Ped-Solidarity

Seattleites rock.
I was crossing East John Street along Broadway this afternoon along with a dozen or so other pedestrians, when a stray car proceeded to impudently cut into the crosswalk. We weren't having it.
No, there was uniform dismay, and then indignation. Though the driver looked to be an older gentleman and his wife, an older lady behind me started laying it on them. She wasn't having it: "Get the hell out of the crosswalk!...learn how to drive, asshole!" And as an exclamation point, as he strolled by, one of a punk-attired trio of young folks coming from the other side of the street gave the offending vehicle a good kick in the rear. The driver then hit the brakes and in his annoyance turned in his seat to see what the heck was going on. But the older lady pedestrian gave a parting jeer, and the rest of us peds kept strolling on by, satisfied in our solidarity: Seattle-Ped-Solidarity!! Rah!

- d.g.w. 12/31/07

Les Petite Problemmes du Vie

Ok. A lot of crummy stuff is going on and I desperately need to write it out, if only to get my mind around everything that I need to deal with:


1) Most urgently, I need $160, and probably $320, to pay my rent.

I pay rent weekly and it's due each Friday. I was expecting a money order from mom for last Friday's, and it never came. The day of, I kept calling and calling and when I finally got ahold of her it was 5:00 and she was having a birthday dinner with Sarah and Jesse, and told me she'd call back when she was through. I tried to stop her and say that I really couldn't wait, but it was apparently really loud where they were, and she hung up.
I had left to go help Laura with her move, and when I got back at 9 that night, the lock on my door had been changed! Ya. They were serious, evidently, when they said rent is due on fridays. I caught the building manager at the last minute before he left, and he indicated that I'd be able to get my stuff out at some point (he didn't say, but I assume Monday - tomorrow).
Ideally I would arrive with money in hand so to convince the manager to let me back in. I guess I have today to figure out how to do that.


2) I cannot register for winter quarter - which begins next Tuesday Jan. 8 - until I have signed off on some payment arrangement.

Everything could be solved if only my dad would pay back the loan from fall quarter. He has promised as much on at least three different occasions. But as he is impossible to reach, I have absolutely no indication that he will pay, much less within the next seven days. So unless I can somehow come up with $2500 cash before January 6, I probably won't be attending the UW this quarter. I'm going to have to beg mom and nana to help me - that's probably what it's going to come down to. Sad, because I know they don't have money to spare. At least mom definitely doesn't. I would promise to pay them back at some point in the future, but realistically I have no idea when that would be possible. I'm unemployed, and even when employed I have so many other expenses (rent, probation/court fees, college books, etc., etc.) that I'd have to pay them in installments.

Well, anyway, to return to the point: my father is a fucking bitch. I strongly suspect that someone is filtering his emails for him, but even if, it's impossible that he wouldn't be aware of it. So he's just as guilty. In fact he is more so, as he probably feels irreproachable since someone else is actively doing the deed. And as if he's helpless to do anything - ya right. Well, I'm impressed with his compartmentalizing abilities, that he's able to feel perfectly fine playing with his son's life like this, only to call up six months later and act like everything is hunky-dory. And I have to act likewise so as not to upset him and lose contact and his financial help altogether. All I know is that when I become financially secure and don't need to kiss his ass just to get money - if that ever happens, I'm going to pay him a visit and tell him and his psychotic wife off, once and for all.


3) I'm struggling with depression.

I know a good part of it is S.A.D. - seasonal-affective disorder. Seattle winters always hit people hard in that area. Yesterday, I slept from about 6 p.m. basically all the way through until 12 noon today. And that has not been unusual for me, lately.

I really have a hard time socializing and even engaging in conversation these days. I made it through Christmas: I spent the entire day with Laura and her fam, and the night before with the Hagopian-Ludwigs in Fremont. It went as well as could be expected, but since then I've just been stuck in a rut. I admit it's mostly situational: I'm unemployed, under financial duress, and on the verge of homelessness. So perhaps a little depression is only natural. Whatever. I wish life would be easier. I fuckin' wish that I had money, for christ's sake. That's another thing. On the job front, I've been declined so so many times based on background checks. I mentioned in a prior entry about being recruited for a contract/temp job with the Gates Foundation - that fell through solely because I couldn't pass a background check. Constant rejection like that takes its toll, I suppose.

One might say it's my own fault, on the other hand, it's not my fault that society discriminates against those with an imperfect past. It's not Seattle. I think Seattle is the best place I could be, frankly. People here are tolerant, civilized, and there really are a lot of job opportunities. It's the west. People come here from all over the country to start their lives, or to start their lives over. But Seattle is America and America has its flaws; its idiosyncracies; and in this country, fate doesn't always treat kindly those with limited resources. There are a lot of pitfalls out there when you lack money and family support. Not to say I don't have family support, or that I am not grateful for that which I do have. But I lack a cohesive family that comes together to figure out how best to help someone in need. Or if I did, those days have since past.

That is one thing that those who possess it take for granted - a strong family. There is no replacement for it and I think nothing is more effective in ensuring that one has a successful and happy life. Those who are able, like my sister, join so to speak, a new family, and that can suffice. But that takes years and is obviously not easy or even possible. I dare say it is easier for a female, anyhow.

My Maryland Visit, Charles Ross's "One-Man Star Wars"

I just returned early Sunday morning from my trip to visit mom and nana in Maryland. A very nice visit - I think that one week was a perfect amount of time. There wasn't a whole lot going on and we focused on a few projects: one, organizing and cleaning my room, which mom plans to make into a guest room. It has a nice, albeit creaky, wooden bed frame that grandpa had decades ago brought back from Denmark; and a nice desk and dresser to match. My window looks out over the backyard, level with the branches of several tall trees, over a path that runs through a grassy park.

We also did quite a lot of shopping, mostly for clothes for myself. Mom and nana were both very generous. Nana bought me a new pair of shoes that I picked out: a pair of shiny black Nike Air Forces from the mall. Mom ordered me some fleece slipper/scuffs from L.L. Bean. On Friday, the day before my retour par avion, we shopped for Christmas gifts and I got Laura some earrings and super-soft socks.

We also took in a one-act, one-man play at the Woolly Mammoth Theater in D.C.: "The One-Man Star Wars". The actor, Canadian Charles Ross (who bore a striking resemblance to a young Mark Hammil) did all three of the original movies back-to-back, with only a few-second water break between each. It was pretty crazy.

We made ticket reservations online ($28 each) and the whole time until I saw it I was pondering just how this guy would go about such an act. As it happened, he skipped all but the major, memorable scenes and characters. He sang-slash-hummed the music to begin separate scenes, but overall his attempt at mimicking John Williams' score was rather dismal.

Basically, he excelled at some characters and muddled through, or avoided others. He was great at C3P0 and R2D2: he had 3P0's stuffy, prissy accent, and stiff-limbed walk down-pat. For the two robots' journey through the Tattooinne desert after escaping Leia’s ship, Ross mimed almost perfectly R2's beeps and whistles, during their little exchange before they decide to part ways. The Luke Skywalker portrayal was fantastic, replete with Luke's boyish whine; and Ross was able to extract the humor out of Luke’s later afflicted, self-righteous heroism. He got a ton of laughs from the audience on Luke's behalf – maybe partly because they do in fact look alike. But Ross couldn't really do Han Solo or Princess Leia (he made her sound kind of like a gay man), but I suppose we can cut him some slack for taking on such a task! It really was amazing.

The little running jokes throughout were great, too: about Luke's whininess and the supposed pathetic acting career of actor Hammil. Also, Ross extracted some clever humor from the love triangle between Luke, Leia, and Han. And then, of course, the familial relationship between Luke, Leia, and Darth Vader/Annakin Skywalker.

Actually, after the first act, when the lights dimmed and Ross went to the back of the stage and chugged a water bottle, the audience clapped and it looked as though that was all. But after probably 10 seconds, he came back for Episode V/Empire Strikes Back. I couldn't believe that he went through the trilogy as rapidly and tirelessly as he did. Pretty awesome. In addition to the music, he even mimed those gargantuan AT-AT walkers on Hoth, and the smaller AT-ST walkers in the battle for Endor. He acted out the following: Luke's destruction by tripping, of the walker with his snow speeder's cable gun; and the Ewoks' crushing the AT-ST walker's "skull" with the two swinging logs, as well as the log roll booby-trap that tripped another one.

There were, of course, some glaring abscences - Rancor in Jabba's palace, for example, but mostly with Ross's acting it was just a matter of emphasis. And since he excelled at some characters and scenes more than others, it worked out pretty well.

When he was finally done, after a little over an hour of non-stop running around stage reducing George Lucas's creations to a fast-forward, human puppet-show, he left stage and then returned to bow and chat briefly with the audience. He explained that he has a similar act for the Lord of the Rings movie - but that he had been issued a warning from the movie people to cease doing it. So he gave everyone just a taste, by doing his Gollum impression. It was excellent, very accurate - and hilarious!

- d.g.w. 12/19/07

Professor Matthews / Montgomery College, 2003

I completed my 'Instructions' assignment about 30 minutes before it was due, yesterday at 6 p.m. I spent literally 10 hours on it because I basically had to teach myself Adobe Illustrator Plus, I wasted a couple hours because, as I mentioned in my last entry, I'd started with Adobe InDesign until my classmate Ian B. told me Illustrator would work better for this assignment.
Like Photoshop, Illustrator works with layers and it can be tricky to keep having to toggle between them. I completed it and wrote out the 'Discussion' section, where I remarked on what I did for my instructions, and why.

I always think it is a good feeling to complete an assignment you've worked long and hard on. I used to enjoy doing long research papers on in high school. I recall I would spend long nights writing research on note cards and I'd end up with a huge stack from a page-long bibliography. For my 11th-grade English term paper I did a biography and literary criticism of Sinclair Lewis's Babbitt. Several years later I took a class in what has become my chosen area of study/career interest, Technical Writing. The professor, John Matthews, said that he did his Senior thesis in college on Sinclair Lewis. I told him that I did likewise, and I remember he was interested to read what I wrote. I really liked that prof. He was a Yalie, too, as many members of my family are (my cousin Vinnie, all four of my grandparents, and an aunt and uncle).

