Several days ago, I posted an essay written by an author I have never met, nor previously read: Mr.Tim Wise. In this article, Mr. Wise speaks to the political benefits that white people have historically enjoyed and how those benefits play a role in this year’s presidential election.

I’ve received several responses to that article (one can be read on ths website, a couple vile in their language,  and one that was well….I’m not sure… The writer seemed to be on an acid trip when s/he (?) wrote it.) I am thrilled when people write back to me and post ideas, theories, responses and thoughts. Thanks, by the way to all of you. (Although whoever wrote that rambling piece about the flag…you feel better today?) 

 It seems from the posts I get at this site that people have forgotten how to just….you know…TALK. Has the Jerry Springer “Let’s yell really loud and swear” philosophy infected America so deeply that we can no longer share our ideas in a respectful, responsible way?  Has this country become so infatuated with the “15 Minutes of Fame” overnight celebrity status that we no longer care about anything but what hearing ourselves talk? Is it just me, or has our society forgotten the fine art of DISCUSSION? 

Calm down! This country was founded on a belief that the planet needed a place where people could live as equals. While this is not yet TOTALLY come to pass (racism, homophobia, etc etc etc), it’s still a great idea. Should one race be placed above another? Should straight people have more legal rights than gays? Should men get paid more than women for the same job? I think the answer to these questions is ‘NO’.

But I have bad news for some of you: other people think the answer is “YES”. And they have every right to feel that way.  So let’s review: ‘equality’ and ‘freedom’ and ‘democracy’ means that some people have a RIGHT to NOT believe in God. Some people have the RIGHT to view pornography.  People should have the RIGHT to smoke wherever they want to do so.  Gay people should be allowed to marry whomever they wish.

If you disagree with this - GREAT! It’s your right to do so. But remember, somebody fought for the right of other people to DISAGREE with you. Sorry, but it’s a two-way street.

So let’s all stop yelling on TV talk shows (what do you think ‘talk’ means, anyway?), stop using vulgar language in place of descriptive … oh, nouns…and stop bulldozing your way through other people’s thoughts. Let’s remember how to listen. Let’s remember that to discuss an issue does not mean you believe it.

I did NOT write this post, I bring it to you from a writer who was recommended by a friend…although I’m not sure I agree that the problem with the world is racially oriented, I do believe it is class related.   But, with no further rambling, I present to you an article written by Tim Wise…

September 13, 2008, 2:01 pm

Too many buttons. Too many menus. Too many…decisions. I want my computer to just…DO … the things I need it to do without fuss, worry or input on my part.  The reason I struggle with computers is the same reason most people love computers - CHOICES! I don’t care that Olive green New Times Roman Font can be laid over lavender wallpaper with downloaded designs from stock shareware.

ARRRGGGHHH!

I type. It prints. You read. Shazam! Communication happens.

This is why I loved my Macintosh. I can say that now; now that Apple Computers has revamped its image and TV commercials to represent a hip, clean, “Totally Dude!” style of living, people are flocking to them once more.

But, see, I was a Mac fan long before the “PC vs Mac” commercials. I bought their computers long before the 24 inch duel drive, iPod-injected-into-an-iMac craze which made the apple hip again. My first computer had a screen slightly bigger than the average shoe - seriously - if I remember correctly, the Mac had a screen 10″ wide. The slot under the green (!) screen was for a 5 inch floppy disk that (hold your breath) you couldn’t put near a magnet lest it become corrupted. It weighed much more than it looked like it should have and I loved it. I loved its small size, I loved its design, I loved the way all the plugs were clearly labeled and its ease of use.

Most of all, I loved the way it treated me like an idiot.

Need to save? No problem! Text boxes saying things like, “Are you sure you want to save” and “Apple will now save your work, okay?” popped on the screen. Need to rename a file? No problem! Another text that asks “Do you want to rename this file?” and “What do you want to name it?” led me slowly through the process. I never lost a file. I never forgot what to name something. And - most importantly - I never deleted anything by accident.

After switching to my laptop - which is a slave to Microsoft - I long for the simplicity of those days of apples. Now my days are filled with text boxes saying, “Choose which program you want to use to open this file.”  If I knew that, I would do it myself. You’re the computer! You’re supposed to know that!

My iMac always knew.

I visited the Apple store yesterday with the intention of looking over the products that are surly flooding the market of which I have never seen.  Upon entering the building, a young man approached me.
“Hi!” he said, all smiles, “how can I help you?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly, “my laptop is dying. I need a new computer, but I don’t know anything about them. They confuse me. CAN you help?”

