Killing With Kindness

While I'm on the topic of GOP duplicity, I would be remiss if I gave Pennsylvania's Rick Santorum a free pass. Santorum is leading the ostensibly noble cause of increasing the minimum wage by $1.10. Huzzah, right? Eh ... maybe not.

While a $1.10 per hour minimum wage increase by itself would help 1.8 million workers, Santorum includes a poison bill exempting any business with revenues of $1 million or less from regulation -- raising the exemption from the current $500,000 level.

The upshot: while 1.2 million workers could qualify for a minimum wage increase, another 6.8 million workers, who work in companies with revenues between $500,000 and $1,000,000 per year, would lose their current minimum wage protection.


And an even larger number of businesses, those with revenues under $7 million, would be exempt from fines under a range of other safety, health, pension and other labor laws. Essentially, the realm of unregulated sweatshops would be expanded and legalized under Santorum's bill.

[. . .]

Santorum's bill would ban states from requiring employers to pay tipped workers with a guaranteed wage. Employers could pay tipped workers nothing and force them to live off tips, while states would be preempted from creating a higher wage standard for tipped workers.

The federal Fair Labor Standards Act specifically guarantees states the right to impose higher wage standards than the federal law. One area where many states have a higher standard than federal law is for tipped workers, who are guaranteed only $2.13 per hour in wages under federal law and can be forced to credit their tips against the required federal wage level. Many states have a higher minimum wage for tipped workers or have abolished the so-called "tip credit" altogether and let workers keep their tips, without allowing employers to reduce their salary below the regular minimum wage level.

With Santorum's bill as law, you would end up with a situation where small and even medium size restaurants and other businesses with tipped employees would be exempt from the federal minimum wage, and state governments would be barred from requiring employers to pay actual wages to tipped workers. Essentially, those workers could be hired for zero dollars and told they had to live only off tips, however little those were.

The whole thing is worth reading ... do so.

The U.S. Congress & Credit: We Created the Monster, and Now We Have to Pay For It

I cannot help but be a little torn by the new debate on bankruptcy prompted by the anti-bankruptcy legislation headed to a Senate vote later this week. On one level, I would hope that it might spur more people to cut up their credit cards, and stop living their lives made of disposable goods. On another level, the one with family and friends who have been eaten up from the inside by the debt they wantonly created and/or had thrust upon them by emergencies, my reaction is one of outright anger. It boils down to a simple question of fairness: no matter my hatred for the credit-culture of America, the same one in which I admittedly participate, the debate hinges on whether bankruptcy really poses the threat to credit card companies that they claim. The fact that their profits have remained on par with the rise of bankruptcy, and that bankruptcy is apparently most often caused not by a person's debt itself but the myriad fees that are often arbitrarily imposed, would seem to imply that it is not (registration may be required, not sure -- email me for my password, if so and you don't care to register).

The morale: as with most GOP-led crises, don't believe the hype on this one. Think they're looking out for your best interests? Sure ... everybody's against bankruptcy abuse and consumer fraud, right -- the good ol' GOP is leading the good fight, just like with Social Security reform and the War on Terror? Think again (for a more detailed analysis, click here).

P.S. For more perspective, there is a pretty nice 'Bankruptcy Bill Edition' developing over on Talking Points Memo.

Old-Time Religion

The Door has finally published online the astonishingly good article about its CEO, Ole Anthony, which I originally read in the December 6, 2004 edition of The New Yorker. It is a flat-out great. I knew nothing at all about Anthony prior to reading it, but by the end I had decided he was the spawn of the unholy miscegenation of evangelical Christianity and the fictional worlds of Cormac McCarthy.

In the summer of 1958, Anthony was sent to the Marshall Islands, in the South Pacific, to calibrate his sensors against a newly designed hydrogen bomb. The Air Force had estimated that the explosion would be equivalent to 3.5 megatons of TNT, but it was equal to 9.3 megatons instead.

Standing on the shore of an island thirty miles away, Anthony watched the target island disintegrate in a blinding flash. A few seconds later, the blowback hit him—a shock wave of wind and sound so powerful that it knocked him into the water. Anthony's body still bears traces of the explosion.

His blood is so marked by radiation that a doctor once told him he should be dead. His flesh is pocked with more than four hundred lipomas—hard, fatty tumors, strung under his skin like knots in a clothesline.

[. . .]

For early Christians, he came to believe, after poring over religious calendars, their faith had a kind of stereophonic depth. Every major event in the Gospels seemed to fall on or near a Jewish holy day: Christ's birth on Rosh Hashanah, his baptism on Yom Kippur, his crucifixion on Passover.

Eventually, Anthony organized a Bible study along the same lines: a small group of believers, around the size of a minyan (no fewer than ten), who are dedicated to parsing Scripture, verse by verse, according to the Jewish calendar.

"He thought it could be a businessmen's breakfast," Anthony's friend John Bloom told me. "He was a big Republican, and he thought he would get all those guys. But that wasn't who showed up. Who showed up were the scum of the earth, as Ole used to call them. All these hippies and people who had never worn a suit in their lives. And of course they all had problems." Anthony would try to keep the discussion scholarly. He would open the Talmud or the Torah, turn to some cryptic line, and start to tease out its meaning with his Greek and Hebrew dictionaries. Then things would fall apart.

"It's a strange fact, but when you study the Scripture seriously it brings out all this stuff in people," Bloom says. "You'd think you were going to read the Book of Ephesians and suddenly someone was saying, 'Oh, my crack-addicted sister came over last night and slapped my daughter.' And that's what you ended up dealing with."

Bloom calls this the "fistfight stage of Trinity Foundation." He was working as a writer for Texas Monthly at the time, in an office across the hall in the same strip mall, and became fascinated by Anthony—his bizarre life style and utter lack of concern about it, his foul mouth and fervent theology. "He was relentless," Bloom later wrote in a Dallas magazine.

"He was a charging Brahma bull breathing Scripture out of both nostrils." Late at night, when Bloom was writing on deadline, he'd sometimes hear shouting and the sound of furniture being thrown around across the hall, followed by slamming doors and squealing tires.

Later, at some local dive, he'd ask Anthony what all the ruckus was about. "Romans. We're still studying the Book of Romans," Anthony would tell him.

"What specific aspect of Romans is causing this level of interest?"

"Well, we were talking about your place in the body of Christ. And I told one guy his place was to be a pimple on the ass of the body of Christ. I just said it. It just came out."

"And he didn't agree?"

"A lot of these people are clinging to their miserable little self-images. They don't understand that it's about God. It's about them, but only the part of them that contains God. They still think they're special."

Anthony's crankiness was oddly consistent with his theology. In the first century, his studies suggested, new believers were ritually rebuffed three times before they were allowed to join Christian communities, so he strove for the same effect.

[. . .]

Anthony was sitting at the far end of the room, feet propped on a chair, a wooden cane within arm's reach. Mornings are his best time—his only good time, really—but even then his face is often haggard with pain. Twenty-five years ago, he sat down in a steam room at his health club, tucked his legs under the bench, and touched his left heel to a live wire that a workman had left hanging from the wall. The shock threw his head back so hard that he cracked a joint in his jaw, and seared the nerve endings on his left side, from ankle to ear. Heavy doses of relaxants and various misguided therapies have only exacerbated the condition over the years, so that Anthony now spends much of the day in his bedroom, racked with muscle spasms.

"Peace is really what we're searching for," he said, swivelling his fierce gaze around the room. "But a life without suffering is meaningless. We are like hunks of quartz, and our real identity is a vein of gold inside it. Whenever we prefer someone's interest over our own, whenever we lay down our lives for someone, we knock off some of the quartz and reveal the gold."

Anthony has never expected his preaching to become popular. "It costs you your hopes and dreams," he says. But he believes that if just a few more people in every community shared his values they could transform society. There are some three hundred thousand churches in the United States and, on any given night, some six hundred thousand homeless people. If every church could adopt just one or two of the homeless, he says, a seemingly intractable problem might be solved.

Ole Anthony and I are probably miles apart when it comes to religious conviction and political persuasion, and we'd almost undoubtedly dislike one another, but I'll be damned if he's not an interesting son of a bitch.

Autobiographical Post Because I've Nothing More Interesting To Say

I've gone from being a bad blogger to a downright horrible one, haven't I? I know February is a short month, but five posts in an entire month. Yeesh.

After many aborted attempts, I've finally returned to my thesis in earnest. While I'm really very happy with the progress made, and remain confident that I will finish this summer, the frustration at the degree to which I have to change everything I wrote during my first and second years abroad grows. I'm not talking about mild editing either, which is a given, but wholesale changes because I can no longer stand by positions made. I like to tell people I'm now saying the exact opposite of what I was saying in 2001. Most frustrating, then, that my academic advisors have not paid much attention to the difference, and end up offering critiques based on what I was saying back then. I've somehow not effectively communicated the difference in focus.

Sometime this week also I really need to decide if I'm going to propose a paper at this year's American Academy of Religion National Conference. The deadline is the 7th or 8th, I think, and I've not even bothered to so much as look at the call for papers. The AAR, with its journal and its conference, has rejected me in so many times and ways, I'm not entirely sure I'm up for it this year.

