[Update, 5.4.06: Welcome Daily Kos visitors. I would merely point out that the post you've been linked to is something of an anomaly here at Contratimes. In fact, it marks the very first time, I believe, that I have referred to Ms. Malkin in the 13 months this blog has been in existence. So, please, do not be tempted to reduce me, Contratimes, or Contratimes readers to something rather, well, trollish. We are more than that; just like you are more than labels hurled at you. Peace. This is a safe place, even if you disagree with everything here. You will be treated with kindness, fairness, and openness. Here is a decent entry point, or here (even better).]
I would like to thank WICatholic for directing me this morning to Michelle Malkin's new venture, Hot Air. I am quite, well, amped about it. Good for Ms. Malkin.
One interesting thing: Ms. Malkin seems to feel the same as I do about the Google/Current TV venture, though her link to it, shown in her sidebar, is titled the rather strong "Evil Google Current." While I've not gone so far as to suggest evil, I at least share with her a cautious spirit about it all.
Peace.
Gnade
Friday, April 28, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
My Underdog Is Better Than Yours
No matter how vicious a character in a film might have been, no matter how bloodthirsty or brutal were his deeds, my mother would moan at the climactic moment of justice, "I just hate to see anyone get hurt!" When the tables were turned on the mighty, when the powerful suddenly became powerless, my mother found mercy the only proper response: she could not countenance the judgment brought upon the head of the sudden underdog, regardless of how mercilessly victorious he had often been.
This propensity to root for the underdog, to cheer despite how vile he's been as the top dog or how long he has sat atop the pack, is a very curious thing, not merely because so many people possess it, but because everyone does. Whether we are rooting for the lowly Tampa Devil Rays over the mighty New York Yankees (compare their payrolls); whether we would like to see some unknown beat Lance Armstrong in the Tour de France or Tiger Woods in nearly any tournament, we like the underdog. The little guy in the boxing ring; David before Goliath; the mom-and-pop store on the corner of Main and Progress: underdogs are a glory to behold, especially when they win. Remember the 1980 Winter Olympics, when the United States ice hockey team toppled the great dominater, the Soviet Union? Seeing the small and weak defeat the mighty and the privileged, well, it is the stuff of dreams, of drama, of literature. The unnoticed suitor before the obtuse princess in love with the wrong man; the little boy who wins the heart of a football squad; Tiny Tim breaking Scrooge's heart with a smile; this fills our yearnings, our fantasies.
But just as we are in love with losers who become winners, we are also in love with winners who never lose. After all, it is hard not to root for the best. It is hard not to want Tiger Woods to raise the bar even higher. It is hard not to hope Lance Armstrong pedals victorious down the Champs Élysées one more time, if only to let us witness the feats of gods. Greatness is to be adored; we adored Michael Jordan because he blew our minds, and we simply did not want him to ever stop, or even touch the ground.
Surely there is a psychological reason for this complexity of allegiance and awe, with our hearts humbled by greatness and yet strengthened by the even greater feats of the weak over the mighty. I, for one, am neither qualified nor able to make sense of its origins. Perhaps it all has something to do with the evolutionary past; perhaps it is the very image of God stamped in the heart of each person. But if there is a psychological reason for the praise of the underdog, does this manifest itself religiously or politically? It seems evident that it would. For indeed, at least in the wake of Christian history, there might be those who have empathy for Judas Iscariot, or some other such personage who lived so ignominiously, like King Saul, Pharaoh, or even Goliath. Mick Jagger, after all, had sympathy for the devil, a creature thoroughly beat upon by the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob. Victors and kings, no matter how good or lovely, are often demonized, for they always celebrate: As my father would say as he rooted against the Yankees, "It would be nice to see someone else win once in awhile." For some, even the devil needs a victory lap every now and then.
This propensity to root for the underdog, to cheer despite how vile he's been as the top dog or how long he has sat atop the pack, is a very curious thing, not merely because so many people possess it, but because everyone does. Whether we are rooting for the lowly Tampa Devil Rays over the mighty New York Yankees (compare their payrolls); whether we would like to see some unknown beat Lance Armstrong in the Tour de France or Tiger Woods in nearly any tournament, we like the underdog. The little guy in the boxing ring; David before Goliath; the mom-and-pop store on the corner of Main and Progress: underdogs are a glory to behold, especially when they win. Remember the 1980 Winter Olympics, when the United States ice hockey team toppled the great dominater, the Soviet Union? Seeing the small and weak defeat the mighty and the privileged, well, it is the stuff of dreams, of drama, of literature. The unnoticed suitor before the obtuse princess in love with the wrong man; the little boy who wins the heart of a football squad; Tiny Tim breaking Scrooge's heart with a smile; this fills our yearnings, our fantasies.
But just as we are in love with losers who become winners, we are also in love with winners who never lose. After all, it is hard not to root for the best. It is hard not to want Tiger Woods to raise the bar even higher. It is hard not to hope Lance Armstrong pedals victorious down the Champs Élysées one more time, if only to let us witness the feats of gods. Greatness is to be adored; we adored Michael Jordan because he blew our minds, and we simply did not want him to ever stop, or even touch the ground.
Surely there is a psychological reason for this complexity of allegiance and awe, with our hearts humbled by greatness and yet strengthened by the even greater feats of the weak over the mighty. I, for one, am neither qualified nor able to make sense of its origins. Perhaps it all has something to do with the evolutionary past; perhaps it is the very image of God stamped in the heart of each person. But if there is a psychological reason for the praise of the underdog, does this manifest itself religiously or politically? It seems evident that it would. For indeed, at least in the wake of Christian history, there might be those who have empathy for Judas Iscariot, or some other such personage who lived so ignominiously, like King Saul, Pharaoh, or even Goliath. Mick Jagger, after all, had sympathy for the devil, a creature thoroughly beat upon by the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob. Victors and kings, no matter how good or lovely, are often demonized, for they always celebrate: As my father would say as he rooted against the Yankees, "It would be nice to see someone else win once in awhile." For some, even the devil needs a victory lap every now and then.
***
Politically, the underdog phenomenon is tremendous, and it is evident in nearly every word the common men speak on matters of state. For the blue-state critics of George W. Bush, he is a silver-spoon candidate weaned on wealth and swaddled in Ivy-League legacies: he is the rich, now getting richer. For his red-state supporters, he is an underdog: ineloquent, common in every way, of plain stock, the common stock of the American Dream. Bush is besieged by media who abhor him; and he is defended by those who see the bully not in the pulpit, but in the press corps. (That John Kerry was unable to fully exploit in 2004 the underdog phenomenon is clear. Perhaps many Americans realized that, if Bush is a man of privilege, people like Kerry wipe their chins with such privilege. Though both men attended an esteemed university, Kerry supporters got little traction denouncing Bush's alleged academic mediocrity while he studied at Yale; it perhaps only made Bush look all the more undercut. What glorious irony to learn after the 2004 election that Kerry was actually the worse student at Yale!)
To certain Americans, mainly those who have achieved a level of economic stability commensurate with their own American dreams, with trust funds and homes pressed along the country's coastlines, America is never the underdog on the world stage, and it is time someone else was given a chance to win. Many blue-staters, I am afraid to say, truly do see America's greatness, and hence they root for anyone but America (and surely anyone but Bush). These blue-staters' love of the underdog manifests itself in denouncing "tax cuts for the rich", in celebrating open immigration, in opposing wars against smaller nations. To some blue-staters, it was America's greatness that brought it deservedly to its knees on Sept. 11, 2001.
Red-staters, of course, see things differently. They root for America not really because they think it is the Tiger Woods of nations (they do think that, to a degree); they root for America because they see it as a vulnerable underdog with a heart and a heartland that are unique in the world of tyranny, communism, fascism. Country music fans know that American pride is held to tenuously; there is a thin, fraying strand preventing the bully of the world from tearing down the curtains to the only floor-to-ceiling democracy on the planet. Moreover, red state calls for "Buy American" are not jingoistic, egotistical pomposities; they are a call to remember the little man and woman– underdogs all–grinding out meager existences in the face of global pressures.
I have tried to make a complete distinction between liberal and conservative (in America) in the pages of this blog. None strikes me as accurate as this: Conservatives believe America is the underdog on the world stage (an underdog that is a beacon and a strength), and liberals believe everyone outside of America is that beleaguered canine. Both, of course, see America's greatness: Conservatives see what has made and makes America great, and they pine for it; while liberals often see only what will make America great. The former love a fact, the latter love an ideal, even a theory. The conservatives love their family -- dying as it may be (just like all great families do) -- though they hope for a vibrant, vital legacy; liberals love their family too, but will only love it more if it goes for therapy. The conservative takes umbrage with outsiders (and insiders) critical of his parents; the liberal takes umbrage if no one else is as critical of his parents as he. (Of course, both views might be wrong.)
To liberals, Bush America is Bully America: it is the America that deserves terrorism. A liberal America, a Baruch Obama-America perhaps (with Neil Young as press secretary [check out the lyrics]), will make the progressive critics of America love their country again; will cause them to root for it with some enthusiasm; and will no doubt keep it safe from violence simply by turning its kind, diplomatic, and reasonable cheek.
To conservatives, Bush America is Bullied America: it is the America mocked in letters and journals (and songs) in urbane language printed in nearly every blue-state market, and on countless presses around the globe. Even middle American unions feel vulnerable, as more and more blue-staters root for the underdog by buying foreign cars (which political party, do you think, at least along the coasts, is more likely to buy a foreign car?), effectively extinguishing thousands of heartland auto-industry jobs. Conservatives feel the pinch; they see how quickly this all can disappear, this freedom to be productive or not; this freedom to be a capitalist between friends or between nations; this freedom to be great, even the greatest, without shame, or penalty.
Both political temperaments, of course, are patriotic. But one is patriotic of the future, enamored of a better America. The other is patriotic of the here and now; grateful for what is, proud of what has been.
Which world is the underdog? Is it John Kerry's world, all $500,000, 000 of it? Is it George W. Bush's, all $50 million of it? Is it the world of Al Franken, or Rush Limbaugh? Is it the world of Green Day or George Strait; Barbra Streisand or Laura Ingraham? Is it the world of us versus them, or is it the world somewhere in between, the world most of us know? You know the world we know––that 'one nation, underdog.'
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Red State, Blue State, Bush, Kerry
Politically, the underdog phenomenon is tremendous, and it is evident in nearly every word the common men speak on matters of state. For the blue-state critics of George W. Bush, he is a silver-spoon candidate weaned on wealth and swaddled in Ivy-League legacies: he is the rich, now getting richer. For his red-state supporters, he is an underdog: ineloquent, common in every way, of plain stock, the common stock of the American Dream. Bush is besieged by media who abhor him; and he is defended by those who see the bully not in the pulpit, but in the press corps. (That John Kerry was unable to fully exploit in 2004 the underdog phenomenon is clear. Perhaps many Americans realized that, if Bush is a man of privilege, people like Kerry wipe their chins with such privilege. Though both men attended an esteemed university, Kerry supporters got little traction denouncing Bush's alleged academic mediocrity while he studied at Yale; it perhaps only made Bush look all the more undercut. What glorious irony to learn after the 2004 election that Kerry was actually the worse student at Yale!)
To certain Americans, mainly those who have achieved a level of economic stability commensurate with their own American dreams, with trust funds and homes pressed along the country's coastlines, America is never the underdog on the world stage, and it is time someone else was given a chance to win. Many blue-staters, I am afraid to say, truly do see America's greatness, and hence they root for anyone but America (and surely anyone but Bush). These blue-staters' love of the underdog manifests itself in denouncing "tax cuts for the rich", in celebrating open immigration, in opposing wars against smaller nations. To some blue-staters, it was America's greatness that brought it deservedly to its knees on Sept. 11, 2001.
Red-staters, of course, see things differently. They root for America not really because they think it is the Tiger Woods of nations (they do think that, to a degree); they root for America because they see it as a vulnerable underdog with a heart and a heartland that are unique in the world of tyranny, communism, fascism. Country music fans know that American pride is held to tenuously; there is a thin, fraying strand preventing the bully of the world from tearing down the curtains to the only floor-to-ceiling democracy on the planet. Moreover, red state calls for "Buy American" are not jingoistic, egotistical pomposities; they are a call to remember the little man and woman– underdogs all–grinding out meager existences in the face of global pressures.
I have tried to make a complete distinction between liberal and conservative (in America) in the pages of this blog. None strikes me as accurate as this: Conservatives believe America is the underdog on the world stage (an underdog that is a beacon and a strength), and liberals believe everyone outside of America is that beleaguered canine. Both, of course, see America's greatness: Conservatives see what has made and makes America great, and they pine for it; while liberals often see only what will make America great. The former love a fact, the latter love an ideal, even a theory. The conservatives love their family -- dying as it may be (just like all great families do) -- though they hope for a vibrant, vital legacy; liberals love their family too, but will only love it more if it goes for therapy. The conservative takes umbrage with outsiders (and insiders) critical of his parents; the liberal takes umbrage if no one else is as critical of his parents as he. (Of course, both views might be wrong.)
