Relating

I am thankful we have language so we can have conversations about what exactly we are thankful for this year and years before, on top of life, finding ways to get along as we meet each other, trying to make life healthier, wealthier, more fun and beautiful, with wisdom, creativity, imagination wielding new knowledge, directing energy in vibrations aware we can play in many ways, exploring what works

Home

I wrote this seven months ago, but left it a while.  Since I've moved from the cabin where I wrote this, and am writing this foreword from the room where my grandparents died, I might as well share it today.

April 12, 2020:

I've been cogitating about privilege, and how I am privileged to be here, perceiving, thinking, feeling, breathing, moving, seeing, hearing, scenting, feeling, tasting, living, all while viewing a squirrel gathering acorns, bouncing around on the ground above the waters and wind and pine trees and mountains and snow and sky with clouds as three birds glide through air above wave upon wave, determined and on their way, to somewhere else, some new day.

Naturally, we are all here as the result of many privileges, although the whole point of comparison is that some of us have more than others.  We can all focus on what is on our plates and find some form of happiness, yet certain experiences still have more quality than others.

After being alone in a cabin for fifteen days, I've recently had the privilege of mixing with society, albeit from a distance.  1st I visited the laundromat, which was cramped and kind of depressing, but then I received the greatest prize of all: grocery shopping.  Quite an adventure, leading to vital treasures of food, energy and life.  The Alchemist is right.  The treasure is at the pyramids.  I'm serious, my grocery store is on Pyramid Drive.

Before shopping, classes went well today.  The morning involved the usual 11 pupils.  I had them write questions they would like to ask one another, and one of them was about what we would love to do first when this whole storm passes.  Some of the answers: taking a LONG walk, going to the park for a picnic with the family, walking outside with a girlfriend who is currently being kept inside by her worried parents, going to a restaurant with friends, meeting friends and giving them huge tight hugs, having a few drinks in a bar, partying at a trance music festival, simply going outside, visiting the beach, visiting Philadelphia.  I said playing cards with my friends and family.

I asked the woman who wants to visit Philadelphia if she knew which Ivy League University she was going to visit.  She didn't.  I told her she should visit UPenn, founded by Benjamin Franklin.  I asked her because she wears a different Ivy school's sweatshirt every day.  Her American hobbies revolve around visiting Ivy League campuses and craft breweries.  First was Brown, then Harvard, then Columbia.  After three I joked she hadn't worn my alma mater yet.  She asked what it was.  I told her, "Cornell."  Never heard of it.  Sigh, not the first time.  At least she hadn't heard of Penn or Dartmouth either.

Even if she'd never heard of it, I'm obviously privileged that I was able to attend such a beautiful university.  I feel privileged to be alive, have good health, a ticking mind and imagination, a fairly athletic body, loving parents and a strong, intelligent, funny sister, kind and/or funny relatives, many true friends, freedoms, and on and on.  I worked hard my entire educational career without my parents ever pressuring me to do my homework or study hard.  They often remind me of that when I talk about my privileges.  Even so, I am a legacy.  I'm living in a cabin built by grandparents who both attended Cornell.

My grandmother's great aunt was one of the first women to ever attend an Ivy League, as Cornell was the first to admit women.  She didn't meet my grandfather there, but later, by coincidence, they found each other.  She taught history in high school, including a course named "Problems of Consumer Democracy," and urged her students to go out into the world and alleviate the injustices that brought her heart (and intellect) so much pain.  Eventually, she used her cunning to persuade my grandfather to build a place by the lake so he could go fishing here.  My grandfather grew up on a farm and was the first to attend school, where he studied agriculture before he started his own tree farms and mill.

As for my parents, my mother worked very hard in school, got into her parents' alma mater, and became a social worker to help those without privileges.  My father's generation was the first to attend school in his family, and although the third child to go, he was the first Ivy Leaguer (although my uncle would attend Cornell for graduate school around the same time).  Basically, I had many advantages compared to people I was competing against to get in, but my parents never gave any money to the school.  As they explained it, if I got help from the legacy, it was because they knew a member of my family could probably handle the work.  They also figured, based on how my parents served society, that my interest in government, writing and history courses might lead to a similar type of career.

Anyway, I began the day by waking in this 35 degree cabin built by my grandfather at the behest of my grandmother and renovated by my father and mother and me.  After some hesitation, I ran to the shower, and listened to music because I finally can, not having any roommates anymore.  I had it on this "Totally Stress Free" station that wakes me up every morning, and when Sam Cooke's "(What a) Wonderful World" came on, I couldn't stop myself from not only singing in the shower, but dancing as well.  Completing a 15 day self-isolation and then stocking up on food and clean clothes can have that effect.