I wrote what I consider my best, most well put-together research paper ever for that class - "White Nationalism: Ideology and Practice." I was proud of that paper. I don't know, I think I'm too jaded to be as creative and inspired in writing, as I once was. Perhaps not, but the possibilities for a particular topic seemed so promising, and full of life. Like I knew there was wonderful knowledge out there that I just had to find, to put it down on paper. Now, sometimes I just think to myself, "why bother - probably no one will read this anyway". I wouldn't want to jinx myself or anything, but I dare say I do not experience the level of inspiration for writing that I once did. For that matter, I didn't in '03, either. I can recall being most inspired to write way back in 5th or 6th grade, or earlier. Ah, the ever-dissipating fruits of youth. It never lasts!

As for Proessor Matthews' class - I learned a great deal, and we used an excellent text, also. I kept it - John Lannon's "Technical Communication", and though I forgot to bring it with me to Seattle, I recently found it for eight dollars, on a dusty shelf downstairs at Half-Price Books. So I am using the Lannon text for Professor Loucks' TC 421, instead of the assigned Markel text, which I consider less in-depth and less useful. A classmate copied me part of one chapter - on web design - but aside from that it really is quite a lot of fluff. And it annoys me that it has these pop-up type boxes on every other page, entitled "Tech Tips", which are really just product placement for Microsoft. It's pretty lame.

Alas - yes, I was indeed proud of my paper for Matthews' class. For the first time, I included an actual table of contents, abstract, and extensive footnotes, along with a substantial works cited page. In fact, I used that paper in my application to my certificate program! And I don't have an extra copy, either, so who knows if I will ever see it again...
Bummer. Well, it was worth it if it helped me get accepted. I can live with that.

- dgw

9/11/07

It's 9/11 - that now infamous date in our nation’s history.

Last night I was at Vivace on Capitol Hill and a group of about 25 folks were meeting on the subject. They were apparently affiliated with the "9/11 "Truth Movement" and, from snippets I could overhear, were discussing the various theories that have been circulating lately. Earlier that day, I’d seen large black and white posters around Broadway that read, "9/11 was an inside job!".

A front page article in this week’s The Stranger by Paul Constant follows a group of Seattle "Truthers" and their theories on what really happened that day. It wasn't entirely favorable; a bit dismissive toward the end, I thought. It focused less on the substance of the theories (many of which are not widely known, but are quite compelling) and more on the movement and its development over the past several years from near-blasphemy shortly after the attacks, to fringe status, to, as one recent poll has it, supported in some form by 36% of the American public. That figure, particularly, I thought very significant. The idea must not be so fanciful as it once seemed, if so many believe it.

Americans are known to be suckers for conspiracy theories - some say it is part of our superstitious, religious, culture. But there is real substance behind the view that the 9/11 attacks were perpetrated by our own government (or, perhaps, a secret, high-level cabal of sorts within our own government). The realization that the administration lied about the justification for the Iraq war has served to reinforce this view.

Of course, the movement is almost entirely internet-driven, as mainstream media have largely ignored the notion. But even this is changing of late. One might trace it to the incredible spread of the now-infamous homemade internet film Loose Change, produced by two upstate New Yorkers in their 20s.

We may never know the truth, but the clarifying lens of history will put the 9/11 era in sharper focus in the years to come. Perhaps one day I will be telling my grandchildren that, for a time, Americans once believed that we were really attacked that day. This would not be the first time the U.S. has used a false pretext for starting a war: the Gulf of Tonkin incident, for example; some say the government even had prior knowledge of the Pearl Harbor attacks because we wanted an in into that war, and needed an excuse.

I’m guessing that the period begun on September 11, 2001 will be seen as the beginning of a very important period in our history; one that led us on a very definite trajectory apart from what might have been. Where, it is hard to say, it is still too early.

Blogging

I don't know where it has gone, but I seem rather uninspired of late. The past couple of months, namely. I used to find the inspiration to write essays about non-personal things - science and society and politics - the stuff I've always pondered and been keen to write out my thoughts upon.

Lately my blog entries are taken up with personal travailles; nay, not even that - more, frustrations in the realm of feeling, without real events necessarily accompanying. I see that as selfish. As a sign of withdrawing into myself at the expense of the world around me. And let's face it, others - my audience, that is, find it boring. At least I do. When on Opendiary.com or someone's blog, most uninspiring is usually the kind of writing that goes on and on about one's personal life. Writing about feelings surrrounding one's social/romantic life has a tendency to seem to matter to no one but the author. No one else really cares because although they might be able to relate at some level, the subject matter is so personal and particular that it inevitably loses most of it's meaning.

Conversely, essays and writing about society, etc., concern everyone; everyone can relate to, and ponder what is said equally. In point of fact, this even applies when returning to read one's own blog after time has passed. Feelings and emotions shift and change day-to-day, thus what is written loses its impact and much of its meaning after the mood has passed and the circumstances have moved along. It is better to write on the world around us. If one can place oneself into a more universal, less temporal, self-concerned context, the better the quality of blog entry; the more interesting and noteworthy and meaningful it becomes.

Drowsy / Impotent

I feel impotent. I mean this literally and figuratively.

Since I am between jobs right now and not in school, I have free time during the day, and as I have explained in previous entries, Seattle has world-class espresso joints that I love. I've become somewhat addicted. I fuckin' love the stuff; it's such a delicacy, such an indulgence. Usually mid-afternoon, I bring my books and sit down for an hour, sometimes two, at Vivace or Cafe Vita.

I quaff my latte/cappucino, then dig into my book, but inevitably I nod-off. It surprises me because this happens right after I've gulped the coffee. I've always wondered if coffee doesn't produce the opposite reaction with me - it makes me drowsy. Nodding off while reading a book - a frustrating situation. So I force my eyes to stay open, with varying degrees of success. But this shouldn't be.

I mean, sometimes it is so bad that I read one or two pages in an hour. Then I leave, puzzled and slightly disgusted with myself for being so dopey. If I am at Cafe Vita sitting at an outside table, nearby patrons may presumably see me in this state - trying again and again to read the page, head drifting slowly downward, eyes drooping. Ridiculous. And pathetic.

This can't go on. I feel like I'm deluding myself. Self-discipline has always been important to me. Feeling as though I maintain some discipline, some maintenance of rigor and fortitude and constancy in certain areas of my life - intellectual being one - makes me satisfied and makes me feel whole and like I am a worthwhile human being. When I falter, it bothers me. Significantly.

I don't know. There is another piece of the puzzle that I am not mentioning, but which I have chosen not to get into in my OD pages. Perhaps I will at some point, but right now I choose to simplify things by omitting certain things and keeping these things private. The gist of it is that I am on a certain prescribed medication that causes what I've been describing.

And the impotence. I do not know what to do about it. An obvious option would be to consult a doctor, and I will look into this forthwith. I do hope something can be done.

I have a girlfriend now, and this impotence thing - well, it's not impotence so much as simply an inability to cum - and this has been a real downer multiple times for us. A major bummer. Worse, girlfriend thinks it has something to do with her, that it's her fault that I don't always cum and that it's hard for me to. I'm totally freakin' erect, that is not a problem at all. And it's almost like the relationship is not consummated sexually unless I come. And I don't. More often than not, I don't.

Fuck.


- d.g.w. 8/16/07

Rachel Out in the Country

This past weekend I visited Rachel at her parents house near Gig Harbor. They are somewhere in the country between Gig Harbor and Tacoma. I don't know - all I know is that there is no cell phone reception for miles around, and it is an hour from Seattle.

It was quite an uneventful weekend. Rachel does not do much of anything there, apparently, although to her credit there did not appear anything to do. It is Rachel, her mother, father, and nephew Tyler - her younger sister's 2 1/2 year-old son. Oddly, her parents did not seem to mind one bit that I was there. They were completely neutral. Not very interested, but not in the least resentful or annoyed. They were not inhospitable, but not gracious at my presence. Apathetic, rather. A little odd, I thought.

Her mother is around 50, a bit wrinkly and pale from sitting inside, chain-smoking cheap Bronco cigarettes all day. Father, whose name I didn't catch, was supremely the quiet-type. A thin, balding, blondish man with glasses and a mustache. Stoic. He said perhaps 10 or 20 sentences the entire two days.

Saturday night he requested Rachel and I come out to the fire pit, where he was stoking firewood with a sharpened pool stick. We sat with him for half-an-hour, virtually wordless. I was going to start some conversation, but I was curious to see if - as I was guessing was the case - either of them would speak, as Rachel is fairly quiet herself. So I held my tongue, and there we sat, staring at the fire.

After Rachel got up and went inside, to read her V.C. Andrews book, her father spoke up a bit. He explained that he grew up in a small German settlement in Texas called Bolvell or something like that, and that there is a sister-city by the same name in Germany. Rachel's mother is German; born in Germany; and they met while he was stationed there, in the military. I flipped through a scrapbook of their wedding, and of Rachel and her sister as young children: apparently a contented young family. They were not unhappy now, there was just the feeling of burden and apathy at, obviously, Rachel's and her sister's troubles.

I considered that 2 1/2 year-old blonde, blue-eyed Tyler was a gift of sorts for Rachel's mom, as she doesn't work and would be stuck out there alone all day if it weren't for him. Apparently the father lives nearby, but rarely comes to see his son. If her opinion of it weren't clear enough, Rachel's mother has trained Tyler to explain his parents to those who might wonder:

"Mama's in the clinker, dada's a loser."

That was a bit shocking to me when I heard him say it. Hilarious though, to hear from the lips of a toddler!
Rachel's sister is supposedly in jail in Texas somewhere. It's quite a sad case. She is younger - 21 or so.

Tyler is quite a rambunctious guy. Rachel's mother had him in the car seat when she picked us up from the bus stop. Both she and Rachel then proceeded to smoke with the windows only cracked, the whole way back to their house. They both smoke inside, too - chain smoke - with Tyler and Rachel's non-smoker dad, too. Rather inconsiderate, I thought. If ever there would be a case of secondhand smoke causing a health problem, I should think this would be it.