The Best Thing

Life is far too short, not to mention filled to the brim already with the pettiness of reality, to ignore certain fine things of life. Indeed, the 'best things' are often those that bring us closer to those around us, and allow us to see them and all the surrounding pettiness differently. Though he does not describe as I do here, Pat is right about the necessity of a good wine -- not to mention whisky and/or beer. Good wine doesn't always have to be expensive. In the 'best' wine is that which you want to savor. This is why cheap wine leaves you feeling shitty the next morning, because your body knows that the only way to dispose of it is quickly. The Pascual Toso Malbec he mentions is such a wine, and a fine value. It is a bit more expensive, though not overwhelmingly so, but if you can find yourself a nice 2000 or 2001 Brokenwood Shiraz, you will also be doing yourself a favor.

What other 'best things'? Is life really complete, for instance, without Krzysztof Kieslowski's Trois Couleurs series -- the unparalleled fusion of music to film in Bleu; the dark, humiliating humor of Blanc; and the truly stunning vision of fraternity and hope in Rouge? I'm not sure.

'Best things', however, are too often overlooked or forgotten. Sadly, this has been especially true of the novels of Russell Hoban. Do not make this mistake ... find yourself a copy Kleinzeit tonight, and read it aloud to nobody in particular.

Talk to the Hand

This is one of the best articles I've read in quite some time about masturbation -- which is to say, it is the only article I've read about masturbation in quite some time. Nevertheless, it is really good, if only to learn even more euphemisms for one's self-love.

A bone (hee!) of contention, though:

Clearly, jacking off remains taboo in our otherwise liberated, open, sex-saturated society. Most people who perform the five-finger shuffle aren't likely to talk about it. Never mind that men and women might be comfortable discussing everything from muff-noshing to prick-licking, ass-fucking to fist-fucking, felching to rimming, and flogging to water sports; more often than not, the topic of jerking off is forbidden. People tend to dance around the subject rather than dive right in, feeling embarrassed, ashamed, guilty, or just plain squeamish about their own enjoyment of what some see as a lonely art.

I'm not so sure this is the case. Most people I know -- though perhaps it is just they -- are more than happy to admit their masturbatory habits. The key, rather, is that most people don't want to talk about the masturbatory habits of others, and when they do it's mostly because of a fetish and not the product of a sexually-liberated society.

Update: Something I meant to emphasize here but didn't was that the problem is not simply that people don't want to think or talk about the masturbatory habits of others, they don't want to think or talk about the possibility of them doing it either. The crusade for clean television, for instance, is said to be about protecting children; but in the end, this protection only comes in the form of denying others the possibility of sexual titillation. Just another product of people being afraid of others enjoying themselves, literally in this case, too much.

On Being a Prick

Why do you think being an obnoxious prick is so often the defining symptom of both stridently fundamentalist religious belief and ardent atheism? Is it a product of their respective senses of certainty ... their ability to believe the actual consequences of their convictions (whereas most of us give ours the most token of acknowledgements). Or, rather, is there an inate prick in those who are drawn to either religious fundamentalism or atheism?

Such are the questions that keep me reading idealist philosophy. Since its 19th-century proponents were almost all pricks of various theistic and atheistic hues, I figure they have a certain insight that will help me, one whose religosity / irreligiosity is admittedly idiosyncratic and subject to fluid redefinition, function in gainful society.

A Blast From the Past

I remember it as though it was yesterday. A little less than a year ago, as some of the long-time readers here might remember, I received this rejection notice from an academic journal of some repute:

This essay strikes me as exhibiting the worse [sic] sort of postmodern theological jargon. Way too many sentences and paragraphs are just indecipherable, with the apparent intention to make it sound profound. There are some interesting nuggets about Las Vegas, but these are just facts that have little do with the essay's aim. The author started with an interesting idea in terms of connecting the wager of Pascal and the wager of a gambler in Las Vegas, but the actual exposition ends up making both sides of the equation less clear, rather than more. I wouldn't encourage its revision . . . though perhaps its translation into English! [my emphasis]

Would that I could write about Pascal and theology and gambling like this this wanker, and I'm sure Mr. Anonymous Reader would've been more kind.

The Songs On the Radio Still Suck, I'm Afraid

Okay .... so I've been a little cranky lately. I at some point, I think, compared an Avril Lavigne song to a blood-stained piece of shit; I found no solace in NPR; and I've lectured strangers that any song that declares 'This house is not a home' is criminally worthless. The common feature here, of course, is that I'm becoming obsessed by my car radio. Make that, obsessed by my hatred of my car radio. A couple of weeks ago I found a big band station I liked, weak signal and all, and I listened to it pretty regularly whenever I was in its transmission's five-block radius. Ever since I heard a series of commercials on Social Security pension fraud and disposable diaper adverts, and realized that I was an intruder in its elderly target audience, I've not been as willing to return to that five-block radius. Silly, I know. But I felt like I didn't belong .... like what was mine, what I deserved, was to the right on my radio dial.

How ... how, in this age of IPods and CD players, does crap radio still exist? One would've thought that alternatives would've raised the bar, but it is as though it has simply gotten worse. My theory is that Clear Corp. has some major stock interest in Apple and Sony, and realizes that the big money is in pushing people toward using their products instead. How to do this? Simple ... play shit, 24/7 ... or, as I heard last week, have inane announcers ask questions like, 'Why do you think women's bathrooms are cleaner than men's?'

The other alternative is (a) that of NPR, to entice the responsible consumer with its own brand of vacuity; or (b) the college radio stations on which NPR typically broadcasts, which is often as draining as commerical radio, what for its New Age music hour, which seems to be every hour, and almost certainly has commerical interests of its own. For instance, listen to the music in your local Starbucks, and then listen to your local college radio station, unless you're in one of the few towns that still has a station that plays balls-to-the-wall punk. I for one will be damned if I don't hear the same deadening, I-want-to-sleep/I-need-coffee-music on both my local college radio stations as I do in the Starbucks at which my wife is currently enslaved.

Just a Thought ... Take It For What It Is

I was talking to a friend briefly yesterday, and we agreed that we as a culture too too freely throw around the word art, equating it with creativity. There is something wrong with this, and deadening to any sort of revolutionary spirit that might still emerge from our political economies or religions. Art is, at the barest of minimums, creating and experiencing the world differently; creativity, on the other hand, is a taking of the world, and one's ways of experiencing the world, and manipulating them to a certain end. Both require imagination, to be sure ... but imaginations of a different sort. One is inherently profitable, the other tragic. The former may well be appreciated for centuries (i.e., Da Vinci's inventions); the other far too easily loses its capacity to reshape the world, and becomes a mere subset of creativity (though I am willing to concede that I might have the order wrong there). And yet, like all great tragedies, the artist cannot help but be a part. Her story is written before she even sits down to tell it. Such is the peculiar predictability of the artistic revelation and the revolution it incites.

Songs From the Second Floor

Per the recommendation of The Young Hegelian, who, by the way, has proven himself to me to have nothing but exquisite taste when it comes to movies, last night I watched Roy Andersson's magnificent Songs from the Second Floor. The patchwork of beautifully crafted episodes and interludes, highlighted by its smart, stilled camera, require patience of you, but it is not in vain. One ought not expect some inane coincidence to successfully link or resolve everything in a tight narrative. This is no 21 Grams or Pulp Fiction. If there is a linkage at all, it is the absurd triviality at the heart of modern capitalist culture (in his case, modern capitalist Sweden).

What makes Andersson's vision so significant is that, while religion, politics, capitalism, and culture are unabashedly skewered, he is sensitive to the beauty and the humor that they also evoke -- in spite of themselves. We are, he seems to be saying, programmed by them all to miss the horror and the humor of the mundane rhythms of life. As such, we're stuck, as though in a traffic jam ... or as though in a train door ... or as though in a sanitarium for the mentally ill or the old. And the only way out, seemingly, is the haunting guilt, because of our resigned capitulation that 'such is life', of having been accessories to untold death and misery.

For Lack of Anything of My Own to Say

Why is life without meaning or solace for the philistine? Because he knows experience and nothing else. Because he himself is desolate and without spirit. And because he has not inner relationship to anything other than the common and the always-already-out-of-date.

We, however, know something different, which experience can neither give to us nor take away; that truth exists, even if all previous thought has been an error. Or: that fidelity shall be maintained, even if no one has done so yet. Such will cannot be taken from us by experience. Yet -- are our elders, with their tired gestures and their superior hopelessness, right about one thing -- namely, that what we experience will be sorrowful and that only in the inexperienceable can courage, hope, and meaning be given foundation? Then the spirit would be free. But again and again life would drag it down because life, the sum of experience, would be without solace.

We no longer understand such questions, however. . . . Only to the mindless is experience devoid of meaning and spirit. To the one who strives, experience may be painful, but it will scarcely lead him to despair.

In any event, he would never obtusely give up and allow himself to be anesthetized by the rhythm of the philistine. For the philistine, you will have noted, only rejoices in every new meaninglessness. He remains in the right. He reassures himself: spirit does not really exist.

