Every so often, someone restores my faith in humanity.

Posted on December 24, 2014 by Pat Greene

It’s Christmas Eve, and I was still out buying a gift for my nephew. The day had not started well — I have misplaced my glasses and am forced to use my backup pair with the scratch in the left lens. I left the bookstore, and pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store to buy cranberries, pineapple, and spices for cranberry sauce.

My wallet was missing.

I searched the rental car. No luck. I raced back to the bookstore, checking the parking lot before I went in. No, no one had turned it in. They took my name and phone number, promising to call me if it showed up. I then went to every store in the strip mall to see if anyone had turned it in there.  No one had.

Just before I went into the third store, it hit me.  I was three thousand miles from home, scheduled to fly home in a few days…

…with no government-issued i.d.

I called the Rocket Scientist, who texted me the phone numbers for the banks so I could cancel my cards. He called the friend house-sitting for us, who could not find my passport where I thought I had left it.

At that point, since it had been well over half an hour since I had noticed the wallet  missing, I called to cancel my cards. (Can someone please explain to me why banks want you to tell them your card or account number when you have indicated you’ve lost your card?)  I held it together, being all calm and businesslike, until the third card. At that point, after having to repeat my story over and over, I completely lost it and started sobbing. (Big props to the Wells Fargo customer service representative who talked me down until I could go through the process of canceling my cards, with only an occasional hiccup from me.) After fruitlessly trying to get hold of the credit union, and deciding it wasn’t worth it (since I had less than $20 in the account anyway), I decided to go home (well, back to the house where I was staying).

At that point, the bookstore called to tell me that someone had turned in my wallet. I had dropped it in the restroom, which was the last place I had gone before leaving the store. I drove back to pick it up, joking to the clerk that maybe this was God’s way of telling not to spend anymore this Christmas. I was indeed a happy (and relieved) Pat.

After all the excitement, I decided, what the hell, I’m down to eight dollars, but I am going to get myself a peppermint mocha. I went into Starbucks, ordered my Venti Nonfat No-Whip Peppermint Mocha (decaf, since I already had enough stimulation for one day), paid for the drink and, as I was closing my wallet, noticed…

…two fresh, crisp, ten-dollar bills that had not been in there before, courtesy of the stranger who had found my wallet.

Season’s Greetings, y’all, and all the best to you and yours.

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Dick Cheney’s unpatriotic utilitarianism.

Posted on December 15, 2014 by Pat Greene

“If you don’t stick to your values when they’re being tested, they’re not values: they’re hobbies.” Jon Stewart.

The word torture is once again in the air and permeating the airwaves and the national consciousness. The release of the Senate Intelligence Committee’s report on the use of torture reminds us all of those horrible years when questioning whether waterboarding people was moral could get you branded as a traitor. All of a sudden, we’re revisiting 2006.

Let’s be very clear: the question is not whether the torture resulted in actionable intelligence. The question is whether that intelligence could have been obtained with less abusive methods. The Senate report indicated that was the case, and all that I’ve read, both before and after the report came out, agreed with that assessment.  Actually, the question is whether obtaining that intelligence is worth tossing out our common values, exposing ourselves as moral hypocrites,  giving jihadists spectacular recruitment fodder, eroding our nation’s standing (and worse, our future security), and dishonoring our country.

No, it isn’t.  It never can be.

Former CIA covert operations officer Valerie Plame (yes, that Valerie Plame) pointed out the essential issue with pinpoint accuracy. “Whatever little bit [of information that] was obtained was certainly not worth throwing away some core values of who we like to think of as Americans,” Plame said. In another interview, this time with msnbc, Plame pointed out that if these techniques were being used on American troops, there would be a deafening clamor protesting against what would be widely (and accurately) seen as torture.

Dick Cheney disagrees.  When asked if he would support using “enhanced interrogation techniques” — torture — again, he replied “In a heartbeat.” When further asked if the ends justified the means, he did not hesitate a second before answering “absolutely.” He engages in the most vile form of realpolitik, a crude utilitarianism in which the only people who matter in the cost-benefit analysis are Americans.

In doing so, Cheney willfully misrepresents the Geneva conventions. He conveniently ignores Ronald Reagan’s signing of  international Convention Against Torture and Inhuman Treatment. He disregards morality and the common humanity we share with those we have captured. I might chalk all this up to simple stupidity, except that Cheney is not a stupid man. He is smart, unprinicipled, and amoral.

Unlike Cheney, the men who founded the United States were not utilitarians.  The Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were born of the idea that individuals have, as they said, certain inalienable rights.  Sometimes we have failed to put our ideals into practice (those inalienable rights did not always extend to African-Americans, or natives. or women), but that does not mean that we have not strived to live up to them to our (often poor) ability to do so.

