Some things on Sarah Palin

I read a pun today that instructed me on how to pronounce McCain's running mates name... her name is Sarah Palin (Pail-in or Pale-in) as in Sarah pale-in comparison to Joe Biden. I really thought that McCain would pick Tom Pawlenty from Minnesota, in order to appease his right-wing Rovian masters. From the looks of things, he actually wanted either Joe Liebermann from Connecticut or Tom Ridge from Pennsylvania, but they were both too centrist (except on foreign policy where they, especially Liebermann are both as hawkish as they come). So instead, he ends up picking Sarah Palin, the first term governor from Alaska who two years ago was the part-time mayor of a town whose population could fit comfortably in the office building where I work, a town which is basically two medium sized high schools. Even her governorship is of a state whose population is 1/3 the size of Brooklyn, four state representatives from New York would have more constituents than she. Not that having a small constituency is a deal breaker, I mean Joe Biden is from Delaware. The difference is that he has more than enough experience to make up for it- you cannot make up for such a small constituency from being governor of a small state for 20 months and being part-time mayor for 6 years.

Not that Palin does not have any bonafides, she did help to clean up Alaska's notoriously corrupt Republican party, where seemingly ever one, most notably Ted Stevens, is under indictment. She's a wildly popular governor with approval ratings hovering between 80-90% (edit, it's now down to 67% from a high of 90%), and although I'm pretty sure governing a section of New York is harder than governing the entire state of Alaska, Alaska does have big resource businesses which are very technical and require certain expertise. At the very least, she hopefully brings some kind of knowledge on oil (her husband works for BP). She's young, she's pretty, she's intelligent. Then again, her best bonafides are that she's a dyed in the wool social conservative, she's anti-abortion (I hate the phrase pro-life, it's the way Repubs control the conversation), against gay marriage (although Obama is a states rightist on the issue), for teaching creationism in schools. She also has a very interesting story- married to a part Inuit, 5 children, one in Iraq, one with Down Syndrome (although I'll talk about that in a second), state champion basketball player, hunter, snowmobile rider, PTA/hockey mom, etc. Overall, she plays very well with the Bible-thumpers, a constituency that is still not completely fond of McCain and which would not have stood for pro-choice Joe Liebermann. Personally I think they would have come around anyway, but I guess this just solidifies the base- a decent defensive move if that's all it was supposed to accomplish.

But I think it's quite obvious that this was supposed to be an offensive move- Palin is supposed to capture for McCain a significant fraction of the so-called "PUMAS", who are pissed that Hillary Clinton did not get the nomination and so will not vote for Obama. Now that another person who is their "gynecological twin" as Samantha Bee put it, is on that Republican ticket, they'll move over to McCain. The basis for this is the overblown media coverage of the PUMAS and some ppolls which say that 20-30% of Hillary supporters will not vote for Obama. My personal opinion is that many of the, let's say 25% of those people were not Democrats to begin with, but were instead independents/women who were attracted by Hillary Clinton- who was a well-qualified, highly intelligent candidate. I don't know if Palin's conservative views on women's social issues guarantees her capture of most or even a significant fraction of them. To many people this seems like such an opportunistic/pandering move that it might actually hurt rather than help McCain. It rests on the assumption that women only voted for Hillary Clinton because she was a woman- rather than because they truly thought that she was a great candidate. Say what you want about Clinton, and even though I didn't vote for her in the primary, I still think she would have made a good president- much better than Bush or McCain. McCain or his camp has made a pretty big error, and while it got them in the newscycle after Obama's rousing acceptance speech, it's not going to win them this election.

And this brings me to my favorite part, scandal! Some of things I discovered, just yesterday about Palin are enough to make me question whether or not she has been properly vetted. First, the small, a video from one month ago, showing Palin as not exactly knowing what her role as vice president would be, basically kinda dissin the job. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=loUHRv3ipLE Second, there is the whole scandal involving her trying to have the chief of Public Safety, Walter Monegan, fire her sisters ex-husband (they were in the midst of a bitter custody battle) and when he didn't, she fired him instead. She then appointed a new chief of Public Safety who was reprimanded for sexual harassment and ultimately stepped down two weeks later and got a severance package of 10,000 (for two weeks of service) while the by all accounts excellent Monegan got nothing. The investigation is still going on and will hopefully be done by the time of the election. (for more go to http://mudflats.wordpress.com/2008/08/29/what-is-mccain-thinking-one-alaskans-perspective/

The final thing is just a rumor that has been circulating parts of the web and on some radio shows. The more I read about it, the more I become skeptical of it, but nonetheless, sometimes we leftist need to roll around in the mud too (keeps us young). There are whispers floating around that her youngest baby, Trig (the one with Down Syndrome) is in fact not her baby at all but her daughters. No doubt wanting to hide the embarassment of being a Bible-thumper whose own daughter couldn't follow the abstinence only sex-education she no doubt wanted to place in schools all across the country, she said that the baby was her's. The evidence for this is all very circumstancial/speculative. She made her announcement when she was 7 months(!) pregnant, which is a little odd. By all accounts, she did not look pregnant at all. She flew down to Texas to give a speech while she was 8 months pregnant (with a baby already diagnosed with Down Syndrome), said that her water broke that morning, proceeded to spend most of the day at the conference, give her speech, then fly 8 hours back to Alaska to have the baby. She also posed for Vogue in December 2007, at which time she would have been 5 months pregnant with Trig. Also, there are rumors that her daughter was pulled from school for months with a case of mono. For all of the details you can go here, http://www.mahalo.com/Sarah_Palin_Pregnancy_Rumors
Now, there are things that could dispel these rumors, particularly the fact that the baby has down syndrome, which is 10 times more likely in women over 35. Also, there would have to be a pretty good conspiracy going at the hospital where the baby was born (unless they went through one physician at home or something). Those are two pretty good pieces of evidence, and really, if Sarah Palin wasn't so willing to tell other women what they should do with their bodies, if she wasn't so keen on saying that abstinence only education is the answer, I probably wouldn't be writing this. But because she is, game on.

A First Time For Everything

So this past Sunday I met my grandfather, my father's father, for the first time. That's not exactly true, I met him once when I was 4, he gave me and my brother a bag of those old Zesty Pizzeria chips from Keebler that they don't make anymore. Anyway, at the time he seemed cool enough (anyone who gave me chips at 4 was cool), but I didn't know him and what's more I kinda forgot about him soon afterward. It wasn't until I was older that I began to question why I never interacted with the man. I would hear about other kids going fishing with their grandfather or just having a grandfather around. It wasn't until later that I learned the story surrounding my father's father and after learning about it I think that my father is justified in his dislike for the man.

The meeting itself was awkward at first, my uncle drove us down to the mixed black/puerto rican project where he lived. We originally thought about tricking him and not introducing me as his grandson until right before we were about to go although in the end, I look too much like my uncle and my father for that to work. When we arrived and I got out the car, he was standing outside the door, as short as he wanted to be (I know where I got it from), white skin, a few gold caps in his mouth. He had one of those six or seven o'clock shadows, he probably hadn't shaved in a few days, and he instantly knew that I was family, although he didn't know in what way. As we walked to the door, I didn't know how to react, whether or not I should just walk past him, give him a handshake, a hug. He solved the problem for me, reaching for a hug, not a particularly familial embrace, it felt like the kind you give your boy after you given him a pound. My uncle had already made his way into his place and I followed my grandfather in. His house was small, one bedroom, a small bathroom, a kitchen with a table filled with all kinds of papers, and a living room filled with pictures apparently of family members I had no clue existed. The couches were cloth but covered in plastic slip covers, implicitly saying that he couldn't ever afford to pay for another couch if anything happened to the current ones (Reminds me of the scene from I'm Gonna Get U Sucka: 5000 dollars, we don't have that kind of money.. heh heh.. no shit). Sitting on the couch was his girlfriend, also white, white as her thick billowy hair, it reminded me of the picture of Barbara Bush in my kindergarden class room. She got up to give me a hug- if anything it felt weirder than hugging a grandfather that I'd never met, at least he was related by blood.
We all sat down on the plastic couches and my grandfather's girlfriend offered us all beers. I'd gone out the night before and didn't have the mind or the stomach for a beer, I think she was perplexed by my refusal but my uncle and grandfather gladly had one. It reminded me of when I went to Puerto Rico and asked for juice/water instead of a beer, it felt like every guy there looked at my father and wondered if he was raising some kind of sissy. Anyway, after she got them their beers, she started talking to me in spanish, rapid fire spanish, believing that because I can refuse a beer and greet her in spanish that I can actually speak spanish. Unfortunately, that's not exactly the case- but I could read her mind after I told her the bad news- it was the same thoughts that every puerto rican from the island I ever met has when you tell them that you don't speak spanish. They take it as a personal affront, like you are so inconsiderate that you didn't learn a language that nobody bothered to teach you. After almost 22 years of living you'd think I would be use to it, but I'm not, their attitude always stings, makes me extremely self-conscious and I just hoped that I could somehow sink into her plastic slip covers until it was time to go.
Instead, I sat grunting and occasionaly speaking to my grandfather about a game show that was on, asking him about his beloved (according to my uncle) Mets and trying my best in 20 minutes to fill him in on some of the details he may have missed about my life, you know having never said a complete sentence to me before. I told him how my dad was doing, how my mother was, that my brother lived in Chicago, that my sister was about to graduate from college and that he was a great-grandfather (sidenote, we should change that terminology, because that can't possibly be right for someone like him). My uncle was busy talking to my grandfather's girlfriend the entire time, and then before I knew it, it was time to go. He walked me out to the car, gave me another hug and placed 40 dollars in my hand. 40 dollars I'm sure he didn't really have to give- maybe it was a way to make up for something, although he really owes that to my father- anyway it was a nice gesture and it bought me lunch for the week. I'm not sure when the next time I'll see him, maybe never again, probably not for a long time.