His smile never wavered. He left and momentarily returned with “Robert”. Robert looked as if he was born mere days ago and I doubted he knew much of anything besides the multiplication tables and the time for recess.  Was he old enough to shave?

Robert politely asked how much I knew of computers and, upon seeing the horrified look on my face, instantly dumbed down his conversation. He spoke not of dual-RAM, ROM CD-R,CD-WR or processing power, but rather, “This one is really fast. This one is WAY more fast. What do you do with the computer?” He talked computer-ese  with a “Dave” accent, by showing pictures instead of words and explaining what buttons do rather than how many Hz and giga-bytes the thing carried within its ‘guts’ (which, apparently, is the hip word for mechanisms within the machine. Who knew?)

Not only did I leave feeling more comfortable with my decision to walk away from PC’s forever, but a new respect for computer geeks. I had no idea geeks existed who could speak both “Computer” and “Idiot”.

Another argument in favor of bi-lingualism.

When I spill table salt, I’m the goofball dinner companion who carefully uses my left hand to toss a few grains over my shoulder. I am obsessive regarding maintaining a moratorium on whistling in a theatre. If I accidentally break a mirror, I start to save money for the seven years of impending poverty. I can’t stop myself from doing these behaviors; I have a deep rooted belief that superstitions must have a kernel of truth hidden within the craziness or they wouldn’t have survived this long. I believe clues to maneuvering through life had been handed down to us in snippets of truth - folklore, fairy tales and the like - so who am I to question the importance of a salt shaker in Denny’s? These annoying rituals could be quite possibly be messages from the Gods, tossed down to us like spiritual bread crumbs on the ethers, and I don’t want to tempt fate with my belligerent attitude.

And man! Do they make for great dinner conversation.

Because I carry within me this very OCC-like compulsion to pay attention to “Old Wives Tales” (Is that phrase still politically correct? Do I care?) I am hyper-sensitive to a barrage of quirky superstitions and react to them with all the tenacity of a bored cat with a catnip plant.

This week I have heard people talking about speeding tickets. Not once. Not twice. THREE times. We all know the mystical significance to ‘Three’. If you don’t, go ask anyone when they lost interest in that favorite TV program and they’ll say, “Oh, about the THIRD year.” (Emphasis mine.)

How much more convincing do you need?

The strange thing is not that people talked about speeding tickets at all, in fact I have discovered that they are quite popular amongst my friends. If I do the math, I believe I have single-handedly paid to the state the annual income of a State Trooper . No, what strikes me odd in these tales of freeway happenstance is the denial. Denial of wrong doing, denial of responsibility and denial of consequences. In every case this week, the conversation has centered around how to AVOID paying the ticket.

“The middle name is spelled wrong!” one friend said.

“My car isn’t red! It’s blue!” Was another comment.

“I’ll show up and the judge better waive this fine!” Friend one said as she lit up her Marlboro 100.

I nodded. Not in agreement over the harsh penalty these pals face at the hands of what is obviously a crazed police officer, but at the irony of it all:

Taxpayers pay taxes for services to keep society running.

Police do a service to defend the laws that keep society running.

Police punish lawbreakers by tickets, fines and - sometimes - a stern talking to through mirrored sunglasses.

Taxpayers receiving said service balk at service provided and deny any responsibility to the very people they are paying to give them the ticket.

And nothing is ever anyone’s fault. It’s always ‘the other guy’. I’d like to meet this “Other Guy” - I wonder if he has an office in the corner of the “Other Place” and receives my mail when I don’t get it, but the senders swear they “Put it in the post last week!”. I imagine the “Other Guy” has a wide collection of socks - all of them having been mysteriously teleported to his desk from the wash machine, where mine seem to vanish.

We all screw up. Wires get crossed. People try to push the envelope of rules. When these missteps happen, are they annoying? Yes. Do they cause hurt feelings? Sure. Welcome to the world. WE cause things to happen; WE misplace the message; WE snap at our partner without reason. We do this because we are human. Deal with it.

Learn how to say, “Okay - well, I got caught doing 85 in a 5 MPH zone. I hate when that happens.” Learn how to say, “I’m sorry” and mean it. Learn how to take responsibility. The next time you push the limits of regulations and get called out, stop pointing the finger anywhere but towards yourself.

You never know when someone else’s finger is pointing at you.

A Deaf Pagan friend of mine had a interesting post on her website this morning. This friend, Ocean Beach (yeah, I know - so does she) is a fanatic Firewalker. Yep - you heard that right: FIREWALKER. You know, one of those people who takes off their shoes and stumbles across red hot coals in the pursuit of spiritual enlightenment? Yeah. That. The thought of it send me running for boots with thick soles.