That Dick Cheney refuses to even give lip service to those ideals shows that, unlike most of those he accused of being unpatriotic, he really doesn’t believe in our nation’s common values.  I will not call him a traitor, but simply a rank political opportunist, interested in being able to portray himself as zealously guarding America’s security.  This, while every detainee waterboarded, forced to stand upright for forty-eight hours, or subjected to “rectal hydration” undermines our national safety.

Dick Cheney: American (Anti-)Patriot.

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The stories in the wine, II

Posted on December 13, 2014 by Pat Greene

[The Stories in the Wine, here.]

(The Rocket Scientist and I went on a Segway tour of Healdsburg a few weeks back, and brought back a couple of bottles of wine, and here are their stories.  Maybe because it is winter, these stories turned out a lot darker than the first batch.)

I.

“How bad?” She asked.

“Stage IV,” he replied, avoiding her eyes.  He heard the shuddering intake of breath, and glanced up as she whispered “excuse me,” scraped her chair back so violently it crashed to the floor, and bolted for the bathroom.  He could hear her coughing and retching, and dropped his head into his hands.

A few minutes later she returned, pale but composed. “What now?”

He looked at her for a long minute.  Then he grabbed  his cell and stalked out of the living room.  His voice carried down the hall.  “Yes, hi, I’d like an order of barbecued pork buns, sweet and sour soup for two, honey walnut prawns, and Szechuan beef. Oh, and white rice.  For two, yes. Delivery, please.”

Chinese food, her favorite dishes, from her favorite restaurant, no doubt.  She heard him rummaging under the kitchen counter, and then in the freezer. He walked into the living room with a full ice bucket into which he shoved a bottle with a wired cap.

“Champagne?” She gasped. “He drew himself up haughtily to his full 5’11”. “Champagne? Of course not.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s prosecco.”

“You’re celebrating?”

“Yes, I am.  Look, I am not celebrating the cancer, or the fact that I probably don’t have much more time, or that you are going to be a widow at far too young an age.” He paused.

“You are going to be all right.  It’s going to be hard, but we’re financially secure.  The kids are grown and away. I’m going to fight as hard as I can, but realistically, there may not be much that I or the doctors can do.”

He smiled gently. “While I still can I want to celebrate the life I’ve had, the life we’ve had together.  I may not live as long as I want, and I have my regrets the same as any man, but on the whole I have had one damned good time. And I refuse to spend one minute of however long I have left moping.”  He handed her a full flute.  She recognized the Waterford crystal from their wedding reception.

“L’chaim,” he murmured softly.

********

II.

The young man shifted uncomfortably.  These overstuffed leather armchairs had always made him sleepy. He shook himself awake as his father walked past and handed him a glass.  “Let me know what you think of the port,” the older man said.  “An amusing little wine, pretentious with overtones of overripe cherries and burning rubber tires,” his son replied, mockingly. Actually, it was a lovely port, if a bit sweet. He wasn’t much of a port drinker — bourbon and coke (or pot) being his preferred drugs of choice — but he was willing to indulge his father’s tastes, at least once.

His father had pleaded with him to come home.  He had avoided the place for ten years, ever since the screaming match that had occurred in the aftermath of the car crash that had taken his mother and sister’s lives. His father told him in no uncertain terms that it was his fault because they had been driving to the county jail to bail him out (again) after an arrest for DUI.  That they were killed by a drunk driver proved to the son that God was a cruel bastard, given to the nastiest sort of irony. He hadn’t even gone to the funeral.

His father sat down, avoiding his son’s gaze. He cleared his throat, and gulped, as though words were a foreign concept. After a long moment he looked directly at his son and said, in a voice so small as to be barely audible, “I’m sorry.”

The unexplained apology hung in the air. “Sorry for what?” his son responded, determined not to make it easy.

His father spoke more strongly now, his words tumbling after each other. “I’m sorry I ran you away.  Mom and Beth’s deaths weren’t your fault.  I knew that — I just needed people to blame.  It should have been me who died: your mother went because I refused to. I wanted you to rot in jail, to feel the pain you were causing us.”

His son sat staring ahead in perfect silence.

“It gets worse,” his father continued. “The CHP said that while the other driver was drunk, your Mom strayed over the center line, causing the accident.”

The son exploded. “You knew? You made me feel like horseshit all these years about that accident and YOU KNEW about this?”

His father started crying. “I wanted… I don’t know. I wanted you to be afraid to drive drunk, I was scared you would kill somebody else’s wife and daughter. I wanted you to hurt so much over this that you would never drive drunk again.”

