When we entitled and blessed ones finally meet the Needy, I hope there are no more big screens or sweatshops. I hope we learn to think.
When Love wins, I hope there is no 'us' and 'them' anymore, just people who need one another, who need community.
I hope we learn to love more than just our money and our shopping malls. I hope 'success' is not equated with 'excess.'
I hope we find our conscience dictating what we buy and who and where it comes from.
Can we learn that nothing is every really 'thrown away?' Can we learn to be responsible consumers in a world dictated by mass production?
I hope we learn endless love and compassion for those outside ourselves... and I hope it makes a difference.
Things you and I can do today to be more awesome:
-Read the tags on the clothes and shoes you buy. If it's made outside of the U.S. or doesn't have a Fair Trade label, don't take the chance it was made by someone compensated unfairly.
-Visit a thrift store instead of a mall.
-Shop local, support local farmers.
-Buy coffee that is grown fairly and sustainably... Starbucks is actually making incredible strides to better their corporation and make a difference.
-Plant your own vegetables and watch them grow.
-Recycle. It seems trivial, but it adds up.
-Walk around your neighborhood (or even just outside on your own street) and pick up garbage.
-Find friends and come up with $25 to fund a microfinance loan and change a woman's life in the developing world. Watch their progress as they pay it back and make a difference locally.
http://www.opportunity.org/Page.aspx?pid=193
-Ride a bike or take the bus. Turn off lights. Hang your clothes to dry. Start to care about energy and where it comes from.
-Get inspired by watching this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_6iTCo5Ci8
Take victories in the small differences we all make. Be proud of what you can do.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
on seattle
I love Seattle. I am falling in love with my life here.
I love our crazy, creaky, cobwebbed house filled with a myriad of ten interesting characters. I love that my front yard is like a rain forest with colors that are rich and dense. I even love the tacky, waist-high lawn ornament set of plastic penguins. They are more than slightly reminiscent of trailer trash, but all of the members in our household constantly move them to locations that are meant to stir up laughs in whoever sees them. Previous locations include the roof, up in a tree, in the front seat of someone's car, and in a hammock. This changes hourly. I love trying to explain our roommates to other people (Normal Steve, Pregnant Kendra, Adopted Woody, Crazy Don, Absent Terry, etc). I love most of my roommates and they have become friends.
I love my flower and vegetable garden. It took less than a day to turn the flower beds into something beautiful, earthy and fresh. I didn't wear gloves. I thought the naked earth would bother me, but I found everything interesting. Moving a rock and seeing what life is living under it; ripping up weeds and planting flowers with my bare hands.
I love driving home south on I-5 on a clear day to see Mount Rainier, majestic and sexy and alone on the horizon. This brings me to loving trees, and mountains, and saltwater scented air, and all of the above dancing with the skyscrapers and civilization. I love my job, and feeling appreciated, and getting paid for working hard.
I love neighborhoods that have character and individuality like Fremont, Capitol Hill, and Belltown. I love walking down Broadway and people-watching. I love Metsker's Maps in Pike Place. I love that in one month I can attend free art festivals, block parties, Iranian Film Festivals, a Pride Parade and dozens of Couchsurfing events. I love that we are in a place where we can open up our humble place to travelers and seekers. I love the sustainability and the mentality, the beautiful bohemians, the beats, the poets, the artists.
I love that I am 10 minutes from the beach at Golden Gardens, where we can build a fire and watch it grow; dip our toes in the waves and watch the sun fall behind the Olympic Mountains that are jagged, ancient, and real. This has been and will be my summer - inviting those wandering without a fire to come and join our own. Sharing music, stories, fire spinning and laughter with strangers that become part of our story.
I am starting to fall in love with my story again, and that is a good and lovely thing.
I love our crazy, creaky, cobwebbed house filled with a myriad of ten interesting characters. I love that my front yard is like a rain forest with colors that are rich and dense. I even love the tacky, waist-high lawn ornament set of plastic penguins. They are more than slightly reminiscent of trailer trash, but all of the members in our household constantly move them to locations that are meant to stir up laughs in whoever sees them. Previous locations include the roof, up in a tree, in the front seat of someone's car, and in a hammock. This changes hourly. I love trying to explain our roommates to other people (Normal Steve, Pregnant Kendra, Adopted Woody, Crazy Don, Absent Terry, etc). I love most of my roommates and they have become friends.
I love my flower and vegetable garden. It took less than a day to turn the flower beds into something beautiful, earthy and fresh. I didn't wear gloves. I thought the naked earth would bother me, but I found everything interesting. Moving a rock and seeing what life is living under it; ripping up weeds and planting flowers with my bare hands.
I love driving home south on I-5 on a clear day to see Mount Rainier, majestic and sexy and alone on the horizon. This brings me to loving trees, and mountains, and saltwater scented air, and all of the above dancing with the skyscrapers and civilization. I love my job, and feeling appreciated, and getting paid for working hard.
I love neighborhoods that have character and individuality like Fremont, Capitol Hill, and Belltown. I love walking down Broadway and people-watching. I love Metsker's Maps in Pike Place. I love that in one month I can attend free art festivals, block parties, Iranian Film Festivals, a Pride Parade and dozens of Couchsurfing events. I love that we are in a place where we can open up our humble place to travelers and seekers. I love the sustainability and the mentality, the beautiful bohemians, the beats, the poets, the artists.