[. . .]

Nothing is so hateful to the philistine as the "dreams of his youth." And most of the time, sentimentality is the protective camouflage of his hatred. For what appeared to him in his dreams was the voice of the spirit, calling him once, as it does everyone. It is of this that youth always reminds him, eternally and ominously. That is why he is antagonistic toward youth. He tells young people of that grim, overwhelming experience and teaches them to laugh at themselves. Especially since "to experience" without spirit is comfortable, if unredeeming.

Again: we know a different experience.

(Walter Benjamin, "Experience")

A Public Service Message

A couple of thoughts for those of you with SUVs, or those of you considering buying one:

(1) Though, yes, you are higher and can, as a result, see more of the road in front of you ... this does not preclude the necessity of you actually looking behind or to either side of you.

(2) Moreover, though your SUV may drive like your old Camry, it is nearly the width of 1.5 Camrys. Which means, you jackasses, despite your own willful desire to die in a rollover, I rather like living and would think it really friendly of you not to take for granted my presence on either side of you.

(3) Additionally, just because you feel privileged enough to consume even more of the world's natural resources than you could ever possibly deserve, this does not mean you are actually privileged enough to straddle two parking spaces in order to accommodate the size (a) of your SUV qua support for regimes, here and abroad, that may very well be the death of us; or (b) of an ass which has become so luminously large and cratered that when you're at the beach the tides themselves are confused by the presence of a new moon.

Outside of those simple caveats, enjoy your murderous ways!

A Commemoration You Probably Won't Hear Today

Adam Kotsko is right to remind us of the Martin Luther King, Jr. we're not likely to hear about today. If you're like me, and you're either suspicious or tired of hearing the same soundbites, which have become the safe pablum that King himself grew to distrust, you'll do yourself well to read / listen to read his classically forgotten speech, given one year before he was killed, Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break Silence.

The war in Vietnam is but a symptom of a far deeper malady within the American spirit, and if we ignore this sobering reality...and if we ignore this sobering reality, we will find ourselves organizing "clergy and laymen concerned" committees for the next generation. They will be concerned about Guatemala and Peru. They will be concerned about Thailand and Cambodia. They will be concerned about Mozambique and South Africa. We will be marching for these and a dozen other names and attending rallies without end, unless there is a significant and profound change in American life and policy.

And so, such thoughts take us beyond Vietnam, but not beyond our calling as sons of the living God.

[. . .]

A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. On the one hand, we are called to play the Good Samaritan on life's roadside, but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.

A true revolution of values will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth. With righteous indignation, it will look across the seas and see individual capitalists of the West investing huge sums of money in Asia, Africa, and South America, only to take the profits out with no concern for the social betterment of the countries, and say, "This is not just." It will look at our alliance with the landed gentry of South America and say, "This is not just." The Western arrogance of feeling that it has everything to teach others and nothing to learn from them is not just.

A true revolution of values will lay hand on the world order and say of war, "This way of settling differences is not just." This business of burning human beings with napalm, of filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into the veins of peoples normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice, and love. A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.

America, the richest and most powerful nation in the world, can well lead the way in this revolution of values. There is nothing except a tragic death wish to prevent us from reordering our priorities so that the pursuit of peace will take precedence over the pursuit of war. There is nothing to keep us from molding a recalcitrant status quo with bruised hands until we have fashioned it into a brotherhood.

I know that King was no saint. As is typically the case, history has proven him to be as human as anybody else. We need our heroes to be saints, I suppose. As I pointed out to a friend last night: we in America need our heroes to be types of Christ, and this is precisely why all our heroes tend to be pathetic hagiographic creations ... relics of a past done and dusted, to be memorialized as a success but never to be presently followed into their inevitable failures.

Ooops

I only realized ten minutes ago that I inadvertantly published a post on another blog to which I have publishing access. Note to self ... never blog after or while drinking a bottle of wine by yourself. After reading it this morning, I decided it wasn't worth reading -- either here or there -- and it's since been sent to the great Beulah land where all dead posts go to rest.

Not Enough Faith

I've not checked, but I'm sure this has made the rounds on many a blog. But the headline is a little too funny, a little too appropriate, though certainly not a little too believable, to pass up.

A Nation of Faith and Religious Illiterates

The Dutch are four times less likely than Americans to believe in miracles, hell and biblical inerrancy. The euro does not trust in God. But here is the paradox: Although Americans are far more religious than Europeans, they know far less about religion.

In Europe, religious education is the rule from the elementary grades on. So Austrians, Norwegians and the Irish can tell you about the Seven Deadly Sins or the Five Pillars of Islam. But, according to a 1997 poll, only one out of three U.S. citizens is able to name the most basic of Christian texts, the four Gospels, and 12% think Noah's wife was Joan of Arc. That paints a picture of a nation that believes God speaks in Scripture but that can't be bothered to read what he has to say.

The solution offered in this commentary is, apparently, that U.S. schools should do what a lot of otherwise secular European countries do, and offer religious education. There is a distinction, he (rightly) insists, between teaching religion and teaching about religion.

Now that the religious right has triumphed over the secular left, every politician seems determined to get religion. They're all asking "What Would Jesus Do?" -- about the war in Iraq, gay marriage, poverty and Social Security. And though the ACLU may rage, it is not un-American to bring religious reasoning into our public debates. In fact, that has been happening ever since George Washington put his hand on a Bible and swore to uphold the Constitution. What is un-American is to give those debates over to televangelists of either the secular or the religious variety, to absent ourselves from the discussion by ignorance.

There are, of course, a few problems with this. I've no problem in theory with offering religion courses in public school. The problem, however, is in practice. Unless I lived somewhere, ahm, urban, preferably urban European(!), there's no way in hell I'd ever let a child of mine take such a course. Right now a teenager cannot go to his or her biology class in Georgia and Kansas and have unfettered, uncontroversial access to the accepted theories, (yes, they are 'only' theories, but such is the case with most of science, you dimwits), theories that actually engage the common wisdom of that discipline. What makes us think that in those same states, for example, we can really trust a religious studies course to engage religion in a way that enhances that discipline's discourse? On paper, it all sounds great. But, unlike in Europe, where they've had centuries to kill one another and others in the name of their faith, and are increasingly tired of doing so, the typical American teacher will almost assuredly not have the perspective to do so; moreover, the typical American (evangelical) parent will almost assuredly not have the perspective to allow them to do so.

It's All About Goals

I've taken a little flack, if only a little, for neglecting the blog for a week, only to return with a highly inaccessible book review. My original defense of 'Well, I warned you, didn't I?' is, I realize, a little thin. I have to confess, though, that I've had very few blog-worthy thoughts. I've not even been talking to myself much lately, let alone spilling out my soul here.

What to blog about?

Well . . . nothing can break a dry spell like a good, old-fashioned story about intoxication. Right?

Bulgarian doctors tested a man's blood-alcohol level five times before accepting it was 0.914 -- nearly twice the amount considered to be life-threatening.

The 67-year-old man landed in hospital on Dec. 20 after a car knocked him off his feet in the southern Bulgarian city of Plovdiv, police and doctors said Tuesday.

A breath test indicated blood-alcohol levels so high that police thought their equipment was broken, because the man remained conscious and talked with them.

[. . .]

A blood-alcohol level of 0.55 is considered potentially fatal.

I don't know about you, but I think that's pretty damn cool and something to which we all should aspire. Let's make 2005 a year about setting goals, people. If we cannot elect Bush out of the White House, if we cannot withstand the moral onslaught of homophobes nationwide, if we cannot fathom why in the hell a piece of crap like Meet the Fockers is doing so well at the box office but realize that pieces of crap typically do well at the box office around the holidays because of the residual brain-deadening effect of the holidays themselves, if we simply do not get why a parent in south India would even dream of naming their newborn baby 'Tsunami', then surely we can make it our goal to surpass the lethal-boundary of blood-alcohol level!

(Might this be the year I finally try the the humidifer filled with alcohol trick? Stay tuned!)

A Belated Note

"Modesty is very likely a feeling of profanation. Friendship, love, and piety should be treated secretly. We should speak of them only in rare and intimate moments, and reach a silent understanding on them -- there is much which is too fragile to be thought, and still too delicate for discussion." (Novalis)

First things first: Merry Christmas ... Happy New Year! I should've told you all this sooner, but I've simply not had the time nor the will to do so.

Time and will having returned, I hope your holiday was well spent. If not, well, if the law of averages is to be believed, you'll have another fifty or so to make it right. Life, though it moves quickly, too quickly for words let alone for accurate reflection and remembrance, can be really long. Oppressively long, depending on the decisions you make. So, yes, should this holiday have been horrible, fear not for you will either eventually forget it or it will be somehow subsumed in the torrential flow of future holidays. Such is, maybe, how all things are made new.

The holidays for us, the Belgian who only recently misses all she left behind and the American who already dreads all to which he has returned, was fine. Despite the temperature, Christmas was not frozen into our memory. It was delightfully forgettable. Praise Jesus, the babe whose name we've forgotten as soon as we say it! My brother's children were, in equal part, more subdued and grateful than our our wildest imaginations would have dared to have allowed. K. and I ended our day by watching, for the second time, The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Such a good movie. One of the few movies this year that, if it doesn't make me cry, makes me want to be around someone who it does.

