As many of you know, I'm in a book club. We've been reading together going on six years (I think) and we have read probably over a hundred books. Though to accommodate one another's tastes, I have been forced to read books I would never have picked up of my own accord: Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte), A Visit from the Goon Squad (Jennifer Egan), The Stories of John Cheever (by, remarkably, John Cheever), Catch-22 (Joseph Heller), Pilgrim at Tinker's Creek (Annie Dillard, and, by the way, one of the worst books EVER), One Hundred Years of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez), A Knight in Shining Armor (by Jude Deveraux of the "heaving bosoms" genre), Gone With the Wind (Margaret Mitchell) and American Psycho (by Bret Easton Ellis, though I will confess, I LOVED it. It's sick and misogynistic but completely fascinating). That's a terribly small and unjust sampling.
We met a couple of weeks ago over brunch on the Upper East Side at The Chat Noir to have some food and conversation. At the end of our meandering discussion of the book and whatever side trails we find the conversation leads us, we pick a book. All the Iphones/blackberries/androids come out of purses and pockets as we scroll through the best seller lists, look up author names, and think of subjects that we want to explore. Then we reach a consensus and voila! Another book or two is chosen and we wander into miasmic Manhattan.
They picked my book. And while I feel safe saying that my book club compatriots consider me well-read, they're not necessarily thrilled about my ideas because they usually have to do with hiking, nature, or messed up people doing stupid things. So I was very excited when they all agreed to read Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner.
I adore Wallace Stegner. His fiction is certainly noteworthy but I am more a fan of his essays on conservation in the American West. My favorite book of his is Marking the Sparrow's Fall. Stegner grew up all over the west as part of a restless, homesteading family, but he found himself living his teen years in Salt Lake City and chose to call Salt Lake City his home, though he taught at Stanford (where he met Edward Abbey, one of my favorite authors) and in the east (though I can't remember where).
His love of Salt Lake City is not the reason I adore Stegner, though it may factor unconsciously into my adoration. He sees people. There is an excitement that rises in me when I read a poignant passage and my heart starts to swell because I know the truth of it. And that's how Stegner makes me feel.
This is the passage that brought me to tears the other night (just read the book to get the context):
"The vision of her floundering in the wake of the concentrated helpers and their feeble charge turned my distress into outrage. Not at any of the helpers, not at Charity's willfulness, not at the solidarity of women collaborating in what only they could do as well, while excluding male intrusions. No, at it, at fate, at the miserable failure of the law of nature to conform to the dream of man: at what living had done to the woman my life was fused with, what her life had been and was. What she had missed, how much been kept from her, how little her potential had been realized, how hampered were her affection and willingness and warmth. The sight of her burned my eyes."
It doesn't matter if this doesn't touch your soul, there are many other passages in many other books that may do just that.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Thankful Thursday
Well, I have 58 minutes to get in my thoughts for Thankful Thursday, and it's going to be short and sweet.
To begin:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/ann-romney-defends-role-as-stay-at-home-mom-after-democratic-pundits-remarks/2012/04/12/gIQACeopDT_story.html
In case you're not aware, today the news is all abuzz with word that Hilary Rosen, a democratic strategist, essentially said that Anne Romney cannot with any veracity comment on the plight of women worrying about the economy because she has never worked a day in her life.
That may be true, as in, Anne Romney has never held a job in her adult life. Mittens, I'm sure, has made it financially feasible for Anne to be a stay-at-home mom, which, let's not joke around here, is incredibly hard work. I once read something a long time ago that said if stay-at-home moms were compensated for their hours, they'd make somewhere in the neighborhood of $250,000 a year. Anne Romney has a gaggle of children, albeit grown. I will never fault any woman for choosing to stay at home if she is financially capable of doing so and chooses to.
First world worries.
While in Africa, millions of girls have to worry about this:
http://www.guttmacher.org/pubs/journals/2313097.html
The link is an article to female circumcision, aka genital mutilation. You read that right. Most often performed by their mothers with whatever sharp implement happens to be laying around.
If you'd like to move to Iran and decide your marriage is no longer working, you can look forward to this:
http://www.iran-e-azad.org/stoning/women.html
Stoning. In the 21st century.
So, I'm thankful that today, this is what we in America are all worked up about. But let's not take our eye off the ball. There are bigger things to worry about.
To begin:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/ann-romney-defends-role-as-stay-at-home-mom-after-democratic-pundits-remarks/2012/04/12/gIQACeopDT_story.html
In case you're not aware, today the news is all abuzz with word that Hilary Rosen, a democratic strategist, essentially said that Anne Romney cannot with any veracity comment on the plight of women worrying about the economy because she has never worked a day in her life.
That may be true, as in, Anne Romney has never held a job in her adult life. Mittens, I'm sure, has made it financially feasible for Anne to be a stay-at-home mom, which, let's not joke around here, is incredibly hard work. I once read something a long time ago that said if stay-at-home moms were compensated for their hours, they'd make somewhere in the neighborhood of $250,000 a year. Anne Romney has a gaggle of children, albeit grown. I will never fault any woman for choosing to stay at home if she is financially capable of doing so and chooses to.
First world worries.
While in Africa, millions of girls have to worry about this:
http://www.guttmacher.org/pubs/journals/2313097.html
The link is an article to female circumcision, aka genital mutilation. You read that right. Most often performed by their mothers with whatever sharp implement happens to be laying around.
If you'd like to move to Iran and decide your marriage is no longer working, you can look forward to this:
http://www.iran-e-azad.org/stoning/women.html
Stoning. In the 21st century.
So, I'm thankful that today, this is what we in America are all worked up about. But let's not take our eye off the ball. There are bigger things to worry about.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Wilderness Wednesday
This was the view from my front yard growing up. Well, actually, you have to go a little west and north, as this is the view from Mt. Ben Lomond from the east, but this was the mountain looming over me. She is 9712 feet above sea level and when you get to the top, about 8.2 miles from the North Ogden divide, you will have a 360 view of Northern Utah; Willard Bay and the Great Salt Lake to the west, Willard Peak to the North and East, and the city of Ogden and all points visible south.
I was one time at the top of this peak, with a girl and her brother who lived in the neighborhood (if you can call those long, Utah blocks "in the neighborhood."). She lived around the "corner" (again, a phrase I use loosely because it was probably a half mile walk) and she had horses. One summer day, moving toward late afternoon, he suggested we ride their horses to the top and back. I wish I remember this girl's name. But she was fascinating to me with her long blonde pigtail braids, cut off jean shorts and her flannel shirted brother. She seemed like a real cowgirl and I, not that far removed from my early childhood in southern California, was enthralled. I knew nothing about horses or hiking but I wanted to be prove my cowgirl mettle, and in the dust of late afternoon, headed up the mountainside.
We did make it to the top, but I remember nothing about being there. I remember, however, being terrified the whole time, especially coming down. I was sharing the saddle with the girl and the horse, and the distance between my elevated self on the horse and the ground suddenly became magnified as the horse walked precariously downward. The trails were suddenly too narrow, the specter of falling off the back of the horse, the horse getting spooked and bucking us off loomed large as I imagined tumbling down 200 feet of rock face to my certain death.
We made it back just as the sun descended beyond the Great Salt Lake, and I resolved to myself that I would never, never, ride a horse for hiking ever again. I have been true to my word (though for more complicated reasons other than just not liking that particular experience), but I have not been back to the top of that peak. The trailhead is about a fifteen minute drive from my parent's house, and well, it's time. If I start early, I can do 16 miles in a day. I did 17miles in a river (I'll tell you about that hike later). Mark my words, all, this peak will be hiked!
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Stand Tall Tuesday
This is Ashley Judd. Ashley, at first glance, is the daughter of Naomi Judd, sister of Wynona, and a very successful actress in her own right. She also happens to be very smart, having graduated with a Masters in Public Administration from Harvard's John F. Kennedy School of Government. She has given her time to innumerable philanthropic projects, including Defenders of Wildlife, Equality, Eracism, and the International Research Center on Women.
But you know what people want to talk about? They want to tear her apart for looking "puffy" on her new television show.
"But, the actress writes, the conversation is really a misogynistic assault on all women." The article in its entirety is below.
http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/04/09/ashley-judd-slaps-media-in-the-face-for-speculation-over-her-puffy-appearance.html
This is a reflection of a larger problem that is happening in our society, and without going into it too deeply, I will simply say that there is a larger denigration of women happening right now, with men going on about how Jessica Simpson, who is in the last months of her pregnancy is fat, how remarkably beautiful and smashingly bodied Jennifer Lopez and Cameron Diaz at the Oscars were "long in the teeth." Now we have lawmakers working very steadily at stealing reproductive rights that women have legally had since 1973, quietly signing laws that take away women's equal pay, etc.
