Personal Musings category archive

Papers, radios, and even blogs have overflowed with stories recounting the events in New York of September 11, 2001.

Not here. There is nothing for me to add, no perspective unexplored. I don’t need help to remember what happened on September 11, 2001.

Indeed, I have done my best to avoid the issue–not to avoid my memories, distant as they are from the memories of those who were there, for my memories came at a distance: from watching the live television coverage in my company’s cafeteria along with a goodly number of my co-workers; from later stepping into the smoking area at the back door of the building and hearing no airplanes, though the building was about two miles from Philadelphia International Airport; from my mail carrier’s worries about his sister, whose fate he did not learn for five days; from other events large and small.

I contemn the efforts of both “old” and “new” media over the past two weeks to thrust those events upon me from all directions in macabre and tasteless ways, like someone describing the procedure for a post mortem to mourners at a funeral.

Lynne Steuerle Schofield put it quite nicely in the Denver Post earlier this week:

But I can’t help but wonder if this is really the best way, now, to remember my mother and the thousands of others who died on Sept. 11, 2001.

(snip)

Here’s the other side, though, for me anyway: Sometimes I feel I am asked to attend my mother’s funeral again and again, year after year.

And, throughout, the maudlin repetitious media mewling has missed the most important part of the story.

My contempt ripened and matured last week, when I saw this on the screen of my friendly local silicon-hearted ATM machine:

The creation of that, and of all the other similar empty gestures of the past two weeks, that’s when remembrance crossed into hollow pandering.

Why hassn’t Michelle Bachmann wondered whether the Texas wildfires are a sign from God to Rick Perry?

Yesterdays HearSay, the local NPR affiliate’s information and interview show, discussed the pros and cons of charging persons for emergency services. This seems to be a new trend among cash-strapped states and localities who are too chicken to raise taxes, particularly if the persons rescued can be construed to have been responsible for getting themselves into the emergency, like this bozo.

How much, for example, should the Fed and Treasury charge the banksters for emergency services?

Television shows used to have heroes.

Now they have zeros.

The idea of gambling as a revenue stream has always caused me disquiet.

My conservative Southern Baptist upbringing perhaps predisposes me against gambling to raise public revenue.

So too does my study of U. S. Southern history: after the Civil War, most Southern states instituted lotteries of some type, having no tax base left. In almost every case, lottery administrators ended up in South America living the sweet life of other people’s money.

At the same time, I do enjoy the ponies on a nice summer day. I wouldn’t play poker, but a penny a point at bridge wouldn’t faze me; I do not have a blanket objection to friendly wagers amongst those who play fair and can afford it. These days, a game of penny ante poker can cost less than an evening at the movies.

It’s justifying state lotteries and, to a much greater extent, slot machine palaces as sources of tax revenue that makes me queasy.

I think that, thanks to Renee Loth’s column in the Boston Globe, I have discovered the source of my disquiet. Here’s the snippet of discovery:

The capitulation to expanded gambling in Massachusetts represents a failure of imagination and will. After years of relentless attacks on broad-based taxes as the fairest way to fund public needs, even liberals are disheartened. Why not just accept the revenues from what former governor William Weld called “voluntary taxation’’ instead?

Here’s why. Gambling revenue – like user fees, naming rights, specialty license plates, and other forms of “voluntary’’ contributions to government – erodes a fundamental idea of democracy: that we’re all in this together. Instead of all people contributing equitably to the common good, a casino economy fractures the social compact. And it asks the most from those who can afford it least.

Clearly, we are not all in this together.

Those who have the most are in it the least, so the alternative is the fleece.

“Smart TV” is a contradiction in terms.

Yesterday, I sent a little email to the Editor of the Sacramento Bee in response to this article, in which he solicited opinions on how to deal with vile and disgusting anonymous comments on the the paper’s website.

I linked him up to a column by the Editor of my local rag, in which he evaluated the Virginian-Pilot’s experience after it banned anonymous comments on its opinion pages.

Late last night, Eastern Time, the Editor of the Bee emailed me an acknowledgement, which was clearly not canned, since he quoted the contents of my email and referred to it in the text.

Given the amount of email that persons in his position get, I consider that a classy act.

I am impressed.

I wanted to thank him publicly (not that I expect him ever to see this, but a one does what one can).

Will Bunch wonders whether the media, and particularly the Weather Channel, over-hyped hurricane Irene.

Unnecessary question.

Of course they did.

They over-hype an April shower.

That’s one reason I don’t watch television news, even from “responsible” (that is, non-Fox) sources.

Also, isn’t “over-hype” redundant?

In reality world, it’s raining really hard right now, but reports are that wind speeds have dropped significantly in the eye, which is still hours away. There have been spotty power outages from downed trees, and the power here at PVF HQ has blinked twice.