As for New Years, she and I spent the better part of it on the floor of our apartment drinking Belgian beers and eating Dutch cheese to the soundtrack of our choosing. Around 11.45 pm, we walked across the street to a smoky well-attended pub so that we might drink some complimentary champagne and kiss in public.

Welcome to another year.

Speechless

Oh fuck! I mean, really, what else can you say?

Fuck.

I Wish I'd Said That

With the excessive fall-out from the Super Bowl halftime show, the rest of the country now knows what it feels like to live in Cincinnati, with its unnecessary overreaction to the slightest things 'adult'. ('The Year in Film & Music 2004: Maximum Gauge')

Things I For Some Reason Cannot Do

I cannot close bottles of Coke without inadvertently sealing them so tightly and rendering them nearly impossible to open without either the utmost limits of Promethean patience and ingenuity, or if nothing else insane surges of adrelin-addled Herculean strength.

I cannot write a 1,200-word review for a book of interviews with a Slovenian philosopher of ill repute, despite increasingly nasty emails from a major academic journal's book reviews editor and a long-suffering wife who insists that I confine my thoughts about the book to the written page she will never, under any circumstances, read.

I cannot read hundreds of pages of notes, written over the course of three years, which would make the task of completing a thesis considerably easier, because otherwise I will not remember most of my past research, let alone the degree to which I suspect I simply do not agree with most of it.

I cannot keep track of my blogging promises, those half-cocked notions of blogging ideas that I say I'll get around to but never do which litter so much of Silentio's archives, like the desiccated detritus of a relationship three years in the making.

I cannot help myself from being slightly frustated when friends of Silentio regularly regard so much of it as a 'full frontal assault on Christianity', even when they know their libelous accusations are clearly not true.

I cannot believe that a disproportionate number of readers expect me to be as bombastic, pretentious or self-important in person as I am so often in blog-form, as though I would ever actually, explicitly, and publicly refer to fellatio, Jesus' penis and homophobic desire in a declarative sentence, as I've been known to do here.

I cannot wait, speaking of pretension and self-importance, until Ryan Adams' version of 'Wonderwall' comes back on my LaunchCast Radio station, no matter the abuse I will inevitably suffer from some of my more-indie-than-thou friends for admitting that I still like some of his post-Whiskeytown-but-not-much-from Gold music.

UPDATE: Okay, 'libelous accusations' may have been a little off the market, as pointed out by the one I was implicitly accusing, as he had linked to proof that I indeed had typed 'full-frontal assault on popular religion in America' -- though, I would still claim, like many an idiotic athlete who is faced with the consequences of his inane comments, that was taken out of context, or, if not out of context, out of the spirit of the dialogue it was said and the jest with which it was intended; moreover, I think he is projecting his desires for such an assault onto one who, ostensibly, is more than willing to lead one front of the charge.

Is it Christmas Again, Already??

Proving once again that being victimized is still its best market strategy, evangelical Christians must be very pleased that they're making headlines this month across the liberal media claiming that their celebration of Christmas as a religious holiday, the day that Jesus sprang from the dilated vagina of Mary, is, of course, the butt of wanton cultural bias.

You know, I'm actually kind of supportive of the beef itself. I, too, get very annoyed that one has to walk on eggshells, not knowing what to say around this time of the year. It was much easier in Britain, where everybody, even the atheists, just said 'Happy Christmas', and you were done with the whole awkward exchange of pleasantries and returned to your pint. Then again, this probably has to do with the fact that everybody over there has pretty much embraced the full-bore secularism of Christmas, and regard Christmas as a time either one must endure with one's family, or a holiday break that allows one to jump on an EasyJet flight bound for Spain.

Not so in America. No .... it's never so easy. Even when America wishes to be multicultural and secular, it's always in the vaguest most hypocritical of hues. I'm not quite sure why these Christians think that re-injecting religion into the cultural acknowledgement of Christmas would be any different in that respect, with its attendant motto: Happy Birthday, Jesus. I hope you like crap!'

A Promised Post On Capitalism & Christianity

It is a philosophical commonplace of these postmodern times that every identity or community is a reciprocal product of its binary opposite. Simplistically rendered: 'I' am not 'You', and 'You' are not 'I'. Also commonplace, and obviously related, is the recognition that evangelical Christianity, to be itself, requires 'the damned' -- i.e. in order that the redeemed / saved might be identified as such. Less often discussed, though, is how all this relates to evangelical Christianity's (not-simply-economic) commitment to market capitalism.

In short, the productive matrix of capitalism not only requires the concept of 'the damned' for the maintenance of evangelical Christian identity, but, more importantly, actively posits its necessity. Which is to say, for the evangelical Christian, 'the damned' are a sort of excess that is actually constitutive of Christian redemption. For those inclined towards a hardline doctrine of 'original sin', this may not seem an immediate problem ... that is, until the reciprocal thought would require you to acknowledge this excess as a conditioning agent, the originality of this sin, itself retroactively presupposed by the evangelical Christian. Is this only the vicious circle of faith?

Similarly, as we know, capitalism also requires losers. Such is the nature of the 'risk', for instance, we are told to enjoy as 'free Americans', that we might lose all that we own in a stock market crash, a corporate scandal, etc. This is the precise means by which the free market creates and sustains itself. Without the risk of loss, which is another way of saying without the reality (and maintenance) of loss and losers, the system simply cannot last. In contemporary, liberal society, all people receive, at least formally, the opportunities of success -- a la 'freedom' / 'democracy'; but, in reality, not all people actually have (or are provided) the means to receive and/or utilize those opportunites. Free trade for us -- the EU, the US, Australia, etc. -- but not for you -- the 'developing nations' who are kept that way under the heel of the First World's protectionist subsidies and trade tariffs.

It is easy to see how this easily weds itself to the evangelical Christian self-understanding. More problematic, however, is the degree to which this self-understanding undermines its official mission: that of 'saving souls'. What many non-evangelicals do not seem to understand is that the Christian mission is, for the evangelical, constitutive of his exclusivism. This leads to a lot of intentional and unintentional misunderstandings of rhetoric and action, some justified and others not. On the other hand, and on a level that goes beyond conscious misunderstanding, many evangelicals do not seem to understand the capitalistic reasons for or implications of their exclusivism's constitutive role in their mission.

This is, I think, the horrific truth of evangelicalism, that from which it shrinks. Namely, that it forces the betrayal of that which he must hold most dear, the mission of saving souls. The radicality of evangelicalism's necessary exclusivity, what it must exclude to be itself, is too much to bear. The betrayal is two-fold: by betraying itself -- i.e. its offical goal -- to realize itself, the truth of the horrific/repressed void at its heart emerges. All my talk of 'void' is not that of passive nihilism -- something I've been accused of in the past. Rather, it is the truth of an unthinkable absolute freedom, an active willing of the impossible, the 'nothing' of an impossible thought that somehow happens, that happens even at the heart of evangelicalism, though necessarily repressed (if formal evangelicalism is to remain what it is); the Event that blinds just before it breaks the old, and creates the conditions of something wholly new.

Where Christmas Yard Ornaments Go to Rest Eternally

Last night, K. asked me if I'd take her out to see some Christmas lights. Being Belgian, she still gets a kick out of this sort of Americana, even while being slightly horrified by it all. In the course of our search, we stumbled upon what can really only be described as a veritable cemetary of Christmas joy. Drummer boys playing throughout the night, without a neighbour one complaining ... wise men bearing gifts on bended knee because they are without receipts ... Winnie the Poohs offering not a dime to the Milne clan ... American flags ablaze with all the patriotism colored bulbs can offer ... 'God Bless America', 'Support our Troops', 'Santa's South Pole' ... Jesi of various hue and developmental stage ... Santas in various degrees of illuminated decapitation, like something from the set of Apocalypse Now ('the horror, the horror!) ... nightmarishly benighted trains set on their circular course, in an endless repetition of Christmas past, present and future ... inexplicable flora and fauna, frozen in time and out of its place ... all set to a soundtrack consisting of 'Grandpa Got Run Over By a Reindeer' and 'Silver Bells'.

I've been to the mountain top, I've seen hell on earth ... and it was fuckin' fabulous.

A Bit About Paul

I may not have been able to get much, if any, blogging done here this week, but I did at least contribute a short post to Adam Kotsko's 'St. Paul Week' over at The Weblog.

Wow! -- I think

For several reasons, it became necessary this evening to delete everything in my Temporary Internet File. Not knowing much at all about computers until about a year ago, when I was hit with my first virus and spent a few months actually listening to the advice of my friends in IT, I had completely neglected this important file for over three years. In the course of deleting everything, cookies and all, for the first time since buying the bloody thing, I freed up nearly 300 meg from my threadbare C:. These selfsame IT friends, is that a lot, or am I just being unnecessarily dramatic in posting about it?

