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Wednesday, September 30, 2009 - 10:11:25
Smile, Senator, you're on Candid Camera
Watching Blanche Lambert Lincoln’s performance yesterday, so many feelings went through me, none of them, charitable, I’m afraid. But as I watched her vote against the public option that is so popular with so many in Arkansas and across the nation, I wondered if she was fully aware that for the first time in her senate career, of just how many eyes were upon her.
True, she has been on C-Span, and while I occasionally tune in to that network, to be honest, it’s sort of like the public access of national networks. She can get away with all sorts of votes that pull the wool over the eyes of her more progressive/liberal supporters in Arkansas.
But this time? Not so much. Anyone with a television and half a brain was watching her vote yesterday.
Still, I’m not sure that the senator from the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette fully understands the anger and sense of betrayal that so many felt yesterday. She still clings to the canard that a majority of people in Arkansas oppose the public option, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
I’m guessing that someone is telling Lincoln that this will all blow over, and that all of her supporters will rally to her come election time. She is so sadly mistaken. This issue is the litmus test; they just can’t hold their noses and vote for you ant longer, Senator.
There are other options open to voters.
******
Then again . . .
We know that the Tea Party folks are really good at communicating with their congressional representatives. It only takes five minutes to go online and do it.
Tired of getting the “Some of us have jobs! Families! Responsibilities! Dogs and Cats to Feed! Music to download! Episodes of Survivor to watch!” line from people?
Not that it will sink in, but remind them once again that it only takes a few minutes go online and send a message to Lincoln’s office. The Tea Party folks are finding the time.
*****
Quote of the Day
I know that in theory the word is secondary in cinema, but the secret of my work is that everything is based on the word. I always begin with the dialogue. And I do not understand how one dares to write action before dialogue. I must begin with what the characters say. I must know what they say before seeing them do what they do. - Orson Welles
***
White House officials feared J.K. Rowling promoted witchcraft
No, it was the Bushies . . .
http://scifiwire.com/2009/09/white-house-officials-fea.php#more
Tuesday, September 29, 2009 - 11:31:45
OOPS
I was talking with someone - not wit - sheesh!The Tyranny of Common Sense
Common sense isn't. - Solomon Short (David Gerrold)
I was talking wit someone the other day, who was extolling the virtues of Common Sense. Or rather, I was talked at by this person, who was having none of anything that I had to say. The subject?
Common Sense.
There is a school of thought - and I use that term in the loosest possible way - that common sense trumps all education, formal or otherwise, and that a man or woman with good old fashioned “front porch common sense” can see right through a problem much quicker than an “expert” loaded down with years of higher learning.
That way, as Shakespeare once wrote, lies madness.
It’s easy to understand why people feel this way, I think. In the workplace, we have often seen the Peter Principle at work - "In a Hierarchy Every Employee Tends to Rise to His Level of Incompetence." God knows I’ve proven that one on more than one occasion.
That many such employees may have some higher education just proves to some that education may be the problem - hence the dark mutterings of those who sneer at “educated idiots.” For many, the belief is that common sene will always triumph over education.
So, really, why bother with all that edumacation stuff anyway?
I think that there are two kinds of common sense. The first kind, the most valuable, is the sort derived from a lifetime of experience - both formal education, and everything that one has learned in life. This is real, and we should respect it.
The other is the dangerous kind. This is the individual who believes that human beings are born with an innate common sense, that sort of “front porch common sense” that is praised and valued by those stoking paranoid fears against pointy-headed intellectuals.
If this belief were true, we would would all be justified in seeking out three-year-olds as Life Coaches.
******
Quote of the Day
"Civil disobedience is not our problem. Our problem is civil obedience. Our problem is that numbers of people all over the world have obeyed the dictates of the leaders of their government and have gone to war, and millions have been killed because of this obedience. Our problem is that people are obedient all over the world in the face of poverty and starvation and stupidity, and war, and cruelty. Our problem is that people are obedient while the jails are full of petty thieves, and all the while the grand thieves are running and robbing the country. That's our problem.":Howard Zinn, from 'Failure to Quit'
Monday, September 28, 2009 - 11:05:12
Abortion for liberals?
Interesting comment on a public message board the other night, when someone wrote what they obviously felt was the height of wit, concerning current events.
The only exception is I now support abortion for all liberals!
As I read his comment, I realized that there was no way that anyone capable of writing such a witty remark is actually capable of realizing that some in our society are already taking his witticism to heart, whether it be murdering abortion providers, killing people in church, or a dozen other acts.