The reason is, deep down, I don't think I consider myself puerto rican, I know I don't. I never really spent time with my family from puerto rico, my dad didn't bother to teach us even rudimentary spanish. Now that I live in New York and I'm so close to my uncle, I think my father (and certainly my uncle) want me to be in Newark all the time, to get a chance to have interactions and build relationships I should have been building years ago. But I've moved on, or more accurately, I was never there. The thought of being puerto rican just brings to mind beer and my embarassment, and the ambivalence with which my family in puerto rico treated me, and however cowardly or silly it sounds, taking those steps to clarifying what it means for me to be puerto rican is not something I want to do right now. I know there's a lot more deep down that causes my anxiety around my father's family, things I rarely talk about. I had a great time with my uncle, he treats me incredibly well (in part, I think, because he never had any children). He'll be the only person who I develop the kind of relationship I have with the women on my mothers side of the family. I guess, seeing my grandfather just reminded me about the side of me that as a kid I always wanted to know but never got a chance to, and now that I am an adult I sometimes don't want to bother to care about.

My Immediate Thoughts on Obama-Biden

I've been telling people the past few days that I thought Joe Biden would ultimately be Obama's pick for his running mate. I've held off telling people my opinion about it until I was sure that he would be the actual pick- but now that it is official...

My intial thoughts are that Biden is much more useful to an Obama presidency if he wins the election than during the actual campaign. Biden has several very excellent strengths which will make him a great vice president, his 35 years of experience in government, his formidable knowledge on issues of foreign policy, his willingness to bear his teeth when needed, his ability to debate, and his different outlook on certain issues which will be an asset to the future adminstration. Unfortunately, only two of those things matter during the campaign. Biden also comes with a few weaknesses; he is the antithesis of a "change agent" muting Obama's most powerful message, he comes from a small state which was dyed blue anyway, he does not have any executive experience either, and he can be a bit wonkish and long-winded on the stump. And none of those are his most damning weakness...
The worst thing Joe Biden brings to the campaign are his words in a 2007 ABC interview in which he says that Obama is not ready to be president and that the presidency does not lend itself to on the job training. He also went out of his way to praise John McCain. The McCain campaign already has come out with ads using Joe Biden's own words, which are pretty damning.

That being said, one thing that I've heard is that all of this could ultimately play into a very good strategic move by Obama. For instance, after his campaign hammered John McCain on forgetting the number of houses he has, McCain snapped back about the whole Tony Rezko thing. Now that Rezko is out, it's old news and won't have the ability to play as well in October. Similarly, by announcing Joe Biden as his running mate, the campaign knew that McCain's people would not be able to resist coming out with Biden's 2007 interview decrying Obama's lack of experience now in order to score some more points. If Biden does the right thing (which of course he will) and persuades the country that in the 9-10 months since the interview Obama has shown him that he does have the ability to lead the country, that the energy around the country among young people is "Kennedy-esque" while at the same time repudiating his previous statements about John McCain (along the lines of, I liked McCain, but he has made it clear that he will continue the failed policies of George W. Bush) then everything should blow over quite nicely before October. Hopefully that is part of their plan.

Ultimately, I think that Biden would have made a much better cabinet member, Secretary of State so he could concentrate on foreign policy, which is by far his best area. I do not agree with some of his policy, although his thoughts on Iraqi partition are intriguing. I thought Tim Kaine would have been a better choice, strictly from a political standpoint. He's still a white male, he is young and much more in line with Obama's message, he has executive experience having been the governor of Virginia, he puts Virginia even more into play at the very least diverting funds from other states, and best of all he's never said anything bad about Obama. Biden's fame from running in the primaries definitely adds to his ability to help Obama during the campaign but there is still going to be some battling over his words. I guess it all depends on the way you look at a running mate, either as someone who adds votes that were not in play before or someone who will help your administration be a better one. From the latter perspective Joe Biden is a great pick, the important thing right now though is whether or not we even get to that point. Hopefully we will!
(I'm excited to say that beginning in October through election day I will be campaigning for Obama in Missouri!)

Obama at his best and the American Conservative

Things are pretty slow at work today so I was perusing my sites, as I usually do when work is slow. I happened upon an excellent article about Barack Obama that is going to appear in the New York Times magazine this Sunday. Here is a link to it http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/24/magazine/24Obamanomics-t.html?_r=3&hp=&adxnnl=1&oref=slogin&pagewanted=all&adxnnlx=1219339680-2a0raZrdD3dBWTqenBJlWg

The thing I like best about Barack Obama is his economic views. I like the way that he is oriented towards empirical research and the nuances with which he develops his prescriptions. He is very much an intellectual in his approach to solving a problem; he consults with experts on the subject, he looks at historical evidence, and he is willing to change his mind when it is shown that his views are wrong (his treatment of corn ethanol being the most prominent). Although most things do not work in practice nearly as well as they work in theory, I think that molding the best of each particular philosophy has the best chance for success in the future. Taking the economic growth of the Milton Friedman/University of Chicago/Reagan-era style of economics while smoothing out its inequalities. Taking the infrastructure building of Keynesian economics while trying to trim its bloated bureaucracy. And taking the Clinton-era's deficit hawk attitude, while making sure to keep a better eye on the fortunes of the middle and working class. It's a tough juggling act, but that's why it's good to have a president willing to listen not only to trusted advisors, but people who do not share the same outlook that he does. It's okay to have a grand vision, an ultimate goal, but it's never too wise to get married to the details, and I think that Obama's style and his vast intellectual capacity will give him much more wiggle room in designing a better course for our nation.

I've been critical of Obama on several things; his acceptance of the horrendous FISA bill and his general views on other issues of civil liberties, his embarassing genuflection at the altar of AIPAC and the hard right Jewish lobby, and his unwillingness to hit hard at McCain (although he's certainly been pouring it on in the past few weeks, a very welcome change). Some people have taken this to mean that I do not want Obama to win, that I am not going to vote for Obama, one person even asked me if I was for McCain. I understand the fear that a lot of people have, after the debacle of a presidency that has occurred these past eight years many people believe that NOBODY should criticize our man, lest we lose a close election once again. The fact that Obama's black already gives a lot of people a reason to not vote for him, regardless of what his critics say. I understand these fears completely but I cannot for the life of me acede to them. One of the (many) criticisms of the Bush imperial presidency is that he is unwilling to take dissent in his ranks, everyone must fall in line, his staffers, Congress, and citizens. It's going to take a lot to escape the damage that the imperial presidency has done to our government culture, but a start is a willingness to once again listen to and consider dissent.
Not hysterical dissent, not dissent just for the hell of it, not the kind of dissent/disagreement which plagues our news media, the kind that means getting one crazy right-winger and one crazy left-winger and having them scream at each other, take each other completely out of context, take one misspoken word and jump on it without seeing the big picture. In other words, not the dissent that has characterized the neo-conservatives completely dishonest and dishonorable way of thinking- it's that type of thinking that spawns the Ann Coulters and Jonah Goldbergs of the world.
One of the best political revelations in the past year has been my enjoyment of Pat Buchanan's magazine, The American Conservative. I have nothing good to say about Pat Buchanan, but he has assembled what must be the last group of sane conservatives on the planet for his magazine. It is refreshing to read level-headed, non-neocon, true conservative arguments, delivered in a logical and honest tone. I do not agree with a lot of what they have to say on domestic policy (although they are actually decent both on foreign and for civil liberties), but I find myself actually enjoying my reading. I would describe myself as on the left side of the political spectrum- I am damn near a social libertarian and I think Obama article above sums up pretty nicely my views on the economy.(The only difference I guess is that I think I'm more pro-union than Obama. I work for a union and my economic views place me on the right of most of the organizers but right in line with the researchers). But overall I enjoy being challenged on my views, as long as the person challenging is willing to listen, willing to actually consider evidence and is not dishonest. Any liberal who doesn't mind having their views challenged should take a look.

