Sunday, June 26, 2011

Is World ready for Plant Rights activists?


Today's Question, Tomorrow's Challenge:
Do plants, trees (living, growing "things") have  "rights?" The above photos show the yard on the west side of La Casa Verde, our former home on Santa Fe Street in Presidio, TX. That's Noemi and Maiya Kareli seen in the photos in a project to remove many large rocks from beneath the roots of a Chinese Pistache tree. The rocks had not only blocked drainage but also kept the tree rootbound for several years, leaving branches mostly bare of leaves and sickly looking all year long. A year after the photos, in early spring, 2010, the tree had come back to life with full foliage. (Desert Mountain Times photos)

You say, 'Plant RIGHTS'??!

By A. Daniel Bodine

Yo, Jethro and Josafeen! Yeah, you. Funny looking shorts on; stragglin'-lookin' hair, both of you; tattoos scattered all over your arms and legs. Coming out of that plant nursery carrying the crèpe myrtle and the palm tree. You adopting? What are you gonna do with those? Wanna talk about Plant Rights for a few minutes?.

Is the civilized world on the cusp of entering a new age of activism, you think? Part of an evolving stewardship ethos that argues plants, like animals, have feelings, too; are living beings; and men and women, as designated caretakers of God's gardens, have an obligation to not only care for them but to protect them from dangers both natural and man-created? Just like fetuses and such?

That means you're adopting some responsibilities there with those plants, 'ya know? For what mankind is doing to plants much of the times now ain't just criminal but in many instances would get folks put right up there along side war crimes charges, little bit like crimes against humanity, huh? Did you think about all that before you adopted those two?

Yeah, shake your head; I know. But it's sure looking like that's what it's coming to, more and more every year, it seems. There are even some large forestry companies now (companies that use to be the bile of environmentalists), that are actively promoting forest stewardship, for example. Ain't that a kicker? Compared to our old clear 'em/leave 'em way of treating forests?! Huh?

Here, look at this. Consider this new way of looking at lowly plants, from an online Christian Science Monitor article a few years ago:

Hardly articulate, the tiny strangleweed, a pale parasitic plant, can sense the presence of friends, foes, and food, and make adroit decisions on how to approach them.

Mustard weed, a common plant with a six-week life cycle, can't find its way in the world if its root-tip statolith - a starchy "brain" that communicates with the rest of the plant - is cut off.

The ground-hugging mayapple plans its growth two years into the future, based on computations of weather patterns. And many who visit the redwoods of the Northwest come away awed by the trees' survival for millenniums - a journey that, for some trees, precedes the Parthenon.

As trowel-wielding scientists dig up a trove of new findings, even those skeptical of the evolving paradigm of "plant intelligence" acknowledge that, down to the simplest magnolia or fern, flora have the smarts of the forest.

Some scientists say they carefully consider their environment, speculate on the future, conquer territory and enemies, and are often capable of forethought-- revelations that could affect everyone from gardeners to philosophers.”

Huh? We're talking things such as coordinating cellular growth to heal a cut limb, mates; or what scientists call a more sophisticated “feeling” capability than most humans; and even conversing with one another about the danger of invasive pests, or the issue of overcrowding. And you, me, we got a job in all that?

Plants!! Yes! And you two there—you and me and everyone—we're the designated custodian of all of 'em! Appointed by God himself. That means every cockeyed, half-baked action or inaction you make now with those two you carryin' is gonna be recorded up yonder on the Great Scoreboard in the Sky, mates! You understand the seriousness of this, huh?

Still a little scotchy on it? Here, I got a whole pile of stuff on it, some more wilder than others. This one, for instance, a scientific piece on energy medicine, about plants feeling different levels of pain according to our intentions when we're around them.

Or this one, actually a review of some real freaky stuff found in British researcher's Brian J. Ford's book, The Secret Language of Life: How Animals and :Plants Feel and Communicate (Fromm Intl., New York, 1999).

Whooeee, you get me started and it just goes on and on and...Hey, where you two going?! You left your plants behind!! You kiddin'? Waddaya want me to do with these...?!? Huh??

Hey!! Come back!!! COME BACK!!!

Pleeze?

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Comments are always welcome. Either on this site or Dan at dan@desertmountaintimes.com.

