I watch a lot of news and public affairs television. I mean a lot, probably more than I should. I watch Rachel Maddow, Lawrence O'Donnell and Ed Schultz on MSNBC, and Keith Olbermann on Current. It will come as a surprise to no one that I have the Fox News Channel blocked from my TV, and CNN has become a ridiculous travesty, with shrill harpies like Nancy Grace all over it. The only reason I watch the three over-the-air networks (ABC, CBS and NBC) is for the nightly news programs. Anything else on these networks is pure drivel. I mean, there is some idiotic program the name of which I can't remember where a bunch of people with helmets and foam rubber padding try to climb over and through a bunch of cartoonish contraptions that seem only geared to maim and cripple them. I don't know if that kind of juvenile nonsense goes over big in Nebraska, but it leaves me completely cold and decidedly un-entertained. After you get used to really interesting, intelligently-written, provocative programs like Battlestar Galactica, The Sopranos, Six Feet Under, True Blood, Nurse Jackie, Sons of Anarchy, and Real Time with Bill Maher, you just can't go back to the saccharine, dumbed-down crap the big networks serve up.
Back in the day when I was growing up, the big three networks, plus an educational channel, were all you had to work with. The only way you could get a television signal was through your rooftop antenna. There was no HBO, Showtime, AMC, or Syfy. Everything was in black-and-white, and HDTV was decades in the future. Prime time was 7pm to 11pm. Most first-run shows were telecast in the fall, winter and spring, and you could count on the summertime being nothing but repeats. I'm sure that young people probably can't understand this kind of restricted set-up, and put it in with other incomprehensible oddities like dial telephones or the absence of anything digital, from computers to Facebook to iPhones.
But, I digress. One thing these news shows seem to have in common is a really irritating vocal tic a lot of the talking heads exhibit. That is, whenever they are asked a question or state their opinion they always start it with "Look,.." As in:
Q: What do you think will happen with the budget deficit talks?
A: Look, this is something we've seen before..
Or "Look, there's going to be a legislative logjam no matter what...."
This habit of saying "Look,.." at the beginning of every sentence annoys the living crap out of me because it reeks of arrogance and condescension. It sounds like the way you would talk if you're getting really exasperated trying to talk sense into an idiot Tea Partier, or trying to converse with a really irritating child who keeps responding "Why?" to everything you say. It's the way someone talks when they're losing patience having to deal with someone of obviously inferior intelligence, or they are just too darned busy being important to waste time talking to you. It's a peculiarly Beltway phenomenon, and I bet it's something you hear about a million times a day if you work in any government office. It's the kind of thing that seeps into a culture and stands out like a red flag to anyone not familiar to it. While not as widespread or insidious as Valley Girl talk, it's nearly as annoying.
But, it's not enough to discourage me from my steady diet of news, views, opinions, breaking news, and the massive cavalcade of information that the information channels provide. I'll just cringe a little and squirm in my seat every time I hear that "Look..."
Friday, August 12, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
American Exceptionalism
I've been hearing a lot about something called "American exceptionalism." Chris Matthews on MSNBC has a promo spot in which he relates how Barack Obama came from a relatively lowly background and ascended to the heights of American politics. He made the point that someone couldn't go over to China and become the President of China. Matthews attributed it to "American exceptionalism".
I wasn't sure what that meant, so I went to that Oracle of the Internet, Wikipedia. They said that is the belief that the United States is qualitatively different from, and by inference superior to, other nations. This supposedly came from the fact that America was born from a revolution, and developed it own ideas of egalitarianism, populism, laissez-faire capitalism, and individualism. It traces its roots to Alexis de Tocqueville (1805-1859) who first referred to the United States as "exceptional."
This concept has also been linked to another concept, manifest destiny, which said that it was inevitable that early settlers of the United States would in time spread across the entire North American continent, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. It was their destiny, and it would happen in spite of the fact that Native Americans and untold billions of other mammals were there first.
There is something about American exceptionalism that kind of creeps me out. I think that while it's something that has a tinge of validity, it is also something that can be monstrously perverted to suit a particular agenda or justify a whole range of activities. Any idea that seeks to set up one group of people as somehow having better attributes and qualities than others for no discernible good reason other than it sort of sounds good and fits roughly in with historic events, seems a bit desperate to me. It's just one short step from claiming to be the divinely "chosen ones" and whenever you get the approval of some religious deity, then you assume you have carte blanche to do anything you damned well please, no matter how awful and hideous. History abounds with examples of this.
Now, "animal exceptionalism" is something I can totally get behind, because I believe that animals are far superior to human beings and have every reason to be considered exceptional. You never hear of animals calling each other racist names, or killing enormous numbers of each other in pointless, ill-conceived wars, or making themselves miserable by wallowing around in bottomless pools of regret or resentment. Animals don't really concern themselves with what happened yesterday or 50 years ago, and they don't spend their lives fretting about stuff that may or may not happen tomorrow or 50 years from now. They live wholly and completely in the present moment.
Humans, however, do not do the same. Is it this human understanding of time and history that separates them from the animals and makes them "exceptional?" Probably not, since as far as I know all humans understand the concept of past, present and future pretty much the same, so I can't see how that can be used to establish some kind of superiority of one group over the other.
I'm not sure Americans are all that exceptional. We have an exceptional country, blessed with enormous natural resources, but the same can be said for Russia and China. We have a system of government which at least in theory allows people the opportunity to succeed as much as they are able or want to succeed, but so do a lot of European countries and some Pacific Rim countries like Australia, Singapore and Japan. We have a culture that values egalitarianism and rugged individualism, but so does Canada, South Africa, Chile and Argentina. We have a legal system that, while corrupted with money, favoritism and biases of every kind, still argues the point that anyone is innocent until proven guilty. But much of our system of laws is based on British Common Law which has its origins in Teutonic Germany, so it isn't a uniquely American construct.
So what is it that makes America exceptional? Maybe it's the belief that we are a "shining city on a hill," as crotchety, Alzheimers-ridden buffoon Ronald Reagan said. Maybe it's our common belief that freedom is the cornerstone of our country, even though our freedoms get eroded more and more every day by politicians who constantly hide behind the shield of patriotism, while doing very unpatriotic things. And most of all, even though our country is reviled and criticized in many corners of the world, it's still the Promised Land for many people and an irresistible draw for the talented and ambitious. We have our flaws, but we are also the best the world has to offer.
I wasn't sure what that meant, so I went to that Oracle of the Internet, Wikipedia. They said that is the belief that the United States is qualitatively different from, and by inference superior to, other nations. This supposedly came from the fact that America was born from a revolution, and developed it own ideas of egalitarianism, populism, laissez-faire capitalism, and individualism. It traces its roots to Alexis de Tocqueville (1805-1859) who first referred to the United States as "exceptional."
This concept has also been linked to another concept, manifest destiny, which said that it was inevitable that early settlers of the United States would in time spread across the entire North American continent, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. It was their destiny, and it would happen in spite of the fact that Native Americans and untold billions of other mammals were there first.
There is something about American exceptionalism that kind of creeps me out. I think that while it's something that has a tinge of validity, it is also something that can be monstrously perverted to suit a particular agenda or justify a whole range of activities. Any idea that seeks to set up one group of people as somehow having better attributes and qualities than others for no discernible good reason other than it sort of sounds good and fits roughly in with historic events, seems a bit desperate to me. It's just one short step from claiming to be the divinely "chosen ones" and whenever you get the approval of some religious deity, then you assume you have carte blanche to do anything you damned well please, no matter how awful and hideous. History abounds with examples of this.
Now, "animal exceptionalism" is something I can totally get behind, because I believe that animals are far superior to human beings and have every reason to be considered exceptional. You never hear of animals calling each other racist names, or killing enormous numbers of each other in pointless, ill-conceived wars, or making themselves miserable by wallowing around in bottomless pools of regret or resentment. Animals don't really concern themselves with what happened yesterday or 50 years ago, and they don't spend their lives fretting about stuff that may or may not happen tomorrow or 50 years from now. They live wholly and completely in the present moment.