I left with dad at 5 Monday morning, as he began his long commute to Tukwila for work at the federal Department of Homeland Security. He was mum in the car, too, even as I questioned him a bit about his job. It seemed quite interesting. I couldn't get much out of him. Rachel had told me that he worked in Immigration matters, and was formerly an Immigration agent for the Justice Department.

He dropped me off in Tacoma at dawn and I boarded the Sound Transit bus for the hour trip back to Seattle.

Serendipity and an English Parakeet (Aug. '07)

2002: I'm walking down Rockville Pike to my grandparents' house. I've just gotten off the metro at White Flint station. Rockville Pike/355 is the main thoroughfare north from D.C. up through Montgomery County and into the Maryland suburbs. There is an office park with some greenery and short trees lining the traffic-congested strip that is home to offices buildings, auto dealerships and fast-food joints. I'm walking along minding my business, my eyes were probably down toward the ground as cars were coming at me, giving me the pedestrian-look-down they sometimes give. It is muggy, the smell of exhaust hovers in a pasty, translucent sky.

I spot a little green thing moving, I barely register it, almost miss it entirely. A lizard? No, a little bird. An obviously weak, helpless little thing I recognize as a parakeet. A budgie! Oddly, it is hopping, almost limping in the direction of the road, through the grass under the sparse shade. I kneel down and consider the little guy, block his path to the road. I pity the poor parakeet, I need to get him some help, I think to myself. Notifying the Human Society - this is the first thing that comes to mind, as he seems so weak, possibly - probably near death. Surely he would not survive much longer out here. Probably wouldn't make it the night.

He is still going, however, tiny black, beety eyes sparkle some intelligence and perhaps fatigue - if I could divine as much. He was regal looking - a tall forehead, hooked beak tucked primly into his cheek feathers, and intelligent, pensive, though anxious, eyes. An English parakeet - separate, more-refined breed of budgie carefully bred over the years and favored by the British. There are office buildings and apartment blocks scattered along the Pike, I look up at the structure towering nearby and consider perhaps that the bird escaped out of one of those windows. It's hard to say how long he might have been out there. Probably not long, as he was in such a fragile, weak state that any sort of creature with a predatory inclination would have gobbled him up.

I cup him in my hand, thinking about what to do. I decide to avert all of the outside dangers here near the road and slip him into my backpack. I carry it gently in front of me, making sure to leave it partly unzipped to give him air. I take out my phone and call mom, tell her.

She and I both love animals. We have a weakness for any small or baby pet, we both love dogs and dote on our Begian sheepdog, Conree. She agrees to drive down from my grandparents' in Gaithersburg and pick me up.

So she arrives and I hop in, open up my bag and out pops the little green and yellow and white bird!

Mom is fairly tickled. At this point I haven't considered the next step, but she intimates that we ought to take him home. She told me later that she had kept parakeets as a child, her mother/ my grandmother always loved wild birds -bluebirds were her favorite - and was an avid bird-watcher.

I'm hungry and budgie needs some water, so we swing into the McDonald's near White Flint station. I remember this most fondly about that day - I have Big Bird (we settle on this name later on when we find that he talks and enjoys spouting the name "Big Bird" in a comical, exclamatory tone that always elicited laughter from my mom) cupped in my lap along with french fries and a Big Mac - rather presumptuously, ravenously - as he is evidently famished - hops up my arms and begins nibbling on a french fry. I am trying to give him a little sip of ice water, but instead he goes for my Coke! He takes little bites of the brown liquid that has seeped up above the lid of the cup! This is one of my fondest memories of Big Bird.

We soon discover, after he has recovered and regained his strength, that he's got quite a knack for mimicry. He blabbers and warbles on in garbled English, not unlike an ill-received radio station. Mom and I get a kick out of this when we discover his this cross-species linguistic talent of his. And as I mentioned, he had arrived with an affinity for saying, "That's Big Bird." And so hence the name. We surmised that this may have been the name given by his previous owners. Before too long, he is mimicking sounds and speech from us! When I come in each day, for example, I would often whistle a little catcall to him - soon he would anticipate this and whistle the same little tune to me! I whistle back and he likewise, with perfect mimicry. Very cute. And alas, I say "was" because Big Bird died not long before I moved to Seattle.

He had become quite thin, emaciated at times; in fact his health seemed fragile for the entire two and a half years I had him. He would have sick spells and be lethargic and unresponsive for a week or two, but he did recover again and again. I devised a hydrotherapy for him - whenever I'd shower I would cart him in with me on my shoulder and he would perch atop the cabinet for an hour, door shut / fan off, soaking up the warmth and humidity. He truly loved that.

As a matter of fact, he loved taking baths too! A sucker for lukewarm water. Big Bird had a Pavlovian response to the sound of a tap running - Often he'd whistle to me if I was in the bathroom, soliciting a ride to the basin. He needed the tap ever so gentle and warm - needed it just so - and he'd flap his wings and boogie-down his hindfeathers into the bath. He could sit in his bath, tap flowing, for a half-an-hour! It was pretty adorable. Kept his plumage nice and clean, too.

Eventually, not long before I left for Seattle, I awoke one morning to find him at the bottom of his cage, breathing heavily, near-death, no longer perched on his little perch below his favorite mirror. Several more days of this and he expired. Mom and I buried him in the backyard. We weren't so sad, as we could see it coming, in fact I think we were surprised he had lasted so long - a good 3 1/2 years with us and however-long with his previous owner.

And so Big Bird sparked in me a love of birds, and upon reaching Seattle, I sought out a budgie breeder from Bremerton whom my niece, who works at Animal Talk in Fremont, knew of and recommended to me. I got two two-month old fledgling budgies, sky blue and white. However, as I was staying with my sister for several months last year, I soon had to turn them over to my niece (my sister Sarah has two cats, two rather incompatible species if there ever were). I still see them fairly often, though, and they are in Fremont in my relatives' house in a nice big cage together!

One other little anecdote about Big Bird - my mother once said he was like an angel - a guardian angel perched on my shoulder who had arrived in my life during a difficult and transitional time. Sent from heaven! That might sound corny, but it always rang true for me. He was an angel - a whip-smart little sentient being, my little "man", as I affectionately referred to him.

- d.g.w. 7/9/07

White boy / Asian girl; Black boy / White girl

This entry I originally wrote on my Opendiary blog. I received a lot of feedback from other ODers' about it, so I've decided to copy it to this blog:

I have always fancied myself a sociologist by nature - I'm very observant of those around me, and of society and its trends. This Seattle summer of 2007 offers a lot for one so inclined.

One thing that particularly stands out is the interracial couple phenomenon. It's not new, obviously, but I have seen a great deal this summer, probably more than ever.

The vast majority are either a dark guy (black or mulatto; hispanic, or whatever) and white girl, and then, probably a close second, white guy/asian girl. In fact, it seems that in certain neighborhoods I am seeing (what I would consider) an unprecedented number of white male/asian female couples. The University District, for example. If you walk down "the Ave.", as they call it, you will see them.

I'm not passing judgment - just stating what I and everyone else for that matter, is presented with on the street in this city on a daily basis. I suspect for many, it is not even a "phenomenon", i.e., nothing registers as worth noting for them. But this is a reflection of just how common it has become. The black male/white female thing is kind of old news by now, although their frequency does seem to be increasing. What used to be taboo and illicit and which could even garner outward scorn from passersby has become mainstream. Or at least people generally keep their thoughts to themselves. You even see a good number of mulatto children. Of these, 90% are black male/white female unions, versus white male/black female.

I have always wondered what black women think of this phenomenon...Everyone knows white males don't like it. Most do not, anyway - even if they deny it, I can assure you that most white men do not look forward to seeing a black man with a white woman. The fear of black male sexuality or predation of white women was the fundamental reason for our many years segregation in this country. And it was an overwhelmingly male fear: i.e., white men weren't complaining (well, maybe some were) when black girls were being impregnated or raped in the 18th, 19th centuries.

And now we see new combinations. My adopted neighborhood of Capitol Hill has always had gays and interracial couples, and even transgendered folks. It seems to be a haven, of sorts, for alternative sexuality/lifestyles.A very liberal, progressive neighborhood, tolerant of all kinds of diversity.

The asian female/white male thing is somewhat new, though, at least at the levels I am now seeing it. I would say, for instance, that if you see a couple on the street where the female is asian - Korean, Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, whatever - it will be more than half as likely that she has a white guy on her arm. Or even a black or hispanic guy. One sees this, too.

I tend to believe that this is not insignificant. The phenomenon as a whole is not insignificant. Just look at what results from a black male/white female union - the child is of an entirely new race. Mulatto, as the Spanish-speaking Latin American world termed in years past. And so considering the resulting offspring, the ramifications for society are significant. Maybe profound. To deny this is absurd, in my opinion.

Of course, this is an issue which, because of its implicit (and explicit) ramifications, garners controversy and people often feel strongly on the issue. Issues around sex and children and family are by default among the most contested, and most solicitous of passion. Of course, we find that opinions splinter along racial and gender lines.We know what white males tend to think of the black male/white female thing - what do white females think of it? Black females? What do white females think of the white male/asian female thing? Asian males?

7/18/07 (To be continued...)

Movie: Sicko; Book: The Prince of the Marshes

My sister's fiance is organizing a panel on the state of health care in America, scheduled for Wednesday night, and my sister is on the panel as a representative of the CAIR Project (http://www.cairproject.org/washington.html). CAIR is a Washington non-profit that funds abortions for women who can't afford them or can't travel to the appropriate clinic for the care they need. Jesse is billing the panel as an adjunct to Michael Moore's Sicko, which is playing around Seattle, and which I saw last night at the Neptune in the U-district.
The panel is ostensibly sponsored by the International Socialist Organization (Jesse's group) and a few other organizations.