“You’re right,” his son said.  “I have never driven drunk since then. I have sliced my wrists, and taken a month’s worth of Klonopin and washed it down with twenty-year-old Scotch, have spent weeks in ICUs and psych wards — you didn’t know, I wouldn’t let them tell you — but no, I haven’t gotten any DUIs.”

His father stared at him in horror, the shock stopping his tears.  “Jesus Joseph and Mary, what did I do?”

The son drew a deep breath.  “You destroyed me. There are things that are unforgivable. I don’t know if this is one of them.” He stood up, and headed for the door.

“Please don’t go,” his father whispered. “I love you, and I miss you.”

“Goodbye. Thanks for the port,” the son said sardonically. He closed the door softly behind himself, and walked  into the rainy night.

Posted in Writing | 1 Comment

Hey! Lookie!

Posted on December 13, 2014 by Pat Greene

I have a new profile picture.  It’s me with my latest hair: the color is closer to natural, not my natural but someone’s, and a bit longer. I took it my home-away-from-home, a new Starbucks I found.  (For some value of new: I found it a month ago, which was a ,month after it opened.)

I am also somewhat older and sadder than in my previous picture. It’s been that sort of stretch of years.

Posted in Miscellany, My life and times | Leave a comment

Where is Sam Vimes when you need him?

Posted on December 8, 2014 by Pat Greene

A friend of mine on Facebook stated after the Staten Island grand jury refused to indict the officer in the Eric Garner case that she was taking a break from the news to reread Terry Pratchett’s Night Watch. She said she needed a “fantasy of justice.”

I was ahead of her: the previous days I had spent time (more than I should have really) rereading Guards! Guards!, Men at Arms, Feet of Clay, Night Watch,* and Thud! — all of the Terry Pratchett’s novels about the Discworld Watch and its commander, Sam Vimes that I own. As she said, they offer “a fantasy of justice,” a rebuttal to the despairing voices in our heads that is fatigued by what is happening in our country right now.

Sam Vimes, for those not familiar with Pratchett’s Discworld novels, is in some ways so many things we think we want in our police.  True, he has no interest in “community policing,” and allows a certain level of very small corruption among his men (and women, and dwarves, and trolls, and werewolves, and vampires, and zombies…. the Ankh-Morpark Watch is an equal opportunity employer, even if Vimes is not always happy about it).  But he also has a burning desire for justice, and is more interested in calling out the rich and powerful than going after the common folk.  Not that he has any illusions about the common folks — he doesn’t see them as intrinsically noble, for example — but he feels that someone needs to speak in their favor.  In Feet of Clay, in reference to one of his watchmen, Vimes opines “Nobby is as common as muck, which is one of his better points.” Even when he reluctantly becomes a Duke and ambassador, he really is most interested in justice for the people who live in the poor neighborhoods where he grew up. His methods are not always kosher, but he doesn’t view as the ends always justifying the means.  Break the small rules and you can end up breaking the large ones.  Of course, he also believes that the law can be bent…

The most interesting thing about Vimes is his self-awareness.  He recognizes the part of him that would destroy in the name of revenge, that would beat suspects dead, that is violent and doesn’t care about right and wrong.  He refers to it as “The Beast,” and is very careful to keep it controlled. He lets it out occasionally, but rarely, and usually when his life is truly threatened.  He understand that death is sometimes necessary, but understands the difference between protection and murder.  In The Fifth Elephant, he kills a werewolf that has wrought terror across the countryside, stalked Vimes himself, and just killed Vimes’s servant and several townspeople in his flight. Vimes set off a flare, knowing that the werewolf would find catching the firework irresistible. After the werewolf was killed…

There were a lot of things Vimes could have said. ‘Son of a bitch!’ was one of them.  Or ‘Fetch!’…. He said none of these things, because then he would know that what he had just done was murder. ‘To hell with it,’ he muttered, tossing the crossbow on Wolfgang’s body.

It is fantasy, of course.  Having justice in the hands of one man, no matter how incorruptible that man is, is dangerous. When asked “Who watches the watchmen?” he replies “I do.” When asked who watches him, he responds that he does that too. While Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson is likewise dedicated to justice (and may well be the rightful king of the city-state), Sam Vimes is the man in charge, even as he rejects the idea of power and wealth. But what happens when he is gone?

We want to think of our police as incorruptible.  We want to think that they hold the Beast in check, that they do not act in fear and rage.  We have had too much evidence that, in least some cases, that’s not the case.

*If you do not read Pratchett, Night Watch is a great place to start.  While there is a lot of backstory, it works on its own as a very interesting novel about identity, justice, and the greatness of hard-boiled eggs.

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What did Obama do?

Posted on November 21, 2014 by Pat Greene

He punted.  He basically told Congress “I’m going to just stand here until you people fix this.”