I love that I am 10 minutes from the beach at Golden Gardens, where we can build a fire and watch it grow; dip our toes in the waves and watch the sun fall behind the Olympic Mountains that are jagged, ancient, and real. This has been and will be my summer - inviting those wandering without a fire to come and join our own. Sharing music, stories, fire spinning and laughter with strangers that become part of our story.
I am starting to fall in love with my story again, and that is a good and lovely thing.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
on moscow
I would like to write an epic goodbye note to commemorate the era of my life in Moscow coming to an end. Unfortunately, as my fellow writers can attest, sometimes words don't come out the way they should. Sometimes they fail to come at all. I will write what I can.
I am leaving Moscow a completely different person than when I drove into town three years ago. I know not everyone in my life is proud of those changes, but I am proud of most of them. It was said to me once that my life since arriving here has been a train wreck. Maybe sometimes it has been. I think that is life though; some years will more closely resemble train wrecks than others. Some will be beautiful and move you to become more beautiful with them.
Time will not cease upon my leaving, and most lives without me here will continue much the same. My life itself, through the lives of those I met here and my experiences, has been forever changed. To my friends and acquaintences that were part of this era, the good and the devastating, I love you. Thank you for being a part of my story.
I have changed my worldview, met those that opened my mind and soul, I altered my spiritual way of thinking, had friendships and relationships with great-hearted people, and most importantly, I learned. I learned so much. I learned that every day becomes exactly what I made of it. I learned that I have the power to be creative or destructive, to be a blessing or a curse, and this power must be wielded carefully. I learned that I make a difference.
It is both lovely and shocking when we come to realize how much we make a difference. This is the most important lesson I learned in Moscow. Every conversation, every interaction, every attitude brought into a room, every word whispered behind the back of someone else, it all counts. It all matters. I learned that who you are isn't who you think you are, who you pretend to be, it is what you do. I am different since I learned this this. You are what you do. It's very simple though sometimes hard to process. If you constantly badmouth others, that is who you are. If you are out at bars every night, that is who you are. On the other hand if you work hard, postively influence and encourage others, and are genuine, that is who you are. I am trying to be more like that person. Sometimes I will fail.
It's interesting that the Tuareg nomads of Africa have only one tense in their language... the present. I think it would be beautiful to think that way. To live less in yesterday and make today a good day. I am still teaching my brain to work that way, but it started here. Thank you to those who taught me to be present in my own life. Thank you for changing my story.
I have many to thank as I pack my bags and start a new chapter of my life, though if I tried to list them I would fail miserably. I am listening to a song by Hector LaVoe, called 'Todo Tiene Su Final.' Everything must come to an end. That is true, but I think LaVoe missed something. More accurate lyrics would read 'though everything comes to an end, it often means the beginning of something brilliantly beautiful and new.'
Blessings to you, my Moscow friends and family. I hope your lives are beautiful and filled with promise. I hope you spend your days in the present tense. I hope you find and spread inspiration. I hope you find that every decision and action you make counts. I hope you love and live deeply.
Most of all, I hope our stories will entwine again someday.
Selah... let it be.
I am leaving Moscow a completely different person than when I drove into town three years ago. I know not everyone in my life is proud of those changes, but I am proud of most of them. It was said to me once that my life since arriving here has been a train wreck. Maybe sometimes it has been. I think that is life though; some years will more closely resemble train wrecks than others. Some will be beautiful and move you to become more beautiful with them.
Time will not cease upon my leaving, and most lives without me here will continue much the same. My life itself, through the lives of those I met here and my experiences, has been forever changed. To my friends and acquaintences that were part of this era, the good and the devastating, I love you. Thank you for being a part of my story.
I have changed my worldview, met those that opened my mind and soul, I altered my spiritual way of thinking, had friendships and relationships with great-hearted people, and most importantly, I learned. I learned so much. I learned that every day becomes exactly what I made of it. I learned that I have the power to be creative or destructive, to be a blessing or a curse, and this power must be wielded carefully. I learned that I make a difference.
It is both lovely and shocking when we come to realize how much we make a difference. This is the most important lesson I learned in Moscow. Every conversation, every interaction, every attitude brought into a room, every word whispered behind the back of someone else, it all counts. It all matters. I learned that who you are isn't who you think you are, who you pretend to be, it is what you do. I am different since I learned this this. You are what you do. It's very simple though sometimes hard to process. If you constantly badmouth others, that is who you are. If you are out at bars every night, that is who you are. On the other hand if you work hard, postively influence and encourage others, and are genuine, that is who you are. I am trying to be more like that person. Sometimes I will fail.
It's interesting that the Tuareg nomads of Africa have only one tense in their language... the present. I think it would be beautiful to think that way. To live less in yesterday and make today a good day. I am still teaching my brain to work that way, but it started here. Thank you to those who taught me to be present in my own life. Thank you for changing my story.
I have many to thank as I pack my bags and start a new chapter of my life, though if I tried to list them I would fail miserably. I am listening to a song by Hector LaVoe, called 'Todo Tiene Su Final.' Everything must come to an end. That is true, but I think LaVoe missed something. More accurate lyrics would read 'though everything comes to an end, it often means the beginning of something brilliantly beautiful and new.'
Blessings to you, my Moscow friends and family. I hope your lives are beautiful and filled with promise. I hope you spend your days in the present tense. I hope you find and spread inspiration. I hope you find that every decision and action you make counts. I hope you love and live deeply.
Most of all, I hope our stories will entwine again someday.
Selah... let it be.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
on being frustrated and peak oil
I am frustrated. No, I am beyond frustrated.