Going So Far Over the Rainbow As To Jump the Shark

Now that I'm fully moved and the desk is assembled, I can finally get to a lot of the articles that I long ago bookmarked and printed, in hopes that they'd inspire me and Silentio on to bigger and brighter posts. One can always count on Slavoj Zizek for a little inspiration, if nothing else.

In his most recent piece, 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow!', he uses Thomas Frank's book What's the Matter With Kansas? How Conservatives Won the Heart of America as a means to return to beating his nearly dead hobby-horse: liberalism. I've been reading some very interesting interesting blog posts about this book ([1] [2]), so I maybe it's high time to finally check it out. As is usual with Zizek's book reviews, he doesn't spend much time talking about the book itself. (N.b., I really wish I could get away with that!) Also as usual, there's a lot that's worth reflecting on and quite a bit to question pretty vigorously.

First the stuff worth reflecting on, no matter how repetitious the theme:

The first thing to note here is that it takes two to fight a culture war: culture is also the dominant ideological topic of the "enlightened" liberals whose politics is focused on the fight against sexism, racism, and fundamentalism, and for multicultural tolerance. The key question is thus: why is "culture" emerging as our central life-world category? We no longer "really believe," we just follow (some of the) religious rituals and mores as part of the respect for the "life-style" of the community to which we belong (non-believing Jews obeying kosher rules "out of respect for tradition," etc.). "I do not really believe in it, it is just part of my culture" effectively seems to be the predominant mode of the disavowed/displaced belief characteristic of our times: although we do not believe in Santa Claus, there is a Christmas tree in every house and even in public places every December - "culture" is the name for all those things we practice without really believing in them, without "taking them seriously."

I don't have much to add to this, except to say that I think it's pretty spot-on and a recurrent theme of this particular blog, especially when it comes to popular manifestations of religion.

He goes on to add:

The second thing to note is how, while professing their solidarity with the poor, liberals encode culture war with an opposed class message: more often than not, their fight for multicultural tolerance and women's rights marks the counter-position to the alleged intolerance, fundamentalism, and patriarchal sexism of the "lower classes." The way to unravel this confusion is to focus on the mediating terms the function of which is to obfuscate the true lines of division. The way "modernization" is used in the recent ideological offensive is exemplary here: first, an abstract opposition is constructed between "modernizers" (those who endorse global capitalism in all its aspects, from economic to cultural) and "traditionalists" (those who resist globalization). Into this category of those-who-resist are then thrown all, from the traditional conservatives and populist Right to the "Old Left" (those who continue to advocate Welfare state, trade unions ...).

[. . .]

The third thing to take note of is the fundamental difference between feminist/anti-racist/anti-sexist etc. struggle and class struggle: in the first case, the goal is to translate antagonism into difference ("peaceful" coexistence of sexes, religions, ethnic groups), while the goal of the class struggle is precisely the opposite, i.e., to "aggravate" class difference into class antagonism. So what the series race-gender-class obfuscates is the different logic of the political space in the case of class: while the anti-racist and anti-sexist struggle are guided by the striving for the full recognition of the other, the class struggle aims at overcoming and subduing, annihilating even, the other -- even if not a direct physical annihilation, class struggle aims at the annihilation of the other's socio-political role and function. In other words, while it is logical to say that anti-racism wants all races to be allowed to freely assert and deploy their cultural, political and economic strivings, it is obviously meaningless to say that the aim of the proletarian class struggle is to allow the bourgeoisie to fully assert its identity and strivings. In one case, we have a "horizontal" logic of the recognition of different identities, while, in the other case, we have the logic of the struggle with an antagonist.

The paradox here is that it is the populist fundamentalism which retains this logic of antagonism, while the liberal Left follows the logic of recognition of differences, of "defusing" antagonisms into co-existing differences: in their very form, the conservative-populist grass-roots campaigns took over the old Leftist-radical stance of the popular mobilization and struggle against upper-class exploitation. This unexpected reversal is just one in a long series. In today's US, the traditional roles of Democrats and Republicans are almost inverted: Republicans spend state money, thus generating record budget deficit, de facto build a strong federal state, and pursue a politics of global interventionism, while Democrats pursue a tough fiscal politics that, under Clinton, abolished budget deficit. Even in the touchy sphere of socio-economic politics, Democrats (the same as with Blair in the UK) as a rule accomplish the neoliberal agenda of abolishing the Welfare State, lowering taxes, privatizing, etc., while Bush proposed a radical measure of legalizing the status of the millions of illegal Mexican workers and made healthcare much more accessible to the retired. The extreme case is here that of the survivalist groups in the West of the US: although their ideological message is that of religious racism, their entire mode of organization (small illegal groups fighting FBI and other federal agencies) makes them an uncanny double of the Black Panthers from the 1960s.

Again, I think Zizek is spot-on. However ... the manner in which he fleshes this out, or fails to do so adequately, is pretty problematic. The upshot of his review is:

Are [today's liberals] not getting back from the conservative populists their own message in its inverted/true form? In other words, are conservative populists not the symptom of tolerant enlightened liberals? Is the scary and ridiculous Kansas redneck who explodes in fury against liberal corruption not the very figure in the guise of which the liberal encounters the truth of his own hypocrisy? We should thus (to refer to the most popular song about Kansas, from The Wizard of Oz) reach over the rainbow - over the "rainbow coalition" of the single-issue struggles, favored by radical liberals - and dare to look for an ally in what appears as the ultimate enemy of tolerant liberalism.

This is all well, good and 'radical', but I can't help but think that it is a line of thought that is not especially embodied in anything resembling practical reality. That is to say, how exactly does the 'alliance' of the Right and Left against liberalism actually effect the Leftist socio-economic agenda that Zizek clearly advocates? This is a philosopher, one recalls, who appropriately chides liberals of various stripe and hue as being devotees of the 'Beautiful Soul'-syndrome, whereby they have radical visions (e.g., freedom for Palestine, etc.) but lack the fortitude to deal with the radical consequences of those visions actually taking place. In other words, political / practical reality is pretty damn important. To this end, even though Zizek would undoubtedly not align himself with it, does not Timothy Burke's vision of the possible alliance of the anti-capitalist Left and Right if the Democrat party were to choose the path of communitarianism and 'moral values' as the means to resurrect itself (pp. 6-8), give us a clue as to how Zizek's position might be fleshed out?

Now, I'm not inclined to use the term sophistry too often, as I think it is often a non-starter that could easily be used on me, too; but when a philosopher of Zizek's political zeal is saying something he probably does not truly believe is the case or even practically viable, the accusation seems appropriate. The problem isn't that Zizek doesn't believe anything ... but that in this instance his political vision, i.e., his incessant need to always blast liberalism by praising the Right with a backhand bitch slap, does not seem to match the reality of the Leftist 'impossible actions' he advocates.

To be fair, as noted elsewhere, it may be significant to note that Zizek wrote this in mid-September, some six weeks before his Republican 'allies' swept back into power with a moralistic fury. I'm very curious to see how/if this changes his perspective.

Repetition ... Remembrance [2]

Is it just me, or does this passage from Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian sound a lot like another desert conflict, in another part of the world, in another era?

There is an old disordered Mennonite in this place and he turns to study them. A thin man in a leather weskit, a black and straightbrim hat set square on his head, a thin rim of whiskers. The recruits order glasses of whiskey and drink them down and order more. There are monte games at tables by the wall and there are whores at another table who look the recruits over. The recruits stand sideways along the bar with their thumbs in their belts and watch the room. They talk among themselves of the expedition in loud voices and the old Mennonite shakes a rueful head and sips his drink and mutters.

The second corporal looks past his comrade. Are you talking to me?

At the river. Be told. They'll jail you to a man.

[. . .]

The hell they will.

Pray that they will.

He looks at his comrades. He leans toward the Mennonite. What does that mean, old man?

Do ye cross that river with yon filibuster armed ye'll not cross it back.

[. . .]

The Mennonite watches the enshadowed dark before them as it is reflected to him in the mirror over the bar. He turns to them. His eyes are wet, he speaks slowly. The wrath of God lies sleeping. It was hid a million years before men were and only men have power to wake it. Hell aint half full. Hear me. Ye carry war of a madman's making onto a foreign land. Ye'll wake more than the dogs.

But they berated the old man and swore at him until he moved off down the bar muttering, and how else could it be?

How these things end. In confusion and curses and blood. They drank on and the wind blew in the streets and the stars that had been overhead lay low in the west and these young men fell afoul of others and words were said that could not be put right again and in the dawn the kid and the second corporal knelt over the boy from Missouri who had been named Earl and they spoke his name but he never spoke back. He lay on his side in the dust of the courtyard. The men were gone, the whores were gone. An old man swept the clay floor within the cantina. The boy lay with his skull broken in a pool of blood, none knew by whom. A third one came to be with them in the courtyard. It was the Mennonite. A warm wind was blowing and the east held a gray light. The fowls roosting among the grapevines had begun to stir and call.

There is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road thereto, said the Mennonite. He had been holding his hat in his hands and now he set it upon his head again and turned and went out the gate. (pp. 39-41)

If only we listened to Mennonites a little more often, eh, Scott?