This is not an amnesty. An amnesty would regularize the status of undocumented immigrants. This will not do that.  It will simply provide assurances to undocumented people who fit certain requirements that, at least for the time being, they will not be deported.

It only applies to individuals who have been in the country for more than five years.  This doesn’t open the floodgates: it doesn’t do a damned thing about the current crisis at the border. (Also, what does “fair share of taxes” mean? They already pay sales tax, most of them probably make too little to be subject to income tax, and they aren’t eligible for Social Security, state disability or unemployment, so why should they have to pay for those?)

And, to the young lady who called in to NPR this morning: before you go on whingeing about how this is so unfair to people like you who have Ph.D.s and worked very hard to get here on your H1B visas, talk to a fifty-year old tech engineer who can see your Ph.D. and raise you twenty-years experience who cannot get a job because the rampant age discrimination in Silicon Valley is propped up by increasing numbers of H1B visa entrants.  See what they have to say about “fairness.”

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At least it’s not April.

Posted on November 18, 2014 by Pat Greene

It’s the third week in November.

It is the anniversary of my father’s death, followed the next day by my eldest son’s birthday. (Believe me, I have been grateful to providence that the two did not fall on the same day.) This year, Dad’s death hits me harder than it has the past few years — because Mom is gone now, too.

I left so much unfinished with my father. I have struggled to accept that over the years, but every so often I wish I could talk to him just one last time.  The platitudes insert themselves into my brain — no one knows the hour, etc. — and don’t help.  Both my parents died unexpectedly, but Dad’s seems harder.

The Not-So-Little Drummer Boy is gone now, probably for good.  He is a continent away, breaking out and living his life.  As a parent, that’s what you want, but I miss him terribly.

It is also the anniversary of my notification that I had passed the California bar exam.  I would think that that would be a happy memory, but it’s not.  I brood about it, which is not healthy.

December cannot get here too fast.

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Social justice music.

Posted on November 18, 2014 by Pat Greene

I am listening to The Voice. This week I have purchased two singles, “Redemption Songs,” sung by Anita Antoinette (my favorite performer still on the show) and “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother,” performed by Damien.

I chose hymns.

How long shall they kill our prophets
While we stand aside and look?
“Redemption Songs”

I need hope. It is hard slogging on in the face of the election returns and the past few years of increasing inequality. The temptation to say “screw it, there’s nothing I can do anyway” is almost overwhelming. The wall of outrage fatigue I hit during the Bush era looms again. I know I do not do enough to make the world a better place; sometimes it seems like I just stand on the sidelines and cheer others on. Caring about social justice means squat if you don’t actually do anything about it.

I am getting by, but I see so many who are not. I ask myself, why do I even care? Why does it matter what happens to strangers? Other than just “it does”? I have lost sight of a just and caring God. I have lost sight of God, period.

That’s where the rubber hits the road, ethically speaking. If the only thing that draws you to caring about others is that you were commanded to by an unseen deity who seems capricious in His attentions, what sort of concern is that?

The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where, who knows where
But I’m strong,
Strong enough to carry him
He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother
“He Aint’ Heavy, He’s My Brother”

We cannot know where we are going. In the end, all we can know is that we are not on this journey alone. We are called by “the angels of our better nature” to want, to need others beside us. I have to believe that social justice – even rough justice – is possible, even if I cannot fathom how to achieve it.

I have to believe in the promised land, even as I fight despair born of not knowing the road there.

Molly Ivins instructed us to keep fighting the good fight. I have to find a way to do that. The music helps.

Posted in Justice, Music | Leave a comment

QOTD, for those in Silicon Valley

Posted on November 14, 2014 by Pat Greene

Santa Clara County Supervisor Joe Simitian, talking about the lack of affordable housing in Mountain View:

“Next time we have a big earthquake, the safest place is to be in Tracy, because as far as I know, every cop, firefighter and nurse lives in Tracy.”

It is worth noting that, in a city with chronic housing shortages, Mountain View is looking to add 40,000 employees in the coming few years, while the city’s general plan (updated in 2012) allows for 8,000 new homes by 2030. Diversity? What’s that? The city does not have a rent control ordinance. At the same city council meeting where SImitian made his comment, a group of Latina mothers spoke.  One said her rent would nearly double when the undergoing renovation of her apartment complex was finished. Source: Mountain View Voice, November 14, 2012.

Already the traffic on local freeways appears (at least to my untutored eye) to be worse than L.A. A trip to work which on a Sunday morning could take fifteen to twenty minutes at most (except on days when the Niners play in their nice new shiny unnecessary stadium built by Santa Clara taxpayers — that’s a rant for a different day), on a weekday around 5:00 p.m. could take over an hour.