I want to be an activist for the ideals I believe in. I want to spread knowledge like wildfire, avoid ignorance and complacency and be well-rounded and real. I want to be a 'Pro' person; I want to be defined by the things and ideas I believe in, and not the things I would necessarily be against.
Why is it that 'liberal' and 'conservative' have to be the terms with which we are defined? Why is it that if we belong to one that the other is perpetually wrong and has no redeeming qualities? I want to know what makes it so difficult for us to find common ground, when most people want the same things: good education, health care, the right to human dignity, racial and gender equality, and the right to make a living. Granted, a few select people have hatred or biases that are unfounded. But overall, the nonpartisan issues far outweigh the ones that we should be fighting about, and I am frustrated that no matter what I do, I am forced to appear somewhere on a political spectrum that I have no faith in.
There is a myriad of issues that affect all of us. Whether putting my energy and efforts toward these issues label me as a 'raging liberal' to some friends and family, or whether my moderate and inquisitive nature makes me seem like a 'right-wing nut' to others, I have to carry on and do what I think is right.
I can't stand listening to people that think in only black and white. Nothing is just black. Nothing is only white. Nothing is just left. Nothing is only right. If anything, we should think in a dazzling array of colors that cannot be defined and let the tints and hues speak for themselves and inspire us. I refuse to be padlocked into one-sided thinking, and I hope you refuse as well.
Dearest America, we are going to have some problems, and I am afraid for us. I am afraid for the liberal activists and the small-town conservatives; I am afraid for our children and their children; I am afraid for the misfits, the jocks, the business men and the farmers. I am afraid that we are so wrapped up in ourselves to step back and measure the weight of what this last century has brought us, both good and bad.
We are going to run out of cheap oil. This is not up for debate or dispute. It is the scientific conclusion of the best paid, most widely-respected geologists, physicists, bankers, and investors in the world. It does not matter who you voted for or what you call yourself, because within a decade we will not be able to afford to drive our cars to work. Everything we do is surrounded and influenced by petroleum. Yes, it powers our cars and has the potential to ruin our fragile habitat. But there is more.
As of 2002, about 10 calories of fossil fuels were required to produce every one calorie of food eaten in the U.S. Pesticides and agro-chemicals are made from oil; these are necessary because of the single crop farming that is practiced across the nation. Most farming tools - tractors, trailers, combines - are constructed and powered by oil-derived fuels. Our refrigerators are manufactured in plants powered by oil and run on electricity, which, not shockingly, also also comes from natural gas and coal.
The average piece of food that you eat in the United States is transported about 1,500 miles before it sits in front of you on your plate. In Canada, this is almost 5,000 miles. Not only is our transportation and agriculture created in dependence of cheap and plentiful oil. Our water distribution, national defense, electronics, all plastics, modern medicine, and almost all high-tech devices requre fossil fuels. I would also like to point out that almost every alternative energy source out there uses petrochemicals at some point in their construction.
What does all this really mean, for you and for me? It means that you shouldn't just be concerned about how much it will cost to fill up your gas tank in five years.
In 2006 in the Chicago Tribune, Pulitzer Prize winner Paul Salopek described Peak Oil consequences as "unimaginable. Permanent fuel shortages would tip the world into a generations-long economic depression. Millions would lose their jobs as industry implodes. Farm tractors would be idled for lack of fuel, triggering massive famines. Energy wars would flare. And careless suburbanites would trudge to their nearest big box stores, not to buy Chinese made clothing transported cheaply across the globe, but to scavenge glass and copper wire from abandoned buildings."
If saying all that makes me an unforgivable liberal, take into account the speech of Congressman Roscoe Bartlett, a Republican from Maryland. He spoke to the U.S. House of Representatives for an hour in 2005 about Peak Oil.
"Is there any reason to remain optimistic or hopeful? Let me go back to Matt Savinar, that not-too-optimistic journalist. "If what you mean is there any way technology or the market or brilliant scientists or comprehensive government programs are going to hold things together or solve this for me or allow for business to continue as usual, the answer is no. On the other hand, if what you really mean is is there any way that I still can have a happy, fulfilling life, in spite of some clearly grim facts, the answer is yes. But it is going to require a lot of work, a lot of adjustments, and probably a bit of good fortune on your part.'"
I am frustrated. What I am frustrated most with, however, is that many papers (such as the UK Guardian) have admitted to covering up the looming crisis for years in order to avoid widespread panic and keep the world's economy in check.
I am frustrated that my whole life will change in less than a decade, and no one is getting frustrated with me. We need to rise up, to inspire one another, to invest in the transition we will all be going through together. We need to employ the innovators, discover how to localize again, use the remaining oil to fuel the creation of the technology that will eventually bring us through to the other side, to a calmer and newer era of our lives. I have no doubt we will make it through. I just wish more of the global community was interested in using Peak Oil as a way to bring us together.
If you have, in fact, reached the end of what has become a novel, I want to encourage you. Do your own research, dig up your own facts, use sources from all sides of the political spectrum, read books, watch documentaries... get inspired. Get angry, but more importantly, get inspired.
Together let's start to think in colors and leave black and white behind us.
I want to be an activist for the ideals I believe in. I want to spread knowledge like wildfire, avoid ignorance and complacency and be well-rounded and real. I want to be a 'Pro' person; I want to be defined by the things and ideas I believe in, and not the things I would necessarily be against.