The post on her site is from a guy who suggested that she may get along better in the Pagan/Deaf communities if she stopped talking about firewalking. This topic alienates people. This subject causes people unease. The suggestion was to ‘blend in more with the mainstream community’.

At Ocean’s request, I posted a response:

My ‘two cents’ is this : ’screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke’.  I’m not saying that paganism, Deafness or firewalking is a ‘joke’, but rather people will believe what they want to believe.

So one person is into firewalking. Great! Live your dream. Go for your own gusto. Another is into lesbian separatism. You go, girl! Christianity? Pray away!

But remember, we do not live in a vacuum.

And who knows - we just may find a new dimension within ourselves.
This issue of “Acceptance” has got me wondering: does anyone see what I see? I see celebrities behaving badly and demanding to be accepted for having ‘problems’ or ‘issues’. I see Yuppie parents pushing oversized, big-wheeled strollers through crowded streets and demanding that this is ‘their right and you have to accept it’. I see Muslim women wanting to get driver’s licenses, but unwilling to show their face, as it is ‘their right and the world must accept their religion’.

Uh…no…I need to DEAL with your disregard for safety when your big-wheeled, “White Trash Mama” kid carrier hogs the whole sidewalk, but I certainly DO NOT have to ‘accept it’. I need to COPE with the celebrities flashing their private parts for the paparazzi in a desperate attempt to be noticed, but I refuse to ‘accept it’. I must understand the strength of faith, but I politely turn down your offer to ‘accept’ the fact that a drivers license is not a right of citizenship.

Learning to live together is a more challenging path to walk. It’s easy to shout. It’s difficult to listen.

The first time I heard the saying, “ETHICS ARE HOW YOU BEHAVE WHEN NOBODY IS WATCHING”, most of my students were barely out of diapers.  I have no doubt the saying was gathering cobwebs when I heard it; which means by now it’s time to put it out of its misery. This is the U.S.A. afterall - we’re addicted to the new, the flashy and the fresh.

Despite the age of a person, place or quotation, isn’t the validity of said person, place or quotation measured in relevance and truthfulness, not chronological years? Isn’t Shakespeare held in high esteem because the themes of his work are timeless? I mean - seriously - it’s been a couple hundred years and murder, rape and deception have yet to go out of style. Neither has love.

So if raw passions such as lust and revenge are as old as time, but our culture is agog over the new, and the fresh what happens when the two meet?

Internet dating.

I finally gave into the trend a few months ago and followed the crowd off the streets and onto the web. The whole experience of putting myself on-line was both mystifying and exhilarating; akin to the feeling of being a child entering the Haunted Mansion for the first time. I felt as if I’d entered another world with its own lingo, cultural expectations and social behaviors.

Take for example the ritual of flirtation. In the old days when people actually met in person, there was so much pressure to look your best (perhaps brush your teeth!), be on your best behavior and be honest.   Whole days were spent watching the clock and calculating how much time it would take to shower, shave, dress and commute to said location. If we were late, damn! We’d have to pull over and find a phone to call ahead and alert the fact to our date. Back in the ‘eye-to-eye’ days, many of us found  ourselves unable to lie convincingly while staring at our date. If not telling the whole truth,  then at least we were able to find socially acceptable ways of skirting a particular touchy subject.

Nowadays? Pfffflllt.  Just invent a name, upload a picture from the myriad of possibilities floating around the atmosphere and WHAM! You’ve just become a 6′2″ bodybuilder with thick black hair and Irish ancestors. With a flick of the wrist, you can tell the whole world about your sexual desires, your genitalia, or your requirements for the perfect mate. Why bother with all those pesky first dates? Just hit the ENTER key and skip through all those boring faces until you happen to see one that rings your bell. With a simple double-click, SHAZAM! You know everything about the person and can check off the important items as simply as you erase numbers from your cell phone.

Have a penchant for tattooed  asses who enjoy white wine in a hot tub? No problem. Prefer the uncut red-heads with pierced noses? Check! How about a side of twins with double D’s? Coming right up! How lucky we are to live in an age where no issue is considered so private that we can’t share it on youtube, post it on match.com or - what the hell - just go on TV! Jerry Springer is always looking for more bisexual transvestite mail carriers.

But here’s what I wonder: where are all the common people? I see plenty of masculine, muscular, thick haired men with huge penises. I see a plethora of  nymphs with bodies that bikinis were made for.  I see huge breasts, perfect hair, gym-toned bodies and they all seem to possess that elusive “great sense of humor!” we are all looking for.