Russia, Georgia, and the Wisdom of Crowds

I intended to write this awhile back, but seeing as this is an event that will be topical for some time, now is as good a time as any. Also, I wanted to share a link http://antiwar.com/pat/index_pat.html .... there ain't much good to say about Pat Buchanan but I find myself agreeing with his foreign policy sometimes.. now if only he could get the domestic right.

First my thoughts on the conflict as a whole. I think it's funny how one-sided the coverage has been so far. Editors and journalists are just aching for a "new Cold War" angle. They want to create a narrative where the big bad Soviet Un- I mean Russia invades and crushes a fledgling, pro-western democracy just as it is beginning to emerge from its infancy.
The problem with actual stories are that they are never so black and white, and this scenario is no different. Russia is definitely guilty of some things- they went too far in their own invasion while using the Georgians invasion of South Ossetia as reason to teach Georgia (and perhaps the United States) a lesson. A lesson about trying to join NATO, for cozying up to the US, for forgetting that they are located on the southern border of Russia and not southern France. But Georgia is guilty too, of heavy-handed actions in a semi-autonomous province with plenty of people carrying Russian passports, of picking a fight with a much larger adversary who it had no business tangling with. And most of all, it is guilty of letting the US gas it's head up, thinking that it's a real ally and going on dangerous adventures because Saakashvili KNEW that we'd be there to pick up the pieces. There is no way we were going to protect Georgia other than with words, not with our currently overextended military. Georgia gambled, using our words as collateral but found out there was nothing backing them. Instead, we put out the propaganda machine, making it seem like there was no reason for the conflict or that it just appeared out of nowhere. Now the US and Russia are in a war of words over essentially a province of less than 100,000.

In a realpolitik sense, we had to know that the Russians would respond in this manner. In many ways our actions have told Russia what we think of her. Just look at our plans for missile defense in Poland and Ukraine, our plans to gain access to vital oil supplies in and around the Caucasus, in essence our plans to increasingly hem in Russia to its south and west. Imagine if China were to build missile defense bases in Mexico and the Caribbean. The fact that these neo-cons do not see how the world is increasingly moving away from the 90's world of uni-polarity is the true downfall in their foreign policy. Our policy towards Russia has been to treat her like she is irrelevant. Now that Russia has gotten a chance to flex its muscles once again in the region, nothing, not our threats over dismissal from the G-8, and certainly not our contradictory words will get her to backdown.
What's even more dismaying than our mistakes in foreign policy, however, is the complete "tow the line" attitude set up by the mainstream media. I understand the government putting out the message that they are. Regardless of how they truly feel (and I can imagine that they were not too happy with Saakashvili going ahead with his plans) they have to look out for their self-interest and the interest of someone they call their ally. My problem is that the MSM is so unquestioning in its reporting- they buy so completely into the narrative presented by the government. It's been talked about endlessly by much better commentators (Glenn Greenwald for salon.com in particular, if you ever get a chance you should read his thoughtful, logical, and at times transcedent blog), but when you have media that is owned overwhelmingly by the same corporate interests, journalists so concered about becoming stars/editors, and so concerned about being in the loop, getting the latest exclusive, and being loved by the very people they are supposed to be reporting on, well, there's gonna be problems when it comes time for true investigative reporting and thoughtful analysis.

A lot of "real journalists" badmouth blogs and message boards because they supposedly lower the discourse, and the people who write on them are not trained in journalism, so how can they possibly report the news. And yet, everytime I want good analysis on world events, sports, domestic policy, discussions of the city council, or really anything I go to blogs or message boards. Part of it is because of the convenience, but in my opinion, the alternative media and the non-professionals do a much better job of reporting and giving logical opinions on the particular subject of interests. I love lurking on message boards, because, a few smart-ass internet thugs aside, I love to read the astounding intelligence which some people have on particular subjects. The Russia-Georgia conflict is no exception. I knew some things about the history of South Ossetia and Georgia after the Cold War, but by reading other people who pay attention to history and who cast a critical eye towards information gleaned from a myriad of sources I've learned a great deal more.
I've gained so much knowledge from reading the message boards of salon.com, joeposnanski.com, okayplayer.com, just to name a few. In many instances, I've learned more about history and business from years of reading message boards than I did in college. The average American often times gets a bad rap (and I'll be the first person to make a joke more often than not) but the informed crowd, the type that reads the news, looks for their news in many sources, goes to be the studio audience for Who Wants to be a Millionaire, is what keeps a democracy flourishing. And just like Who Wants to be a Millionaire, they'll more often than not come up with the right answer. That's whats so refreshing about the alternative outlets for news and analysis and what's so depressing about the increasingly isolated and consolidated mainstream media who now have to rely solely on access and not their ability for logical analysis in order to remain relevant.

Dinner For One

It took me a minute to catch my breath after having walked so far without any sidewalks, alongside a road with cars whizzing behind my back at a frightening pace. The only thing keeping me from becoming roadkill was the small white line that created an 8-inch walking space for the courageous pedestrian, it felt like walking on a balance beam. It had been a while since I'd walked in Nashville let alone Durham; I forgot how dangerous walking in the south could be sometimes. That was but the easy part of my journey, however. I stood outside the wood framed door, under the shade provided by the roof which jutted out over the walkway; for me it felt more like a gangplank. I looked down at the blob of gum two inches in front of my foot while I exhaled one last time and reached for the pepper-shaped door handle.

"How you doing today? How can I help you?" said the cheerful brown-haired hostess stationed at the front of the Chili's Restaurant a few blocks down the road from my girlfriend's apartment.
I told her that I wanted some food- she probably thought that I wanted Chili's ToGo and came in the wrong door. I looked her in the eyes- I think she blinked twice before she responded.
"Just one?" she asked with the voice you use when a young child loses a turn in Candy Land. I looked around, hoping to spot anyone by themselves, anyone. Someone in a booth or at a table would be preferable, but even somebody having a late lunch at the bar by themselves would have been fine. No such luck. Ever person in the place was at least paired up and a good amount of them were with two or more people, laughing and having wonderful conversations about Michael Phelps or the presidential race, or the happiness they felt about having so many wonderful friends and never having to eat alone on a Saturday afternoon in a town they've never been in. She walked me to a table towards the back but in the direct sightlines of the entrance, so that ever person casually looking could get a glimpse of me eating my mushroom swiss burger all by my lonesome.
Maybe I was overreacting- but it's that word "just" and how it's said that makes all of the difference. It signifies loneliness- what LOSER goes to a sit-down restaurant by themselves? Once the hostess sees that you're eating by yourself, it's like she knows your entire life- it's the once piece of evidence needed to convict you on all charges- nerdiness, incompatibility, awkwardness. The assumption is that there must be something wrong with you as a person to have to eat alone. The may be a bit too strong; it's not that there is something wrong or unnatural about it, but like Homer Simpson said about his gay friend- it's not.... usual. I know, I know, having the ability to go places on your own can also signify a kind of strength and confidence. But from a distance it looks sad and tragic- up close it just feels disappointing.
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Of course none of that is actually true, it is perfectly fine to eat, go to a movie, go to a concert, and generally have an enjoyable time all by yourself. I've done so many things by myself, and still do it all the time. Sometimes I prefer to be by myself when I'm engaged in one of those activities. A few hours after the above mentioned incident I went to a Chinese buffet by myself and it was great. I got to eat at my own pace, I did a lot of very productive writing as well as some even more productive thinking, and I got to have my requisite one beer (a very tasty Tsing Tao) without feeling any kind of guilt. Those thoughts didn't creep up on me at all. Part of it is because the Chinese buffet was a lot more low-key, drabbly lit and almost completely empty. A very contemplative place, a restaurant worthy of a person's reflections and kind enough to give you your own space. Chili's was full and loud, bright as the sun at noon, with waitresses/waiters constantly asking you if you wanted, needed, required, any help, assistance, appetizers, or the check. The atmosphere was conducive to jokes and lots friends and petty (in a good way) conversations. It magnified the best parts about being with a group while magnifying the inadequacies of being by yourself.
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This has happened to me before, this sudden feeling, a self-consciousness accompanied by only its own thoughts (in fact I wrote a rather lengthy blog post about it). Freshman year of college I went to a concert by myself because I really wanted to see the artists that were playing and I couldn't get anyone to pay the 25 bucks it cost to go. I remember seeing people from my school and them asking me who I came with, wondering if I was waiting someone, mouths agape when I told them I came by myself. The worst part was, I was totally self-conscious even though I didn't normally give one damn about anything those people thought. I wasn't too much concerned about actually going to a show, it was having something to do, someone to talk to during the interim periods, before the next act came on. I was so concerned I even bought some cigarettes just to have something to do- something I hadn't touched since the summer before I turned 17, an activity that I hadn't ever done even semi-regularly. I ended up smoking two before throwing the rest in the garbage.
Part of or maybe even most of this reoccurence, is my natural anxiety about moving to a new place and not having that many friends yet. I always wondered how come people always expressed having such a hard time meeting people once they are out of school.. I don't anymore. Although I've only lived in New York for two weeks, I know why. It's tough to meet people besides your co-workers without school, which forces you to get to know people. I've moved around a lot, I've had to make friends quickly all the time. It's just that there are not that many opportunities, and when there are, you have to create them yourself. I'm not too worried- I've always been one to explore my surroundings, and if I try and create some distance between myself and the situation I can see that I'm not doing that badly. Sometimes, just the perception that things are proceeding too slowly can have a tremendous effect.
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Just yesterday I went to see a movie at Socrates Sculpture Park on Vernon and Broadway in Astoria on a whim. It was an old Italian film, 8 1/2, by Federico Fellini, the same guy who made Il Dolce Vita. I got there a little early 45 minutes or so before the movie started- the time you had to figure out what to do in the interim, besides sitting down and making sure you put on your "I'm not at all concerned that I'm by myself" face. In lieu of conversation, I listened to some old world Italian music, paid 9 dollars to have eggplant parmagiana, sausage and peppers, meatballs, and a canoli, drank some coffee, and sat on the cold grass in my shorts as the wind blew brisquely off the East River. Luckily the coffee, which was quite brilliant, warmed me up, helped me to focus on the movie when it started. Pretty much everbody else there had muiltiple companions, blankets or chairs to sit on, and bags with other snacks and bottles of wine. Those are the moments that can go either way- I love being able to ponder the meaning behind a beautifully shot film, hate not having someone to discuss it with.
I sat down with another 15 minutes to kill. I spent it people watching. There was a Caribbean woman probably in her late twenties, her hair wrapped in a black scarf sitting a few yards in front of me. Like me she was by herself, unlike me she was smart enough to bring a blanket and a bag. I watched her look around, at all the people with their significant others and pets and coworkers, wishing desperately that she saw someone in the crowd that she knew. Resigned, she stared blankly at the screen as it flashed pictures of some of the parks sculptures and waited quietly for the movie to begin. Her misfortune was my gain though and I had to smile; sometimes we're all alone in the same boat.

