Saturday, October 16, 2004
Today: Wind causes me to think about homos in VA.
It's beautiful outside, when I look out my window. It’s the perfect sort of day to work on my tan and such, when I look outside.
Of course, as you may have guessed, it's too windy once you actually get outside. And, incase you've never experienced laying out on a beach when it's windy, let me provide an easy 6-step experiment for you:
1. Get a bucket of sand and a fan.
2. Stand directly in front of the fan so that your face is nearly up against the guard.
3. Turn the fan on 'High'
4. Smile and squint like the sun is in your face.
5. Using your hand, grab some sand and let go of it behind the fan.
6. Enjoy and congratulations. That feeling of sand pummeling your face and getting all over you is EXACTLY what it's like to try and lay out when it's windy at the beach!
Now, go pick the sand out of your teeth, you’re grossing me out.
In the mean time, it's high time we move on to the real topic of this blog.
Because I’m bored right now (because I can’t go out and tan) and on the suggestion of my friend Paul, I'm going to write about the cultural differences between New York and Virginia. But, since I'm a homo, I figure the easiest one for me will be the difference in gay culture, and furthermore, since I like going out, my super-specific subject matter of the day is going to be: the differences in bar/club culture between NYC and VA Beach/Hampton Roads/Norfolk.
Well, go get things rolling, tonight, I have plans to go out to this club called 'The Wave' in Norfolk, VA. It's an interesting slice of VA gay life. Like every gay bar outside of a major metropolitan area like New York, The Wave has two main distinctive features that are different for me. First is that it's in the most ghetto section of town, and second, it uses black lights as its primary 'mood' lighting.
Both of these present a problem for me, because, being a New Yorker, I'm accustomed to 1) Gay bars that are easy to get to and 2) Wearing black to them.
These are the main things I noticed when I first started going to bars outside of NY.
The music in this particular bar/club, which is typical for gay bars in this area, though not necessarily common for all bars outside of major metro areas, is terrible. It's, like, all old house mixes that should have stayed in the 90's where they so desperately belong. There is little to NO hip-hop and none of the wonderful new re-mixes that I get to hear in NY. I don't think these people have ever heard of Junior Vasquez--and if they have, these people down here don't know what's good for them. (After all, this state DOES vote republican most of the time...so...)
As for clientele, the bar is pretty average. There are some hot people, some not-so hot people and a lot of not-so-human as homo-clone people. Because there are so many military installations here, however, there are a lot of DL military boys, which is kind of fun in that man-out-of-uniform-who-usually-wears-a-uniform way. *SHRUG* I mean, they have short hair, but other than that, they’re just homos with a different job than most of us.
Along that same line, though, there are a lot of underage kids out, too. There just aren’t enough homos here to warrant their exclusion. Quite a few of them are extra flaming, though, and remind me of a small posse of Heavenites wherever I go out here: loud, queeny and oddly dressed.
Of course, the dress is very different, because people generally tend NOT to wear the NY uniform: Jeans and a black t-shirt. Such an ensemble in the aforementioned black-light would produce a glowing lint-display that is reminiscent of an episode of Mr. Wizard’s World and would hardly be appropriate when one is trying to turn people on. Instead, the people at The Wave, as well as other such black-lit bars, tend to wear shiny, metallic shirts or brightly colored t-shirts with silly lettering on them. I have some of such articles (not the metallic variety, however, thank god), so that’s what I brought down with me to club in (knowing from my last adventure in VA that that’s what I have to wear if I want not to be the human lint museum on the dance floor).
The dancing style here is VERY different than in New York, because there is this interesting thing down here that makes the conditions of dancing very different: space. This can be a positive or a negative, though, because some people are extremely wild dancers down here and with the alcohol that they drink, it just becomes worse. I’ve got the bruises to prove it. It’s far worse than anything I ever get to experience in NY, though I’m sure it would happen if people had the space to be like that. On the positive side, however, the space allows you to dance up to boys you think are cute easier (though it allows trollish individuals that same courtesy—the good with the bad, I guess.)
Sadly, because of the lack of public transportation to and from these ghetto areas in VA, someone’s always got to be the DD, which sucks. But this also means that there are always sober people in the bar, another downer.
There is also smoke in bars here, which is so alien to me at this point, though it’s only been a year since NY adopted the ‘no smoking in *anywhere*’ policy. I’ve forgotten how to dodge burning cigarettes and forgotten that I have to wash everything I wear to bars instantly or risk having that foul, foul stench on them forever.
Club life down here is certainly not without its advantages, though. The weather is warmer here, generally, so people tend to wear less clothing, which is fun. They tend to be warmer than New Yorkers, too. Boys down here are much easier to talk to, if you can hear them over the horrible music. The drinks are much cheaper here, of course—always a good way to make me love somewhere. The bar tenders are nicer to me here than NY bartenders, who can be extremely standoffish unless you’re shoving money down their pants.
They also all serve food here. Liquor licenses in VA stipulate that to serve hard alcohol, you must have a full kitchen and menu. Though most of the menus consist of lots of ways to fry crap, it’s nice to know that if I’ve got beer munchies, I can just go and grab some food at the counter, though it certainly means a bigger mess for the poor bar staff to clean up at closing time.
Strange stuff:
Drag shows down here are like strip shows. The person performing gets money thrown at her throughout her performance—and sometimes gets fondled by the person giving the dough. Weird!
People will come up to you and ask the strangest questions in order to pretend they’re not actually hitting on you. Right, because you were just making eyes at me across the bar and now have come over to me, I’m really supposed to expect that the reason you’re over here is to find out what kind of jeans I have on?—Not that you could see them under this lighting to begin with. People do this in New York, too, but they usually are a little more sly about it.
People know the words to the terrible 90’s house crap. Okay, not so strange, it’s all they listen to, but I can’t give up the fact that the music is really crappy.