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Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Hey, dude, got credentials to tell Mayor to leave town?



By A. Daniel Bodine
desertmountaintimes.com

Debating the merits of opening the public purse to “spouses” of homosexuals, lesbians, one-arm people with upside-down swan tattoos on their bellies (e.g., name your objectionable category) is sure to be contentious, yes. Especially in a Texas city the size of El Paso where Pancho Villa once helped direct the Mexican Revolution.

But city council civility fell into an even darker slush pile last week, June 14, when one speaker during a public comment period told Mayor John Cook to get on his motorcycle, strap his guitar to his back, and essentially get the hell out of Dodge City.

“Go on back to where ever it was you came from!” he said

Frankly, it was a personal cheap shot. Cook had dared to resurrect and submit for council approval a similar version of a domestic partners bill that voters rejected in a special election in 2010. Political anger was justified perhaps. But not personal scalp-hunting.

Hey, dude, in the name of whose crown are you rising?” I'm sure more than a few surprised onlookers at the meeting wanted to know. “You a sheriff with a real posse behind you?

That person's basic protection, of course, is the Constitution and the right to free speech. It's not, as some of those who spoke at the comment podium suggested, scriptures from the Bible.

But there is a growing chorus of believers who simply argue that free speech doesn't and shouldn't equate with the right to make free personal insults. Character assassins. Especially in an issue as convoluted as this one. Doing so tends too often to lead to a problem-solving quagmire. Eventually then all citizens take an indirect hit somehow.

Here's the simple way the history of the El Paso domestic spouses issue appears on paper: The City Council first passed a measure which extended health benefits to legal domestic partners, or spouses of certain city employees, effective in January, 2010.

A local church group, organized by their pastor, then spearheaded a petition drive to have the issue put on last November's election ballot as a special initiative. With only 10 percent of the registered voters in a weak turnout expressing themselves, supporters then who opposed the health benefit law thus were able to overturn it. And a federal district judge on appeal upheld that election.

A secondary point of argument in the issue, and the cause of the appeal, was that the church group's wording on the special initiative inadvertently dropped health insurance coverage for retirees and elected officials as well. But no le asi. What the voters voted on was what the voters voted on, the court ruled..

Cook, feeling history on his side and also that the majority of citizens in El Paso would support the issue in another ballot initiative run, if it came to that, then put the health benefits extension back on the agenda, as another bill. Last week's vote approving it was 5-4, with Cook himself casting the tie-breaking vote.

Certainly the argument that spending tax money on a controversial subject many deem immoral (and thus unconscionable) has merits. The pages of democratic countries are riddled with confusion sometimes by such arguments. The Vietnam War remains a prime example. And sometimes the only clear answer out of it for citizens is to say, Yes, God will get us thru this, too.

Progressive Democrats, on the other hand, point to last week's City Council decision as “progress” toward bringing all El Paso citizens under the tent of full civil rights. One councilman even named some examples of the progress. Civil rights for African Americans, voting rights for women, etc.

Furthermore, he argued that sexual orientation is something a person is born with; it's not something society has created for us and can be shed like certain species shed hair or skin each year.

And furthermore, those who do oppose granting the benefits, and oppose it bitterly, the democratic process still allows some options, is an important point to remember.

Another petition drive, merged with a recall election for those members of the council who voted to approve the law, is one possibility certainly. Exhausting legal processes, rather than insipidly telling the mayor to go take a hike, or a ride out of town, is a much preferred option anytime.
For cooler heads, one could also make one other point, too, with the pros and cons positioned as they are now. May not be totally applicable, but there's a whiff of resemblance here anyway.

Probably one of the largest civil organizations in the country has as its members what most church groups no doubt at one time would despise as society's worst—a bunch of recovering alcoholics and drug addicts who before finding recovery would've turned on their own mother or father, just to get another shot. Or another hit. Of the devil's brew or spirits.

Yet by following a 12-step process as outlined in the Big Book and embracing the ages-old adage, keep it simple, most of these worsters are now decent, contributing citizens. Many are even our besters.

And no where in that Alcoholic Anonymous' Big Book does it require members to be straight, gay, or varying shades in between. If they truly believe their sexual orientation is not linked in any way to their drinking or drugging habits, it's their own business. Each already knows the realities of hell anyway; as a drunk or an addict they've been there.