Please read the above article, everybody.
I am in a business that regularly castigates women for not being thin enough, young enough, pretty enough, and fill in whichever "enough" strikes you personally. And last but not least, know that you are "enough" of everything.
Sunday, April 08, 2012
Monday Musings
This is a painting by Utah artist Jon McNaughton. He came to my attention a few months ago, when I saw his work, "One Nation Under Socialism" below:
Initially, I was completely furious that I was being bashed over the head by his didactic, screaming, heavy artist's hand. Then I was livid that he was telling me what to believe with his paintings.
As you can see, they leave little to the imagination. The painting below is by Arnold Friberg, also a member of the Mormon Church. If you have been to the visitor's center at Temple Square, you will see many of his paintings depicting scenes from the Book of Mormon.
I listened to a podcast on Radio West (http://radiowest.kuer.org/post/32912-art-politics-and-paintings-jon-mcnaughton) featuring McNaughton and I was prepared as I started to really him. But I couldn't. It turns out he's a level-headed guy. His speech isn't full of hateful vitriol as one would assume from his paintings. He is not anti-Obama, in fact he says that he believes that President Obama was fairly elected and McNaughton has no "birther" type leanings. He went on to say that he believed that the country started to take a socialistic turn under the administration of George W. Bush with the implementation of the bank bailouts in 2008.
It begs the question, then, "why not pictures of Dubya burning the Constitution?"
He admits that the paintings are meant to be political and hard-hitting (he recently sold "One Country Under Socialism" to Sean Hannity for six figures). He also admits that the paintings are not terribly nuanced, that they are message heavy.
What I think is interesting about the paintings is that though they are heavy-handed and lacking in imagination, he is starting a conversation. And with this being the "Mormon moment," with the likely ascendancy of Mitt Romney to the Republican nomination, well, how do Mormons feel about their moment in the spotlight? How can Mormons answer the stories that are spinning through the media right now (and admittedly, a lot of the spin is full of misinformation, written by people who are not Mormon and clearly didn't ask any Mormons before they published)? How can the Mormons give accurate information to an electorate largely skeptical of Mormons and their beliefs? Is it more about Mormon culture (largely giving, conservative, Republican, pro-life, etc.) or Mormon doctrine, which can veer into the misogynistic and spooky?
I am curious to see how this unfolds.
Monday, April 02, 2012
Becoming Unstuck
I know it's been a while but I've been feeling...well...stuck. I am constantly ranting to my friends about politics, religion, the Republican War on Women, feminism, ad nauseam, etc. Needless to say, I have great friends who tolerate my musings. : )
Mostly, what I've been realizing is that I feel an acute sense of helplessness. The news screams at me, "Syria, Assad, starving children in Africa, Iran, Israel, Russia, Bombs, Romney, Santorum, Mormons, Keith Olbermann left current?!" and mostly I want to cover my head with the sofa cushion and just drink frappuccinos.
Enter my delightful co-worker, published author, and creative delight, Mary. She has been a great champion of my writing; encouraging, cajoling, suggesting and unconsciously, yet decidedly inspiring.
You'll see her ideas coming to life here: A blog a day, each day with a theme that I feel passionate about. I leave it to you if you want to check every day, but I'm interested to see where this road goes.
Cursory ideas include:
Monday Musings
Tuesday ?
Walkabout Wednesday
Thursday ?
Fiction Friday
I would love to hear your ideas for Tuesday and Thursday. Things that push my buttons are politics, religion, feminism, land use issues, etc.
Please, leave your suggestions in the comments or post on my facebook if you so desire.
So, c'mon! Let's go for a ride!
Mostly, what I've been realizing is that I feel an acute sense of helplessness. The news screams at me, "Syria, Assad, starving children in Africa, Iran, Israel, Russia, Bombs, Romney, Santorum, Mormons, Keith Olbermann left current?!" and mostly I want to cover my head with the sofa cushion and just drink frappuccinos.
Enter my delightful co-worker, published author, and creative delight, Mary. She has been a great champion of my writing; encouraging, cajoling, suggesting and unconsciously, yet decidedly inspiring.
You'll see her ideas coming to life here: A blog a day, each day with a theme that I feel passionate about. I leave it to you if you want to check every day, but I'm interested to see where this road goes.
Cursory ideas include:
Monday Musings
Tuesday ?
Walkabout Wednesday
Thursday ?
Fiction Friday
I would love to hear your ideas for Tuesday and Thursday. Things that push my buttons are politics, religion, feminism, land use issues, etc.
Please, leave your suggestions in the comments or post on my facebook if you so desire.
So, c'mon! Let's go for a ride!
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Big Girl Dreams
When I was a girl I had two grown-up dreams: to be an actress and to go to Paris, France. Never mind frilly wedding dresses, babies bouncing on my knee, or an overstuffed home full of ornate furnishings. I wanted to be in front of the camera, preferably while speaking French. Oh, wait, now that I think about it, I did that on ABC Primetime on an episode of "What Would You Do."
Huh. I forgot about that.
Last Sunday I returned from my first European excursion to where? You guessed it. Paris. For the first three days I couldn't stop taking pictures. "Oh my goodness, look at that beautiful fountain! Wow, another amazing building! Awesome, cool cobblestone street! Mmmmm....this coffee is ah-mazing." Around day 4 the camera came out of my pocket less frequently as Paris had ceased working its charm. I started paying more attention to the kamikaze scooter riders. I begrudged that some shops were closed on Saturday. I started to get serious cravings for a restaurant that served fresh fruit and vegetables.
"What the hell, Hiatt?" I chided myself. "This is Paris freaking France! You should be enjoying every single last second of this. You have no idea when you'll ever get back here, IF you ever get back here. You made your dream come true! Isn't that enough!?"
On our second to last night in Paris, one of my traveling companions asked me what I thought of the City of Lights. And I said, "the Parisians have been absolutely lovely. They have been kind, helpful, thoughtful, and sweet. There are beautiful buildings to look at and great little neighborhoods and I feel like an ungrateful prig to walk away from a trip to Paris and say, 'Paris? Meh. It was okay.' But I have to be honest. Traveling to a city like this is not what I like for a vacation. It is not the change of pace one craves when hiking around Manhattan seven days a week carrying a 30 lb. bag. I haven't had one moment in this city where my heart opened up and I felt like 'my gosh, this is the dream. This is what I thought Paris would be.'"
Since being back in NYC, I have pondered my reaction to my "dream come true." Such expectations lurk nefariously behind every reverie and only serve to take away from the dream's beauty. It is a possibility that I expected too much from Paris, that I had made the dream bigger than the city itself.
As I examine other "dreams" in my life, I realize that I may have soiled them with the same set of unexamined longings, that the things I think I never got I may have had but didn't acknowledge because it wasn't what I thought it should be. It didn't match the picture in my head.
It begs the question, is it the dreamer's job to create exactly as one thinks it should be and keep creating until it is just so, or take the framework as opposed to the whole?
Perhaps, too, it is okay to acknowledge that dreams change. I never owned a pair of hiking boots until my 27th year, and now I have a pair that are so completely smoothed on the soles they are practically useless for the slickrock scramble. I never, as I dreamed of being a Broadway star sporting a fashionable beret, considered that a pair of hiking boots would be my most prized possession. The point is, that now as I daydream (stealing from Thoreau) "even in an afternoon ramble, the needle always settled west." I search for "a sense of bigness outside ourselves (Sherwood Anderson); we all need something to take the 'shrillness out of us." (Stegner).
Did Paris take the "shrillness" out of me? No. Did it make me feel small in the world, miss my loved ones, and gain even more appreciation for the incredibly bright and funny women I was traveling with? Yes. If dreams coming true is being with the people you love, seeing a part of the world I have always wanted to see, and being an actress, then yes, my wishes prevailed. It may not be exactly what I had in mind nor did I reach it by the route I had planned, but I am here, face to the sun.
Huh. I forgot about that.
Last Sunday I returned from my first European excursion to where? You guessed it. Paris. For the first three days I couldn't stop taking pictures. "Oh my goodness, look at that beautiful fountain! Wow, another amazing building! Awesome, cool cobblestone street! Mmmmm....this coffee is ah-mazing." Around day 4 the camera came out of my pocket less frequently as Paris had ceased working its charm. I started paying more attention to the kamikaze scooter riders. I begrudged that some shops were closed on Saturday. I started to get serious cravings for a restaurant that served fresh fruit and vegetables.
"What the hell, Hiatt?" I chided myself. "This is Paris freaking France! You should be enjoying every single last second of this. You have no idea when you'll ever get back here, IF you ever get back here. You made your dream come true! Isn't that enough!?"
