Apparently, the people across the street from the house were fed up with the constant ruckus and had a standing call to the cops whenever anyone paid a visit. Needless to say my parents weren't thrilled with that either.
One of the deals, i had made with my dad, was that, if i could somehow keep my swimming going, still receive my Navy scholarship, and get accepted at the university of my choosing, then he would purchase tickets for me to see the Rolling Stones at the LA Sports Arena. These goals afforded me some options about how to proceed with my social agendas and still keep up appearances. I had left girlfriends back at my other school (Taft), and i needed to do my best to keep up with them. And i also had new ones at Reseda, one of whom followed me over there due to her lack of conforming to the norms of behavior. I also knew i needed to keep up academically in order to win my bets, which were important to me though not to others in my life. At the end of January, the semester ended, the new one began; and there was a winter prom at Taft, to which i had been previously invited (and allowed to attend).
I got a 4.0 in four classes at the end of the semester (i left Taft with a 3.2 in 6). The new semester required that i take Calc II and Calc I at the same time, a Senior English class, International Relations, Physics 2, and PE conditioning and swimming. The Calc classes posed a problem because i needed Calc II which was offered in the morning, but Calc I was only available after lunch before swimming. As the semester wore on i realized: i could do no work in Calc I, cover Calc II through a homework journal that could be copied from old ones in available files, IR would be easy working with a team of good students, essays were all i needed in Eng, Physics 2 would be tough, but it was first period after pre-school swim workouts.
I went to the Taft dance with Robin Miller, a cheerleader sweetheart, but ended up spending much of it with my neighbor Jerri Adair, a diver friend of my lust idol Sue Gossick. From that one winter prom night, i ended up taking Jerri to allnight grad night six months later, went out with Robin for the end of my freshman and beginning of my sophomore years, and proved that i could act appropriately and respectfully of my old high school. This latter turned out important, because at the end of the year i would be allowed to attend Taft senior activities on campus, without much supervision or taking any classes. And then there were the girls at Reseda, a few of whom were "excused" from their previous high schools for various issues, mostly drugs and behavior. All in all, my life, though shattered by the suspension and arrest, was pretty grand.
I swam before school, went to class, went to the high school swim workouts where i helped coach, and then swam at my swim club in the later afternoon with my brother. Weekends were spent swimming and the usual fake studying. As the school year went on, i got more freedom and latitude to go out again, and enjoy the last few months of that carefree life. My swim coach bribed me with beer, so i had a constant supply as long as i swam well. Reseda was a diverse population of a few surfers, lots of greasers (cars were a huge deal in the Valley in the 1960s), small pods of geeks and socias (socially motivated types), and the usual admixture of new hippies and the weird. Taft was mostly geeks and socias because of the professions of the parents who had moved into that end of the Valley in the 50s (Taft opened in 1960 --you can see a quite impactful list of Taft graduates who went on to fame at the bottom).
I remember quite well, one time, being invited out by one of the girls who had been suspended from Taft and was sent to Reseda. It turned out to be an odd sort of set up, involving a Taft girl who wanted to make her bad boyfriend jealous by going out with me, a bad boy. Her name was Karen Tremaine, and i had actually known her since the 8th grade, when she was "going out" with one of my better friends, Robin Ramondi (8th grade was another bad period of my life, a year i failed school, spent most of my time working in theater and music production running lights and sound, and bootlegging cigs for the juvenile home boys). It finally became apparent what was happening when we were making out at the Zuma beach bonfire, and Karen's boyfriend came up and caught us. All i got was a shoulder shrug from Karen as she went off with him. In some ways i think things never change. It made a lasting impression though, in the sense that the whole green monster of jealousy that i had watched in the Twilight Zone episode, could be manipulated with such precision for an outcome. I vowed then and there to not be jealous, nor envious, of and for others and myself.
During that academic year, i cut school a few times to go to the beach to surf, mostly with the Pierce brothers, whose extended family owned a large mortuary and cemetery business in the Valley. Otherwise i kept to myself most of the time, doing all the usual things a high school kid in the mid-60s would do. None of that looks like anything on MadMen.
to be continued:
The year didn't start all that well considering how it ended. On December 6, 1964, i was in my usual inebriated and high condition at a high school dance. That i was a student body officer didn't mean all that much to me either, but evidently it, and my condition, mattered to other officers and school authorities. Apparently reds and malt liquor were not compatible with a positive and contributing attitude for school support. It didn't matter that in the weeks before, i had stood in front of the assembled masses presenting awards to our school's Olympians; now i was the pariah to be punished. Friday night bled into Saturday morning, and i didn't really come to think much (i really couldn't very well actually) about the whole thing because i had to take the SAT. I don't remember the test at all; i do remember waking up enough to realize that it was afternoon, and i was taking the English subtest with an incredibly debilitating hangover. I think i scored an 1196 or so; not bad for seriously impaired.