Repetition ... Remembrance (1)

As one would expect, assembling furniture is as difficult now as it ever was. The how-to literature is just as esoteric, with its hieroglyphic scrawl and algebraic complexity. The hardware checklist just as frustrating, with its inadequate renderings of wood and screws that look the same. The pre-drilled holes are just as askew, bringing grown men to tearful anger and blasphemous rage. The furniture legs are just as flimsy, insuring that any future attempt at a move will be forestalled by a calamitous crack and crash of pressed wood whose final hour came the moment it was removed from the styrofoam.

I'd hoped my first post in this 'series' -- if it even becomes that! -- would be more substantive. More typically vague and eye-rollingly pretentious. There is something about putting together cheap Wal-Mart furniture, however, that requires the sort of plebeian clarity that Silentio typically lacks. Hopefully, now that the desk assembly from hell has finally been completed, and the study almost fully functional, things will get back to normal.

If not that, I'll make my editor happy and get her a long-belated book review. Either way.

Repetitions / Remembrances

When I first moved to Glasgow three years ago, I was initially struck by the relative 'sameness' of things. In fact, it took a good two weeks before the subtle differences really began to shine through and overpower all the similarities. Something very similar is taking place now that I'm (re-)adjusting to living in America again. To facilitate this, or at least to help me come to terms with it, I've decided that this week's blogging theme will be American Repetitions and Remembrances. How is America different (to me), having lived abroad for three years, married a foreign national, etc.; how is it the same? Are the things that are different really all that different ... the things the same really that similar? In essence, what is the role of memory -- the kind that chases us down more than we perhaps seek it out in moments of insouciant nostalgia , the sort we consciously try to forget while unconsciously embracing and/or projecting -- in shaping our life's repetitions and remembrances?

I wonder.

Most. Boring. Post. Ever.

Yes, I admit it, I lied about getting some blogging done the other night. What can I say, it was freakin' cold and my landlord had yet to turn on the heat. Sitting behind a computer in a cold apartment was not my ideal way of spending an evening. So, instead, I spent it elsewhere, throwing a bouncy ball to a chihuahua with Parkinson's Disease and drinking a couple of bottles of Westmalle Triples in quick succession. Really, you were far better off without me.

I hope everybody made it through the first round of their holidays without any cuts or burns or bruises, save for the mental and spiritual ones that November and December has for most of us in spades. Casa de Silentio was surprisingly fine. Lots of squealy children running about my parents' house, one of whom insisted on screaming in people's ears without any reason or explanation; but this was balanced out by the American Chopper marathon on the Discovery Channel, not to mention the new DVD player my dad shoved in my trunk just before I left. (All we need now, of course, is a television.)

Anybody buy anything today that they've decided to keep for themselves?

Back Online

Ahhhhhh ... the power of the internet has returned to my greedy little hands!! Blogging will commence this evening.

Will Work For Food

I've not yet been able to bring myself to look at my site traffic, but I'm fairly sure it's pretty well near nonexistent. Ach well ...

I'd really forgotten how much I hate moving. Actually, let me rephrase: I'd forgotten how expensive it is to move. Finding an apartment in Cincinnati wasn't too bad, given the fact that just about any sane person who isn't intent on living there solely because of ridiculously good library access and cheap rent has already left the city years ago. Two or three days of looking, tops. Now, finding furniture, that's proven more of a worry. I have, you see, become quite spoiled. O'er in bonny green Scotland, for instance, the mizzus and I were regaled with the finest of ugly furniture, whose upholstery was tolerable only because it was faded beyond recognition; it was there when we moved in, and it remained when we left. Such is the beauty of furnished accommodation, so long as you try not to think about who has done what on various cushions and mattresses.

I only realized yesterday, in fact, that the only three pieces of furniture I've ever purchased are (in order): a $15 pasteboard bookcase (current whereabouts, unknown), a beautiful $100 desk from Office Max (current whereabouts, Rumpke dump just outside Cincinnati), and a dinner table from the ring of hell known as Ikea (current whereabouts, my old flat in Glasgow). When I moved out of my parents' house at the wizened age of 18, I enjoyed the comfort of furniture provided in my college dorm; upon graduating, I enjoyed the comfort of furniture stolen from my college dorm. In other words, you can imagine my horror at seeing mattresses priced at $600-$1000, sofas priced even higher, loveseats only slightly less expensive than sofas (which I find baffling), and myriad financing plans that boggle the tiny expanses of my mathematical mind. The only good thing to come out of my search, thus far, is the knowledge that Big Lots has either improved the quality of its merchandise, or I've become extraordinarily cheap.

Anyway, hopefully posting will return to semi-normality this week. I do need to crack out a much delayed, much overdue book review for a journal whose editor once had a semi-orgasmic reaction when I reeled off the names of a couple of Hollywood actors that I thought to be, in the words of her question, 'hot'; but, as has been the case for years, writing that will undoubtedly be the kick in the ass I need to keep writing. Which means that bloggy goodness shouldn't be far behind.

In the meantime, per Vaara's recommendation, take the time to download (via BitTorrent) the three-part BBC documentary that concluded last week, The Power of Nightmares. After finishing part-three last night, and then watching a bit of American cable, I've decided that I'm in no rush at all to buy a television.

Thy Name Is Ambivalence

This gives rise to two thoughts. First, I've finally re-discovered a reason to be out of Europe right now. And yet, second, I've also re-discovered a reason to go back there and get a job!

The dollar could slide still further, in spite of hitting an all-time low against the euro last week in the wake of George W. Bush's re-election, currency traders have said.

The dollar sell-off has resumed amid fears among traders that Mr Bush's victory will bring four more years of widening US budget and current account deficits, heightened geopolitical risks and a policy of "benign neglect" of the dollar.

[...]

Speculative traders in Chicago last week racked up the highest number of long-euro, short-dollar contracts on record. Options traders have reported brisk business in euro calls - contracts to buy the euro at a pre-determined rate.

However, the market has been rife with rumours that the latest wave of selling has been led by foreign governments seeking to cut their exposure to US assets.

India and Russia have reportedly been selling US assets, as well as petrodollar-rich Middle Eastern investors.

China, which has $515bn of reserves, was also said to be selling dollars and buying Asian currencies in readiness to switch the renminbi's dollar peg to a basket arrangement, something Chinese officials have increasingly hinted at. Any re-allocation could push the dollar sharply lower and Treasury yields markedly higher.

What Room for Religion?

I'm still processing a reaction to this email sent out by Rabbi Michael Lerner. Some of you may be quicker to the draw than I. It's worth reflecting on, even if you have nothing to say or add.

For years the Democrats have been telling themselves "it's the economy, stupid." Yet consistently for dozens of years millions of middle income Americans have voted against their economic interests to support Republicans who have tapped a deeper set of needs.

Tens of millions of Americans feel betrayed by a society that seems to place materialism and selfishness above moral values. They know that "looking out for number one" has become the common sense of our society, but they want a life that is about something more-a framework of meaning and purpose to their lives that would transcend the grasping and narcissism that surrounds them. Sure, they will admit that they have material needs, and that they worry about adequate health care, stability in employment, and enough money to give their kids a college education. But even more deeply they want their lives to have meaning-and they respond to candidates who seem to care about values and some sense of transcendent purpose.

Many of these voters have found a "politics of meaning" in the political Right. In the Right wing churches and synagogues these voters are presented with a coherent worldview that speaks to their "meaning needs." Most of these churches and synagogues demonstrate a high level of caring for their members, even if the flip side is a willingness to demean those on the outside. Yet what members experience directly is a level of mutual caring that they rarely find in the rest of the society. And a sense of community that is offered them nowhere else, a community that has as its central theme that life has value because it is connected to some higher meaning than one's success in the marketplace.

It's easy to see how this hunger gets manipulated in ways that liberals find offensive and contradictory. The frantic attempts to preserve family by denying gays the right to get married, the talk about being conservatives while meanwhile supporting Bush policies that accelerate the destruction of the environment and do nothing to encourage respect for God's creation or an ethos of awe and wonder to replace the ethos of turning nature into a commodity, the intense focus on preserving the powerless fetus and a culture of life without a concomitant commitment to medical research (stem cell research/HIV-AIDS), gun control and healthcare reform., the claim to care about others and then deny them a living wage and an ecologically sustainable environment-all this is rightly perceived by liberals as a level of inconsistency that makes them dismiss as hypocrites the voters who have been moving to the Right.

Yet liberals, trapped in a long-standing disdain for religion and tone-deaf to the spiritual needs that underlie the move to the Right, have been unable to engage these voters in a serious dialogue. Rightly angry at the way that some religious communities have been mired in authoritarianism, racism, sexism and homophobia, the liberal world has developed such a knee-jerk hostility to religion that it has both marginalized those many people on the Left who actually do have spiritual yearnings and simultaneously refused to acknowledge that many who move to the Right have legitimate complaints about the ethos of selfishness in American life.

Imagine if John Kerry had been able to counter George Bush by insisting that a serious religious person would never turn his back on the suffering of the poor, that the bible's injunction to love one's neighbor required us to provide health care for all, and that the New Testament's command to "turn the other cheek" should give us a predisposition against responding to violence with violence.