Why is it that 'liberal' and 'conservative' have to be the terms with which we are defined? Why is it that if we belong to one that the other is perpetually wrong and has no redeeming qualities? I want to know what makes it so difficult for us to find common ground, when most people want the same things: good education, health care, the right to human dignity, racial and gender equality, and the right to make a living. Granted, a few select people have hatred or biases that are unfounded. But overall, the nonpartisan issues far outweigh the ones that we should be fighting about, and I am frustrated that no matter what I do, I am forced to appear somewhere on a political spectrum that I have no faith in.
There is a myriad of issues that affect all of us. Whether putting my energy and efforts toward these issues label me as a 'raging liberal' to some friends and family, or whether my moderate and inquisitive nature makes me seem like a 'right-wing nut' to others, I have to carry on and do what I think is right.
I can't stand listening to people that think in only black and white. Nothing is just black. Nothing is only white. Nothing is just left. Nothing is only right. If anything, we should think in a dazzling array of colors that cannot be defined and let the tints and hues speak for themselves and inspire us. I refuse to be padlocked into one-sided thinking, and I hope you refuse as well.
Dearest America, we are going to have some problems, and I am afraid for us. I am afraid for the liberal activists and the small-town conservatives; I am afraid for our children and their children; I am afraid for the misfits, the jocks, the business men and the farmers. I am afraid that we are so wrapped up in ourselves to step back and measure the weight of what this last century has brought us, both good and bad.
We are going to run out of cheap oil. This is not up for debate or dispute. It is the scientific conclusion of the best paid, most widely-respected geologists, physicists, bankers, and investors in the world. It does not matter who you voted for or what you call yourself, because within a decade we will not be able to afford to drive our cars to work. Everything we do is surrounded and influenced by petroleum. Yes, it powers our cars and has the potential to ruin our fragile habitat. But there is more.
As of 2002, about 10 calories of fossil fuels were required to produce every one calorie of food eaten in the U.S. Pesticides and agro-chemicals are made from oil; these are necessary because of the single crop farming that is practiced across the nation. Most farming tools - tractors, trailers, combines - are constructed and powered by oil-derived fuels. Our refrigerators are manufactured in plants powered by oil and run on electricity, which, not shockingly, also also comes from natural gas and coal.
The average piece of food that you eat in the United States is transported about 1,500 miles before it sits in front of you on your plate. In Canada, this is almost 5,000 miles. Not only is our transportation and agriculture created in dependence of cheap and plentiful oil. Our water distribution, national defense, electronics, all plastics, modern medicine, and almost all high-tech devices requre fossil fuels. I would also like to point out that almost every alternative energy source out there uses petrochemicals at some point in their construction.
What does all this really mean, for you and for me? It means that you shouldn't just be concerned about how much it will cost to fill up your gas tank in five years.
In 2006 in the Chicago Tribune, Pulitzer Prize winner Paul Salopek described Peak Oil consequences as "unimaginable. Permanent fuel shortages would tip the world into a generations-long economic depression. Millions would lose their jobs as industry implodes. Farm tractors would be idled for lack of fuel, triggering massive famines. Energy wars would flare. And careless suburbanites would trudge to their nearest big box stores, not to buy Chinese made clothing transported cheaply across the globe, but to scavenge glass and copper wire from abandoned buildings."
If saying all that makes me an unforgivable liberal, take into account the speech of Congressman Roscoe Bartlett, a Republican from Maryland. He spoke to the U.S. House of Representatives for an hour in 2005 about Peak Oil.
"Is there any reason to remain optimistic or hopeful? Let me go back to Matt Savinar, that not-too-optimistic journalist. "If what you mean is there any way technology or the market or brilliant scientists or comprehensive government programs are going to hold things together or solve this for me or allow for business to continue as usual, the answer is no. On the other hand, if what you really mean is is there any way that I still can have a happy, fulfilling life, in spite of some clearly grim facts, the answer is yes. But it is going to require a lot of work, a lot of adjustments, and probably a bit of good fortune on your part.'"
I am frustrated. What I am frustrated most with, however, is that many papers (such as the UK Guardian) have admitted to covering up the looming crisis for years in order to avoid widespread panic and keep the world's economy in check.
I am frustrated that my whole life will change in less than a decade, and no one is getting frustrated with me. We need to rise up, to inspire one another, to invest in the transition we will all be going through together. We need to employ the innovators, discover how to localize again, use the remaining oil to fuel the creation of the technology that will eventually bring us through to the other side, to a calmer and newer era of our lives. I have no doubt we will make it through. I just wish more of the global community was interested in using Peak Oil as a way to bring us together.
If you have, in fact, reached the end of what has become a novel, I want to encourage you. Do your own research, dig up your own facts, use sources from all sides of the political spectrum, read books, watch documentaries... get inspired. Get angry, but more importantly, get inspired.
Together let's start to think in colors and leave black and white behind us.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
on pledging allegiance
I pledge allegiance to the lifestyle of the United States of America:
to corporate bailouts on Wall Street while our Main Streets deteriorate;
to boarded-up family homes seized by bankruptcy and greed.
To the single percentile controlling 95% of our wealth,
to our monetary system being controlled by a privately-owned Federal Reserve,
and to paying income tax when there is no written law anywhere requiring me to do so.
I pledge that I will not question capitalism, its flawed nature,
and that I will remain willingly blind to the injustice and poverty it continually creates.
I will continue to be a sheep in the flock of millions that do not understand,
believing that our government, its Supreme Court, and almost all of its branches
are not controlled by the ruling elite who care not for the poor.
I pledge to consume as much as possible, with my right hand over my heart,
and my left hand digging through my pocketbook.