To liberals, Bush America is Bully America: it is the America that deserves terrorism. A liberal America, a Baruch Obama-America perhaps (with Neil Young as press secretary [check out the lyrics]), will make the progressive critics of America love their country again; will cause them to root for it with some enthusiasm; and will no doubt keep it safe from violence simply by turning its kind, diplomatic, and reasonable cheek.
To conservatives, Bush America is Bullied America: it is the America mocked in letters and journals (and songs) in urbane language printed in nearly every blue-state market, and on countless presses around the globe. Even middle American unions feel vulnerable, as more and more blue-staters root for the underdog by buying foreign cars (which political party, do you think, at least along the coasts, is more likely to buy a foreign car?), effectively extinguishing thousands of heartland auto-industry jobs. Conservatives feel the pinch; they see how quickly this all can disappear, this freedom to be productive or not; this freedom to be a capitalist between friends or between nations; this freedom to be great, even the greatest, without shame, or penalty.
Both political temperaments, of course, are patriotic. But one is patriotic of the future, enamored of a better America. The other is patriotic of the here and now; grateful for what is, proud of what has been.
Which world is the underdog? Is it John Kerry's world, all $500,000, 000 of it? Is it George W. Bush's, all $50 million of it? Is it the world of Al Franken, or Rush Limbaugh? Is it the world of Green Day or George Strait; Barbra Streisand or Laura Ingraham? Is it the world of us versus them, or is it the world somewhere in between, the world most of us know? You know the world we know––that 'one nation, underdog.'
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Red State, Blue State, Bush, Kerry
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
More Mindblogging Than Ever
[Forgive the delay between posts: there was a disturbance in the Force, so to speak. Since my post of Friday regarding blogging, "disinhibition" and the future of the Internet prompted some good comments (and at least one link), I thought I would continue on this rather interesting and timely subject.]
As I mentioned in There Is No Disinhibition Here: Blogging The Mind, former US vice president Al Gore has been instrumental in creating Current TV, an independently owned and operated news and documentary channel. In fact, Mr. Gore is the chairman of that new network.
I bring to your attention Mr. Gore's October 5, 2005 speech given near the launch date of Current; a speech delivered to the Associated Press. In that fine oration Mr. Gore both laments and lambasts the loss of democracy in much if not most of the media today.
Gore holds up this marketplace of ideas as something wonderful and ancient (he journeys to classical Rome and Athens to bolster his point); he believes that a true democracy must maintain this marketplace by fair means, by the "Rule of Reason." With a quick overview of how that marketplace has been handed down through the generations, primarily through print media, radio and then television, Gore reacts strongly to the consolidation of power in the TV media, calling it a restructuring, even destruction of that democratic marketplace of thought:
To fully understand Gore's answer to this destruction one must read his piece. Suffice it to say that Gore in a sense has placed a framework over the Internet: He wants opinions to be controlled, not by those who control TV stations and news presses, but through the real market of all-out competition: those deemed most popular will to rise to the top, in an "emergent meritocracy of ideas." This marketplace is the Internet; and the outlet, ultimately, is Current TV.
Those of you who will take the time to be informed by Gore's speech should discern the irony of Al Gore's remarks, even his worldview. For Mr. Gore laments the consolidation of power within media, particularly TV media; and yet his answer to that is to turn to the most consolidating power (perhaps) on the planet, Google. Lest we forget, Current TV is a joint venture between Mr. Gore's TV studio and the world's most powerful and popular search engine.
As I mentioned in There Is No Disinhibition Here: Blogging The Mind, former US vice president Al Gore has been instrumental in creating Current TV, an independently owned and operated news and documentary channel. In fact, Mr. Gore is the chairman of that new network.
I bring to your attention Mr. Gore's October 5, 2005 speech given near the launch date of Current; a speech delivered to the Associated Press. In that fine oration Mr. Gore both laments and lambasts the loss of democracy in much if not most of the media today.
I came here today because I believe that American democracy is in grave danger. It is no longer possible to ignore the strangeness of our public discourse . I know that I am not the only one who feels that something has gone basically and badly wrong in the way America's fabled "marketplace of ideas" now functions. ...
Gore holds up this marketplace of ideas as something wonderful and ancient (he journeys to classical Rome and Athens to bolster his point); he believes that a true democracy must maintain this marketplace by fair means, by the "Rule of Reason." With a quick overview of how that marketplace has been handed down through the generations, primarily through print media, radio and then television, Gore reacts strongly to the consolidation of power in the TV media, calling it a restructuring, even destruction of that democratic marketplace of thought:
And here is my point: it is the destruction of that marketplace of ideas that accounts for the "strangeness" that now continually haunts our efforts to reason together about the choices we must make as a nation.
Whether it is called a Public Forum, or a "Public Sphere", or a marketplace of ideas, the reality of open and free public discussion and debate was considered central to the operation of our democracy in America's earliest decades.
Those of you who will take the time to be informed by Gore's speech should discern the irony of Al Gore's remarks, even his worldview. For Mr. Gore laments the consolidation of power within media, particularly TV media; and yet his answer to that is to turn to the most consolidating power (perhaps) on the planet, Google. Lest we forget, Current TV is a joint venture between Mr. Gore's TV studio and the world's most powerful and popular search engine.
***
Permit me to comment on my very first encounter with Current TV. It was late last fall or early winter. I tuned into a "Zeitgeist" moment, I believe, a scheduled break in programming in which a Google spokesman was discussing the most popular searches on Google the morning of September 11, 2001. The Google page at this link decribes some of the trends during that desperate, terrifying week (before and after). It is worth studying, though it is not quite as interesting as the young man noted on Current, as he listed searches that were popular right up until the first plane hit the North Tower in lower Manhattan. I find it amazing that by the end of the week of September 11, Nostradamus was the number one search query on Google. Curiously, though Current TV's own FAQ section says it is non-partisan (Al Gore is chairman, after all), the Google spokesperson ended his commentary with this (I paraphrase): It is interesting to note that after September 11 no one was querying for links between Saddam Hussein and the 9/11 attacks. That this statement is factual and yet is offered in an allegedly "non-partisan" way is, to say the least, a distortion of language. But let's forgive it. For now.
What, really, is Google? It is a tool, indeed, for those of us on this side of the keyboard. But what is it on the other side, on the underbelly of the Internet? It also is a tool: it is a tool of incredible power, for it is truly omniscient regarding Internet use, knowing everything each of us queries, enters, posts, deletes. It is watching, shaping not only efficiency protocols to assist us, but marketing protocols to assist those who want to directly market products to each of us. Imagine that not only does Google know our queries, it owns Blogger, and thus is a repository for opinion, analysis, and too-often intensely personal data; and it also owns Gmail, where it reportedly screens every email so as to more finely-tune its marketing strategies (and Gmail deletes nothing, apparently). Some folks, of course, find this all rather creepy. Amazingly, most of us permit such creepiness without a word of complaint (yet we shout loud about President Bush's "domestic" wiretapping, while this [dated] report suggests that Google may be in breach of wiretapping laws.).
My point in belaboring this is simple: Al Gore has found the perfect means of consolidating media power by using the Internet, and our Google behaviors, for shaping opinions, news, and markets. Moreover, with Google owning Blogger, it is evident that Google holds the power to promote some blogs over others, as it in fact does on its "Blogs of Note" sidebar offered to Blogger members. Who, pray tell, really determines a blog of note? Is it notable because it is popular, or is it made popular by being noted? In other words, is it really true that some ideas, or some opinion-makers, are promoted democratically? Who knows?
Please, this is not about me either being paranoid or resentful. It is about asking an intelligent question of Al Gore and his Plan: Is Mr. Gore actually creating a monstrous, powerful tool that is shaped not by events on the ground, like REAL news in REAL time in REAL history, but by the actions of keyboard queries, blog discussions, and any other manner of elusive (and potentially nefarious) digital activity? Is Mr. Gore's enterprise actually just another form of control, though disguised as liberty? Is Mr. Gore really just one or two steps ahead of the rest of us, proclaiming "democracy" when he actually intends to suppress it; to subdue it by silencing, marginalizing or otherwise rendering someone extraneous whose views do not achieve the elevated status his plan gives mere lip-service to? If certain blogs are not of note, are certain truths, certain people, certain lives similarly unnotable?
Do with this as you will. I have offered nothing much. I have (at least) merely pointed out Mr. Gore's glaring contradiction: he has turned to the consolidation of power to wrest from others what he believes is too much power. And what if Gore is wrong? What if it is his venture that portends the death of democracy?
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Al Gore, Current, Google, Democracy
What, really, is Google? It is a tool, indeed, for those of us on this side of the keyboard. But what is it on the other side, on the underbelly of the Internet? It also is a tool: it is a tool of incredible power, for it is truly omniscient regarding Internet use, knowing everything each of us queries, enters, posts, deletes. It is watching, shaping not only efficiency protocols to assist us, but marketing protocols to assist those who want to directly market products to each of us. Imagine that not only does Google know our queries, it owns Blogger, and thus is a repository for opinion, analysis, and too-often intensely personal data; and it also owns Gmail, where it reportedly screens every email so as to more finely-tune its marketing strategies (and Gmail deletes nothing, apparently). Some folks, of course, find this all rather creepy. Amazingly, most of us permit such creepiness without a word of complaint (yet we shout loud about President Bush's "domestic" wiretapping, while this [dated] report suggests that Google may be in breach of wiretapping laws.).
My point in belaboring this is simple: Al Gore has found the perfect means of consolidating media power by using the Internet, and our Google behaviors, for shaping opinions, news, and markets. Moreover, with Google owning Blogger, it is evident that Google holds the power to promote some blogs over others, as it in fact does on its "Blogs of Note" sidebar offered to Blogger members. Who, pray tell, really determines a blog of note? Is it notable because it is popular, or is it made popular by being noted? In other words, is it really true that some ideas, or some opinion-makers, are promoted democratically? Who knows?
Please, this is not about me either being paranoid or resentful. It is about asking an intelligent question of Al Gore and his Plan: Is Mr. Gore actually creating a monstrous, powerful tool that is shaped not by events on the ground, like REAL news in REAL time in REAL history, but by the actions of keyboard queries, blog discussions, and any other manner of elusive (and potentially nefarious) digital activity? Is Mr. Gore's enterprise actually just another form of control, though disguised as liberty? Is Mr. Gore really just one or two steps ahead of the rest of us, proclaiming "democracy" when he actually intends to suppress it; to subdue it by silencing, marginalizing or otherwise rendering someone extraneous whose views do not achieve the elevated status his plan gives mere lip-service to? If certain blogs are not of note, are certain truths, certain people, certain lives similarly unnotable?
Do with this as you will. I have offered nothing much. I have (at least) merely pointed out Mr. Gore's glaring contradiction: he has turned to the consolidation of power to wrest from others what he believes is too much power. And what if Gore is wrong? What if it is his venture that portends the death of democracy?
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Al Gore, Current, Google, Democracy
Friday, April 21, 2006
There Is No Disinhibition Here: Blogging The Mind
Daniel Henninger's Opinion Journal essay is especially noteworthy today. If you are a blogger, or if you are a non-blogger who just can't help but peek in on the blogosphere, you might not only find Henninger's essay engaging, it might even give you pause.
I have already had my identity crisis regarding blogging, and I am now comfortable not only within the medium, I know my rôle: It is indeed performance art and someone has got to do it. (OK. It is more than that. I just wanted to use the word rôle for the sheer fun of using that little doo-dad over the O. Perhaps it is not so much performance art but digital graffiti. Alas, it all makes me rather circumflex. [That's a ridiculous pun.])
Not a few of you might find this prognostication all too prescient. If you have not yet viewed Epic 2014, then I urge you to swig Henninger's piece and chase it with Epic, a short film of considerable impact (it is particularly ominous when listened to with headphones). You can view Epic 2014 (you might need to follow a link or two) rather easily from RobinSloan.com, should my links not work satisfactorily. Then, try Epic 2015 - The Update. My guess is that, after watching these pieces, some of you might even consider to stop blogging altogether. Seriously. I am not suggesting that Epic is accurate. But I am suggesting that it is very interesting.
Earlier this year I asked the writer of the film, via email, why he did not include the new TV network, "Current TV", to his auguries. (In case you do not know, Current is partly the brainchild of Al Gore, and is a marriage between television and Google. It is an amazing thing to watch, particularly when you see how Google uses our Google searches to influence Current's programming and news.) Here is what I asked on January 9, 2006:
Dear Mr. Sloan,
I recently viewed both EPIC Flash pics, and I was impressed. But I am
curious as to why EPIC did not mention Current TV as another part of
the emerging behemoth of information. While it fits under the broader
umbrella of Google, I am surprised the piece did not mention it, as
Current seems to be equally vulnerable to the Orwellian-esque
predictions EPIC offers.