Another Day at FedEx (August 2, 2005)

The best part about working at FedEx is never knowing who you’re going to meet. I was working the split at the belt with Robert when the horribly pretentious new Sort manager takes Robert over to belt 2, his new assignment being loading the home delivery and hewlett packard trucks. Then, this cat from the unload comes to help me on the split. He looks a little boho-ish, mostly because of the wild fro. It's not the type that is from being too lazy or cheap to cut your hair, it's not like mine it's more purposeful, like each strand of hair that stuck out was perfectly placed their right before he came to work. So we're splitting and chatting, find out his name is Dwight. We get to talking about our lives, how each of us ended up at fedEx; Roy told me everyone has a story. Dwight told me that he was going to MTSU before he dropped out, which I took to mean that he had been doing this kind of physical work ever since. I could tell he was smart though, smart enough to have easily gone through college several times; too smart to be doing this work without a very good reason. He told me he got a record deal with Columbia/Sony back in the day, which also caught me off guard because I figured he was some kind of independent musician; I had never met anyone who had been signed by a major label before. He told me that FedEx was just his parttime job and that he went around the world rhyming, in Japan, in Europe, across the States. I believed him; I don't think he thought I did because as we're splitting the small packages coming across the belt we come across one that is open and has a bunch of magazines going to Tower. He takes out one of them, it was either XXL or Urb and he flips through it. And there, right next to the picture of ?uestlove and Public Enemy is the man standing across from me, doing hard work like he was one of us commoners. Shit, he was loading up vans with boxes of magazines that had his fucking picture in them. I looked at the picture again, next to his picture printed in white letters was his stage name, Count Bass D. I stood back.... I couldn't believe it, I started to smile then laugh and then something in between. I couldn't believe it because I listened to him, ever since they wrote about his album in the Onion. Ever since I heard that there was this real nice cat out of Nashville called Count Bass D, right before I moved here. I would learn later about his days on the major label but to me he had always been just some underground figure head who was real nice at rhyming and at playing instruments and at making beats. Why was he working here? I knew that he didn't make a LOT of money, since he was on an indie label now, but with the shows he does (less now I guess because he has a family) I figure he has to pull in enough bank where he does not have to do this type of work. And I was right, he told me that rhyming more than pays the bills, but he was thinking about his family by working the night shift at FedEx. He needed a job with benefits and health insurance; he didn't make enough money where he did not have to worry about something catostrophic happening. That's something everyone has to respect, this cat has been in Rolling Stone and Vibe, makes critically acclaimed albums, has done music with so many incredible artists, travels all across the world playing music, and here he is, getting up at 2 in the morning, having me, a kid who buys his albums, teaching him the Belt 3 split and what boxes to pull so he can have health insurance for his children. That's just incredible to me, I hope if I ever do great things that I can be as unpretentious as that. I know it's gotta be killing him that rappers with 1/10th of his rhyming talent, 1/100th of his beat making skills, and 1/1000th of his music skills are making millions and buying yachts and are making sure their kids and grandkids are set for life. Or maybe its just killing me, the sacrifices that staying true and making art, doing something that you love the way you love to do it will have you make. It's the realization that you'll have to choose sometimes, between what you love and making money. It makes me so unsure about my future, because I do want to make money, so I can buy my mom a Jaguar and if I'm real good a house. But I know that loving history is not exactly the way to go to achieve that. I may be interested and I may love what I'm doing, but I've had my fill of Ramen noodles, I'm done with Spam, I don't want it to take 20 years, when all of my children have left for me to finally live comfortably. But then I see it from the otherside of things, that we only have one life to live. On my deathbed, it's not going to be important that I made a lot of money, the only way my money (if I have any) will comfort me is by allowing me to stay in a more expensive hospital. Otherwise, while I'm lying there, old, or maybe if I die in my sleep, I'll be comforted by knowing that I made the most out of my life, I did everything that I wanted to do and that the only reason that I'd HAVE to keep on living is to see what else the future will bring; and that's abhorringly selfish in my book since I'm taking up resources that could be devoted to a young person who still has so many years ahead of them. And really, there is no choice between the two; I just want to know what it feels like to be able to buy anything I want without having to worry. But I'm so happy that I got to work at FedEx, and this summer has been great, even if for only one reason.

I haven't heard a good EP in a LONG TIME. Well until today. I got the album from Dwight. I knew it was an EP from reading about it. For some reason, maybe the same reason that I like short stories, I sometimes prefer an EP to a full length LP. Great LP's are like great novels or a baseball season, a long winding road, filled with twists and turns, always have something unexpected and build gradually to a boiling point before releasing you. The end of either one is always an event as is the beginning, something that must be witnessed, heard, read or you've missed the whole point. Not that the middle is unimportant, since most of the time the best part is in the middle, but the tempo and mood are set by the beginning and the ending is the culmination of all of the pieces. Great Short stories and likewise EP's and episodes of Cowboy Bebop are like a burst, an NFL playoff game, you feel all of the action at once, using all of your senses in a few instances. The best short stories make you feel like you read a novels worth of material in a matter of pages. There really is no beginning or end, you're smacked into the middle, or you feel like you've been thrown into a murky mess and you have to find your way out. A great EP or short story leaves you something less than satisfied, like the first time I tasted Vanilla coke when it was 100 degrees outside and i was thirsy as hell. After I purchased it and took a small taste I guzzled it down in about 2 and a half seconds and I didn't know what to do after that, Im liked it that much. (It's a little strange when a drink has a profound effect on you). It's more than just being thirsty though, I could always get water or something else, it was a distinctive flavor, something I'd never try before and it would never be exactly the same again. I guess a more appropriate comparsion would be to that HBO movie (need to remember the name) with the Jewish restaurant and the people who worked there and how it hopped between each one of their lives telling their stories after they find out the restaurant is closing. I loved that movie, (even past the whole Jessica and me connection that that white girl and black dude had) it left me wanting to see more, it was accurately described as more like the pilot episode of some brilliant show than an actual movie.
I read Devil in a Blue Dress or listen to Blazing Arrow and I get the same feelings that I had before. I read a story by Chester Himes and it feels muted, never having quite the sensation. That's what Dwight's EP is going to feel like. It was sonically brilliant, the rhymes were ill when he was rhyming and Down Easy was a nice song. But it was just short and my ears will become less and less sensitive to its sound down the road. I'll always like it, I wanted more after it was over. People love and hate wanting more, if they're going to get more they love it, when there is no more they hate it. I've always liked the feeling either way, probaby more the latter than the former, because then I know how much of an effect it had on me.
Everytime I'm about to finish listening to one of my favorite albums (when its about to end) or I'm about to finish a really good book I always get this feeling, like a tingling, like nostalgia kicking up before I even have a chance to reminisce. Maybe because of some subconscious effort I'd rather read or hear something with no real end, no real beginning, just smack dab in the middle. Because really, all stories are always in the middle, everyones lives are lived in the middle. There are parts that are connected and things that have happened which are not in the scope of the story, but are still part of it. Our lives are really just really long short stories in an incredible big ass novel, I'm gonna stop before I start talking about ballets and shit.