Humans, however, do not do the same. Is it this human understanding of time and history that separates them from the animals and makes them "exceptional?" Probably not, since as far as I know all humans understand the concept of past, present and future pretty much the same, so I can't see how that can be used to establish some kind of superiority of one group over the other.
I'm not sure Americans are all that exceptional. We have an exceptional country, blessed with enormous natural resources, but the same can be said for Russia and China. We have a system of government which at least in theory allows people the opportunity to succeed as much as they are able or want to succeed, but so do a lot of European countries and some Pacific Rim countries like Australia, Singapore and Japan. We have a culture that values egalitarianism and rugged individualism, but so does Canada, South Africa, Chile and Argentina. We have a legal system that, while corrupted with money, favoritism and biases of every kind, still argues the point that anyone is innocent until proven guilty. But much of our system of laws is based on British Common Law which has its origins in Teutonic Germany, so it isn't a uniquely American construct.
So what is it that makes America exceptional? Maybe it's the belief that we are a "shining city on a hill," as crotchety, Alzheimers-ridden buffoon Ronald Reagan said. Maybe it's our common belief that freedom is the cornerstone of our country, even though our freedoms get eroded more and more every day by politicians who constantly hide behind the shield of patriotism, while doing very unpatriotic things. And most of all, even though our country is reviled and criticized in many corners of the world, it's still the Promised Land for many people and an irresistible draw for the talented and ambitious. We have our flaws, but we are also the best the world has to offer.
Friday, August 5, 2011
An Intelligence Deficit
The past week or two we have been reluctant, unhappy witnesses to one of the worst displays of just how dysfunctional Congress is that I can ever remember. The whole garish, shameful scenario of extending the debt ceiling, something which happens fairly often and with hardly a whimper in the media, until now, was truly an extremely destructive and ultimately unnecessary abomination.
It's all the more galling because it was an artificial, completely manufactured crisis, instead of an actual crisis. And by "actual crisis" I mean things like the economic collapse of 2008, the bombing of Libya, or an earthquake or hurricane laying waste to a wide area. This "debt ceiling" is an man-made abstraction, a conceit of the pointy-headed economists of the nation and is about three degrees of separation away from anything most people can even understand, or care to understand.
As usual, the Republicans are at the bottom of this heinous, hell-spawned mess, and in particular this was the fault of the god-forsaken Tea Partiers in Congress. The gang of 85 representatives which presumably were elected through a wave of Tea Party support in the 2010 midterms, decided to take the entire country hostage and link the debt ceiling with lowering the deficit, something which has NEVER been done before and something which is completely invalid.
First of all, the debt ceiling represents money that has ALREADY been spent and debt which has ALREADY been incurred, not future debt. That's like saying, I'm not going to pay this month's electricity bill until I'm sure that next month's electricity bill will be lower. WTF is that supposed to mean? Sounds like idiotic crap, and it is. You're responsible for paying this month's electric bill NOW, for electricity you have already used, and it does NOT depend on what you do next month. But somehow, the pretzel logic of the Tea Baggers linked those two concepts and both political parties were powerless to change it. How on earth can it happen that a small minority of deadheaded legislators can pervert and twist around an economic concept like that?
As the clocked ticked down last week toward a credit default, which is what would have happened if the debt ceiling had not been raised and the U.S. had no available funds to repay its debts, the political theater and bickering was immense in its scale. The House of Representatives insisted on passing its own Tea Party-driven deficit reduction measure, which consisted mostly of shielding their wealthy sponsors from any kind of financial contribution to repaying this country's debt in the form of moderately increased taxes or tax loophole-closing, even though everybody and their uncle knew that such a measure would be dead-on-arrival at the Senate, but they had to waste time anyhow making a big "show" of it.
At the last minute a "compromise" bill was cobbled together which, according to orange-skinned Speaker of the House John Boner, I mean, Boehner, gave him "98% of everything" he wanted. Some f**king "compromise." Most people thought a "compromise" is when each side in an argument gives some concession to the other side in hopes of coming up with a mutually-agreeable solution. The only thing the Democrats and the Obama administration gave up is their integrity, and the confidence of their base supporters that they would stand their ground against the Republican onslaught. The Republicans railroaded and overran the Democrats, I have to give them credit for that, and the wealthy puppet-masters of the Republicans must be very proud of the investment they made in that party.
Once AGAIN, Obama caved to the demands of the other side. To try to deflect attention from him being Senate minority leader Mitch O'Connell's bottom bitch, Obama is now saying that since the debt ceiling problem is over, he's going to focus exclusively on jobs and putting America back to work. The problem with that is that the only way the government can put people back to work is by spending a bunch of money on badly-needed public works and infrastructure repair projects, but the Republicans have stated clearly that they would not support any such expenditures. So how is the administration supposed to create these new jobs which will bring sorely-needed tax revenues into the Treasury, without any money for these projects? Obama hasn't figured that out yet, but I'm sure he's thinking really hard about it. That, and $3, will buy you a grande house coffee at Starbucks, if you can afford it.
What's much more disturbing and dangerous is that the Republicans have learned that their hostage-taking style of negotiating works pretty well. They were ready to let the country go into default and risk a credit downgrade, which would have been catastrophic to the extreme to the national and the global economy, and they didn't give a crap how badly it hurt the country. This is what we're going to see from now on, this scorched-earth practice from the right wing, in which they will risk heaping much more pain and misery on the people of this country without any concern for the consequences. The ultra-wealthy are insulated and protected from such things, and that is all the Republicans care about. And that will surely have very dire results in both the short- and long-term.
Yesterday the stock market took a header into the shitter, dropping over 500 points in a single day. All the stock market gains for the year have been erased. Seven months and nothing to show for it. The market has dropped over 10% in the past two weeks. Many billions of dollars have been obliterated, and it will be difficult getting them back. And all for what? A manufactured crisis that didn't have to happen. After all, conservative idol Ronald Reagan raised the debt ceiling 18 times in his presidency, with nary a whisper of dissent from anyone. All of a sudden, now that we have a black man for President, raising the debt ceiling is a big deal. The Republicans in general and the Tea Party in particular have made it very clear that they will do anything and everything to destroy Obama's presidency. And apparently, if they destroy the economy of the country and the well-being of all its citizens in the process, well that is too damned bad.
It's all the more galling because it was an artificial, completely manufactured crisis, instead of an actual crisis. And by "actual crisis" I mean things like the economic collapse of 2008, the bombing of Libya, or an earthquake or hurricane laying waste to a wide area. This "debt ceiling" is an man-made abstraction, a conceit of the pointy-headed economists of the nation and is about three degrees of separation away from anything most people can even understand, or care to understand.
As usual, the Republicans are at the bottom of this heinous, hell-spawned mess, and in particular this was the fault of the god-forsaken Tea Partiers in Congress. The gang of 85 representatives which presumably were elected through a wave of Tea Party support in the 2010 midterms, decided to take the entire country hostage and link the debt ceiling with lowering the deficit, something which has NEVER been done before and something which is completely invalid.
First of all, the debt ceiling represents money that has ALREADY been spent and debt which has ALREADY been incurred, not future debt. That's like saying, I'm not going to pay this month's electricity bill until I'm sure that next month's electricity bill will be lower. WTF is that supposed to mean? Sounds like idiotic crap, and it is. You're responsible for paying this month's electric bill NOW, for electricity you have already used, and it does NOT depend on what you do next month. But somehow, the pretzel logic of the Tea Baggers linked those two concepts and both political parties were powerless to change it. How on earth can it happen that a small minority of deadheaded legislators can pervert and twist around an economic concept like that?