(There was also a resident who complained that Mountain View has always been expensive, and people complaining about housing should just suck it up, because God forbid his property values should drop.  Given that the man bought his house in 1968, and that it probably is worth ten times what he bought it for, I think he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. The cost of living has gone up a lot since 1968, but I don’t think, housing aside, it has gone up 1000%.)

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Sounding off about The Voice.

Posted on November 12, 2014 by Pat Greene

[Warning: this post is about the television show The Voice. There are a lot of things – important things, at that — to write about in the world, and I am expending time (not to mention a thousand words) on a silly reality competition show. Unless you like the show as much as I do, this post is going to be a snoozer. Brain, wherefore art thou? I have to confess that part of the raison d’etre this post is as a pump-primer: maybe if I can write about The Voice I can go on to write about the complete implosion of the Democratic Party, and related subjects.]

The Voice is into its third week now. In general, the overall quality of contestants is better than previous seasons, although the very top of the pool may not be quite as memorable. There are at least five contestants that I would be perfectly happy to see win. And as usual, it has provided new music to listen to.

As in previous seasons, contestants have been singing a mix of new songs and classics. Some of them have shown a willingness to take on iconic songs: “You’ve Got a Friend” (done by James David Carter), “God Only Knows” (performed by Matt McAndrews), and “Let’s Get It On” (Luke Wade). All of these can be tricky – as Blake Shelton said to Carter, there is a danger that the coaches will think about what a great song it is rather than what a great performance they gave. (Also, who sets themselves up to be compared to James Taylor, Brian Wilson or Marvin Gaye? Confidence, baby, it’s what’s for dinner. Or hubris, perhaps, but as my father used to say “It ain’t cocky if you can do it.”)

This far, I’ve enjoyed all three of those. I bought the first two. I was particularly concerned about “God Only Knows,” because I couldn’t see how it could be anything but terrible without the intricate Beach Boys harmonies, but it’s pretty good. McAndrews has a light airy voice that seemed to float over the music. Carter did “You’ve Got a Friend” as a country song – and it makes a very nice one. Luke Wade’s “Let’s Get It On” was good, but not enough to make me want to buy it. He “made it his own,” as the judges say, but c’mon… Marvin Gaye? Impossible standard you set yourself there, guy.

Then there were the oldies that were not so iconic. Taylor John Williams’ gritty version of Steeler’s Wheel’s “Stuck in the Middle with You” was fun, and Craig Wayne Boyd’s version of “Some Kind of Wonderful” was sloppy (in a good way) and energetic. I liked both of these better than I did the originals. (Also, what is it with men using three names this season? You get a lot of singers using only one, but three? At least in Carter’s case, he goes by both first names (“James David” rather than “James”). As he explained a little defensively after correcting the coaches about his name, it’s a Southern thing. He blamed his mom, which as a mom I find less than gallant. If he didn’t like it he could have changed it.)

And then there is the music now on the charts. I’ve been introduced to “Try” by Cobie Chaillot, and “Amnesia” by Five Seconds of Summer. In each case I didn’t much care for the contestant version, but loved the originals. (“Amnesia”…. Whew. It goes into my list of songs that are almost too difficult to listen to. You know when a songwriter sings words you that have rattled around in your brain? Yeah, that. Nice to know that some situations are universal. Or in this case, maybe not so much.)

Then there was “All About That Bass.” The original by Meghan Trainor is fun, but the cover by Voice contestant Anita Antoinette is smoking. Represent, for all of us larger than size four ladies! Love love love that song.

Tonight is the first elimination. Two contestants will be eliminated from each team, and in the case of each team there will probably be at least one contestant that I don’t want to see go. As I said, the talent pool is deeper than the past two seasons.

I do hope that someone old enough to drink wins this thing. The show attracts a lot of precocious teenagers. (I think the youngest this year is fifteen – but there is also a seventeen year-old and an eighteen year old. There were even more teenagers earlier in the process.) They’re cute, but I keep wanting to pat them on the head and say “go home and come back when you’ve actually lived some.” That’s unfair, because a lot of them come to the show with interesting backstories involving losing parents or overcoming illness, and so do have experiences to tap into.

The Voice also attracts singers who have been slogging along for years without a lot of success, people who have wanted to make music their life but have just needed the right break. (I have not checked all of them, but at least four contestants have albums on iTunes. Luke Wade commented to Pharrell Williams that after the blind auditions, he had more people buy his album in one week than he had previously.) Hopefully some of them will see increased interest even if they don’t win.

I’m not sure if he’s my favorite singer, but the most interesting backstory belongs to a singer on Adam’s team. Damien is a TSA agent who was in LAX when a gunman decided to take out his coworkers. He watched people die that day. I guess there is nothing like being faced with your own death to make you become really serious about following your dream.