We have rich, well-fed commentators on the right, whipping the crowds into a frenzy on matters across this country, whether it be health care, climate change, property rights, ACORN, or any of a score of other issues that threaten the status quo.
For many - especially after last year’s election - things have degenerated into an Us vs Them mentality. Those on the left are not just seen as wrong, but truly as the enemies of America.
It’s as if you have an entire political movement charged up on way too much caffeine, with someone taking away all of their newspapers and magazines, so that they only read the ravings of conspiracy fiends like Glenn Beck, Sarah palin, and the cretins at Free Republic.
And each time a murder occurs, those on the right will protest, "Who? Us? We don't preach hatred or violence?" and attempt to turn it back on those who have been gunned down.
Abortion for liberals?
Yeah, right.
******
Quote of the Day
The writer must believe that what he is doing is the most important thing in the world. And he must hold to this illusion, even when he knows it is not true. - John Steinbeck
*****
The creepiest response to wage theft yet from a public figure
A local union has posted a message on Facebook asking folks not to give their business to a certain restaurant in Fayetteville, due to a wage conflict with their employees. I reposted it, and several folks on the right of the political spectrum responded. A few jokes were made, the old line about if they don’t like their job they should quit was just cavalierly thrown out, but the most intriguing one was thrown out by a local newspaper columnist:
I hear --------- had great enchiladas and cheese dip. I'll stop by and bring some home this week.
I won’t give you his name, but he’s tried to make a name for himself over the years by being oh-so-sensitive to the plight of ordinary people.
I haven’t mentioned the name of the eatery since the dispute might be resolved by the time you read this. I’ll leave you to guess guess who the great cheese dip lover is.
****
My New Hero
Man spends 2 years building Dalek out of 480,000 matches
http://scifiwire.com/2009/09/man-spends-2-years-buildi.php
Wednesday, September 23, 2009 - 01:51:01
C.F. Roberts: The most dangerous man in Fayetteville
Last week, while taking the bus downtown, I realized that I was taking my life in my hands. I was on my was to do some editing with C.F. Roberts, the most dangerous man in Fayetteville. A certain thrill went through me as I wondered what others thought when they saw his name on the credits on various shows on C.A.T.?
Do they tremble? Do mothers warn their children not to go to Community Access Television after the sun goes down, in case the dark and mysterious C.F. Roberts may be skulking about?
Have there been C.F. Roberts sightings in various parts of town, with nervous folks peering from behind their curtains, wondering when the madness might strike, and their lives will never be the same again?
Well, the truth has to come out sometime, I suppose. The dark madman many fear exists only in the realm of my fevered imagination; in reality, C.F Roberts might be described as this really, really big teddy bear.
He is also the director of my show on C.A.T. Over the years, I have found it useful to invoke the image of a snarling, bad-tempered director, when the show is almost out of time.
“Well, my director has just thrown a chair at the wall,” I might say. “It’s just his way of telling us that our time us up.”
“My director is shaking his fist at us. I think we’re running out of time.”
“My director just threw a camera operator through the door. I think our time is up.”
I’d like to think that over the last few years, the C.F. Roberts whose name is attached to my show represents a magnificent dark force to unsuspecting viewers, the kind of man who clutches a bottle in one hand and what is left of his sanity in the other.
Just think of the biker/mercenary in Raising Arizona, and magnify that by ten.
I suppose I could come clean, and tell people what a nice guy C.F. Roberts really is, but it’s really not in my best interest. After all, if he is the most dangerous man in Fayetteville, surely I am the bravest, for working with him?
******
Quote of the Day
"Nobody can be well psychologically if their riches or life depend on the instability of someone else's life." - Rachel Townsend, Northwest Arkansas Workers' Justice Center (2007) - quoted in Little Rock Free Press
*****
On the Air with Dotty Oliver
Dotty Oliver, author of Mistress of the Misunderstood, and publisher of the Arkansas Free Press, will be my guest next week.
Mistress of the Misunderstood is a collection of Oliver’s columns, which ran in the Arkansas Free Press - originally the Little Rock Free Press - throughout her run as publisher. Reading the columns is akin to opening a time capsule on a period many may not even be aware of.
Oliver also wrote on subjects that many publishers never go near, including the drug war and her views on sexuality, among many other subjects.
In the 1990s Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee sued the Free Press; the story is recounted in Oliver’s book, and discussed on the show.
In addition to discussing the Free Press, many other subjects are touched upon, including Oliver’s life before launching the paper, her political and social views, and her thoughts on the future of alternative journalism.