So January started off with me having to go to another high school--Reseda was hand-picked by one of the Vice Principals--who thought that he could really punish me by withholding my athletic eligibility for 20 weeks. Reseda was the 1964 City football champions, but had not, up to that point in time, fielded a successful swim team. As i couldn't enroll in all of my classes at the new school, so close to the end of the first semester, i had the option of taking only four periods, one of which was weightlifting with the football team. That proved fortuitous, in that i got to know some of the players and the coach quite well, leading to recruiting for the swim team. It also led to wonderful mornings of drunken revelry under the guidance of the coach, who seemed not at all interested in keeping his "boys" from imbibing their pleasures. I did have another unfortunate run-in with the law right after my birthday in January. Three of us (from my old school) were out and about, cruising, because in 1965 that is what you did late on Saturday nights. We chose to follow a couple of guys to a "witches" house in north Van Nuys (near the Granada Hills border). Apparently, the people across the street from the house were fed up with the constant ruckus and had a standing call to the cops whenever anyone paid a visit. Needless to say my parents weren't thrilled with that either.
One of the deals, i had made with my dad, was that, if i could somehow keep my swimming going, still receive my Navy scholarship, and get accepted at the university of my choosing, then he would purchase tickets for me to see the Rolling Stones at the LA Sports Arena. These goals afforded me some options about how to proceed with my social agendas and still keep up appearances. I had left girlfriends back at my other school (Taft), and i needed to do my best to keep up with them. And i also had new ones at Reseda, one of whom followed me over there due to her lack of conforming to the norms of behavior. I also knew i needed to keep up academically in order to win my bets, which were important to me though not to others in my life. At the end of January, the semester ended, the new one began; and there was a winter prom at Taft, to which i had been previously invited (and allowed to attend).
I got a 4.0 in four classes at the end of the semester (i left Taft with a 3.2 in 6). The new semester required that i take Calc II and Calc I at the same time, a Senior English class, International Relations, Physics 2, and PE conditioning and swimming. The Calc classes posed a problem because i needed Calc II which was offered in the morning, but Calc I was only available after lunch before swimming. As the semester wore on i realized: i could do no work in Calc I, cover Calc II through a homework journal that could be copied from old ones in available files, IR would be easy working with a team of good students, essays were all i needed in Eng, Physics 2 would be tough, but it was first period after pre-school swim workouts.
I went to the Taft dance with Robin Miller, a cheerleader sweetheart, but ended up spending much of it with my neighbor Jerri Adair, a diver friend of my lust idol Sue Gossick. From that one winter prom night, i ended up taking Jerri to allnight grad night six months later, went out with Robin for the end of my freshman and beginning of my sophomore years, and proved that i could act appropriately and respectfully of my old high school. This latter turned out important, because at the end of the year i would be allowed to attend Taft senior activities on campus, without much supervision or taking any classes. And then there were the girls at Reseda, a few of whom were "excused" from their previous high schools for various issues, mostly drugs and behavior. All in all, my life, though shattered by the suspension and arrest, was pretty grand.
I swam before school, went to class, went to the high school swim workouts where i helped coach, and then swam at my swim club in the later afternoon with my brother. Weekends were spent swimming and the usual fake studying. As the school year went on, i got more freedom and latitude to go out again, and enjoy the last few months of that carefree life. My swim coach bribed me with beer, so i had a constant supply as long as i swam well. Reseda was a diverse population of a few surfers, lots of greasers (cars were a huge deal in the Valley in the 1960s), small pods of geeks and socias (socially motivated types), and the usual admixture of new hippies and the weird. Taft was mostly geeks and socias because of the professions of the parents who had moved into that end of the Valley in the 50s (Taft opened in 1960 --you can see a quite impactful list of Taft graduates who went on to fame at the bottom).
I remember quite well, one time, being invited out by one of the girls who had been suspended from Taft and was sent to Reseda. It turned out to be an odd sort of set up, involving a Taft girl who wanted to make her bad boyfriend jealous by going out with me, a bad boy. Her name was Karen Tremaine, and i had actually known her since the 8th grade, when she was "going out" with one of my better friends, Robin Ramondi (8th grade was another bad period of my life, a year i failed school, spent most of my time working in theater and music production running lights and sound, and bootlegging cigs for the juvenile home boys). It finally became apparent what was happening when we were making out at the Zuma beach bonfire, and Karen's boyfriend came up and caught us. All i got was a shoulder shrug from Karen as she went off with him. In some ways i think things never change. It made a lasting impression though, in the sense that the whole green monster of jealousy that i had watched in the Twilight Zone episode, could be manipulated with such precision for an outcome. I vowed then and there to not be jealous, nor envious, of and for others and myself.
During that academic year, i cut school a few times to go to the beach to surf, mostly with the Pierce brothers, whose extended family owned a large mortuary and cemetery business in the Valley. Otherwise i kept to myself most of the time, doing all the usual things a high school kid in the mid-60s would do. None of that looks like anything on MadMen.
to be continued:
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