I can’t seem to locate the average I.Q. guys. The size 14 gals. The ones who can’t function without a cup of coffee; the ones who drive piece of crap cars because they don’t have a “wonderful job that I always dreamed of!” or the ones who live in an apartment out of financial necessity rather than being lucky enough to “have the dream place that I never want to leave!”

I know they’re out there somewhere. Logic dictates that for every “friends tell me I’m gorgeous” there’s a “I’m okay - could stand to loose a few pounds but don’t have the motivation”. I really want to meet the “my friends get sick of my procrastination” so we can compare notes - I can’t seem to get things done either.  I have a few questions for “my job sucks, but the money’s great” beginning with financial advice, as my checkbook is dying of starvation.  All my life I’ve been the “I know my ship will come in eventually - just need to figure out which port” and could really use an afternoon with “I’m lost, so don’t follow me” so we can compare notes on reading a map.

Don’t get me wrong; I think the internet is a wonderful tool to access unlimited information. I think computers are great electric work horses, capable of helping out humans on a grand scale.  But somewhere the line in the sand must be drawn. At some point in our lives we have got to remember that we are human BEINGS and not human DOINGS or human TYPINGS.

We have got to remember we are, above all, human. Nothing trumps human on human. Not even “Girls Gone Wild #113.”

Face it: people watch Romeo & Juliet to re-experience their own youthful passion. They watch “Casablanca” to re-live the nostalgia of what it’s like to see THE ONE slip through your fingers. They laugh at “Barefoot in the Park” because they understand new love. We all crave connection of the human sort, regardless of what we say. And regardless of what we say, we’d take “I love the rain!” even if she didn’t have “a comfortable life all by myself.”

And sooner or later we are going to meet in person; even Blackberry’s can’t stop the thrill of that first kiss. And when we do meet for that initial coffee/movie/dinner, we are going to see, smell and hear each other for the first time. The truth will come out.

Then your ethics will become known to one and all. Because while you think nobody was watching you invent your on-line persona, we were.

We all were.

It was just on a time delay.

When I moved to the valley of Los Angeles back in the ’80’s - before most of my students were born - what struck me as most memorable about the area was not the rampant drugs, wild clothes or street hot rods.  It was the houses.

The area just north and east of Burbank sat (remember - this was the ’80’s) isolated from the congested streets that weaved around Disney, Columbia Studios and the assortment of restaurants, equipment rental houses and sound mixing studios. Some grandiose homes, some rather modest, while a few looked counter to the ambiance of the neighborhood; despite these features, they all appeared to be inhabited by folks desperate to avoid the hustle and bustle of twentieth century L.A. and find ‘peace’ amongst the masses. The very nature of their existence suggested the owners purposely chose this location as a way of saying, “Screw you all! We need our space!”

So imagine my surprise the first time I heard a news report of a cougar coming out of the wild to make a tasty snack of Fifi the French Poodle. This wasn’t the two legged variety wearing Chanel #5, but the four legged carnivorous variety.  I wasn’t alarmed by a cougar living in the foothills - HELLO! MOUNTAINS! - but the people’s response.  “It’s dangerous!” Cried one bleached blond bombshell with too much eyeliner, “we need to protect ourselves!” He husband, stoically standing by her side with all the chiseled features that plastic surgery could offer nodded in agreement. “We have to get this thing.” He said.

Over the next week, updates appeared on the TV news about the ’search for the wild cougar’. Sadly, the story ended with the killing of the beast and shots of its carcass  shooting across the airwaves.

Something inherently wrong lay within this story. Didn’t the humans invade the homes of the cougar? Didn’t their presence intrude upon the lives and welfare of a carnivorous beast? Wouldn’t it make sense that the animal saw Fifi the French Poodle and say to herself, “Ah! Delivery!” as she devoured the dog? We humans all too often ignore the fact that we have the right to protect ourselves; and so does every other living creature. The cougar should have been avoided, talked about, become the heroine of children’s horror tales; it should not have been killed for grabbing a midnight snack.

Thus it is with utmost respect that I think about the children of Dave Martin. A fit retiree living outside of San Diego, California, Mr. Martin was attacked and killed by a great white shark earlier this week.  His children, in an interview on the TODAY show, recalled their father’s vibrant personality, energy and good nature. In the scope of the interview, one of Mr. Martin’s children said that his father’s death was like ‘a glass being half full’. He explained by gently reminding the viewers that life is short. He reminded us that life is a terminal disease. We will all go sometime. He continued by saying that his father was living his life to the fullest, enjoying the glories that Earth had to offer when he was attacked. If we’ve got to go, why not go out doing what we love?

Not once did the three children cry “Foul!” against the shark. I see no evidence that the family blame a predatory marine animal for their father’s demise. It appears they do not think of the shark as something ‘bad’ to be hunted down and destroyed because it was following its own bliss - just like their father.