Show days and times
Monday - Sept. 28 (7pm)
Tuesday - Sept. 29 (noon)
Saturday - Oct. 3 (6pm)
C.A.T. is shown on Channel 18 of the Cox Channel line-up in Fayetteville.
Those outside the Fayetteville viewing area can see the program online at:
http://www.catfayetteville.org/
Programs online are shown in “real time,” meaning that they are shown at the same time as they are shown on C.A.T.
Sunday, September 20, 2009 - 09:32:28
Journey's End - thoughts on the death of my father
I wrote this in 1996, nine years after my father died, after a six-month battle with brain cancer. I suspect the story is pretty universal.
Journey’s End
Written by Richard S. Drake
One November evening in 1977, just a few short hours after I had entered into a marriage that could only be described as “disastrous,” (and which everyone could see but me) my father sat at the kitchen table and wept.
My father and I never spoke of the incident. I found out only because my mother had related the story to a woman I was living with several years later. Hearing about it both amazed and disconcerted me.
There was much that my father and I never spoke of; like many parents and children, there constantly seemed to be a barrier between us. There were differences and issues between us that we both were aware of but never spoke of. And on the few occasions when one of us would make the attempt to breach the wall, it seemed that the other was not open to the effort.
More often than not, I was the one who rejected the efforts at reconciliation. And yet the bonds that connected us, both genetic and spiritual, could not be broken, despite everything.
Two years ago, in June of 1994, my father was diagnosed with brain cancer. He had celebrated his 61st birthday just days before.
I got the message at around ten o'clock in the evening that my father had suffered what seemed to be a stroke. Arriving at Washington Regional Medical Center, I was informed that he had collapsed at home and that my sister had driven him to the hospital. Once at the hospital, he had begun having seizures. He also could not remember his own name, nor the name of the family members with him.
As I walked into the emergency room, he was laying atop the bed, nurses hovering around him. He looked up at me and said, “Hello, Richard.”
“Do you know who that is?”someone asked.
“Yes,” he answered, “that’’s Richard.”
Why would he recognize me, when there were others gathered around who had been more attentive, more respectful, more loving than me? I have never been able to anser this question: Who was I to you?
I volunteered to watch over my father while the rest of my family went home and got some much-needed rest. That night my father and I had an encounter that would stay with me throughout the course of his illness.
My father was still confused as he was put to rest upstairs in a room. Moreover, he was fitted with a catheter which we were told must stay attached. I settled down to watch over him as he slept.
Every so often he would moan loudly, or ask for his wife (his memory was returning). I managed to calm him and sat with him throughout the night, talking quietly to him when he would awaken.
Close to dawn, my exhaustion and fear for my father combined to bring me to momentary sleep as I sat in the easy chair next to the bed. My eyes snapped open as my father leapt from the bed, attempting to rid himself of the catheter. I rang the bell for the nurse and placed my hands my father's shoulders, trying to calm him. In his confusion, he fought against me, and to my horror, I found myself struggling with my own father, clad only in a hospital gown in a darkened hospital room, while calling loudly for the nurse.
He slipped from my grasp and against a small table, sliding to the floor.
I ran to the door, yelling for the nurse. Within seconds, she was in the room, helping my father back to the bed. In all, the entire sequence of events must have only lasted perhaps a minute, but it was a minute that has stayed with me since then.
But perhaps what disconcerted me the most during my father's illness was his resultant loss of physical and communication skills. To not be able to read, or speak coherently, or even tell time must have been a living hell for my father.
What terrible frustrations he must have felt, able to communicate with no one, trapped within the prison of a mind which had betrayed him.
My mother and sister took care of my father for the length of his illness, just as they had during his previous bouts with cancer. Though my mother asked me several times to come over and take care of him for a weekend, I almost always found something to do, whether it be work or other
obligations.
The memory of grappling with my confused father in a darkened hospital room was never far from my mind.
After several stays in different hospitals, my father spent his last days in Fayetteville’s Veteran’s Hospital. When I went to visit him I was shocked at how terrible he looked. Laying in a bed in a room which almost resembled a storeroom rather than a hospital room, he was shrunken in on himself. “It's time to die,” the thought came unbidden from my mind.
“It's time to die.”
We spent a few minutes engaging in meaningless conversation, neither understanding the other. We had spent 40 years engaged in similar conversations, each of us unable (and perhaps at times unwilling) to understand the other. Where before some of our misunderstandings and lack of communication may well have been because our viewpoints were so divergent, now the wall between us was stone solid, thick and cold and dark.