A Remedy for Claustrophobia (September 30, 2005)

I missed my first two classes today, for a good reason though. Decided that I needed to go to the library downtown because I couldn't get the book that I needed from the library here, and to be honest every few days I need to get off campus because it makes me claustrophobic. I was going to do the whole park and ride thing, but when I got to my car the battery was dead, I left my lights on. It'll be hard to get a jump parked where I am, hopefully I can get it into neutral and just roll it down and then have somebody jump it for me. I really hope that works, because if it doesn't I'll have to have people there to push it.
I ended up taking the gold line to the Forest Park Station and then taking the Metrolink from there. I love public transportation, brings people together, also because it's so much easier to think since I don't have to worry about driving and parking, all I have to do is have enough sense to get off where I'm supposed to. I love cities too, I don't really care about the size of the skyline, as long as there is one. I like to get lost in between skyscrapers, I love old ass brick buildings that look like shit on the outside but look good on the inside. I love going into the city in the morning, the sun's up but it's not at it's highest, and usually it's windy as hell cuz of the buildings and we're close to water. I got to the library quickly, walked on Pine and then turned onto Tucker and then onto Olive. There weren't many bums laying on the benches in the park today, just the usual variety of old bag ladies and ex-cons, with a single teenager sitting listening to headphones.
I love the downtown library, it's old and beautiful, the building is damn near regal, at least in my eyes (it ain't a metaphor for how uplifting books are, I really do think the building looks nice). I got in and out quickly though, I returned my old book and asked the lady at the desk to retrieve the new one that I wanted from the central stacks. I could not have been there more than 10 minutes. I walked out of the library hoping to get back to school in time to catch a little bit of finance.
There are a couple of things that catch my eye every time I go to the library. One of them is a sign that says Art and Soul Cafe, I'm guessing that it's next to the church that is right across the street from the library. I want to go there, it sounds nice, I'm hoping it's not part of the church because while that may provide the extra soul it'll probably take a little bit away from the art, and besides I'm not looking for the type of soul that church can provide. I finally wrote down the information to see the website for it, I'll probably look at it some time tomorrow. The second thing that catches my eyes is this one deli that is on 11th and Olive, the 2 cents pantry (or something like that). It was in a one of those tall brick buildings that the city was rapidly turning into lofts. In fact, the building they occupied had just been sold and they were going out of business (read that as being kicked out) so they could make so more lofts for the young professionals the city was hoping to attract in an effort to bring a new heyday to St. Louis. It's ironic because inside there are all these pictures and knick knacks and antiques from St. Louis' previous heyday, back from around the early 1900's til around 1920, probably a little beyond then I suppose. It seemed like a fun time to be in city (if you were white of course), it's a little sad how most of the cities in the Midwest deteriorated, the whole white flight thing, plus the moving of all the industries, and the total abandoning of the cities by the state governments. St. Louis, Milwaukee, Gary, Detroit, Cleveland, and countless other cities suffered the same fate. Chicago was spared because it at least had the finance industry to keep it going, besides Chicago is too large for something like that to effect it. If Black people moved into one neighborhood, white people didn't have to leave the city, they could just move to another section. Of course, countless white people did leave the city, but there was more than enough white people and business for the city to remain prosperous. In the smaller cities their only fate was white people moving to the suburbs and businesses either leaving with them to the outskirts, or moving down South where they could exploit workers for much less.
I always seem to get away from myself. Anyway, I walked into the deli and suddenly got incredibly hungry at the sight of all the meats and cheeses and so after I was done looking at all the antiques and pictures I ordered a pastrami on rye without even looking at how much it was, I figured it was the least I could do, they probably hadn't had a customer in weeks. The cashier/counter worker eagerly started making my sandwich and as he cut the pastrami I finally decided to look up at the prices, and what I saw almost killed me. A pastrami sandwich was 5.50. A momentary lapse in my normally frugal ways had cost me 6 bucks, for a fuckin sandwich. I was about to tell him nevermind and walk straight out the door, but I didn't have the heart. They were going out of business and every sale they made could have been their last. So instead, I just sat quietly and paid the 6 bucks for the sandwich, praying that it was good so at least I could say I ate well. I should have asked for one of the knick knacks as part of the meal, it was the least they could do, I was probably going to be their last customer ever. With prices like that no wonder.
The last thing that caught my eye while I was walking back to the 8th and Pine Station was this one bar called Tanner B's. I had walked past it earlier and saw a flyer on the front door in passing, but didn't really pay it any attention. When I came back though I looked at it again. It was a flyer for Hoosierweight Boxing, I guess it's just some local fights that are put on down on the south side of the city. I'm a huge boxing fan and I wrote down all of the information for the flyer. In the mean time, one of the bartenders came out to check out what exactly this short black man was doing in front of his bar at 11 o'clock in the morning. He was relieved to see that I was just writing down the information for the fights, and he started to tell me a little bit about them. After I finished writing down the information I went through the usual dilemma of trying to find someone who would come with me. It's always a hassle, I always come up with a few names besides my closest friends. Some people will say yes because they're nice and I appreciate it, but I would much rather go with someone who is an actual boxing fan like me, just so we could talk about the fights, among other things, while we're there. As long as the conversation flows smoothly I don't really have a problem, but a smooth flowing conversation and a recognition of jabs and parries is much better.
I finally got back to the Eighth and Pine Station and finally got down to eating my sandwich. It was pretty good, the only bad thing I could say about it was that the bread was a little gummy, not tough like rye bread should be. It beats the hell out of the chain deli's, but it doesn't fuck with Jake's or any of the other city deli's. But overall it was a nice sandwich and I figure that it was worth half of the 6 dollars I spent, no mean feat for food.

Walk on By

The first time that I remember seeing Isaac Hayes it actually had nothing to do with music. Even though my parents didn't have any money they always insisted on having cable (thanks guys!) and my mom use to tape movies off of Cinemax all the time. I guess they were having a late 80's make fun of blaxploitation day or something (although now that I think about it, we were awfully close to the late 80's in 1991), so they showed Hollywood Shuffle and I'm Gonna Get You Sucka back to back.
My mother, while not your cool mom in the traditional sense, was of the belief that you should not hide different kinds of movies and books from your children in some vain effort to protect them. I was too young to get either of those movies, particularly Hollywood Shuffle- it didn't matter; I liked I'm Gonna Get U Sucka better anyway because of Slammer (Jim Brown) getting shot in his bunion. Anyway, for the first few years of my (semi) cognizant life I knew Isaac Hayes as Hammer, the man who owned the rib shack where Chris Rock ordered "one rib" (I sho am hungry). The man who loaded himself up with enough guns and grenades to take on the Russian army and who promptly slipped on some well-placed bullets before the fight even started. I still love watching that movie, and now that I have some knowledge of blaxploitation it is even more hilarious.
It wasn't until later that I got to know who Isaac Hayes really was, a musical genius who got his due, but never really did. Of course, he is most remembered for composing the theme (and the rest of the soundtrack) for Shaft- the key to his everlasting fame, although its not my favorite song from him by a long shot. For me, my favorite song is "Walk on By," written originally by Burt Bacharach (the guy who wrote for Dionne Warwick) and appearing on my favorite album of his, Hot Buttered Soul. I remember my mom had that cd, I remember listening to it, and I remember wrecking it (I did that with a lot of my mothers music).
But I also remember the orchestral strings and haunting voices, sounding like they were lost in the desert, the buzzing guitar constantly circling overheard, swooping like a hawk at just the right opportunity. I can feel the anguish that Hayes puts into the song, and how the background voices seem to be both tender and teasing. But mostly I remember the absolute perfection of "Walk on By." Then there is the absolutely lovely, epically ended and incomparably long "By the Time I Get to Phoenix;" the man knew how to do a cover justice. "Hyperbolicsyllabicsequedalymistic" (and you better believe I had to look up the spelling)- is an absolute stomper with the lovely background, although truth be told I don't like it as much as most people. "One Woman" is the least memorable and perhaps the most syrupy but it still stands up as a beautiful ballad. The three long form songs really showcase the Bar-Kays ridiculous talent- my second favorite group in Stax absolutely incredible stable of sessionist (someone should make a movie about all of them- the Mar-Keys, Bar-Kays, and Booker T. and the MG's). It would be a while before I could truly appreciate the long form music that he was making and I always wondered why the hell he only had four songs on there; but his shiny bald head on the album- with the thick gold rope hanging down from his neck and his trademark aviators were the epitome of sparse yet over-the-top coolness.
The thing is, his first album bombed, I mean absolutely bombed. He had been a producer and musician at Stax before he dropped his first album- Presenting Isaac Hayes and it did absolutely terrible. He wasn't up for making a second album but the head man at Stax wanted him to and so Hayes did- with the caveat that he would have MORE creative control, (the man had some balls) on the second album than he did on the first. He got with the Bar-Kays and made the aformentioned Hot Buttered Soul, and thus became a star. His next two albums- the Isaac Hayes Movement and especially Black Moses are just as great, although I have not listened to them nearly as carefully as with Hot Buttered Soul. Anyway, after that he was tabbed to do Shaft. I don't know anything else about his later discography, although I heard Chocolate Chip once, which is a shame because he was much much greater than our generation knows. Greater than Shaft, greater than Chef- the man played on what I think was absolutely the best black label in music history, greater than Motown, greater than Philadelphia, greater than Chess, even greater than Roc-a-Fella (that's a post for another day). He wrote songs for Wilson Pickett, Sam and Dave (all of the hits), Carla Thomas, the Emotions. He produced, along with Sam Porter, and Booker T. nearly every Stax artist during the early years of Stax. I suggest that everybody check out his early work- and at the very least, place some of that good Memphis soul in your box. I'll do the same, and please remember the great Isaac Hayes.

