The ½ Brothers, which is the trio I'm playing with these days, are making our club debut at the Rendezvous Jewelbox Theater this Saturday, July 1st. We've been rehearsing our little butts off in anticipation of this event, and it sounds pretty damn good if I do say so myself. *. If you live in or around Seattle you should come on down at 8:00 Saturday.
Then the next day I am taking off for a week's vacation. I plan on spending the bulk of that time dipping my toes in the crick, soaking up some free Vitamin D and basically doing a whole lot of nothing. There probably won't be a lot of blog posting during that time. Enjoy the holiday and get some sun for yourself! I'll see you when I get back.
“You are driving me fucking crazy.” She tells her companion as he unpacks the contents of their three grocery bags and methodically checks each item. He is looking for his lost baloney and cheese. The Tent City people gave them some vouchers for food at the QFC earlier in the day and these grocery bags were filled with the spoils from this excursion. Somewhere along the way the two wayfarers lost their bearings and spent most of the rest of the day trying to find their way back.
“We shoulda never left Tacoma.” She says with a gravel voice that sounds like forty years worth of cigarettes. I notice a jailhouse tattoo on her hand as she roots through the bags, putting back the items her companion has just taken out and strewn across the sidewalk. I look over what they’ve purchased from the store: Ding Dongs and generic Froot Loops and various types of cookies and candy bars and some cans of soda. No sign of the missing baloney.
FIVE MINUTES EARLIER:
At 9:30 on a Friday night I’ve been waiting at the bus stop for the last five minutes. In about an hour and a half I’ll be playing for the Spin the Bottle crowd with my bandmates in the Half Brothers. Normally I would’ve begged a ride from one of them because hauling the guitar case around on the bus can be kind of a pain, but tonight is also a performance of No Signal , so Doc and Johann are indisposed and there’s nobody else I can think of to mooch a ride from. So here I am: Sitting on my guitar case at the bus stop in front of the corner market and the pizza shop, waiting for the 49.
It’s a pleasant early May evening. The air has cooled just enough for a jacket, which I now wear unbuttoned. I settle in for a wait of indeterminate length. Approaching from my right I see two people walking downhill towards the bus stop where I sit: A man and a woman, both probably fifty years old, the man black and the woman white. They are laden with grocery bags and are dressed in layers of worn and weathered clothes. They have “hard times” written all over them. They stop and ask me if I know where the Tent City is. I’m embarrassed now because I really should know this. The problem is the Tent City moves around a lot, and so even though I know where it has been, it may have moved since then. What was it I heard about it recently? Some bit of information just on the tip of my tongue that I can’t conjure just now.
“I think it’s up at St Mark’s?” I offer. St Mark’s is just four blocks away back the way they came. They tell me they just walked all the way down Tenth and they didn’t see it, and they think it must be farther along up this way. Maybe near a park, or a church or something. They are not from Seattle – they came here from Tacoma, hoping for better social services.
“That was a big mistake. At least in Tacoma, we knew our way around. I hate Seattle.”
They settle themselves in the metal chairs placed outside of the pizza place and begin to wait for the bus, which will be fifteen minutes late. I tell them, the first of many times, that I think they’re looking for St Mark’s which is just a few blocks back the way they came. This is partly because I know that they would get there quicker walking than they will waiting for the bus, but also because I am certain that they don’t have the money to pay for bus fare.
They introduce themselves to me as Cissy and Ron. Cissy does most of the talking, owing to Ron’s severe stutter. It is extremely hard to understand what he is saying. He also habitually repeats the same points over and over again, prompting his companion to bury her head in her hands and mutter "Jesus Christ" more than once. Calloused hands root through bags of groceries. Still finding no lunchmeat, still no cheese.
“It’s not there! I told you, you must’ve left it at the store.”
They have traveled together for years. The topic of jail comes up at various points, both as a past residence and a future hazard to be avoided. It is obvious that Cissy is to some extent taking care of Ron, who besides his difficulties in expressing himself also seems to be prone to debilitating confusion, evidenced by his searching again and again in the same bag for the baloney and cheese he remembers purchasing.
“I’m not going to tell you again!"
He turns to me and asks me how I’d feel if I got home from the store and found out that the items I’d purchased had disappeared. When I finally understand his question, I allow that I’d probably be pretty upset. Who wouldn’t be? I try to relate, even as I realize that the loss of a pack of lunchmeat means less to me than it does to him. He’s going to have to survive on the Hostess snack cakes and generic breakfast cereals he’s got for now. I am acutely aware of how privileged I am to have a house to go home to and enough money to buy food when I want it. They are not trying to make me feel guilty and they are not asking for anything from me (except cigarettes, which I don’t have), but mostly they are sitting here next to me because they’ve been walking all day and they are tired of walking. They tell me they left their packs at the Tent City.
