It all began way back in 2004 when MoveOn first posted a couple videos that compared Bush to Hitler, then gasped and groveled and aplogized and pulled them. Why so cowardly? War crimes are war crimes, fascism is fascism, disappearance and torture is… ok you get my point. It was a disappointment that showed their true (limber-dick, pussy-ass) colors.
Then came the Democratic primaries, and they endorsed Barack Obama even while Kucinich was still in it. Kucinich, the candidate who can get his mouth around those big tough words like single payer and impeachment. Why? There is no excuse — except possibly that they are good old neoliberals, and they suck.
Then I tried to get off their email list, and had to do the unsubscribe routine like five times. Very annoying. They send too damn many emails, as anyone who has been a subscriber or has read this piece in the Onion well knows.
Then, against our better judgement, my girlfriend and I decided to order like 20 Obama buttons from MoveOn. (Of course we support Obama now.) Four to six weeks for delivery, they say. Well, it’s been several weeks and still no buttons. Fuxup with that, dudes? When are we gonna see these buttons, December?
I’m sorry MoveOn, but let’s face facts: you suck.
A gmail ad re Palin: need we say more?
You know how gmail peeks at your email and pulls up ads targeted accordingly. Just now their ad-targeting algorithm came up with this gem for me:
Can Palin Lead America?
92% of America say Yes. Vote Now!
Get a DysonDC25 Vacuum with Email.
ThePopVote.com/Woman-President
Of course Sarah Palin is qualified, honey. Now here’s your free vacuum cleaner. And please don’t forget to iron my underwear and buy some more beer.
Why run a marathon?
For over 20 years I have been running for recreation and fitness, anywhere from about .8 to three or four times a week for distances of 4 to 6 miles. I have rarely been concerned about performance or proving anything. I was in it for fun and fitness. Suddenly, at age 50, I am signed up for the Philadelphia Marathon on November 23, 2008, and training seriously. How did this happen?
The influence of a running-fanatic friend was a factor. He encouraged me to try a half-marathon organized by the New York Road Runners back in January. This was the longest distance I had ever run and I was not properly trained for it. I was sore as hell for days afterwards, but I loved it. Five thousand pairs of feet trotting through the cold air of Central Park, a kin-hin line writ extremely large. I decided I would meet the NYYR requirement for entry into the New York Marathon in 2009 by running in at least nine races in 2008, and thus open the option of doing a marathon.
Then my running friend got into my head again: Why don’t you do Philadelphia in the fall? It’s open to anyone who pays the registration fee. I thought this over for a couple weeks, fretting over the difficulty of fitting training into an already busy life. Then just said fuck it, hit the website and did the deed.
Now I am embarked on a formal training program (from the Running Planet) that prepares you to complete a marathon in four hours. I felt irrationally attached to the four hour number even before arriving at it rationally. It’s a nice round figure, and four hours of continuous running is quite enough, thank you, so let’s get it over with. It’s a fortunate coincidence that my running history is such that the four hour goal does appear to be reasonable and attainable. So I am going at it five or six days a week, getting up before dawn to trod the pavement and run around Liberty State Park as the sun comes up, hitting the treadmill at work, exerting myself like never before in my life.
Why do this? I have long been vaguely curious about the experience of completing a marathon and thought it might be interesting to try it some day and find out if I could do it. Then I noticed I was 50 years old. Now seems like a pretty good time to get started, rather than waiting until 60 or 70.
Yes, but that’s doesn’t answer the question: why do this? I read some place that there are as many reasons as there are runners, but that’s another evasion.
Am I trying to outrun the grim reaper? Well, no, I fully expect to die. But first I would like to run a marathon.
But why? Am I trying to prove that I am disciplined and tough? Maybe a little. I don’t think I need to prove that I am fit, it’s a pretty simple and uncontroversial fact. But I will rather enjoy showing my medal to people. I guess that would be about ego gratification.
Why? Why go to so much trouble for ego gratification, or whatever it is? I don’t know. Yesterday I was in Urban Athletics buying gear, and had a chat with one of the co-owners. When I raised this question with him, he simply said, cross the finish line and you’ll know why.
I am reminded of something my Zen teacher once said to me: Ultimate truth cannot be known. But it can be experienced. Perhaps Jerry from Urban Athletics was saying the same thing.
Update: A few days later, Sensei was not impressed when I told him this story about the above remark from the guy at Urban Athletics. Ever the consummate Zen dude, he said: why ask why?