Now, I don't claim to be an A student

But I'm trying to be

For maybe by being an A student, baby

I can win your love for me

After getting clean, I cooked some breakfast, logged into class, and then enjoyed a long conversation about grocery stores where everyone described when they most recently achieved the basic life goal of earning more life, and how they had to be more patient than usual, but it was usually fine, and they mostly got what they wanted or needed.

I cooked lunch afterward, kept the fire going because it was so cold and rainy today, and then had a private lesson with the Colombian classical viola player, where we mostly learned vocabulary related to metropolitan cities.  I learned Cairo was named "The Mother of the World."  I'd been there and I didn't even know that.  Makes sense to some extent.  I recommend a few pyramids nearby.

My next student was a one time lesson.  All I knew was that she was writing a research paper and needed help revising.  It turns out she is from Afghanistan.  I once had a male roommate from Afghanistan who remembers the civil war and despised the Taliban, and now I've finally gotten the female perspective.  She wants to be a journalist, and was writing a paper about gender inequality in her country, which is, according to various studies she cited, just about the worst place to be a woman, although, apparently India has more gender inequality by some measures.

As she'd lived in New Delhi, we were able to converse about our impressions of that nation and my nation.  She actually thinks Americans are less arrogant about our place in the world, and she feels more accepted in New York than she did in Europe, India or Afghanistan.  She had to put herself through college, as her father didn't even want her to because she's a woman.  Now she's married and feels as though she is respected in the Metropolitan Area.

She has so many stories about other women and the violence and oppression they had survived.  I know that such things happen all around the world, including somewhere, right now, in the small county where I've moved, and how it's on the rise in this country given the lock downs.  Even so, whenever I subtly bemoaned how Muslims and women have been getting attacked in this country, she kept brushing those concerns aside, as she's had a positive experience herself.  However, in her paper, she brought up the critics who argue that she shouldn't point out the injustices in her country, because it's that way to some degree everywhere.  I agreed with her that relativistic arguments pointing out that other countries hurt their own in various ways isn't justification for such deeds anywhere.

We needed sixteen extra minutes to complete the consultation on her research paper, but I didn't mind.  I would have done it whether or not I'm in the cabin whose existence was requested by my grandmother.

I am privileged to have read her story and learned about her point of view, because we all benefit when we listen/read and learn about what each of us goes through.  Such experiences help us repair our world, spread more love, and create energy anew.

Moving

There is always some element of nostalgia when I move.

I know I could simply put everything in bags and pack them in the car.  That would be faster, yes.  But I after I do all the heavy lifting, I put on some records and before I know it, I've inevitably begun looking at what I should be putting in bags and boxes: book covers, photographs, and pieces of paper with quotes and passages, strolling down memory lane.  

When I left New York, it was six years' worth of belongings stuffed just about anywhere possible, given how cramped things were.  In those four days I packed up all my things and moved up north, I spent a couple extra hours reading quotes from various pages I'd posted on my walls, or old papers from students I'd saved, reminiscing about all those wonderful interesting different people I'd met.

This evening is faster.  I only spent one extra hour looking at inspirational quotes from various heroes, taking a few extra moments to read the book titles as I took them off the shelves and fit them into boxes.  I am pleased I've read so many, while also looking forward to the many whose mysterious pages, ideas and rhythms I have yet to explore.

I've got a roaring fire going after packing enough for the night, and I've decided I've earned a Heady Topper I've been saving for this moment, with one more episode of Northern Exposure I've been waiting to watch for a few days.

Thanksgiving was my original goal for staying here, and I've made it.  Also, I can look back on some contributions.  I learned a lot more about plumbing, I kept the pipes from freezing many nights when the temperatures were unprecedented for still having the water hooked up, I tightened the screws on the roof in order to prevent leaks, I moved the dock several times to deal with the changing shoreline, and I brought life to this place.  After being unoccupied for years except for occasional weekends and weeks, someone had to experience the beauty of such a Shangri-La full time.  When my neighbors were inside, I was often on the dock, having a fire on the shore, or canoeing and kayaking under the stars, regardless of air and water temps.

So incredibly pleased I've been living up here.  On to the next chapter.

Thankful

I give plenty of thanks I may live knowing great people

Jack's Beans

Sunday night I read Jack London in front of the fire.  The main character, a wolf in the Alaskan wilderness, is totally wild, untamable, and has difficulty entering trusting relationships based on his many past experiences of being treated horribly.  Yet he is eventually met with kindness, learns how to live within certain constraints, and surprisingly, eventually, meets a partner, siring young pups who heap affection upon their previously lone wolf father.  I hadn't expected that.  Inspiring, to say the least.  It's important to note that he knew how to fend for himself first, before he settled down.  Those experiences built his confidence and helped him become a strong father.  I learned a lot from the "blessed wolf."