As the clocked ticked down last week toward a credit default, which is what would have happened if the debt ceiling had not been raised and the U.S. had no available funds to repay its debts, the political theater and bickering was immense in its scale. The House of Representatives insisted on passing its own Tea Party-driven deficit reduction measure, which consisted mostly of shielding their wealthy sponsors from any kind of financial contribution to repaying this country's debt in the form of moderately increased taxes or tax loophole-closing, even though everybody and their uncle knew that such a measure would be dead-on-arrival at the Senate, but they had to waste time anyhow making a big "show" of it.
At the last minute a "compromise" bill was cobbled together which, according to orange-skinned Speaker of the House John Boner, I mean, Boehner, gave him "98% of everything" he wanted. Some f**king "compromise." Most people thought a "compromise" is when each side in an argument gives some concession to the other side in hopes of coming up with a mutually-agreeable solution. The only thing the Democrats and the Obama administration gave up is their integrity, and the confidence of their base supporters that they would stand their ground against the Republican onslaught. The Republicans railroaded and overran the Democrats, I have to give them credit for that, and the wealthy puppet-masters of the Republicans must be very proud of the investment they made in that party.
Once AGAIN, Obama caved to the demands of the other side. To try to deflect attention from him being Senate minority leader Mitch O'Connell's bottom bitch, Obama is now saying that since the debt ceiling problem is over, he's going to focus exclusively on jobs and putting America back to work. The problem with that is that the only way the government can put people back to work is by spending a bunch of money on badly-needed public works and infrastructure repair projects, but the Republicans have stated clearly that they would not support any such expenditures. So how is the administration supposed to create these new jobs which will bring sorely-needed tax revenues into the Treasury, without any money for these projects? Obama hasn't figured that out yet, but I'm sure he's thinking really hard about it. That, and $3, will buy you a grande house coffee at Starbucks, if you can afford it.
What's much more disturbing and dangerous is that the Republicans have learned that their hostage-taking style of negotiating works pretty well. They were ready to let the country go into default and risk a credit downgrade, which would have been catastrophic to the extreme to the national and the global economy, and they didn't give a crap how badly it hurt the country. This is what we're going to see from now on, this scorched-earth practice from the right wing, in which they will risk heaping much more pain and misery on the people of this country without any concern for the consequences. The ultra-wealthy are insulated and protected from such things, and that is all the Republicans care about. And that will surely have very dire results in both the short- and long-term.
Yesterday the stock market took a header into the shitter, dropping over 500 points in a single day. All the stock market gains for the year have been erased. Seven months and nothing to show for it. The market has dropped over 10% in the past two weeks. Many billions of dollars have been obliterated, and it will be difficult getting them back. And all for what? A manufactured crisis that didn't have to happen. After all, conservative idol Ronald Reagan raised the debt ceiling 18 times in his presidency, with nary a whisper of dissent from anyone. All of a sudden, now that we have a black man for President, raising the debt ceiling is a big deal. The Republicans in general and the Tea Party in particular have made it very clear that they will do anything and everything to destroy Obama's presidency. And apparently, if they destroy the economy of the country and the well-being of all its citizens in the process, well that is too damned bad.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
My Arizona Anniversary
July 31st is my Arizona anniversary, that's the day in 1993 when I moved to Phoenix from Burlingame, in the San Francisco Bay Area. I have been living in Phoenix for 18 years now.
I still remember a lot about that time 18 years ago. My life in the Bay Area was kind of disintegrating; I lost my job at IBM which I had for 13 years, my roommate had passed away unexpectedly and I was starting to become very unhappy. I had visited Phoenix about a year or so previously and I loved it, and decided that there is where I would move. I didn't know a single soul in Phoenix or had a job lined up, but that didn't matter. I was going and I knew I was going to be all right.
So on Friday July 30, 1993, I packed up my two cats, Eunice and J.R., and my clothes and some personal belongings (my furniture and the bulk of everything else had been picked up by the moving van a couple of days prior) and I got in my car and headed out. The cats were in separate carriers right next to each other and knew something big was going on. They started this "meow-meow" back and forth to each other for the next 5 hours, and I honestly thought I was going to lose my mind. As I headed eastward across the San Mateo Bridge to reach Interstate 5, I took one last look at my home of over 4 years in my rear-view mirror. The fog over the coast range was a luminous white band over dark green, brooding hills. I still have that image frozen in my mind. It was one of those moments when you just knew something huge was happening to you and you would remember it for the rest of your life. There are many aspects of living in the Bay Area which I really miss, but I knew my life was elsewhere.
Cruising south on I-5 through the Central Valley was uneventful, even a touch boring. I went down what's called the Grapevine into the Los Angeles area, and that's when traffic started getting really thick. Seven arduous hours later (and the cats didn't shut up for more than 15 minutes) I decided I had had enough and found a motel in Palm Springs to spend the night. I didn't bother to mention my two cats when I checked in, since I was only staying the night. I went out for a quick dinner and a short walk around, and when I returned to the motel I saw my big black cat J.R. sitting on the window sill in front of the curtains, happily looking at everyone who passed by.
I got up early on a pleasant Saturday morning of the 31st, packed everything up again and headed east on Interstate 10 toward Phoenix. On the way I was mesmerized by the vast, empty desert around me and marveled at such names as the Chuckwalla Mountains and the Chiriaco Summit. I started to feel the heat as I passed through dusty, surreal desert outposts like Blythe, CA and Quartzsite, AZ. I got to Phoenix around noon and settled in to my new apartment. I let the cats explore their new house, and unpacked a little. My furniture would not be delivered for 5 more days, so I spent a lot of time sitting on an air mattress on the bedroom floor, looking out the window listening to the doves in the trees outside.
The next day it was 117 degrees. I went outside for a walk after lunch and thought to myself, are they kidding me? It was really HOT! The heat formed a thick blanket that muffled any sounds, and the cicadas in the trees lulled everyone into a hypnotic trance. I learned quickly that the Mexican custom of siesta, or taking a nap during the very hottest part of the day, was a really good idea.
But I settled into my new home quickly and found I really like it here. I got a job a couple of months later and that allowed me to have a very comfortable life and purchase a great house in 1995. I have been here ever since and feel that I made exactly the right move in coming to Phoenix. I have found very good friends and chosen family here, and I think things have worked out amazingly well.
There are some things I don't like about Arizona, most of all the politics here. It is an extremely conservative, Republican-oriented state, something that I really loathe since I am the exact, diametrical-opposite of that. I really detest the influence of religion in politics, both on the local and the state level. As far as I'm concerned religion is a private matter and has no business in the governance of the state. I don't begrudge anyone their religious beliefs, but when they push to codify their religious beliefs into the laws of the land and thus shove them down everyone else's throats, well I have a big BIG problem with that. I firmly believe that 99.9% of politicians in this state are corrupt morons and amoral dirtbags who really deserve to be in prison. The gun "laws" are a joke around here, and that results in incredibly stupid people and burned-out crack addicts running around here fully armed, because they think the Constitution says they can.
But most of all I hate the way animals are treated in this state, as property and "things," instead of as living, breathing, sensitive creatures meant to share the earth with us. This gives rise to the most horrific and terrible cruelties I have ever witnessed, and I believe it is impossible to overestimate the arrogance and stupidity of human beings. The human race will never be able to consider itself enlightened and civilized as long as such horrible, awful things are done to animals.
I never watch local television here because it is made by idiots, for idiots. Even more disgraceful is the local newspaper, the Arizona Republic(an), which is a laughingly provincial, unsophisticated excuse for a newspaper for the sixth largest metropolitan area in the United States. It would be more suited to a small-to-medium city in the upper Midwest rather than one of the larger cities of the Southwest. The income disparity around here is also pretty jarring, when you go from the gated communities and palatial estates of Scottsdale and Paradise Valley to the grungy, dilapidated wastelands of south Phoenix.