Fuckheads block my mail to my dad
My dad, a retired professor of musicology, is a DSL customer of the Ontario and Trumansburg Telephone Companies. We have carried on email correspondence for years, peppering our prose with F-bombs whenever the urge arises. One fine day he stopped receiving mail from my gmail account, so I suggested he contact his ISP to see if I was being blocked. It turns out that his provider had begun applying “decency filters” to his incoming mail without his knowledge or consent, and my messages had been quarantined. When he demanded that they stop inspecting his mail for “decency,” they replied with boilerplate instructions on how to whitelist my address. He got on the phone and explained that what he wanted was not to whitelist his correspondents one by one, but to have the decency filter disabled outright. The drone with whom he spoke appeared not to understand. He is escalating his case up to the telco’s CEO Paul Griswold, and copying his correspondence to the New York ACLU and the Electronic Frontier Foundation.
Grouchy old bastard that he is, my dad has little patience with mindlessness and stubborn stupidity of this sort. So in his latest round of correspondence, he busted their balls thus:
One of your people called me a short time ago, and astonished (and, I must admit) infuriated me by his real (or feigned) inability to understand what I was trying to say to him. So let me try to get at it in writing.
There is a world of difference between filtering spam as such and filtering for what you mistakenly take to be “decency.” The first is allowable; the second is abominable. And to do either or both without telling the subscriber what you are doing is detestable. If your technology is so crude that it cannot distinguish between spam and four letter words, you need new technology. But be that as it may, your minds should be capable of grasping the point.
So got it? It is really very simple.
Now, I am an old professor, so let me read you a lecture; please hold still for a few moments. The US Constitution of course has nothing directly to do with our dispute. It does, however, bear on it indirectly in a most profound way. The Constitution is not merely the legal basis of our country, it also has determined our ethos.
Now read it. You will see that it is profoundly mistrustful of the political judgments of what its authors thought of as “the mob,” a group to which you and I probably would have been thought to belong. That is why the Senate was originally elected by state legislatures; that is why even today with direct election, it remains profoundly unrepresentative. On the other hand, The Constitution in its first final form — that is with the Bill of Rights added to the original document — is deeply concerned about individual liberties. It is accordingly at once quite libertarian and somewhat undemocratic.
To leap to our little situation: not only are you not my censor, but your attempt to assume this dreadful role really does violate America’s basic ethos and is accordingly deeply offensive to people like me. Despite everything, we still believe in each citizen’s basic responsibility for himself. We refuse to turn this responsibility over to others. You have no right to take it away from for me on your own initiative. And in truth, I have no right to turn it over to you so long as I am sentient.
That your definition of “indecency” is idiotic and contrary to sound morality is another matter and could be explained to you only in the context of another little lecture. I fear you have had enough for now.
Please actually read and understand what I have written you. Do not reply with some canned nonsense from corporate headquarters or anything of that silly sort. There’s no point in that. If you cannot engage me in reasonable and intelligent discourse, do not engage me at all. But do turn off that thrice damned decency filter.
What do you make of that? What are the odds that anyone will understand what he’s saying and respond appropriately?
Obama, arugula-eating elitist
Now we’re told that according to the latest desperate right-wing smear campaign, Obama is an arugula-eating elitist. A celebrity intellectual, not in touch with common folk.
Let’s accept that for argument’s sake. So much the better. I am a well-paid, educated super-liberal white male who reads books and speaks a second language: an America-hating elitist snob if ever there was one. Therefore, I like Obama better than McCain because I have more in common with Obama. What a happy irony! Who would have imagined forty years ago that a white guy like me would end up voting for the black guy because we were in the same social class.
By the way, my gratitude to The Daily Show for keeping me informed about politics.
Car buyer’s dilemma
I have not owned a car since my aging Honda Civic was stolen eight years ago, when I banked the modest payout from the insurance company and never looked back. I had the use of my wife’s car up until September 2006 when we separated, so I have truly been carless for not quite two years — and loving it. I live two minutes from commuter trains that take me to downtown Manhattan in a matter of minutes, then it’s about a 15 minute walk to my workplace. If I need to get somewhere that isn’t reasonably accessible by public transportation or walking, then I take a taxi or someone gives me a ride. If the destination is not local, then I rent a car. You might be surprised how beautiful and liberating it is to live this way. No parking hassles, no insurance or maintenance expenses, no sitting in traffic wishing I were somewhere else.