All Right Then

Wind

Waves

Rain

Indoors, yet I can see my breath

Guess I will read books this final Sunday of solitude

8 Months Alone

 Seven more days of complete independence, solitude and freezing my butt off

Presents

I value being completely independent, on my own, free to live how I please.

Yet I know that at some point I will trade in part of that independence for companionship and warmth, while sharing what gifts I can provide and helping my loved ones enjoy awe as they thrive

I must be honest that I mostly love my present situation, though I will welcome change with utmost enthusiasm when it arrives

The Good Fight

I say learning how one best fights the good fight will help you get through and do what you need to do, yet figuring out which fight is right is its own type of plight.

I don't know how life will unfold when I set out to reach my goals, but I will keep the love in sight as I write about the lights guiding us through dark storms of night and days so bright.

America Will Survive

I think of all the work everyone has put into our beloved result.  Many thanks and gestures of gratitude to all of you.

YES!!!!!!!!!!!

"TOUCH 'EM ALL, JOE!

YOU'LL NEVER HIT A BIGGER HOME RUN IN YOUR LIFE!!!"

 

Thanks

The sun reminds us to smile as moonbeams are dancing with waves of water which swim on this magic land ball flying in the mystery of space in time with music to prime the heart and the mind

"No Nuts, No Glory"

 This squirrel has been running around on the porch in front of me all morning, often with a nut in its mouth, leaping from the railing to the tree and scampering up, and then appearing again at irregular intervals with another treasure.  A welcome distraction

Every One Comes from Somewhere

So much to say, so little sleep.

To be fair, relatively speaking, I’m very well rested.  Four years ago I did not sleep the night before the election, save for a few hours in the morning after I’d voted (I worked a late schedule back then).  The returns and their ominous portent came in while I was teaching a class, and then I didn’t sleep all of election night.

In comparison, this year it snowed the night before the election, I slept well, I woke up to a winter wonderland, and then on election night I had the first video chat with my sister in Germany in months.  It was 2 am her time, and I hate watching the news or constantly looking at updates on news sites, so I talked to her, she would announce when they called states, and I would check The New York Times every twenty minutes or so.  We were slightly worried for some time, but by the time I went to bed at 2, I had hope.  I was thinking about Harry Truman defeating Dewey, and managed to get 5 and a half hours.  So, physically, I’m doing really damn well.

I was going to write this earlier when I had more energy (I jumped around and shouted when I learned about Michigan, and ran outside to stare up at the Milky Way and thank the galaxy), but then I ate dinner, read some Jack London, and watched Northern Exposure, which I've been watching slowly, sometimes day after day, sometimes a couple weeks apart.  I know I keep mentioning this show (it’ SO GOOD), but I’m watching it in order, one episode per day, and it keeps syncing.  I don’t plan ahead or read the episode summaries, but Halloween happened to be an episode about the devil, and today’s revolved around politics in a small town, and how some people simply just can’t trust government intruding in their lives at any level, always afraid of the slippery slope of the machine, while others believe it can be an instrument for goodness.  Then I got into reading four different Atlantic articles analyzing the election results.

What precipitated all this introspection on politics was before all of that, I was watching my old friend’s political show, where she and her co-host discuss politics with highly regarded members of the intelligentsia.  While they seemed cautiously hopeful about the results of the presidential race, there was a lot of analysis about what the close results and congressional elections indicate about our collective polity.  How could so many people continue to support our current president after all he’s done?

My own opinion is that the reasons for why the election has turned out the way it has are pretty similar to the reasons why I’m sitting in this chair typing at this moment: infinite.  And I don’t mean that as a hokey way to avoid the serious question.  There are honestly many different factors that created the circumstances leading to my being here and choosing to write this at this moment.  So when you apply that to a national election where hundreds of millions of people make decisions based on any number of factors (the candidates, their parties, their policy positions, the voters’ life experiences and how they perceive the alternatives), it’s kind of like predicting economics: there are just so many inputs to sort it all out.  When we get into the social sciences, we want to apply our reasoning powers in the service of finding explanations which may improve quality of life, and it isn’t hopeless.  Much of the work people have done has greatly improved life on this planet.  But even with a hard science like physics, there are just so many unexplained mysteries which defy logic, or at least our current understanding of logic, that it’s understandable we haven’t quite figured out how this experiment in representative democracy is supposed to work out.