On our second to last night in Paris, one of my traveling companions asked me what I thought of the City of Lights. And I said, "the Parisians have been absolutely lovely. They have been kind, helpful, thoughtful, and sweet. There are beautiful buildings to look at and great little neighborhoods and I feel like an ungrateful prig to walk away from a trip to Paris and say, 'Paris? Meh. It was okay.' But I have to be honest. Traveling to a city like this is not what I like for a vacation. It is not the change of pace one craves when hiking around Manhattan seven days a week carrying a 30 lb. bag. I haven't had one moment in this city where my heart opened up and I felt like 'my gosh, this is the dream. This is what I thought Paris would be.'"
Since being back in NYC, I have pondered my reaction to my "dream come true." Such expectations lurk nefariously behind every reverie and only serve to take away from the dream's beauty. It is a possibility that I expected too much from Paris, that I had made the dream bigger than the city itself.
As I examine other "dreams" in my life, I realize that I may have soiled them with the same set of unexamined longings, that the things I think I never got I may have had but didn't acknowledge because it wasn't what I thought it should be. It didn't match the picture in my head.
It begs the question, is it the dreamer's job to create exactly as one thinks it should be and keep creating until it is just so, or take the framework as opposed to the whole?
Perhaps, too, it is okay to acknowledge that dreams change. I never owned a pair of hiking boots until my 27th year, and now I have a pair that are so completely smoothed on the soles they are practically useless for the slickrock scramble. I never, as I dreamed of being a Broadway star sporting a fashionable beret, considered that a pair of hiking boots would be my most prized possession. The point is, that now as I daydream (stealing from Thoreau) "even in an afternoon ramble, the needle always settled west." I search for "a sense of bigness outside ourselves (Sherwood Anderson); we all need something to take the 'shrillness out of us." (Stegner).
Did Paris take the "shrillness" out of me? No. Did it make me feel small in the world, miss my loved ones, and gain even more appreciation for the incredibly bright and funny women I was traveling with? Yes. If dreams coming true is being with the people you love, seeing a part of the world I have always wanted to see, and being an actress, then yes, my wishes prevailed. It may not be exactly what I had in mind nor did I reach it by the route I had planned, but I am here, face to the sun.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Corporations ARE people!!!
I had the lovely pleasure of spending Thanksgiving weekend out of town in the company of my brother and his family, and with a long, traffic-filled, construction-clogged bus ride home ahead of me, I settled down into the narrow seat, rested on my knees on the too-close seat in front of me, and put my ear buds in to catch up on some podcasts. I skimmed through my selections and saw one from Radio West (http://www.publicbroadcasting.net/kuer/news.newsmain/article/184/0/1874647/RadioWest.(M-F..11AM..and..7PM)/111411.Living.on.a.Food.Stamp.Budget) about the Food Stamp Challenge.
According to host Doug Fabrizio, if you are on a food stamp budget you have about $4 a day per person to eat. That's about $1.33 per meal. So the challenge was to put yourself on this budget and see how you did and to hopefully gain some empathy for those who are actually having to live on that kind of budget every day, all year. Taking the challenge was chef Karl Wilder. His focus on the challenge was not only to make the budgetary restraints but also to meet nutritional requirements, which he discovered was one of the more difficult parts of the challenge. You can check out his musings on the process here: (http://www.fusiononthefly.com/).
We've all heard the tales of the woman pulling up to the grocery store in a Bentley and fur coat, then going into the grocery store to buy steak and lobster with her food stamps. Many people calling into the podcast told stories of people waiting in front of grocery stores to sell their welfare cards, 50 cents on the dollar so they could, presumably, run off to buy cigarettes, booze, and blow. When asked if doing the challenge changed his outlook on welfare recipients and his opinion of those that received welfare, he said (and I'm paraphrasing here because I don't have a transcript), "absolutely. What it opened my eyes to was that all welfare is corporate welfare. Every person receiving food stamps is a worker who has been paid less so that corporations can pass on benefits to the stockholders. Every person receiving food stamps has had their hourly wages knocked back or their hours cut so they can continue to meet their profit margins."
My eyes snapped open from my semi-nap and it all started swirling in my head: All welfare is essentially corporate welfare because all government assistance allows corporations to pay less in wages, benefits, and taxes.
So today I found this:
According to host Doug Fabrizio, if you are on a food stamp budget you have about $4 a day per person to eat. That's about $1.33 per meal. So the challenge was to put yourself on this budget and see how you did and to hopefully gain some empathy for those who are actually having to live on that kind of budget every day, all year. Taking the challenge was chef Karl Wilder. His focus on the challenge was not only to make the budgetary restraints but also to meet nutritional requirements, which he discovered was one of the more difficult parts of the challenge. You can check out his musings on the process here: (http://www.fusiononthefly.com/).
We've all heard the tales of the woman pulling up to the grocery store in a Bentley and fur coat, then going into the grocery store to buy steak and lobster with her food stamps. Many people calling into the podcast told stories of people waiting in front of grocery stores to sell their welfare cards, 50 cents on the dollar so they could, presumably, run off to buy cigarettes, booze, and blow. When asked if doing the challenge changed his outlook on welfare recipients and his opinion of those that received welfare, he said (and I'm paraphrasing here because I don't have a transcript), "absolutely. What it opened my eyes to was that all welfare is corporate welfare. Every person receiving food stamps is a worker who has been paid less so that corporations can pass on benefits to the stockholders. Every person receiving food stamps has had their hourly wages knocked back or their hours cut so they can continue to meet their profit margins."
My eyes snapped open from my semi-nap and it all started swirling in my head: All welfare is essentially corporate welfare because all government assistance allows corporations to pay less in wages, benefits, and taxes.
So today I found this:
GAO’s audit of the Fed.
The biggest bailouts follow:
Citigroup: $2.5 trillion ($2,500,000,000,000)
Morgan Stanley: $2.04 trillion ($2,040,000,000,000)
Merrill Lynch: $1.949 trillion ($1,949,000,000,000)
Bank of America: $1.344 trillion ($1,344,000,000,000)
Barclays PLC (United Kingdom): $868 billion ($868,000,000,000)
Bear Stearns: $853 billion ($853,000,000,000)
Goldman Sachs: $814 billion ($814,000,000,000)
Royal Bank of Scotland (UK): $541 billion ($541,000,000,000)
JP Morgan Chase: $391 billion ($391,000,000,000)
Deutsche Bank (Germany): $354 billion ($354,000,000,000)
UBS (Switzerland): $287 billion ($287,000,000,000)
Credit Suisse (Switzerland): $262 billion ($262,000,000,000)
Lehman Brothers: $183 billion ($183,000,000,000)
Bank of Scotland (United Kingdom): $181 billion ($181,000,000,000)
BNP Paribas (France): $175 billion ($175,000,000,000)
Morgan Stanley: $2.04 trillion ($2,040,000,000,000)
Merrill Lynch: $1.949 trillion ($1,949,000,000,000)
Bank of America: $1.344 trillion ($1,344,000,000,000)
Barclays PLC (United Kingdom): $868 billion ($868,000,000,000)
Bear Stearns: $853 billion ($853,000,000,000)
Goldman Sachs: $814 billion ($814,000,000,000)
Royal Bank of Scotland (UK): $541 billion ($541,000,000,000)
JP Morgan Chase: $391 billion ($391,000,000,000)
Deutsche Bank (Germany): $354 billion ($354,000,000,000)
UBS (Switzerland): $287 billion ($287,000,000,000)
Credit Suisse (Switzerland): $262 billion ($262,000,000,000)
Lehman Brothers: $183 billion ($183,000,000,000)
Bank of Scotland (United Kingdom): $181 billion ($181,000,000,000)
BNP Paribas (France): $175 billion ($175,000,000,000)
France? Did I read that right? The U.S. government is bailing out banks in France and the UK? Hmmm...
What if instead of that first entry being Citigroup, what if it said, "Medicare?" And instead of JP Morgan receiving $391 billion right now, what if that said "education?" JP Morgan, if you've been following the news that no one wants you to see, is in big trouble right now with the MF Global bankruptcy proceedings. They can't quite seem to find $1.3 billion (yeah, that's with a "b." Customer money that just may or may not have been used to hedge bets on bad European debt).
And what about this notion of corporate personhood? In Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission, the John Robert's Supreme Court ruled that corporations indeed have the same rights as people. I recently watched a documentary called "The Corporation" (http://www.thecorporation.com/) that asked this simple question: If corporations are people, what kind of people are they?
Below is a test for psychopathy. I went ahead and took the test on behalf of the corporations, and according to my opinion of them (and that's just what it is, an opinion), they are psychopaths. Psychopathy is defined as this: a mental disorder in which an individual manifests amoral and antisocial behavior, lack of ability to love or establish meaningful personal relationships, extreme egocentricity, failure to learn from experience, etc.