I will support big business and my local Wal-Mart,
even though they take out life insurance policies on many employees
that are worth over a billion dollars dead, and not so much alive.
I will waste more energy in my household than a third world nation,
leaving a carbon footprint large enough to prove that I was here, and I had money and oil to burn.
I pledge to believe in trade that is free and not fair,
even if coffee farmers in Ethiopia receive a few cents for the latte I purchased this morning, with the plot of land that has been in their families for generations.
Capitalism and free enterprise are the answer, and these farmers are obviously not making the grade.
I pledge not to care about global warming, because it is a scam
and I never liked Al Gore anyway.
I pledge to call anyone who questions these things a conspiracy theorist, an anarchist,a tree-hugger, or an environmentalist nutcase.
They are obviously not watching the same news channels and media outlets that I am,
and because I have not heard of or confirmed these things they obviously do not exist.
I pledge to avoid documentaries and reading material that will make me question and possibly confirm the failure of what was once a nation built on freedom, America the Beautiful.
...and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, wearing a blindfold, already divided, with corporate fascism and corruption for all.
to corporate bailouts on Wall Street while our Main Streets deteriorate;
to boarded-up family homes seized by bankruptcy and greed.
To the single percentile controlling 95% of our wealth,
to our monetary system being controlled by a privately-owned Federal Reserve,
and to paying income tax when there is no written law anywhere requiring me to do so.
I pledge that I will not question capitalism, its flawed nature,
and that I will remain willingly blind to the injustice and poverty it continually creates.
I will continue to be a sheep in the flock of millions that do not understand,
believing that our government, its Supreme Court, and almost all of its branches
are not controlled by the ruling elite who care not for the poor.
I pledge to consume as much as possible, with my right hand over my heart,
and my left hand digging through my pocketbook.
I will support big business and my local Wal-Mart,
even though they take out life insurance policies on many employees
that are worth over a billion dollars dead, and not so much alive.
I will waste more energy in my household than a third world nation,
leaving a carbon footprint large enough to prove that I was here, and I had money and oil to burn.
I pledge to believe in trade that is free and not fair,
even if coffee farmers in Ethiopia receive a few cents for the latte I purchased this morning, with the plot of land that has been in their families for generations.
Capitalism and free enterprise are the answer, and these farmers are obviously not making the grade.
I pledge not to care about global warming, because it is a scam
and I never liked Al Gore anyway.
I pledge to call anyone who questions these things a conspiracy theorist, an anarchist,a tree-hugger, or an environmentalist nutcase.
They are obviously not watching the same news channels and media outlets that I am,
and because I have not heard of or confirmed these things they obviously do not exist.
I pledge to avoid documentaries and reading material that will make me question and possibly confirm the failure of what was once a nation built on freedom, America the Beautiful.
...and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, wearing a blindfold, already divided, with corporate fascism and corruption for all.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
on the WTO and my recent discoveries
It has been said that our gift has human beings is to be able to learn things and to understand, to be self-aware and ever growing. Tonight, with my heart and mind heavy, I would have to say that it can also be as equally great a curse.
I am learning more now, in the past few months, than I have ever learned. I have been reading, researching, digging into history with my heels in the ground. I have found documentaries, footage that the media hid or twisted, copies of documents proving that our government funded bloody massacres and coops to overthrow democratically-elected officials in order to pillage their resources. My eyes have been opened. Not gently, no, they have been yanked open to a bright and simultaneously dark world that I never knew was out there. Most people will keep their eyes shut their whole lives. But once someone’s eyes have been opened to a world like that, they can never look away. A world of truth that many people will never see, nor have the desire to see. I can’t look away.
It’s like a traffic accident you drive by on the freeway and can’t take your eyes off of. You don’t want to see, but at the same time you need to. You desperately want to know what really happened. It’s more than that. You need to know.
Some say that sin is the human condition. I would argue that further and say that the human condition is not only wrongdoing, but also ignorance; not only ignorance, but intentional or deliberate ignorance. I talk to people every day who don’t believe in recycling, or climate change, or peak oil, or corruption, or what our future bleakly looks like. That being said, I am still usually the crazy optimist, in spite of people who intentionally choose to avoid seeking truth. But it’s hard sometimes.
Raised in a conservative and simultaneously loving and wonderful home, I have always trusted and loved my country. I said ‘one nation, under God, indivisible,’ and I meant it. I thought republicans knew everything and liberals knew nothing, and now that I’m mostly liberal I realize that neither side knows much of anything that the other side doesn’t know. I debated Creationism in class, I wanted to be a journalist, I voted for George Bush, I though America was a wonderful and generous country and I was proud to be a part of it. I had an amazing childhood. Maybe that’s why becoming an adult forming their own opinions is so difficult for me.
Beyond all the politics, beyond all the anti-American sentiment overseas, I guess I am truly amazed at the same sentiment boiling up within me. I am outraged, I am furious, and I am livid. I feel that I was personally lied to, that I was intentionally deceived, and I want to march into the streets with thousands and scream that this nation is not what we think it is. That these stars and stripes do not stand for freedom any longer, at least not to those calling the shots. That our country occupies, takes what they need, and leaves. That our history of massacre dates back to the time of the pilgrims, and has changed little since then (save the introduction of weapons of mass destruction to more effectively exterminate our opposition).
The more I know, the more I am sickened by it. The more I know, the more I want to say. But the more I want to say, the more words fail to be enough.
My life is changed. Radically. Though that in itself is beautiful, I’m not sure where I go from here.
