Saturday, October 25, 2008
The Attack Continues
Let me preface all of this by saying that the attacks of September 11, 2001 were horrific. Being televised, live, across the globe they will reverberate through history in a way that no other act of war ever could. And the subject itself is large for a blog post. The reasons for it, the full repercussions will not be known for generations.
But even before the first tower fell, the poetry of the attacks was clear. Those planes, while they hit the World Trade Center were really aimed at the world economy. It's tempting -- almost narcissistic -- to think that Al-Quaida had the sole objective of destroying the economy of the United States. Even someone who has only the most basic understanding of the economy knows that you cannot pull the American economy down without the entire economic world following it. The attack on the twin towers was a brilliant attack in that in a single blow it started a chain of events, it planted the seeds that are beginning to bear fruit.
It's now clear that to anyone who was paying attention exactly how George W. Bush would react to the attack, even if the specifics could not be clear. Blind rage is of course the natural response, but it takes someone with emotional maturity to resist the temptation of a knee-jerk reaction, not be ruled by that natural response. George W. Bush = emotional maturity? Not. A man known for his braggadocio, his studied, manufactured swagger and his renowned lack of intellectual curiosity is easily manipulated. And an American public that is encouraged to revere and emulate such qualities, who want a president they'd want at a backyard barbecue and not one who might actually be smarter then the average bear, quite frankly get what they deserve.
I'm angry. Much like the George Bush ignoring memos brought to him saying that Bin Laden intended an attack, Americans ignored the warning signs in the economy. As a nation we fail to connect the dots, we fail to realize that a fascination with blond starlets and allowing that fascination to dominate the media obscures and clouds the focus of real issues. We fail to realize that real issues will not be ignored. The result of of us watching I Love New York instead of reading a newspaper is that millions of people are losing their jobs, homes, dreams, and lives. An entire generation, if not more, will be saddled not only with the economic but the social responsibility of rebuilding Western culture. It will be done, but in many ways we are looking at an economic, social, and political dark age.
I, however, do not believe this dark age will last for generations. Two years tops. First, I have great faith in Barak Obama. With every passing day I believe a great man has arisen from the American populace and is equal to the challenge facing us as a nation. Much in the way that Roosevelt rebuilt the country from the Depression and guided us through World War II, I believe Obama will lead us through this. I know that how that reads. I realize that Obama is not perfect. I understand that my belief is based on a carefully crafted image, but to be honest what choice do we have?
I also believe that modern technology, which has contributed to our current difficulty, will also contribute to our salvation. Action can be taken in much swifter measures and results will be seen in hours and days where it might have taken weeks and years eighty years ago.
Yes, these are ugly times, but I truly believe that our best days are ahead of us and that it takes a crisis to stiffen our resolve, to wake us up and focus us on a common goal. It is by rebuilding Western culture that the lives lost on September 11 will be redeemed. It is for the new America, the new Western culture that their lives were sacrificed and I believe that Barak Obama will be the man to make good on that sacrifice.
But even before the first tower fell, the poetry of the attacks was clear. Those planes, while they hit the World Trade Center were really aimed at the world economy. It's tempting -- almost narcissistic -- to think that Al-Quaida had the sole objective of destroying the economy of the United States. Even someone who has only the most basic understanding of the economy knows that you cannot pull the American economy down without the entire economic world following it. The attack on the twin towers was a brilliant attack in that in a single blow it started a chain of events, it planted the seeds that are beginning to bear fruit.
It's now clear that to anyone who was paying attention exactly how George W. Bush would react to the attack, even if the specifics could not be clear. Blind rage is of course the natural response, but it takes someone with emotional maturity to resist the temptation of a knee-jerk reaction, not be ruled by that natural response. George W. Bush = emotional maturity? Not. A man known for his braggadocio, his studied, manufactured swagger and his renowned lack of intellectual curiosity is easily manipulated. And an American public that is encouraged to revere and emulate such qualities, who want a president they'd want at a backyard barbecue and not one who might actually be smarter then the average bear, quite frankly get what they deserve.