Imagine a Democratic Party that could talk about the strength that comes from love and generosity and applied that to foreign policy and homeland security.

Imagine a Democratic Party that could talk of a New Bottom Line, so that American institutions get judged efficient, rational and productive not only to the extent that they maximize money and power, but also to the extent that they maximize people's capacities to be loving and caring, ethically and ecologically sensitive, and capable of responding to the universe with awe and wonder.

Imagine a Democratic Party that could call for schools to teach gratitude, generosity, caring for others, and celebration of the wonders that daily surround us! Such a Democratic Party, continuing to embrace its agenda for economic fairness and multi-cultural inclusiveness, would have won in 2004 and can win in the future. (Please don't tell me that this is happening outside the Democratic Party in the Greens or in other leftie groups--because except for a few tiny exceptions it is not! I remember how hard I tried to get Ralph Nader to think and talk in these terms in 2000, and how little response I got substantively from the Green Party when I suggested reformulating their excessively politically correct policy orientation in ways that would speak to this spiritual consciousness. The hostility of the Left to spirituality is so deep, in fact, that when they hear us in Tikkun talking this way they often can't even hear what we are saying--so they systematically mis-hear it and say that we are calling for the Left to take up the politics of the Right, which is exactly the opposite of our point--speaking to spiritual needs actually leads to a more radical critique of the dynamics of corporate capitalism and corporate globalization, not to a mimicking of right-wing policies).

If the Democrats were to foster a religions/spiritual Left, they would no longer pick candidates who support preemptive wars or who appease corporate power. They would reject the cynical realism that led them to pretend to be born-again militarists, a deception that fooled no one and only revealed their contempt for the intelligence of most Americans. Instead of assuming that most Americans are either stupid or reactionary, a religious Left would understand that many Americans who are on the Right actually share the same concern for a world based on love and generosity that underlies Left politics, even though lefties often hide their value attachments.

Yet to move in this direction, many Democrats would have to give up their attachment to a core belief: that those who voted for Bush are fundamentally stupid or evil. Its time they got over that elitist self-righteousness and developed strategies that could affirm their common humanity with those who voted for the Right. Teaching themselves to see the good in the rest of the American public would be a critical first step in liberals and progressives learning how to teach the rest of American society how to see that same goodness in the rest of the people on this planet. It is this spiritual lesson-that our own well-being depends on the well-being of everyone else on the planet and on the well-being of the earth-a lesson rooted deeply in the spiritual wisdom of virtually every religion on the planet, that could be the center of a revived Democratic Party.

Yet to take that seriously, the Democrats are going to have to get over the false and demeaning perception that the Americans who voted for Bush could never be moved to care about the well being of anyone but themselves. That transformation in the Democrats would make them into serious contenders.

A confession: I walked by an Episcopal church today, and had to will all of my secular energies to the fore of my body and mind in order to fight the urge to walk in and pray.

Pre-Bed Election Thoughts

As of 12.50 EST, it appears that all my confidence and hope are, like the residual elements of my religious faith, good for very little indeed. With that in mind, commence with the gloating and anger that only self-righteousness conservative and liberal zeal can muster; commence with legalized homophobia; commence with even more tax cuts; commence with still yet more fear, America's most favored of opiates -- if it's not Jesus bearing down on us with an apocalyptic gleam in his eye, it's Allah's bomb-strapped will; commence with a lot of liberals claiming half-hearted expatriation attempts, but only really managing to cross a few state borders; commence with conservatives finding new ways to blame the minority party for their policy failures; commence with me drunkenly wondering, to all willing to listen, how far away I am from this country's collective political will, and whether moving back here is really such a good idea.

Oh, yes, we all have much to look forward to.

Quick Thoughts

I'm kind of rushed for time right now, as I'm currently in the process of packing everything I own and readying myself for my much dreaded trans-Atlantic move. That's right, my fellow Americans, I am returning home. When? Tomorrow. Why? Still working on that. For how long? Hopefully, not for long. A couple of random thoughts:

Sweden is a fabulous land. I only spent three days there last week, but I feel all the more healthy, spiritually and physically, for having done so. Wonderful cheese ... unbelievable butter ... and fabulous bread ... cars that stop when you walk out into the middle of traffic. What more could one ask for, really? Except for, of course, good beer -- which, by the way, Sweden strangely seems to be lacking.

K.'s clothes seem to have somehow mated since we moved from Glasgow. Packing them all into a few suitcases has proven considerably more difficult this time around. On the other hand, all that I might wear, save for my very pimp robe, fits in one suitcase.

Never buy a friend a box of Belgian chocolates a couple of weeks before a move. That is, unless you have insane willpower and refuse to devour it by your lonesome before you even leave.

Always check out the cost of shipping things through the post before paying the excess baggage charge.

That'll do for now.

That's More Like It!

Few things lately have given me something to actually miss about the States, and thus to look forward to when I return. The Boston Red Sox, however, did last night. I'm not a huge BoSox fan, and I'm not even a huge baseball fan. But as a fan of good sport, this year's ALCS and last year's World Series really make me kick myself for not being in an American time zone. How's the NFL looking this year? Do I have anything to look forward to?

Name Change

Per the recommendation of anonymous reader, who I think was looking for information on a House of Representative candidate with my same name, I have decided, because I take anonymous recommendations very seriously, and because he actually makes a pretty good point that I've often considered but never did much about, I have decided to revert to a semi-anonymous form in this blog. Slowly, all references to my name will be purged, and slowly but surely, ideally, Googling my name will no longer direct you, or future colleagues, or prospective employers here. This is, of course, a semi-anonymous move, due to the fact that many of you already know who I am. So be it.

Do you think this is rash? Do you think I should've told 'Anonymous' to scurry away from me and my merry brand of vulgarity and crassness? Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.

Home Sweet Fucking Home

This is just absolutely disgraceful.

Eighty-five heads of state and government have signed a statement endorsing a UN plan adopted 10 years ago to ensure every woman's right to education, health care and to make choices about childbearing.

President George W. Bush's administration refused to sign because the statement mentions "sexual rights."

[...]

The statement was signed by leaders of 85 countries, including the entire European Union, China, Japan, Indonesia, Pakistan and more than a dozen African countries as well as 22 former world leaders, notably U.S. presidents Jimmy Carter and Bill Clinton.

Pakistan .... Indonesia .... China!!!

In a letter to organizers of the statement, U.S. deputy assistant secretary of state Kelly Ryan reaffirmed the U.S. commitment to "the goals and objectives" of the Cairo conference and "to the empowerment of women and the need to promote women's fullest enjoyment of universal human rights."

"The United States is unable, however, to endorse the 'world leaders' statement on supporting the ICPD," Ryan said.

"The statement includes the concept of 'sexual rights,' a term that has no agreed definition in the international community, goes beyond what was agreed to at Cairo.

Sexual rights were specifically mentioned a year later, however, in the platform of action adopted by over 180 countries including the United States at the 1995 UN women's conference in Beijing.

That platform, which the United States also took a leading role in drafting, states: "The human rights of women include their right to have control over and decide freely and responsibly on matters related to their sexuality, including sexual and reproductive health, free of coercion, discrimination and violence."

Wow, this shit really really hits to the core with me.

A message for my friends and family in America, especially the Jesus Christ lovers one and all (Sings the chorus: 'Just like that, Jesus, the way we like it!!'), it is your moral duty, a la Kierkegaard's knight of faith, to suspend ethics and law and make sure the houses in which I will be bunking for a few weeks upon my return have on hand substantial alcohol and sundry illicit substances. You get through your American lives fraught with liberal ills by way of a faith in a God who doesn't especially like women or gays; while I require only a little blurring of the conscious mind that otherwise keeps me too sensitive to the fact that I am a man without a place he wishes to call home anymore. The difference, it is negligible.

Sticking up For a Friend

Given their hatchet job of an obituary over the weekend, to which I'm not even going to bother linking, I was a bit surprised to find a pretty nice eulogy to J. Derrida by Mark C. Taylor in today's New York Times Op/Ed page. I've long been a fan, if sometimes critical (natch!) of Taylor's work, ever since the day I first picked up Erring in 1997, and haven't really gotten it out of my head since; and still regard him as the most important, if also the most difficult to pin down, theologian of his generation. Taylor brought deconstruction to the halls of religious studies, for better or worse, and has since moved on to bigger and brighter things ... but I've always thought that to be kind of the point of deconstruction itself: moving on. I.e., your loyal to it only inasmuch as you leave it far behind, as you betray it. Taylor, and indeed even Derrida, embodies this in their work and in their philosophy, and, so it seems, their friendship over the years. It's nice to see Taylor sticking up for his mate, in frighteningly lucid, simple prose.

During the last decade of his life, Mr. Derrida became preoccupied with religion and it is in this area that his contribution might well be most significant for our time. He understood that religion is impossible without uncertainty. Whether conceived of as Yahweh, as the father of Jesus Christ, or as Allah, God can never be fully known or adequately represented by imperfect human beings.