I’ve been asked if I’m in the military more than a dozen times since I’ve been down here. Of course, as I’ve said before, there are a lot of military installations, but my hair is SO not in regulation. It’s about 2 inches too long, at least, in the front and about an inch too long in the back and on the sides, which should be completely obvious to anyone who knows anything about the military. I guess it’s the same kind of question you’d get in college, the ‘what’s your major’ question. *shrug*
Okay, that’s it. I’m going to get spruced up for the evening.
It's beautiful outside, when I look out my window. It’s the perfect sort of day to work on my tan and such, when I look outside.
Of course, as you may have guessed, it's too windy once you actually get outside. And, incase you've never experienced laying out on a beach when it's windy, let me provide an easy 6-step experiment for you:
1. Get a bucket of sand and a fan.
2. Stand directly in front of the fan so that your face is nearly up against the guard.
3. Turn the fan on 'High'
4. Smile and squint like the sun is in your face.
5. Using your hand, grab some sand and let go of it behind the fan.
6. Enjoy and congratulations. That feeling of sand pummeling your face and getting all over you is EXACTLY what it's like to try and lay out when it's windy at the beach!
Now, go pick the sand out of your teeth, you’re grossing me out.
In the mean time, it's high time we move on to the real topic of this blog.
Because I’m bored right now (because I can’t go out and tan) and on the suggestion of my friend Paul, I'm going to write about the cultural differences between New York and Virginia. But, since I'm a homo, I figure the easiest one for me will be the difference in gay culture, and furthermore, since I like going out, my super-specific subject matter of the day is going to be: the differences in bar/club culture between NYC and VA Beach/Hampton Roads/Norfolk.
Well, go get things rolling, tonight, I have plans to go out to this club called 'The Wave' in Norfolk, VA. It's an interesting slice of VA gay life. Like every gay bar outside of a major metropolitan area like New York, The Wave has two main distinctive features that are different for me. First is that it's in the most ghetto section of town, and second, it uses black lights as its primary 'mood' lighting.
Both of these present a problem for me, because, being a New Yorker, I'm accustomed to 1) Gay bars that are easy to get to and 2) Wearing black to them.
These are the main things I noticed when I first started going to bars outside of NY.
The music in this particular bar/club, which is typical for gay bars in this area, though not necessarily common for all bars outside of major metro areas, is terrible. It's, like, all old house mixes that should have stayed in the 90's where they so desperately belong. There is little to NO hip-hop and none of the wonderful new re-mixes that I get to hear in NY. I don't think these people have ever heard of Junior Vasquez--and if they have, these people down here don't know what's good for them. (After all, this state DOES vote republican most of the time...so...)
As for clientele, the bar is pretty average. There are some hot people, some not-so hot people and a lot of not-so-human as homo-clone people. Because there are so many military installations here, however, there are a lot of DL military boys, which is kind of fun in that man-out-of-uniform-who-usually-wears-a-uniform way. *SHRUG* I mean, they have short hair, but other than that, they’re just homos with a different job than most of us.
Along that same line, though, there are a lot of underage kids out, too. There just aren’t enough homos here to warrant their exclusion. Quite a few of them are extra flaming, though, and remind me of a small posse of Heavenites wherever I go out here: loud, queeny and oddly dressed.
Of course, the dress is very different, because people generally tend NOT to wear the NY uniform: Jeans and a black t-shirt. Such an ensemble in the aforementioned black-light would produce a glowing lint-display that is reminiscent of an episode of Mr. Wizard’s World and would hardly be appropriate when one is trying to turn people on. Instead, the people at The Wave, as well as other such black-lit bars, tend to wear shiny, metallic shirts or brightly colored t-shirts with silly lettering on them. I have some of such articles (not the metallic variety, however, thank god), so that’s what I brought down with me to club in (knowing from my last adventure in VA that that’s what I have to wear if I want not to be the human lint museum on the dance floor).
The dancing style here is VERY different than in New York, because there is this interesting thing down here that makes the conditions of dancing very different: space. This can be a positive or a negative, though, because some people are extremely wild dancers down here and with the alcohol that they drink, it just becomes worse. I’ve got the bruises to prove it. It’s far worse than anything I ever get to experience in NY, though I’m sure it would happen if people had the space to be like that. On the positive side, however, the space allows you to dance up to boys you think are cute easier (though it allows trollish individuals that same courtesy—the good with the bad, I guess.)
Sadly, because of the lack of public transportation to and from these ghetto areas in VA, someone’s always got to be the DD, which sucks. But this also means that there are always sober people in the bar, another downer.
There is also smoke in bars here, which is so alien to me at this point, though it’s only been a year since NY adopted the ‘no smoking in *anywhere*’ policy. I’ve forgotten how to dodge burning cigarettes and forgotten that I have to wash everything I wear to bars instantly or risk having that foul, foul stench on them forever.
Club life down here is certainly not without its advantages, though. The weather is warmer here, generally, so people tend to wear less clothing, which is fun. They tend to be warmer than New Yorkers, too. Boys down here are much easier to talk to, if you can hear them over the horrible music. The drinks are much cheaper here, of course—always a good way to make me love somewhere. The bar tenders are nicer to me here than NY bartenders, who can be extremely standoffish unless you’re shoving money down their pants.
They also all serve food here. Liquor licenses in VA stipulate that to serve hard alcohol, you must have a full kitchen and menu. Though most of the menus consist of lots of ways to fry crap, it’s nice to know that if I’ve got beer munchies, I can just go and grab some food at the counter, though it certainly means a bigger mess for the poor bar staff to clean up at closing time.
Strange stuff:
Drag shows down here are like strip shows. The person performing gets money thrown at her throughout her performance—and sometimes gets fondled by the person giving the dough. Weird!