I'm angry. Much like the George Bush ignoring memos brought to him saying that Bin Laden intended an attack, Americans ignored the warning signs in the economy. As a nation we fail to connect the dots, we fail to realize that a fascination with blond starlets and allowing that fascination to dominate the media obscures and clouds the focus of real issues. We fail to realize that real issues will not be ignored. The result of of us watching I Love New York instead of reading a newspaper is that millions of people are losing their jobs, homes, dreams, and lives. An entire generation, if not more, will be saddled not only with the economic but the social responsibility of rebuilding Western culture. It will be done, but in many ways we are looking at an economic, social, and political dark age.
I, however, do not believe this dark age will last for generations. Two years tops. First, I have great faith in Barak Obama. With every passing day I believe a great man has arisen from the American populace and is equal to the challenge facing us as a nation. Much in the way that Roosevelt rebuilt the country from the Depression and guided us through World War II, I believe Obama will lead us through this. I know that how that reads. I realize that Obama is not perfect. I understand that my belief is based on a carefully crafted image, but to be honest what choice do we have?
I also believe that modern technology, which has contributed to our current difficulty, will also contribute to our salvation. Action can be taken in much swifter measures and results will be seen in hours and days where it might have taken weeks and years eighty years ago.
Yes, these are ugly times, but I truly believe that our best days are ahead of us and that it takes a crisis to stiffen our resolve, to wake us up and focus us on a common goal. It is by rebuilding Western culture that the lives lost on September 11 will be redeemed. It is for the new America, the new Western culture that their lives were sacrificed and I believe that Barak Obama will be the man to make good on that sacrifice.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Friday Nights
My parents divorced when I was five years old. According to court order my father had custody on Wednesday nights and weekends. That meant he picked up after work and we went home with him, to a small town in Iowa where he moved in with his mother after the divorce.
Although my father and I weren't close -- and at times there were points when we actively hated each other, I loved those weekends. I felt like my life began the minute we got in the car.
My father worked for a printing company as a graphic artist. It wasn't a glamorous, sunny-office kind of job. He made huge stickers that went on the sides of trucks and trains. He always smelled of chemicals. Hygiene wasn't something my father was noted for, and after Grandma died and there was no one to get after him he frequently slept in his clothes and went to work, not changing or bathing for a week at a time. He smoked. There was a smell, but it wasn't what you'd expect. I can almost smell it now. It was musty, but it was comforting.
I remember the autumn Fridays the most. It would be dark by the time we got home and Grandma would have supper waiting so that we could eat quickly and then go to the high-school football game. It would be cold and instead of buying a ticket my father would stand outside the fence until half time, when he could get in for free. My sister and I would run around and jump on the mats that were used for the pole vaulters. We never watched the games. Sometimes we'd lose track of one another, but we always met up at home.
If it rained, there was the sun porch with the tin roof. We'd stop at the grocery store and Dad would buy us some trinkets to play with, or some new colors and coloring book. I loved the sound of the rain against roof and the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen where my father and Grandmother would be talking. On rare occasions my mother would come for a visit. Those were the warmest feeling nights. It felt like my home was complete.
Those days are far, far away and yet when it rains on a Friday night, like it is right now, I can feel that kitchen cinnamon warmth and hear my mom and grandma discussing the price of corn. When I think of heaven, that's what it will be like, an eternal Friday night on Grandma's sun porch.
Although my father and I weren't close -- and at times there were points when we actively hated each other, I loved those weekends. I felt like my life began the minute we got in the car.
My father worked for a printing company as a graphic artist. It wasn't a glamorous, sunny-office kind of job. He made huge stickers that went on the sides of trucks and trains. He always smelled of chemicals. Hygiene wasn't something my father was noted for, and after Grandma died and there was no one to get after him he frequently slept in his clothes and went to work, not changing or bathing for a week at a time. He smoked. There was a smell, but it wasn't what you'd expect. I can almost smell it now. It was musty, but it was comforting.