Bill Gnade
And here is the reply:
Hey Bill --
Good question! The real answer is that a) Current didn't exist when we
made the original piece, and b) it's not really big enough to play in
the same arena as Google, Microsoft, Apple, etc.
But you're right -- like any other media company, Current has got to
be smart in the next couple of years...
--
Robin
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Disinhibition, Epic 2014, Blogging, Robin Sloan, Daniel Henninger
I have already had my identity crisis regarding blogging, and I am now comfortable not only within the medium, I know my rôle: It is indeed performance art and someone has got to do it. (OK. It is more than that. I just wanted to use the word rôle for the sheer fun of using that little doo-dad over the O. Perhaps it is not so much performance art but digital graffiti. Alas, it all makes me rather circumflex. [That's a ridiculous pun.])
Not a few of you might find this prognostication all too prescient. If you have not yet viewed Epic 2014, then I urge you to swig Henninger's piece and chase it with Epic, a short film of considerable impact (it is particularly ominous when listened to with headphones). You can view Epic 2014 (you might need to follow a link or two) rather easily from RobinSloan.com, should my links not work satisfactorily. Then, try Epic 2015 - The Update. My guess is that, after watching these pieces, some of you might even consider to stop blogging altogether. Seriously. I am not suggesting that Epic is accurate. But I am suggesting that it is very interesting.
Earlier this year I asked the writer of the film, via email, why he did not include the new TV network, "Current TV", to his auguries. (In case you do not know, Current is partly the brainchild of Al Gore, and is a marriage between television and Google. It is an amazing thing to watch, particularly when you see how Google uses our Google searches to influence Current's programming and news.) Here is what I asked on January 9, 2006:
Dear Mr. Sloan,
I recently viewed both EPIC Flash pics, and I was impressed. But I am
curious as to why EPIC did not mention Current TV as another part of
the emerging behemoth of information. While it fits under the broader
umbrella of Google, I am surprised the piece did not mention it, as
Current seems to be equally vulnerable to the Orwellian-esque
predictions EPIC offers.
Bill Gnade
And here is the reply:
Hey Bill --
Good question! The real answer is that a) Current didn't exist when we
made the original piece, and b) it's not really big enough to play in
the same arena as Google, Microsoft, Apple, etc.
But you're right -- like any other media company, Current has got to
be smart in the next couple of years...
--
Robin
***
Let me know what you think of both Henninger's piece and Epic. I find it all mind-blogging, so to speak.Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Disinhibition, Epic 2014, Blogging, Robin Sloan, Daniel Henninger
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
The Promise Of Restraint
[Again, multiple posts today.]
It is not at all difficult to form an opinion about the two Duke University lacrosse players' indictment for rape. They are innocent men, all. You know, completely innocent until proven guilty. And I will not corrupt the jury pool with wild speculations or impassioned damnations. These guys, in the eyes of American law, are as pure as the driven snow.
My opinion is in no part any suggestion that the alleged victim is not a real victim. She may very well be. But we live in a country (here in the US) that holds dearly to the beautiful belief that indictments are not statements of guilt; and that each of us is above reproach until a judge and jury drop the gavel on our guilt. So the histrionics and posturing around this and all cases are to be avoided, even damned.
In a conversation last night with one of his callers, radio talk show host Jay Severin was somewhat chided for referring to the alleged victim as a "stripper or exotic dancer." The caller attempted to offer other, more suitable descriptions, like "daughter, mother, parent, full-time student." Severin's response to this was rather disappointing, as he suggested that he would continue to describe the victim as a stripper since, he announced, "every major media outlet in the country" was doing the same. That is not much of an answer.
The point of calling the victim a stripper is a good one: It is germane to the whole case. For the only reason the victim was in contact with the lacrosse team was due to her being a stripper; she was not at their party looking for a babysitter or for help with her college classes. This in no way implies that she "asked for" a rape; it merely describes the relation between her and her accused rapists: She is a stripper, and they are her audience.
Of course, I note that seemingly everyone refers to the alleged perpetrators as lacrosse players, though they are also sons, boyfriends, and full-time students. Plus, not only are there suggestions of depravity in the term stripper; there are similar connotations in the words lacrosse player and off-campus party, for we all know how, well, badly jocks can behave when they've had a bit to drink.
If a sniper shoots my father, it would be the odd newspaper indeed that continuously referred to the shooter as a shoe-salesman, even if that is his vocation. "Sniper" would be the commonly used term. But if my dad was killed by a shoe-salesman who squeezed my father's head into a brutally small pair of wing-tips, it would be appropriate to refer to the murderer as the shoe-salesman, irrespective of his domestic or academic background. Similarly, a woman raped while working as a stripper will be called by her professional name exactly the way a (woman) doctor raped in the operating room will be called a surgeon. The term establishes relationship, context, and some sort of framework for understanding.
Restraint, obviously, is in order. I am guilty, I admit, of too often forgetting that the United States gives legal benefit-of-the-doubt to the accused. It may be unfair, it may be unjust. But there seems to be no small amount of wisdom to that very liberal protection. But I hope to turn over a new leaf: From now on I shall try to restrain myself from jumping the gun regarding any legal case. I truly promise to stop befouling that which is held legally sacred by decreeing as just what I cannot possibly know.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Duke Lacrosse, Duke Lacrosse Team, Duke Rape, Reade Seligmann, Collin Finnerty, Duke University
It is not at all difficult to form an opinion about the two Duke University lacrosse players' indictment for rape. They are innocent men, all. You know, completely innocent until proven guilty. And I will not corrupt the jury pool with wild speculations or impassioned damnations. These guys, in the eyes of American law, are as pure as the driven snow.
My opinion is in no part any suggestion that the alleged victim is not a real victim. She may very well be. But we live in a country (here in the US) that holds dearly to the beautiful belief that indictments are not statements of guilt; and that each of us is above reproach until a judge and jury drop the gavel on our guilt. So the histrionics and posturing around this and all cases are to be avoided, even damned.
In a conversation last night with one of his callers, radio talk show host Jay Severin was somewhat chided for referring to the alleged victim as a "stripper or exotic dancer." The caller attempted to offer other, more suitable descriptions, like "daughter, mother, parent, full-time student." Severin's response to this was rather disappointing, as he suggested that he would continue to describe the victim as a stripper since, he announced, "every major media outlet in the country" was doing the same. That is not much of an answer.
The point of calling the victim a stripper is a good one: It is germane to the whole case. For the only reason the victim was in contact with the lacrosse team was due to her being a stripper; she was not at their party looking for a babysitter or for help with her college classes. This in no way implies that she "asked for" a rape; it merely describes the relation between her and her accused rapists: She is a stripper, and they are her audience.
Of course, I note that seemingly everyone refers to the alleged perpetrators as lacrosse players, though they are also sons, boyfriends, and full-time students. Plus, not only are there suggestions of depravity in the term stripper; there are similar connotations in the words lacrosse player and off-campus party, for we all know how, well, badly jocks can behave when they've had a bit to drink.
If a sniper shoots my father, it would be the odd newspaper indeed that continuously referred to the shooter as a shoe-salesman, even if that is his vocation. "Sniper" would be the commonly used term. But if my dad was killed by a shoe-salesman who squeezed my father's head into a brutally small pair of wing-tips, it would be appropriate to refer to the murderer as the shoe-salesman, irrespective of his domestic or academic background. Similarly, a woman raped while working as a stripper will be called by her professional name exactly the way a (woman) doctor raped in the operating room will be called a surgeon. The term establishes relationship, context, and some sort of framework for understanding.
Restraint, obviously, is in order. I am guilty, I admit, of too often forgetting that the United States gives legal benefit-of-the-doubt to the accused. It may be unfair, it may be unjust. But there seems to be no small amount of wisdom to that very liberal protection. But I hope to turn over a new leaf: From now on I shall try to restrain myself from jumping the gun regarding any legal case. I truly promise to stop befouling that which is held legally sacred by decreeing as just what I cannot possibly know.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Duke Lacrosse, Duke Lacrosse Team, Duke Rape, Reade Seligmann, Collin Finnerty, Duke University
On Having No Answers
It is the middle of the Easter season. The Western Church celebrated the Risen Lord this past weekend, while the Eastern (Orthodox) Church turns to the great Easter vigil this coming Saturday night.
What is the big deal, really, about Christ's resurrection? Ignoring the full import of St. Paul's claim that the Christian's faith is sheer vanity if Christ is still in His tomb, is there any value, besides authenticating one's faith, to the idea of resurrection in general? What help is there; what meaning can be gathered in one's arms and carried to one's bedside, or even one's graveside, from the Easter story?
What is the big deal, really, about Christ's resurrection? Ignoring the full import of St. Paul's claim that the Christian's faith is sheer vanity if Christ is still in His tomb, is there any value, besides authenticating one's faith, to the idea of resurrection in general? What help is there; what meaning can be gathered in one's arms and carried to one's bedside, or even one's graveside, from the Easter story?
***
Let us assume that there is no resurrection of any kind; let us assume that there is no God. Let us also assume that life is as good as it gets; that your consciousness begins and ends here; that there is no beyond, that there is no out there, no heaven or bliss or happy state of reincarnate being. Death is as dead as death can be. There is nothing––nor is there the knowledge of nothing––in that sleep which is not sleep at all.
A former professor of mine, Peter Kreeft, introduced me to an article by a philosopher named D.E. Harding†. The essay was entitled "On Having No Head", and it was a pleasant and even whimsical little foray into epistemology, the study of knowledge, of knowing; and ontology, or the study of being, of what is. Without bogging the reader down with details, let me simply say that Harding posited that each of us, at least those of us whose senses are intact, walk not with heads atop our bodies; we walk with the universe atop our shoulders. He suggested that there was no cranial wall between my brain and the sun; the sun––and the moon, stars and the birds outside my window––are carried around with me where I think my head is. They are in me and I am around them. (Perhaps none of this make sense unless one is stoned; but it makes sense to me, and I am quite straight.)
In other words, people are not just people: People are little universes; nay, they are the universe.
Hence, in a sense, when a human dies, the universe dies with them. Death then becomes something prodigal, wasteful, for a universe is lost when each person dies. And all this in light of the fact that each of us is the product of the universe, with all of the force of cosmic history behind us (sort of like "the network" in those Verizon wireless commercials). We are not a few years or decades old: the ringing in your ears is the music of the spheres in the ancient empyrean glory.
Let me then posit point number 1: If there is no resurrection, the universe is a very wasteful place. How else to describe the tossing aside of a Rembrandt or Tolstoy; a Michelangelo or Mother Theresa; a Jesus, or even a child drawing with chalk on a sidewalk?
And now let me posit point number 2: There are no answers without a resurrection.
Let me put it this way. Imagine sitting in a toilet stall in the North Tower of the World Trade Center on the morning of September 11, 2001. Imagine a sudden tumult, a roar, a crushing sound of tremendous reverberation; imagine the lights going out and fire seeping down distorted ceilings and walls; imagine feeling in the dark the heat of hell's infernos pouring down around you, with the building swaying like a tree in the wind. Imagine leaping to your feet to escape, only to discover that the doors won't open; that the noise above has misshapen the building. There is no escape. You hear screams outside the door. Your world is about to end, and you know it, though panic drives you to yell and pound and pull. Smoke fills your lungs, you choke against it, falling low to the floor, a distant smoke alarm sounding too far away.
If this is your death, if this is the ending of your life and the shutting down of your universe, don't you think the universe owes you the courtesy of an explanation as to how you died? Don't you think the universe should answer your panicked questions: Am I the only one who will die here? Is this an earthquake? A bomb? The end of the world? Or do you think the universe which created you will toss you into that great chasm with nary a word?
Well, if you do, then the universe is not only a prodigal mother, she is a cruel one.
You see, without a resurrection, the victims of the World Trade Center attacks will never know the why? or what?; or whether justice was ever meted out. Without resurrection, in fact, there are no answers at all. But don't you think that others, too, like John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr., have a right to know the end of their sad, yet important and transformative stories? Or shall those two great men just be scattered like so much fertilizer to feed more of the universe's vicious tricks?
Furthermore, without resurrection we can never know how life really began, for certain. We can't ever know, with absolute clarity, whether Newton or Einstein or Darwin was right; we will not know whether Jesus really did leave His tomb after dying on a cross. To paraphrase St. Paul, if there be no resurrection, all our hopes are in vain. For there is nothing we will ever know.
Where is Amelia Earhart? Even if she is found today, all those who have died looking for her will never know that answer. Who killed Nicole Simpson? We'll never know, for sure (and she, at least, deserves an answer, no?). What of the little Florida girl, raped for days, only to die buried alive by her monstrous neighbor? Does she deserve no answer, no report of justice, that explains and justifies the wood and dirt beneath her scratching fingernails?