All these distractions aside, we do have a lot of things to appreciate, such as wonderful weather most of the year (not right now), beautiful scenic vistas, cool places to visit like Sedona and Flagstaff and Prescott and Tucson, and driving through fragrant pine forests to the visual feast that is the Grand Canyon. We also have opportunities to be dazzled by really, really dark night skies, when you think you can see a billion stars with a clarity that will literally take your breath away. As I start my nineteenth year in Sand Land, I find I really have much more for which to be grateful, rather than critical.
I still remember a lot about that time 18 years ago. My life in the Bay Area was kind of disintegrating; I lost my job at IBM which I had for 13 years, my roommate had passed away unexpectedly and I was starting to become very unhappy. I had visited Phoenix about a year or so previously and I loved it, and decided that there is where I would move. I didn't know a single soul in Phoenix or had a job lined up, but that didn't matter. I was going and I knew I was going to be all right.
So on Friday July 30, 1993, I packed up my two cats, Eunice and J.R., and my clothes and some personal belongings (my furniture and the bulk of everything else had been picked up by the moving van a couple of days prior) and I got in my car and headed out. The cats were in separate carriers right next to each other and knew something big was going on. They started this "meow-meow" back and forth to each other for the next 5 hours, and I honestly thought I was going to lose my mind. As I headed eastward across the San Mateo Bridge to reach Interstate 5, I took one last look at my home of over 4 years in my rear-view mirror. The fog over the coast range was a luminous white band over dark green, brooding hills. I still have that image frozen in my mind. It was one of those moments when you just knew something huge was happening to you and you would remember it for the rest of your life. There are many aspects of living in the Bay Area which I really miss, but I knew my life was elsewhere.
Cruising south on I-5 through the Central Valley was uneventful, even a touch boring. I went down what's called the Grapevine into the Los Angeles area, and that's when traffic started getting really thick. Seven arduous hours later (and the cats didn't shut up for more than 15 minutes) I decided I had had enough and found a motel in Palm Springs to spend the night. I didn't bother to mention my two cats when I checked in, since I was only staying the night. I went out for a quick dinner and a short walk around, and when I returned to the motel I saw my big black cat J.R. sitting on the window sill in front of the curtains, happily looking at everyone who passed by.
I got up early on a pleasant Saturday morning of the 31st, packed everything up again and headed east on Interstate 10 toward Phoenix. On the way I was mesmerized by the vast, empty desert around me and marveled at such names as the Chuckwalla Mountains and the Chiriaco Summit. I started to feel the heat as I passed through dusty, surreal desert outposts like Blythe, CA and Quartzsite, AZ. I got to Phoenix around noon and settled in to my new apartment. I let the cats explore their new house, and unpacked a little. My furniture would not be delivered for 5 more days, so I spent a lot of time sitting on an air mattress on the bedroom floor, looking out the window listening to the doves in the trees outside.
The next day it was 117 degrees. I went outside for a walk after lunch and thought to myself, are they kidding me? It was really HOT! The heat formed a thick blanket that muffled any sounds, and the cicadas in the trees lulled everyone into a hypnotic trance. I learned quickly that the Mexican custom of siesta, or taking a nap during the very hottest part of the day, was a really good idea.
But I settled into my new home quickly and found I really like it here. I got a job a couple of months later and that allowed me to have a very comfortable life and purchase a great house in 1995. I have been here ever since and feel that I made exactly the right move in coming to Phoenix. I have found very good friends and chosen family here, and I think things have worked out amazingly well.
There are some things I don't like about Arizona, most of all the politics here. It is an extremely conservative, Republican-oriented state, something that I really loathe since I am the exact, diametrical-opposite of that. I really detest the influence of religion in politics, both on the local and the state level. As far as I'm concerned religion is a private matter and has no business in the governance of the state. I don't begrudge anyone their religious beliefs, but when they push to codify their religious beliefs into the laws of the land and thus shove them down everyone else's throats, well I have a big BIG problem with that. I firmly believe that 99.9% of politicians in this state are corrupt morons and amoral dirtbags who really deserve to be in prison. The gun "laws" are a joke around here, and that results in incredibly stupid people and burned-out crack addicts running around here fully armed, because they think the Constitution says they can.
But most of all I hate the way animals are treated in this state, as property and "things," instead of as living, breathing, sensitive creatures meant to share the earth with us. This gives rise to the most horrific and terrible cruelties I have ever witnessed, and I believe it is impossible to overestimate the arrogance and stupidity of human beings. The human race will never be able to consider itself enlightened and civilized as long as such horrible, awful things are done to animals.
I never watch local television here because it is made by idiots, for idiots. Even more disgraceful is the local newspaper, the Arizona Republic(an), which is a laughingly provincial, unsophisticated excuse for a newspaper for the sixth largest metropolitan area in the United States. It would be more suited to a small-to-medium city in the upper Midwest rather than one of the larger cities of the Southwest. The income disparity around here is also pretty jarring, when you go from the gated communities and palatial estates of Scottsdale and Paradise Valley to the grungy, dilapidated wastelands of south Phoenix.
All these distractions aside, we do have a lot of things to appreciate, such as wonderful weather most of the year (not right now), beautiful scenic vistas, cool places to visit like Sedona and Flagstaff and Prescott and Tucson, and driving through fragrant pine forests to the visual feast that is the Grand Canyon. We also have opportunities to be dazzled by really, really dark night skies, when you think you can see a billion stars with a clarity that will literally take your breath away. As I start my nineteenth year in Sand Land, I find I really have much more for which to be grateful, rather than critical.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The Dog Days of Summer
Summer is going full blast here in the Valley of the Sun. The solstice occurred last month and on that day the sun was so far north when it set that it shined into my living room through the French doors to the patio, which only happens for a couple of weeks a year about this time. Now, the sun is starting to recede southward and no longer shines into my living room at sunset. Too bad, I was starting to get used to the room being filled with that nice orange glow.
We managed to get through another Hell On Earth Weekend, which is the weekend closest to July 4th. As I remember a couple of days before the 4th it reached 118 degrees for the high temperature. It's pretty hard to tell people what heat of that kind is like, because unless they've served some time in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia or one of those type of places, they just have no frame of reference for that kind of excess. The old standby description still works: Take a hair dryer, turn it on high, and point it at your face. It feels exactly like that.
I was in a fairly severe automobile accident on the 6th of July. I was coming back from the spay/neuter clinic with 9 bunnies in my car when some asshole who couldn't wait two damned seconds to make sure it was safe, pulled out in front of me from a sidestreet and I slammed into him. It was pretty nightmarish - my beloved Santa Fe was totaled, and had to be towed away. Asshole in the other vehicle was able to drive away, although the police were thoughtful enough to give him a traffic citation on the spot. So I went car shopping today, and bought a new 2011 Hyundai Elantra Touring. It's a nice little car at a good price, and I look forward to picking it up tomorrow. I had no idea being in an accident would be such a mental and physical trauma. I was kind of in shock and pretty scatter-brained for a good 24 hours afterwards, besides being black and blue and banged up. The airbags went off in my car upon impact, and it smashed the carrier in the front seat, carrying a sweet little rabbit named Winston who had come to us all the way from Yuma. Had to sit in a carrier for three hours to get to Phoenix, only to be put in another carrier and then be in a nasty accident. Luckily, neither Winston nor any of the other bunnies were injured.
In national politics, it's been proven once again that it's impossible to over-estimate the stupidity of the average American voter, as a heinous, insidious black hole of ignorance and fakery by the name of Michelle Bachmann befouls the airwaves and news programs at every possible opportunity. There aren't enough bad things I can say about this obnoxious, pasty-faced, simple-minded old scarecrow, so I'm not even going to try. But for some inexplicable reason people listen to her dead-headed stupidity and seem to revel in every twisted, mindless, idiotic pronouncement that comes out of her eternally-flapping mouth.