I remember the autumn Fridays the most. It would be dark by the time we got home and Grandma would have supper waiting so that we could eat quickly and then go to the high-school football game. It would be cold and instead of buying a ticket my father would stand outside the fence until half time, when he could get in for free. My sister and I would run around and jump on the mats that were used for the pole vaulters. We never watched the games. Sometimes we'd lose track of one another, but we always met up at home.
If it rained, there was the sun porch with the tin roof. We'd stop at the grocery store and Dad would buy us some trinkets to play with, or some new colors and coloring book. I loved the sound of the rain against roof and the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen where my father and Grandmother would be talking. On rare occasions my mother would come for a visit. Those were the warmest feeling nights. It felt like my home was complete.
Those days are far, far away and yet when it rains on a Friday night, like it is right now, I can feel that kitchen cinnamon warmth and hear my mom and grandma discussing the price of corn. When I think of heaven, that's what it will be like, an eternal Friday night on Grandma's sun porch.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Overwhelmed
I think the tragedy of this entire presidential campaign is the sacrifice of Sarah Palin. She allowed herself to reach for the brass ring before she was ready. She is an under-rehearsed understudy in a production where the director thought that it would be all right if she went into a performance carrying a script. A really experienced star could get away with that, an unknown cannot. As a result of going on for a star on opening night in a costume that doesn't quite fit and fumbling for lines, Sarah Palin has probably destroyed her career.
Don't get me wrong. There's probably not a chance that I would have agreed with a single syllable that ever came out of her mouth. And as time goes by, I think it's becoming pretty clear that she's about as corrupt as any politician in either party. But I get a sense that under all of that, there is a) a smart woman, and b) someone who might have gone into politics for the right reasons.
I don't know which is the greater disappointment: that Palin made the decision to be part of the last line of the Republican party as it turns the page, or that the page is being turned before Palin was fully developed and become the first line on the new page.
Say what you want, it cannot be denied that Palin has been a breath of fresh air in the stale, smokey, back-boy's room in the house that Rove built. The problem is that the Republican party needs a hurricane to knock that house down. I want them to get it together. The nation needs them to get it together. I don't like the feeling that there wasn't an intellectual debate of the issues in my life time. This campaign (and frankly every campaign I've where I've been eligible to vote) has been lopsided. Obama has provided a good, strong clearing wind (if not a hurricane) to the Democratic party, while Palin has been a breath of fresh air. This country needs to opposing forces to whip into a cyclone and shake things up. In the absence of a controlled political approach to correcting things, the market is collapsing and we're going to clean things out through economic ruin. Again.
I have no illusions about Barak Obama. I know he's a politician. I know he's not perfect and I fully expect to be disappointed by him in the future. But I think that had she been brought to the national stage with a couple years of preparation, the same years of study and prep that Obama has had running for president, I think Palin could have been a formidable adversary to Obama, a no-nonsense, common sense, grass roots approach to his over-intellectual, ivy-league philosophies and approaches. Oh, I'd have still voted for Barak Obama, but I think we'd have gotten a legitimate debate of ideas and issues instead of a flailing ad campaign. What a luxury it must be to go into an election booth and really have to decide between two intelligent, competing philosophies instead of wrestling with intellectual issues that have been defined in emotional terms, to know that whichever way the election is decided there will be someone competent, if not exactly inspired in charge.
For all of her alleged charm, what Palin has is an intellectual approach to her campaigns. You can see it in the delivery of her lines. Like an actress who is calculating every move an inflection for effect, Palin's speeches are studied, they're calculated. Sure, she's shoveling the emotionally based message the campaign is feeding her, but unlike McCain it's clear she's trying to understand the concepts behind the message. It's clear that with more preparation and experience, with room to make a mistake or two or fail, she could have led a Republican campaign instead of taking marching orders like McCain is doing.
If only she'd waited one more campaign cycle.
Don't get me wrong. There's probably not a chance that I would have agreed with a single syllable that ever came out of her mouth. And as time goes by, I think it's becoming pretty clear that she's about as corrupt as any politician in either party. But I get a sense that under all of that, there is a) a smart woman, and b) someone who might have gone into politics for the right reasons.