Of course, all this only matters to those who care to have answers, to have closure and certitude and understanding and justice. If one doesn't care for these things, then complaining about the cold, cruel cosmos is a waste of consciousness and time.
***
A former professor of mine, Peter Kreeft, introduced me to an article by a philosopher named D.E. Harding†. The essay was entitled "On Having No Head", and it was a pleasant and even whimsical little foray into epistemology, the study of knowledge, of knowing; and ontology, or the study of being, of what is. Without bogging the reader down with details, let me simply say that Harding posited that each of us, at least those of us whose senses are intact, walk not with heads atop our bodies; we walk with the universe atop our shoulders. He suggested that there was no cranial wall between my brain and the sun; the sun––and the moon, stars and the birds outside my window––are carried around with me where I think my head is. They are in me and I am around them. (Perhaps none of this make sense unless one is stoned; but it makes sense to me, and I am quite straight.)
In other words, people are not just people: People are little universes; nay, they are the universe.
Hence, in a sense, when a human dies, the universe dies with them. Death then becomes something prodigal, wasteful, for a universe is lost when each person dies. And all this in light of the fact that each of us is the product of the universe, with all of the force of cosmic history behind us (sort of like "the network" in those Verizon wireless commercials). We are not a few years or decades old: the ringing in your ears is the music of the spheres in the ancient empyrean glory.
Let me then posit point number 1: If there is no resurrection, the universe is a very wasteful place. How else to describe the tossing aside of a Rembrandt or Tolstoy; a Michelangelo or Mother Theresa; a Jesus, or even a child drawing with chalk on a sidewalk?
And now let me posit point number 2: There are no answers without a resurrection.
Let me put it this way. Imagine sitting in a toilet stall in the North Tower of the World Trade Center on the morning of September 11, 2001. Imagine a sudden tumult, a roar, a crushing sound of tremendous reverberation; imagine the lights going out and fire seeping down distorted ceilings and walls; imagine feeling in the dark the heat of hell's infernos pouring down around you, with the building swaying like a tree in the wind. Imagine leaping to your feet to escape, only to discover that the doors won't open; that the noise above has misshapen the building. There is no escape. You hear screams outside the door. Your world is about to end, and you know it, though panic drives you to yell and pound and pull. Smoke fills your lungs, you choke against it, falling low to the floor, a distant smoke alarm sounding too far away.
If this is your death, if this is the ending of your life and the shutting down of your universe, don't you think the universe owes you the courtesy of an explanation as to how you died? Don't you think the universe should answer your panicked questions: Am I the only one who will die here? Is this an earthquake? A bomb? The end of the world? Or do you think the universe which created you will toss you into that great chasm with nary a word?
Well, if you do, then the universe is not only a prodigal mother, she is a cruel one.
You see, without a resurrection, the victims of the World Trade Center attacks will never know the why? or what?; or whether justice was ever meted out. Without resurrection, in fact, there are no answers at all. But don't you think that others, too, like John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr., have a right to know the end of their sad, yet important and transformative stories? Or shall those two great men just be scattered like so much fertilizer to feed more of the universe's vicious tricks?
Furthermore, without resurrection we can never know how life really began, for certain. We can't ever know, with absolute clarity, whether Newton or Einstein or Darwin was right; we will not know whether Jesus really did leave His tomb after dying on a cross. To paraphrase St. Paul, if there be no resurrection, all our hopes are in vain. For there is nothing we will ever know.
Where is Amelia Earhart? Even if she is found today, all those who have died looking for her will never know that answer. Who killed Nicole Simpson? We'll never know, for sure (and she, at least, deserves an answer, no?). What of the little Florida girl, raped for days, only to die buried alive by her monstrous neighbor? Does she deserve no answer, no report of justice, that explains and justifies the wood and dirt beneath her scratching fingernails?
Of course, all this only matters to those who care to have answers, to have closure and certitude and understanding and justice. If one doesn't care for these things, then complaining about the cold, cruel cosmos is a waste of consciousness and time.
***
So, let us assume now, that there is a resurrection; that the cosmos does offer answers beyond the grave. Why would Christ's resurrection matter?
For one, if the cosmos does indeed give rebirth to the dead (reincarnation is ultimately unsuitable since, if I am reincarnated, I still have questions); and if the universe is indeed NOT prodigal, but pointed and forthcoming with answers, then there is no reason to suspect that Christ could not have been raised from the dead by the very forces that raised us all to life. Moreover, if Christ is indeed so raised, it speaks to the very heart of the matter because He might have something to say.
Alas, He does have something to say, and His message is quite simple: There is a loving Father to the cosmos, outside of space and time; a Being who stands in transcendant relation to the cosmos like a father stands outside his wife's reproductive womb; a caring and gentle and just Creator who has the vantage of being outside all things, knowing all, and therefore capable of answering our heart's deepest questions. If we but let Him; if we but desire life eternal; if we have hopes and dreams, and a need of answers.
***
Holy Week: Christ was nailed to a cross; He died and was buried, and descended into our very hells; all as proof that the Father would rather be in hell with us than in heaven without us. The only question addressed to us is whether we want to leave our hellish tombs; whether we want to "come forth!"; whether we can leave behind what cannot come to the place of Peace and Answers.
There are no answers if Christ is not raised.
Christ has died.
Christ has risen.
Christ has answered indeed.
Peace to you.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
†There is a book by Harding by the same name. It is small and quite good, though it was odd to learn from it (?) that Harding converted to Hinduism.
Update (April 21, 2006): It is trite to say this, but there are numerous thoughts recently posted to the blogosphere re: Resurrection that are worth noticing. I enjoyed the comments at Ocular Fusion; this brief passage at Table Talk is also strong. And this related essay at Stomata is enlightening.
Technorati tags: Easter, Christianity, Jesus, Resurrection, Peter Kreeft, D. E. Harding
For one, if the cosmos does indeed give rebirth to the dead (reincarnation is ultimately unsuitable since, if I am reincarnated, I still have questions); and if the universe is indeed NOT prodigal, but pointed and forthcoming with answers, then there is no reason to suspect that Christ could not have been raised from the dead by the very forces that raised us all to life. Moreover, if Christ is indeed so raised, it speaks to the very heart of the matter because He might have something to say.
Alas, He does have something to say, and His message is quite simple: There is a loving Father to the cosmos, outside of space and time; a Being who stands in transcendant relation to the cosmos like a father stands outside his wife's reproductive womb; a caring and gentle and just Creator who has the vantage of being outside all things, knowing all, and therefore capable of answering our heart's deepest questions. If we but let Him; if we but desire life eternal; if we have hopes and dreams, and a need of answers.
***
There are no answers if Christ is not raised.
Christ has died.
Christ has risen.
Christ has answered indeed.
Peace to you.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
†There is a book by Harding by the same name. It is small and quite good, though it was odd to learn from it (?) that Harding converted to Hinduism.
Update (April 21, 2006): It is trite to say this, but there are numerous thoughts recently posted to the blogosphere re: Resurrection that are worth noticing. I enjoyed the comments at Ocular Fusion; this brief passage at Table Talk is also strong. And this related essay at Stomata is enlightening.
Technorati tags: Easter, Christianity, Jesus, Resurrection, Peter Kreeft, D. E. Harding
The Welcome Mat Is Always Out
Perhaps I am the only one who will find the comments from "Jimmy", who spent a few minutes visiting Contratimes, some of the fairest and kindest words ever offered to me here. I am grateful when people tell me what they really, really think. (It's curious how much Jimmy sounds like some of my closest friends.)
No doubt there is a silly irony in spreading out a welcome mat, a carpet adorned with a warm greeting where one's guests immediately wipe their feet.
Peace and mirth!!
BG, The Ever Encouraged
No doubt there is a silly irony in spreading out a welcome mat, a carpet adorned with a warm greeting where one's guests immediately wipe their feet.
Peace and mirth!!
BG, The Ever Encouraged
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
If You Haven't Noticed ...
...Let me point out that I have been posting more than once per day (some days). On Thursday, for example, I posted about American Idol, the Gospel of Judas, and Holy Week meditations. I don't know if this is a good thing. Perhaps you will let me know. But I encourage you to look more closely each day at what I am doing; there might be something you would prefer to read below the top-most essays.
Peace.
PS. Egads! I see that perhaps my own thoughts re: Rumsfeld and his critics on the left are presented in yesterday's Wall Street Journal. I only found their comments moments ago, so I promise my own thoughts are indeed my own thoughts. If I've plagiarized a thing it is the vast collective unconsciousness of the cosmos into which I, and the WSJ writers, are clearly tapped. Of course, I jest: There is no tap, but a spigot. Glug, glug.
Pulitzers Are No Surprise
The Pulitzer Prizes were announced yesterday, and there are some noteworthy winners. You should check out them out. (I am no URL genius, so this link only takes you to the cover page. Follow the "What's New" tag.)
Of interest to me are the winners for commentary, Nicholas Kristof of The New York Times, and editorial cartooning, Mike Luckovich of The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
I am not a Kristof fan, since I believe he is essentially (and virulently) anti-Catholic. That, of course, is my opinion, rendering me unsuitable, I realize, for the plaudits of the Pulitzer committee. I have read his work and I am not impressed. It is sad that a man can be awarded for being so often wrong. But his Africa commentary is quite moving: I cannot cast aspersions at him for his passion. I disagree with him, I am sure, on how evils are to be overcome, or what causes such evils in the first place. We even agree that there are indeed awful things in the world. I just think that some of his commentaries are among the awful things.
And then there is the snide (which is to be expected from a cartoonist) and mean-spirited work of Mr. Luckovich. You should look at his award-winning cartoons posted at the Pulitzer site. They are revealing.
What breaks the heart is that in the cultural climate of self-righteousness and its attendant divisiveness in which we find ourselves, Luckovich is rewarded for dividing the country even more. For there is nothing intrinsically charitable about his works; nor is there anything that one might describe as "bridge-building" or conducive to dialogue. I admit that cartooning is an easy and safe place to lob cheap shots; I can accept that the definition of political cartooning is precisely to be distant, aloof and even arrogant (a charge that can be brought against blogging, no doubt). But the "snarkiness" of Mr. Luckovich is justified not merely by this award; it is justified by the very conceit of his medium: It is easy to be right, and superior, in the reductionism of a cartoon.
I will say that Todd Heisler's award for feature photography is true reward for fantastic and deeply moving images. In fact, I found myself getting teary while looking at the picture of a wife sleeping next to her husband's military coffin. But when I think of the Hurricane Katrina event, the worst weather disaster in American history (perhaps), it is hard to accept that Heisler's images trump that disaster, though the Breaking News Photography award did go to Katrina photographers. Surely there are feature photography series that address that tragedy, too. Why did Heisler's series win? It takes no expertise to determine why: They are powerful images indeed, but the political insinuations are vibrantly obvious. I hope you'll take a few minutes to look at his award-winning portfolio.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Nicholas Kristof, Pulitzer Prize
Of interest to me are the winners for commentary, Nicholas Kristof of The New York Times, and editorial cartooning, Mike Luckovich of The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
I am not a Kristof fan, since I believe he is essentially (and virulently) anti-Catholic. That, of course, is my opinion, rendering me unsuitable, I realize, for the plaudits of the Pulitzer committee. I have read his work and I am not impressed. It is sad that a man can be awarded for being so often wrong. But his Africa commentary is quite moving: I cannot cast aspersions at him for his passion. I disagree with him, I am sure, on how evils are to be overcome, or what causes such evils in the first place. We even agree that there are indeed awful things in the world. I just think that some of his commentaries are among the awful things.
And then there is the snide (which is to be expected from a cartoonist) and mean-spirited work of Mr. Luckovich. You should look at his award-winning cartoons posted at the Pulitzer site. They are revealing.
What breaks the heart is that in the cultural climate of self-righteousness and its attendant divisiveness in which we find ourselves, Luckovich is rewarded for dividing the country even more. For there is nothing intrinsically charitable about his works; nor is there anything that one might describe as "bridge-building" or conducive to dialogue. I admit that cartooning is an easy and safe place to lob cheap shots; I can accept that the definition of political cartooning is precisely to be distant, aloof and even arrogant (a charge that can be brought against blogging, no doubt). But the "snarkiness" of Mr. Luckovich is justified not merely by this award; it is justified by the very conceit of his medium: It is easy to be right, and superior, in the reductionism of a cartoon.
I will say that Todd Heisler's award for feature photography is true reward for fantastic and deeply moving images. In fact, I found myself getting teary while looking at the picture of a wife sleeping next to her husband's military coffin. But when I think of the Hurricane Katrina event, the worst weather disaster in American history (perhaps), it is hard to accept that Heisler's images trump that disaster, though the Breaking News Photography award did go to Katrina photographers. Surely there are feature photography series that address that tragedy, too. Why did Heisler's series win? It takes no expertise to determine why: They are powerful images indeed, but the political insinuations are vibrantly obvious. I hope you'll take a few minutes to look at his award-winning portfolio.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Nicholas Kristof, Pulitzer Prize
Ridiculing Ridiculous Rumsfeld Ridiculous
You have heard the news that US Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, in the opinion of several retired military generals, should tender his resignation. You should hear a lot about this curious story, not because it is a story, but because it is curious.