Keeping the next steps in this El Paso health benefits issue simple—essentially leaving your moral prejudices behind--is good advice for those angry with last week's outcome also. And doing so would add a touch of class perhaps back to what otherwise is a really classy city.

Getting ugly is a shame on us all. An apology somehow is definitely in order.


We always welcome comments. Sign in to post in the forum. Or write Dan directly at dan@desertmountaintimes.com.. If you have Spanish speaking friends you'd like to send it to, remember with the click of the translation button in the right-hand column the article will come up in Spanish.

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Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Letter to a friend on newspaper's changing role


               The Newspaper On The Conveyor

 Readers Note: The following is a response prepared for a longtime friend, who asked 1) how would a 'true old-fashioned reporter' investigate and report a story; 2) how is that different from what is being called 'news reporting' in today's media; and 3)How much have newspaper readers themselves changed? Has the number of people capable of reading and understanding investigative articles decreased?

** In a heated El Paso City Council meeting Tuesday--on rewriting a city ordinance allowing health benefits to “domestic partners” (after voters turned down such a move last fall)--Councilman Eddie Holguin Jr. reminded the crowd less than 10 percent of eligible voters turned out in that election; only five percent turned out Saturday in a special runoff election. How do you determine the “will of the people” anymore thru elections, he asked. I hope my “Letter to a Friend” provides some fresh insight into the changing face of our democracy vis a vis the decline in newspapers.

                                        --   A. Daniel Bodine
                                          desertmountaintimes.com
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James,
The nature or role of the “true old fashion reporter” --if, indeed, that's not another myth we drug along to the world from our childhood, too--was changing even when you and I were in our early college years. A reporter's nature has changed (as an employee) throughout history, when the role he or she finds themselves in changes. And that role, as defined by the publishing aim, is influenced by economic factors, of course. Now more than ever, I strongly believe. Radical capitalism changed it.

The myth I'm referring to, in linking your 'true old-fashioned reporter' query, is the legendary story that arose out of the Peter Zenger trial I think, in the country's pre-Revolution days of the Colonies. He printed some derogatory stuff someone had given him about the governor (still part of the Crown then) and ended up in jail for it. Sedition, I think. Many credit him with the birth of American journalism, but it's a little more off the beaten path for that, I think. Ben Franklin would certainly argue against it. He practically coined the term free press.

But Zenger's is a hallowed case in newspaper history because it (the actual trial) was the first time “the truth” was ever successfully used as a defense, I believe. And the rest is history, as it is often said; in J-schools especially.

Like idiots, the damn British kept Zenger in jail for almost a year before trial, I want to say; from where he continued to write and to direct the publishing of his little newspaper--further spreading and building his publicity!

It's considered a huge case also because what eventually happened was that this one mere act of standing up to the Crown fanned the embers of resentment )that already were heating up over taxes in the colonies), fanned them such that it eventually would turn into the American Revolution. And here we are today.

If it hadn't been for Zenger (one could argue), America could still be part of the Crown. And maybe Royal Crown whiskey would've been 100 times the amount in price, and millions of alcoholics would've been spared their tortures, simply because they couldn't afford to drink it. Huh? Yeah.

But Zenger was not a businessman first, it's important to remember.. He was a revolutionist who happened to be a journalist. Or a publisher. A journalist/publisher with a big point to make at that.

Commercialism has ensnared us now. Maybe that's one of the big differences with the old and the modern. Now, we're objective. Meaning fair and balanced to both sides, I guess. We can see b.s., like Zenger saw it, but we're not allowed to call it b.s.

We sell advertising now, not just circulated news pamphlets with stories. (Many of which were old pasted stories they'd cut out of papers that came in on the ships!) Our decorum is different. We are a storefront selling a variety of merchandize, and we can't afford to be prejudice. Or outspoken! Offending and losing readers means losing business. We can only report what others call the b.s.

And we must get different views to make sure our reporting is “fair and balanced.” That way the public, who the majority it seems doesn't care a rat's ass enough (or have time enough/ or isn't educated enough) to go vote in the first place, can make up their own minds about whether or not it's actually b.s.And what exactly needs to be done with it. They decide; our hands are clean concerning the decision, it is. Ain't my responsibility!