I don't know which is the greater disappointment: that Palin made the decision to be part of the last line of the Republican party as it turns the page, or that the page is being turned before Palin was fully developed and become the first line on the new page.
Say what you want, it cannot be denied that Palin has been a breath of fresh air in the stale, smokey, back-boy's room in the house that Rove built. The problem is that the Republican party needs a hurricane to knock that house down. I want them to get it together. The nation needs them to get it together. I don't like the feeling that there wasn't an intellectual debate of the issues in my life time. This campaign (and frankly every campaign I've where I've been eligible to vote) has been lopsided. Obama has provided a good, strong clearing wind (if not a hurricane) to the Democratic party, while Palin has been a breath of fresh air. This country needs to opposing forces to whip into a cyclone and shake things up. In the absence of a controlled political approach to correcting things, the market is collapsing and we're going to clean things out through economic ruin. Again.
I have no illusions about Barak Obama. I know he's a politician. I know he's not perfect and I fully expect to be disappointed by him in the future. But I think that had she been brought to the national stage with a couple years of preparation, the same years of study and prep that Obama has had running for president, I think Palin could have been a formidable adversary to Obama, a no-nonsense, common sense, grass roots approach to his over-intellectual, ivy-league philosophies and approaches. Oh, I'd have still voted for Barak Obama, but I think we'd have gotten a legitimate debate of ideas and issues instead of a flailing ad campaign. What a luxury it must be to go into an election booth and really have to decide between two intelligent, competing philosophies instead of wrestling with intellectual issues that have been defined in emotional terms, to know that whichever way the election is decided there will be someone competent, if not exactly inspired in charge.
For all of her alleged charm, what Palin has is an intellectual approach to her campaigns. You can see it in the delivery of her lines. Like an actress who is calculating every move an inflection for effect, Palin's speeches are studied, they're calculated. Sure, she's shoveling the emotionally based message the campaign is feeding her, but unlike McCain it's clear she's trying to understand the concepts behind the message. It's clear that with more preparation and experience, with room to make a mistake or two or fail, she could have led a Republican campaign instead of taking marching orders like McCain is doing.
If only she'd waited one more campaign cycle.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Trees
It's weird, I know, but I've always had a thing for trees. There was a huge oak outside my grandmother's house with two large knots on the trunk. We called it the Butt Tree. When I was a kid, my favorite book was My Side of the Mountain, which was about a boy who ran away and hallowed out a tree and lived off the land for a year.
There were points in my life when I lived in neighborhoods that felt naked for the lack of trees, and all of that barren, open space just felt oppressive. I'm at the point now where I simply refuse to live in a neighborhood that lacks trees.
This autumn is especially nice for me, for several reasons. This is the first autumn in probably a decade when I've not either had to deal with a stressful job, or worry about being unemployed. And, this year I'm working out in a lovely suburb, with almost a mile between my train stop and my office. The foliage this year is not to be believed. Simply not to be believed. In years past, I've been disappointed when all of the leaves just turned yellow. I missed the reds and oranges. This year I'm seeing a rainbow of reds, with some as deep as purple and others that bleed as if tie-dyed with yellow. Today I discovered a tree with maroon leaves, and it was if all of the leaves had died but were still attached to the branches. They hung there like a semi-precious stone chandelier.
Most people tend to think of autumn as the beginning of the end, or perhaps a coda to the main event of the year, summer. But for me, this year, everything else has led up to these weeks and the colorful trees are the climax, a symphonic crescendo of color. I'm doing everything I can to enjoy every second of it.
There were points in my life when I lived in neighborhoods that felt naked for the lack of trees, and all of that barren, open space just felt oppressive. I'm at the point now where I simply refuse to live in a neighborhood that lacks trees.