Her husband is a real piece of work, too. A big, stupid-looking lunkhead, he looks like a fat drag queen who is trying for some reason to pass as straight and clearly failing at it. He runs the family business, a Christian counseling center, and is virulently anti-gay, to the point of trying to foist "reparative therapy" on evil homosexuals. This therapy, also known as "pray away the gay," is used to try to "convert" homosexuals to heterosexuals so they can be in miserable, loveless marriages, go through bitter, acrimonious divorces, beat their beards (I mean, wives), screw up their kids for the rest of eternity, and sneak around behind everyone's back going to gay bars and drag shows. Her husband has "closet case" written all over him, and he must spend a lot of time dressed up in women's clothing and heels, prancing around the house and singing "I Feel Pretty" while Wifey is out on the road spreading her toxic stupidity from coast to coast. It's just a matter of time before Fat Boy gets caught in some airport restroom doing a tap-dance with the person in the stall next to him, but what else can we expect? Being married to Michelle Bachmann must be a truly hideous experience and will twist you so far around you will see the back of your own head.
So, what do we have to look forward as we come into mid-July? For one, the looming debt ceiling deadline is August 2, and the pundits are threatening that financial armageddon is on its way. The Republicans are doing what they always do, demanding tax breaks to the ultra-wealthy people in this country, those who already have so much. Astonishingly, the Repubs refer to these people as "job creators," and are still flogging the long-discredited Reagan-era dead horse of "trickle down economics." Oh, the rich people and corporations are creating jobs alright - in China, India and Indonesia. It's almost as if the Republicans are thumbing their noses at American workers and the 9.2% unemployment we've been enduring for many months now. And lots of people in this country are so dumb they fall for it hook, line and sinker. Sigh.
It's been a pretty exciting couple of weeks, and there have certainly been a few things I could have done without. But, when life tosses you a flaming bag of crap, you just have to deal with it and move on. I keep thinking about the lovely cool weather that is still three months away, and I can't wait to wake up on a nice, chilly, autumn morning and wonder how I ever managed to get through another Arizona summer.
We managed to get through another Hell On Earth Weekend, which is the weekend closest to July 4th. As I remember a couple of days before the 4th it reached 118 degrees for the high temperature. It's pretty hard to tell people what heat of that kind is like, because unless they've served some time in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia or one of those type of places, they just have no frame of reference for that kind of excess. The old standby description still works: Take a hair dryer, turn it on high, and point it at your face. It feels exactly like that.
I was in a fairly severe automobile accident on the 6th of July. I was coming back from the spay/neuter clinic with 9 bunnies in my car when some asshole who couldn't wait two damned seconds to make sure it was safe, pulled out in front of me from a sidestreet and I slammed into him. It was pretty nightmarish - my beloved Santa Fe was totaled, and had to be towed away. Asshole in the other vehicle was able to drive away, although the police were thoughtful enough to give him a traffic citation on the spot. So I went car shopping today, and bought a new 2011 Hyundai Elantra Touring. It's a nice little car at a good price, and I look forward to picking it up tomorrow. I had no idea being in an accident would be such a mental and physical trauma. I was kind of in shock and pretty scatter-brained for a good 24 hours afterwards, besides being black and blue and banged up. The airbags went off in my car upon impact, and it smashed the carrier in the front seat, carrying a sweet little rabbit named Winston who had come to us all the way from Yuma. Had to sit in a carrier for three hours to get to Phoenix, only to be put in another carrier and then be in a nasty accident. Luckily, neither Winston nor any of the other bunnies were injured.
In national politics, it's been proven once again that it's impossible to over-estimate the stupidity of the average American voter, as a heinous, insidious black hole of ignorance and fakery by the name of Michelle Bachmann befouls the airwaves and news programs at every possible opportunity. There aren't enough bad things I can say about this obnoxious, pasty-faced, simple-minded old scarecrow, so I'm not even going to try. But for some inexplicable reason people listen to her dead-headed stupidity and seem to revel in every twisted, mindless, idiotic pronouncement that comes out of her eternally-flapping mouth.
Her husband is a real piece of work, too. A big, stupid-looking lunkhead, he looks like a fat drag queen who is trying for some reason to pass as straight and clearly failing at it. He runs the family business, a Christian counseling center, and is virulently anti-gay, to the point of trying to foist "reparative therapy" on evil homosexuals. This therapy, also known as "pray away the gay," is used to try to "convert" homosexuals to heterosexuals so they can be in miserable, loveless marriages, go through bitter, acrimonious divorces, beat their beards (I mean, wives), screw up their kids for the rest of eternity, and sneak around behind everyone's back going to gay bars and drag shows. Her husband has "closet case" written all over him, and he must spend a lot of time dressed up in women's clothing and heels, prancing around the house and singing "I Feel Pretty" while Wifey is out on the road spreading her toxic stupidity from coast to coast. It's just a matter of time before Fat Boy gets caught in some airport restroom doing a tap-dance with the person in the stall next to him, but what else can we expect? Being married to Michelle Bachmann must be a truly hideous experience and will twist you so far around you will see the back of your own head.
So, what do we have to look forward as we come into mid-July? For one, the looming debt ceiling deadline is August 2, and the pundits are threatening that financial armageddon is on its way. The Republicans are doing what they always do, demanding tax breaks to the ultra-wealthy people in this country, those who already have so much. Astonishingly, the Repubs refer to these people as "job creators," and are still flogging the long-discredited Reagan-era dead horse of "trickle down economics." Oh, the rich people and corporations are creating jobs alright - in China, India and Indonesia. It's almost as if the Republicans are thumbing their noses at American workers and the 9.2% unemployment we've been enduring for many months now. And lots of people in this country are so dumb they fall for it hook, line and sinker. Sigh.
It's been a pretty exciting couple of weeks, and there have certainly been a few things I could have done without. But, when life tosses you a flaming bag of crap, you just have to deal with it and move on. I keep thinking about the lovely cool weather that is still three months away, and I can't wait to wake up on a nice, chilly, autumn morning and wonder how I ever managed to get through another Arizona summer.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
A Lifetime of Memories
Father's Day always brings me around to think of my own father. I miss him a lot, he was a good man and we had a good relationship up to the very day he passed away. Mother's Day is always such a big deal and we hear about it for weeks in advance, but Father's Day is somewhat low-key and almost overlooked, almost like these men who worked so hard to provide us with everything we needed.
My dad was born on April 2nd, 1915, in the early days of World War I. He was born at home, not in a hospital, and lived in that same home until he enlisted in the Army and was sent to serve in Italy, where he was shot in the right thigh in combat with the Germans. He returned to live in that some house after the war and only moved out when he got married, and he and his brother Albert bought the duplex house right across the street. I've lived in probably seven different towns and cities in my life, but my father never left the street on which he was born.
He never talked much about his time in the Army fighting World War II, but one day he did open up to me and told me many stories about being in the Army and the camaraderie he had with his fellow soldiers. I was completely fascinated when I heard these stories because it caused me to look at my father in a totally different light, as an individual person with wants and needs and experiences outside of the context of our family. I always knew him as "Dad" but now I saw a whole different side of him, and it was amazing and enlightening.
My father married my mother in 1946, when he was 31 years old. My older brother was born three years later in 1949, and I came along two and a half years after that, in 1952. Dad was three months away from his 37th birthday when I was born. That was pretty late in life to have children, even by today's standards, and I can't help but wonder how drastically it changed his life. I wonder if he had any regrets about that. He never mentioned any, of course, but I can't help but think that he might have had a second thought or two. Especially when he found out that his two sons were going to be complete, polar opposites.
I will admit to being somewhat of a difficult child. People who know me usually end up gasping with apoplectic disbelief (although some of them say "gagging" is closer to the truth) when I say that, but I readily admit it. From the very start I had absolutely no interest in sports of any kind, and still don't to this day. I was a loner who preferred solitude, reading as many books as I could. My brother was a joiner who was never without a large entourage of friends, engaged in some sporting activity. I was a non-conformist, stubbornly independent, and I didn't care who didn't approve. My brother was a total conformist who found his greatest comfort in sharing a group identity. We were at each others' throats regularly, and the only interactions we had were meals shared around the dinner table; otherwise, we essentially lived in separate worlds and had nothing to do with each other.