I love the two new coaches. Pharrell Williams and Gwen Stefani bring a new energy to a show that seemed to be getting stale. (Also, may I just say for the record, that I find all four of the judges to be really sexy. Least hot in my book is Adam Levine: I’m alone in that, probably – a year ago he was named People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man in the World.”) It is really interesting to see Pharrell coach – he clearly puts on his producer’s hat, with generally great results. On the other side of the coin, Gwen Stefani encourages her team to think about all parts of their performance; staging, wardrobe, hair. She turned Craig Wayne Boyd from a scruffy, long-hair, fringe-wearing throwback to a rocker. She injected new energy into his singing. And her suggestion to Reagan James that she not act too much older than her fifteen years was dead on. I have been frustrated in prior seasons (especially with Christina Aguilera) about the tendency of coaches to load their high-schoolers up with heavy makeup and songs of depth and gravity which come off as melodramatic and bathetic. (One notable exception to this was Blake Shelton’s coaching of then sixteen-year old Danielle Bradberry – she always looked fresh and young, and her performances seemed grounded in genuine emotion. Not coincidentally, she won.)

So – it’s off to see who goes on. More later.

Posted in Culture (popular and otherwise), Music | Leave a comment

Safety.

Posted on November 9, 2014 by Pat Greene

The other day I saw a Rachel Maddow piece about Kaci Hickox, the nurse in Maine who has defied orders to stay sequestered in her house.  Hickox has been tested for Ebola, does not have Ebola, has shown no signs of Ebola.  Health officials say she is just fine.  Two Republican governors, engaging in anti-scientific pandering, have nonetheless sought to have her quarantined, first in a hospital in New Jersey, then in her home in Maine.

In an interview, Paul LePage, governor of Maine talked about feelings “running high,” and saying “if she keeps doing this, I can’t guarantee her safety.”

“We can’t guarantee her safety.”

We hear those words from time to time, if protestors, activists, or in this case one level-headed nurse, exercises their Constitutional rights in ways that certain people — usually those on the far right — find objectionable.

Don’t protest in ways we don’t like. We can’t guarantee your safety.

Don’t be a woman speaking out against sexism. We can’t guarantee your safety.

Don’t be a registered sex offender who has served his term of imprisonment and is trying to find a place to live, any place, even remote. We can’t guarantee your safety.

Don’t be a nurse exercising her right to be free from house arrest.  We can’t guarantee your safety.

In almost all cases (the Anita Sarkeesian talk at University of Utah was different; the university really was hamstrung by Utah’s concealed-carry laws), what the words really mean is “We won’t try to guarantee your safety.”  As though it were not one of government’s chief functions, to keep safe all of its citizens, even the ones nobody likes. Saying “We can’t guarantee your safety” is almost an invitation to vigilantes and other crazies: “go ahead. We don’t care enough to try to stop you.”

Don’t come down to Mississippi, civil rights workers, we can’t guarantee your safety.

All of us deserve to live in a country where our government will at least try their best to protect us when we are acting lawfully.

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Update.

Posted on November 7, 2014 by Pat Greene

Work is over, again.

I was part of a political operation (a small part) again.  Election work is, by its nature, temporary and cyclical. Every second Tuesday in November there is a flurry of activity, followed by the campaign workers’ election night tradition: heavy drinking.  If you win, you drink to celebrate.  If you lose, you drink to lick your wounds. If you are a peon like me you drink in relief that you no longer have to deal with perfect strangers yelling at you.

I didn’t join the parties this time.  The crush of people milling about drinking beer was simply too much for me. A friend (the best man from my wedding) died the week before, and his funeral was on Monday.  I could not attend, because the funeral was across the country and I have no frequent flyer miles left.  (The Rocket Scientist was there, thankfully.) I had had to leave work Monday after one woman was particularly nasty and I found myself crying uncontrollably.  I was not crying about her, really, but out of grief and loss.  It was the first time that I had cried about Rob; I was also crying for my mother — the loss of Rob brought up her death, which I had thought I had dealt with.

I hope people in my life stop dying for a little while.  I know that I am getting older, and I can expect more and more death (including my own) in my future, but I am not ready for it.  My mom died in May, another friend in August, Rob at the end of October. Two of those people were younger than 55, two if them died suddenly with no warning.

I did pull things together enough to go to work Tuesday.  Election day is my favorite day of the campaign — we’re really just calling people to remind them to vote.  It’s a cause near and dear to my heart.  (The low turnout for this election makes me unhappy.)  My favorite anecdote:  in the evening before the polls closed, I called a house asking for a particular voter.  His housemate answered.