Anyway, she made some excellent points that made me question my recent actions.  I don't know how large a proportion of conservative/swing voters voted because of this explanation, but it is definitely part of it: nobody likes feeling that others perceive them as stupid.  I know that I don’t.  I’m not afraid that I am, but I’ve played the fool many a time.  On top of that, even the greatest geniuses have their blind spots.  There are multiple forms of intelligence, after all.  Also, there have been plenty of times that someone showed their mastery of very important and useful tasks, demonstrating skills or knowledge that I was completely clueless about, reminding me that as much intelligence as the universe may pump through my brain, I must often defer to and depend every day on the expertise of others.  This includes those who may be completely clueless about what I consider to be obvious and very important to a decent, functioning society.  It takes many kinds to make this world, yes?  When the old timer sold me a face cord of firewood a few weeks ago and asked me who I thought would win the election, I did my best to avoid giving an answer so we could stay cordial, especially after he said he didn't like all the city people moving up here.

Even so, I know I've been guilty of treating others in ways I wouldn’t want to be treated, or as Kurt Vonnegut would say, making them “feel like something the cat drug in.”  Vonnegut also said, in 2004, that “thanks to TV and for the convenience of TV, you can only be one of two kinds of human beings, either a liberal or a conservative.”  That makes me think about the Northern Exposure episode I just watched, where Maggie wins the mayoral race.  Her opponent, Walt, congratulates her on running the “last clean campaign” and lauds her as being completely qualified for the job.  Hard to imagine in 2020.

One of the reasons I began this self-examination of my actions was because I completely agreed with her point: I think one of many reasons people in rural areas vote the way they do is simply to spite what they perceive (often correctly) as condescending attitudes from urban voters.  When I first got into an Ivy League school, one of my smartest friends was from LA (he’s now a doctor at Cedars Sinai).  Many in our group met each other the first night, and wandered around the dorm looking for something to do.  We eventually met a friendly RA, who was simply trying to welcome us and make us feel at home.  My friend asked where he was from.  When he cheerily replied, "Kentucky," my friend replied by saying, “I’m sorry for you.”  He also liked to tell me I was from “bumble fuck.”  He would later visit my hometown and enjoy meeting my friends and revise his attitude, but there are millions of coastal elites like him who will never have that experience.

My dad hunts all the time with people who support the president, and it really bothers him because he respects them in so many ways, and he doesn’t accept any of their voting logic as defensible ("I think he didn't get enough credit for that Middle East peace deal."  "The one between Israel and the United Arab Emirates?"), but he still enjoys their company.  He loves our small town, where he’s met people from so many walks of life, including many uneducated yet skilled people, who have helped him with various construction projects, loaned him equipment, organized a deer management cooperative with him and so forth.  He values their friendship and feels thankful he has been able to find people like them.

One of my best friends in the world grew up in a trailer, and I hate the term “trailer trash” for that reason.  He is now married to a woman with a doctorate in nursing, they have a nice two story home and two beautiful children, and he and I have serious political and philosophical discussions.  Years ago, during one of the greatest panics of my life, I scrolled through my phone and saw his name and called him and he talked me back into sanity while we covered all the bases two people could discuss.  He tried community college a couple years ago, was acing his classes and loved learning about forestry, geology and globalization, but then had to wait to complete his degree because he had to take a new job to support his family.  He doesn’t like the president and didn’t vote for him, but I think of him every time I hear a city dweller put down rural residents.

But there is a reason people stereotype conservative rural voters.  Racism and ignorance are very real in these areas.  One doesn't have to go south of the Mason-Dixon to find it.  Originally from Long Island, I spent my adolescence in upstate New York, and have returned there to visit ever since.  On Long Island (which has its own brand of covert racism), I was in one of the most (newly) diverse school districts in the country, and hatred between children based on race was almost unthinkable.  When I moved upstate, I heard people jokingly use that infamous epithet to describe black people, as there were only two black families with children in our K through 12 school (and two Jewish families, no Latino students, and a few Asian students, all adopted or on exchange programs).  A common explanation was: "I like Martin Luther King, but not most of them, all the lazy ones."  Most of their exposure to other races was the crime reports on the local news from Albany/Schenectady/Troy, which, when I was in middle school, was ranked 297th out of the 300 largest cities in the US.  They just loved to parade the photos of black suspects every night.  I don't mean to paint a monochrome picture.  There were also a few white students who loved Rage Against the Machine and were deeply passionate about Mumia Abu-Jamal getting a new trial.