This autumn is especially nice for me, for several reasons. This is the first autumn in probably a decade when I've not either had to deal with a stressful job, or worry about being unemployed. And, this year I'm working out in a lovely suburb, with almost a mile between my train stop and my office. The foliage this year is not to be believed. Simply not to be believed. In years past, I've been disappointed when all of the leaves just turned yellow. I missed the reds and oranges. This year I'm seeing a rainbow of reds, with some as deep as purple and others that bleed as if tie-dyed with yellow. Today I discovered a tree with maroon leaves, and it was if all of the leaves had died but were still attached to the branches. They hung there like a semi-precious stone chandelier.
Most people tend to think of autumn as the beginning of the end, or perhaps a coda to the main event of the year, summer. But for me, this year, everything else has led up to these weeks and the colorful trees are the climax, a symphonic crescendo of color. I'm doing everything I can to enjoy every second of it.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
To Every Season...
Here's the problem: I want to be brilliant at everything I do. Not just competent, but brilliant. When I was younger, I not only believed this was possible, I believed that everything I did actually was brilliant. Ah, for those halcyon days of self delusion.
As I grow older, I've come to accept that mere competence at an array of things isn't all that bad. But I also realize that had I really focused on one thing, I might have been brilliant. For me, parts of different things come really easily to me. For instance, with singing I open my mouth and a sound comes out. I've been told by enough random people that I have a good voice to trust that. And when I was in high school, the chorus director brought in some musical specialist who ran me through a bunch of vocal tests and I was deemed "promising." I was strongly, STRONGLY encouraged to pursue a career in opera.
The problem was I couldn't read music. Still can't, really. I've made stabs at trying to learn, but the minute I hit a key change, I'm done. A "B" is a "B," unless all the way over there on the left of the page there are some symbols. And then you have to count, you can't just "sing along to the piano." So, when I have to sing something, I just have to listen to it and figure out my own formula. I get there somehow, but I have no idea how. That may be talent, but even when I was seventeen I knew that wasn't going to be enough to sustain a professional career in music. I may have had the intellect to learn how all those black dots on a page added up to a song, but I didn't have the patience to figure out how.
Acting was different. I actually went to school, got the degree, and then pursued it as a career. Acting is every bit as demanding as any other profession and requires every bit of discipline as any sport or art. And it was a discipline I understood, a commitment I could make. But because acting requires so much of a personal investment -- at the end of the day an actor only has himself to work with -- I had difficulty separating "professional" from "personal." For me there was no separation, and to be successful I think there has to be. Ultimately, I burned out on acting and it's the only artistic art form I've never been compelled to revisit. I know I'm a good actor, but I don't know how to be a professional actor.
Writing and photography are two art forms that I'm feeling different about. At both, I feel like I have some talent, but not as much as I might have had as a singer or actor. I don't have the passion for either that I had for performing on the stage and I think that might be a good thing. I feel like I can be a little more objective about my work. I don't take the flaws as personally. I recognize a learning curve, and I can live with it. But with that lack of passion come cycles of inspiration. As an actor or singer, even when I didn't feel like it I could get up on stage and give a credible performance. With writing and photography, when I'm not feeling it, I struggle mightily. At least with photography, I have come up with a formula or a routine and fall into that and come up with saleable products that aren't great works of art, but client pleasing. Writing isn't possible at all. If I'm not in the mood to write, then there's nothing going to happen. For the past few months I haven't been feeling the writing thing. This blog is clear evidence of that. But I have been feeling the photography thing, and I think I can see some marked improvement in that work. So, for the past few months I'd given myself permission to allow the writing to sit while I worked on photography.
But this week, as the leaves change, so have my passions, and I'm feeling a return to writing. I'm feeling a little fresher. I have one short story to complete for the collection and then it's time to go back with a critical eye and see what can be done about making the collection a solid, coherent piece. It's a little daunting, but exciting. As I feel the surge for writing, I'm feeling a waning in photography. I'm still interested in it, and I'm not going to give it up -- I do expect to make it a viable business at some point -- but it's time to let that field lie fallow while I cultivate other crops. I'm sort of expecting all of these things to be ready for harvest at about the same time.
My fear and dread in all of this is that because I have this wandering interest, the best I'm ever going to be able to hope for is competence in writing and/or photography. I won't be brilliant in either, but I have to come to terms with competence and can let that be enough. I think it just might be.