People will come up to you and ask the strangest questions in order to pretend they’re not actually hitting on you. Right, because you were just making eyes at me across the bar and now have come over to me, I’m really supposed to expect that the reason you’re over here is to find out what kind of jeans I have on?—Not that you could see them under this lighting to begin with. People do this in New York, too, but they usually are a little more sly about it.
People know the words to the terrible 90’s house crap. Okay, not so strange, it’s all they listen to, but I can’t give up the fact that the music is really crappy.
I’ve been asked if I’m in the military more than a dozen times since I’ve been down here. Of course, as I’ve said before, there are a lot of military installations, but my hair is SO not in regulation. It’s about 2 inches too long, at least, in the front and about an inch too long in the back and on the sides, which should be completely obvious to anyone who knows anything about the military. I guess it’s the same kind of question you’d get in college, the ‘what’s your major’ question. *shrug*
Okay, that’s it. I’m going to get spruced up for the evening.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Interesting site I was just alerted to. Go there. Cast your vote.
If the World could Vote...
Hope you Have a good day!
If the World could Vote...
Hope you Have a good day!
Today: No news, but a lot of blabber.
It’s been another day working my little tail feathers to the bone—well, sorta. I took a nap half way through the day for about two hours. That’s hardly indicative of a hard day working, but oh well. I’m an actor: we nap, okay?
All right, so I haven’t come up with anything interesting to say today, but I’m really trying hard to work out some weird feelings I’ve been having lately.
Weird feeling number one: sticks in my back: I don’t like wicker furniture. It’s not comfortable—I don’t care who says it is.
Weird feeling number two: Will & Grace really IS a funny show. And it’s extremely well acted. I want to hate it because it’s gay (and I’ve got a very angry internal homophobe incase you didn’t know that), but I just can’t. We watch it all the time here.
Weird Feeling Number three: I wish I were more independent, emotionally. I’m a rather fragile person, when you come down to it, and though I can be strong through emotionally trying situations, the smallest stuff can make me fly off the handle (inside) and I don’t know why. A big part of this, I know, is that I don’t deal well with people in a big group. I’ve always had a problem with that. I’m just better one on one. I wish I could just be my usual self around everyone, but people think I’m being sulky when I am. I’m not, I’m just a lot more quiet than people think I am, which is, of course, my fault, because who gives them that impression? Me.
Ugh.
And the ugh wasn’t about the psychological mess I’m acting, It’s about the fact that I ripped a whole bunch of CD’s to my computer and at present, the Dixie Chicks are playing. UGH. Why did I let that happen? Guh.
Much better: Radiohead.
I’m wired and it’s 2:45 in the morning. I guess naps may not be the best thing.
Everyone in my house has gotten some kind of sick since we moved in. I keep telling them that it’s the filters on the central-air—I’m sure that’s what it is.
I’m really lonely down in Virginia Beach. It reminds me of a time when I was inconsolably lonely, the last time I was in VA for any length of time, I really didn’t know what to do with myself, and I was in a worse position that I’m in now, both financially and psychologically.
Weird feeling number 4: I’m not a nerd, but people keep yelling at me for using ‘ten cent’ words. These are words like ‘conducive’ and ‘unsubstantiated’ and ‘textured vegetable protein.’ I need to get back to New York, where people understand that the four main food groups are Fruits/Veggies, Dairy/Cheeses, Eggs/Nuts/Soy, and Guinness.
Which, incidentally brings me to the point of the dog that someone who works at the theatre, presumably, brought to rehearsal today. This dog was a 9-month-old black lab named Guinness, which made me wish I could have a dog to name Guinness. Is it plagiary to steal someone’s dog’s name?
And why the HELL is Plagiary spelled like that?!
I also have to make sure I take this time to say thank-you to Evan for selling his computer and iPod to me for cheap. It’s saving my life down here. Ohmigod.
Sorry this entry has amounted to nothing. I’m just a little low on creative juice. I’ve been using all of it to create three distinctive slack-jawed yokels with varying degrees of oral decay for this show I’m doing (as well as a black slave and two random people). It’s taking a lot more of my mental energy than I would ever have been able to imagine. I think maybe if I read some other stuff I’ll come up with some things that make me want to write more.
Oh! That reminds me! I’m going to send a letter, soon, to Sketchers. Just wait.
It’s been another day working my little tail feathers to the bone—well, sorta. I took a nap half way through the day for about two hours. That’s hardly indicative of a hard day working, but oh well. I’m an actor: we nap, okay?
All right, so I haven’t come up with anything interesting to say today, but I’m really trying hard to work out some weird feelings I’ve been having lately.
Weird feeling number one: sticks in my back: I don’t like wicker furniture. It’s not comfortable—I don’t care who says it is.
Weird feeling number two: Will & Grace really IS a funny show. And it’s extremely well acted. I want to hate it because it’s gay (and I’ve got a very angry internal homophobe incase you didn’t know that), but I just can’t. We watch it all the time here.
Weird Feeling Number three: I wish I were more independent, emotionally. I’m a rather fragile person, when you come down to it, and though I can be strong through emotionally trying situations, the smallest stuff can make me fly off the handle (inside) and I don’t know why. A big part of this, I know, is that I don’t deal well with people in a big group. I’ve always had a problem with that. I’m just better one on one. I wish I could just be my usual self around everyone, but people think I’m being sulky when I am. I’m not, I’m just a lot more quiet than people think I am, which is, of course, my fault, because who gives them that impression? Me.
Ugh.
And the ugh wasn’t about the psychological mess I’m acting, It’s about the fact that I ripped a whole bunch of CD’s to my computer and at present, the Dixie Chicks are playing. UGH. Why did I let that happen? Guh.
Much better: Radiohead.
I’m wired and it’s 2:45 in the morning. I guess naps may not be the best thing.
Everyone in my house has gotten some kind of sick since we moved in. I keep telling them that it’s the filters on the central-air—I’m sure that’s what it is.