I think of another of my best friends with whom I am still close.  He was handed a lot of burdens in his youth: his father was an absent alcoholic, and his mother was dying of multiple sclerosis.  I visited him after school almost every day in seventh and eight grade, and he would always stop by his mom's room to tell her how he was, and she couldn't speak, and could only make spastic movements with her face.  She died when we were 16.  But he had the most loving grandmother I've ever met, and he didn't suffer for material possessions: I didn't have cable TV, but he had several TV's, guitars, video game systems, etcetera, and wealthy relatives who took him on vacations.  I even went to Disney World with them once.  But through his extended family, some of whom lived in the same area, I discovered the darker underbelly of rural America.  One of his older cousins liked to visit.  I thought he was a jerk long before my friend told me a story about listening to Jimi Hendrix, and his cousin saying, "What are you listening to that n***** for?"  I wasn't surprised to see his cousin arguing on social media in favor of the president the past few years.

Then there was the County Fair.  A couple years ago a different friend from my hometown (who works for a college and is more heavily invested in Black Lives Matter than anyone I know) wanted to visit a tiny winery a few minutes from my house.  It turned out the owners were recent transplants from Long Island.  The woman who served us wine loved the area, but was horrified when she learned that the County Fair was going to be selling Confederate Flags.  Wasn't this hundred of miles above the Mason-Dixon?  She had a real ethical dilemma between trying to increase business by having a stall at the local fair and protesting by not participating in an event which allowed something that was obviously racist to her.

After Dylan Roof murdered nine black human beings in a South Carolina church, I visited home, only to be disgusted by someone proudly displaying a gigantic Confederate flag on route 40 on the way home from Troy.  They put it back up for Martin Luther King Day as well.  I know that such people were raised differently and may have received different information than I have, but nobody's that ignorant of history.  They've made their choice about which side of human decency they prefer to be on.

Such examples also remind me of a study someone did about Google searches.  They were permitted to view certain data, and I'm not sure about the methodology, but one example was how often people searched "n*****" the night Obama was elected.  The highest results weren't in the South.  They were in West Virginia, Pennsylvania, and upstate New York, which have much whiter populations.  So I wasn't shocked when later that week it was reported that a KKK flag had been discovered in a shed on my high school alma mater's property.

I must qualify these recent examples by pointing out that as widespread as these views are, they are still in the minority, and that these rural counties in upstate New York voted for the President for many reasons.  My hometown voted for him, but they also went for Obama in '08, the first time they'd gone for a Democrat in decades.  So it isn't all racism or ignorance.  Some people just want fewer regulations or believe in changing parties every so often.  After all, voting for Hillary didn't imply that I supported her vote on the Iraq War or her ties to various industries.

So, given how much empathy and sympathy I have for my fellow products of rural America, I think about the clever insults I have readily dispensed as a comedy lover originally hailing from the suburbs of Long Island, where quick wit and rapid speech were the norm.  Four years ago I was at a Hiromi concert at the Blue Note Jazz Club in Manhattan, and I met this very sociable and friendly self-described “Dead Head."  He was nice enough, and seemed to think I was old enough to have seen every one of their shows in the early 90's, when I was 8 or 9.  I saw him again at her concert last year, and afterward he befriended me on social media.  He seemed really amiable, although he had a lot of weird stories about being roughed up by police for riding a unicycle on a sidewalk.  He was illegally taping the show, even though Hiromi’s manager had gotten him a ticket because they were friends.  He was going to post it on social media, and then he had a realization: “Wait, my friend is gonna see this if I post it, and she got me this ticket!” Then he smacked his head and called himself stupid in a way that made me think he had a habit of doing that.

I figured out he was a conspiracy peddling fan of the president after a month or so.  He also really cares about the Holocaust because his dad helped liberate one of the camps.  He’s convinced that AOC and her fellow supposed Communists will cause the same thing to happen again, even though, as awful as they were, the Soviets were the first to liberate Nazi concentration camps.  He will post about Kristallnacht and “never again” within minutes of celebrating the anniversary of the president’s election. 

Why do I feel guilty?  On Election Day, I posted that people should vote for the Democrat, and he commented with a post supporting the president.  It was a silly photo with a fake hidden message on some money, and I quickly pointed out why it was ridiculous, and with quite a dose of sarcasm.  As much as I tell people that one of the greatest lessons from my journey was patience, I am far from perfect on that account.  All these people laughed at my response, and someone else posted a meme making fun of the guy’s religion.  His response to me was more cordial than I expected, and I felt a little bad, so I responded politely and then gave a longer explanation of why I voted against the president.  