I will close with this simple quote from Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh:
"In order to rally people, governments need enemies. They want us to be afraid, To hate, So we will rally behind them. And if they do not have a real enemy, they will invent one in order to mobilize us."
It's time to go all zen on the government. It's time to love it out of its madness. It's time to stand up for your rights and not be a fly on the corporate monolith. If the corporation has been given the same rights as you, then we should, in the eyes of the government, be equal. Right?
Test for Psychopathy
For each of the 20 characteristics, give a score of 0 if it does not apply, 1 if it applies partially and 2 if it is a perfect match.Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Things That People Say
Subject: Actual quote from protesters occupying street of Toronto's stock market
"It's weird protesting on Bay Street. You get there at 9:00 A.M. and the
rich bankers who you want to hurl insults at and change their world view
have been at work for two hours already. And then when it's time to go,
they're still there! I guess that's why they call them the one per
cent. I mean, who wants to work those kinds of hours? That's the power
of greed."
So, if I'm reading this correctly, what I am to learn is this:
1. The glorification of slaving away to the almighty dollar is more relevant and exciting than say, being a stay at home parent.
2. A teacher who spends hours (unpaid) and money (largely unreimbursed) outside of the classroom on behalf of their students is a chump for not getting absurd amounts of dough.
3. An artist who gives many hours and dedication of their skills is largely a moot point in a society driven largely by megalomaniacs and corporate despots (supported, of course, by the Supreme Court, because you know, corporations are people, too).
4. The people mentioned in the above quote are probably working 70 hours a week because they know that it is likely they will get fired and replaced by someone who is willing to sacrifice the precious minutes of their lives to their stockholders' bottom line.
Right.
"Money confers the power to command the labor of others. Love of money is love of power. And love of power is the root of evil." Edward Abbey.
"It's weird protesting on Bay Street. You get there at 9:00 A.M. and the
rich bankers who you want to hurl insults at and change their world view
have been at work for two hours already. And then when it's time to go,
they're still there! I guess that's why they call them the one per
cent. I mean, who wants to work those kinds of hours? That's the power
of greed."
So, if I'm reading this correctly, what I am to learn is this:
1. The glorification of slaving away to the almighty dollar is more relevant and exciting than say, being a stay at home parent.
2. A teacher who spends hours (unpaid) and money (largely unreimbursed) outside of the classroom on behalf of their students is a chump for not getting absurd amounts of dough.
3. An artist who gives many hours and dedication of their skills is largely a moot point in a society driven largely by megalomaniacs and corporate despots (supported, of course, by the Supreme Court, because you know, corporations are people, too).
4. The people mentioned in the above quote are probably working 70 hours a week because they know that it is likely they will get fired and replaced by someone who is willing to sacrifice the precious minutes of their lives to their stockholders' bottom line.
Right.
"Money confers the power to command the labor of others. Love of money is love of power. And love of power is the root of evil." Edward Abbey.
Saturday, October 01, 2011
Occupying Wall Street
"Mike check!" The organizer was standing on one of the marble-like tables in Zuccotti Park in lower Manhattan, in fact the middle of the park was set up as a kind of control center. On the several tables were tarps that were covering electronic equipment; computers, cell phones, and cables. She was in her mid- twenties and had short spiky hair, one side of which was black, the other side dyed platinum blonde.
"Mike check!" The crowd shouted back.
The shouting banter continued back and forth as the organizer shouted and the protesters repeated verbatim:
"Mike check!
"Mike check!"
"If you want. To go to the bridge. There is a group. Forming here. You will likely. Get arrested. We have legal. Representation. We will block. The groups of marchers. In the buses. Who have already. Been arrested. Be kind. And be careful."
I watched as a group of protesters formed a line on the other side of the control center and followed one of the organizers to march to the Brooklyn Bridge where the protesters were led out of the park to peacefully form a blockade to the buses full of the groups of protesters who had been arrested while walking peacefully over the bridge. http://www.reuters.com/article/2011/10/02/us-wallstreet-protests-idUSTRE7900BL20111002. They shut down the Brooklyn Bridge and managed to keep it shut for hours and hours.
Turns out I arrived at the party a little late. And in fact, on the way to the protest, which is in a part of Manhattan I rarely visit, I got lost, of course, and wandered around in circles despite the fact that I set up the navigation app on my phone. After about 20 minutes of fruitless searching, I decided to ask a New York police officer if he could help me out.
Me: Excuse me, officer, could you please direct me to Zuccotti Park?
Officer Friendly: What do you wanna go there for?
Me: Um, to check things out.
Officer: There's nothing down there to see. They got some flowers in there.
Me: Nothing to check out? What do you mean?
Officer: They cleared out the park. Nobody's down there.
Me: What do you mean they cleared out the park?
Officer: They all got arrested.
Me: All of them?
Officer: You can go down there if you want, but I'm telling you, nothing's going on.
He did give me directions to the park, but they were wrong, and whether that was purposeful or not I will not spend too much time pondering. I finally found the park and was heartened to see a lot of people there. Young, old, babies, kids, handicapped, crazies, trannies, anarchists, hippies, and me.
"Mike check! NYPD. Received a donation. From JP Morgan. Of $4.6 million. Just today. To keep us. From protesting. And to arrest us. Jamie Dimon. Wrote the check. Call. The mayor's office."
Jamie Dimon. From Wikepedia: As JPMorgan Chase's Chairman, President & CEO, Dimon oversaw the transfer of $25 billion in bailout funds from the US Treasury Department to JPMorgan Chase on October 28, 2008 via the Troubled Asset Relief Program (TARP).[16] This was the fifth largest amount transferred under Section A of TARP[17] to help troubled assets related to residential mortgages.
JPMorgan Chase advertised in February 2009 that they would be using their capital base monetary strength to acquire new businesses,[18] primarily due to the funds provided by TARP and in direct violation of TARP’s main intent; to help troubled assets related to residential mortgages and all obligations as spelled out in TARP.
Of the US's nine largest banks, JPMorgan Chase was arguably the second healthiest bank, and did not need to take TARP funds. In order to encourage smaller banks with troubled assets to accept this money, Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson allegedly coerced the CEOs of the nine largest banks to accept TARP money under short notice.[20] JPMorgan Chase was also the first of the largest banks to repay the TARP money.
So apparently, Dimon has absolutely no trouble taking taxpayer money but does have trouble when people peacefully protest his and his colleagues' positively reprehensible behavior. See, capitalism and democracy are what made Dimon rich. They are what made the average Wall Street bankers salary of $88,000 a year possible. You know what bankers do? They go to lunches, sit around enormous conference tables and have lunches that cost over $600 for sandwiches and fruit plates. They talk to each other. They ruminate about poetry and talk about Willy Loman and China and speculate about gold and ETFs. But they don't actually DO anything. They complain loudly and openly about how they can't get anyone to come up and do some painting because those cursed union rules won't allow a worker who is not a painter to paint. They bemoan that their gilded offices aren't clean enough. They carp about regulation. They read charts. They steal ideas from each other.
The ground was littered with signs all in the midst of creation, some saying "report your boss to the IRS", "Wall Street is oozing corruption," "How about a student loan bailout," and a poster with the hourly salaries of the Bank of America CEO ($970) and the CEO of AT&T ($13,670) among others. This is called Occupy Wall Street and it is called that for a reason. It is like a Hooverville (appropriate, in my estimation); people are living there. Their belongings were covered with clear plastic or tarps, and you could see sleeping bags, food, pillows, blankets, chairs, books. And it had all the markings of not only a peaceful protest but also a Grateful Dead show, minus the VW vans and people selling dancing bears.
There was joy there! So much joy! Edward Abbey, the great curmudgeon and defender of the American west and who, in my opinion, has only had his opinions proven posthumously, said this in his work of beauty, Desert Solitaire: "Where there is no joy there can be no courage; and without courage all other virtues are useless."
Wall Street, you lack courage. Show me a joyful banker.
As I was taking the train home, I was reading from Desert Solitaire (1968) and found these words also fitting:
"Suppose you were planning to impose a dictatorial regime upon the American people - the following preparations would be essential:
1. Concentrate the populace in megalopolitan masses so that they can be kept under close surveillance.
2. Mechanize agriculture to the highest degree of refinement, thus forcing most of the scattered farm and ranching population into the cities. Such a policy is desirable because farmers, woodsmen, cowboys, Indians, fishermen, and other relatively self-sufficient types are difficult to manage unless displaced from their natural environment.
3. Encourage or at least fail to discourage population growth. Large masses of people are more easily manipulated and dominated than scattered individuals (The Repubs trying to close down Planned Parenthoods and end abortions. Sound familiar?).
4. Divert attention from deep conflicts within the society by engaging in foreign wars; make support of these wars a test of loyalty.