It was only after the Revolution, hell, 70-80, maybe a hundred years--as roads began linking communities and states to each other; the post office took hold and newspapers actually began circulating more; and the idea of a “nation” binding people together hardened--that most editors and publishers moved toward objective reporting, if my memory is still holding. Until then it was subjective. And the viewpoints were colorful! Life was colorful!

But it's important to understand this distinction, first of all, between old and modern eras when considering newspapers and the way stories are reported.

This trend of reined-in reporting of “just the facts” heightened in the Sunbelt. Again, it was already in place when you and I were in college in the early years.

It was especially so when I stupidly left a good-paying job at Texas Instruments in Dallas in September '74, to break into newspapers. At the only writing job this ol' stuttering, country boy could find, a pauper-level cub reporter position--under the famed Frank W. Mayborn at his Temple Daily Telegram.

Journalism by then was already degraded to “all the news that fits”--e.g., filling in holes left by advertising on dummy sheets--I'd soon learn. The armed “power broker with a pen” was mostly an empty mystique for reporters, I found. I'd been an assembly line supervisor at Ti; the awkwardness of being reduced both in salary and in stature, so quickly, was the biggest factor in the failure of my first marriage, I believe. The change on us (as individuals, and as a marital unit) was just too much.

But an attraction toward writing (the curiosity of following the string) drove me on; and it's still with me now I guess. Everyone's not that much of a fool, thankfully. Nor an idealized dreamer. But at least I found out more about myself, enough to be comfortable with, anyway; and found out more, too, about a wonderful, old profession that unfortunately has been ailing for decades now.

Oddly, journalism may be making a comeback of sorts now because of technology. Electronic media has opened up myriads of reporting possibilities—the Arab Spring in the Mideast being the most prominent. Independents are alive and doing well. Who knows? But where there's a chance for dollars, corporations are going to go in heavy also. London and New York papers with electronic editions, for example, are well into it now. And confronted with so much competition they're doing admirable work, too.

Their eventual dominance, if it comes to that, is worth watching though. Independent non-profits have made a statement we're determined to make a dogfight of this, too. So it's too early to judge the outcome of electronic media on the journalism profession yet, I think.

What might become huge media transnationals, for instance, could eventually encircle the profession and restrict it further. Or the situation might descend into a real Pandora's box of anarchists that makes governing for anyone, anywhere, impossible—leading to a real, one-world government, just as a last option for sanity. This may be the big show to watch, indeed.

But the long, honored stream I stepped into in Temple saw reporters--basically the same as now (and always?)--writing their staple news stories or features by inversely pyramiding the interrogatives   (what,who, where, when, why and how)  with enough details to “fill up a hole on a page.”

** News reporting topics were (are) heavily weighed toward government activities, of course. Democracies depend upon keeping “the people” informed about the use of their tax money. Even if, again, most of them don't care enough to go to the polls to vote.

But there's another reason for this kind of reporting also, and I never became comfortable with it. Except on deadline of course, and needing to fill up a hole somewhere on one of the pages. Fluff always fit fine as fillers.

But a reporter restricting himself or herself to just what's going on with government bodies or agencies, one, is taking the easy way out to find stories. The good ones you usually have to dig for. Government stories (their framework) come with agendas usually; you simply regurgitate from your notes or your memory, and they're much quicker to write than investigative or feature stories.

** Too, government reporting is safer. You're at risk of a lot of heat with investigative reporting. Not just lawsuits but angry callers and letters. Some anguishing effects can linger for years. As a result (and especially with the ever growing problems of government, brought on by growth), most reporters steer away from it. They don't need it. And journalism (reporting) suffers, of course.

This particular category of writing (investigative reporting) is making a comeback of sorts today, too, with the explosion of electronic media competition coupled with the threat of declining newspaper readership. But again, who knows what the outcome will be?

** In still another area, newspaper opinion writing changed, too, during the Sunbelt, I believe. Historically such writing always has been kept on the opinion page, and clearly marked as such. Good, conscionable but hard-hitting editorial writing over the years has steered millions of voters to decisions that are now revered as bulwarks of our society.

But the leading dogs in this writing, again, the ones setting the pace for the industry, have been the larger corporate chains—the ones cushioned against singular advertising protests or withdrawals. And their very nature is to go after the big bucks. First.