But context is important: this guy I felt bad about, perhaps hurting his feelings by sarcastically replying?  Well, he used to drive a bus, and now I think he drives a garbage truck, or did recently.  He claims to have a college degree in business.  But the reason I had no patience for him was he’s been such a jerk to people in the year since I’ve accepted his social media friendship.  He posts fake videos that paint Hitler mustaches on AOC and overdub her to make it sound like she’s giving Adolf’s speeches, he’s mocked cancer survivors for fearing the spread of Covid because it’s supposedly all a conspiracy, and he regularly shares memes referring to liberals as idiots.  I feel like I’ve been very patient with him this past year.  I’ve only commented on a few of his insulting posts, and also did so very politely, referring to him as “sir” and so forth.  I would ignore him if I had more fans of the president on my news feed, but they’ve either unfriended me or remained silent, and I want to be aware of what's being shared by the other side.  Above all, as a writer and philosopher, I want to understand humans in general, so I am loath to unfriend unless the "friend" in question openly uses pejoratives in hateful ways.  I am friends with many conservatives, but the most educated ones have either retreated from the Republican label and are claiming sanctuary in the church of libertarianism, or are simply smart enough not to share their views online.

I've semi-retired from social media arguments in the past couple years, only to be dragged into a few the past couple months.  Some people have privately and publicly commented to me in these instances to thank me for “fighting the good fight and holding forth,” because they were happy to learn from the discussion.  I often feel like it’s a waste of time to argue on the internet, especially with strangers, because I might as well throw batteries at a wall expecting lightning, but if somebody else learns something, I guess it’s worth it here and there.  Anyway, I felt kind of bad for responding with blunt sarcasm and, by implication, belittling his intellect, although he was so mean and shockingly immature for his age. 

That is not all.  My friend had another powerful insight: people may not necessarily disagree with goals and civil rights that politically correct speech is intended to protect, but they feel uncomfortable and even scared by those who police speech.  Once again, I completely agree.  That has been my largest criticism of the left in the past few years: they are constantly updating the accepted terminology for a panoply of human identities, as if they are part of some elite club (which they often literally are) hip enough to be several steps ahead of the general population in the best ways to virtue signal.  It’s not that I’m afraid of being policed that way or that I am callous to the feelings of those who have been oppressed.  It’s that I think changing words every few years doesn’t actually accomplish anything that raises people’s quality of life, and in many ways, these PC updates are counterproductive, because they wall off worthy political movements from potential allies who might otherwise be on board with various civil rights claims.  You know, that liberal rallying cry from four years ago, "Bridges, not walls."  But all too often, PC speech is about building a wall.

A study in recent years showed that minority groups in the United States dislike PC terminology more than white people do, with Native Americans finding it the least appealing.  I remember one quote was something to the effect of, “It’s hard to even know what you’re even supposed to say anymore, even if you’re trying to be polite.”  A good example is when I teach foreign students about the term "people of color."  I have no problem saying it if that's what people want me to say.  It's been around for decades.  But students are confused when they are taught, "noun A of noun B" is good, but "adjective B noun A" is not.  What is intrinsically good about adding more syllables?  One of my roommates was from Yale and studied African Studies.  I asked him once which term he preferred to describe his racial demographic, and he told me he preferred "African-American" when referring to anything related to history, but "black" for culture.  Which is all fine, I can remember that, but that was just one human's preference.  How is anybody else supposed to know that, especially when that doesn't necessarily apply to anyone else from the same demographic?  I doubt he cared much, and I doubt many people do, but enough people are loud enough and there are enough anecdotes about various professional ramifications for innocently misusing words that I end up reading private testimonials of those supporting the president simply because of this one issue: "you can't say anything anymore!"

All this made me think of how, just for fun, in the aftermath of my sarcastic response to truck driver, I posted a satirical article mocking those who complain about PC speech, not because I think such arguments have no merits, but because those who protest the loudest are often the ones who are angry about not getting away with being as rude or outright racist or sexist as they can.  But the problem with social media is that when you share something that somebody else wrote, it isn’t easy to discern why you find it funny.  Someone else could read the headline of the article and think I'm saying that such complaints have no merit.  Conversely, two of my friends shared a Simpsons meme making fun of the two-party system, and I asked them privately if they were being cynical about voting (because they shared the same meme four years ago when they definitely were), and they said of course not, they just thought it was funny.  We play many roles in this life.

What I’m getting at with all this is that seeing each other as human beings who are shaped and influenced by myriad interactions with our complex universe is something to keep up front when attempting to persuade our fellow citizens in our fragile democracy.

Everyone has a different story.

Then again, sometimes you get a Kristallnacht situation, and there isn't any time for hand-holding with those who hate others for being born the way they are.  Maybe we are who we are, no matter what, without choices.  Yet living that way isn’t any fun.  I think we’re here to produce as much fun as possible for everyone.  If we do have choices, political preferences are the essence of choice in this country, whereas sexual orientation and skin tone are not.  If the former use their choice to hate and destroy those of the latter they deem unworthy to be themselves, then they forfeit their right to respect.