5. Overlay the nation with a finely reticulated network of communications, airlines and interstate autobahns.
6. Raze the wilderness. Dam the rivers, flood the canyons, drain the swamps, log the forests, strip-mine the hills, bulldoze the mountains, irrigate the deserts, and improve the national parks into national parking lots.
Abbey goes on to say that it feels like a feeble and helpless protest. But I disagree. It's not. And if you say you can't change anything you're just lazy. And a pussy. There are things we can do EVERY DAY to make this world a better place. I have a long list of things that I try to do every day that I won't bore you with and some days I am definitely better than others, but I TRY. That's the point. I try. And today I took my butt down to Liberty and Broad to Zuccotti Park where I stood with other people who are also TRYING to do something about this crazy, contracting earth. We listened to drum circles and when they sky opened up and dropped thick, heavy rain, we danced. The drummers continued their rhythmic, almost primal pounding and I danced until I was soaked and then I danced more.
It's my first amendment right, see, to dance in a park to a drum circle. And it's also my first amendment right, Officer Friendly, to peaceably assemble with fellow citizens. And I'll go back to that park and hopefully dance some more.
So don't give up on anything, whether this is your kind of battle or not. Fight for what you believe in and never think for one moment that nothing changes. Because it does. Constantly.
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
Enjoying Apple Pie...Seeds and All
I am absolutely fascinated by the Tea Party. I stare at them on the news absolutely transfixed. They are a shiny object, I want to pick them up and put them in my pocket. What I find the most interesting about them is the clarion call of "taking back America" and I wonder, often, what that would mean.
I keep hearing about a return to values and the good 'ole days and my monkey mind instantly conjures up June Cleaver vacuuming her already perfectly clean floor in her adorable dress, heels, and pearls. I'm not saying that's wrong; there is a part of me that would love to stay home (minus pearls and cleaning) and spend my day inhaling the lovely aroma of the apple pie cooling in the window sill.
Hey, I got an idea! Let's borrow Doc Brown's and Marty McFly's DeLorean and go Back in Time with Huey Lewis and see what's happening in the 50's and then it bring it back. Come on!
Hmm. I like it here. It's pre-1973, pre-oil crisis, and pre-automobile emission control rules, so I see a lot of American cars: Buick Roadmasters, Cadillacs, and Pontiacs are thick on the road here, in fact, some 80 million of them. You don't really see any foreign cars...well, you do see a few VW Beetles, but you won't see a ton of those until the 60's. Of course, our American cars get horrible gas mileage and they don't have seatbelts, but thankfully, American car makers have really stepped up to the plate in our decade, manufacturing the Ford Fiesta, the Chevy Cruze, and the Ford Focus.
Oh, but wait, I'm hungry. I want to sit in this diner and have some breakfast, so I think I'm going to order some corn flakes. I love corn flakes. The cute waitress calls me "hon" and let's me read the ingredients on the side of the box. I enjoy reading the box while I eat cereal. Whew, what a relief, no high fructose corn syrup. Monsanto is around but they're busy making agent orange and not genetically modified seed, they won't do that until 1997, so I feel okay eating this. See, high fructose corn syrup has 14% fructose, much more than regular corn syrup. It disrupts your metabolism and messes with the insulin and leptin levels that regulate your appetite control. No wonder drinking diet coke always makes me hungry. HFCS doesn't tell you when you're full, so you keep eating more. It may also promote weight gain because our bodies make fat from fructose more readily than from other kinds of sugar (The Journal of Clinical Nutrition). It also elevates your triglycerides, which put you at greater risk for heart disease.
There is so much obesity in the United States that I honestly wonder that if we, in our time, were to stop giving subsidies to the corn growers which in turn encourage them to grow more corn (journalist and agriculture industry critic Michael Pollan points out that "all the corn needed for HFCS depletes soil nutrients which increase the need for pesticides and fertilizers") that we would have less high fructose syrup in our food (and really, it's in EVERYTHING) and as a result would be thinner?
That would be a great burden off of Medicare, who treat millions of people who are older and suffer from obesity related ailments, such as heart disease and Type II diabetes. Obesity rates have increased 214% since 1950. Only 28% of Americans in our time are at healthy weight. In the year 2000, it cost $117 billion to treat obesity related diseases. That's money we could put toward the national debt.
The tea party loves to talk about fiscal responsibility, and I think part of fiscal responsibility is also being personally responsible. We can help that in our time by buying organically grown, local foods and supporting small farmers, which could certainly be considered a small business. And if the Republicans are right, small businesses are the driving force of our economy. We should help them out.
I'm full from corn flakes and I see this super adorable family walking together. It's early, so I guess they're going to work. Let's see where they're going. I hop off my stool and follow them down the street. I bet he's off to work at a factory of some kind. In 1950, America was the manufacturing superpower with the strongest and largest middle-class in world history. 25% of workers were a unionized private work force and approximately 50% of Americans had pensions. That's really different from today, where the unions have fallen to 7% and only 6% have a pension.
From Wikipedia: "Employee benefit plans proliferated in the 1940’s and 1950’s. Strong unions bargained for better benefit packages, including tax-free, employer-sponsored health insurance. Wartime (1939-1945) wage freezes imposed by the government actually accelerated the spread of group health care. Unable by law to attract workers by paying more, employers instead improved their benefit packages, adding health care.
"So in 1955, for example, when the top marginal tax rate was 91 percent, that was the tax rate owed on a person's income over $300,000. That person would, however, pay 20 percent on the first $2,000 of income; 21 percent on the next $2,000 in income; 24 percent on the next $2,000 and graduated on up to the highest rate. On average, a person making, say, $500,000 would pay substantially less than 90 percent of their income in federal taxes.
Bernie Sanders (I) Vermont is a hell of a firebrand. He talked on the news today about shared sacrifice among all Americans, rich and poor, and that's an ideal that really appeals to me. Post World War II, Americans were a cohesive, can-do group. We had won the war and there was nothing we couldn't do. Women went to work to support the war effort. I heard stories from my aunts about not being able to wear nylons during the war years because the government needed the nylon. The president said, "no nylon," and out it went.
If that's part of this idyllic time, why can't the Tea Party stand behind that? Why not support our neighbors and farmers and local businesses instead of caving in to monoliths like Wal-Mart (who are very good at running Mom & Pop businesses right out of business)? Instead I read on the news about Tea Party presidential hopeful Michele Bachmann signing a pledge to eliminate porn and gay marriage. She, and the Tea Party, are really missing the point. It's not about wedge issues like abortion or pornography. It's about shared sacrifice, a willingness to work toward better means for all of us, not just the bottom lines of the corporations.
After spending some time in the 1950's I'm a little depressed. It seems that life is just more complicated in 2011, I mean, there are more of us. Detroit, a former manufacturing superpower is practically in ruins, no one wants to pay taxes and no one cares. We want our food cheap so we shop at Wal-Mart where all the trinkets are made in China and the food is shipped in from all over the world (doing great damage to our environment) covered in pesticides and pumped full of hormones.
Our 2011 entitlement runs deep.
But I don't think we can. Not unless we change our minds. We want to have our 1950's notions but it doesn't seem to work in our current world. We are the overweight adult trying to fit into our high school jeans. They just don't fit. But they can, if we look to the ideals and policies of the 1950's as an example and take personal responsibility for the well-being of OUR country: Liberal, Conservative, Libertarian, Rastafarian, Buddhist, Catholic, Muslim, and Jewish.
I keep hearing about a return to values and the good 'ole days and my monkey mind instantly conjures up June Cleaver vacuuming her already perfectly clean floor in her adorable dress, heels, and pearls. I'm not saying that's wrong; there is a part of me that would love to stay home (minus pearls and cleaning) and spend my day inhaling the lovely aroma of the apple pie cooling in the window sill.
Hey, I got an idea! Let's borrow Doc Brown's and Marty McFly's DeLorean and go Back in Time with Huey Lewis and see what's happening in the 50's and then it bring it back. Come on!
Hmm. I like it here. It's pre-1973, pre-oil crisis, and pre-automobile emission control rules, so I see a lot of American cars: Buick Roadmasters, Cadillacs, and Pontiacs are thick on the road here, in fact, some 80 million of them. You don't really see any foreign cars...well, you do see a few VW Beetles, but you won't see a ton of those until the 60's. Of course, our American cars get horrible gas mileage and they don't have seatbelts, but thankfully, American car makers have really stepped up to the plate in our decade, manufacturing the Ford Fiesta, the Chevy Cruze, and the Ford Focus.