“If we find our way back there, I swear we’re not leaving again.”
Ron tells me he’s sure that the Tent City was “right past the store.”
I think he is describing a convenience store, which of course is not much of a landmark in the middle of the city like this. I am struggling to figure out what location he is describing, but they are so unfamiliar with local geography that they can’t tell me much. Still, I know St Mark’s has been the site of the Tent City and I also know that the direction they were headed can’t possibly be the right one. There is nothing like what they are describing for miles in that direction. I tell them again that St Mark’s is just around the bend from here but they show no interest.
When the bus finally arrives I get on first and swipe my card. I turn around and they are right behind me, ignoring the driver’s request for bus fare and lamely pretending to look in their pockets for money that even the driver knows just isn’t there. He’s not going to make an issue of it, he just sniffs with an air of a disgusted resignation and the bus starts moving. I ask him if he knows the location of Tent City and he returns a rather clipped “No.”
Three blocks and two stops later we are closing in on St Mark’s and I tell them I think this is where they want to go. They say “I can’t believe we just walked right past it” and thank me and get off. I am not sure if I have just done them a good deed, a bad turn or if I’ve made no difference either way.
Later that weekend, I get home from the store only to realize that I’ve left behind a bag of groceries that I’d paid for, just left it sitting right there by the cash register. My frustration is colored by Ron’s question from Friday night about how I would feel. Pissed off about covers it, mostly pissed off at myself. But I'm not as pissed off as I’d be if I had to walk all the way back to the store to get it and walk back home again, instead of driving back to the store and getting it, which is what I do. Feeling guilty the whole way, guilty for wasting gas and guilty for my privilege and just the sort of general guilt that I was raised to feel at all times about just about anything.
Later still, I do some research and realize the Tent City has moved two miles away just this week. I directed them to an empty parking lot. I am, therefore, an asshole. With the best of intentions, naturally.
This post is a response to a posting over here at Man, Robot, Monster about depictions of Arabs on television. The initial question, posted on another blog, was "where are the positive Arab characters in movies/on tv?"
This was my off-the-cuff comment. Standard disclaimers about boring political discussions etc.
I remember a discussion I had in high school with some black friends. One of them told me "Before we started going to the same school with y'all, we thought white people were all like 'the Brady Bunch.' "
Besides going a long way towards explaining a sort of reflexive distrust for the mysterious ways of white people (I hated those damn precocious blonde rich kids too, and I certainly didn't feel they reflected my experience), it also highlighted something that I've been thinking about ever since. In a nutshell, it's this: TV does not exist to make the world a better place or to promote understanding between races or in any way enhance the overall well-being of its viewers. Commercial TV is intended to sell people products. It does this by selling fantasies.
This is the light I shine on any discussion of how there need to be more positive portrayals of this or that group on TV in order to promote understanding between the races. I ask myself if black people ever sit around and say "You know, things really turned the corner for us when Good Times came out." Or "Yep, before Good Times and the Jeffersons, things really were bad in the inner city. Thank God for TV and its incredible healing powers. Then Cosby came along and finished the job. Now there's no more poverty and racism, because that show allowed white people to see we're just like them!"
When the show Friends was popular, I realized early on that it was aimed squarely at my demographic. Urban middle class white singles in their late twenties/early thirties struggling to get by, to find rewarding work and love etc etc. Poor in wealth but rich in friendship. Or something. Except, of course, for the hilarious disconnect when you realize what the apartment they live in would actually cost in Manhattan. Ditto the shoes they are wearing. Or the haircuts. And nobody is fat or unattractive! Well, nobody who matters anyway.
Research has shown that our brains recognize faces we see on TV pretty much the way we do the faces of real people, and that even though we consciously realize that TV is not real, on some level our brains are internalizing those faces as social contacts. So naming a show "Friends" is weirdly appropriate. On a subconscious level, that's what those characters are to us. Except of course they are funnier, better-looking and richer than our real friends. And the more time we spend with them, the less real friends we have.
Viewed in this light, the oddly income-inappropriate features of the everyday lives of these characters who are supposedly waitresses and out-of-work actors and so forth makes more sense: When judged against the standards that shows like this help us to internalize as "normal," our own lives start to look a little threadbare. And the ads running during the show are for things that are designed to enhance our lifestyle. Hey, if your friends all have nice shoes, why shouldn't you? Don't you deserve nice things? Again, I'm not saying most people have a conscious problem separating fantasy from reality, but one need only look at figures for consumer debt to realize that Americans routinely try to maintain a lifestyle that is beyond their means. And they typically watch four to five hours of TV a day. So maybe it's just possible that the people creating the entertainment for our consumption know a thing or two about how to manipulate people into doing what they want.