It should be a good discussion. It's the first speaking gig my sister has had that I know of, so we'll see how she does. I have never thought of her as a superb speaker, but she is very smart and can hold her own in a debate. She's fairly fearless, in fact. My father, as part of his consulting business, has been doing panels and speeches for years on his photographic preservation/archivist stuff. He is supposedly the leading expert in that field, and has been for some time.

I'm quite proud of my family. Many of my relatives have accomplished a lot professionally and of those around my age - my cousins and such - academically (my cousin Jonathan Kolstad is a Stanford grad and currently finishing up his Ph.D. at Harvard, for example). It gives me a boost to know that my little tribe can hold their own out there in this fast, confusing world and do more than okay with themselves.

I have always suffered low-self esteem, I can be easily discouraged by failure. I tend to be a perfectionist, like my father, and so when I fall short by my standards I can get depressed and discouraged at times.
But I have taken a non-conventional road in life - I realize this, and so try not to so readily compare myself with everyone else. Competition, envy - these can get anyone down. No matter who you are, there is always someone better, richer, better-looking, whatever it is.

It is easy to recognize this in principle, another matter to live it day-to-day, however. Especially in the city. You have such a mix of people - rich, poor; ignorant, enlightened. The entire spectrum are rubbing shoulders on the sidewalks and bumpers in the street, every day. If you aren't weary enough already, you can become absorbed by others' and their apparent haves and your have-nots. So I am cognizant of this and try to keep a level head in Seattle in the summer. It's hot, too, and there is a level of aggravation that comes with a dense population and a hot summertime.

Since I am still in-between jobs, job-searching, I spend a lot of time at the cafe, at Vivace or at Cafe Vita on Pike Street, reading my books. I recently bought "The Prince of the Marshes" at Bailey & Coy Books, on Broadway, about a British governor of Maysan Province, Iraq - Rory Stewart - during the Coalition Provisional Authority period. Quite interesting stuff. An insider's account, probably not wholly unbiased, but fascinating.

The guy was quite young - 31, I think, and somehow got this job that gave him, nominally anyway, immense powers of allocation and organization in shaping the fledgling government in his province. Maysan is a majority Shi'a province south of Baghdad in the southeast of Iraq, bordering Iran.

I don't envy the poor guy's job! He has to deal with so many factions and situations - the region is volatile - with spurts of civil strife a constant threat. Most of his administration's expense goes toward building the local government up so that the expected transition of authority to the Iraqis, when that time comes, will go as smooth as possible. Infrastructure requires huge investment, as much of the generally poorer Shiite parts of the province are in need of government buildings, schools, and basic necessities like electricity and running water. How best to spend limited funds occupies a great deal of Stewart's efforts. The best part of the book is the account Stewart gives of the various characters who must deal with each other across divides cultural, languistic, sectarian. He meets with the high-ups, too - Paul Bremer and various generals (Petraeus, among others).

- d.g.w. 7/16/07

Dawn to Decadence

I'm at this internet cafe, it's midnight, Saturday night. I walked here through throngs of party people, clubbers and bargoers and what not. Young people out in force tonight. A hot night, too. There was a little stand down on Pike street giving out promotional ice cream, of all things, for some web site. A good idea, I suppose. They picked a good night.

I had a topic for an essay that I was considering, but I meant to bring my Marcus Aurelius book of quotations - I was going to use that but forgot it. Some profound thing, I can't recall, but it sounded good. The kind of quote you see at the beginning of the chapter of a novel as a prelude the author uses to try to make what they are proceeding to say seem more profound. A useful tool, granted.

I remember I was fond of putting nice quotations at the beginning of research papers I wrote in high school and college. I recall I took one from Jacques Barzun's From Dawn to Decadence: 500 Years of Western Civilization (or whatever it is), for a report I did for my "Business and Professional Writing" class at Montgomery College. I remember the prof. well - John Matthews. He was a Yalie, I recall him saying. An extremely smart guy. He looked kind of like Greg Popovich.

Anyway, it was my end of term paper: it had to have a table of contents, an abstract, and had to be organized methodically. I was very proud of that paper, worked many hours on it - "White Nationalism in America: Ideology and Practice".

Yes. I still have it. My mom not long ago sent me a pile of my writings that were sitting in folders in my room. I was excited to get them - it brought back memories, as I can often remember the time period when I wrote each piece, what I was thinking, doing, etc. What was going on. Each piece is a piece of my life, fits into its own context. Indeed, one would be surprised how mood and feeling can affect how and what one writes. Even with dry, scientific-type writing, your mood is of great consequence. Because the words are inchoate until the very moment before they come out, what results is a consequence of the subtleties of the mind. And in turn, the mind depends on the mood, which depends on one's environment, etc., etc. That may seem obvious, but, for example, I am always surprised how many ways there are to say something, even a simple statement - a great many permutations and combinations.

Not that it's an unruly framework of - oh my god now i'm just writing rubbish, the barista girl who works here just walked by fiddling with the chairs and turning off the computers - she is an absolute doll (if she only knew what I was writing right now!) he he he. Yes, an absolute doll. She must know that she has interrupted my delicate prose!

But alas, this is precisely what i am talking about - the vicissitudes of the immediate environment have altered, indelibly, what I have typed on this page! That is great irony. I love it. Although in this case, it was an 180-degree shift to the non-sequitor - the sweet thing with her feminine powers hitting me as a wave...lord, god, oh yes, here we go...Jim Morrison is on the radio and he says, "She's a twentieth-century fox." Accurate, indeed, except for it being the 21st century...

- d.g.w. 7/12/07

Applying for...

The fuck? I am really tired and I can't get any sleep because my apartment is too hot. I have a vascillating fan I got at the drugstore for $20, and it doesn't do a very good job at keeping me cool. I don't know how I sleep at night, honestly. I definitely don't fall asleep very early.
Well, I'm still waiting on the job apps. and interviews. I had two interviews yesterday and haven't heard back yet. It's a drab place to be - unemployed and always waiting and waiting to hear something. I've gotten used to it, truly, being in that state. But it wears on your self-esteem after awhile. You keep wondering what it is about you that these employers aren't liking? or what it is that's keeping you from being accepted for the meager wages you are seeking? It should not be so hard.
So there is that, and then I'm still on the dating site - The Stranger personals, which is quite an exciting site, for all of the absolutely gorgeous and sophisticated women I've seen on it. But here too, I haven't hit paydirt as far as actually meeting someone in person. The pattern is that I will chat with someone for a day, maybe two, maybe three if I'm lucky - and then zero - they stop writing. Usually around the same time I ask for her email address or gently suggest we might meet for coffee sometime (so perhaps it's no coincidence?).
Hence, the job and the woman: rejection and deferrment. These become intertwined in the psyche, into one bundle of sadness and dejection. Maybe that is too dramatic. Yes. After all, one can't expect to win such things quickly. Woman, job - these are valuable commodities in this world, with healthy competition around them.

So I should be patient, I tell myself. And yet I have so much desire for some change in my life. And I do think that I have done more than the average person toward such goals; toward change. One small example I was considering today is that I no longer take naps during the day - not ever, usually. Not even to lie down, even though now that I'm not working I do have the opportunity (then again, maybe I just don't because the apartment is too hot). As a teenager and even a couple years ago, I would savor taking afternoon naps and what not. I loved sleeping, and I'd more often than not sleep late, if I could get away with it. Again, there is the extenuating circumstance that Seattle's latitude makes for a very long summer day - but, now I naturally wake up at 7 or 8, instead of the usual 10-11 or 12 in years past. My energy level is generally higher throughout the day, with less moodiness. My mood used to swing during the day, from low in the morning and early afternoon, to generally higher in the evening and late at night. I maintain much greater equilibrium these days, and I am grateful for that. It really makes life easier. I don't have to worry about how I will feel at this or that time when I'll have this or that engagement. Moodiness always made for added stress/anxiety.

Progress I have made, and yet I feel less satisfaction somehow. I've given it considerable thought, and I do believe that at 25, I have reached that life stage where I truly am biologically desirous of a mate. The human male is at some level always desirous of a mate, but I currently feel as with a fever. I feel this compulsion for love, not just lust, and it permeates deeply because of its fundamental, probably hormonal nature in my being. This I do believe. Environment also has played a role with my desire for love and for a mate - I have described the scene with regard to couples/beautiful young women, etc., in previous entries. This atmosphere only serves as a constant reminder of what I lack and what I desire.