On Chivalry and Feminism

I don't remember the first time I heard the word feminism, but I do know that I use to think that only women could be a feminist. After I heard the definition of what a feminist was (I know I was in Beaufort, it was probably when I was 10 or 11) I concluded that it was a no-brainer. Since the beginning of my public education, I'd always heard that everyone was equal no matter their differences- why should disimilarities in gender be any different? It certainly helped that all of my elementary school teachers were female, my first doctor was female, and the fact that my mother did most of the child-rearing; I just naturally assumed that women authority figures was the norm and that it was like that in other realms of life as well. It wasn't until later that I learned that this was clearly not the case, that discrimination was based not just on race; it was eye-opening to say the least.
The thing is though, as a male, I felt that I couldn't contribute to the conversation in a meaningful way, that I was supposed to sit on the side lines and observe the issues being discussed. I figure that this is the way that a lot of people feel when they are not privy to conversations between ethnic/national/gender/sexual orientation groups. However, I do know that in my experiences at least, men are much more likely to comment and insert themselves in conversations on women's issues, then say, a white person is to in black issues (I've also noticed this when it comes to sexual orientation issues). This may be because of the religious arguments against feminism and homosexuality: the man is supposed to rule his wife and she is supposed to obey; homosexuality is an abomination (along with shrimp among other things, glad I'm allergic). I remember having a conversation with my father during his religious fanatic phase on the way home from church. He was telling me and my brother about how we were going to be the head of the household and how we had to rule it strongly or else the devil would act on us destroying the entire ship.. we were the only key to the success of the family, basically saying there was something inherently special about being a man besides the fact that we have penises. When I disagreed, he called me a wimp. I thought to myself, anyone getting their social direction from Genesis and Leviticus, books that are completely removed from their original context and translation should shut the hell up.
I think that people on the outside looking in are definitely allowed to voice their opinion on ideas and (issues) on a community which they may not be a part of, as long as they comment with respect and understand their place within the framework. It's not like we can live in a world completely removed from other social groups, it is only natural that we be able to comment on things that will affect us as well, if not in primarily then certainly secondarily.
That being said, although I agree with the underlying tenets of feminism- women's equality, equal pay for equal work, access to childcare, generous maternity leave, etc, I'm certainly not a radical feminist. I do not interpret ever object as some kind of phallic symbol. Nor do I believe that most feminist do. The thing is, the backlash against feminism is in the same vein as the backlash against civil rights, or welfare, or any of the other liberal policies that grew out of the civil rights movement and the 1960's and started to shrivel and die in the late 70's and the Reagan era. It's about characterization and assigning the views of the person on the farthest extreme of the spectrum to the entire group. It's saying that a feminist is someone who wants to turn gender hierarchy upside down rather than on its side.... it's saying the civil rights activist really just wants to stick his dick into every white woman that he sees... it's using a few cases of a person on welfare gaming the system (which of course, rich people would NEVER do) and saying that people on welfare are "queens" and are driving Cadillacs. It's intellectually dishonest and it has painted movements with honorable goals in mind as something completely unhinged. It has also facillitated the rise of an extremely unpallitable strain of conservatism of which are suffering the consequences today.
And yet.... I like buying things for my girlfriend at the mall, getting her nice pants, shoes, shirts. I like her asking me advice about money... I like feeling like a "man" in those times. I want to hold the door, and pull out chairs, and get up in the subway, fix things around the house, mow the grass. Consequently, I also like having a meal cooked for me when I get home, I love it when my girlfriend would clean or iron for me. I know these subscribe to stereotypical gender roles and it may have been the way I was raised. Part of it certainly is that, although these last decades have been pretty good at redefining what it meant to be a woman.. it has been pretty lousy at redefining what it means to be a man. Maybe if sometype of masculine revolution took place, I'd be the one to do the cleaning.
The thing is, in my head I know that there can be both, equality within so-called gender roles. Sometimes, (and I know there is a legitimate critique of feminism that countless women's studies professors have written) we go to far in saying that certain actions are under others. The two most prominent cases of this are housework and things that are physical (subverting physical activities as somehow less evolved or less human than mental ones). Housework, cooking, cleaning, childrearing is seen as lower pursuits than ones outside the home because it is a symbol of a time when it was the only choice that a woman had. Doing these things are not bad in and of themselves, it was not having the choice that was. At the same time, buying things for your spouse was a symbol of power, since having money is power. In a way, many feminist were thinking under the same paradigm (one that puts the outside world and business/money at the top), not thinking about whether or not that paradigm was correct in itself. Maybe we've got it all wrong- maybe those activities in the domestic sphere are actually more sublime- maybe being able to create art or do something skillful with ones body makes one more and not less human. As long as we give people the choice and opportunity to do what they deem their calling.

What Will Become of Wendy's?

So, if you haven't heard already, the LA city council is placing a moratorium on fast food restaurants in South Central. Their argument is that the poor minorities that live in the area do not have many healthy options for food, and fast food restaurants compound the problem, offering cheap, unhealthy nourishment.

Anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely love Wendy's, they have excellent fast food burgers for a price as low as 99 cent, they serve frosties, and they even have mandarin orange cups. If it wasn't for the fact that it would kill me, I think I might eat there everyday. I understand the premise behind the moratorium; people see a problem (residents of low-income areas do not have many healthy options) and they want to do something about it. Like any good progressive, I think that finding ways to provide healthier options to low-income people is an excellent idea. I know that the people on the LA city council were just trying to find a solution. The thing is, that, their solution won't do anything.. I repeat, not a damn thing, in fact it could make things worse. First, the benefits of fast food, in the case of people who are low income exceed the disadvantages, second- it in no way attracts better food options to low income areas, and third, it smacks of paternalism.