As I grow older, I've come to accept that mere competence at an array of things isn't all that bad. But I also realize that had I really focused on one thing, I might have been brilliant. For me, parts of different things come really easily to me. For instance, with singing I open my mouth and a sound comes out. I've been told by enough random people that I have a good voice to trust that. And when I was in high school, the chorus director brought in some musical specialist who ran me through a bunch of vocal tests and I was deemed "promising." I was strongly, STRONGLY encouraged to pursue a career in opera.
The problem was I couldn't read music. Still can't, really. I've made stabs at trying to learn, but the minute I hit a key change, I'm done. A "B" is a "B," unless all the way over there on the left of the page there are some symbols. And then you have to count, you can't just "sing along to the piano." So, when I have to sing something, I just have to listen to it and figure out my own formula. I get there somehow, but I have no idea how. That may be talent, but even when I was seventeen I knew that wasn't going to be enough to sustain a professional career in music. I may have had the intellect to learn how all those black dots on a page added up to a song, but I didn't have the patience to figure out how.
Acting was different. I actually went to school, got the degree, and then pursued it as a career. Acting is every bit as demanding as any other profession and requires every bit of discipline as any sport or art. And it was a discipline I understood, a commitment I could make. But because acting requires so much of a personal investment -- at the end of the day an actor only has himself to work with -- I had difficulty separating "professional" from "personal." For me there was no separation, and to be successful I think there has to be. Ultimately, I burned out on acting and it's the only artistic art form I've never been compelled to revisit. I know I'm a good actor, but I don't know how to be a professional actor.
Writing and photography are two art forms that I'm feeling different about. At both, I feel like I have some talent, but not as much as I might have had as a singer or actor. I don't have the passion for either that I had for performing on the stage and I think that might be a good thing. I feel like I can be a little more objective about my work. I don't take the flaws as personally. I recognize a learning curve, and I can live with it. But with that lack of passion come cycles of inspiration. As an actor or singer, even when I didn't feel like it I could get up on stage and give a credible performance. With writing and photography, when I'm not feeling it, I struggle mightily. At least with photography, I have come up with a formula or a routine and fall into that and come up with saleable products that aren't great works of art, but client pleasing. Writing isn't possible at all. If I'm not in the mood to write, then there's nothing going to happen. For the past few months I haven't been feeling the writing thing. This blog is clear evidence of that. But I have been feeling the photography thing, and I think I can see some marked improvement in that work. So, for the past few months I'd given myself permission to allow the writing to sit while I worked on photography.
But this week, as the leaves change, so have my passions, and I'm feeling a return to writing. I'm feeling a little fresher. I have one short story to complete for the collection and then it's time to go back with a critical eye and see what can be done about making the collection a solid, coherent piece. It's a little daunting, but exciting. As I feel the surge for writing, I'm feeling a waning in photography. I'm still interested in it, and I'm not going to give it up -- I do expect to make it a viable business at some point -- but it's time to let that field lie fallow while I cultivate other crops. I'm sort of expecting all of these things to be ready for harvest at about the same time.
My fear and dread in all of this is that because I have this wandering interest, the best I'm ever going to be able to hope for is competence in writing and/or photography. I won't be brilliant in either, but I have to come to terms with competence and can let that be enough. I think it just might be.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Screaming at the Television
It's official. I can no longer watch the presidential debates. Last night, while watching the presidential debate I literally screamed at the television four or five times.
Not that my thoughts or feelings on any given subject amount to a hill of beans, but I've decided that John McCain has pretty much written this election off. I'm sure that if, by some miracle, he was declared the winner he'd be quite happy to move into the White House. However, I think it's more likely that he's given up the fight and is now working for the Republican party to regroup. 2008 is essentially over for the Republican party and now it's on to 2012.