Serendipity and an English Parakeet

Serendipity and an English Parakeet

2002, I'm walking down Rockville Pike to my grandparents' house. I've just gotten off the metro at White Flint station. Rockville Pike/355 is the main thoroughfare north from D.C. up through Montgomery County and into the Maryland suburbs. There is an office park with some greenery and short trees lining the traffic-congested strip that is home to offices buildings, auto dealerships and fast-food joints.
I'm walking along minding my business, my eyes were probably down toward the ground as cars were coming at me, giving me the pedestrian-look-down they sometimes give. It is muggy, the smell of exhaust hovers in a pasty, translucent sky.
I spot a little green thing moving, I barely register it, almost miss it entirely. A lizard? No, a little bird. An obviously weak, helpless little thing I recognize as a parakeet. A budgie! Oddly, it is hopping, almost limping in the direction of the road, through the grass under the sparse shade. I kneel down and consider the little guy, block his path to the road. I pity the poor parakeet, I need to get him some help, I think to myself. Notifying the Human Society - this is the first thing that comes to mind, as he seems so weak, possibly - probably near death. Surely he would not survive much longer out here. Probably wouldn't make it the night. He is still going, however, tiny black, beety eyes sparkle some intelligence and perhaps fatigue - if I could divine as much. He was regal looking - a tall forehead, hooked beak tucked primly into his cheek feathers, and intelligent, pensive, though anxious, eyes. An English parakeet - separate, more-refined breed of budgie carefully bred over the years and favored by the British.
There are office buildings and apartment blocks scattered along the Pike, I look up at the structure towering nearby and consider perhaps that the bird escaped out of one of those windows. It's hard to say how long he might have been out there. Probably not long, as he was in such a fragile, weak state that any sort of creature with a predatory inclination would have gobbled him up.
I cup him in my hand, thinking about what to do. I decide to avert all of the outside dangers here near the road and slip him into my backpack. I carry it gently in front of me, making sure to leave it partly unzipped to give him air.
I take out my phone and call mom, tell her.
She and I both love animals. We have a weakness for any small or baby pet, we both love dogs and dote on our Begian sheepdog, Conree. She agrees to drive down from my grandparents' in Gaithersburg and pick me up.
So she arrives and I hop in, open up my bag and out pops the little green and yellow and white bird!
Mom is fairly tickled. At this point I haven't considered the next step, but she intimates that we ought to take him home. She told me later that she had kept parakeets as a child, her mother/ my grandmother always loved wild birds -bluebirds were her favorite - and was an avid bird-watcher.
I'm hungry and budgie needs some water, so we swing into the McDonald's near White Flint station.
I remember this most fondly about that day - I have Big Bird (we settle on this name later on when we find that he talks and enjoys spouting the name "Big Bird" in a comical, exclamatory tone that always elicited laughter from my mom) cupped in my lap along with french fries and a Big Mac - rather presumptuously, ravenously - as he is evidently famished - hops up my arms and begins nibbling on a french fry. I am trying to give him a little sip of ice water, but instead he goes for my Coke! He takes little bites of the brown liquid that has seeped up above the lid of the cup! This is one of my fondest memories of Big Bird.
Of course, we soon discover, after he has recovered and regained his strength, that he's got quite a knack for talk. He blabbers and warbles on in garbled English, not unlike an ill-received radio station. Mom and I get a kick out of this when we discover his this cross-species linguistic talent of his.
And as I mentioned, he had arrived with an affinity for saying, "That's Big Bird." And so hence the name. We surmised that this may have been the name given by his previous owners. Before too long, he is mimicking sounds and speech from us! When I come in each day, for example, I would often whistle a little catcall to him - soon he would anticipate this and whistle the same little tune to me! I whistle back and he likewise, with perfect mimicry. Very cute.
And alas, I say "was" because Big Bird died not long before I moved to Seattle. He had become quite thin, emaciated at times; in fact his health seemed fragile for the entire two and a half years I had him. He would have sick spells and be lethargic and unresponsive for a week or two, but he did recover again and again. I devised a hydrotherapy for him - whenever I'd shower I would cart him in with me on my shoulder and he would perch atop the cabinet for an hour, door shut / fan off, soaking up the warmth and humidity. He truly loved that. As a matter of fact, he loved taking baths too! A sucker for lukewarm water. Big Bird had a Pavlovian response to the sound of a tap running - Often he'd whistle to me if I was in the bathroom, soliciting a ride to the basin. He needed the tap ever so gentle and warm - needed it just so - and he'd flap his wings and boogie-down his hindfeathers into the bath. He could sit in his bath, tap flowing, for a half-an-hour! It was pretty adorable. Kept his plumage nice and clean, too.

Eventually, not long before I left for Seattle, I awoke one morning to find him at the bottom of his cage, breathing heavily, near-death, no longer perched on his little perch below his favorite mirror. Several more days of this and he expired. Mom and I buried him in the backyard. We weren't so sad, as we could see it coming, in fact I think we were surprised he had lasted so long - a good 3 1/2 years with us and however-long with his previous owner.

And so Big Bird sparked in me a love of birds, and upon reaching Seattle, I sought out a budgie breeder from Bremerton whom my niece, who works at Animal Talk in Fremont, knew of and recommended to me.
I got two two-month old fledgling budgies, sky blue and white. However, as I was staying with my sister for several months last year, I soon had to turn them over to my niece (my sister Sarah has two cats, two rather incompatible species if there ever were). I still see them fairly often, though, and they are in Fremont in my relatives' house in a nice big cage together!

One other little anecdote about Big Bird - my mother once said he was like an angel - a guardian angel perched on my shoulder who had arrived in my life during a difficult and transitional time. Sent from heaven! That might sound corny, but it always rang true for me. He was an angel - a whip-smart little sentient being, my little "man", as I affectionately referred to him.

- d.g.w. 7/9/07

Canadian Girl

Ok, this is my third entry in a row [on OpenDiary.com] - I'm just still not satisfied! I need to keep writing. It is cathartic, I think it is helping me calm down. My thoughts are flowing a little smoother.

As I mentioned, I haven't written in OD for maybe two, three weeks. Since Seattle Central had been shuttered and I currently am without a laptop, I've had to depend on the library for email. They only allow you an hour there, and that's often not enough for everything I have to do these days - apartment searching, email, etc., much less time enough to write a diary entry. But Central is open now, so I should be writing more frequently.

I wrote that I have been frustrated lately - fucking frustrated, to be precise. Muthafuckin' frustrated. Indeed. I just feel so unsatisfied. And stressed. Totally stressed-out.

On top of being homeless, I am still corresponding with the Canadian chick I met online. We talk every other day and email usually every day. She says she is coming down in two weeks. And I still don't even really know what she looks like! She has sent me four pictures, total, but they are a little mysterious; unrevealing. Two are close-up/portraits, but one is too dark and the other is nice, but her hair is covering half her face and one eye. I definitely know what she sounds like; she has a wonderful, almost sultry voice. For a while she was calling me at 6 waking me up for work. It was so nice to hear her lovely little purr bright and early. God, what a sweetheart. I feel a lot for her, I definitely have a ton of feelings for her. I don't know, it's crazy maybe, since she is in Edmonton, Alberta for christ's sake. I havent' told much of anyone about it. Actually I did tell mom - I think she may have found out by reading my OD entries, as a matter of fact - but I haven't indicated how serious Jen and I feel about our relationship. If she does come down - and there is still some doubt about it - I really do wonder what it'll be like. I feel like I know her pretty well from all of the phone conversations we have had. But then I ask myself, how much do I care about the physical? I don't know, I mean how much of a relationship is physical anyway? It usually starts off with the physical, the sensory. What if for some reason we just don't mesh face-to-face? I don't know. I'm in uncharted waters here, and I really have no clue how to proceed with all of this. And of course it is more than a little stressful.

Jenny is fond of saying "I love you", and things like that, and I don't always know quite how to respond. I usually don't say "I love you" back because it sounds weird to me. Right now it does, anyway. I just can't really say it to her and be certain that I mean it. You know, if you're going to say "I love you" to a person, these are some weighty words. You don't just throw them out there, that's for sure. So I'm a little ambivalent about the whole thing, and I would think that she is, too, but those are not the words that come out of her mouth.

Truth be told, I've sort of been dating off and on, too, even while Jen and I have been "together". As a matter of fact, I have a date lined up for this Friday with a gal I met on The Stranger "Lovelab" - the paper's online personals site. I hate to say it, but if it comes down to it I'm going to go with this girl over Jenny.

I guess we will see what happens. I'll definitely be writing it all down in my entries here. It helps me cope, it's therapeutic, and it helps me sort out my own feelings. For that matter, it's a little record of sorts of my life. It might make for fascinating fodder 10 years from now! You never know. Wow, I wonder where the fuck I'll be 10 years from now. Wonder if I'll still be in Seattle. Hard to say. Probably, since I seem to be starting my career and stuff here. Plus, my sister is here and I've become fairly close to her in-laws. They are well-connected in Seattle.

So that's about it. That's three entries in a row! Good enough for you? Well, I think I'm satisfied. And I do feel better than when I started. Catharsis. Literary catharsis for the twenty-something soul, lol~

-d.g.w. 7/2/07

Get It Right Sucka

Well, I have been lately kind of trying to get a date. Or, at least, I am putting myself out there. And the reason I bring it up is that the job search and the mate search have many similarities (this is either disturbing or bizarre or my approach is completely hackneyed - take your pick).

Yes, I think Seinfeld once said that dating is like applying for a job. Or was it Woody Allen? Or Martin Lawrence or one of the black comedians, I'm not sure. Anyway, this is a truism. Especially with online dating. You have to write a little blurb that is eerily similar to a resume. Then, if you are lucky enough to get a date (interview), you may or may not get a chance at the woman (a chance at the job). Either way, the whole process is emotionally tiring, trying, sometimes exhausting. And the potential for a wounded ego looms always.

Hilarious the similarities, no? Indeed. It's true. Not to mention that in my experience, especially with the temp/staffing agencies, it is a perky, energetic lady who is the one tasked with evaluating you (and hopefully your date will be perky and energetic, if nothing else).

So get it right, eh?

Slouching Toward Gomorrah

I recently did a search for "escorts" online, "seattle escort", and I found a plethora of personal ads, many of them seemed kind of desperate, to be frank. I guess $200 an hour isn't bad money. It's like the backdoor for the working girl - instead of 70 cents on a man's dollar why not make a cool 10 times what the man makes and then take the rest of the day off!

On the other hand, take a look at many of the jobs that women fill in this economy - young women in particular - they are in service and retail. It would seem to me that many of these low-paying gigs - such as server, retail clerk, hostess, etc., can be degrading in subtle and sometimes not-so subtle ways. I subcribe to the "slouching toward Gomorrah" view of our culture - it is getting sleazier by the day. I challenge anyone to dispute this. It is painfully obvious to me and I was born in the '80s! I can only imagine what others are thinking, like my dad and those who grew up in the '50s!

I was talking to a female friend who is a full-time nanny. We were discussing one of her families where hubbie is a Seattle Mariner MLB player. She described how they would have dinner parties where the husbands would be upstairs shooting craps with, literally $100 bills flying around and how some players would encourage their own children to play! There'd be little kids everywhere while grown men gamble with stacks of cash. Meanwhile, my friend claims, the wives would be downstairs in her words "getting plastered". She claims to have met J.J. Putz several times, for example, and has seen firsthand how the parents neglect their children, mother using daughter as a sort of fashion "accessory" at dinner parties and such (think movie stars with their African-adopted tots for the papparazi). She bemoans the "skanky little outfits" some moms buy for their nearly toddler aged daughters, and the sexualization of young girls generally.