Einstein once said that, given his view of the universe, he could philosophically forgive a murderer for his crimes, but he still preferred not to take tea with him.

Because of all this intellectual stimulation, I am humbly reminded I should be thankful for the many blessings this complex universe has given me, all the education, love, material resources, emotional support, and, most importantly, observations that help me have a hard look at myself so I become the best version of myself, in service of this wonderful world.

 

Patience

I knew tonight would be freezing.  News reports say temperatures will be low until tomorrow around 9 or so with light from the sun.

I'm keeping the fire going, whichever way the world decides it should be flowing

Bidin' Time

Reading a classic western novel with a strong female protagonist partnering with a seasoned man with true grit by the fireplace, having just glanced up at the dazzling lights glowing amid the emptiness of space, feeling thankful for existing in the first place while praying for grace in the presidential race

And Some Optimism

The outside temperature never really got above freezing today, and the inside temperature wasn't much better, but at least that 12 pack of beer I couldn't fit in the fridge was nice and cold.

It's supposed to be 26 or so tomorrow night when the polls start to close, but will steadily increase afterward.  I've already brought in plenty of firewood, but I'm still looking forward to Wednesday/Thursday when the sun will warm things up again.

Temperature is now 30, it's finally snowing, the wind is blowing, and I've got a fire going, with flames dancing, embers glowing.

Day of the Dead

Some would say today is "The Day of the Dead."  Thousands of people die every day, but for our own sanity, we don't always meditate on it.  I am thankful to have made it through yet another, and hope there are many more up ahead.

As for Dia de Muertos 2020, I think it's clear who we should be meditating on: those souls who need not have passed on.  We could go to the origins of this pandemic to focus our anger, but they are too murky.  What we do know is that our president was warned about the fatality of the disease, and he told Bob Woodward that he deliberately downplayed its severity because he didn't want people to panic.  Also, he owned many real estate properties whose value has declined due to restrictions.

Now there are at least 230,000 dead in this country alone.  Had we elected another president in 2016, knowing Americans and their distrust of government, we would probably still have some high numbers.  But we can be fairly certain that they would still be significantly lower.  Another president wouldn't have disagreed with scientific experts, told people not to wear masks, or even managed to hold super-spreader events responsible for thousands of cases and hundreds of deaths.

As we approach Election Day, I think of a song that reminds me not only of the election four years ago, but also how the Covid-19 pandemic began.

I've written before about what it was like in New York City in March when I moved.  Tonight I think specifically of my second to last night in Manhattan.  I had been packing for four days, and was completely exhausted, getting a few hours of sleep each night.  I'd driven 6 hours round trip the day before so I could leave some belongings in my parents' barn, and I greeted them from ten feet away and never went inside their house.  Then I'd driven home, spent a few more hours packing, and then, right before I was going to drift off to sleep, I foolishly checked the news and read about the governor potentially closing certain streets to open up foot traffic, which I misinterpreted as he might close down my street and my car would be stuck and I wouldn't be able to get out.  Packing up your life and getting out of town on short notice is one thing, but doing it as a sleep-deprived zombie while the world goes to hell is another matter.

I still had had to wait two more days to move to receive this privileged gift of living here in this cabin, and it was going to pour rain all day Monday, so Sunday night was my last night to wander my neighborhood with some impromptu sentimental reminiscing.

It was hard to feel sentimental though.  It was more like confused awe, and not the good kind.  I was more concerned about being stuck in Manhattan than about getting the virus, although if I did get stuck, the concern for the latter would have increased exponentially.  More on my mind was a serious fear about the future of society, something I've always had in the back of my mind with respect to our approaching climate catastrophe.

That Sunday night, all the businesses were closing early.  The governor had announced new restrictions, and Broadway in west Harlem felt like a ghost town.  It was unseasonably cold and windy, and the sun had just set.  People were shuffling along to get back home, keep their distance, eyeing each other suspiciously, some of them wearing masks.  It was as if we were a haunted town in the mountains, everyone had to shutter their windows and latch their doors before the monsters wreaked havoc after nightfall.  The pizza place next door, Olga's, closed up shop as I walked by, never to reopen.

One of my favorite pastimes has always been strolling around the city, but especially at night.  I liked to walk to the Hudson River and feel the wind on my face, take some deep breaths, look down to the Grant Memorial and all the way to the World Trade Center, across the river to New Jersey, and north to the Palisades, beyond the GW Bridge.  There was always this gigantic flag illumined by massive lights on the other side, and sometimes, when I was concerned about our nation's future, I took solace upon seeing it, knowing that we'd been through plenty before.