Alas, my carless days are coming to an end, because my daughter and her mother are moving over 20 miles from where I live. I had long since decided that I wanted my next automobile to be a hybrid — fuel-efficient, environmentally friendly. The fact that I need a car now, as gasoline is up to $4.00 a gallon, is an unfortunate coincidence. Gas prices have driven demand for hybrids to the point where dealers can get away with a little gouging. Perhaps six months ago you could have negotiated and paid $200 over the dealer invoice price for a Toyota Prius. Now you will likely pay at least $2000 over the so-called MSRP, and you will wait anywhere from several weeks to three months for the privilege. Moreover, you will be forced to pay for leather seats, GPS and other luxuries that you might not need or want, because the more economical “packages” are sold out till fuck knows when.
Now, suppose you aren’t comfortable paying over $30,000 for a car equipped with stuff that you don’t want? Further suppose that you do have the money to do it anyway, although it will be a sacrifice. Further suppose that you might well not drive the car enough for the fuel savings to pay for the expense of the Prius relative to a less expensive car — in other words in pure financial terms you’d do better with something like a Honda Fit or Civic, Toyota Yaris or Corolla. That’s a purely selfish economic calculus that does not factor in the environmental impact. What to do?
Here’s what’s disturbing: in order for Americans to begin to wake up to reality and look for fuel efficiency, they have had to be struck hard on the head with the large, heavy club of $4/gallon gas. Capitalist market dynamics being what they are, consumers are forced to pay a premium — to put it politely — to do the right thing by getting a responsible car. This is the inverse of what should be. Government should be forcing auto manufacturers to adhere to a timetable for phasing out 100% gas-powered cars entirely, levy a surcharge on buyers of gas-powered cars, and use the revenue to provide rebates to consumers who buy hybrids. Environmentally friendly behavior should be encouraged and rewarded — but no. Instead they shove it up your ass so far your eyeballs pop out of your head.
Alas, Willie has got to go
Like a lot of people, I grow weary of the Willie Randolph death vigil. And I have reluctantly, and somewhat belatedly, come to the conclusion that Willie has got to go.
I have long supported Willie Randolph. I have liked his management of the Mets, and I admired him back in the days when he played second base for the Yankees. He comes across as likeable, straightforward, non-hysterical and clear-minded. Where others have second-guessed some of his management decisions, I have said yeah right. Had it worked, he’d be hailed as a genius.
But he’s the manager of a team that has been underperforming by too much for too long. The buck has to stop first with him, next with Omar Minaya. It doesn’t matter whether it’s fair or unfair. Life is unfair. Willie Randolph, I bow deeply to you in gassho.
On turning fifty
I had the honor of turning 50 the other day. My girlfriend (not quite 42 years old) generously hosted a back yard party at her house. There were about 25 delightful people, flawless spring weather, splendid food and drink. Had I been invited to say a few words to mark the occasion, I would have said something like the following.
I have no scruples about making a big deal out of my 50th birthday. If multiples of ten are noteworthy, multiples of 50 are huge. Living 50 years is an accomplishment one usually does not repeat. It’s a good time to take a look at one’s life and notice how it is unfolding, developing, changing, and to savor the pleasures of getting older.
When you get old enough, your past becomes so long that it can be considered history. When I turned ten the year was 1968. Martin Luther King had been assassinated a couple weeks before, and cities were burning. Robert F. Kennedy was to be assassinated in June, as Hillary Clinton so tastefully reminded us the other day. The United States was mired in a catastrophic imperial misadventure in Viet Nam, where what is known as the Tet Offensive was in full swing. The Pentagon and the CIA were in a power struggle over lying to the American public about enemy troop strength. Grim and bloody news of the war came to us daily through radio, television and print media. Many young people were rebelling and doing a lot of drugs. I was in fourth grade and my friends and I would ride around freely on our bicycles with neither supervision nor helmets.
At 20 I was a music student, working diligently and with determination to become a classical guitarist. Remember the Jimmy Carter administration?
At 30 I was a fairly accomplished classical guitarist and quit the business in favor of “real” full time employment. Late Reagan era, Bush senior about to ascend to the throne.
At 40 I was well established in a reasonably honorable and well-paying career, a homeowner, married, no kids. The Clinton years.