It's not like my dad didn't try to get me interested in what were considered more "normal" childhood activities during the 50s and 60s. Every three months or so he would drag me outside and force me to play "catch" with him, tossing a baseball back and forth. I thought this was the most outrageous, ridiculous and painful torture imaginable and I dreaded it every time it came up. To me it was the dumbest and most pointless activity possible, and I always felt like I was being punished for something I couldn't remember doing. I made it clear I was not having the tiniest amount of fun and gradually he just gave up on the "catch" thing. He tried to interest me in golf and get my uncles to take me out fishing, but nothing worked. I would not have any sports in my life, at all, and still don't.
Very early on in life I came to realize that the vast majority of adults with whom I had to deal were complete idiots. This made me exhibit a rather obvious contempt and resistance to their attempts to control me and tell me what to do, and it led me to do a lot of mouthing off and talking back. I'm sure it caused my father no end of frustration and embarrassment when he heard that I talked back to a nun in Catholic school or told my aunt off in her job as clerk at the local drug store. But he also knew that that was just my nature, who I was, and rarely made me feel bad about being different.
I grew up in a blue-collar family in a blue-collar town. My hometown was a small place, around 2000 people, and you could not get lost there even if you wanted to. Everyone knew who you were and who your parents were. It was a pretty idyllic existence, and I have many, many fond memories of beautiful spring days bursting with flowers and gentle rain, endless, sun-drenched summer days, the majestic beauty of the fall foliage, and icy, snow-covered, crystalline winter days. We had most of what we needed, but few luxuries. My father's work at the steel mill was steady and provided for us. After twenty-five years at the mill my father was eligible for their extended vacation benefit, which gave him 13 consecutive weeks paid vacation every 5 years. Sometimes we would take a family vacation, which usually meant going to Conneaut Lake park in Ohio for a couple of days, or to Presque Isle on Lake Erie in the north. It wasn't a week at the beach or in Europe, but it was fun and memorable just the same.
Tragedy and misfortune did befall us, as it does all families. My older brother was killed in a car accident on the evening of my parents' twenty-first wedding anniversary. I don't remember a lot about it, as time fades memory and my own brain has blocked a lot of it out, but what I do remember was a nightmare of epic proportions. He had been diagnosed with leukemia some months before that, and it was a double blow to my parents. My mother never came to terms with losing her firstborn and it haunted her for the rest of her life. After his death she had what was called back then a "nervous breakdown" and spent time in a psychiatric hospital. They subjected her to ECT (electroconvulsive therapy), also called "shock treatments," in which her brain was subjected to blasts of electricity in hopes of "rebooting" it back to a normal state of being. She also took what she called "nerve pills," probably various anti-depressants, for decades afterward. My father had to deal with all this horrendous stuff as well as take care of me and the house and do his job, and I honestly don't know how he handled it all. He protected and shielded me from a lot of it, and had to cope with it alone. I realized this in time and still marvel at his strength through what surely had to be the darkest times of his life.
Dad and I locked horns often during the late 60s, as the cultural revolution swept the nation and I joined the hippie contingent in our town. I went to college and more disagreements and divisiveness followed. But I never lost my love and respect for him, and I'm sure he never stopped loving and caring for me, no matter what. As I went out in the world and they grew older, my father and I grew closer, realizing how much we had been through and how much we really had in common. He was plagued with a case of gout in his ankle, and I remember him hobbling around the house and I would tease him for having the "rich man's disease," as gout was called. I remember joining them on vacation in Las Vegas, which they thought was the most glamorous and exciting place on earth, and we had lots and lots of good time. While I never regarded my father as an equal, I began to think of him as somewhat of a peer and a very good friend, and it only served to enhance our relationship on deeper, unexpected levels. We would talk often on the phone, and I really miss not being able to call him up and chat with him.
My father died on January 1st, 2001, of congestive heart failure. It snowed in Pennsylvania the day of his funeral, but it wasn't a gray, dismal kind of snow. Innumerable huge white snowflakes drifted down from a bright sky, spinning and pirouetting as they fell. It was a unique and special day, a fitting farewell for a unique person. My dad has always been a rock, a compass in my life, and a beacon of love and understanding. He taught me, by example, of what it truly means to be a man. Just as I said goodbye to him on a bright, shining day, I look forward to seeing him again, on another bright, shining day.
My dad was born on April 2nd, 1915, in the early days of World War I. He was born at home, not in a hospital, and lived in that same home until he enlisted in the Army and was sent to serve in Italy, where he was shot in the right thigh in combat with the Germans. He returned to live in that some house after the war and only moved out when he got married, and he and his brother Albert bought the duplex house right across the street. I've lived in probably seven different towns and cities in my life, but my father never left the street on which he was born.
He never talked much about his time in the Army fighting World War II, but one day he did open up to me and told me many stories about being in the Army and the camaraderie he had with his fellow soldiers. I was completely fascinated when I heard these stories because it caused me to look at my father in a totally different light, as an individual person with wants and needs and experiences outside of the context of our family. I always knew him as "Dad" but now I saw a whole different side of him, and it was amazing and enlightening.
My father married my mother in 1946, when he was 31 years old. My older brother was born three years later in 1949, and I came along two and a half years after that, in 1952. Dad was three months away from his 37th birthday when I was born. That was pretty late in life to have children, even by today's standards, and I can't help but wonder how drastically it changed his life. I wonder if he had any regrets about that. He never mentioned any, of course, but I can't help but think that he might have had a second thought or two. Especially when he found out that his two sons were going to be complete, polar opposites.
I will admit to being somewhat of a difficult child. People who know me usually end up gasping with apoplectic disbelief (although some of them say "gagging" is closer to the truth) when I say that, but I readily admit it. From the very start I had absolutely no interest in sports of any kind, and still don't to this day. I was a loner who preferred solitude, reading as many books as I could. My brother was a joiner who was never without a large entourage of friends, engaged in some sporting activity. I was a non-conformist, stubbornly independent, and I didn't care who didn't approve. My brother was a total conformist who found his greatest comfort in sharing a group identity. We were at each others' throats regularly, and the only interactions we had were meals shared around the dinner table; otherwise, we essentially lived in separate worlds and had nothing to do with each other.
It's not like my dad didn't try to get me interested in what were considered more "normal" childhood activities during the 50s and 60s. Every three months or so he would drag me outside and force me to play "catch" with him, tossing a baseball back and forth. I thought this was the most outrageous, ridiculous and painful torture imaginable and I dreaded it every time it came up. To me it was the dumbest and most pointless activity possible, and I always felt like I was being punished for something I couldn't remember doing. I made it clear I was not having the tiniest amount of fun and gradually he just gave up on the "catch" thing. He tried to interest me in golf and get my uncles to take me out fishing, but nothing worked. I would not have any sports in my life, at all, and still don't.
Very early on in life I came to realize that the vast majority of adults with whom I had to deal were complete idiots. This made me exhibit a rather obvious contempt and resistance to their attempts to control me and tell me what to do, and it led me to do a lot of mouthing off and talking back. I'm sure it caused my father no end of frustration and embarrassment when he heard that I talked back to a nun in Catholic school or told my aunt off in her job as clerk at the local drug store. But he also knew that that was just my nature, who I was, and rarely made me feel bad about being different.