That's the only way I can understand the bizarre behavior by the Republican nominee. Everything he's doing is pandering to the ultra-conservative wing of the Republican party. Based on his comments about cutting social security, it's clear that he's given up on the swing voter, and his plan to buy bad mortgages at face value then adjust them to current market prices had to send moderate Republicans into orbit. Even I gasped at that idea. The only explanation possible is that he's trying to stir the social ultra conservative and motivate them to the polls. That's the only thing that makes a Palin vice presidency logical. That's the only reason to suggest cutting social security, an issue that is death to any candidate who has ever tried to discuss reform. It's the only explanation for the outrageous smears against Barak Obama.
But, this erratic behavior does have a silver lining. It is the clearest indication yet that the social conservatives in this country are scared and desperate. Social trends operate as a pendulum, and the time has come to swing back to a more liberal national view. The neo-cons, who have pushed that pendulum past it's natural swing to the right have got to know they can do nothing to stop or slow the reaction to the left. Pay back is a bitch, and that has got to scare them.
But that is no excuse for the racist, xenophobic slander that the McCain campaign is spewing. Obama is not a terrorist. He is as American as I am, and frankly probably loves this country more because I'm not sure I'd be able to put myself or my family through the torture they're having to endure. And it's making me furious.
Today I had a discussion with a young man who is basing his entire voting decision on last night's debate and his father's political ideology. He's voting for McCain, even though he believes that Sarah Palin is an idiot and would be a disastrous president. He believes the war in Iraq and the coming war in Iran are necessary and he buys the concept that Barak Obama is politically immature. I tried to engage in a discussion of the facts, and quickly realized it was pointless. I was never going to be able to use reason to combat Daddy's ideology.
I'm learning in my old age that not everyone sees things the way I do, and more importantly that I am not capable of converting some people to my way of thinking. It used to be that it wasn't enough for me to be right. I needed someone else to tell me that, not only was I right, that they were wrong. And when that didn't happen (as it never has) my frustration would be compounded exponentially. I would rail and fume and continue to fight the good fight, wasting incalculable amounts of energy.
I no longer have that energy to waste. I no longer argue my superior positions. In fact, I rarely offer them, although if asked I still have trouble not becoming boring and pedantic on certain topics, but even there I'm learning the cues and end the conversation without necessarily having expressed in great detail the nuances of my views.
But I still haven't learned how to control my anger with my television. I'm abusive to it and scream the most horrible obscenities to it whenever I have to listen to the idiocy of McCain or Palin. I'm twitching. I can't get to the poll fast enough. I want to send the whole lot of them back to a rock in Crawford, Texas. And I'm sure my neighbors will welcome the peace and quiet.
Not that my thoughts or feelings on any given subject amount to a hill of beans, but I've decided that John McCain has pretty much written this election off. I'm sure that if, by some miracle, he was declared the winner he'd be quite happy to move into the White House. However, I think it's more likely that he's given up the fight and is now working for the Republican party to regroup. 2008 is essentially over for the Republican party and now it's on to 2012.
That's the only way I can understand the bizarre behavior by the Republican nominee. Everything he's doing is pandering to the ultra-conservative wing of the Republican party. Based on his comments about cutting social security, it's clear that he's given up on the swing voter, and his plan to buy bad mortgages at face value then adjust them to current market prices had to send moderate Republicans into orbit. Even I gasped at that idea. The only explanation possible is that he's trying to stir the social ultra conservative and motivate them to the polls. That's the only thing that makes a Palin vice presidency logical. That's the only reason to suggest cutting social security, an issue that is death to any candidate who has ever tried to discuss reform. It's the only explanation for the outrageous smears against Barak Obama.
But, this erratic behavior does have a silver lining. It is the clearest indication yet that the social conservatives in this country are scared and desperate. Social trends operate as a pendulum, and the time has come to swing back to a more liberal national view. The neo-cons, who have pushed that pendulum past it's natural swing to the right have got to know they can do nothing to stop or slow the reaction to the left. Pay back is a bitch, and that has got to scare them.
But that is no excuse for the racist, xenophobic slander that the McCain campaign is spewing. Obama is not a terrorist. He is as American as I am, and frankly probably loves this country more because I'm not sure I'd be able to put myself or my family through the torture they're having to endure. And it's making me furious.