My contention regarding young women and their young jobs is that when they become debutante-aged (14, 15, sweet -16) our crass, bottom-line economy wants to squeeze them for their value - and increasingly their "economic value" lies in their sex. Many and manifold are the means by which capitalism seeks to extract young women's "sex value", if you will, but I believe it is a steadily creeping phenomenon that has seeped into the culture. I don't know the origins - there are surely multiple causes - but nevertheless, Capitalism in pure form is like water running down a drain. It inevitably heads for the bottom-line - this is the nature of the beast.

So, you ask, why don't we just get right down to it and have daughter put up her very own "escort" ad on the Web for her 18th birthday? Golly gee, it would help pay for college, right?

The 100-Mile Diet

I heard this NPR story on a Vancouver couple, J.B. MacKinnon and Alisa Smith, who were stuck in a cabin in the Canadian backcountry in late summer and hatched a plan to live solely off the land around them. They would subsist entirely on locally grown food within a 100-mile radius. (Their website and blog is at http://www.100milediet.org)

"Local is the new organic." - J.B. MacKinnon

I thought it was a great story with a multitude of implications along with it - intersections with contemporary issues like environmentalism and globalization. The couple has set a wonderful example for all of us farmers' market devotees to emulate. Since the NPR story and their book tour this spring, they've started a fledgling movement of sorts. I think it's great. (Personal disclaimer: I'm no saint in the diet department - I don't eat entirely organic, nor am I a vegetarian - nonetheless, I aspire to improve, and am interested in the issues.)

My sister gets her "box" every week - a crate of organic produce from Pioneer Organics, a local Seattle outfit that does deliveries to your front door. They include a little newsletter with recipes and meal ideas, which she often utilizes. Sometimes I come over and help cook, and the meals are wonderful, the ingredients fantastic. You can really tell.

MacKinnon and Smith did acknowledge that some areas/regions are more bountiful than others. The Puget Sound and western Washington in general is exceedingly rich, both agriculturally and in wild bounty such as fish, and salmon as is well-known. I imagine if you lived in, say, Las Vegas or some deserty area, things would be different. And in urban areas pollution would be an issue. Therein lies one lesson for us: if many people were on a 100-mile diet, we might pay more attention to the kinds of pollution we put into our surroundings!

Again, I was especially intrigued by the 100 mile-diet's implications for our modern world. In the age of globalization, when an apple or banana likely will have travelled farther to our mouths than we have our selves ever physically travelled, there is something going on. Indeed, in their interview they mentioned what it means for community that 'local would be the new organic' - it would strengthen the local, community bonds. Much like a farmer's market en masse, applied wholesale to our Safeway-SUV, detached lifestyles.

Dogs

I.

Sometimes I wonder about Border Collies. I mean, is there any law (no not a law, obviously); any stricture against a border collie breeding with another dog, say a bulldog or a greyhound or something? I mean who is there to guard the purity of the Border Collie breed? Those hundreds and hundreds of years it took to perfect the breed. Who, the American Kennel Club, AKA? I read recently that there is an organization called the Mixed Breed Dog Clubs of America (MBDCA). Their website says it is "a national registry for mixed breeds, providing many of the same opportunities that the American Kennel Club (AKC) offers for purebreds.""Many of the same opportunities..." Of course mixed-breed dogs need equal opportunity too, right? Who's looking out for them against discrimination? Equal opportunity, maybe some affirmative action is what's needed on top of it?

It might be interesting to do some research and find out AKA's official opinion on, say the mixing of purebreds. Do they have a plank regarding this? On "mutts". Yes, and maybe MBDCA can enlighten us on whether the term "mutt" is derogatory? Would it be a faux-pas to use such a term in polite company?

Here's another one: has anyone sorted out the moral implications of mongrelizing (whoops, is that derogatory too?), say, a Golden Retriever with a pit-bull? I wonder if such a scenario would fall under the "moral" at all - are we talking human morality, and if not, is it presumptuous to entertain any notion of dog morality?

II.

Contemporary society places dogs in an increasingly fuzzy category in terms of their place in the "family". Their status is as quasi-human, or as a human child to many people. They are often spoiled or doted on like any middle-class, suburban child, ferried around on chores; or as with the smaller breeds, as meta-infants, cradled in the arms of stylish young women with Prada bags.

And dog parks are increasingly common in America, popping up near every new suburban development or shopping plaza. People take their dogs out to socialize and exercise, and maybe socialize and exercise a bit their human-selves. Of course, proper ediquette in these parks requires that one clean up after one's pet, too, and place it in the proper receptacle (God forbid you walk your dog around a park like a pasture of cowpies but worse).

Let us consider a hypothetical situation that might fall under this as yet, unrealized "dog morality" framework:You're a guy and your neighbor's wife happens to be at the dog park with her golden retriever, long, golden main flowing, slightly vapid smile and curious, innocent eyes. Such a beautiful dog, you muse to yourself. But alas, oh no! right before your eyes, your male pit-bull (let's hope he's neutered) proceeds to mount your neighbor's golden retriever. So you and your neighbor house-wife stand helplessly, stupified for a moment at the scene unfolding. You both come to your senses and hastily pull your pets away from each other - it turns out to be a slightly awkward maneuver since both are leash-less in the park. The implications/connotations are painfully embarrassing, and you hope that she won't mention it to her husband or that it gets back to your own wife.

Let us be sure that this has happened probably more than a few times; pet owners pitifully embarrassed for themselves as for their dogs. It pains one to imagine such a scene, no? So then, where does this fit into our as yet inchoate framework of dog morality...

-d.g.w. 5/16/07

source: http://members.tripod.com/mbdca/

Capitol Hill, Seattle Y'all

Hmm. Ya. well lately I've been starting off my entries with just this kind of lackadaisical humdrum; like uh duhh stupid dilly dong hum diddly. Like I don't know what to write. What to write, like. What to write. Kind of like my life - don't know how or what to live; don't know what to write. Funny how that works?

Art imitates life. Or is it life imitates art? Both ways?

I still don't have a functioning computer - I'm having to get online at various locations in Seattle. The library, the f-cking college, my sister's house, etc. If I were plotting some hacker-strike or something, or communicating with a terrorist cell, it'd be pretty hard to track me. Or at least hard to collect the evidence. Perhaps it's a good thing also, because I might spend too much time dilly-dallying if I were online in my apartment. Who knows, I might get addicted to porn or something nefarious and unhealthy. Or online gambling. Or...some stupid site like this.

My apartment is so boring and lonely and dim and shadowy, I even have a hard time reading a book. The quietude is distracting. That's what it is - tangible quiet. Quietness writ large. Or, simply put, loneliness.

I have better success at the coffee shop. True Seattleite, eh? Vivace 'Roasteria' is my usual haunt. Also Bau Haus down on Pike Street, where I went earlier today. A pretty happening spot. It has a bunch of outside seats, which contributes to a casual sort of street cafe vibe. People walking by on the sidewalk, saying hi. Its near those quirky Pike Street club/bars and hip clothing stores, the hipness percolating or maybe just seeping down from that scene.

A more eclectic crowd, at Bau Haus. Vivace's a bit more conservative. I couldn't tell which was more gay - it probably depends on time of day and week - Bau Haus, perhaps.

Vivace espresso is definitely superior, however. Frankly, I don't know if there is anywhere comparable in the state, the northwest, the entire west coast possibly. I'm sure San Fran and L.A. have some bomb espresso joints, too though. Vivace is wonderful. I wrote about it in a prior entry. My favorite. They've got espresso down to a science. That's the sort of Seattle sophisticate spin they've got (the founder was a Boeing engineer). Like, they control for temperature and every little thing, and of course they roast their own beans. The founder guy builds his own machines, too; designs them. Plus, if you pay attention you will see that unlike most places; Starbucks being one, Vivace uses manual machines. So there is a constant wrist-action racket back and forth from the barista. Authenticity...ahhhh. Indeed.

Their roast is mild, I would say - compared to Starbucks, for example - very mild and subtle. But delicious. Even if you ask for a triple or a quad - sometimes they'll give you a quad shot above a triple for the hell of it - the cup is still mild and delicious, slightly nutty, and creamy. Not bitter. Love it. Good shit. Above that, they even pay attention to the milk. People tend not to consider it, but with a latte, you're drinking mostly milk anyway, so why not make sure its the best? They use hormone-free milk, which I believe definitely tastes better. I suspect they will switch to organic milk one of these days. Then again, many people drink soy lattes anyhow.

So that's the scoop. Capitol Hill in the hid-ouse fools! No doubt. I do like where I live, yes.


-d.g.w. 5/15/07

Slouching Toward...

As far as my last Opendiary entry, I think I was just horny. The Internet will do that to you; it would seem the sex stuff seeps in no matter what sometimes. I'll try not to let it.

As a matter of fact, this bothers me about our society. It truly is becoming sex-saturated. I live in Capitol Hill, near downtown Seattle, so maybe it's not representative of America as a whole, but nonetheless, you don't need to be especially perceptive to see that the culture is saturated with it. I'm not going to get in to the reasons; I don't know why, for one thing.

I could go in-depth and write a term-paper: "Slouching Toward Gomorrah" type of thing, but societal/cultural trends are more inchoate and hard to pin down. And insidious.

I'm not an expert and not a woman, but I dare say that at least in its original form, feminism is dead. Or it has warped beyond recognition.

Fact is, women want to be sexy. They want to look like a "girl" and still be a "woman". Here in Seattle, walking on the city sidewalks, they want to be noticed. In and of itself this is no big thing, no surprise. It's just the extent of it; the intensity of it, that has in my view been on the up-tick.

It is a hard thing to pin down, because (honestly) I have to ask myself, how much of this is just me being horny? My own insecurities? Probably some of that, yes. So, I don't know. Maybe I require independent verification or something. A government commission. A longitudinal, million-dollar academic study. Maybe I need to be Maureen Dowd to state the same thing in print in the New York Times to for this notion to be believable.

I have always fancied myself observant. I think it comes in part from being a bit on the fringes earlier in life, in adolescence especially; socially disengaged. So I like to think I have that magic perspective where others trod ignorantly by. So whether it is true or not I don't know.