From appearances, the children understand that life has a way of throwing us curve balls.

My condolences to the grieving family. I lost my father several months ago and understand the pain that causes. But kudos to you all for understand that in a tragedy like this, there is no ‘bad guy’ or ‘villain’ to be reckoned with - we are witnessing life happening. Mr. Martin is no more at fault for swimming in the ocean than a shark is for finding substanance to survive. The shark will go on hunting. The family will go on grieving. The world shall go on following their story.

The cougar wasn’t so lucky.

It began as one of those mornings where you find yourself willing your feet to walk more slowly in order to milk the hike for as long as possible. When I finally rounded Summit Avenue and found myself standing next to Starbucks, I thought, “What the hell…” and pushed my way through the doors.

The place was unusually empty for ten o’clock; barely enough caffeine addicts to fill the tables.  I sauntered up to the counter and laid my travel mug on the counter in front of a thin, meek looking man with graying temple hair.

“Good morning!” His voice carried that annoying retail clerk cheeriness.
“Morning,” I smiled. I had long ago gotten out of the habit of saying “good” in front of that word. I hate mornings and see no good about them.

“How are you this morning, sir?” He said grabbing the mug. I should have heeded the bad omen. “Sir” should be spoken in only two places: a military academy and the bedroom.

“I had to get up too early,” I quipped, laying my five bucks on the counter, “thank god it’s Friday.”

“See this sign?” He said, pointing to the blank wall behind him.  “Just a tiny sign saying, ‘No Whining’.” He smiled broadly as if it was the funniest damn thing he’d ever heard.

I so wanted to punch his teeth into his mouth.  What’s this with the shit eating grin and hearty chuckle? You asked me a question, you snide little shit. If you don’t want to know the answer, don’t ask the question.

I said none of this to him - I stared blankly at him waiting for my black drip coffee (who the hell wants to pay $4 for a quadruple, tall, skinny, mocha or some such crap?) wondering what to say.

When did the human race change from asking questions, paying attention to answers and responding appropriately?

Was there a memo that I somehow missed about this? A mass announcement that demanded we people no longer ask questions with the hope of actually LISTENING to the answer with any sort of empathy?  When was it that some subconscious, Jungian ‘force’ crept into our minds and reprogrammed our brains to spew forth rote, memorized, meaningless drivel?

When did we all just stop caring about each other?

Maybe this is capitalism at work.  Study groups, focus groups, marketing specialists and research assistants must have all turned in their bean counting surveys and declared that when a retail clerk asks “How are you?” it makes the customer feel loved and accepted, regardless of the rationale behind asking the question. Our quest for money has finally dragged us down to  a point in our existence when we talk about peoples feelings in order to squeeze more money out of them.

“How are you today?” How am I? Annoyed that people walk down the street without looking into anyone’s eyes out of fear. Disgusted that the same uber-liberal, ’save the trees-dogs-whales’ yuppies that toss condescending looks at anyone who smokes will shuttle the kids around in an SUV. Sad that people lie; disappointed that we will bitch about the lead in our kids’ toys but still not become outraged over the pollution spewing factories in Asia. Fatigued about hearing ANOTHER couple who bitches about the crowded freeways as the wife pats her pregnant mid-section.

How am I today? Wishing you, Mr. Clerk, would ask me a question that you REALLY want to know the answer to.

Hey, everyone! Ah! At long last, I have my blog up and running. A big ‘thank you’ to my web masters and a bigger ‘thank you’ to you readers who stop by to take a look and what’s new.

In the days to come, I’m hoping this blog becomes a place for discussion, introspection and fun. Let’s face it, boys and girls, there’s just not enough fun happening these days.

To get us started, I’d like to open with a quote from THE ATOM OF DELIGHT by Neil M. Gunn:

To get the full impact of all the elements,

within and without,

one has to be alone.

I spent many years avoiding solitude. I felt solitude was a byproduct of loneliness; that the very nature of being with oneself was an indication of social rejection. Through the years, I’ve heard all the stale quotes and stock lines: “There’s a difference between ALONE and LONELY”, “Being alone, one can enjoy one’s own company” and “Solitary doesn’t mean solitude”. Basically, I thought it was bullshit - a lame excuse for social outcasts to justify their existence.

But as I (rapidly) approach 45, I wonder if I’ve wasted too much time thinking about how small I am and not enough time being in awe of how big the world is. Not in the usual sense of measurement such as miles, but in undiscovered territory - both within and without. Within each of us is space unencumbered by borders. What a vast landscape to be explored.

Just a thought.