People don't eat fast food because it is healthy.. no one in their right mind thinks that McDonalds, Popeyes, or Wendy's will make them lose weight or is part of a nutritionally balanced diet. Fast food, however, has four advantages, the four C's if you will- it's convenient, it's consistent, it's cheap, and it's usually close. The convenience of fast food is that you don't have to do the cooking, and it usually does not take a long time. Moreover, you can eat it while you're in the car, on the bus, walking (okay I know I do that sometimes), basically you can go through your day without missing a beat.
Fast food may not be the tastiest of options, (although like I said, I think it tastes good), particularly if you had the chance to sit down to a real burger spot. But we all know what a Big Mac tastes like, and most likely there will be little variation. The lettuce, the cheese, pickles, onions, sauce, etc. are all gonna be there and its gonna taste like a Big Mac should... like a pretty good fast food burger. It's cheap... I just moved to New York so I don't know how much longer I can say that, but if you order off the dollar menu, you can get two double cheeseburgers, a small fry, a small drink (which you can refill), and two apple pies for 5 dollars. I know that in the long run, shopping at a grocery store is cheaper, but you need to have a bunch of cash on hand right then in order to make that work. Shoot, any college student knows that it's tough getting your hands on that kind of money all at once... but you'll have 5 bucks pretty much everyday. Of course, you could eat rice and beans everyday.... anyway, finally, if you live in a city, you pretty much know that you can find one close by, and it will stay open pretty late. Okay, so you gain some weight, and you have health problems later on in life.. right now what you care about is making that check last and maybe having a little something extra do something else that you like. The benefits are something you can cash in on right now.. the disadvantages are usually far away... even being overweight is not that bad anymore... it's damn near the norm. So until the disadvantages start to outweigh the benefits (maybe the day when we provide a baseline income to get people out of poverty, HA!) is the day that people can start choosing fast food over anything else.
Placing a moratorium on fast food restaurants doesn't even solve the real problem, the fact that there are little or no healthy options for people in low income neighborhoods. How does banning fast food restaurants bring better restaurants/grocery stores into South Central? If there was money for Whole Foods to make in the hood, don't you think they'd already be there, regardless of whether or not there is a Burger King next door. I've seen plenty of health food stores, healthy cafes in close proximity to more fattening fare; they could easily coexist if they wanted to. If you'd been to any bad neighborhood you know there are plenty of empty buildings to go around, South Central ain't midtown Manhattan. Now, instead of bringing healthier restaurants/grocery stores into South Central, what's going to happen is that the potential fast food buildings will sit empty and the unhealthy delis/corner stores/liquor stores will make more money... instead of a Burger King pepsi, people will just drink more orange Tampico (the thickest "juice" drink known to man). Instead of eating a burger, they'll have a cheesesteak. Everything will be pretty much the same, until there is money in those areas to be spent on higher priced healthy goods.
Finally, the LA city council's actions smack of blatant paternalism; people are not to be trusted in their ability to make eating choices for themselves. William Saletan, a writer for Slate said it best (and I will paraphrase him); this isn't liquor or cigarettes they are regulating, it's food. Regardless of how unhealthy it is, it's still edible food, which has good qualities as well.. namely that it gives you calories necessary for you to have the energy to survive, go to work, play with your kids, etc. Liquor and cigarettes are not necessary for survival, they do not add any value to life other than their ability to relieve stress, make a social gathering better, give you something to do while you're waiting at the bus stop, and to make a woman look more beautiful (i kid, i kid). Fast food itself is not bad, too much fast food is bad and again, if there were healthier, just as tasty options in peoples price range there is no doubt that they'd eat it. The thing is, people in this country are on the surface very wary of a top-down, paternalistic kind of mentality. It happens anyway, but people at the very least try not to overtly announce their preference for that kind of view. If the elite/politicians in our society were more willing to accept the responsibilities that come with that kind of attitude, then it would not be so bad. Ultimately though, I know that the people on the LA city council have their hearts in the right place. I just wish they also had their minds there, and started getting at the real root of the problem.

Equal But Not the Same

A few days ago, got on the A train, the very crowded A train. Among the throngs of people who entered at the same time that I did there was a pregnant woman, an average-looking white girl, short with brown hair, a brown shirt, and black pants. No seats on the train, so she grabs the railing a few steps away from where I'm standing. Wish I had a seat, just so I could stand back up and give it to her. A Hispanic man in a nice suit gets up, she smiles back at him, a couple parts awkward but more parts thankful. It got me thinking about what my limit was for getting up out of my seat for a stranger. Pregnant woman, definitely, old woman, absolutely, woman with a young child, no question, woman with plenty of bags of groceries, not even a second thought. Random woman, young woman, starts to get hazy. Man with a billion bags of groceries, juggling a ticking time bomb which if he drops it will destroy all of New York... nah nigga you gonna have to stand and man the fuck up. Naturally, then I started thinking about our differences and our equality.. men vs. women, Black, Asian, old, young. I've heard it before, read it before- equal does not mean same. Most of the men that I know would not protest if I were to give up a seat for an aforementioned woman while not giving one up for him, even if he was having a hard time. Does that mean that men and women are not equal?
Usually, this kind of thing comes to mind when I think about different social policies and their implications for society at large. Things like welfare, affirmative action, socialized medicine, the Equal Rights Amendement.
"We're all equal, why should THEY, (the people who are not the default) get special treatment?" Who said that it's special treatment- well special in the sense that it's extra, or somehow out of line? I don't like to think of social programs which level the playing field, so to speak, as special, but appopriate. Not to say that that above policies are the right ones, but that the general idea behind them are indeed appropriate.
There's an analogy, which is not perfectly apt, but something that I like to use when I think about equality. Two plus two equals four.... 24 divided by 6 also equals 4.... the derivative of 2x^2 is 4, and I could go on using any other math terminology. All of them equal 4, until those wonderful mathematical laws of ours are disproven. However, just because they all equal 4 does not mean that each equation should be approached similarly. They each require different avenues to ultimately arrive at the same solution. It's not special, merely the approriate way of dealing with the problem. Of course these leaves out the fact that humans have to compete with one another, in what is often times (but inaccurately) seen as a zero sum game. Anyway, the equality that I'm talking about, that baseline if you will, is just the baseline for being treated with basic human decency and trying to equalize opportunity. I don't know what the applicable integer is for this opportunity calculus, but I bet there is an infinite number of ways to get there, an infinite number of ways to treat people the way they were meant to be treated. Personally, I hope that when the time comes for us to know that answer, it ends up being 7 or 31.

I Played the Blues With Someone Who Knows, October 20, 2005

Slight context- I delivered newspapers at night for two months during my sophomore year of college (September and October)
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I got to the depot at around two thirty, Paul wasn't there of course, he never gets in until about 3 or 3:15 and we don't leave until about 3:30. I folded my papers as usual. I thought that I'd only have a few papers, I forgot that a lot of people only get the Sunday New York Times, which ballooned my work from 15 to 72 papers. To top it all off, I had to build the papers myself, since the Sunday times is so large they deliver it in two sections. I got down to building the papers next to this pretty big guy with a gold cap and a huge gold cross hanging down from his neck. He had a white hat that said tennis on it, and he had a cocky smirk even though the rest of his face hadn't held up well over the 40 odd years that he'd been alive. I hoped that I could hurry up and fold my half of the papers and be gone right when Paul came in, I wasn't in the mood to talk. I noticed how barren the depot was on Sunday, there was maybe a third of the people who were there on a weekday or Saturday. On the weekdays there were just as many white people as there were black people, tonight I saw only the white faces of the managers and the swing drivers. I was guessing that the black folk needed the money just a little bit more, or figured that an extra 30 or 40 bucks was worth the additional loss of sleep. Either way, the atmosphere of the place was a little different, a little less light, a little bit angrier, but just a little more comfortable as well.
I had been folding papers for about 10 minutes when the man across from me started talking, rather complaining about working for other people and how much he hated it, but also how he had to do it his entire life. Moreover he was angry that his son did not listen to him and instead of going into contracting business with his old man and living at home he decided to work for the government in some type of welfare office and live by himself, which according to him was pure folly. He also wanted his son to keep playing football after college, which his son also didn't want to do. Apparently he was offered a scout team contract with the Rams but refused it, not wanting to go through the rigors of playing football anymore. It was just pure childishness, his son was 23 and instead of being of his father's thumb for an indefinite amount of time, he wanted to be independent, and his father openly wanted him to fail.
He then delved into his life story, how he played for the Kansas City Chiefs for two years before a knee injury forced him to quit. Out of work and with no education, he became a University City school district janitor, which was his job for the next twenty years. In the time span he had two children by two different women, the latter one he married. About 4 or 5 years ago though the wheels fell off of everything, his wife cheated on him and he got divorced, he was accused of sexual harrassment at work and forced to resign with only a third of his pension, and he had been delivering papers and doing odd jobs ever since. His face became noticeably softer as he talked about the past 5 years and he went through ever twist and turn, his voice cracked. There weren't any tears, but I'm sure that they had been cried out into his pillow or over a stiff drink plenty of times before. He paused for a second after that, and then he went back to talking about his son and the lunacy of trying to be independent while being young. I hadn't said a word the entire time he told his story, but I piped in with a comment disagreeing. I said that everyone feels that way while they're a young adult, whether it's right or wrong. The ability to win or lose, succeed or fail on your own is intoxicating, one of the most attractive parts of getting away from your parents. After I finished my case for his son the man’s face changed again, this time in total disbelief that someone would disagree with him so matter of factly, especially someone as young and small as me disagreeing with someone so old and large as he was. At that moment he looked a little like my ex-girlfriend’s father. The type of arrogant man who could never fathom the fact that he could be wrong sometimes. He held his disbelief on his face as he carefully explained again, in almost the same words, how foolish it was to try and be young and independent, like the reason for my disagreement was that I hadn't heard him. He then went on to explain that he would have listened to his father if he had one in his life, how he would have played football (because it got him so far in life) and tried to work for himself instead of getting a government job. We were quiet afterward, I never told him that I agreed with him, I just looked down and finished my last batch of papers and placed them in one of my boxes. He finally spoke up again and I was worried that he would start talking about how his son again, and he did, except it was something I didn't expect to here. "Maybe I really just want to live my life through him." He paused and was about to speak again but he stopped and just smiled and finished folding his papers. By the look on his face, I guess he was going to say "It's not like I'm doing that good with mine, maybe I could do better with his." But he didn't, he just told me good luck with my route and we both walked out the depot with our papers.