“I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression. Everybody's out of work or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel's work, banks are going bust, shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter. Punks are running wild in the street and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there's no end to it. We know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat, and we sit watching our TV's while some local newscaster tells us that today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes, as if that's the way it's supposed to be. We know things are bad - worse than bad. They're crazy. It's like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don't go out anymore. We sit in the house, and slowly the world we are living in is getting smaller, and all we say is, 'Please, at least leave us alone in our living rooms. Let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radials and I won't say anything. Just leave us alone.'
Well, I'm not going leave you alone. I want you to get mad! I don't want you to protest. I don't want you to riot - I don't want you to write to your congressman because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the Russians and the crime in the street. All I know is that first you've got to get mad. You've got to say, 'I'm a HUMAN BEING, Goddamnit! My life has VALUE!'”
-Network, 1976
(you should listen to this next song to get the real feel for the lyrics and what it means... it's about the stand off between the WTO, IMF, and World Bank in 1999 and their protestors. Moving, to put it mildly.)
50 Thousand Deep – Blue Scholars
(based on the Battle of Seattle, 1999)
November 30th, 1999
No sunshine
The body rock stopped, probably got caught by the cops
Nearby, somebody got shot
But parties don't stop and the parties don't care
It's a stick-up, it's why we got our hands in the air
Still demanding a share, refrigerators bare
'Cause they wanna see trade get free and not fair
But we are not blind, we are not there
We don't got time left to spare to not care
On the last day of November, swellin' in ranks
Went to chant down the mighty IMF and World Bank
A gathering of people in peaceful assembly
Onward to Westlake to disrupt the entry
Walk along steady, riot squad ready
To protect every last dignitary's ass
But this started when they herded us like cattle in a fence
Protesters gettin' restless without an exit
They threatened to arrest us, we pushed back and then
A hail of rubber bullets hit teens and old men
I admit, had to split when the first gas canisters hit
Felt it burn in my eyes, nose, and lips
They tried to blame it on the anarchists, garbage
I was there, I'll tell you right now the pigs started it
But they distort it in the news
Talkin' bout stompin' down Niketown wearing their shoes
But the body rock stopped, probably got caught by the cops
Nearby, somebody got shot
But the parties don't stop and the parties don't care
It's a stick-up, it's why we got our hands in the air
50,000 deep, and it sound like thunder when our feet pound streets
50,000 deep, and it sound like thunder when our feet pound streets
50,000 deep, and it sound like thunder when our feet pound streets
50,000 deep, 50,000 deep
Yeah, now, the body rock stopped, probably got caught by the cops
Nearby, somebody got shot
But parties don't stop in the south
So take your shoes off when you come into my house
I had to duck out 'cause I knew I stuck out in the crowd
After many years growin' up brown in this town
Now this is what democracy looks like
Not what you all had in mind for tonight
Mr. Mayor, shell-shocked for 5 days straight
Press conference, lookin' constipated and pale
Tossed a homie in jail, wasn't even protesting
Wrong place, wrong time, learned a quick lesson
But this is not a question what we did to deserve this
Rich kids went and got arrested on purpose
But was it worth it? My first inclination
Globalization is the root of the pain
Made the reason that they left and the reason that we came
Catch my breath, blood pulsates my brain
And they called it a riot?
Huh, I call it an uprising
And they call this a riot?
But nah, I call it a uprising
And they call this a riot? Nah man, f*k that
I'm a call it a uprising
I am learning more now, in the past few months, than I have ever learned. I have been reading, researching, digging into history with my heels in the ground. I have found documentaries, footage that the media hid or twisted, copies of documents proving that our government funded bloody massacres and coops to overthrow democratically-elected officials in order to pillage their resources. My eyes have been opened. Not gently, no, they have been yanked open to a bright and simultaneously dark world that I never knew was out there. Most people will keep their eyes shut their whole lives. But once someone’s eyes have been opened to a world like that, they can never look away. A world of truth that many people will never see, nor have the desire to see. I can’t look away.
It’s like a traffic accident you drive by on the freeway and can’t take your eyes off of. You don’t want to see, but at the same time you need to. You desperately want to know what really happened. It’s more than that. You need to know.
Some say that sin is the human condition. I would argue that further and say that the human condition is not only wrongdoing, but also ignorance; not only ignorance, but intentional or deliberate ignorance. I talk to people every day who don’t believe in recycling, or climate change, or peak oil, or corruption, or what our future bleakly looks like. That being said, I am still usually the crazy optimist, in spite of people who intentionally choose to avoid seeking truth. But it’s hard sometimes.
Raised in a conservative and simultaneously loving and wonderful home, I have always trusted and loved my country. I said ‘one nation, under God, indivisible,’ and I meant it. I thought republicans knew everything and liberals knew nothing, and now that I’m mostly liberal I realize that neither side knows much of anything that the other side doesn’t know. I debated Creationism in class, I wanted to be a journalist, I voted for George Bush, I though America was a wonderful and generous country and I was proud to be a part of it. I had an amazing childhood. Maybe that’s why becoming an adult forming their own opinions is so difficult for me.
Beyond all the politics, beyond all the anti-American sentiment overseas, I guess I am truly amazed at the same sentiment boiling up within me. I am outraged, I am furious, and I am livid. I feel that I was personally lied to, that I was intentionally deceived, and I want to march into the streets with thousands and scream that this nation is not what we think it is. That these stars and stripes do not stand for freedom any longer, at least not to those calling the shots. That our country occupies, takes what they need, and leaves. That our history of massacre dates back to the time of the pilgrims, and has changed little since then (save the introduction of weapons of mass destruction to more effectively exterminate our opposition).