I’m really lonely down in Virginia Beach. It reminds me of a time when I was inconsolably lonely, the last time I was in VA for any length of time, I really didn’t know what to do with myself, and I was in a worse position that I’m in now, both financially and psychologically.
Weird feeling number 4: I’m not a nerd, but people keep yelling at me for using ‘ten cent’ words. These are words like ‘conducive’ and ‘unsubstantiated’ and ‘textured vegetable protein.’ I need to get back to New York, where people understand that the four main food groups are Fruits/Veggies, Dairy/Cheeses, Eggs/Nuts/Soy, and Guinness.
Which, incidentally brings me to the point of the dog that someone who works at the theatre, presumably, brought to rehearsal today. This dog was a 9-month-old black lab named Guinness, which made me wish I could have a dog to name Guinness. Is it plagiary to steal someone’s dog’s name?
And why the HELL is Plagiary spelled like that?!
I also have to make sure I take this time to say thank-you to Evan for selling his computer and iPod to me for cheap. It’s saving my life down here. Ohmigod.
Sorry this entry has amounted to nothing. I’m just a little low on creative juice. I’ve been using all of it to create three distinctive slack-jawed yokels with varying degrees of oral decay for this show I’m doing (as well as a black slave and two random people). It’s taking a lot more of my mental energy than I would ever have been able to imagine. I think maybe if I read some other stuff I’ll come up with some things that make me want to write more.
Oh! That reminds me! I’m going to send a letter, soon, to Sketchers. Just wait.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Though this was published a while ago, I am going to re-publish it because I can't find a link to it:
Published on Thursday, September 9, 2004 by the
Easthampton Star / Long Island, New York
The Unfeeling President
by E.L. Doctorow
I fault this president for not knowing what death is.
He does not suffer the death of our 21-year-olds who
wanted to be what they could be. On the eve of D-Day
in 1944 General Eisenhower prayed to God for the lives
of the young soldiers he knew were going to die. He
knew what death was. Even in a justifiable war, a war
not of choice but of necessity, a war of survival, the
cost was almost more than Eisenhower could bear. But
this president does not know what death is. He hasn't
the mind for it. You see him joking with the press,
peering under the table for the weapons of mass
destruction he can't seem to find, you see him at
rallies strutting up to the stage in shirt sleeves to
the roar of the carefully screened crowd, smiling and
waving, triumphal, a he-man. He does not mourn. He
doesn't understand why he should mourn. He is
satisfied during the course of a speech written for
him to look solemn for a moment and speak of the brave
young Americans who made the ultimate sacrifice for
their country. But you study him, you look into his
eyes and know he dissembles an emotion which he does
not feel in the depths of his being because he has no
capacity for it. He does not feel a personal
responsibility for the 1,000 dead young men and women
who wanted to be what they could be. They come to his
desk not as youngsters with mothers and fathers or
wives and children who will suffer to the end of their
days a terribly torn fabric of familial relationships
and the inconsolable remembrance of aborted life . . .
they come to his desk as a political liability, which
is why the press is not permitted to photograph the
arrival of their coffins from Iraq. How then can he
mourn? To mourn is to express regret and he regrets
nothing. He does not regret that his reason for going
to war was, as he knew, unsubstantiated by the facts.
He does not regret that his bungled plan for the war's
aftermath has made of his mission-accomplished a
disaster. He does not regret that, rather than
controlling terrorism, his war in Iraq has licensed
it. So he never mourns for the dead and crippled
youngsters who have fought this war of his choice. He
wanted to go to war and he did. He had not the mind to
perceive the costs of war, or to listen to those who
knew those costs. He did not understand that you do
not go to war when it is one of the options but when
it is the only option; you go not because you want to
but because you have to. Yet this president knew it
would be difficult for Americans not to cheer the
overthrow of a foreign dictator. He knew that much.
This president and his supporters would seem to have a
mind for only one thing -- to take power, to remain in
power, and to use that power for the sake of
themselves and their friends. A war will do that as
well as anything. You become a wartime leader. The
country gets behind you. Dissent becomes
inappropriate. And so he does not drop to his knees,
he is not contrite, he does not sit in the church with
the grieving parents and wives and children. He is the
president who does not feel. He does not feel for the
families of the dead, he does not feel for the 35
million of us who live in poverty, he does not feel
for the 40 percent who cannot afford health insurance,
he does not feel for the miners whose lungs are
turning black or for the working people he has
deprived of the chance to work overtime at
time-and-a-half to pay their bills - it is amazing for
how many people in this country this president does
not feel. But he will dissemble feeling. He will say
in all sincerity he is relieving the wealthiest 1
percent of the population of their tax burden for the
sake of the rest of us, and that he is polluting the
air we breathe for the sake of our economy, and that
he is decreasing the quality of air in coal mines to
save the coal miners' jobs, and that he is depriving
workers of their time-and-a-half benefits for overtime
because this is actually a way to honor them by
raising them into the professional class. And this
litany of lies he will versify with reverences for God
and the flag and democracy, when just what he and his
party are doing to our democracy is choking the life
out of it. But there is one more terribly sad thing
about all of this. I remember the millions of people
here and around the world who marched against the war.
It was extraordinary, that spontaneous aroused
oversoul of alarm and protest that transcended
national borders. Why did it happen? After all, this
was not the only war anyone had ever seen coming.