Thus the emphasis (whether overt or very subtle) becomes to craft editorials aimed, first, at not offending front-line advertisers and, too, pushing a strong, overriding argument promoting economic growth. Growth, of course, brings jobs—supposedly “more jobs are good for everyone.”

Can we say in theory, at least? In reality, I believe, the old-fashioned concept of “community good” gets trashed all too often by a whiff of strong, economic growth. Sometimes it's like watchdogs acting like hungry chow-hounds at a piece of meat someone has tossed out to divert their attention. I can remember falling for this trick a few times in my career.

And corporate officials and stockholders, who may be several hundred or maybe a thousand miles away from the cumulative, individual local issues (involving growth effects in a particular community), can smile and rub their hands together in glee at the outcome, and count their profits. Life is good—even tho it's irrelevant.

** “News analysis” already had emerged as a hybrid offshoot of opinion-piece writing when I started out. My earliest recollections of the cause of these writings were stories such as the Sharpstown bank scandal. Again, it was a captured genre driven by Sunbelt greed and the need for more readers and advertising dollars on one hand, versus explaining the complexities of growth and development on the other. These stories were always marked “analysis,” so the reader wouldn't go off half-cocked and think the newspaper was actually telling him how to think.

But this writing was mostly relegated to large metro dailies (and later television broadcasting) that had the investigative resources to cover the publishing organization from lawsuits. In later years as my confidence grew, I loved to do this kind of writing. But usually it takes a lot of time—everything has to be checked and rechecked; sources scoured inside and out—and is emotionally draining. You've done tons of it on the research side now yourself and no doubt know the feeling well; I won't preach to the choir.

Analysis writing (in the wake of all the negative Sunbelt transformations and, too, with electronic publishing pushing the envelope) has evolved to the level of a new professional genre, in my opinion. Initially, reflecting on the early years of our age that is, it was a watered-down, more palatable form of writing known in another era as Yellow Journalism. Strange how the morphing process turned out. Both were designed to attract more readership though, during increasingly complicated, explosive growth times--when there was “a lot of money to be made.”

Yellow Journalism (or muckraking, it was called, too) came out during the onset of another revolution--the Industrial Revolution. New York's Boss Tweed and Tammany Hall-style political machines didn't create graft and corruption, but they sure held he corner on it for many years in American history. Withcorpocracy ruling us now, who knows what worms may turn up?

You know my bias on the Sunbelt Era, and how I feel it minimalized us as a people. The era was well into flexing its growth muscles when I started at the Daily Telegram; and conglomerate corporations essentially bought the media during this period. Mr. Mayborne was quite a character, yes. And a helluva businessman. Rather than sell to the chains, he formed one himself.

Some of my most painful memories in Temple, for instance, involved the well-known Washington UPI reporter Helen Thomas. Mr. Mayborn had secured her as our Washington Bureau, and each night she'd call and dictate her stories, from nothing but a notepad and her memory, to whoever the unlucky one of us it was at the other end of the line. She talked fast, very fast, and taking her dictation, for me, was excruciating.

I still remember in '75 when the first fax machines came out. Crude, they were, to what we have today; but to me they were “heaven on earth.” I didn't have to stutter anymore to Helen and have her get all angry at me for not being able to keep up.

But yes, we did have a Washington Bureau. And Helen was good. But the point still needs to be made that Mr. Mayborn was a promoter first, and a journalist second, also. The nature of the business I entered at Temple was not that of the “true old-fashion reporter” we'd grown up respecting.

You'll find a ton of real exceptions to this trend, of course. Mostly independents over the years have kept the fires alive. With today's electronic publishing, too, many non-profit sites, such as Global Research in Canada (here) are emerging well and who knows for sure whether or not they'll be game-changers.

But generally, yes, bought is an applicable word for what has happened to journalism; changes you and I have witnessed.

And in a wider panoply, in the course of our nation's history, what must be remembered, is that the Sunbelt Era was just another economic “transformation” wrinkle affecting newspapers. Before that...Oooh! You don't have enough years left to research it!