“Is Fred [not his real name] there?  I am calling to see if he was able to get out to vote, and if he knew where his polling place was.”

“Fred is not home.  Just one moment.” Turning away from the phone, I hear him yell, “Did everyone here VOTE?” “YES!!!!” came the emphatic response from what sounded to be about twenty people. “”We’re all good here, thank you.”  I was laughing so hard I could barely get out my own thanks. I hope they had a good party.

Wednesday morning I awoke with my usual post-election reaction: “Phew, the campaign is over.  Thank God. Oh, wait, crap, that means I’m unemployed again.” [Panic.]

I need to reassess what I want to do, now.  While I know there will be election work in 2016, I clearly can’t wait until then to work.  I need the structure. (The money is nice, but between the amount I spend on gas getting to work and the amount I spend sitting in Starbucks before work, I don’t have much left.  We get a decent hourly wage, but not a lot of hours. For most people this is a labor of love, a dedication to the values we want our elected officials to respect. We’re working for change.)

I love the people I work for, and the people I work with. (Although there are changes in personnel to some extent, there is a core group which has worked the past two years on various campaigns.) There is, of course, no guarantee that I will be called back for the next campaign. While they like me personally, I don’t know how well I do at this.

And then there is the question of whether it would be good for me.  I work elections because I think they matter: otherwise, you could not pay me enough to do this.  I will probably never go to bat for a Republican for that reason.  I need to figure out whether, political meaning aside, the psychic toll elections take on me is worthwhile. There is an entirely different post about that, somewhere.

An email from a nonprofit organization I was desperately hoping to volunteer for got lost among a bunch of solicitations from financial and insurance firms to come and interview for them.  (What the hell about my resume screams “financial advisor” or “insurance”?) I missed my chance, and feel particularly badly about this because a very good friend had suggested it to me, and said she would go to bat for me. I hate disappointing people.

I have another post in me about the results of the election and what they mean (namely, the left-of-center did a piss-poor job of getting their people to the polls). Right now, it is too discouraging to contemplate.  I am trying to live in the now: the gorgeous Northern California twilight, the soft voices of the people around me.  The twang of Blake Shelton’s “Neon Light” coming through my headphones. I am trying to decide what to do this evening that would be fun.

It’s hard.  The movies that are coming out, most of which I want to see sometime, are serious dramas that I doubt I would find engaging right now.

I decided pretty much against NanoWriMo.  I might have done NaBloPoMo, but I missed several days, so am out of the running on that one, as well. I suppose I could try to do what I did last year, and see how much I can blog this month.  Last year, it was about 38K. I hope to get farther than that. I need to get cracking, though. I need to write a little over 2600 each day to make the goal of 60K.

I think I have a lot of potential fodder.  I have a memorial for my friend Rob that I wrote down the old-fashioned way (on paper! with a pen!) that I need to convert into pixels.

I have a reflection of nihilism and despair I am working on. (I didn’t start writing this because I was in despair, but because I heard an NPR discussion about nihilism.)

I have a post on what politicians really mean when they say “We can’t guarantee their safety.”

I have various ideas for posts that I jotted down during down times while I was working.

There is always more to comment on than I have time — from Slacktivist, LGM, and especially Mike the Mad Biologist. Sometime I am overwhelmed by all there is in the world. This xkcd cartoon sums up my feelings nicely.

I am not a citizen journalist.  I am a blogger.  I suppose there is a post in that, as well. I might wish that this were a more significant endeavor, but right now, it’s unimportant to most everybody but me. (Most of my family doesn’t even read this, unless I point out a specific post.  My Facebook friends are another story. I get comments there on what I write here since they are crossposted.)

But if you enjoy reading, continue to watch this space.

Posted in My life and times, Work! | Leave a comment

Posted on November 3, 2014 by Pat Greene

I am not going to do an analysis of the California ballot, another than to make an observation:

Unions and trial attorneys make easy villains.  But what are unions but collections of workers? Being in favor of taking care of workers is considered being beholden to special interests. And everyone hates trial attorneys until they need one.

Prop 46 is a mess: three good ideas packaged into one.  The vociferous opposition claims “Trial lawyers will make millions.”

They might.  But unlike most people, I don’t have a problem with that.  The pain and suffering caps on medical malpractice were set in 1975, and have not been raised since.  A law practice is a business; investigating and pursing medical malpractice claims can be expensive.  Indexing those caps to inflation is completely reasonable.  There may have been good cases which went untried — and victims uncompensated — because it did not make economic sense for an attorney to take it on, given the caps.

At least, that’s the way I see it.

Posted in Politics | Tagged | Leave a comment

“Social Justice Warrior” has a really lovely ring to it.