And yet, we live in an age when major conflicts are shaped by people who claim to know, for certain, that God is on their side. Mr. Derrida reminded us that religion does not always give clear meaning, purpose and certainty by providing secure foundations. To the contrary, the great religious traditions are profoundly disturbing because they all call certainty and security into question. Belief not tempered by doubt poses a mortal danger.

As the process of globalization draws us ever closer in networks of communication and exchange, there is an understandable longing for simplicity, clarity and certainty. This desire is responsible, in large measure, for the rise of cultural conservatism and religious fundamentalism - in this country and around the world. True believers of every stripe - Muslim, Jewish and Christian - cling to beliefs that, Mr. Derrida warns, threaten to tear apart our world.

Fortunately, he also taught us that the alternative to blind belief is not simply unbelief but a different kind of belief - one that embraces uncertainty and enables us to respect others whom we do not understand. In a complex world, wisdom is knowing what we don't know so that we can keep the future open.

Of Happiness and Copyrights

Thinking that the good life of sitting on my ass in Belgium, eating dark chocolate, drinking blonde beer, and spending quality time with my new wife just wasn't good enough, I hopped on a plane yesterday bound for Glasgow. The trip, thus far, has proven more interesting than I'd anticipated.

For starters, upon the recommendation of K., I read Will Ferguson's novel, Happiness. While I'm not completely sold on Ferguson's writing style -- when he's funny, I'm laughing out loud, but the jokes and the irony often fall very flat very quickly (esp. his Boomer v. Gen-X schtick) -- he has really made his own the 'beware what you wish for' archetype. The premise is quite simple: what would happen if, by luck or malevolence, there was a self-help book that actually worked. Ferguson's answer is just as simple: utter apocalypse. He makes a very good case that cynicism, disappointment, and anxiety are not simply inherent parts of life, but actually constitute the essence of life's beauty and truth. (My biggest criticism is that he he goes out of his way, repeatedly and explicitly, to make sure the reader GETS this point.)

A hilarious, and perhaps even poignant, bit is when the protagonist's wife learns and adopts the dynamic sex tips recommended by the book, making every night a multiple orgasmic experience for both him and her ... perfect sexual union and bliss, each and every night, by sheer rote. What he discovers, however, is that he misses the anxiety about his skinny body, the sweaty ambivalence of illicit affairs, the terror of regret, the clumsy movements of hands and tongues -- that THESE are the essence of sex, not bliss. Indeed, he learns that the pursuit of happiness, and the necessary disappointment that entails, is the stuff of true life -- not its actual achievement. I may quibble with the details of his point, and certain the didactic way in which he makes it, but I think he is mostly right.

I read most of Happiness on the plane to Prestwick, and then on the train to Glasgow. After that, I made a mad dash for Glasgow's other train station, knocking pensioners and ruddy faced children out of the way with my bag filled with 1 kg of chocolate, and caught a connection to Edinburgh. On Monday, I'd happened to notice that Cory Doctorow was lecturing over there at the University on the subject of electronic / internet copyright. Now, while I only know a little about modern technology, enough to be dangerous (to myself) but not enough to be especially helpful or insightful, and I know next to nothing at all about copyright law, electronic or otherwise, Doctorow's instantly classic talk on DRM [Digital Rights (or Restrictions) Management] at Microsoft's Research Group earlier this year had me at hello. (n.b.: More on DRM here.)

Already a fan, and eager to learn more, I was more than happy to lug my baggage and empty belly across Scotland. Doctorow didn't say anything radically new, per se, as even I found myself nodding, along with the people around me, in acknowledged agreement at a point that I'd already read somewhere else, though I might've misunderstood why they were nodding, and succumbed to peer pressure once again; and yet neither was it a complete rehash of the stuff I'd already read. Especially interesting for me was his discussion of the mindblowing developments in radio wave (that's not one word, is it?) manipulation and surfing, which has the potential, legality notwithstanding, to change the way we listen to music (i.e., conceivably, one could download to your computer all the available FM music stations at any one time and place), surf the web (i.e., Wi-Fi stuff, which I only vaguely understand), or even cook our food (i.e., something to do with microwave ovens, though I must confess I didn't quite understand this particular reference, and thus have no clue what the implications are of this technology for my tv dinners). I also had no idea about the extent to which media outlets were seeking the right to claim a copyright hold on the broadcast of something that would otherwise be in the public domain. (N.b.: This is how I understood what he said. If somebody knows better, please correct me.) If this is truly the case, as the EFF [Electronic Frontier Foundation] is teaching me with each visit to their site, this stuff really matters. Of course, an eighty-minute lecture isn't the panacea to the appalling level of my ignorance about such topics, so I still don't profess to know much about electronic copyright law; but, as with technology, I know enough to be dangerously incompetent with what I do know. Thanks, Cory.

And now I'm back in Glasgow, rested, fed, and excited to see friends that, in a couple of weeks, I very likely won't see for about a year, if not more. Ah melancholy ... the stuff of life. I hope that truth's not already copyrighted, too.

Lies, Lies, Lies

Conservative hearts untold went aflutter this weekend with the release of a memo written by ABC News Political Director Mark Halperin. In it he writes:

The New York Times (Nagourney/Stevenson) and Howard Fineman on the web both make the same point today: the current Bush attacks on Kerry involve distortions and taking things out of context in a way that goes beyond what Kerry has done.

Kerry distorts, takes out of context, and mistakes all the time, but these are not central to his efforts to win.

We have a responsibility to hold both sides accountable to the public interest, but that doesn't mean we reflexively and artificially hold both sides "equally" accountable when the facts don't warrant that.

Surely this is an example of the liberal media taking up arms, right? Kerry's lies don't matter! See ... the media has it in for Bush! The fuckers!! The way they supported Clinton through thick and thin, and never had a bad word to say about him ... or Gore!! It's so obvious, you liberals!!!!

Slow down, Chef. Take a deep breath. Once your blood pressure has stabilized, read this relatively decent fact-check article in the LA Times -- note that while the headline makes it appear that both candidates are equally at fault in bending or breaking the truth to his advantage, the facts themselves would appear to put the burden more squarely on one candidate's shoulders. This is not liberal bias at work. If nothing, it is straining to find an 'objective' balance in the face of overwhelming reality: that Bush's lies are substantively different than Kerry's. Matt Yglesias sums it up well:

Let me note further that the point here is not that Bush lies more than Kerry by some aggregate quantity measure (that may well be true, though it's hard to see how you'd run the numbers) the point is that Bush's lying is qualitatively different from Kerry's. The main points the media's fact-checkers have nailed Kerry on are, (a) the claim that Iraq has cost $200 billion, (b) the claim that General Eric Shinseki was "retired early," and (c) the claim that America has lost 1.6 million jobs during the Bush administration. The reality of (a) is that Iraq has cost $120 billion and is projected to cost $80 billion more based on current policy; of (b) that Shinseki was punished in a way that's a bit hard to appreciate unless you understand the standard operating procedure for senior military officers, and (c) that America has lost 1.6 million private sector jobs while gaining 1.1 million or so government jobs. In all of these cases, the point Kerry was trying to make (a) that Iraq has been expensive, (b) that Shinseki was punished for being right, and (c) that the labor market has been crappy, are all perfectly accurate.

Typical Bushian distortions aren't like this at all. They aren't oversimplifications, designed to create a good sound bite but where the basic point stands even if you lay out the facts. To take just one example, Bush says Kerry favors a "government takeover" of the health insurance market. He does not, in fact, favor such a takeover. And the only argument Bush musters against the Kerry plan is that it's a big government takeover. The fact that this isn't what Kerry's actually proposing thus utterly defeats Bush's point. There's a significance to this departure from reality that imprecision about what happened to General Shinseki lacks.

I know what I said in an earlier post, "The point is not simply to try to find the truth laying behind a policy ..." But equally important is the concluding clause of that same sentence, "... but to find the spirit in which said policy is enacted or proposed." The same can also be said of lies. I.e., we should be just as sensitive to the difference in spirit / intention behind Kerry's distortions of the truth, which tell a more or less accurate story shaded by rhetorical flourishes, and those of Bush that make up the story as they go along. Of course, if you are in the "win at any cost" camp, due to a belief that Kerry is a pinko-traitor bent on supplying the fetuses that Cheney only eats, then obviously the distinction is a moot point. But for the rest of us ......

The 'F'-Word

David Neiwert, easily one of the bloggers I too seldom read, is currently in the midst of a wonderful series called 'The Rise of Pseudo Fascism' that really ought to be read. (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four -- two more parts forthcoming)

Is it too shrill, you might wonder. Is he calling Republicans fascists, you might pause. The answer: no ... not really ... well, maybe a little ... um, hard to say. Now, I don't deny that Neiwert, especially in using the 'f'-word and relating it to the modern 'conservative movement', is really opening himself up to misunderstanding, scores of comment trolls, and equal parts disdain and adoration for things he's not really saying at all. But, then again, he's smart enough, and good enough writer, to be able to deal with this.

Personally, I'm more convinced by the broader argument he's making here than some of the specifics he cites -- i.e., that, as Douglas Rushkoff points out well, American political / cultural discourse is increasingly troubling.