I grew up in a blue-collar family in a blue-collar town. My hometown was a small place, around 2000 people, and you could not get lost there even if you wanted to. Everyone knew who you were and who your parents were. It was a pretty idyllic existence, and I have many, many fond memories of beautiful spring days bursting with flowers and gentle rain, endless, sun-drenched summer days, the majestic beauty of the fall foliage, and icy, snow-covered, crystalline winter days. We had most of what we needed, but few luxuries. My father's work at the steel mill was steady and provided for us. After twenty-five years at the mill my father was eligible for their extended vacation benefit, which gave him 13 consecutive weeks paid vacation every 5 years. Sometimes we would take a family vacation, which usually meant going to Conneaut Lake park in Ohio for a couple of days, or to Presque Isle on Lake Erie in the north. It wasn't a week at the beach or in Europe, but it was fun and memorable just the same.
Tragedy and misfortune did befall us, as it does all families. My older brother was killed in a car accident on the evening of my parents' twenty-first wedding anniversary. I don't remember a lot about it, as time fades memory and my own brain has blocked a lot of it out, but what I do remember was a nightmare of epic proportions. He had been diagnosed with leukemia some months before that, and it was a double blow to my parents. My mother never came to terms with losing her firstborn and it haunted her for the rest of her life. After his death she had what was called back then a "nervous breakdown" and spent time in a psychiatric hospital. They subjected her to ECT (electroconvulsive therapy), also called "shock treatments," in which her brain was subjected to blasts of electricity in hopes of "rebooting" it back to a normal state of being. She also took what she called "nerve pills," probably various anti-depressants, for decades afterward. My father had to deal with all this horrendous stuff as well as take care of me and the house and do his job, and I honestly don't know how he handled it all. He protected and shielded me from a lot of it, and had to cope with it alone. I realized this in time and still marvel at his strength through what surely had to be the darkest times of his life.
Dad and I locked horns often during the late 60s, as the cultural revolution swept the nation and I joined the hippie contingent in our town. I went to college and more disagreements and divisiveness followed. But I never lost my love and respect for him, and I'm sure he never stopped loving and caring for me, no matter what. As I went out in the world and they grew older, my father and I grew closer, realizing how much we had been through and how much we really had in common. He was plagued with a case of gout in his ankle, and I remember him hobbling around the house and I would tease him for having the "rich man's disease," as gout was called. I remember joining them on vacation in Las Vegas, which they thought was the most glamorous and exciting place on earth, and we had lots and lots of good time. While I never regarded my father as an equal, I began to think of him as somewhat of a peer and a very good friend, and it only served to enhance our relationship on deeper, unexpected levels. We would talk often on the phone, and I really miss not being able to call him up and chat with him.
My father died on January 1st, 2001, of congestive heart failure. It snowed in Pennsylvania the day of his funeral, but it wasn't a gray, dismal kind of snow. Innumerable huge white snowflakes drifted down from a bright sky, spinning and pirouetting as they fell. It was a unique and special day, a fitting farewell for a unique person. My dad has always been a rock, a compass in my life, and a beacon of love and understanding. He taught me, by example, of what it truly means to be a man. Just as I said goodbye to him on a bright, shining day, I look forward to seeing him again, on another bright, shining day.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
A Patch of Violets - Part 1
This is an excerpt from my book in progress, "Songs of Abundance and Beauty: The Stories of Josiah."
You know when you first wake up in the morning and you just start to stir a little bit – your body is beginning to wake up, but your brain is still a little bit slow? I like to think of it as a foggy morning inside your head. You don’t know what’s going on around you but you’re so comfortable, all curled up snoozing, that you really don’t care.
“Hey Josiah!” The little voice came bouncing off the rough, wooden walls of the barn as the first morning light crept into the hay-filled corners and crevices. “Are you up yet?”
I slowly opened my eyes a little bit. I knew it was the voice of my little friend Zachary. Zack is a young bunny about half my age, who always was the first one up in the morning and ready to go out and play before anyone else.
“Zack,” I said, lifting up my ears. “You have to be quiet, you’re going to wake everyone else up!” He ran over to my sleeping area, a soft pile of hay underneath a wooden ledge that held some old flower pots made of reddish brown earth. “Everybody should be up!” he declared, with the little twist to his voice which made him always sound like he was asking a question. “It’s getting light outside, the sun is coming up! Come out and see.”
With a backwards-kick of his rear legs, Zack ran around in a small circle in front of my bed a couple of times to make sure I was getting up, and then bounced out the partially open door of the barn to the yard. I got up, did a big stretch punctuated with a big yawn at the end of it, and followed him outside.
Sure enough, the sun was just waking up, still covered with its blanket of clouds behind the big hills to the east. It was already painting the sky above it with highlights of red and orange, a touch of gold here and there. The very highest leaves of the big trees in the distance were also being touched with golden light. I so love to see the tree leaves in the morning light. I sat up on my back legs and sniffed the cool, fresh air. Then I turned all the way around and saw Grandfather Moon, a big round ball of pale yellow, floating low in the greenish-blue sky above the green, misty fields. He looked like a wise old rabbit to me, tired and heading for his burrow, ready to go to sleep.
“Good night, Grandfather Moon,” I said quietly, although I was sure he could hear me. “I will see you again soon.”
Meanwhile Zack was running and jumping and kicking up a little bit of dust. “Isn’t it a great morning, Josiah?” he said. He almost sounded like a little bird, he was so happy and delighted. Some of the other rabbits were beginning to wake up and amble around the yard, looking for their morning nibble.
“Come on, Josiah,” he called out. “Let’s race over to the far side of the yard before the others get there. I’ll bet there are some sweet, young leaves and new grass to eat!” He took off like a shot, scaring a couple of birds who were sitting in a nearby tree, and I took off too, following him in a zig-zag fashion.
Turns out, some other bunnies had gotten there before we did. There is a big area in the corner of the yard where we live that is full of plants and little shrubs, with big tree branches hanging overhead. Everybody loves to go there and look around for tasty things to munch on. It is a pretty safe area for us, with shelter and places to hide. If some of the bad flying things come around, the four-legged creatures who live on the other side of the fence start running around and making a huge racket, so we know we have to be very cautious and hide. Those big animals are very noisy and they all have really bad breath, but they can occasionally be useful.
But me, I like the area because I can look through the fence to what is outside. I have never been outside; it looks like a beautiful place but also a little dangerous. I hear weird noises coming from there every so often, along with some very interesting and exotic smells which I can’t identify. It’s a little bit frightening sometimes but I can’t help but be intrigued by it. I spend a lot of time thinking what it would be like to be out there, away from everyone and the food and the nice safe barn to sleep in. I think it would be a tough place to live, but still, I can’t help wanting to go out there and see. I know I shouldn’t think about it, and a lot of the old lady bunnies here scold me and tell me I would be crazy to do it, but I really want to see what is out there, so near yet so far away.
While Zack was busy stuffing his face with sweet grass, I was nibbling on some spearmint minding my own business when I noticed a group of bunnies nearby. One of them was a brown and white girl bunny I had seen a couple of times before. She was one of a litter of babies born right before the last lightdark, and they were growing up and leaving the care of their mother. There is something about her that I really like, and I don’t know what it is. I would never tell anyone how I feel because then you get teased to within an inch of your life and the bunny that you like thinks you are really pathetic, but I still feel there is something special about her. I love the way her mouth is shaped and she has the most beautiful dark eyes. I don’t see her smile much but when she does it’s like a light turns on. Her face is just perfect and I don’t know why. I have to be careful that no one sees me staring at her because that would end badly for both of us, but it’s hard not to.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t wander over to her to get a better look and see what she’s eating. So that’s what I do, I mosey on over in her direction and am a little surprised when I see that she’s not really eating anything, but staring at a little clump of dark blue wildflowers growing the grass. I get closer to her and try to think of something to say to her. I couldn’t think of anything clever so I just blurted something out.
“Are you going to eat those?” I asked, and right after I did I thought I was the biggest idiot in the world. I wouldn’t blame her if she gave me a loud thump and ran away.
She looked up at me and I noticed she had some really long, long eyelashes. They were gorgeous! Even if she told me to get lost, it was worth it to get this close.