This last wall would not be crossed by hand or voice or prayer. This was Death’s wall, and its gate would only open for a second, and would admit only one.
My father had come to the VA to die, and so he did a few days later, on a cold Saturday, close to midnight. Christmas was a short week later.
Within minutes after he was declared officially dead, I went down to the office and completed the paperwork necessary at times like this, since I was the only family member who still had composure left. But very soon after my mother and sister had left the hospital, the shock hit me, and badly. I looked down and saw my father’s body, stiff under the sheet.
Panic and loss began to surge through my bloodstream. Reaching for the telephone, I began dialing all the numbers I could remember, but almost everyone I tried to reach was asleep or not at home.
When I finally made contact with a human being, I found myself unable to speak more than a few stumbling sentences.
On the way out of the hospital, all of the emotion that I had been suppressing surged through me at once, and I hurled my fist straight out at the gleaming wall of the elevator. It did no good at all. Once out of the hospital, I walked for hours before coming home and surrendering to an unsettled sleep.
As in all families, each person in my family traveled the road toward my father’s departure on similar yet very different paths. For the survivors, the hardest path was traveled by my mother, who took care of him over the last months of his life.
Finally, I realized that our paths are continuing, even two years later, and we are still affected by his death. As I walk down the path along other deaths and toward my own, I hope that use the lessons my father’s death taught me, and cross over - however briefly - onto other’s paths, and walk through walls.
Ozark Gazette - June 10, 1996
Saturday, September 19, 2009 - 10:06:16
When you prostitute your office, Senator, you prostitute the rest of us, as well
Blanche Lambert Lincoln and the ever-stalwart Mike Ross are fighting the Infidels, and defending the Innocent in the great Health Care Battle of 2009. The only thing is, for Lincoln and Ross, the people of Arkansas are the Infidels, and the Innocents they are so desperately fighting to defend are the insurance giants who have made life a living (and dying) hell for so many families in this country.
One might understand - if not actually forgive - these actions if such bizarre behavior came out of some sense of corporate altruism, fighting for what they truly think of as the American Way. But the bitter truth is that both Lincoln and Ross, like others in Congress, have sold themselves out to the healthcare industry, even going so far as to quote from the Lewin Group, a sham organization owned by a health care giant, in their pandering speeches and letters opposing reform.
I have felt for a long time that whenever a reporter quotes a member of congress on an issue, they should mention the campaign contributions they have taken from those involved on the matter. It would make for entertaining reading.
Since a majority of those in Arkansas who have been polled favor reform - www.americablog.com/2009/09/solid-majority-of-arkansans-support.html - many are left with the bitter taste in their mouths that our leaders in Congress have rented themselves out to the highest bidder, and honestly think that we won’t notice.
Well, people have. And when you rent (or sell, actually) your office out, you drag the rest of us along with you.
I’m not sure about Ross, but Lincoln’s career may not survive - especially if she faces competition not only from the Green Party but also from within the Democratic Party.
What profiteth a member of Congress to gain the whole world, but lose her own constituents?
******
Quote of the Day
The newspaper . . . knows nearly everything and guesses at the rest . . . Without it, democratic government would be difficult and traveling in the subway quite impossible. - Simeon Strunsky
*****
On the Air with Mendy Knott
Rerunning an interview from March this week with Mendy Knott, who wrote the play, Men Only, which was performed earlier this year at Fayetteville’s Goddess Festival in a staged reading.
Knott's writing reflects her life as a working-class, out-lesbian who grew up the child of a Southern preacher. She is well-known for performance poetry, peace activism, and ongoing support of women's creativity.
Knott's body of work includes poetry, memoir, play writing, editing, song writing, fiction, and screen writing. Her publications include three poetry CDs and three self-published poetry chapbooks, one of which was nominated for the Pushcart Prize.
Days and times:
Monday - 7pm
Tuesday - noon
Saturday - 6pm
C.A.T. is shown on Channel 18 of the Cox Channel line-up in Fayetteville.
Those outside the Fayetteville viewing area can see the program online at:
http://www.catfayetteville.org/
Programs online are shown in “real time,” meaning that they are shown at the same time as they are shown on C.A.T.
On Preserving Alternative Journalism History
Surrendering to the Liars and Bullies
Property Rights to Dominate Local Elections - 1996
Explaining Dickson Street
Labor Day? Huh?
Memo to Dick Cheney: We must shudder for the world we live in . . .
About those Gadflies . . .
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