This is not to underplay the importance of positive depictions in the media in terms of public perception of minority groups and the self-image of members of those groups. But speaking as a member of the most well-represented demographic of people on TV, I feel a need to remind folks that it's at best a mixed blessing.
I would like to see more consideration of the fact that the way that people are portrayed in our make-believe world of TV is not nearly so big a problem as the way real people are treated in the non-make-believe world, and that in fact our over-reliance on TV to tell us what's going on around us may be a big part of the problem. But I'm reasonably certain I won't see this point raised in a meaningful way by television.
This is to say nothing of the narrative structure of TV and movies and the impact it makes on our understanding of real-life situations, such as our tendency to understand conflicts by identifying the "good guy" and the "bad guy" in any situation. That's a whole other can of worms, best left to a later post.
After a surprise visit to Baghdad today, President Bush found himself unable to leave the country when "his drivers were unable to locate the airport, " insiders say. Sources within the military security operation overseeing the President's visit, who asked not to be identified, confirmed reports that the Presidential motorcade left the Green Zone without maps or clear directions to the airstrip where Airforce One was being prepared for takeoff.
"There was no exit strategy whatsoever. I overheard the commander-in-chief complaining that he thought the route to the airport would be more clearly marked."
Fox News correspondent Sandahl Molar, who was stationed inside the Green Zone covering today's meeting between Bush and Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki, was one of a crowd of reporters who picked up on the story after seeing the presidential limousine make its second circuit around the Republican Palace, which is currently serving as a temporary U.S. embassy.
"We wondered if they were taking a victory lap, but on the third pass the motorcade stopped and the President gave a short extemporaneous speech out the window of the limousine, saying "We are making excellent progress towards our goal. I have just now been on the phone with Secretary Rumsfield, and I believe it is only a matter of time before we are in possession of a reliable road map. We will not waver, we will not turn back, and we will not bring dishonor to the noble enterprise that our Coalition Forces are engaged in by stopping to ask for directions."
Despite his reassurances to the press, the President refused to give a timetable for his departure, saying only "It will take as long as it takes. The important thing is that we know there is an airport, and it is only a matter of time before we find it."
Rumsfield is believed to have informed the President that he had "no idea" how to get out of Iraq.
This is a comment filed on Ryan's website about a friend of his who had her job shipped to China and was required to train her replacement before she left. For some reason his comment engine rejected it so I'm posting it here. I preface this by saying that our politics differ rather dramatically on many issues* , but at least on this one there may be some common ground and that's why it's interesting to me.
The usual disclaimer: If political ranting bores you, just skip this one.
I think back to Al Gore debating the pro-NAFTA case against Ross Perot more than a decade ago and it drives me up the wall. You know how I've said before that the supposed mortal enemies on either side of the left/right political divide in this country often agree on issues, but are prevented by the winner-take-all two-party system from coming together on those issues? This is perhaps the best example I can think of.
I think most working Americans can now see the truth behind the "giant sucking sound" that Ross Perot predicted as a consequence of NAFTA. NAFTA, GATT, the WTO, and more recently CAFTA have all helped to enable the global race to the bottom that's been afflicting labor markets while simultaneously signing away a fair piece of our national sovereignty. And I think if they were accurately told the facts, most Americans would've opposed them. And yet, there were the supposedly pro-labor Dem poster children Clinton and Gore back in the nineties stumping for those very things. Some of the strongest opposition at that time, besides that coming from Perot's one-man political movement, came from the extreme-right Buchanan wing of the GOP.
So in the 2000 election, still regarded as the most divisive and contentious presidential election in generations, voters had a choice between a NAFTA supporter and, uh, another one.
It seems as long as politicians need to raise campaign funds from corporations that stand to make tremendous profits by shipping jobs overseas voters can expect to face more of these non-choices for the foreseeable future. And since agreements like the WTO and CAFTA subject all laws passed by member nations to "review" by non-elected international boards of regulators, even if the American people did pass laws to prevent this sort of thing those laws could be found in violation of those agreements and the WTO et al could levy huge penalties against the U.S. (This has, in fact, already happened with regards to tariffs and environmental regulations, among other things.)
Obviously, it makes me pig-biting mad.
As to your friend, she should explain to the trainees that simply hitting "save" isn't always enough, so to make sure, hit "Ctrl A," then "Ctrl X" and THEN "Ctrl S."