Criticism is leveled at Mr. Rumsfeld largely because of his failure to deliver sufficient troops to Iraq, and his failure to properly estimate the power of the insurgency which followed the desposing of Saddam Hussein. The bulk of the criticism, coming from a handful (less than a dozen) of the hundreds of generals serving in the military, falls in the wake of Mr. Rumsfeld's immediate call, when he took the helm of the Dept. of Defense, that the defense monolith needed streamlining and more civilian (and less military) control.
Attentive readers know that the curious aspect of this story is partly found in the sudden elation of liberal critics of war and all things military who now seemingly adore this sort of military intelligence. Suddenly generals are good things! At least, this kind of general is wonderful. And what kind of general is that? Let me guess: It's the general critical of the Bush Administration. But I am only guessing.
Here is the criticism in a nutshell: That the insurgency could have been more thoroughly suppressed if the Secretary had not been enamored of a swift, mobile and streamlined military strike force, nor had he possessed a child's silly fascination of smart weapons; that things would be more stable in Iraq had the Secretary not disbanded the Iraqi Army assembled under the Hussein regime; that the "peace" would have been better managed had he deployed more troops to fully control and repress those who resisted democratic reform.
And here is the reality: If Rumsfeld had indeed done things differently, we would now be hearing this sort of criticism from a different set of generals:
We all know this to be true, and that is why this story is curious and not a story at all. Interestingly those leftists critical of the military are unable to find a friend in Mr. Rumsfeld, which is an odd thing indeed: Rumsfeld is a civilian who has made every effort to bring the Defense Department under the control of the people, by the people. Apparently he should have just let the military run itself, under the authority of certain generals, which is, I guess, a leftist––even a Democratic Party––ideal.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Rumsfeld, Iraq, Insurgency
Criticism is leveled at Mr. Rumsfeld largely because of his failure to deliver sufficient troops to Iraq, and his failure to properly estimate the power of the insurgency which followed the desposing of Saddam Hussein. The bulk of the criticism, coming from a handful (less than a dozen) of the hundreds of generals serving in the military, falls in the wake of Mr. Rumsfeld's immediate call, when he took the helm of the Dept. of Defense, that the defense monolith needed streamlining and more civilian (and less military) control.
Attentive readers know that the curious aspect of this story is partly found in the sudden elation of liberal critics of war and all things military who now seemingly adore this sort of military intelligence. Suddenly generals are good things! At least, this kind of general is wonderful. And what kind of general is that? Let me guess: It's the general critical of the Bush Administration. But I am only guessing.
Here is the criticism in a nutshell: That the insurgency could have been more thoroughly suppressed if the Secretary had not been enamored of a swift, mobile and streamlined military strike force, nor had he possessed a child's silly fascination of smart weapons; that things would be more stable in Iraq had the Secretary not disbanded the Iraqi Army assembled under the Hussein regime; that the "peace" would have been better managed had he deployed more troops to fully control and repress those who resisted democratic reform.
And here is the reality: If Rumsfeld had indeed done things differently, we would now be hearing this sort of criticism from a different set of generals:
- With so many troops in Iraq, far more than necessary in the era of smart weapons and high-tech warfare, the Secretary unwittingly created more targets for the insurgents. With far fewer troops in the hot zones, soldiers could have been moved swiftly, stealthily; providing far fewer opportunities for insurgents to inflict damage on American and allied troops with IEDs and other guerrilla tactics. Thousands of American lives could have been spared had there been fewer troops on the ground.
- With so many troops in Iraq, Secretary Rumsfeld created an atmosphere of oppression and hostility: The Iraqi people have felt oppressed and intimidated by a force that can only be described as occupiers. The Iraqi people have effectively been rendered superfluous in their own struggles for reform: What they are witnessing is exactly that, something they are witnessing and not a process in which they are participating. Smaller troop numbers would mollify Iraqi anger and discouragement.
- With the cumbersome and overstuffed military presence in Iraq, command and control of tactical and strategic objectives have been confusing and slow; and the excessive presence of troops on the ground has made the use of air-to-ground tactical weapons more difficult. Moreover, collateral damage numbers would have been lower with a smaller military presence, since the larger units have limited the use of precision weaponry, limited by fears of casualties due to 'friendly-fire.' In fact, 'friendly-fire' casualties are at the highest levels since the war began.
We all know this to be true, and that is why this story is curious and not a story at all. Interestingly those leftists critical of the military are unable to find a friend in Mr. Rumsfeld, which is an odd thing indeed: Rumsfeld is a civilian who has made every effort to bring the Defense Department under the control of the people, by the people. Apparently he should have just let the military run itself, under the authority of certain generals, which is, I guess, a leftist––even a Democratic Party––ideal.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Rumsfeld, Iraq, Insurgency
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Please, Promise Me You'll Do It
If I ever write anything at Contratimes like Paul Krugman's New York Times piece, "Weapons of Math Destruction", I beg of you: Pull my plug. Please?
The sad part is that Mr. Krugman, that gnostic, is unable, along with his many friends, to see the irony of his essay's title. Unless Mr. Krugman is actually a comedian. In that case, this paragraph from his essay is a side-splitter:
I’m sure that this column will provoke a furious counterattack from the administration, an all-out attempt to discredit my math. Yet if I’m wrong, there’s an easy way to prove it: just release the raw data used to construct the table titled “Projected Share of Individual Income Taxes and Income in 2006.” Memo to reporters: if the administration doesn’t release those numbers, that’s in effect a confession of guilt, an implicit admission that the data contradict the administration’s spin.
Perhaps it is evident that Mr. Krugman is a fantasy writer, since he is computing with numbers that are not the raw data he needs. Or perhaps he's a mysti-gogue in the gnostic tradition of the writers of the "Gospel of Judas" (with all due apologies to real Gospels): Master Krugman sees numbers like no one else can.
Remember, Mr. Krugman is a columnist for America's "Paper of Record." You know, that very grey, senescent lady.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Paul Krugman, The New York Times, Gnosticism
The sad part is that Mr. Krugman, that gnostic, is unable, along with his many friends, to see the irony of his essay's title. Unless Mr. Krugman is actually a comedian. In that case, this paragraph from his essay is a side-splitter:
I’m sure that this column will provoke a furious counterattack from the administration, an all-out attempt to discredit my math. Yet if I’m wrong, there’s an easy way to prove it: just release the raw data used to construct the table titled “Projected Share of Individual Income Taxes and Income in 2006.” Memo to reporters: if the administration doesn’t release those numbers, that’s in effect a confession of guilt, an implicit admission that the data contradict the administration’s spin.
Perhaps it is evident that Mr. Krugman is a fantasy writer, since he is computing with numbers that are not the raw data he needs. Or perhaps he's a mysti-gogue in the gnostic tradition of the writers of the "Gospel of Judas" (with all due apologies to real Gospels): Master Krugman sees numbers like no one else can.
Remember, Mr. Krugman is a columnist for America's "Paper of Record." You know, that very grey, senescent lady.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Paul Krugman, The New York Times, Gnosticism
Friday, April 14, 2006
The Bright Light Of A Dark Day
She is an adorable 5-year-old parapalegic, her spine shattered by an errant bullet nearly three years ago. Despite little Kai Leigh Harriott's sad start to life, she has shown us all something wonderful: Along with her mother, Tonya David, Kai Leigh has shown us the path of forgiveness, and the power of grace.
In a truly moving, even startling, moment yesterday in a Boston courtroom as Kai Leigh faced Anthony Warren, the man who shot her, she said to him through her sobs:
''What you done to me was wrong," the dimpled girl with purple and yellow plastic ties in her braids said softly. ''But I still forgive him." (The Boston Globe)
And after Anthony Warren, who pled guilty to the charges against him, told Kai Leigh and her mother, ''I'm sorry for what I've done to you and your family ... I was known in the street for all the wrong reasons, and now I want to be known for the right reasons," Kai Leigh's mother walked over to Warren, shook his hands, and then gave him a hug. The TV news footage is powerful.
Kai Leigh's mother told the court, "We are not victims here. We're victors."
According to the Globe, "Superior Court Judge Margot Botsford called the statements the most moving she had heard in 17 years on the bench." The Globe reports that Justice Botsford sentenced Mr. Warren to 13-17 years with 5 years probation, less than half what prosecutors sought.
But the forgiveness and grace demonstrated by Kai Leigh's mother in particular does not come cheaply or easily. There is a cost:
''Kai was not born unhealthy or in a wheelchair," she told the court. ''I can still remember the pitter-patter of her little feet."
At this hour Christendom honors the dark day of the Passion of Christ, the Good Friday wherein we are shown the price of God's forgiveness. He, too, was once a little child whose pittering, pattering feet were heard by His mother. But He is the Incarnate God; the Son of the very God who knows the pitter-patter of every child's steps; who knows the pains of every human heart. Omniscience stares unceasingly and unfailingly at the human condition: it knows suffering from every conceivable angle, knowing what it is like to rape and be raped, to kill and be killed, to shoot and be shot; to forgive and to be forgiven. God is the only Being who is both victim and villain, simultaneously. Knowing all things, He can know nothing else. And each time He witnesses, without any editing, the suffering and sins of this earth, there is death in Him, in His very heart. His forgiveness comes at a price.
Today, once again, we think of that Heart voluntarily and vulnerably exposed to the world, nailed in indifference to a wooden cross: Omniscience is crucified and we stare in wonder, noting that even omniscience breaks down and bleeds.
Kai Leigh Harriott shows us the way, a painful path that leads to freedom and joy. To think she is described by all her loved ones as a little girl full of happiness, in love with life; a little saint never voicing a single complaint since her cruel injury. She may not move herself now, but her stillness may move the world.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: kai leigh harriott, Grace, Forgiveness
Addendum, April 18, 2006, 11:25 am: I found this piece lovingly presented.
In a truly moving, even startling, moment yesterday in a Boston courtroom as Kai Leigh faced Anthony Warren, the man who shot her, she said to him through her sobs:
''What you done to me was wrong," the dimpled girl with purple and yellow plastic ties in her braids said softly. ''But I still forgive him." (The Boston Globe)
And after Anthony Warren, who pled guilty to the charges against him, told Kai Leigh and her mother, ''I'm sorry for what I've done to you and your family ... I was known in the street for all the wrong reasons, and now I want to be known for the right reasons," Kai Leigh's mother walked over to Warren, shook his hands, and then gave him a hug. The TV news footage is powerful.
Kai Leigh's mother told the court, "We are not victims here. We're victors."
According to the Globe, "Superior Court Judge Margot Botsford called the statements the most moving she had heard in 17 years on the bench." The Globe reports that Justice Botsford sentenced Mr. Warren to 13-17 years with 5 years probation, less than half what prosecutors sought.
But the forgiveness and grace demonstrated by Kai Leigh's mother in particular does not come cheaply or easily. There is a cost:
''Kai was not born unhealthy or in a wheelchair," she told the court. ''I can still remember the pitter-patter of her little feet."
At this hour Christendom honors the dark day of the Passion of Christ, the Good Friday wherein we are shown the price of God's forgiveness. He, too, was once a little child whose pittering, pattering feet were heard by His mother. But He is the Incarnate God; the Son of the very God who knows the pitter-patter of every child's steps; who knows the pains of every human heart. Omniscience stares unceasingly and unfailingly at the human condition: it knows suffering from every conceivable angle, knowing what it is like to rape and be raped, to kill and be killed, to shoot and be shot; to forgive and to be forgiven. God is the only Being who is both victim and villain, simultaneously. Knowing all things, He can know nothing else. And each time He witnesses, without any editing, the suffering and sins of this earth, there is death in Him, in His very heart. His forgiveness comes at a price.
Today, once again, we think of that Heart voluntarily and vulnerably exposed to the world, nailed in indifference to a wooden cross: Omniscience is crucified and we stare in wonder, noting that even omniscience breaks down and bleeds.
Kai Leigh Harriott shows us the way, a painful path that leads to freedom and joy. To think she is described by all her loved ones as a little girl full of happiness, in love with life; a little saint never voicing a single complaint since her cruel injury. She may not move herself now, but her stillness may move the world.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: kai leigh harriott, Grace, Forgiveness
Addendum, April 18, 2006, 11:25 am: I found this piece lovingly presented.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
A Time For I Examinations
My nephew Tom, a wonderful kid, is suffering from a hyphema, a blood clot in his eye. He was accidently and innocently struck by a buckle on a life jacket, swung in the air by a little boy while Tom was visiting a New Jersey swimming pool. His treatment leaves me claustrophobic within my own skin: He is to lie still with both eyes closed for seven days (no bandages). Today is Day 5. Personally, I don't think I could do it. But I pray for him this morning: Surely there is no way I could keep my eyes closed at the age of 12.