Oh, but wait, I'm hungry. I want to sit in this diner and have some breakfast, so I think I'm going to order some corn flakes. I love corn flakes. The cute waitress calls me "hon" and let's me read the ingredients on the side of the box. I enjoy reading the box while I eat cereal. Whew, what a relief, no high fructose corn syrup. Monsanto is around but they're busy making agent orange and not genetically modified seed, they won't do that until 1997, so I feel okay eating this. See, high fructose corn syrup has 14% fructose, much more than regular corn syrup. It disrupts your metabolism and messes with the insulin and leptin levels that regulate your appetite control. No wonder drinking diet coke always makes me hungry. HFCS doesn't tell you when you're full, so you keep eating more. It may also promote weight gain because our bodies make fat from fructose more readily than from other kinds of sugar (The Journal of Clinical Nutrition). It also elevates your triglycerides, which put you at greater risk for heart disease.
There is so much obesity in the United States that I honestly wonder that if we, in our time, were to stop giving subsidies to the corn growers which in turn encourage them to grow more corn (journalist and agriculture industry critic Michael Pollan points out that "all the corn needed for HFCS depletes soil nutrients which increase the need for pesticides and fertilizers") that we would have less high fructose syrup in our food (and really, it's in EVERYTHING) and as a result would be thinner?
That would be a great burden off of Medicare, who treat millions of people who are older and suffer from obesity related ailments, such as heart disease and Type II diabetes. Obesity rates have increased 214% since 1950. Only 28% of Americans in our time are at healthy weight. In the year 2000, it cost $117 billion to treat obesity related diseases. That's money we could put toward the national debt.
The tea party loves to talk about fiscal responsibility, and I think part of fiscal responsibility is also being personally responsible. We can help that in our time by buying organically grown, local foods and supporting small farmers, which could certainly be considered a small business. And if the Republicans are right, small businesses are the driving force of our economy. We should help them out.
I'm full from corn flakes and I see this super adorable family walking together. It's early, so I guess they're going to work. Let's see where they're going. I hop off my stool and follow them down the street. I bet he's off to work at a factory of some kind. In 1950, America was the manufacturing superpower with the strongest and largest middle-class in world history. 25% of workers were a unionized private work force and approximately 50% of Americans had pensions. That's really different from today, where the unions have fallen to 7% and only 6% have a pension.
From Wikipedia: "Employee benefit plans proliferated in the 1940’s and 1950’s. Strong unions bargained for better benefit packages, including tax-free, employer-sponsored health insurance. Wartime (1939-1945) wage freezes imposed by the government actually accelerated the spread of group health care. Unable by law to attract workers by paying more, employers instead improved their benefit packages, adding health care.
Government programs to cover health care costs began to expand during the 1950s and 1960s. Disability benefits were included in social security coverage for the first time in 1954. When the government created Medicare and Medicaid programs in 1965, private sources still paid 75 percent of all of the health care costs. By 1995, individuals and companies only paid for about half of the health care with the government responsible for the other half."
Well, let's look at taxes during the 1950's. Surely, there must be something wrong with that era. Hmmm...during the Eisenhower (R) administration, the top marginal tax rate was 91%. Whoawhoawhoa! That sounds like way too much, even for me. Let's look closer (from Politico):"So in 1955, for example, when the top marginal tax rate was 91 percent, that was the tax rate owed on a person's income over $300,000. That person would, however, pay 20 percent on the first $2,000 of income; 21 percent on the next $2,000 in income; 24 percent on the next $2,000 and graduated on up to the highest rate. On average, a person making, say, $500,000 would pay substantially less than 90 percent of their income in federal taxes.
The top marginal tax rates peaked in 1952 and 1953 at 92 percent for income over $300,000."
The top marginal tax rates paid by the richest Americans were far higher in the 1950s than they are now. In 2009, the top marginal rate was 35 percent on income above $372,958."
I think that's a great idea to bring back to our time! A wonderful ideal! The Tea Party would have that right if that's what they actually meant. Go back in time, bring the 1950's back in the DeLorean (minus the segregation and other travesties of the mid-century) and plug it into 2011. Workers would have rights again! We would be eating healthier foods, driving American cars, and people earning lots of money would pay their fair share!
Bernie Sanders (I) Vermont is a hell of a firebrand. He talked on the news today about shared sacrifice among all Americans, rich and poor, and that's an ideal that really appeals to me. Post World War II, Americans were a cohesive, can-do group. We had won the war and there was nothing we couldn't do. Women went to work to support the war effort. I heard stories from my aunts about not being able to wear nylons during the war years because the government needed the nylon. The president said, "no nylon," and out it went.
If that's part of this idyllic time, why can't the Tea Party stand behind that? Why not support our neighbors and farmers and local businesses instead of caving in to monoliths like Wal-Mart (who are very good at running Mom & Pop businesses right out of business)? Instead I read on the news about Tea Party presidential hopeful Michele Bachmann signing a pledge to eliminate porn and gay marriage. She, and the Tea Party, are really missing the point. It's not about wedge issues like abortion or pornography. It's about shared sacrifice, a willingness to work toward better means for all of us, not just the bottom lines of the corporations.
After spending some time in the 1950's I'm a little depressed. It seems that life is just more complicated in 2011, I mean, there are more of us. Detroit, a former manufacturing superpower is practically in ruins, no one wants to pay taxes and no one cares. We want our food cheap so we shop at Wal-Mart where all the trinkets are made in China and the food is shipped in from all over the world (doing great damage to our environment) covered in pesticides and pumped full of hormones.
Our 2011 entitlement runs deep.
In fact, our parents, who likely grew up in the 50's and 60's told us we could have what they had and even better.
All right, kids, back in the DeLorean, it's time to go back to the future.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Veto Power and the Big C
A friend and I were walking down the street when he noticed my cellphone doing a serious peek-a-boo out of my pocket. The conversation went something like this:
He: Hey, you should zip up the pocket. Your cellphone is gonna fall out, or someone could grab it."
I: Hm...I never even thought of that (zipping pocket).
He: I think about that all the time. What DO you think about when you're walking down the street?
I: Nothing, really.
Turns out I am totally wrong, that in fact, when I walk around thinking I'm thinking about nothing, my brain, the unconscious, abyssian part of my brain, is doing all kinds of cartwheels on my behalf. I just finished Incognito, The Secret Lives of the Brain by David Eagleman. You know when you think you have an "a-HA!" kind of moment, and then you're so proud of yourself for coming up with a long elusive solution? Think again. Turns out that when you hit the wall with a problem, your brain continues to recruit cells which in turn are recruiting more cells which in turn are hammering away at your problem, millions of little minions working away in the sweatshop of your brain. Then when you're washing your hair in the shower you think "Hazzah! I'm a genius!" Er...nope. You're not. Turns out your minions solved your problem and then delivered it to you on a silver platter.
Today was a little different. I was wandering midtown with a brain full of stuff and I started thinking about Joseph Campbell, who for some reason started me thinking about the Buddha, which reminded me of a Facebook status I had seen earlier, which in turn led me to the journal section at the Borders where I saw a journal that said on its cover "Happiness depends on ourselves (Aristotle)," which led me back to the Philosophy section where I mulled over which Joseph Campbell to buy. Turns out I bought The Hero with a Thousand Faces.
Something that has come up so frequently in my recent readings is the idea that our human experience, though we are completely egocentric whether we want to be or not, is shared. Every bit of it. Campbell points out that we (walking around with our cellphones glued to our heads and our Ipod cords stuffed in our ears) are composed of the same DNA and biological desires as our IPhone app deprived brothers and sisters of 30,000 years ago. Graham Hancock, in his book Supernatural, brought this to my attention first: In France, cave paintings from 30,000 years ago are composed of essentially the same images of caves in Africa and Mexico and 10,000 years later. Without the aid of airplanes, how could this have happened? How can people in Africa copy the cave paintings of the ones done millenia earlier in France? Hancock posits that these images are released from our DNA through the Spirit Molecule (DMT) by partaking of hallucinogens such as ayahuasca.
From wiki: "Campbell's term monomyth, also referred to as the hero's journey, refers to a basic pattern found in many narratives from around the world. Campbell expressed the idea that the whole of the human race could be seen as reciting a single story of great spiritual importance. As time evolves, this story gets broken down into local forms, taking on different guises (masks) depending on the necessities and social structure of the culture that interprets it. Its ultimate meaning relates to humanity's search for the same basic, unknown force from which everything came, within which everything currently exists, and into which everything will return and is considered to be “unknowable” because it existed before words and knowledge. He did believe, as he clearly stated in the Power of Myth, in a SPECIFIC STRUCTURE THAT EXISTS IN THE PSYCHE AND IS SOMEHOW REFLECTED INTO MYTHS (caps added).
We all know the Christian/Hebrew creation myth, so I won't bore you with that, but looking for commonalities I stumbled upon a site that listed 20+ creation myths. I read the Hopi and the Huron. Basically the same story with a different cast of characters. So, who made it up? Who's the copycat? Is it possible that they're all correct, that ultimately, it doesn't even matter?