But the long and short is that once profit motive (in this sense, for all practical purposes, an untethered quest for profit) became the single most important dynamo behind newspapers—as I'm venturing to argue it became again in our latest wrinkle of national social minimalism, aka The Sunbelt—then content became a variable stepchild, whose importance waxed and waned in proportion to whatever readership was needed to secure the most “cost-worthy” advertising revenue.

Lot of words, I know. Hope this view helps some though.
                                     --Danny
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Comments are always welcomed and encouraged. Leave comments in the forum or write to me at dan@desertmountaintimes.com.

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Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Rep. Weiner twittered his WHAT?!!


 
By A. Daniel Bodine
desertmountaintimes.com

Hee, hee! This is crazy folks. Yes, we've all done stupid things before, right?. When on the make! Remember? What else can you say? Something in your painful loneliness that cries out for a live body next to you makes 'ya do stupid things, ok? That's the long and short of it, right? Hee, hee. It's called taking leave of your senses. Some people more than others, however. Oh, those pockmarks of history!

U.S. Rep.Anthony Weiner (D, NY) [ I was sure this guy was a Republican; playin' this puny cybersex ain't like a Democrat at all!] took leave of his senses, too. He finally admitted it in a public apology Monday, 10 days into what the media has dubbed, Weinergate. (Holy cow, someone please kill the suspense for me. I watch very little TV; my Deutsche is rusty. Tell me how he pronounces his name. Is he a Winer? Or a Weener? Holy baloney at Trail's End Rush!)

One of the key woman in all this had already agreed to go public, apparently. ABC News obtained and aired Monday some of the videos and messages the congressman had sent her via Twitter and Facebook.

Among them, according to a story in Slate's online magazine entitled Meetless Weiner (po-leeze, somebody, tell me how to pronounce that name; I know damn well he's no vegetarian! Never trust a headline writer with a story like this!) posted Tuesday, there were photos of “his bare chest and thinly clothed erection.” At the press conference Monday one of the reporters even dared to describe his thin, gray briefs as “panties.”

Collectively the notes and photos, indeed, clearly show a man seeking some kind of out-of-wedlock attention. In a lavish ceremony on Long Island last summer former President Bill Clinton, ironically himself dogged by an extramarital affair while in office, married Weiner, who is Jewish, to his glamorous girlfriend, Huma Abedin, 34, a Muslim. She is an aide to U. S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, and reportedly with her beauty and professionalism had been drawing much media attention on her own.

What happened? The Jewish-Muslim culture thing? I doubt it. Weiner obviously is proud of his body, first of all; maybe even is in love with it. No doubt he pumps iron. And often. And maybe that's the tip.

With his wife out of town often on U.S. State Department jaunts, Weiner found himself too “supercharged.” Huh? And found cyberspace a bad outlet to vent it. Now he faces having caused what Hendrik Hertzberg at the New Yorker calls "the first entirely virtual political sex scandal, the first to have been conducted entirely via e-mail, and online social media."

Loneliness and sex has always been a bad, combustible situation. Once in the Navy stationed at San Francisco, attending electronics school at Treasure Island, a group of us had been out bar-hopping one Friday night I remember; and were making that long, lonely trek back to the downtown bus station to catch a ride back out to TI. There was an all-night cafeteria a few blocks from the bus station and we'd stopped in there to eat before before boarding the bus.

We were sitting together in a booth (I had an outside position), when I noticed her 2-3 booths down. Actually I noticed the legs, long and sleek, radiant they were; protruding as they were out in the aisle, black, high-heel shoes pointing toward me. This was late '67; San Fran was out front in publicity when the micro-mini's craze struck the nation. Nice, it was; she was nice, in her radiant micro outfit.

My stare followed the legs up to her face, and oh-my-gosh there she was—staring right at me, that coy smile on her face; oh so pretty, she was. And then she waved at me. Hah, I've caught one! her eyes said. So playful, she seemed.

Embarrassed at being caught staring, I quickly glanced back at my plate of food I was eating. Never once nudged the guy next to me about the find, however. I was rock-solid locked away in my thoughts--selfish, it was, yes!--in the potential of just what might play out that night. Whoooeee!

The next minute or so was pure torture for me though. I couldn't help from looking up frequently, of course. At first the legs. Then the face. And that coy smile. And the mesmerizingly slow, waving hand.