Which leads me to Mike the Eyeguy, Holy Week, and my own devotion. As you know, this is Holy Week, with today being Maundy Thursday. I have not been able to silence myself, to live a quiet, somber and reflective life, for these seven days. At least I am not able to do so here. So please let me direct you to the ever-elegant and insightful Ocular Fusion, a blog that understands the restraint of this season. There Mike the Eyeguy has listed the lectionary, or readings, for each of this week's holy days. If a more reflective blog is what you are looking for, I cannot recommend his posts, and his lovely essays, with more enthusiasm.
I am too intense to stop myself; I cannot abstain from posting jeremiads. In fact, I identify with that wonderful prophet, Jeremiah (perhaps too completely):
But if I say, "I will not mention him or speak any more in his name," his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot. (Jeremiah 20:9)
Go visit Ocular Fusion: He knows how to fix your eyes.
Peace.
BG
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Which leads me to Mike the Eyeguy, Holy Week, and my own devotion. As you know, this is Holy Week, with today being Maundy Thursday. I have not been able to silence myself, to live a quiet, somber and reflective life, for these seven days. At least I am not able to do so here. So please let me direct you to the ever-elegant and insightful Ocular Fusion, a blog that understands the restraint of this season. There Mike the Eyeguy has listed the lectionary, or readings, for each of this week's holy days. If a more reflective blog is what you are looking for, I cannot recommend his posts, and his lovely essays, with more enthusiasm.
I am too intense to stop myself; I cannot abstain from posting jeremiads. In fact, I identify with that wonderful prophet, Jeremiah (perhaps too completely):
But if I say, "I will not mention him or speak any more in his name," his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot. (Jeremiah 20:9)
Go visit Ocular Fusion: He knows how to fix your eyes.
Peace.
BG
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
The Gospel Of Contratimes
Christianity has always been under attack. Whether it was the attacks of the Ebionites or Docetists of the first centuries of the Christian era; whether it was the gnostics of the early Church or the sceptics of the Enlightenment, the Christian faith has been on the defensive.A couple of years ago the Church, particularly the Catholic Church, began defending itself from the fictive insinuations of Dan Brown's wildly popular, The Da Vinci Code. And in the past couple of weeks, the Church has been addressing the "gospel" du jour, "The Gospel of Judas", a gnostic work of anonymous authorship (Judas Iscariot did not write it). Though the Judas gospel has been circulating through the antiquities markets since the 1970's, the reason it is in the news is because this is Christianity's Lenten season: The release of James M. Robinson's book on the matter, "The Secrets of Judas: The Story of the Misunderstood Disciple and his Lost Gospel", (April 2006 by Harper San Francisco) was no doubt timed to exploit the Christian doubters and naysayers market during the Faith's holiest time.
I have not studied the text, but I have an opinion already. Let me quickly cite this news account:
The most revealing passages in the Judas manuscript begins, "The secret account of the revelation that Jesus spoke in conversation with Judas Iscariot during a week, three days before he celebrated Passover."
The account goes on to relate that Jesus refers to the other disciples, telling Judas "you will exceed all of them. For you will sacrifice the man that clothes me." By that, scholars familiar with Gnostic thinking said, Jesus meant that by helping him get rid of his physical flesh, Judas will act to liberate the true spiritual self or divine being within Jesus. ("'Gospel of Judas' Surfaces After 1,700 Years", John Noble Wilford and Laurie Goodstein, The New York Times, April 6, 2006) [emphasis added]
Anyone who has spent significant time reading the canonical Gospels deemed authentic and accurate by the councils of the Christian Church, will no doubt be jarred by Jesus' words to Judas. His words are jarring because they are thoroughly non-semitic; they are not really Hebraic but Greek. For Jesus, as depicted in this Gospel, is indeed a gnostic, a sort of neo-platonist who believes that carnality, the flesh and blood of living, is somehow a defiling constraint to true spiritual being and enlightenment. But this gnostic Christ rings utterly hollow and vapid: It is gnosis, or knowledge, that he not only seeks for himself but urges others to seek and attain. That this, however, is indeed a heresy of the Christian faith should go without saying; sadly, it must be said again and again. For the orthodox teaching is that Jesus was the Incarnation of God, the God of the universe in the flesh, his very being a celebration of the proper use of the body, of the carnal, in the truest and best sense of that word. Jesus was indeed raised from the dead as a corporeal being, and not as an ethereal, spiritual, ghostly visage of his former self. The body and spirit are not divided but united in Christ. The canonical gospels which the Church adores are replete with the tactile, sensual, embodied images of the Incarnate God as he eats, sleeps, dies; as he feeds and heals and caresses real bodies, real flesh; as he utilizes the things of home and hearth, of earth and agrarian culture, in his teachings from beginning to end. That Judas' Jesus suddenly jumps out of his skin in a secret meeting with Judas is just laughable. I am even tempted to suggest that it is anti-semitic, for the Jews of Jesus' time were people not readily given to the gnostic, anti-flesh, anti-material ecstacies of their more 'enlightened' neighbors. Gnosticism was deemed heresy by the Church for two important reasons: It denigrates the physical world, and it elevates certain people to a preferred, enlightened status, giving them the aura of transcendence, an aura that is damned for its presumptuousness and conceit.
Trust me when I say that there are plenty of gnostics among us, and a vast number of them are far more likely to read Elaine Pagels' The Gnostic Gospels and this message from Judas the Betrayer than they are to read the Gospel of St. John.
I am not opposed to the Gospel of Judas taking its rightful, informative place in the pseudepigraphal, apocryphal literature of the Church. But it is not a serious contender for canonization: It is informative, but it is utterly without authority.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contatimes - All Rights Reserved.
Related essay (addendum 4.21.06): Stromata's "Not Just Judas"
Technorati tags: Jesus, Gospel of Judas, Gnosticism, Da Vinci Code
Photo: In affirmation of the centrality of the physical world within Christian thought, I post this picture of a fox kit exploring the big, wide world outside its den. Image was taken with a Canon EOS3, using a 300/2.8 lens and 1.4 extender. 1/1000 @ f4. Kodak E100VS. Click for larger view.
"Idoling" In America
I don't know if any reader has watched this year's installment of American Idol. I will put on no airs; I will not feign a high-brow, continental affect, pretending with a sneering laugh that such programming is infinitely beneath my sophistication. I am watching.
Not that I am an American Idol aficionado. My wife might hold that title; countless others certainly do. But I know a sweet show when I see one, and last night's poignant, touching episode was exceptionally heartwarming. To some, I am sure, the touching heartland vignettes were so much treacle, so much southern molasses, sticky and tacky sweet. But I love molasses.
According to my wife––and I defer to her expertise here––this set of Idols is the kindest, sweetest yet, without a crank or obvious self-promoter among them. I have no aptitude in this field, since I only watch the program sporadically. Yet, I can't help but agree with her: The eight finalists I watched last night appeared to the core to be gentle, caring souls. And many of their fellow contestants already voted off the show were equally genteel and kind; Mandisa stands out as a truly remarkable human being.
But did you notice where most of these finalists hail from? Three are from North Carolina, while others are from Tennessee, Alabama, Virginia, Georgia. Only Ace Young and Katharine McPhee are from outside the American South, though Ace's Colorado is clearly the heartland compared to Katharine's Los Angeles. Does this all suggest that Idol is now a "Red State" program? Is its sweetness due to its southern charm? One gets the sense that even NASCAR fans are tuning into Idol. It's indeed a show from the American heartland. I wonder if it would be as sweet, or as watchable, if it wasn't.
Just an aside from my normal grind.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: American Idol, Red State, blue state
Not that I am an American Idol aficionado. My wife might hold that title; countless others certainly do. But I know a sweet show when I see one, and last night's poignant, touching episode was exceptionally heartwarming. To some, I am sure, the touching heartland vignettes were so much treacle, so much southern molasses, sticky and tacky sweet. But I love molasses.
According to my wife––and I defer to her expertise here––this set of Idols is the kindest, sweetest yet, without a crank or obvious self-promoter among them. I have no aptitude in this field, since I only watch the program sporadically. Yet, I can't help but agree with her: The eight finalists I watched last night appeared to the core to be gentle, caring souls. And many of their fellow contestants already voted off the show were equally genteel and kind; Mandisa stands out as a truly remarkable human being.
But did you notice where most of these finalists hail from? Three are from North Carolina, while others are from Tennessee, Alabama, Virginia, Georgia. Only Ace Young and Katharine McPhee are from outside the American South, though Ace's Colorado is clearly the heartland compared to Katharine's Los Angeles. Does this all suggest that Idol is now a "Red State" program? Is its sweetness due to its southern charm? One gets the sense that even NASCAR fans are tuning into Idol. It's indeed a show from the American heartland. I wonder if it would be as sweet, or as watchable, if it wasn't.
Just an aside from my normal grind.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: American Idol, Red State, blue state
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
We're Not Ready To Die; It Will Be Quick; No, No ... Say Your Prayers
Everyone dies, even the incarnate God of the Christian religion. Religious lore may suggest otherwise, with the likes of Enoch and Elijah lifted up by angels' chariots, rerouted around the pallid shades of Sheol. But death at least for the rest of us is indubitably something of a given. It seems it's even the one thing all men and women can agree on: Death is inevitable.But not all dying is the same. The old man, content with family, faith, and fortunes, dying quietly in his sleep during a family retreat at the summer home he and his wife built in the Adirondacks, endures a rare and even enviable death. The young criminal justice student walking home from a Manhattan pub who takes into her confidence the pub's doorman only to be raped and ravaged by his monstrous evil also dies a rare death (though not rare enough); but her dying is not how any sane person would want to go into that great night. But most stories of dying are rather commonplace: In the swiftness of a heart attack or stroke; in the heroic struggle against cancer; in the loneliness of old age.
On September 11, 2001, at 6:00 Eastern Standard Time, thousands of people began their day not knowing that most of them would die in utterly unique ways. What would begin a couple of hours later was not the sort of thing anyone had modeled for them; there were no scenarios rehearsed for what would befall them. Yes, there were Hiroshima and the Holocaust; there were plane crashes and earthquakes and collapsed buildings before, but there was nothing like this. This day was going to be different, as the largest office buildings in the world would sway like saplings in the wind; would burn like giant pines struck by lightning; would collapse like Mount St. Helen's, in a superheated, pyroclastic flow. This sort of thing, in other words, had never happened before. And save for the person sitting on a World Trade Center toilet, or washing her hands in the sink; save for the man pouring coffee into his cup or the woman pressing the Lobby button in a North Tower elevator; save for the janitor bending over for a roll of paper towels, or the woman straightening her skirt in a mirror before giving a job interview; save for all the people like them, everybody else saw death coming in the bright blue daylight.
I have written about Zacarias Moussaoui in the past week, discussing his fate in terms of the death penalty. Mr. Moussaoui is the convicted "twentieth hijacker", presently in court hearing reasons why he should or should not be executed. Among the many "reasons" given justifying his death are the taped 911 voice recordings of the hijackers' victims; or, in some cases, the eyewitness reports of those who heard their loved ones' last words transmitted via telephone. The victims' words and the eyewitness reports are powerful, uniquely powerful. They leave me crying.
Perhaps I should just let this New York Times excerpt speak for itself:
... C. Lee Hanson ... spoke about the loss of his son, Peter; his daughter-in-law, Sue Kim; and his granddaughter, Cristine Lee, 2, the youngest casualty on Sept. 11.
He described talking with his son, who had his cellphone on one of the hijacked planes, and simultaneously watching the events on television. He said his son told him he believed the hijackers were "trying to crash the plane into a building," and that he added: "Don't worry, Dad. If it happens, it will be quick."
Hanson testified that he then heard his son say "Oh my God" three times, and that a moment later he saw the plane, United Airlines Flight 175, crash into the World Trade Center on his television. He described his anguish when investigators were able to return to him only a small bone fragment of his son.
Don't worry, Dad. It will be quick.
I am crying now (honestly). And yet there are not tears enough. For I think of too many others, like
...Kevin Cosgrove, 46 and the father of three, who called 911 from the 105th floor of the south tower, [who said], "We're not ready to die, but it's getting bad." A moment later, he said, "Oh, please hurry; I've got young kids."
The tape was played as a photograph of Cosgrove was displayed on screens in the courtroom, along with scenes of the burning towers synchronized to the time of his call. In the final snippet, Cosgrove said, "Oh my God, ohhh," as the tower started to collapse at 9:58 a.m.
Please hurry. Please. (Behold I come quickly. Even so, come Lord Jesus.)
Or what of the lovely voice I heard of 32-year-old Melissa Doi,
...a financial manager who worked on the 83rd floor of the south tower. She told the operator that she was with five others and repeatedly said, "It's so hot; it's very, very hot."