The more I know, the more I am sickened by it. The more I know, the more I want to say. But the more I want to say, the more words fail to be enough.
My life is changed. Radically. Though that in itself is beautiful, I’m not sure where I go from here.
“I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression. Everybody's out of work or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel's work, banks are going bust, shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter. Punks are running wild in the street and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there's no end to it. We know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat, and we sit watching our TV's while some local newscaster tells us that today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes, as if that's the way it's supposed to be. We know things are bad - worse than bad. They're crazy. It's like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don't go out anymore. We sit in the house, and slowly the world we are living in is getting smaller, and all we say is, 'Please, at least leave us alone in our living rooms. Let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radials and I won't say anything. Just leave us alone.'
Well, I'm not going leave you alone. I want you to get mad! I don't want you to protest. I don't want you to riot - I don't want you to write to your congressman because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the Russians and the crime in the street. All I know is that first you've got to get mad. You've got to say, 'I'm a HUMAN BEING, Goddamnit! My life has VALUE!'”
-Network, 1976
(you should listen to this next song to get the real feel for the lyrics and what it means... it's about the stand off between the WTO, IMF, and World Bank in 1999 and their protestors. Moving, to put it mildly.)
50 Thousand Deep – Blue Scholars
(based on the Battle of Seattle, 1999)
November 30th, 1999
No sunshine
The body rock stopped, probably got caught by the cops
Nearby, somebody got shot
But parties don't stop and the parties don't care
It's a stick-up, it's why we got our hands in the air
Still demanding a share, refrigerators bare
'Cause they wanna see trade get free and not fair
But we are not blind, we are not there
We don't got time left to spare to not care
On the last day of November, swellin' in ranks
Went to chant down the mighty IMF and World Bank
A gathering of people in peaceful assembly
Onward to Westlake to disrupt the entry
Walk along steady, riot squad ready
To protect every last dignitary's ass
But this started when they herded us like cattle in a fence
Protesters gettin' restless without an exit
They threatened to arrest us, we pushed back and then
A hail of rubber bullets hit teens and old men
I admit, had to split when the first gas canisters hit
Felt it burn in my eyes, nose, and lips
They tried to blame it on the anarchists, garbage
I was there, I'll tell you right now the pigs started it
But they distort it in the news
Talkin' bout stompin' down Niketown wearing their shoes
But the body rock stopped, probably got caught by the cops
Nearby, somebody got shot
But the parties don't stop and the parties don't care
It's a stick-up, it's why we got our hands in the air
50,000 deep, and it sound like thunder when our feet pound streets
50,000 deep, and it sound like thunder when our feet pound streets
50,000 deep, and it sound like thunder when our feet pound streets
50,000 deep, 50,000 deep
Yeah, now, the body rock stopped, probably got caught by the cops
Nearby, somebody got shot
But parties don't stop in the south
So take your shoes off when you come into my house
I had to duck out 'cause I knew I stuck out in the crowd
After many years growin' up brown in this town
Now this is what democracy looks like
Not what you all had in mind for tonight
Mr. Mayor, shell-shocked for 5 days straight
Press conference, lookin' constipated and pale
Tossed a homie in jail, wasn't even protesting
Wrong place, wrong time, learned a quick lesson
But this is not a question what we did to deserve this
Rich kids went and got arrested on purpose
But was it worth it? My first inclination
Globalization is the root of the pain
Made the reason that they left and the reason that we came
Catch my breath, blood pulsates my brain
And they called it a riot?
Huh, I call it an uprising
And they call this a riot?
But nah, I call it a uprising
And they call this a riot? Nah man, f*k that
I'm a call it a uprising
Thursday, December 31, 2009
on two thousand and ten
Dear Two-Thousand-and-Ten,
A decade ago, I was only thirteen and brought in the coming millennia playing in the snow and contemplating where I would be on this very day, ten years and many roads later. I wondered if I would be married or have children, and in my head then I’m certain I thought I would have graduated college or become a successful travel writer or marine biologist by now (sorry to disappoint, Miss Dayna who was thirteen).
A year ago today I resolved my resolutions from the year before. I concluded that I would make no promises or resolutions for 2009, and in lieu of those I would simply try to live more deeply and abundantly. As this past year ebbed and flowed, I sometimes succeeded in that, and those were beautiful moments.
Earlier today I stood on my porch and let the snowflakes drift past me, letting a few hit my face and turn to droplets. As I sipped my lukewarm coffee, I wondered what I should resolve to do – if anything – and how important I would make said resolutions. This year, in place of resolving much of anything, I am simply going to try much harder to do a few fairly important things. This eliminates the hassle of exactly one year from this moment when I will undoubtedly return to read this blog and wonder how I failed so miserably at simple things, thus triggering my mental self-flagellation. Setting painstakingly concrete resolutions can be a drag, let’s face it, so I’m trying something a little different.
(As a treat for next year, I’m going to save my opinion on why we only set goals for ourselves on one day out of the year and then waste the other 364 thinking we can’t decide to resolve anything until next January rolls around. You’re welcome.)