This isn't exactly right, I slowly began to think. Another feeling, a defensive one, had eased into my conscious. Playing with you, boy; outright taunting you, she is. Waddaya goin' to do about it, Ol' Bo?!

Break, break! Stop this! I could only think. Like a swimmer out in water that's too deep, I was. Instinctively I thought of the restroom. Need to git in there!

I muttered where is it to my friends; and someone pointed ahead of us a ways, and around the corner. Gulp. I had to walk past her table.

I got up and tried my damndest not to look at her when I walked by. But it was too much. She flicked that hand in a slight wave and I glanced down. There was that smile, that Oh, when are you gonna come get me, Sailor Boy? invite.

I fixed my eyes back ahead and continued to the restroom. We gotta git out of here, I was thinking while standing at the urinal. This ain't right; something's about it just ain't right!

Then I heard the door open; heard high heels clicking sharply, coming up on my left. One of those moments when a cold hand literally squeezes your heart. I turned. And, indeed, froze.

She walked abruptly right up to the wall urinal next to me, dug into his panties in an exaggerated motion and plopped it out. And began urinating. Yep. And laughed. Most frightening, raucously loud, shrieking laugh I know I'd ever heard.

And I turned and ran. Out of fear. Ran out of there. With the laughter screaming now in the background like a soiled, wet blanket around me. I'd been had. Big time!

Continuing on to the hysterical shrieking at the table where they were also, that greeted me as I ran by; one of them even standing now, welcoming me with her own arms as I ran by. Laugh, laugh, laugh.

My friends were all staring at me as I raced up to the table, of course.

What the hell's going on? their looks asked.

Let's get outta here! I said. Come on!

And I bolted for the door. Maybe a block later I slowed down for them to catch up to me. Then I told the story of the transvestite. Of that scene at the urinal. And of course they never stopped laughing at me either, 'til we were back on base.

Lucky for me I was just considered an ol' red-blooded American boy for all of that. Played for a fool. Weiner's got a much tougher situation. The House Ethics Commission is certain to investigate it—for use of taxpayer dollars, for one. And calls for his resignation are rising.

Meanwhile, he's got a wife back home no doubt wondering what kind of idiot did I marry?

You married a good one, we can all say. Smiling, of course. A real good idiot.

Hee, hee.

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Comments are welcomed and encouraged. You can join the conversation in the forum simply by signing in with your first name and email address (which isn't published). Or you can email me directly at dan@desertmountaintimes.com. Thanks for stopping by. We appreciate the visit.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Social Minimalism and America's new Economic Morality

Illustration by Maiya Bodine


By A. Daniel Bodine
desertmountaintimes.com


It was early in 1976, I think, after a news decision had been made, is when I noticed something different was changing my perception of journalism et al—e.g., the way Life works and how the American media reports on it. A very minor, inconsequential decision was made then, it was (to principles involved in making it apparently); to folks with my bent, it was major.

It was in the aftermath of another tragic Central Texas traffic accident, this one involving a farmer on a tractor at a railroad crossing. For no more news coverage it was given, however, it was almost like for someone who was doing his best to make an honest living, being run over and killed by a train was irrelevant to the public.

The New Normal, this thing we're living with now has been called since the stock market crash of '08, and the subsequent loss of billions if not trillions in retirements savings for average Americans. But for an earlier generation, the seeds of '08 began sprouting decades ago. For me, I think of the farmer at the railroad crossing. Or at least that's when I felt my first uncomfortableness with subtle changes in the way people were regarding each other.

The year 1976 was the year of America's big Bicentennial Whoopity-Whoop, what journalists tended to call it at newspapers. I was employed as regional editor at the Temple Daily Telegram in Bell County—a daily paper then of maybe 20k circulation. The Bicentennial Whoopity-Whoop was a commercial boom for Middle America's business sector; maybe it was historical, too, for most of its citizens.

Indeed, historical markers seemed to be handed out then to every old, small-town community like confetti at a county fair. The Telegram's region covered seven counties. And, of course, we in the media had to go take a photo and run a story on the event every time a community got one.

For the publicity from our coverage would bring in shoppers to the town's merchants; and of course the merchants were purchasing advertising, too, in the newspapers. And that advertising would then pay our salaries, us staff members. Duh. Economics 101?