So if I get this right, what I'm hearing is this: Genesis, the Hopi, the Huron, Roman and Greek mythologies, the cave paintings at Lascaux, images and stories from all over the world are all eerily similar?
The first of Buddhism's Four Noble Truths is this: Life means suffering. You may have been neglected by your parents and suffer from low self-esteem, may be compelled to gamble away your savings, may compulsively look at pornography, may cheat on your spouse, may eat waaaaayyyy too much when you know better, may have an eating disorder, maymaymaymaymay....pick a may, any may.
But that's the good news, right? WE ALL SUFFER! How wonderfully liberating to know that we are not alone, that though we feel in the big part of our brain that NO ONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD HAS EVER FELT LIKE THIS that you're wrong. Very wrong. There are millions, perhaps tens of millions or more that have experienced or will experience what we are going through right now.
Now back to Eagleman. He spoke of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and how he wrote Kubla Khan while high on opium. Coleridge claimed that he didn't really write it at all, in fact, many artists, poets, composers, etc. have said that their creations had nothing to do with them, that they were merely vessels for something bursting out of them, with or without the aid of opium. So, who wrote it then? Coleridge or the opium? Eagleman goes on to say that really, we (the we that we think we are) don't really have much control over anything, from the mates we choose to the jobs we pursue. The lizard brain is running the show.
What we do have, however, is veto power. As in the case of Anthony Weiner (heheheh...weiner), a seemingly bright, dedicated politician put it all on the line to send pictures of his well...weiner...to women he followed on the internet, putting his career and marriage in serious jeopardy. I thought to myself, "how can a such a smart guy, who has been in office a long time and is clearly adroit in the political arena do something so effing stupid!?"
Call it lizard brain versus conscious mind. Conscious mind equals veto power. There is so much going on in these cranial domes of ours (the neurons that activate neurons that activate neurons are so numerous as to be more than all the stars in any galaxy we are aware of) that we need the veto, we need our illusions, we need our myths to be a primer for survival, a map for our journeys.
Then I saw the journal that said "Happiness depends upon ourselves." And I bought it with a gift card given to me for my recent birthday. My big mind vetoed putting it on my credit card.
He: Hey, you should zip up the pocket. Your cellphone is gonna fall out, or someone could grab it."
I: Hm...I never even thought of that (zipping pocket).
He: I think about that all the time. What DO you think about when you're walking down the street?
I: Nothing, really.
Turns out I am totally wrong, that in fact, when I walk around thinking I'm thinking about nothing, my brain, the unconscious, abyssian part of my brain, is doing all kinds of cartwheels on my behalf. I just finished Incognito, The Secret Lives of the Brain by David Eagleman. You know when you think you have an "a-HA!" kind of moment, and then you're so proud of yourself for coming up with a long elusive solution? Think again. Turns out that when you hit the wall with a problem, your brain continues to recruit cells which in turn are recruiting more cells which in turn are hammering away at your problem, millions of little minions working away in the sweatshop of your brain. Then when you're washing your hair in the shower you think "Hazzah! I'm a genius!" Er...nope. You're not. Turns out your minions solved your problem and then delivered it to you on a silver platter.
Today was a little different. I was wandering midtown with a brain full of stuff and I started thinking about Joseph Campbell, who for some reason started me thinking about the Buddha, which reminded me of a Facebook status I had seen earlier, which in turn led me to the journal section at the Borders where I saw a journal that said on its cover "Happiness depends on ourselves (Aristotle)," which led me back to the Philosophy section where I mulled over which Joseph Campbell to buy. Turns out I bought The Hero with a Thousand Faces.
Something that has come up so frequently in my recent readings is the idea that our human experience, though we are completely egocentric whether we want to be or not, is shared. Every bit of it. Campbell points out that we (walking around with our cellphones glued to our heads and our Ipod cords stuffed in our ears) are composed of the same DNA and biological desires as our IPhone app deprived brothers and sisters of 30,000 years ago. Graham Hancock, in his book Supernatural, brought this to my attention first: In France, cave paintings from 30,000 years ago are composed of essentially the same images of caves in Africa and Mexico and 10,000 years later. Without the aid of airplanes, how could this have happened? How can people in Africa copy the cave paintings of the ones done millenia earlier in France? Hancock posits that these images are released from our DNA through the Spirit Molecule (DMT) by partaking of hallucinogens such as ayahuasca.
From wiki: "Campbell's term monomyth, also referred to as the hero's journey, refers to a basic pattern found in many narratives from around the world. Campbell expressed the idea that the whole of the human race could be seen as reciting a single story of great spiritual importance. As time evolves, this story gets broken down into local forms, taking on different guises (masks) depending on the necessities and social structure of the culture that interprets it. Its ultimate meaning relates to humanity's search for the same basic, unknown force from which everything came, within which everything currently exists, and into which everything will return and is considered to be “unknowable” because it existed before words and knowledge. He did believe, as he clearly stated in the Power of Myth, in a SPECIFIC STRUCTURE THAT EXISTS IN THE PSYCHE AND IS SOMEHOW REFLECTED INTO MYTHS (caps added).
We all know the Christian/Hebrew creation myth, so I won't bore you with that, but looking for commonalities I stumbled upon a site that listed 20+ creation myths. I read the Hopi and the Huron. Basically the same story with a different cast of characters. So, who made it up? Who's the copycat? Is it possible that they're all correct, that ultimately, it doesn't even matter?
So if I get this right, what I'm hearing is this: Genesis, the Hopi, the Huron, Roman and Greek mythologies, the cave paintings at Lascaux, images and stories from all over the world are all eerily similar?
The first of Buddhism's Four Noble Truths is this: Life means suffering. You may have been neglected by your parents and suffer from low self-esteem, may be compelled to gamble away your savings, may compulsively look at pornography, may cheat on your spouse, may eat waaaaayyyy too much when you know better, may have an eating disorder, maymaymaymaymay....pick a may, any may.
But that's the good news, right? WE ALL SUFFER! How wonderfully liberating to know that we are not alone, that though we feel in the big part of our brain that NO ONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD HAS EVER FELT LIKE THIS that you're wrong. Very wrong. There are millions, perhaps tens of millions or more that have experienced or will experience what we are going through right now.
Now back to Eagleman. He spoke of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and how he wrote Kubla Khan while high on opium. Coleridge claimed that he didn't really write it at all, in fact, many artists, poets, composers, etc. have said that their creations had nothing to do with them, that they were merely vessels for something bursting out of them, with or without the aid of opium. So, who wrote it then? Coleridge or the opium? Eagleman goes on to say that really, we (the we that we think we are) don't really have much control over anything, from the mates we choose to the jobs we pursue. The lizard brain is running the show.
What we do have, however, is veto power. As in the case of Anthony Weiner (heheheh...weiner), a seemingly bright, dedicated politician put it all on the line to send pictures of his well...weiner...to women he followed on the internet, putting his career and marriage in serious jeopardy. I thought to myself, "how can a such a smart guy, who has been in office a long time and is clearly adroit in the political arena do something so effing stupid!?"
Call it lizard brain versus conscious mind. Conscious mind equals veto power. There is so much going on in these cranial domes of ours (the neurons that activate neurons that activate neurons are so numerous as to be more than all the stars in any galaxy we are aware of) that we need the veto, we need our illusions, we need our myths to be a primer for survival, a map for our journeys.
Then I saw the journal that said "Happiness depends upon ourselves." And I bought it with a gift card given to me for my recent birthday. My big mind vetoed putting it on my credit card.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
I Went Without it and it Felt Real Real Good
There is something in my life with which I have a love/hate relationship. Well, a few things actually, but this blog is going to focus on something small. This is what I wrote on March 3, 2011: "There's this little, inanimate object that has all kinds of power over us, yet we treat it badly. We throw it, drop it, lose it, then curse it when it no longer does what we want it to do. It will give you directions, tell you where you should eat, lets you listen to its music, plays games with you, and lets you talk to it. It cunningly teaches you to love it, to hold it, to constantly be with you, to get its little clingy fingers in every nook of your life. If only it weren't so indifferent. I have become chattel to its winning ways, constantly checking its little green blinking light for news! That little green light that sends that adrenaline inducing buzz that promises 'A message! An email! A phone call! Someone is thinking of me! Oooh, Delta is having a fare sale!'"
It's practically science fiction. You touch it and voila! The universe is in your hands! "Where do you want to eat, do you want to play Angry Birds oh look you haven't seen the movie Rio touch here to see Rio you haven't played Words with Friends for two hours you better refresh your gmail oh, look! An update! I better check my Facebook what if you missed something on Facebook remember the tranny that you took a picture of send that picture now who cares if your boss is nearby why haven't you heard from so and so it seems weird that you haven't gotten a text from so and so in 34 minutes oh wow it's 32 degrees outside is it gonna rain tomorrow you better check the weather oohhh I know you want thai food right now you better get thai."