A good test, especially for those historically inclined and who think they can divine earlier time-periods, is to imagine this scenario:
You are an average American from a fairly small, middle-American town in the 1950s. You follow the cultural trends and you don't always like what you see. But you're broad-minded when it comes to your kids, and you let them do/wear/say pretty much what they want. After all, your town is pretty mundane, so you reckon it can't much hurt.

Now, fast-forward in the mind's eye a half-century to the present-day. Have this same character (maybe he is your grandfather/grandmother) go through a day on the streets of an average U.S. city. Have him read some of the day's newspapers. Then have him come home, watch T.V., surf the Web.
Is this individual going to be shocked at what they see?

I think the only rational answer is yes, very much so. Opinions might fall along a spectrum, but the general response would be one of anxious stupefaction, if not outright horror.
I like to imagine the poor soul's questions: "What have we done?"
Or maybe, "Have I died and gone to Hell?"

-d.g.w. 5/4/07

my blog?

So what is the point of a blog anyway? For others to read it? For you to write it? I want some fame and recognition, like anyone else, but I want to write with some serenity - I want a personal online journal/webdiary.

I started blogging here on Opendiary.com, which is formatted kind of like a MySpace page for journal entries - not as an online press for your own articles/opinion pieces (as with a true blog).

Does it really matter? No. Think how much fluff is out there on the Web at any moment. Tons. Or rather, how many bytes of code...

That the Internet is indeed "virtual" is a convenient notion: the excess verbiage might as well not exist in reality because it lies in a "virtual dimension" anyway, right? All so much fluff (which is also why I titled a recent entry "Fluff").
So why take any of it seriously? Perhaps it comes down to only taking yourself seriously, in lieu of anyone or anything else. So why write for an audience? Fuck the audience.

*Declaration* Heretofore I'm writing for no one but myself! *Declaration unquoteth*

That's my manifesto. If someone wants to read, then I gain that satisfaction, and maybe I'll be tickled, but, after all, my "publication" is only semi-real in the first place...

It only exists as random code on some server farm in Northern Virginia or outside San Jose, or, who knows, maybe Bangalor or New Delhi?!

-d.g.w.
4/28/07

Barak Obama: Chris Matthews/Andrea Mitchell/Mike Barnicle

Hardball: Barak Obama: Check out this Chris Matthews/Andrea Mitchell exchange. Pretty hilarious. Matthews is known for fawning over politicians, for his various "crushes"...

(Excerpt from Wuzzadem.typepad.com via MSNBC)

Matthews: I'm Chris Matthews, let's play Hardball. First up - today's Senate confirmation hearing for Secretary of State nominee Condoleeza Rice was, at times, tense, even confrontational, but I don't think there's any doubt that this was one of the standout moments of the day. Just look at this clip.

Barack Obama: Dr. Rice, I'd like to start by thanking you for taking the time to appear before us today, and to commend...

Matthews: Wow - I've got to say that I've seen a lot of politicians in action, but that was just amazing! I mean this guy has only been in the Senate, what, like a month, and already he's like an old pro! Andrea Mitchell, I don't think it would be over the top to say that the man we were just watching there is going to be the next black president.

Mitchell: I think you mean the first black president, Chris.MatthewsWell, what if he were to become the next president?

Mitchell: He'd still be the first black president.

Matthews: Yeah, but then he'd be the next president, and he'd be a black president, so, technically speaking, wouldn't he be the next black president?MitchellWait a minute, let me think about that.

Matthews: Anyway, Andrea Mitchell, what did you think of Barack Obama's performance today?

Mitchell: Chris, I thought it was nothing short of stellar. He was confident, he spoke directly into the microphone, used just the right hand gestures, he was making eye contact, and whenever it seemed like he might be getting a little hoarse, he drank just the right amount of water. It was right on the mark.

Matthews: Yeah, you know, some people are calling this guy a 'rock star', and I'll tell you, after today's performance, I can see why. Take a look at this clip.Obama...and Senator Biden asked a very interesting question earlier. I'm not sure that he ever got an answer, but it was an excellent question...

Matthews: Andrea, isn't that what they call giving a 'shout-out', like he's giving 'props' to his 'peeps' in the Senate?Mitchell.............

Matthews: Looks like Andrea's got to think about that one, I think I might have stumped her. Let's go to Mike Barnicle over in Boston. Mike, have you ever seen a more flawless performance than the one we saw from Barack Obama today?

Barnicle: Oh, without a doubt , Chris...

Matthews: The Red Sox winning the World Series doesn't count.

Barnicle: Well, I would still say yes...

Matthews: Neither does the Red Sox winning the pennant.

Barnicle: Oh. In that case, I would have to say no, I haven't.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

MatthewsThat's what I thought. Andrea, tell us about some of the highlights of today's hearing before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee.
MitchellWell, Chris, as I'm sure you've heard, there's been quite a bit of talk about Barbara Boxer today.
MatthewsThere sure has.
MitchellWell, take a look at this.
(Clip of Barbara Boxer looking at Barack Obama as he's speaking)MitchellNow, Chris, we've both been in Washington long enough to be able to read that look. It's obvious that she's thinking "Wow, this man, Barack Obama, is really amazing. I've been in the Senate a long time, and I've seen people come and go, but this is certainly one of the most impressive people I have seen, not only in my time in the Senate, but in my life."
MatthewsIsn't it amazing how some people can be so expressive without saying a word?
MitchellIt certainly is. And take a look at this.
(Shot of Chuck Hagel straightening up some loose papers)
MitchellNow, here we have Senator Chuck Hagel, who is obviously thinking, "Barack Obama is such an amazing orator and outstanding statesman, that I'd better do everything I can to look my best when I'm up here with him, including making sure that everything around me is as tidy as it can be."
MatthewsWow, that's heavy stuff. Mike Barnicle, what went through your mind as you were looking at that last clip?BarnicleWell, Chris, my take was a little different. I think that what you have here is Senator Chuck Hagel, and you know, he's thinking "Hey, I'm up here with this Barack Obama, and, you know, the guy is a heck of an orator and a pretty darned good statesman, so, you know, I should probably do my best to look good up here, and, of course, that includes making sure that I, you know, keep my stuff as tidy as I can."
MitchellThat's exactly what I just said!
BarnicleWhat are you talking about? I just came up with that off the top of my head.MitchellThen why were you reading from notes when you answered? Show us those notes!
BarnicleAll right, but look, it's not exactly what you said - I punched it up a little, is that a crime?
MatthewsOK, let's get back to the hearing. Now, here's a clip that I found especially interesting.
(Shot of Richard Lugar, looking straight forward and smiling)
MatthewsNow, he was smiling like that the whole time that Barack Obama was speaking. Mike Barnicle, what do you make of that?
BarnicleWell, the guy is obviously very pleased. I mean, as a Democrat, I'm sure Senator Lugar has some concerns about the dearth of real 'stars' in his party...
MitchellLugar's a Republican, Mike.BarnicleHe is?
MitchellYes.
BarnicleAre you sure?
MitchellOf course I'm sure.BarnicleWow, he sure doesn't act like one. Well, in that case, I guess the guy just likes to smile.
MatthewsHe sure does. Anyway, Andrea, give me your prediction for these hearings.
MitchellChris, the spotlight will continue to shine on Barack Obama, as it rightly should, and I think we're going to be even more impressed with him, if that's possible.
MatthewsWhat about the confirmation?
MitchellThe what?MatthewsThe confirmation. Will Condoleeza Rice be confirmed as Secretary of State?
MitchellOh, yeah. Sure, why not?MatthewsMike Barnicle, your prediction?
BarnicleNext year it's the Sox all the way, only this time they sweep the series, even without Martinez.
MatthewsI don't know who that is. Anyway, thanks to both of you for being here. Next up on Hardball, Democratic activist Whoopi Goldberg is here to critique Senator Ted Kennedy's speech before the National Press Club last week, maybe she'll work in a couple of 'booty' jokes - HA! I love those! Stay tuned, you won't want to miss this.

----------------------------------------

Hmm...."booty jokes"? What is this Chris Matthews character talking about anyway? And is it just me, or was his tone throughout this little exchange with Barnicle and Mitchell tongue in cheek, to say the least? I haven't seen the actual clip, so I can't say for sure, but knowing Matthews, he probably had that effete little Bush-esque smirk on his face.
There has been talk about Chris Matthews "crushes" on political figures, how he fawns over his favorites. Whoever is popular at the moment and has caught his eye. With his boyish visage and stupid grin, it makes for a rather idiotic, almost satirical effect. Plus his lispy, rapid manner of speech - it hints at gayness, a hint of "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy".
Anyway, I don't watch cable news anymore - I make it a point not to. But I used to flip between Fox, CNN and MSNBC all the time, don't ask me why, and I know Matthews well.
He definitely is a schmuck.
Maybe we could somehow come to a national consensus, or maybe just the punditocracy come to a consensus, and trade Don Imus for Chris Matthews...it'd be worth the swap.
-d.g.w. 4/25/07

Relationships Part II

II.

Increased mobility in society means your neighbors, coworkers, and classmates are more likely to come from out-of-town. And globalization means they are much more likely to be foreigners than at any other time in U.S. history. It used to be that most Americans lived in towns, either in a "company town", where the population is based around a certain industry or single large business, or in small agricultural hubs, with surrounding farms and smaller "villages". The economy has shifted to such a degree that these age-old community models are no longer the norm. Suburbs, as we are all aware, have taken over. Suburbs ring the many large and mid-size U.S. cities, with employment nearby or in the city center. I'm not going to trace all of the varying issues associated with causing these changes, but I think it is obvious that the answer lies not simply with changing mores and morals - as if, for instance, harboring good "family values" would make the difference and cause everyone to return to our agrarian roots. Rather, you can sum it all up with one word - the economy. Economic changes are at the root, as they have been for centuries. The structure of society, including class, government, and the social hierarchy, tend to reflect the state of the economy.