Part of why I hate resolutions is because I’m very bad at sticking to plans. I am awful. It’s embarrassing. Those who know me well will attest to my spontaneity and free-spirited wandering as being endearing yet simultaneously burdensome and annoying. Especially Kurt. He’s a planner. I’m a drifter. Most especially my mother, but only because she’s worried I will waste away as a hitchhiker while never recognizing my full potential as a world-changing writer/singer/songwriter/political activist/what have you. The people that choose to love me in life are rewarded with anecdotes and pretty cool stories while simultaneously being stuck on the rollercoaster that is my life.
The past few weeks I have been realizing just how badly I have been treating my mind through most of this last year. I haven’t been feeding it with new things to encounter and process and enjoy, like books or documentaries. Much of this will be remedied by the obscene amount of new books I received for Christmas thanks to my wonderful parents. Thanks to them, I have beside me a stack of books that, when I look at it, makes me so happy I want to pee my pants. I love the written word; Steinbeck, old classics, obscure travel writers, even local newspapers. Until a month ago I had forgotten how it felt to spend hours in a book. It is lovely. Thus, my first Unresolution is to read more and more diversely, to feed the amazing working thing that is my human mind.
Following along that same thread with Unresolution II, I need to write more and become more serious about it. Save this entry and notwithstanding my lack of practice, I promise that I can be a great writer in time. The general idea is not to give a hoot if I make money but to send in freelance work to build up a portfolio so that when I do again have money to travel, I will be able to make extra pennies (I’m under no delusion, they will be pennies and not dollars).
My third Unresolution is that I will write more music and pursue outlets to hone that ability within me, seeking out smaller coffee shops and performance venues that will help me get better while keeping my head and ego at a nice and manageable level. (Back when I toured I started to think I was a big deal, much like Will Ferrell, so this is more important than it sounds, especially as I lack the office that smells of rich mahogany.)
So 2010, you are Unresolved at last. I want to read more books, learn and practice the craft of writing, and reignite my passion for writing music. I would also be okay with sending more postcards, winning a Nobel Prize, finishing my novel, quitting smoking, and trading in my cat for a dog that doesn’t pee in the corner.
Nice to meet you 2010, I think this year will be great.
-Me
A decade ago, I was only thirteen and brought in the coming millennia playing in the snow and contemplating where I would be on this very day, ten years and many roads later. I wondered if I would be married or have children, and in my head then I’m certain I thought I would have graduated college or become a successful travel writer or marine biologist by now (sorry to disappoint, Miss Dayna who was thirteen).
A year ago today I resolved my resolutions from the year before. I concluded that I would make no promises or resolutions for 2009, and in lieu of those I would simply try to live more deeply and abundantly. As this past year ebbed and flowed, I sometimes succeeded in that, and those were beautiful moments.
Earlier today I stood on my porch and let the snowflakes drift past me, letting a few hit my face and turn to droplets. As I sipped my lukewarm coffee, I wondered what I should resolve to do – if anything – and how important I would make said resolutions. This year, in place of resolving much of anything, I am simply going to try much harder to do a few fairly important things. This eliminates the hassle of exactly one year from this moment when I will undoubtedly return to read this blog and wonder how I failed so miserably at simple things, thus triggering my mental self-flagellation. Setting painstakingly concrete resolutions can be a drag, let’s face it, so I’m trying something a little different.
(As a treat for next year, I’m going to save my opinion on why we only set goals for ourselves on one day out of the year and then waste the other 364 thinking we can’t decide to resolve anything until next January rolls around. You’re welcome.)
Part of why I hate resolutions is because I’m very bad at sticking to plans. I am awful. It’s embarrassing. Those who know me well will attest to my spontaneity and free-spirited wandering as being endearing yet simultaneously burdensome and annoying. Especially Kurt. He’s a planner. I’m a drifter. Most especially my mother, but only because she’s worried I will waste away as a hitchhiker while never recognizing my full potential as a world-changing writer/singer/songwriter/political activist/what have you. The people that choose to love me in life are rewarded with anecdotes and pretty cool stories while simultaneously being stuck on the rollercoaster that is my life.
The past few weeks I have been realizing just how badly I have been treating my mind through most of this last year. I haven’t been feeding it with new things to encounter and process and enjoy, like books or documentaries. Much of this will be remedied by the obscene amount of new books I received for Christmas thanks to my wonderful parents. Thanks to them, I have beside me a stack of books that, when I look at it, makes me so happy I want to pee my pants. I love the written word; Steinbeck, old classics, obscure travel writers, even local newspapers. Until a month ago I had forgotten how it felt to spend hours in a book. It is lovely. Thus, my first Unresolution is to read more and more diversely, to feed the amazing working thing that is my human mind.
Following along that same thread with Unresolution II, I need to write more and become more serious about it. Save this entry and notwithstanding my lack of practice, I promise that I can be a great writer in time. The general idea is not to give a hoot if I make money but to send in freelance work to build up a portfolio so that when I do again have money to travel, I will be able to make extra pennies (I’m under no delusion, they will be pennies and not dollars).
My third Unresolution is that I will write more music and pursue outlets to hone that ability within me, seeking out smaller coffee shops and performance venues that will help me get better while keeping my head and ego at a nice and manageable level. (Back when I toured I started to think I was a big deal, much like Will Ferrell, so this is more important than it sounds, especially as I lack the office that smells of rich mahogany.)
So 2010, you are Unresolved at last. I want to read more books, learn and practice the craft of writing, and reignite my passion for writing music. I would also be okay with sending more postcards, winning a Nobel Prize, finishing my novel, quitting smoking, and trading in my cat for a dog that doesn’t pee in the corner.
Nice to meet you 2010, I think this year will be great.
-Me
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