At one point, she told the operator, "All I see is smoke ... I'm going to die, aren't I?" The operator replied: "No, no, no ... Say your prayers."
Our Father, Who art in heaven, how can these things be?
Former New York mayor Rudolph Guiliani also testified at Mr. Moussaoui's sentencing hearing, recalling for all of us the graphic image of two desperate souls holding hands as they leapt to the sidewalk below, a plaza littered with debris, bodies, and the grief of millions of people. What sort of conversation occurred between the two jumpers? How did they find hands in such a desperate moment?
It is too much. There is grief here beyond words, sorrow beyond human measure. Sadly, it is evident that justice, unlike death, will not "be quick".
Peace to the 9-11 victims and their survivors. Peace indeed.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Moussaoui, 9-11
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Imagine All The People Living Without Borders
The issue of illegal immigration (which is a separate issue from legal immigration, in case you hadn't noticed) is the hot jalapeño in the Zeitgeist Cantina: it is a chili too hot to handle. Rest assured, I won't touch it here, unless, of course, I am promised ample supplies of Corona and lime. And that would be Corona Extra; there is no place for a Corona Light unless one is talking about the spectral glory of the fully-eclipsed sun (which would be unpleasant, since the whole delight of a Corona and lime is found in a siesta in the full sun).
I do have two things to say, both of which are partially eclipsed by my juvenescence in issues of such import: I am afraid I can only add a small amount of light to the full beam of knowledge so many others have (seemingly overnight!) acquired in matters of border security, guest worker programs, and deportation difficulties.
A couple of weeks ago there was an exchange between Boston radio personality Michael Graham and a man, Mike from Cambridge, who had called into Graham's commuter show, aired from 3-7 weeknights. The issue at hand was a Boston city council resolution offering safe harbor for all illegal immigrants. Mike from Cambridge (who was perhaps even an academic from either of Cambridge's little known schools, Harvard and M.I.T.), called to defend the council's decision. His conversation with host Graham went something like this:
Graham: If we are not going to defend our country's borders, perhaps we should just not pretend to defend them at all; let's get rid of border security.
Mike from Cambridge: That is not what we are saying, but the idea has merit.
Graham: But Mike, if we are going to go that far, then why have any borders at all?
Mike from Cambridge: Well, it is true that the idea of the nation-state is problematic.
I would like to thank Mr. Graham for forcing the issue so deftly; and I thank Mike from Cambridge for his candor. Graham, of course, got Mike of Cambridge to show the cards he was holding; and while Mike from Cambridge threw down only two pair, he surely wants a full house. For Mike of Cambridge has shown us the pro-illegal immigration, pro-open borders agenda: It is inherently anti-American precisely because America is a country, a "nation-state." In other words, this is about demolishing borders for the sake of that greater social construct, Lennonland. You know, that land without borders, that flower-power world where, if we all just Imagine, all the people, inspired by the late-John Lennon, will live in egalitarian equanimity and joy, "living life in peace".
Imagine there's no countries,
It isnt hard to do,
Nothing to kill or die for,
No religion too,
Imagine all the people
living life in peace...
(Shouldn't that be, Imagine there ARE no countries? Good grammar isn't hard to do.)
One wonders if those who support open borders also support free enrollment at Columbia, Harvard, or Berkeley. Why not let Harvard Square bleed into Harvard Yard? Why not let Salem State students join M.I.T.'s commencement exercises? Imagine no private universities, no admissions office or SAT requirements; imagine Penn and Thomas Jefferson and Temple universities living life as one. Really, it isn't hard to do...
And here's my second point: the reason we should permit open borders, or so I've been told, is because America needs to take responsibility for the poor who seek to come here; for it is America who has made them poor, exploited by America's greed machine. I readily admit that I am positing the wearisome Marxist idea that a nation can only become wealthy by making other nations poor. While it is indeed the case that some American companies have exploited their third world neighbors, it is not the case that most do; nor is it the case that socialists are above being exploitative and heartless. Unfortunately the neo-Marxist idea imprinted on too many minds intimates that you can't have more of anything than your neighbor without diminishing that neighbor; there's hardly a more untenable or unjust idea. I mean, there are people who probably aver that your high IQ indicates that you've made someone dumber along the way. But I digress.
Imagine no possesions,
I wonder if you can,
No need for greed or hunger,
A brotherhood of man,
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...
You may say Im a dreamer,
but Im not the only one,
I hope some day you'll join us,
And the world will live as one.
(Has anyone ever argued that there is a need for hunger; even sinful greed? Thinking and grammar, they aren't hard to do...)
I am a dreamer, and here's my dream: That all universities and colleges immediately tear down their exploitative walls, bludgeoning their parasitic policies toward the less fortunate into ploughshares, so that each of us may live as one. Imagine not only no borders; imagine no distinctions! Down with the intellectual imperialism of the Ivy League, oppressing the men and women pressed into service––the janitors, housekeepers, groundskeepers, security guards, cafeteria workers––who could never afford the academic products the university employers produce, produced from the very flesh-and-blood capital of the proletariat who are rendered too dumb, too ill-bred, to freely enjoy the intellectual delights all men and women deserve. Let us stop the exploitation, the bourgeois tyranny against the common man! Let us rise up, with history as our God, and tear down all walls that separate each person from his or her rightful destiny! How dare the the mighty intellectual capitalists from academy to news press divide humanity with their medieval ideas of requirements and abilities! Down with state universities and their quaint yet antiquated provincialism! Down with the private school or business that requires that anyone meet some racist, xenophobic, Eurocentric, aristocratic criteria! Lest we forget, let us remember that the idea of the university is essentially problematic! Down with the university!
Imagine all the earth's places, indiscernably one. What we'd be left with is the singular Place, with the idea of places shattered into pieces for its inherent divisiveness. Imagine everyone not only living as one, but being ONE––one featureless, cultureless, tasteless null set of equality and justice. Imagine a world with just one dining menu at just one cantina. Imagine a place where everything is of equal worth, with the ONE sharing all the monochromatic world, with nothing to kill, die, or even live for.
It isn't hard to do.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Border Security, Immigration, Illegal immigration, Michael Graham
Photo: In honor of bio-diversity, I share with you a photo I took of a Turkey Vulture lifting off from a utility pole in southern New Hampshire. The image was taken with a Canon EOS-3, 300/2.8 lens, at 1/500 @ f4.
How Does This Make Sense?
In the crazy mixed up world in which I find myself moving, where up is left and left is moderate, it is no surprise that I am perplexed by the recent admission of President George W. Bush that he is the source of the Joseph Wilson's wife is a CIA agent leak known as Plamegate. This puzzlement makes me feel as if I'm Timothy Leary dating Grace Slick, where "logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead", and "the White Knight is talking backwards". I am Timothy Leary on the outside, with the Moody Blues, looking in; while Grace sails around a two-dimensional room with the doormouse, who's been drinking Salvador Dali's tea.
Well, perhaps it's not all that bad, though it's clear the White House has been talking backwards.
How can it be that––if the White House's leak of the name of Valerie Plame is a "good leak", as Sunday's Washington Post opined––it's then still OK for Scooter Libby to be under indictment and Special Counsel Patrick J. Fitzgerald to still be investigating some heinous criminal attack on national intelligence and security? Is this whole thing not finished? The only interesting question to ask the White House is why Mr. Libby would be lying to a grand jury about his comments to reporters if he had nothing legally to hide.
Moreover, if President Bush is indeed legally entitled to declassify classified material, how then is it that we have had to wait this stinking long to find that he did indeed declassify Mr. Wilson's wife's status? And why would the President be reticent when his VP's number 1 man is indicted? And why let Judith Miller stew in prison for 3 months? Could he not have ended everything instantly by simple transparency? Why, pray tell, give Democratic Party choristers for their choir, which knows no other song than "The Republican Culture of Corruption"?
This is perhaps the stupidest political story I've ever seen: it is rife with absurdities from all sides of the political spectrum. Nothing about it makes sense: it is, to me, so much jabberwocky. The ultimate losers in this, besides the American electorate, will be Joseph Wilson and Mr. Fitzgerald. Mr. Wilson, I am sorry to say, could not have been more thoroughly refuted than by the above-mentioned Washington Post's editorial casually deconstructing the very reasons for his political popularity. If this all turns out to be nothing more than partisan gamesmanship, with the White House pitted against Mr. Wilson, then the only conclusion worth making is that Mr. Wilson got his head handed to him on a White House salver. And if it is true that Mr. Wilson indeed did fabricate his story, he not only deserves his political beheading, he deserves an indictment.
But let me return to my earlier point: What kept the President from ending this thing months ago? Why pretend that there was some sort of potential mole; why pretend that this was not a directive straight from the Oval Office, a directive that is neither illegal nor untoward (though some partisans would find it unfair and unethical)? Why equivocate? The whole thing stinks.
Here's a related mind-bender: Remember the infamous "sixteen words" of President Bush's 2003 State of the Union Address?
The British Government has learned that Saddam Hussein recently sought significant quantities of uranium from
Remember the big stir surrounding these words, a stir created by Mr. Wilson's New York Times article ("What I didn't find in Africa") announcing that his allegedly White House-backed trip to Niger showed no evidence of Iraq's nuclear ambitions? Remember when Wilson's story was gaining media traction? And do you recall what the White House said about those "sixteen words"?
That's right. The White House announced that those words should not have been in the final draft of the speech; that a breakdown in communication had occurred between the White House and State Department intelligence officials. Remember?
Of course, that is old news. But what should not be old news is that the "sixteen words" were, in fact, not only mostly true, they are essentially part of the political and intelligence record. I am not making this up; this is not jabberwocky. Hence, I must ask: If the sixteen words were indeed essentially accurate, why did the White House so quickly denounce them, and how did everyone come to accept them again? For a great time-line (though lacking the most recent updates) go here. And for how the "sixteen words" morphed in and out of favor, so to speak, read here.
In other words, this is a story that begins with dizzying heights and ends with placid lows. There is nothing much here, other than the battle of political opponents in the public arena. At least there is nothing much here for me. I am too obtuse to ascertain the richness of nuance this story apparently provides so lavishly.
Alas, I am tired of chasing rabbits. I am, indeed, feeling quite small.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Technorati tags: Joseph Wilson, Plamegate, Yellow cake, Bush
Saturday, April 08, 2006
A Central (Yet Not Comedic) Irony
Comedy Central's, The Colbert Report, is truly a funny, funny TV show. I've only managed to watch it a few times, my TV habits being anything but habitual. But I did manage to see Thursday night's episode in which Mr. Colbert interviewed Markos Moulitsas Zúniga, an author and blogger. In fact, Mr. Zúniga is the face behind the politically left blog, The Daily Kos.
In what was a singularly unfunny moment in Mr. Colbert's talk with Mr. Zúniga, Mr. Zúniga offered this assessment––received with explosive applause––of the Republican Party:
The Republicans do a really good job telling you when you can be born and when you can die. They just have a really hard time with everything in between...
Let us parse this for a moment, shall we? But before we do, let it be understood that this statement of Mr. Zúniga's is not one confined to America; it is not just about the two political parties in the United States. For Mr. Zúniga could easily be speaking about conservatives or traditionalists vis-á-vis liberals or progressives. So it is a slight that crosses geo-political boundaries, really. But let us focus on the American two-party system for a moment.
What Mr. Zúniga is averring is that because Republicans are pro-life, i.e., against abortion and euthanasia, they're the ones who tell "you when you can be born and when you can die." And this, assuredly, is a bad thing. Against this, the Democrats stand as a party of thoughtful liberation from such tyranny of mind and body.
But what Mr. Zúniga sadly fails to apprehend is that if Republicans are indeed generally pro-life and anti-euthanasia, then it is the pro-choice Democrats, in all their progressive finery, who are dressed as executioners: They're the ones who tell you when you shall live and die. A mother who aborts her child tells it––exactly––when it shall die. If she chooses not to abort, then she surely tells her child exactly when it shall live. Similarly––and with the Terri Schiavo case still fresh in American minds it is immensely important to note this––it was the Democrats who wanted to tell Ms. Schiavo exactly when she would breathe her last, or at least when she was going to begin starving at the hand of compassion and mercy.
How strange (or is blindness not all that strange?) that Mr. Zúniga should not understand this simple fact: Republicans prefer to let nature take its course, as true naturalists, when it comes to birth; and Republicans let life last as long as it can, particularly when medical and nutritional aid has already been offered to the dying and incapacitated. Had Republicans really had their way, Terri Schiavo might still be alive today, with no one able to guess the date of her death. As it stands, the record shows that Ms. Schiavo's last day was pre-determined by those who only embrace liberty through the right to impose death. That's liberal, and progressive, in a sort of mind-numbing way.