However, my last night walking the streets of New York City, the flag was not flying.  It wasn't even half mast.  It looked dead.

I walked up 136th to Amsterdam, right by City College, where there is an incredible view of the city skyline from a hilltop.  I would often stand there and just stare at the lights, sometimes with a song on.  Once a woman had walked by and realized what I was looking at and said, "Wow!  I've lived here my whole life and never noticed that!"  I think redirecting people's attention to the beauty all around them is one of my main functions on this Earth.  But on my last night there, nobody else was around, that is, except for two homeless people who asked me for change.  I dropped a dollar in their hand from a distance, and then put my headphones on.

If you want the ultimate scary tune for 'The Day of the Dead,' I insist upon listening to the 17 minute "Dead Flag Blues" by Godspeed You! Black Emperor.  The first time I heard it was in the eighth year of the Bush administration, and with all they did to speed up the destruction of our planet, it felt very fitting at the time.  However, I couldn't imagine the 2016 election back then, which was the next memorable listen.  Same hill as my last night walking Manhattan, but instead of 9 or 10 pm it was 4 in the morning on Veterans Day.

As I stared at the skyline of the most powerful city on Earth, which was quickly becoming the epicenter of the worst pandemic in a century, each line seemed to speed through my ears and straight to my spine, eerily on point in every way.

"The car's on fire, and there's no driver at the wheel

And the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides

And a dark wind blows

The government is corrupt

And we're so many drunks

With the radio on and the curtains drawn

We're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine

And the machine is bleeding to death

The sun has fallen down

And the billboards are all leering

And the flags are all dead at the top of their poles

It went like this:

The buildings toppled in on themselves

Mothers clutching babies

Picked through the rubble

And pulled out their hair

The skyline was beautiful on fire

All twisted metal stretching upwards

Everything washed in a thin orange haze

I said, "Kiss me, you're beautiful -

These are truly the last days"

You grabbed my hand

And we fell into it

Like a daydream

Or a fever"

I walked around the neighborhood some more, checking out all my old haunts while the haunting music continued.  I got one last glance of City College, St. Nicholas Park and that enormous evergreen they adorn with lights for the holidays, the exquisite brownstones on Convent, Striver's Row, Alexander Hamilton's old house, The Grange, Amsterdam, Broadway, the river again.

"We woke up one morning and fell a little further down

For sure it's the valley of death

I open up my wallet

And it's full of blood"

I walked for half an hour or so, pausing after the second track to just take in the quiet of the streets once more.  When I reached my apartment, I began the third track from "******* Infinity" on the stoop before going inside.  It's called "Providence" because the opening interview was conducted on the streets of Providence, Rhode Island:

"Do you think the end of the world is coming?"

"The preacher man said it's the end of time.  He says that America's rivers are going dry, the interest is up, the stock market is down.  You guys got to be careful walking around here this late at night."

"Do you have change sir?"

"This.  No, we don't ma'm, I'm sorry.... This, this, this is the perfect place to get jumped."

"But do you think the end of the world is coming?

"No.  So says the preacher man, but I don't go by what he says."

I listened to the rest in my empty room, the walls barren, a street lamp shining in through the window.

"Where are you go-ing...."

Two nights later I got on the highway with all my possessions and rode five hours north to where I've lived ever since.  As I rode through the snowy mountains well after dark, my mind was filled with uncertainty.  When would I see my loved ones again?  How safe were my friends?  How long was this going to last?  How many would die?  Would my language school survive more than a couple months?  What kind of jobs would be available if I got laid off, and how could I safely work them?  I was looking at two weeks of quarantining alone in a cabin without insulation or heat except for firewood.  But would I be able to shop for basic necessities in two weeks time?  How much would the restrictions increase?  Would we be like Wuhan, with soldiers delivering food, or Italy, where they needed passes to go to the grocery store?  What would be the ripple effects in the economy?  And on top of all that, would this president get re-elected and continue destroying the environment and risking nuclear war with his chest thumping?

As my mind swirled, I heard "Providence" whispering:

"Where are you go-ing...?  Where are you go-ing...?

Where are you go-ing...? Where are you go-ing...?"

As Joseph Campbell said, "Nothing is exciting if you know what the outcome is going to be."

What I do know is that I've just given money to Joe Biden's campaign, and at the behest of Uncle Al, tomorrow I'm going to volunteer to make phone calls to get voters to the polls.

Every four years we have to deal with some level of political fear.  This year, we need to stare it in the face and save the human race.