But the year, for me, marked this slow change in priorities in the way we viewed each other, too. In the marketing of news, for instance. And in the values of our individual lives relevant to that marketing process.

I remember the early afternoon—I think it was a Sunday afternoon--in the newsroom when this incident occurred. I had the general assignments beat. A call came in on the police scanner of a train hitting and killing an elderly farmer on a tractor, maybe 15-20 miles outside of Temple somewhere, on some back road. I grabbed a camera and ran lickety-split.

What was he doing on a tractor, away from his farm apparently, and crossing a railroad track in the afternoon? I wondered. And why did he not see or hear the train?

Bill Middlebrooks was our managing editor at the time. A tall, wiry old seasoned veteran, of the old school. From somewhere back East, I think. Being a Sunday (or was it a Saturday?), he was not in, of course. His day off. The boys on “the news desk”—all experienced grads of big J schools like Baylor and UT--were putting out the paper.

Whether or not they tried and were unable to contact Bill about the tractor fatality; whether they got directions from the publisher himself; or whether they were so busy they just failed to think about it, I never knew. When a daily in a high growth area is understaffed, admittedly the clock becomes like a gun pointed to your head. Survival instincts can take over; hurrying the process even more.

But it was the instinctive decision “the news desk” team made prior to deadline, however, that remained with me, like a bad taste in your mouth you can't get rid of.

I quickly got a photo and the basic facts of the story at the scene; then raced back to the paper to meet the deadline. No family members were around yet, as I remember; a follow-up story, if it had been requested, would've included them. Only someone at the scene (a neighbor?), who'd said the farmer had been plowing in a field “down the road” from the location of his farm, was the only thing I had to add to the basic facts of the wreck.

The photo I remember showed the rear of the train, standing in the distance. The mangled tractor was off in a ditch, in the photo's midfield; and, up close, not far from the rails, the body of the farmer, with some kind of covering thrown over him. One of the boys on “the desk” uttered to me offhandedly the photo was too “tasteless;” it wasn't used. The story itself was cut down to maybe 3-4 graf's, and buried in a 1-column space on a back page. Why? I wondered.

Bill asked me the same question the following Monday, as we passed on the stairs inside the Telegram's building. Why wasn't the story played bigger? he wondered. There wasn't a photo?

I told him what I'd been told, and what I'd gotten on it. And then added, I think that's the new journalism the big schools are teaching today. And at that he made a face. I don't like it, it said.

The new journalism, the new economics, the new morality, have all swept over our lives in the last half century, like water dirtied with sludge from a leaking oil freighter that's run aground--in the once peaceful, pristine harbor of our lives. We live with its filth, but aren't expected to see it.

Instead the owners of the ship tell us to think about all the good things money from the oil (from radical, politically loosened capitalism) does to our lives. Money is good, is their constant refrain; let us dedicate our lives to getting more oil.

But for us, falling increasingly below their wealth and ownership grade, in what's become a ruthless, winnowing economy; and being dirtied, too, by what is happening in our soiled environment, this “more oil is good” argument doesn't wash. Maybe what's happening is irrelevant to them, but not us, we want to say.

But then, yes, there are the jobs to consider. Indeed, in strangulation that's first. Or who can talk when his or her lungs are under water, financially insolvent? So more and more, too, we safely keep quiet in our thoughts; snuggle into the labyrinths of both our togetherness and our separateness; and pretend all's OK with the world. In the Sweet Bye and Bye, as the poor from older generations use to say, we'll have more of a say.

The terms radical capitalism (which we've come to associate now with our corpocracy) and its offshoot, social minimalism (the relative values put on our lives when up against cold, economic realities), are not mine, not by a long shot. I've simply embraced them, and borrowed them.

Credit should go, as far as I know, to Canadian Sociologist Rhoda E. Howard-Hassman. Her early work, Human Rights and the Search for Community, describes the two terms at length; and is what stirred my curiosity on this particular subject.

Sheer observations, like the above small incident with the old farmer, can be left to common sense, however. Something has slipped unnoticed into our midst; and has altered the way we see each other. It's a change to our modern times, yes. But in my opinion it's certainly not a change for the better. Nor a good precursor for the future.


Comments are always welcomed and encouraged. Leave comments in the forum or write to me at dan@desertmountaintimes.com.

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