The most salient shift in the realm of relationships that our country has seen is the rocketing divorce rate. A National Center for Health Statistics study found that 43 percent of first marriages end in separation or divorce within 15 years. "About 50% of first marriages for men under age 45 may end in divorce, and between 44 and 52% of women's first marriages may end in divorce for these age groups." Ironically or not, this decade has seen a nationwide push to legalize gay marriage - ironic because as one group is pushing to be allowed to marry, the majority are getting divorced at astronomical rates. Needless to say, the U.S. divorce rate dwarfs that of the rest of the world.

But while the 50 percent rate is well-known, less understood are the causes. Between 1950 and 1975 - one generation - divorce in America went from the rarity to commonplace, and what is the nature of the reasons behind it? That is an important question, probably a complex one, but a question not often enough asked, in my opinion.

I grew up in a divorced family. My parents separated when I was 9, my sister 12. Following a legal fight over custody of us, my father remarried, my mother did not. He and his wife had a son in 1992.

In an entire nation of split families, what are the longterm consequences? On children? On society as a whole? On mores, on our collective morality? I'm sure there have been attempts at researching it, but it would be a longitudinal study and because it is a relatively recent phenomenon so the results would only now be coming in.

to be continued

-d.g.w. 4/21/07 (see Pt. I below)

Relationships Part I

I.

I'm trying to figure out relationships. I tend to look at this subject from an anthropological/scientific point of view, and unfortunately that kind of outsider perspective tends to confine me to the margins of the social scene. I can't see the forest for the trees, or whatever; I end up excluding myself for being too analytical. Not to say analyzing men and women from a scientific viewpoint isn't useful. "Theoretically" it could give one an advantage. The problem, at least I have found, is that so much of dating and relationships and the quest for a mate falls outside the realm of the logical. There's very little logic or methodology involved. Rather it is all instinct and base human emotions that lie somewhere (to put a scientific spin on it) in the reptilian core of our animal brains.

Indeed, dating and mating is the one thing in this postmodern world that remains rooted deep in the past. While customs and mores change over time, the fundamentals of the game stay the same.

Yes, the relationship game is one of those things where thinking too much is bad. Like walking on a balance beam, or, say, pulling off a skateboarding trick like kick-flipping a set of stairs. It takes effort, but at some point the more conscious effort you put in, the more likely you are to land on your face. The recipe for success remains inscrutable; the whole thing is inchoate and immune to logic. On this warped chess board, you're not necessarily going to knock out the competition by being a Gary Kasparov. A bit of plotting and logical scheming may help in certain instances, and one can think of many, but overall, in essence it does not.

The more you think, the less you're likely to figure it out and, ultimately, to succeed.

So don't think.

Fluff

Wow, my brain is really mucked right now. It feels tight, like it has expanded in my skull and is pressing up against it with nowhere to go. I feel really fuzzy and my vision is blurred like a camera lens trying to get in focus.

I'm annoyed at not being able to write down ideas and thoughts when they come; when they're freshest and most vivid. When they're pressing to get out through my fingers and into recorded history (if that's not dramatic enough). I'm not able to write when I truly want to write, in other words. That's lame. It kind of belies the whole point of having a diary.

Oh well. I suppose I ought to remember what to write down, anyway. Unfortunately my short-term memory is rather, well, short. I don't know why, it just is. I never smoked pot, for example, my memory has pretty much always been bad.

I guess I'm fortunate in that I rarely get writer's block. I can certainly sympathize with the condition, though, and it's quite frustrating. Writing is a delicate endeavor. It is one of those things that almost has to come naturally in a flow for it to truly work. Of course, there are different kinds of writing. Poetry and lyrics to research papers and proposals and business writing. Some are more amenable to revision and cutting and pasting and editing than others.
Anyway, it's good to practice and to write casually as practice. Then when there is pressure or a deadline, it is easier and more comfortable.

Plus - judging from this very entry for example - writing is a pursuit that needn't have a purpose. I can start with nothing and come out a million miles away, on the other side, like in China or Australia or somewhere in the Pacific. It's weird. Like a worm-hole of sorts (a wormhole?). Whatever, a black-hole, too, sometimes (which might be a bad thing). Writer's block is akin to a black hole. You try to get something - anything - down on paper, but the potentiality of your thoughts and ideas either dissipates into nothing, or into some nether-region in your brain from which there is no return and no escape. If that's too dramatic, ask anyone's who has tried to write a book, or has tried to write under a looming deadline, and they can attest to the horror of "block".

Being too self-absorbed can at times trigger it, too, it would seem. If all you think about is yourself and how you do or don't do this or that, it can tie your thoughts into a knot and nothing will come out.

Oh well. Some would say that there is too much being written out there these days, anyway. Too many egotistic writers seeking an audience, too much media, too much "user-created media", I heard some pundit say. Not enough of those who write purely for their own enjoyment or amusement. And who doesn't want an audience? But there is only so much audience to go around; only so much people can, and want to read each day. If most of it is fluff anyway, than who cares? Why waste your time.

The Convocation at Virginia Tech

It's Tuesday April 17 and by now everyone has heard of the horrible shootings that occurred yesterday at Virginia Tech. The worst in terms of number of victims in U.S. history. Pretty awful. The U-dub just had a single-shooting a couple weeks ago on campus, too, where a berieved/crazed ex-boyfriend was stalking and shot his ex in her office on campus.
So what's going on? The inevitable questions arise. People want to make sense of a senseless act. It's understandable, and of course the media is in frenzy mode, as we expect they would be. But what irk me are the ideologues who emerge out of the woodwork and try to spin a tragedy and slap their political views on it.

The many interest groups in this country think that the event speaks "only" to their issue. This is what often becomes really obnoxious to me.

The gun-control people come out and say, "see what happens when guns are legal/too available etc". I heard one guy cite a statistic that of all the gun-crimes committed in New York City, 40-some percent of those guns were purchased in Virginia. As if it is Virginia's fault what criminals do hundreds of miles away in New York?! That would be like blaming "South America" for your crack addiction...

So you have the gun-control folks, then you have anti-video game violence faction, as it were, who see the shooter - a middle-class Korean immigrant kid, and stereotype him as that "Asian kid-computer/video game junky", i.e., that he must be one of those chronic game-players whose mind has been irreparably warped. They see the tragedy as a platform for their grievances on the ultra-violence of modern video games, failing to consider that millions of people play these games without resorting to real-life violence. Take Japan, for instance. Japan is among the safest countries in the world while simultaneously consuming some of the most violent entertainment. Go figure.

I was listening to the "Convocation" on the Virginia Tech campus this morning on the radio. It functioned as a showcase of the various associated (or unassociated) politicians, local, regional and national. Yes, the politicians! We mustn't forget them! Whichever direction the cameras may turn, they follow, regardless of how incongruous and irrelevant their presence may be.
While showcasing the politicians, the Convocation had the obvious tone of a Sunday church service. But here, the minister takes the guise of a cavalcade of officials, local and national, all the way up to President Bush.

While they struggled to keep it lugubrious and grieving, this didn't stop, for example, the president of Virginia Tech, Charles Steger, from giving a shout out to the governor, Tim Kaine. And so the politicos appropriated the event for their own selfish purposes. Disgraceful, but somehow unsurprising (they probably look to Rudy Guiliani's career-boosting stint as mayor of New York during 9/11 and envision similarly promoting themselves). Disgraceful, indeed, but definitely not surprising.

My Classes 4/11/07

Well, I had my first class last night for my (supposed) technical writing certificate program. The prof was not very impressive, though she does have a good deal of experience in the field, which is important. There are about 12 in the class, mostly older male career types, and 3 women.
It went pretty well I thought. The students seem very knowledgeable and I hope to learn what I can from them and their ideas and expertise. We have to do a group project, and we got into our groups for the last 20 minutes of class. Class is 3 hours long with a short break halfway through.
The class is not for credit and it is pass/fail, which takes some pressure off, I suppose. I'm trying to ease back into college after having taken a year hiatus. I'm not trying to do too much at once.
Like I said, the students have real-world experience as technical writer types; as professionals with careers . One lady, perhaps in her 30s, is an editor. She sounded really competent and advanced and, like I say, I do hope to learn what I can from her and the others. It's a good course to feel out this field and see how I might fit it into a career.
I learned that technical writing is actually a very broad term. Basically, it simply refers to writing done on the job. That's the simplest definition. On the job/in a business environment - as opposed to in academia, which is how we all learn how to write. Technical writing is thus good to learn if you want to wean yourself away from that tedious, occasionally pompous and often verbose academic style [sic], toward a more utilitarian method of putting down information.
So that's what I've been doing! Any who read this blog can know what I'm up to!

-d.g.w. 4/12/07

Pharma Phraud

Today's pharmaceutical industry: its advertising, promotion, and heavily subsidized drug research. Its general ubiquity in American society.

Imagine this:
You are living in wonderful old 1950s America, growing up on a farm in Iowa and your father is a WWII vet, whatever. Most of the food you eat is locally produced, if not on your own farm. If someone told you that 50 years from now literally millions of children would be on powerful psychoactive medications, you might wonder if we hadn't all been through a nuclear winter at some point, and needed special medicine to survive the fallout!

Here's just one example: According to one source, about four million kids are on Ritalin today, compared to one million in 1990. Use has doubled every four to seven years since 1970. More than 90 percent of Ritalin use is by Americans, and mostly children. So not only has an exorbitant, rapidly accelerating number of children been prescribed medication for various supposed mental health issues, much of what is prescribed is a known addictive drug - amphetamine (Ritalin, i.e, methylphenidate)

Considering the parallel epidemic of methamphetamine abuse in America, we ought to be doubly cautious, right? After all, Ritalin is a close cousin of meth. Wrong. In fact, methamphetamine is sometimes prescribed for the same condition - ADD or ADHD - under the trade name Desyrel.
I believe it is a useful exercise to imagine oneself as that Iowa farmer citizen of yesteryear - and to apply the hypothetical scenario that this citizen can see into the future. I think we would find that such a poor soul would think they had died and gone to hell!