I am sure Mr. Zúniga is a brilliant man. It is hard to understand how it could be otherwise when he has created one of the most popular blogs on the web. But brilliance takes many forms; I am certain it takes a genius to exploit the market of the stupid. He deserves his success, earned launching sallies here and there to wild applause. But who, really, is applauding? Not thinking people; not people attentive to language, plumbing its depths, mining phrases for meaning and truth.
How curious to find in The Daily Kos another example of psychological projection: Mr. Zúniga points away from himself, naming the Republicans the party of life and death. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that I can see the irony, despite the laughter and the applause.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Related posts: Howard Dean IS, A Foolish Consistency
Related poem: Hearings From The House
Technorati tags: Colbert Report, The Daily Kos, Markos Moulitsas Zúniga, Markos Moulitsas Zuniga, Abortion, Pro-life, Pro-Choice, Terri Schiavo
In what was a singularly unfunny moment in Mr. Colbert's talk with Mr. Zúniga, Mr. Zúniga offered this assessment––received with explosive applause––of the Republican Party:
The Republicans do a really good job telling you when you can be born and when you can die. They just have a really hard time with everything in between...
Let us parse this for a moment, shall we? But before we do, let it be understood that this statement of Mr. Zúniga's is not one confined to America; it is not just about the two political parties in the United States. For Mr. Zúniga could easily be speaking about conservatives or traditionalists vis-á-vis liberals or progressives. So it is a slight that crosses geo-political boundaries, really. But let us focus on the American two-party system for a moment.
What Mr. Zúniga is averring is that because Republicans are pro-life, i.e., against abortion and euthanasia, they're the ones who tell "you when you can be born and when you can die." And this, assuredly, is a bad thing. Against this, the Democrats stand as a party of thoughtful liberation from such tyranny of mind and body.
But what Mr. Zúniga sadly fails to apprehend is that if Republicans are indeed generally pro-life and anti-euthanasia, then it is the pro-choice Democrats, in all their progressive finery, who are dressed as executioners: They're the ones who tell you when you shall live and die. A mother who aborts her child tells it––exactly––when it shall die. If she chooses not to abort, then she surely tells her child exactly when it shall live. Similarly––and with the Terri Schiavo case still fresh in American minds it is immensely important to note this––it was the Democrats who wanted to tell Ms. Schiavo exactly when she would breathe her last, or at least when she was going to begin starving at the hand of compassion and mercy.
How strange (or is blindness not all that strange?) that Mr. Zúniga should not understand this simple fact: Republicans prefer to let nature take its course, as true naturalists, when it comes to birth; and Republicans let life last as long as it can, particularly when medical and nutritional aid has already been offered to the dying and incapacitated. Had Republicans really had their way, Terri Schiavo might still be alive today, with no one able to guess the date of her death. As it stands, the record shows that Ms. Schiavo's last day was pre-determined by those who only embrace liberty through the right to impose death. That's liberal, and progressive, in a sort of mind-numbing way.
I am sure Mr. Zúniga is a brilliant man. It is hard to understand how it could be otherwise when he has created one of the most popular blogs on the web. But brilliance takes many forms; I am certain it takes a genius to exploit the market of the stupid. He deserves his success, earned launching sallies here and there to wild applause. But who, really, is applauding? Not thinking people; not people attentive to language, plumbing its depths, mining phrases for meaning and truth.
How curious to find in The Daily Kos another example of psychological projection: Mr. Zúniga points away from himself, naming the Republicans the party of life and death. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that I can see the irony, despite the laughter and the applause.
Peace.
©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.
Related posts: Howard Dean IS, A Foolish Consistency
Related poem: Hearings From The House
Technorati tags: Colbert Report, The Daily Kos, Markos Moulitsas Zúniga, Markos Moulitsas Zuniga, Abortion, Pro-life, Pro-Choice, Terri Schiavo
Friday, April 07, 2006
One Word At A Time
This gets personal.
Contratimes emerged a year ago today, with the inaugural essay, Krugman, That Gnostic, now lost beneath the mass of over 200 essays, poems, and updates that have followed. And what a mass it is: 216 total posts. If you have managed to read everything here, then know that in the last year you've read 709 double-spaced pages comprising 208,693 words and 7,961 paragraphs in 12-point font, excluding comments. And if you've not read but only glanced at everything at Contratimes, your eyes have at least scanned over 1,202,663 characters since April 7, 2005.
Doing anything for one year is not really much of an achievement, unless you happen to be me. I am one of those people who is great at starting a project; it is the finishing with which I struggle. And though I set a goal for myself to maintain this blog for one year, it was a goal that I had a hard time achieving: I nearly quit in December last. But here I am, heading with vigor into a second year.
Why do this? My first reason for blogging was to maintain discipline in my writing life. I wanted to be held accountable to an audience, no matter how small, one that expected something new when they arrived here. An audience is always a good motivater, or so I find. For those of you who have been faithful readers, thanks.
But I also wanted to create a portfolio, proving to myself, and to any potential editor who might hire me, that I had the commitment and talent to write effectively, quickly and accurately, all on short notice. Since blogging is immediate, I wanted to prove to myself that I could produce a fairly high-end product in my very first drafts. I think I've done that pretty well.
When I was hired in 1987 at a tiny (though excellent) newspaper, I was hired as a writer. But it was my ability to use a camera that eventually impressed my editor. When the full-time staff photographer moved on, I was asked to replace him, though I had not spent one second in a darkroom. Enamored of the idea of being a "staff photographer", I took the job. That job would finally lead me to a staff position at a daily paper, with even a few gigs for USA Today (I've had a couple of above-the-fold page 1 images in that paper, which boasts the largest circulation in America). But the fact is, I am not really a photographer. Photography is not my passion. I prefer words. To riff on the words of Eric Liddell in Chariots of Fire, "When I write I feel God's pleasure."
I have not made a single penny at this website. For about an hour I had Google Ad-Sense activated, but when the first advertisement popped up soliciting readers' cash in exchange for anti-George W. Bush T-shirts, I deactivated that service rather quickly. Ads here feel a bit cheap, tawdry. But doing all of this has cost me a great deal, particularly since I have made a commitment to leave photography to become a full-time writer. I am barely scraping by, if scraping is what one might call it. I am actually gnawing at my own bones.
Lately I've toyed with the idea of applying (if that is what it's called) to the Washington Post, since that paper's recently hired conservative blogger was also recently fired. It turns out he may have been something of a very able and talented plagiarist. But I am not sure I am made of the requisite stuff that can churn out political, partisan boilerplate every minute of the day. I can't wax intelligent about the resignation of White House Chief of Staff, Andrew Card; nor can I speak with any insider's advantage about the leaks in the White House that have led to Scooter Libby's difficulties. All I can do is speak.
Plus, I am not a blogger of note. The traffic here is not what one would call noteworthy in the grand scheme of things, though I am not in the least complaining. My gratitude for having regular readers is boundless. But I doubt I can convince the Washington Post that I have what it takes to draw thousands of readers into the Post's web-servers. That you are even here is due to something of an accident: I have not promoted this blog at all, not even to most of my friends and acquaintances. Self-promotion is positively not my forté. I told one of my best friends about the blog only last week.
Of course, I could always ask for promotional help, though to do so seems like an imposition on others. Plus it seems presumptuous, as if I have something intrinsically worth promoting. But I need to realize that asking for help is not an imposition; I need to trust others who tell me that there is something worthwhile going on here. To ask for help from others, and to trust their opinions, is an act of grace and humility.
So, I take a chance, and I ask for your help. Do you know anyone who would like to hire a writer? Do you know how to promote this blog to a wider audience? Could you commend Contratimes to a friend, a newspaper, anybody?
This is not me asking for attention. I need to make a living now, before I am back to painting houses or mowing lawns. The debts are piling up. Combine all this with the facts that my wife has been ill for several years with CFS, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, showing no signs of getting better; and that my mother is about to need full time care, and perhaps you get some sense of my panic. At the very least, could you pray for me?
In closing, thank you for your kind attention to my work. I know I have many faithful readers (though none so faithful as that visitor from the Bank of New York, who has visited nearly every day). And ignoring the fact that I had a visitor this week from (I am not making this up) the Iran Atomic Energy Organization in Tehran, I am pleased that I've dear friends spread around the globe. I hope to continue making new friends. And it is my hope that we can build something long-lasting here. Clearly, I cannot do it alone.
Here's to starting another year one day at a time.
Peace and mirth,
Gnade
Technorati tags: Paul Krugman, Gnosticism
Contratimes emerged a year ago today, with the inaugural essay, Krugman, That Gnostic, now lost beneath the mass of over 200 essays, poems, and updates that have followed. And what a mass it is: 216 total posts. If you have managed to read everything here, then know that in the last year you've read 709 double-spaced pages comprising 208,693 words and 7,961 paragraphs in 12-point font, excluding comments. And if you've not read but only glanced at everything at Contratimes, your eyes have at least scanned over 1,202,663 characters since April 7, 2005.
Doing anything for one year is not really much of an achievement, unless you happen to be me. I am one of those people who is great at starting a project; it is the finishing with which I struggle. And though I set a goal for myself to maintain this blog for one year, it was a goal that I had a hard time achieving: I nearly quit in December last. But here I am, heading with vigor into a second year.
Why do this? My first reason for blogging was to maintain discipline in my writing life. I wanted to be held accountable to an audience, no matter how small, one that expected something new when they arrived here. An audience is always a good motivater, or so I find. For those of you who have been faithful readers, thanks.
But I also wanted to create a portfolio, proving to myself, and to any potential editor who might hire me, that I had the commitment and talent to write effectively, quickly and accurately, all on short notice. Since blogging is immediate, I wanted to prove to myself that I could produce a fairly high-end product in my very first drafts. I think I've done that pretty well.
When I was hired in 1987 at a tiny (though excellent) newspaper, I was hired as a writer. But it was my ability to use a camera that eventually impressed my editor. When the full-time staff photographer moved on, I was asked to replace him, though I had not spent one second in a darkroom. Enamored of the idea of being a "staff photographer", I took the job. That job would finally lead me to a staff position at a daily paper, with even a few gigs for USA Today (I've had a couple of above-the-fold page 1 images in that paper, which boasts the largest circulation in America). But the fact is, I am not really a photographer. Photography is not my passion. I prefer words. To riff on the words of Eric Liddell in Chariots of Fire, "When I write I feel God's pleasure."
I have not made a single penny at this website. For about an hour I had Google Ad-Sense activated, but when the first advertisement popped up soliciting readers' cash in exchange for anti-George W. Bush T-shirts, I deactivated that service rather quickly. Ads here feel a bit cheap, tawdry. But doing all of this has cost me a great deal, particularly since I have made a commitment to leave photography to become a full-time writer. I am barely scraping by, if scraping is what one might call it. I am actually gnawing at my own bones.
Lately I've toyed with the idea of applying (if that is what it's called) to the Washington Post, since that paper's recently hired conservative blogger was also recently fired. It turns out he may have been something of a very able and talented plagiarist. But I am not sure I am made of the requisite stuff that can churn out political, partisan boilerplate every minute of the day. I can't wax intelligent about the resignation of White House Chief of Staff, Andrew Card; nor can I speak with any insider's advantage about the leaks in the White House that have led to Scooter Libby's difficulties. All I can do is speak.
Plus, I am not a blogger of note. The traffic here is not what one would call noteworthy in the grand scheme of things, though I am not in the least complaining. My gratitude for having regular readers is boundless. But I doubt I can convince the Washington Post that I have what it takes to draw thousands of readers into the Post's web-servers. That you are even here is due to something of an accident: I have not promoted this blog at all, not even to most of my friends and acquaintances. Self-promotion is positively not my forté. I told one of my best friends about the blog only last week.
Of course, I could always ask for promotional help, though to do so seems like an imposition on others. Plus it seems presumptuous, as if I have something intrinsically worth promoting. But I need to realize that asking for help is not an imposition; I need to trust others who tell me that there is something worthwhile going on here. To ask for help from others, and to trust their opinions, is an act of grace and humility.
So, I take a chance, and I ask for your help. Do you know anyone who would like to hire a writer? Do you know how to promote this blog to a wider audience? Could you commend Contratimes to a friend, a newspaper, anybody?
This is not me asking for attention. I need to make a living now, before I am back to painting houses or mowing lawns. The debts are piling up. Combine all this with the facts that my wife has been ill for several years with CFS, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, showing no signs of getting better; and that my mother is about to need full time care, and perhaps you get some sense of my panic. At the very least, could you pray for me?
In closing, thank you for your kind attention to my work. I know I have many faithful readers (though none so faithful as that visitor from the Bank of New York, who has visited nearly every day). And ignoring the fact that I had a visitor this week from (I am not making this up) the Iran Atomic Energy Organization in Tehran, I am pleased that I've dear friends spread around the globe. I hope to continue making new friends. And it is my hope that we can build something long-lasting here. Clearly, I cannot do it alone.
Here's to starting another year one day at a time.
Peace and mirth,
Gnade
Technorati tags: Paul Krugman, Gnosticism
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