There are little wars all over he world most of the
time. But the cry of protest was the appalled
understanding of millions of people that America was
ceding its role as the last best hope of mankind. It
was their perception that the classic archetype of
democracy was morphing into a rogue nation. The
greatest democratic republic in history was turning
its back on the future, using its extraordinary power
and standing not to advance the ideal of a concordance
of civilizations but to endorse the kind of tribal
combat that originated with the Neanderthals, a
people, now extinct, who could imagine ensuring their
survival by no other means than pre-emptive war. The
president we get is the country we get. With each
president the nation is conformed spiritually. He is
the artificer of our malleable national soul. He
proposes not only the laws but the kinds of
lawlessness that govern our lives and invoke our
responses. The people he appoints are cast in his
image. The trouble they get into and get us into, is
his characteristic trouble. Finally, the media amplify
his character into our moral weather report. He
becomes the face of our sky, the conditions that
prevail. How can we sustain ourselves as the United
States of America given the stupid and ineffective
warmaking, the constitutionally insensitive lawgiving,
and the monarchal economics of this president? He
cannot mourn but is a figure of such moral vacancy as
to make us mourn for ourselves.
E. L. Doctorow is an American novelist.
Published on Thursday, September 9, 2004 by the
Easthampton Star / Long Island, New York
The Unfeeling President
by E.L. Doctorow
I fault this president for not knowing what death is.
He does not suffer the death of our 21-year-olds who
wanted to be what they could be. On the eve of D-Day
in 1944 General Eisenhower prayed to God for the lives
of the young soldiers he knew were going to die. He
knew what death was. Even in a justifiable war, a war
not of choice but of necessity, a war of survival, the
cost was almost more than Eisenhower could bear. But
this president does not know what death is. He hasn't
the mind for it. You see him joking with the press,
peering under the table for the weapons of mass
destruction he can't seem to find, you see him at
rallies strutting up to the stage in shirt sleeves to
the roar of the carefully screened crowd, smiling and
waving, triumphal, a he-man. He does not mourn. He
doesn't understand why he should mourn. He is
satisfied during the course of a speech written for
him to look solemn for a moment and speak of the brave
young Americans who made the ultimate sacrifice for
their country. But you study him, you look into his
eyes and know he dissembles an emotion which he does
not feel in the depths of his being because he has no
capacity for it. He does not feel a personal
responsibility for the 1,000 dead young men and women
who wanted to be what they could be. They come to his
desk not as youngsters with mothers and fathers or
wives and children who will suffer to the end of their
days a terribly torn fabric of familial relationships
and the inconsolable remembrance of aborted life . . .
they come to his desk as a political liability, which
is why the press is not permitted to photograph the
arrival of their coffins from Iraq. How then can he
mourn? To mourn is to express regret and he regrets
nothing. He does not regret that his reason for going
to war was, as he knew, unsubstantiated by the facts.
He does not regret that his bungled plan for the war's
aftermath has made of his mission-accomplished a
disaster. He does not regret that, rather than
controlling terrorism, his war in Iraq has licensed
it. So he never mourns for the dead and crippled
youngsters who have fought this war of his choice. He
wanted to go to war and he did. He had not the mind to
perceive the costs of war, or to listen to those who
knew those costs. He did not understand that you do
not go to war when it is one of the options but when
it is the only option; you go not because you want to
but because you have to. Yet this president knew it
would be difficult for Americans not to cheer the
overthrow of a foreign dictator. He knew that much.
This president and his supporters would seem to have a
mind for only one thing -- to take power, to remain in
power, and to use that power for the sake of
themselves and their friends. A war will do that as
well as anything. You become a wartime leader. The
country gets behind you. Dissent becomes
inappropriate. And so he does not drop to his knees,
he is not contrite, he does not sit in the church with
the grieving parents and wives and children. He is the
president who does not feel. He does not feel for the
families of the dead, he does not feel for the 35
million of us who live in poverty, he does not feel
for the 40 percent who cannot afford health insurance,
he does not feel for the miners whose lungs are
turning black or for the working people he has
deprived of the chance to work overtime at
time-and-a-half to pay their bills - it is amazing for
how many people in this country this president does
not feel. But he will dissemble feeling. He will say
in all sincerity he is relieving the wealthiest 1
percent of the population of their tax burden for the
sake of the rest of us, and that he is polluting the
air we breathe for the sake of our economy, and that
he is decreasing the quality of air in coal mines to
save the coal miners' jobs, and that he is depriving
workers of their time-and-a-half benefits for overtime
because this is actually a way to honor them by
raising them into the professional class. And this
litany of lies he will versify with reverences for God
and the flag and democracy, when just what he and his
party are doing to our democracy is choking the life
out of it. But there is one more terribly sad thing
about all of this. I remember the millions of people
here and around the world who marched against the war.
It was extraordinary, that spontaneous aroused
oversoul of alarm and protest that transcended
national borders. Why did it happen? After all, this
was not the only war anyone had ever seen coming.
There are little wars all over he world most of the
time. But the cry of protest was the appalled
understanding of millions of people that America was
ceding its role as the last best hope of mankind. It
was their perception that the classic archetype of
democracy was morphing into a rogue nation. The
greatest democratic republic in history was turning
its back on the future, using its extraordinary power
and standing not to advance the ideal of a concordance
of civilizations but to endorse the kind of tribal
combat that originated with the Neanderthals, a
people, now extinct, who could imagine ensuring their
survival by no other means than pre-emptive war. The
president we get is the country we get. With each
president the nation is conformed spiritually. He is
the artificer of our malleable national soul. He
proposes not only the laws but the kinds of
lawlessness that govern our lives and invoke our
responses. The people he appoints are cast in his
image. The trouble they get into and get us into, is
his characteristic trouble. Finally, the media amplify
his character into our moral weather report. He
becomes the face of our sky, the conditions that
prevail. How can we sustain ourselves as the United
States of America given the stupid and ineffective
warmaking, the constitutionally insensitive lawgiving,
and the monarchal economics of this president? He
cannot mourn but is a figure of such moral vacancy as
to make us mourn for ourselves.
E. L. Doctorow is an American novelist.
Today: Overreacting, but still...