Who is Knowledge Brown? September 21, 2005

"I Came to Bring the Pain"
Method Man

I came to bring the pain hardcore from the brain
Let's go inside my astral plane
Find out my mental's based on instrumental
records hey, so I can write monumental
Methods, I'm not the King
But niggaz is decaf I stick em for the CREAM
check it, just how deep can shit get
Deep as the abyss and brothers is mad fish accept it
In your Cross Colour, clothes you've crossed over
Then got Totally Krossed Out and Kris Kross
Who da boss? Niggaz get tossed to the side
And I'm the dark side of the Force
Of course it's the Method, Man from the Wu-Tang Clan
I be hectic, and comin for the head piece protect it
Fuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggaz want the ruckus
Bustin at me bruh, now bust it
Styles, I gets buckwild
Method Man on some shit, pullin niggaz files
I'm sick, insane, crazy, Drivin Miss Daisy
Out her fuckin mind now I got mine I'm Swayze


This is a post from my old blog, dated September 21st, 2005. In general, I'm not going to give context for my old posts, I figure they can stand on their own, but this particular one is very special to me. It's about a friend of mine, my first best friend (other than my brother). I found out today (through trying to find him, on facebook, myspace, then finally the Pennsylvania DOC website) that he is in a medium security prison outside of Philadelphia. Objectively (if a little stereotypically) speaking, there was always a high chance that he was going to end up there... grew up in the projects, absentee father who was later killed, brother in prison, mother on drugs. The type of kid that statistically has very little chance of not being in prison at one time during his life and even if he did manage to avoid being incaracerated, had an uphill climb towards having regular living wage style employment. All that is true.. but I can't say it didn't sadden me considerably... I've been bummed for pretty much the rest of the night.

When you move as often as I have throughout my life, you have to learn to make friends quickly, but at the same time, you rarely get a chance to develop something that is lasting. The people you meet and the friends you made when you're 6, 8, 11, 14, they're always frozen in time and place, they never change as you continue to grow older and they fade into memory, becoming cariactures at best, more often they're barely visible silohuettes. Everyone goes through this, whether they move every two years or they've lived in the same house their entire life. The difference, I think, is that you remember the people more when you're the person who moves all the time. It's akin to going shopping at a store. You are much more likely to remember the cashier than they are to remember you. Your stay in the store is short and your transaction is (relatively) memorable to you, the cashier is representative of that place. To the cashier, who stays in the store much longer than you, you are a momentary face in the crowd, who vanishes as quickly as he arrived. Well, in my memory, no matter what he has become.. and I haven't spoken to him in 11 and a half years, haven't seen him in 14... Knowledge will always be my 8 year old best friend, reciting Method Man's "I Came to Bring the Pain," in the hallway, laughing because I always got Lakeisha for my wife in MASH; the same rain-soaked kid I missed so terribly when I moved to South Carolina, the representative of Bregy and Philadelphia in the mid 90's.
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In my entire life, I have never thought about a person more than I think about Knowledge. At certain moments I think about a person more, like when I’m feelin a girl, for awhile she'll be what's on my mind the most, but Knowledge has been consistent since the 3rd grade. He came into my mind again while I was watching the Teach for America video. Most of the people watching the video were amazed at what they saw, even if they knew the alarming statistics they do not know what it's like first hand. I'm not trying to say that my entire life was spent in bad schools, for the most part I went to regular schools. Driver was a regular small town school, Broad River was regular small town school, Laurel Bay was a Department of Defense School, HSB was a good school, and Antioch, no matter how low their test scores were or how hard some of the people tried to act was just a regular city school. The schools that stick out in my mind the most though, the schools where I had the best friends and the schools that I enjoyed the most were Bregy and Juneau, and that's where I draw my experiences from.
Watching the video brought me back to the days of free lunch for everyone and the concrete playground with the bases painted onto them so we could play kickball. It made me think about the pretzel man who would come by on fridays and we could buy pretzels for 25 cents a piece. It made me remember fights everyday on the playground and the first day of school when I got jumped; the Italian kids who use to throw eggs at our school, the kids bused in from the Passyunk housing projects, and the corner store where I once left school to buy candy from. Mr. Ipolito and Ms. Pearson, Ms. Addis, Ms. DiMarco, Aaron's class, the baddest class in the history of first grade, riding the bus every week to the Jenks because we didn't have a gifted and talented program, and of course space meals and milk in a pouch, there's enough stories in those two years to fill up a lifetime, stories that people can never believe when I tell them, things I wouldn't believe if I hadn't lived them, all in the second and third grade.
But mostly it made me think about Knowledge. I thought about how we became friends when I was tutoring him in science, how we became inseperable. We use to play together at recess and during gym, we would always be partners whenever we had an assignment in class, and we use to sit together at lunch and argue about whether or not the pizzas in the plastic pouch were as disgusting as the pizzas that came in the white box and trade out items in our space meals. There are three moments in particular though, that stand out for me; how we use to play Mash over the phone because we thought it was so cool and grownup, and how we use to always laugh when somebody got an ugly girl for their wife. I remember how after I got into a fight with this one kid over who got to be the door-holder, Knowledge got mad and bloodied his lip in the auditorium the next day. And I remember the last day we spent together before I moved to South Carolina, he’d stayed over the night before and we went to Six Flags and had ourselves a ball. Minutes after we stepped out the park the rain started coming down real hard, it was one of the hardest storms I’ve ever seen and by the time we had raced back to the car we were absolutely drenched. And I remember thinking how much I didn’t want to leave, how he was the first best friend (besides my brother) that I’d ever had. It was weird how he could possibly look up to someone like me, because I so much looked up to him. Mom was always a little hippiesque so every know and then we'd try out being vegetarian, and I remember Ms. Pearson telling my mom how Knowledge decided that he was going to become a vegetarian too. One time mom drove me to the projects so I could hang out at his house and there were roaches crawling everywhere, no food in the refrigerator; we had to stay in the house the entire time. His dad had died a long time ago, his brother was doing a bid for robbing or robbing someone at the Travelodge, his mom was a confirmed drug addict. I was the only one out of all our friends that didn't grow up in the projects. I use to think that my parents were the richest people on the planet. I'm so grateful that they were always there.
I always wonder how his life turned out, how high school turned out for him, whether or not he stayed on the path that he was going on. The journey from Elementary school to high school is such a long one, and surely his surroundings brought him back down to where they are. And yet... Meeting him turned my life around, even if it took me years to realize it, and even if the effects of being cool by association wore off gradually as I slowly became a nerd again, but I also know that I changed him. He started making the honor roll from the first quarter of third grade until well after I left, after he started going to Vare. We use to talk, we called each other every week when I first moved to South Carolina, but slowly it became once a month, once every two months, every six months, until finally in the beginning of sixth grade his phone got disconnected and I never talked to him again. So when I think about Teach for America there is always a face for me. He struggled and fought more when he was 8 years old than most people here have had to or will have to their entire lives. I hope to God more than anything that he made it out of Passyunk, that he made it to a good job or to college, that he survived everything that was destined to take him down and he became a better man for it all. There is no one on the planet that deserves a better life than him. I just hope that he remembers me. Because I certainly remember and think about him.

The Black Vice President

It's been a while since I blogged... not since the end of 2005, I figure I'd give it a try again, it was something I always enjoyed, but also something that got away from me for one reason or another. The title is in honor of Fela Kuti... the Black President himself, the progenitor of afro-beat, and one of the most influential musicians the world has ever known. I started listening to him in 2004 (my favorite tracks are Lady and Scuffering and Schmiling), but I'm sad to say that I haven't been giving him much of a listen lately. Music like that.. afrobeat, bebop, prog rock, the more innovative varieties of jazz-fusion and free jazz, have not been on my radar nearly as much as they have been the past few years. Music like that is deep music, the kind that takes an investment from their listeners that other, more accessible types of music don't. And the thing is, the investment is a long term one, it takes multiple listens before it starts to pay dividends, the bandleaders/composers/musicians, take risks that aren't often safe and not immediately satisfying. Oftentimes, I'm confused... like the time I listened to Miles Davis' Pangaea... I couldn't place my finger on it, which is my charitable way of saying that I thought it sucked.. the first time I truly understood it was when I came to work hungover, Miles' pulsating, whining horns punctuated ever step I took. Music like that has its niche, it's moment where there is clarity about the musicians vision.. not saying that Miles Davis wrote it with a hungover young wage slave in mind, but that it was in that mode where I could finally access what he was trying to do. The point is that now that I'm free from some of the constraints that senior year of college placed upon me, now that my evenings, for the most part, are mine, I think I can get back to that moment, place Fela back in my radar.

Anyway, I got completely off topic. This is how I am though, I'm going to go off on weird tangents from time to time.. My posts are gonna be about anything and everything and nothing in particular. The first few ones will be from my old blog.. ones that upon rereading them after several years I'm the least embarassed by. Hope you enjoy!