I was tired of being chattel to its capricious whims so I made a decision to go 24 hours technology free. I wrapped up some loose ends, told the people that I speak with on a daily basis that I was "leaving the matrix," and at midnight Saturday turned my phone off. That also included my computer, so no email, phone, text, or Facebook. Surprisingly, before I physically shut the phone down I had a moment of anxiety, like "what if I miss something? Will people forget me if I don't communicate with them for 24 hours?" This, my friends, is the definition of addiction: "The state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that psychologically or physically habit-forming." I have a dear friend, who no lie, people, went to the doctor for numbness in her thumb, only to be prescribed hand therapy because she had a case of "Blackberry Thumb." It was time to walk away.
So that's what I did. Literally. I put on my Adidas, yoga pants, and baseball cap, put my hair in pigtails and hit the pavement. 21,000 steps worth of pavement, which with my little stride equals about 10 miles. I did listen to my ipod (I figured that could be the exception since I couldn't actually communicate with it). I didn't once think about turning on my phone (which I did have with me, just in case...this is New York City). I took the trail that runs along the Hudson River on the west side of Manhattan. In my neighborhood in upper Washington Heights, there were a few bikers, a few rollerbladers, but not a lot of people. As I traveled further south, I started noticing families having picnics, a father and young son fishing together, a younger gentleman and his grandfather having a small barbeque, young lovers canoodling in the grass. I saw a young woman making a sash from dandelions, families pushing babies in strollers. The Hudson, being whipped about by the wind, seemed to be flowing in two directions, both north and south, and the warmth of the sun was being held in check by the wind, nature working symbiotically. Inhaling, the brackish water, the earth wet with black soil, the carpets of green moss growing on the rocks were practically palpable. I wanted to stop and run my fingers through the water, to see if it felt smooth like it does in the mountains.
In fact, I was so nicely not distracted by my phone that I felt instantaneously unburdened. And I had set the rules, not the other way around. In fact, I put off having a phone for a few years because I didn't want people to be able to get a hold of me all the time. It wasn't until my ex-husband convinced me to get one because I was commuting 90 minutes each way through mountainous passes.
Now I let my electronic pet solve all my problems. I can even blame it for things.
I thought yesterday of being a kid, before the ubiquitousness of phones: I came home when it got dark, if I had to call my parents I did it from a pay phone. I used my problem solving skills. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I am not a parent. You so often hear how the world is so changed from when we were kids, and I posit that yes, it is technologically different, but how is it intrinsically different? Why is not safe to let your kids ride their bikes around the neighborhoods? Are the people driving no longer capable of not hitting children on bikes? Why do parents no longer let kids go door to door for say, Girl Scout Cookies? Is there a kidnapper lurking behind every door? What about trick-or-treating? Ringing doorbells has been replaced by trunk-or-treats, where instead of walking around the neighborhood, parents park their cars in a parking lot, generally a church parking lot (talk about circling the wagons) and the kids walk from car to car. Are we raising a bunch of wimps?! Have we made the kids so completely dependent on instruction from the adults in their lives via cell phone that they are incapable of figuring things out on their own?
I will also list the contrary argument in all fairness: My friends who have a teenager said that they put off giving their daughter a cellphone for the longest time, but once all of her friends got phones, she was left out of the group because she was unable to communicate with them via text message. So, she got the phone, and now she's in the loop with her friends. This I can understand.
I have to say this: the people who invented these phones and the companies that charge us for them have tapped into something which at it's core is essentially human. They have provided us with these overpriced objects (my phone was $400!!!) that promise us many things: "We will bring you closer to your family, you can be in touch with your loved ones at all times, we can even save your life if you fall in a well or get kidnapped. We will be here for you." They have exploited our need to feel special, if only for the duration of blinking indicator light.
After my 24 hours, I turned my phone back on. Nothing to report. No blinking indicator light. But the addiction is not ended. I find myself, even now, looking at my phone every few minutes to see if that little green light is winking at me.
Sorry, gotta go! Got a text!
It's practically science fiction. You touch it and voila! The universe is in your hands! "Where do you want to eat, do you want to play Angry Birds oh look you haven't seen the movie Rio touch here to see Rio you haven't played Words with Friends for two hours you better refresh your gmail oh, look! An update! I better check my Facebook what if you missed something on Facebook remember the tranny that you took a picture of send that picture now who cares if your boss is nearby why haven't you heard from so and so it seems weird that you haven't gotten a text from so and so in 34 minutes oh wow it's 32 degrees outside is it gonna rain tomorrow you better check the weather oohhh I know you want thai food right now you better get thai."
I was tired of being chattel to its capricious whims so I made a decision to go 24 hours technology free. I wrapped up some loose ends, told the people that I speak with on a daily basis that I was "leaving the matrix," and at midnight Saturday turned my phone off. That also included my computer, so no email, phone, text, or Facebook. Surprisingly, before I physically shut the phone down I had a moment of anxiety, like "what if I miss something? Will people forget me if I don't communicate with them for 24 hours?" This, my friends, is the definition of addiction: "The state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that psychologically or physically habit-forming." I have a dear friend, who no lie, people, went to the doctor for numbness in her thumb, only to be prescribed hand therapy because she had a case of "Blackberry Thumb." It was time to walk away.
So that's what I did. Literally. I put on my Adidas, yoga pants, and baseball cap, put my hair in pigtails and hit the pavement. 21,000 steps worth of pavement, which with my little stride equals about 10 miles. I did listen to my ipod (I figured that could be the exception since I couldn't actually communicate with it). I didn't once think about turning on my phone (which I did have with me, just in case...this is New York City). I took the trail that runs along the Hudson River on the west side of Manhattan. In my neighborhood in upper Washington Heights, there were a few bikers, a few rollerbladers, but not a lot of people. As I traveled further south, I started noticing families having picnics, a father and young son fishing together, a younger gentleman and his grandfather having a small barbeque, young lovers canoodling in the grass. I saw a young woman making a sash from dandelions, families pushing babies in strollers. The Hudson, being whipped about by the wind, seemed to be flowing in two directions, both north and south, and the warmth of the sun was being held in check by the wind, nature working symbiotically. Inhaling, the brackish water, the earth wet with black soil, the carpets of green moss growing on the rocks were practically palpable. I wanted to stop and run my fingers through the water, to see if it felt smooth like it does in the mountains.
In fact, I was so nicely not distracted by my phone that I felt instantaneously unburdened. And I had set the rules, not the other way around. In fact, I put off having a phone for a few years because I didn't want people to be able to get a hold of me all the time. It wasn't until my ex-husband convinced me to get one because I was commuting 90 minutes each way through mountainous passes.
Now I let my electronic pet solve all my problems. I can even blame it for things.
I thought yesterday of being a kid, before the ubiquitousness of phones: I came home when it got dark, if I had to call my parents I did it from a pay phone. I used my problem solving skills. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I am not a parent. You so often hear how the world is so changed from when we were kids, and I posit that yes, it is technologically different, but how is it intrinsically different? Why is not safe to let your kids ride their bikes around the neighborhoods? Are the people driving no longer capable of not hitting children on bikes? Why do parents no longer let kids go door to door for say, Girl Scout Cookies? Is there a kidnapper lurking behind every door? What about trick-or-treating? Ringing doorbells has been replaced by trunk-or-treats, where instead of walking around the neighborhood, parents park their cars in a parking lot, generally a church parking lot (talk about circling the wagons) and the kids walk from car to car. Are we raising a bunch of wimps?! Have we made the kids so completely dependent on instruction from the adults in their lives via cell phone that they are incapable of figuring things out on their own?
I will also list the contrary argument in all fairness: My friends who have a teenager said that they put off giving their daughter a cellphone for the longest time, but once all of her friends got phones, she was left out of the group because she was unable to communicate with them via text message. So, she got the phone, and now she's in the loop with her friends. This I can understand.
I have to say this: the people who invented these phones and the companies that charge us for them have tapped into something which at it's core is essentially human. They have provided us with these overpriced objects (my phone was $400!!!) that promise us many things: "We will bring you closer to your family, you can be in touch with your loved ones at all times, we can even save your life if you fall in a well or get kidnapped. We will be here for you." They have exploited our need to feel special, if only for the duration of blinking indicator light.
After my 24 hours, I turned my phone back on. Nothing to report. No blinking indicator light. But the addiction is not ended. I find myself, even now, looking at my phone every few minutes to see if that little green light is winking at me.
Sorry, gotta go! Got a text!
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