At 50 I am in the same job, the divorce very nearly a done deal, my daughter recently turned five, the house about to be sold (profitably, housing collapse notwithstanding). I live peacefully and contentedly in good health with two superb cats, and things have never been better. I am immensely grateful for my good fortune. Meanwhile, as Barack Obama prepares to defeat John McCain in the fall, the human race has probably never been in greater peril. Will my daughter’s planet be inhabitable when she is approaching fifty?
* * *
In our society a lot of us have a troubled and complicated relationship with aging. We lie about our age, or we snicker and chuckle and joke about it. “You look much yonger than fifty” is considered a high compliment. I can’t help but think that underlying that attitude is fear of nothing other than death. We grasp and cling to life and run like hell from death, we generally avoid thinking about the inevitable extinction of our selves and our loved ones — until it’s too late. Life is replete with unspeakable suffering, and then, in the best case scenario, you get old age, sickness and death for your trouble. That being the case, what — if any — is the purpose, value, meaning of anything? Is “I don’t know” a satisfactory answer? Does it matter?
I am convinced that the time to face the large questions is now, when you can still reasonably expect to have a couple decades to work on it, not when you’re in the hospice with three days to live. And the most important way to work on this little side project is to stare at the wall every day without fail. If I have to confess to having a goal or objective in practicing Zen, it is this: keep stilling the scattered, chattering mind and use the tools Zen provides to help us face facts. When it’s time to go, be prepared. In the meantime, enjoy living life instead of worrying about losing it.
Having money — more or less
The wisdom that he who knows he has enough is rich dates back at least as far as Laozi, a/k/a Lao Tsu. Countless studies have since established that material prosperity does not equal happiness. And while it is one thing to nod your head and say yes I agree with this proposition, it is quite another to acquire direct knowledge of it through experience.
I have had the good fortune to suffer enough of an economic reversal to be able to learn about having less money, while at the same time not having my essential economic security — food, shelter — seriously threatened. And I am pleased to report that you can be happier with less money in your pocket. Having bills come due with my checking account balance running as low as $124 is inconvenient, but it is little more than an inconvenience. Again, especially when one is still gainfully employed and can expect some relief at the next paycheck, within a couple weeks at most. One comes to appreciate that other aspects of life truly are more valuable and important than your checking account balance. Indeed, having that balance plunge and not caring is immensely liberating.
One also learns something about fear and anxiety. I stand in the very situation that terrified me couple of years ago when it was an abstract possibility: having to make do with less, paying a hefty child support obligation while also maintaining my own household in an area where the cost of living is high. And yet here I am, and not only is it OK, it’s a good deal better than OK.
I am reminded of something my teacher once said, à propos of anxieties that come up during zazen: we should be grateful for them, because we often discover that the thorny problem we were so worried about is not thorny, or if it is, the thorns are not as dangerous as we thought. The logic is rather subtle — why does that mean we should be grateful? I suppose the reasoning is that you should be grateful for the teaching that eventually comes out of those anxieties that arise while you are studying the paint on the wall.
So it is with having less money than you previously did. I like to joke that if I had a more abundant money supply, I would permit myself two self-indulgences. One is that I would buy a great wheel of high quality parmesan cheese, far more than I need. This would be for pure greed and amusement. I think it would be a kick to have that much cheese in the house. I would give away big hunks of it. The other eccentricity I would indulge in is reading glasses. I would buy perhaps a thousand inexpensive pairs and scatter them everywhere: every surface of every room, every pocket of every garment. That’s because I frequently misplace them. The reading glasses market is highly volatile in my household, not suitable for the risk-averse. My reading glasses portfolio can gain and lose large percentages of its value in a single afternoon. I start with two, then I have seven, then one. I would insulate myself against those shocks by owning a large reserve — very large.
So there you have it. Not having a lot of cash to spare is not bad. If I had more, the only things I would change are my parmesan cheese and reading glasses inventories. But I don’t, and am quite happy to buy these items in modest quantities.
Grits or homefries
When I saw this sign I thought of a couple of people who would appreciate it, so I went back later with my camera to take this snap. “We served grits or homefries.” Past tense. Ha ha ha. Get it? They are ignorant, I am superior. How are they going to attract customers with a historical trivium such as this? And an ambiguous one at that: does “grits or homefries” mean they don’t know which they once served?
The joke was on me, as the photo turned out to be strikingly beautiful in its own right.