She looked up and said, “Oh no, I’m not going to eat these. I just like to look at them, they are my favorites.”
I didn’t understand how you could look at a tasty plant and not eat it, but I had to be careful because I didn’t want her to think I was some kind of slob.
“Do you know what they are called?” I asked, trying to do anything to get her to talk to me. I was so excited!
“My mother told me they are called zinthann in bunny language, but I heard one of the humans call them ‘violets.” She put her head down and touched one of the flowers with her nose, and I thought I was going to pass out.
“My name is Josiah,” I said. I don’t know why I said that, because I couldn’t think of anything to say afterward. But before I could continue, she said, “I know who you are, I have seen you around the barn and the yard.”
That kind of took me aback a little, I had no idea that she had even noticed me. “I remember seeing you and your mother and your brothers and sisters in that place in the barn next to the big round thing.”
A very small look of sadness seemed to cross her face and I was very afraid that I had said something wrong.
“I remember being there,” she said quietly. “We always had a good time there and we were happy. Now Mama doesn’t have much to do with us anymore, and some of my brothers and sisters have already been taken away, so I try not to think about it too much.
I hadn’t realized that some of her brothers and sisters were gone. That’s what happens around here, you get used to seeing certain bunnies and then one day some humans come into the barn, grab a couple of them and then leave. You rarely if ever seen them again, and if you do see them again they are changed and very different from the way they used to be, and usually not in a good way.
I knew I had to think fast and change the subject to something a little more pleasant, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I was desperate, and desperation makes you do stupid stuff.
“I saw Grandfather Moon this morning!” I said, and immediately regretted it.
Without even a pause, she said, “I saw him too. I love looking at him.” Somehow she made me feel at ease and not as much of a moron as I thought I was.
Relaxing a little bit and taking a breath, I said, “I just realized I don’t know your name.” She looked at me and gave me the tiniest little smile. “My name is Lila,” she said.
I felt like I had just been given a really wonderful gift. “It was nice talking to you, Lila. I hope we can talk again.”
“So do I, Josiah,” and at that point we both resumed what we were doing and gradually mingled in with the other bunnies.
I spent a lot of time thinking about Lila and even though our conversation was short, she really impressed me. She was just so sweet and self-aware and maybe a little bit sad, but I could not stop thinking about her. I couldn’t stop thinking about what was outside on the other side of the fence, either. I thought about that day and night, and every time I went outside my eyes were drawn to the distant world out there. Something was calling me, telling me I had to leave and find out what it had in store for me.
Some days later I decided I couldn’t stand it any longer and had to find out more about the outside world. I had overheard some bunnies talking about an older male bunny whom they said actually got out and spent time in the outside world on his own, before the humans somehow found him and brought him back to where we live. His name is Hector, and he is a big, gruff, unpleasant guy who spends all his time by himself and doesn’t have much to say to anyone. The other bunnies say he’s not that old but he looks old. I see him every so often and like everyone else, I don’t have anything to do with him; but I figured out that if I was going to find out anything about the places beyond the fence, I would have to talk to him.
I had to be cagey about the whole thing and approach him cautiously. If I came on too strong he would just kick me and I wouldn’t want that at all. So one afternoon I saw him sitting outside, alone as usual, and carefully, slowly, walked up to him, my ears against my back, showing as much respect as possible. I decided to greet him in the traditional rabbit fashion.
“May wellness and joy be upon you, sir,” I said meekly. A lot of the younger bunnies think that addressing the adult bunnies in the old-fashioned way is pretty lame, but I know they appreciate it.
Hector just glared at me with his dull brown eyes. He said nothing but I thought I heard a little grunt. Taking heart in not getting beat up immediately, I proceeded cautiously.
“May I ask you a couple of questions, please, sir?” I said. I put my ears and head down. It was now completely up to him, he was in control of the situation.
He glared like he was really angry at me and I thought, I am a goner. It was so quiet I could hear the wind through the trees over the fence. After what seemed like forever, he said to me in a deep, gravelly voice, “Why are you bothering me?”
I stayed completely scrunched against the ground, as respectful as possible. “Well, sir, my name is Josiah and -“
“I know who you are!” he bellowed. “Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?”
Trying not to act completely terrified, I stammered out, “N-No, sir, I..."
“I’ve been here long enough that I know everybody,” he snapped. “At least you have enough sense not to hang out with that pack of hooligans that are always getting into trouble around here.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. I really felt scared and confused, and I didn’t know what I could possibly say to make things better. So I said nothing.
After a short while (which seemed like forever) he finally said harshly, “What is it that you want to ask? Come on boy, spit it out. I don’t have all day to waste, waiting for you to think of something to say.”
I regarded this as a positive development. I figured that things could go south at any second so I better make my case and make it well.
“Sir,” I said, “I think a lot about what is out there, on the other side of the big fence. I don’t know what’s there but I feel I have to find out. I have heard that you have been there, on the outside, and I wonder if you could please tell me what you saw.”
Hector lifted his head a little bit, I think to make me feel even more inferior than I already did, and said nothing for a few seconds.
“So you want to know what is outside the fence?” he said, a little derisively. “You’re a nosy little thing, aren’t you?”
I couldn’t deny that, but I said nothing. I kept looking straight ahead at his front paws, all dirty and caked in mud, with cracked toenails.
“Are you thinking of taking a little excursion, young Josiah?” he asked bluntly. “Is that why you’re asking?”
“Well, yes, I mean, no, sir. I-I mean…” I was really getting rattled and I felt everything falling apart in front of me. “I don’t know exactly what I mean, sir.”
Still glaring at me with his dusty, cloudy eyes, he said, “If you’re smart, you’ll stop thinking about the outside and just be happy to stay where you are. The outside world is a mean, harsh place where you have to search very hard for your food and water, they aren’t just served up to you every day like here. It is cold and damp, and the ground is hard and rocky. You are very lucky if you can find a place to live that isn’t crawling with every sort of horrible creature that all want to have you for dinner, and I don’t mean as a guest.” He shifted his weight a little bit and I could tell he was starting to get agitated.
“When you’re outside, death can be waiting for you around every bush or tree,” he continued. “You never know when something is going to jump out at you or grab you from the sky, and break your back or tear out all your guts. That can happen in a second, before you even know it. As a matter of fact, it’s better if you don’t even know when it happens.”
I just crouched there and trembled in fear. “What did I get myself into?” I thought to myself. Hector continued in his deep, mean voice.
“You will watch other animals die all around you, and wonder if you’ll be next. You will see other rabbits, but they are born to live in the outside. They will shun you and attack you, and run you out of their territory because you have the mark of the humans on you. You will be very lonely and think you are the only rabbit in the world.” He stopped and gave me an icy cold look. “Is this the kind of world you want to go to?”
I didn’t know what to say to him. He stopped talking and took a slow breath.
“Listen carefully, and know this,” the grizzled rabbit said, fixing me with his piercing gaze. “If you want the have the world outside, you will have to give up something you have now. That’s how things work - everything is in balance. To get something you must give something up. Choose wisely, young Josiah, because what you get in return for giving up something you have may be, in the end, not what you really wanted at all.”
I felt like my feet were frozen to the ground. I could not move and was barely able to breathe. The old man turned to look over at the fence.
“I will tell you one more thing,” he said, a bit more calmly, "and then you will leave. If you go outside the fence, you will feel something, something that will change you and your life forever. It is something that will make you jump and run like crazy. It will make you dance for no reason, even if you’re feeling poorly, and make you want to put up with every horrible, terrible thing that will come your way. You will taste something that will transform your life and everything will be different afterward.”
I was scared and intrigued at the same time. Somehow I found my voice to ask him one last question.
“What is it that I will taste, that will change my life so much?” I asked very apprehensively.
Hector glared at me with cold, hard eyes that had seen far too many bad things. I had no idea what he was going to tell me, and I was very surprised when he said but a single word:
“Freedom.”
To be continued...
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