Posted on October 28, 2014 by Pat Greene

I’ve been meaning to write a GamerGate post.  Everyone else has, pretty much.  I’m busy with other things (such as deciding if I have enough of an idea to try NaNoWriMo this year — I may need to settle for NaBloPoMo), so I think I’ll have to let it slide.  A couple of observations, however: you know your “crusade” is on the wrong track when articles about it hit the Southern Poverty Law Center’s “Hatewatch Headlines”; and, once again, I need to declare my adoration of Chris Kluwe.

Also, I wish I could call myself a “Social Justice Warrior” but if it were left up to me, I reserve that honorific to people for people who have actually worked hard (or harder than I have, in any case) for social justice. Like the good people at the SPLC, for example. (Blogging doesn’t really count.) Simply calling out misogyny and hatred where it occurs really doesn’t require one to be a “warrior,” only a person of intelligence and common sense. (And yes, I know it’s supposed to be pejorative, but really, people. You have a problem with social justice?  Someone did a poor job of raising you. We can have differing opinions of what social justice is, or how to achieve it, but to deride it? That’s just sad.)

I am proud to call myself a liberal.  Loudly.  I know that many of us have retreated to “progressive” to avoid the dreaded “L” word, but screw that. Our tradition is too long and too important to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Liberal. Liberal. Liberal. LIBERAL.*

That’s me.

*My political and social outlook is pretty much described by the first three quotes in my “Words to Live By,” but most especially by Micah 6:8.

Posted in Social Issues, Who I am | Leave a comment

I am in love with Mary Chapin Carpenter.

Posted on October 20, 2014 by Pat Greene

Last week I went to see the wonderful Mary Chapin Carpenter in concert. (Tift Merrit was the opening act — she was pretty great, too.) I have seen her before, and plan to catch her the next time she tours.

One of the delights of the concert was her question and answer session with the audience — although “session” is too much formal a word to use here.  It was more MCC asking “Anyone have any questions?” at more or less random intervals.  (It was a small enough venue that this was possible — for people in the Bay Area who have not caught a show at Berkeley’s Freight and Salvage, you really should.)  One gentleman asked about a song that she performed only once, at a country music awards show, called “Opening Act.”  One of the friends I attended the concert with sent the YouTube link of the performance the next day.  I have watched it probably ten times since then, and it makes me giggle.

She wrote “Opening Act” about being a new musician, but it applies to so much in life.  (Ask new associates at very large law firms, e.g.) As she told the tale, as she was going on, a major industry figure told her “Nice career you had going there, Carpenter,” but when she was done, she received a standing ovation. The very best part, for me at least, was that she resisted the efforts of her label to capitalize on it and release it as a single. Clearly a woman who has a sense of time and place. (Also, for me, I try to figure out who “the jackass I am opening for” was… especially given the line about “I’m not going bald so I don’t wear a hat.” Okay, so there’s Garth Brooks, and Alan Jackson, and quite a number of other male country acts at the time…)

I love Mary Chapin Caprenter’s music.  I have written before about “Come On, Come On,” but it goes beyond that.   Just right now, I am sitting in my home-away-from-home (a.k.a., the Starbucks near work) dancing in my seat to “I Feel Lucky” and “Shut Up and Kiss Me” and “I Take My Chances.”  (Dignity be damned.  I am too old to give a flip.)

“The Moon and St. Christopher” describes my relationship with the world for too much of  my life. “I have run from the arms of lovers, I have run from the eyes of friends, I have run from the hands of kindness, I have run just because I can…”

“He Thinks He’ll Keep Her” hit far too close to home when I was a stay-at-home mother of small boys. “For fifteen years she had a job, and not one raise in pay; Now she’s in the typing pool at minimum wage…”

She was singing “Down at the Twist and Shout” as I danced in front of the Capitol steps in 1993 with a very small boy on my shoulders. A very small happy boy.

“I Am a Town” tells the story to me of my very early childhood, and the small Southern towns we drove through on the way to visit my grandparents. It makes me remember that, for all the reasons I hate the South, there are many more reasons I love it.

“This Shirt” could be about the cotton shirt I had in college with the butterfly (what else) painted on the back, that I wore until you could see your hand through the fabric.

“The Stones in the Road” is about the compromises we make in growing up, and the toll that it takes.

“Passionate Kisses” and “Quittin’ Time” bookended a friendship.

“John Doe 24” makes me smile and cry at the same time.

“Halley Came to Jackson” reminds me of my family in Mississippi.

And “Why Walk When You Can Fly” … I am trying to get to this place.  Really I am.

 

Ms. Carpenter, all I can say is thank you.  Please keep on keeping on, and I hope to see you the next time you hit town.

 

 

Posted in Culture (popular and otherwise), Music, My life and times | Tagged | 4 Comments