I got an email forward from someone today that was all about this guy in Iraq who's a sculptor who made some sculpture of a soldier mourning and an Iraqi child 'comforting' him to say thank you to American troops for their sacrifices in his country, and ultimately for his country's liberation. The forward went on to suggest that the reason we never see things like that on TV is because our media is obsessed with flashier topics like boob flashes and political intrigue, not heartwarming stories.
Upon reading it a few times, my initial response to the email wasn't really the right response to what was ultimately just a dig at the media in our country--I do think we should be supporting our troops, let me just say that before I post this, which was my first response to the forward.
Dear A__,
The picture didn't load, so I don't know what it actually looks like, but I'm sure it's a beautiful statue. I know that it's a beautiful sentiment. It's a great thing that the heroic efforts of our troops have been imortalized like that.
I can tell you right now, though, that the reason we don't hear about this statue not because of the media's obsession with gore and such. All you have to do to find heart-warming stories is watch daytime tv: it's full of those heart-warming stories and life-changing dr. phil sorts of things. The real reason those things aren't being shown is because our country is worried about the people who have died, not about the Iraqis 'we've freed.' It's sad, but it's true. Our country needs to take care of itself and its people, at home and abroad. Our troops, though seen by many, like the sculptor of that statue, as liberators, are seen by others as menaces and occupiers hell-bent on robbing this all ready starving country of one of its few valuable resources.
And why shouldn't they? That has, historically been our policy all throughout the last century. I mean, my god, we MADE Saddam Hussein as powerful as he was to get at their oil before. The United States (as well as other countries) traded arms with Hussein throughout the 70's and 80's. It has often been remarked that when Saddam was gassing Kurds, he was doing so with chemical weapons manufactured in Rochester, New York. Sure, he was a menace, sure he killed thousands of his people, but he did not create himself. He needed to go, that's for certain. Was it our duty to oust him? If your neighbor's husband is abusive, is it your job to go into their house, smash everything in the livingroom and throw the man out onto the street? I don't think so.
Further, the leadership of this country went storming into Iraq without the agreement of the rest of the world. Bush says that when in regards to our national safety, we don't need the world's approval. Sure, we can all agree with that, but it was all ready belived, before our troops were even in Iraq (which they were ill-equipped for, as has been pointed out) , that there were no WMD. And if there were, Saddam was certainly not aiming them at us or selling them to terrorists.
There is NO connection between a secular dictator (Hussein) and Al Quaeda, which is an extremist religeous group. It was widely known in the Islamic world that Osama Bin Laden hated Saddam Hussein and his secular government.
We need a change. Weather the Iraqis praise our 'liberation' or not, there were big mistakes made in the setting-up of this war effort. People, many people, have died because of poor planning by our leaders. That's not right. Our country needs a change, so we can get back to what we need to do: provide for our own safety and security--be that National Defense or ensuring that everyone has good quality, affordable healthcare. The present administration hasn't truely dealt with either of those issues.
I'm sorry if that's in dissagreement with your feelings on the matter, but if you're going to send me email forwards, you're going to get responses like this on occasion.
Love,
Matt
I got an email forward from someone today that was all about this guy in Iraq who's a sculptor who made some sculpture of a soldier mourning and an Iraqi child 'comforting' him to say thank you to American troops for their sacrifices in his country, and ultimately for his country's liberation. The forward went on to suggest that the reason we never see things like that on TV is because our media is obsessed with flashier topics like boob flashes and political intrigue, not heartwarming stories.
Upon reading it a few times, my initial response to the email wasn't really the right response to what was ultimately just a dig at the media in our country--I do think we should be supporting our troops, let me just say that before I post this, which was my first response to the forward.
Dear A__,
The picture didn't load, so I don't know what it actually looks like, but I'm sure it's a beautiful statue. I know that it's a beautiful sentiment. It's a great thing that the heroic efforts of our troops have been imortalized like that.
I can tell you right now, though, that the reason we don't hear about this statue not because of the media's obsession with gore and such. All you have to do to find heart-warming stories is watch daytime tv: it's full of those heart-warming stories and life-changing dr. phil sorts of things. The real reason those things aren't being shown is because our country is worried about the people who have died, not about the Iraqis 'we've freed.' It's sad, but it's true. Our country needs to take care of itself and its people, at home and abroad. Our troops, though seen by many, like the sculptor of that statue, as liberators, are seen by others as menaces and occupiers hell-bent on robbing this all ready starving country of one of its few valuable resources.
And why shouldn't they? That has, historically been our policy all throughout the last century. I mean, my god, we MADE Saddam Hussein as powerful as he was to get at their oil before. The United States (as well as other countries) traded arms with Hussein throughout the 70's and 80's. It has often been remarked that when Saddam was gassing Kurds, he was doing so with chemical weapons manufactured in Rochester, New York. Sure, he was a menace, sure he killed thousands of his people, but he did not create himself. He needed to go, that's for certain. Was it our duty to oust him? If your neighbor's husband is abusive, is it your job to go into their house, smash everything in the livingroom and throw the man out onto the street? I don't think so.
Further, the leadership of this country went storming into Iraq without the agreement of the rest of the world. Bush says that when in regards to our national safety, we don't need the world's approval. Sure, we can all agree with that, but it was all ready belived, before our troops were even in Iraq (which they were ill-equipped for, as has been pointed out) , that there were no WMD. And if there were, Saddam was certainly not aiming them at us or selling them to terrorists.
There is NO connection between a secular dictator (Hussein) and Al Quaeda, which is an extremist religeous group. It was widely known in the Islamic world that Osama Bin Laden hated Saddam Hussein and his secular government.
We need a change. Weather the Iraqis praise our 'liberation' or not, there were big mistakes made in the setting-up of this war effort. People, many people, have died because of poor planning by our leaders. That's not right. Our country needs a change, so we can get back to what we need to do: provide for our own safety and security--be that National Defense or ensuring that everyone has good quality, affordable healthcare. The present administration hasn't truely dealt with either of those issues.