Today I had a discussion with a young man who is basing his entire voting decision on last night's debate and his father's political ideology. He's voting for McCain, even though he believes that Sarah Palin is an idiot and would be a disastrous president. He believes the war in Iraq and the coming war in Iran are necessary and he buys the concept that Barak Obama is politically immature. I tried to engage in a discussion of the facts, and quickly realized it was pointless. I was never going to be able to use reason to combat Daddy's ideology.
I'm learning in my old age that not everyone sees things the way I do, and more importantly that I am not capable of converting some people to my way of thinking. It used to be that it wasn't enough for me to be right. I needed someone else to tell me that, not only was I right, that they were wrong. And when that didn't happen (as it never has) my frustration would be compounded exponentially. I would rail and fume and continue to fight the good fight, wasting incalculable amounts of energy.
I no longer have that energy to waste. I no longer argue my superior positions. In fact, I rarely offer them, although if asked I still have trouble not becoming boring and pedantic on certain topics, but even there I'm learning the cues and end the conversation without necessarily having expressed in great detail the nuances of my views.
But I still haven't learned how to control my anger with my television. I'm abusive to it and scream the most horrible obscenities to it whenever I have to listen to the idiocy of McCain or Palin. I'm twitching. I can't get to the poll fast enough. I want to send the whole lot of them back to a rock in Crawford, Texas. And I'm sure my neighbors will welcome the peace and quiet.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
What Else Could It Mean?
Recently on AOL they ran an article from a self-help guru that was intended to help people deal with stress. It listed five questions that each person should ask himself when analyzing a situation. I wrote all five down, but there were two taht I personally need to tatoo on my forearm:
1) What else could it mean?
2) What is the end game?
Keeping my eye on the big picture is hard for me. I very easily get sucked into the minutae of a situation and forget what the ultimate goal is. In my experience, it's the people who are able to keep their eye on the goal who are successful.
But it's the first question that I really have to ask myself on an hourly basis. I tend to personalize everything. The sun is shining too brightly because someone, somewhere is trying to ruin my pictures. Recently I've come to the realization that very few things in this world are about me. People do not go home at night and evaluate their opinions of me. They don't e-mail their thoughts on the latest developments in my life to their far-removed loved ones. My every mistake does not shake the core of their worlds. I realize that this is something that most people learn by the age of two.
I'm a late bloomer.
By actively asking, "What else could it mean?" I immediately have to stop focusing on myself and look at the situation from another perspective. That, in and of itself, is not really new. What is new for me is the freeing feeling that comes with the exercise. Once I stop and look at a situation from a perspective that does not have me in the middle of it, I begin to feel better. When I remove myself from pictures that don't include me, I suddenly feel lighter.
I've discovered just how pre-programmed I am in thinking that every situation not only is about me, but also about how bad I am. It's not and I'm not.
1) What else could it mean?
2) What is the end game?
Keeping my eye on the big picture is hard for me. I very easily get sucked into the minutae of a situation and forget what the ultimate goal is. In my experience, it's the people who are able to keep their eye on the goal who are successful.
But it's the first question that I really have to ask myself on an hourly basis. I tend to personalize everything. The sun is shining too brightly because someone, somewhere is trying to ruin my pictures. Recently I've come to the realization that very few things in this world are about me. People do not go home at night and evaluate their opinions of me. They don't e-mail their thoughts on the latest developments in my life to their far-removed loved ones. My every mistake does not shake the core of their worlds. I realize that this is something that most people learn by the age of two.
I'm a late bloomer.
By actively asking, "What else could it mean?" I immediately have to stop focusing on myself and look at the situation from another perspective. That, in and of itself, is not really new. What is new for me is the freeing feeling that comes with the exercise. Once I stop and look at a situation from a perspective that does not have me in the middle of it, I begin to feel better. When I remove myself from pictures that don't include me, I suddenly feel lighter.
I've discovered just how pre-programmed I am in thinking that every situation not only is about me, but also about how bad I am. It's not and I'm not.
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