I'm sorry if that's in dissagreement with your feelings on the matter, but if you're going to send me email forwards, you're going to get responses like this on occasion.
Love,
Matt
Monday, October 11, 2004
Today: Losses.
I went to Busch Gardens yesterday and had a pretty good time. It was nice to walk in the park without having to work. It was nice to go see so many of my friends in their shows. It was just, overall, pretty nice. I found out, however, that one of the supervisors had died pretty recently. He was the one Supervisor at Busch who I really liked and who I felt cared for me. I had spent my last week at the park helping him move all of the Howl-O-Scream corpses and such into their new homes and had gotten pretty close to him. He had begun to call me Matty, which is something that very few people are allowed to do. I don’t know really how to sum him up, other than to say that he was a really great person and it’s sad that he’s not here anymore. They said he died in his sleep. He wasn’t even 40. I’m glad I got to know him.
Today, I went to Jim’s memorial Service. The Supervisors at Busch Gardens never really made me feel all that welcome, to be honest, other than Jim, so seeing all of them crying was weird. Being around was weird. I saw some of my old friends who I hadn't seen at the park yesterday, which was nice, but, of course, I wished it could have been under different circumstances. Jim was an accomplished Jazz musician and the memorial was full of music. I was very happy to see that everyone who spoke of him felt the same admiration that I felt. He was a universally admired person. I'm glad I had the privilege to know him.
Also in the Obituary section is Christopher Reeve. That’s also sad. There are certainly various things that are going to happen politically because of his death. That’s also sad. I think, though, that no one famous can die this year without it becoming some kind of political free-for-all. Let’s see if it happens with Superman.
I got home from Jim’s Service today and of course the Nanny was ending as I came in the door… Fortunately, the Golden Girls was on next, but it had to be an episode where one of the girls thinks she’s dying. They were all talking about how they want to be taken care of when they die. It was ill-timed at best, but man, those old ladies sure are funny.
When I die, I want there to be a party. Nothing lavish, just a gathering of people to have a good time, listen to some music and tell mean jokes about me. That's right, I want people to make fun of me. I'm a silly guy. I want it to be just like a celebrity roast, only I'm dead. Okay? okay.
I went to Busch Gardens yesterday and had a pretty good time. It was nice to walk in the park without having to work. It was nice to go see so many of my friends in their shows. It was just, overall, pretty nice. I found out, however, that one of the supervisors had died pretty recently. He was the one Supervisor at Busch who I really liked and who I felt cared for me. I had spent my last week at the park helping him move all of the Howl-O-Scream corpses and such into their new homes and had gotten pretty close to him. He had begun to call me Matty, which is something that very few people are allowed to do. I don’t know really how to sum him up, other than to say that he was a really great person and it’s sad that he’s not here anymore. They said he died in his sleep. He wasn’t even 40. I’m glad I got to know him.
Today, I went to Jim’s memorial Service. The Supervisors at Busch Gardens never really made me feel all that welcome, to be honest, other than Jim, so seeing all of them crying was weird. Being around was weird. I saw some of my old friends who I hadn't seen at the park yesterday, which was nice, but, of course, I wished it could have been under different circumstances. Jim was an accomplished Jazz musician and the memorial was full of music. I was very happy to see that everyone who spoke of him felt the same admiration that I felt. He was a universally admired person. I'm glad I had the privilege to know him.
Also in the Obituary section is Christopher Reeve. That’s also sad. There are certainly various things that are going to happen politically because of his death. That’s also sad. I think, though, that no one famous can die this year without it becoming some kind of political free-for-all. Let’s see if it happens with Superman.
I got home from Jim’s Service today and of course the Nanny was ending as I came in the door… Fortunately, the Golden Girls was on next, but it had to be an episode where one of the girls thinks she’s dying. They were all talking about how they want to be taken care of when they die. It was ill-timed at best, but man, those old ladies sure are funny.
When I die, I want there to be a party. Nothing lavish, just a gathering of people to have a good time, listen to some music and tell mean jokes about me. That's right, I want people to make fun of me. I'm a silly guy. I want it to be just like a celebrity roast, only I'm dead. Okay? okay.
Friday, October 08, 2004
Today: Where I've been for the last month or so...
Well, as you may have guessed, I haven't had regular enough computer access to do any blogging. *Boo*
Fortunately, I've bought Evan's old (well, only sorta old) iBook, so now I'll have acces always *Yay*
I don't really know where to begin, I have so much stuff to talk about.
Well, I guess for starters, I wake up this month in Virginia Beach. I'm doing the show Big River down here, which is fun. I'm playing 'The Young Fool,' among others, which is sure to be a cathartic experience. I'm also living almost directly ON the beach, which is sure nice. The people I'm working with are sweet and fun to be around, so I'm really enjoying the whole situation. Not to mention the pay scale is pretty nice. On the whole, this situation is pretty idyllic.
The only frustrating things have been the Net and The Nanny. Allow me to explain:
First: The internet has been IMPOSSIBLE to get on. Not for any other reason than because I'm on a Mac now, which isn't automatically bundled with 300 different little dialup interfaces. I'm not in an area where there are too many good free wireless zones, so I've had to use the ancient 'modem' device that's inside the computer (modem: an ancient device used to connect to the internet which requires a 'cable' to plug into a "PHONE JACK" in the wall. HAHAHA...how old). Anyway, I'm talking to Jimmy, lamenting the lack of wireless signal, and he says 'why don't you use my Juno account.' I'm like 'Sweet!'
So, he gives me all of the password and login name stuff and I'm all 'Cool' and he's like 'but wait!' He tells me that in order to log on, ou have to get the Juno springboard softwear. "Dude" I say dejectedly.
This, of course starts a long annoying two days where I try everything in my bag of tricks to get that piece of softwear on my computer. Finally, my friend Brandon comes and visits and he agrees to take me hunting for wireless signals. Finally, I downloaded the stupid softwear bite. I come home to find out that the thing doesn't work because the account is supposedly a free account instead of a pay account, which is odd, of course, because Jimmy is paying $10 a month for access to "Juno Platinum" which comes with service that more suggests brass or tin. To make a long story short, it turns out that Jimmy actually has two accounts with Juno, but he was so frustrated that he canceled both and I had to start my own accout, which was easy enough, but the whole situation made me want to throw things.
Verdict: I hate Juno.
Second: The Nanny. Okay, so, at the risk of being an asshole, I've realized that I don't really like the Long Island accent. Recently, though, before I left to come down to New York I was dating this guy who shall remain nameless) who had a pretty thick LI accent. Now, let me say, first, that he is a wonderful guy and very attractive and quite sweet. With that said, however, his accent made me crazy after about the second date. I was cruelly joking with my room mate that he sounded like Fran Drescher, who, if you don't remember, is the Nanny.
I should never have said that. After saying that, I have not been able to escape either references to the show or to Fran Drescher herself. First, I heard that it was Fran Drescher's birthday, randomly on the radio. Then, at the airport, talking with my co-worker, I found out that that's his favorite show. Then, finally, upon arriving, found out that a certain network shows the Nanny about once every 3 hours. Now, the show is actually quite funny, I've realized, but here in VA where the house of homos I live with watches ONLY the Lifetime network, it wears thin. I'm at my Nanny end. Honestly, I have seen probably 6 hours of Nanny since I've been here. Of course, I've also seen a fair ammount of Golden Girls, too, but I love them.
Verdict: No more Nanny.
You say, of course 'Matt, you could just NOT watch the TV,' but then you'd just be proving how little you know me.
Anyone who knows me, knows that the TV is my Kryptonite. I am completely dumb struck and unable to be a productive member of the universe when there's a TV around. Simply: I'm halted almost completely by flashing lights. I think it's because I never watched TV when I was a child. Sad, really.
Anyway, that's where I'm at right now. I don't have rehearsal until 7, so I think I'm gonna hit the beach.
Well, as you may have guessed, I haven't had regular enough computer access to do any blogging. *Boo*
Fortunately, I've bought Evan's old (well, only sorta old) iBook, so now I'll have acces always *Yay*
I don't really know where to begin, I have so much stuff to talk about.
Well, I guess for starters, I wake up this month in Virginia Beach. I'm doing the show Big River down here, which is fun. I'm playing 'The Young Fool,' among others, which is sure to be a cathartic experience. I'm also living almost directly ON the beach, which is sure nice. The people I'm working with are sweet and fun to be around, so I'm really enjoying the whole situation. Not to mention the pay scale is pretty nice. On the whole, this situation is pretty idyllic.
The only frustrating things have been the Net and The Nanny. Allow me to explain:
First: The internet has been IMPOSSIBLE to get on. Not for any other reason than because I'm on a Mac now, which isn't automatically bundled with 300 different little dialup interfaces. I'm not in an area where there are too many good free wireless zones, so I've had to use the ancient 'modem' device that's inside the computer (modem: an ancient device used to connect to the internet which requires a 'cable' to plug into a "PHONE JACK" in the wall. HAHAHA...how old). Anyway, I'm talking to Jimmy, lamenting the lack of wireless signal, and he says 'why don't you use my Juno account.' I'm like 'Sweet!'
So, he gives me all of the password and login name stuff and I'm all 'Cool' and he's like 'but wait!' He tells me that in order to log on, ou have to get the Juno springboard softwear. "Dude" I say dejectedly.
This, of course starts a long annoying two days where I try everything in my bag of tricks to get that piece of softwear on my computer. Finally, my friend Brandon comes and visits and he agrees to take me hunting for wireless signals. Finally, I downloaded the stupid softwear bite. I come home to find out that the thing doesn't work because the account is supposedly a free account instead of a pay account, which is odd, of course, because Jimmy is paying $10 a month for access to "Juno Platinum" which comes with service that more suggests brass or tin. To make a long story short, it turns out that Jimmy actually has two accounts with Juno, but he was so frustrated that he canceled both and I had to start my own accout, which was easy enough, but the whole situation made me want to throw things.
Verdict: I hate Juno.
Second: The Nanny. Okay, so, at the risk of being an asshole, I've realized that I don't really like the Long Island accent. Recently, though, before I left to come down to New York I was dating this guy who shall remain nameless) who had a pretty thick LI accent. Now, let me say, first, that he is a wonderful guy and very attractive and quite sweet. With that said, however, his accent made me crazy after about the second date. I was cruelly joking with my room mate that he sounded like Fran Drescher, who, if you don't remember, is the Nanny.
I should never have said that. After saying that, I have not been able to escape either references to the show or to Fran Drescher herself. First, I heard that it was Fran Drescher's birthday, randomly on the radio. Then, at the airport, talking with my co-worker, I found out that that's his favorite show. Then, finally, upon arriving, found out that a certain network shows the Nanny about once every 3 hours. Now, the show is actually quite funny, I've realized, but here in VA where the house of homos I live with watches ONLY the Lifetime network, it wears thin. I'm at my Nanny end. Honestly, I have seen probably 6 hours of Nanny since I've been here. Of course, I've also seen a fair ammount of Golden Girls, too, but I love them.
Verdict: No more Nanny.
You say, of course 'Matt, you could just NOT watch the TV,' but then you'd just be proving how little you know me.
Anyone who knows me, knows that the TV is my Kryptonite. I am completely dumb struck and unable to be a productive member of the universe when there's a TV around. Simply: I'm halted almost completely by flashing lights. I think it's because I never watched TV when I was a child. Sad, really.
Anyway, that's where I'm at right now. I don't have rehearsal until 7, so I think I'm gonna hit the beach.