Afterthought:

This doesn’t mean it’s not a big storm that persons should prepare for, but, really, the limit on “storm of the century” is one per century.

Ex Post Afterthought:

Speaking of hype, all the television stations are broadcasting pictures of reporters standing in the rain, so we’ll know that it is raining.

Even the NPR news and information outlet is piping the audio of one of the local television stations, so that public radio listeners will know that TV reporters don’t know to come in out of the rain.

Pah!

To Sherlock Holmes, she was always the woman.*

Wait. That was Irene Adler. Wrong Irene.

The clouds started to move into the area about 3 p. m., low heavy clouds bringing with them a sharp rise in humidity. At times, the overcast has been complete, but the clouds keep moving. Fast.

Both propane tanks for the grill are full, the outdoor furniture is now indoor furniture, as are the potted plants, and the grill is securely lashed to the railing of the deck.

The cooler of ice is half-full as the freezer makes more and every available container is being filled with water. The pantry is full of canned goods that can be heated on the burner on the grill if the power is out for a significant time.

We are well away from any flood danger, so a power failure is my primary worry.

The picture was taken about half an hour ago.

__________________

*The opening line of “A Scandal in Bohemia.”

Judging by the headlines in today’s local rag (and other rags), an earthquake that causes no fatalities and does almost no damage is rilly rilly big news to persons who have not experienced an earthquake before.

For several days, I’ve kept a tab open in my browser pointing to a column by Joanna Weiss, because I’ve been toying with posting about The Help, despite not seeing the movie and, indeed, have no desire to see it.

I first heard of the book from a “Readers’ Review” episode of the Diane Rehm Show. The show was at times enthralling and affecting, not so much from the discussion of the book itself, but from the phone calls: it evoked the listener callers, many raised in the South during the time in which the book was set, to tell engrossing and sometimes disturbing stories from their own pasts.

What has struck me is the reaction of black bloggers and writers whom I respect to the movie: it has ranged from ambivalent, illustrated by this from Leonard Pitts, Jr., to derivisive, as these from Chancey de Vega and Field. (I commend de Vega’s, in particular, to your attention.)

So I shall content myself with quoting Alberta Brooks, whose memories of working as “a help” are discussed today in the Chicago Trib. Here’s a snippet:

My sister worked as an aide at the black high school in Gary (Indiana–ed.), helping out in the classroom and in the cafeteria. But by me being so young with only a high school education, there were only certain jobs I could get. So when we saw an ad for a maid in the newspaper, we got on the bus and went over there.

We knocked on the front door and when the lady answered, she directed us to go around to the back door.

On the farm in Arkansas, we had always entered the white people’s house through the front door. I guess it was because we lived on their property and they had known us all their lives. In fact, one of their young daughters gave me my name when I was born. She named me after herself, Alberta.

Now that I was up North, I never expected that white people would send you to the back. Nevertheless, I did what I was told because I had no other choice.

They were evil times.

And some would bring them back.

Have you ever noticed that, when God talks to Republicans, he always tells them exactly what they want to hear, even though the answer to one contradicts the answer to the other?

Am I the only person who finds the increasing tendency to refer to soldiers and sailors as “warriors” kind of creepy?

I don’t consider Sparta an ideal role model for a state.

There was once a radio mystery series called The Fat Man, loosely based on Sidney Greenstreet’s character in The Maltese Falcon (“loosely” in the sense that the Sidney Greenstreet character was called “the fat man”).

The stories opened with the Fat Man’s going into a drugstore and weighing himself on the penny scale (remember pennies?). The announcer intoned,

Weight, two hundred and thirty-nine pounds. Fortune: Danger.

Back in those days, 239 pounds was considered fat. Today, it appears to be the new normal.

I find the growth of what I can only describe as militant atheism rather troubling.

Now, I have no problem with atheism. I’m not an atheist, but I can understand the reasoning that can lead to that position because, ultimately, questions of faith cannot be proven. That’s why it’s called “faith.” (And, as I told an atheist friend of mine, if I’m wrong, I’m just as dead.)

I do find the crusading tone of some atheists in the public square rather troubling, because it is becoming strident, obnoxious, and crusading; strident, obnoxious crusaders don’t win friends and influence people, at least, not in the way they expect to. Their rationality has gone full-circle to fanaticism.

I suspect that this tone is a backlash against right-wing fundamentalism, which has morphed from a religious persuasion to a political one and long ago achieved fanaticism.

Thoreau makes an interesting observation:

Now, I’m aware that the critics of religion have serious arguments that have nothing to do with the stupidity of young earth creationism, but I think she’s right: Most people who are big into atheism seem to have spent a lot of time arguing with young earth creationists. It’s almost as if when one become an atheist they immediately get issued a book on evolution. On the flip side, some familiarity with arguments for design of living organisms seems to almost be a prerequisite for membership in a fundamentalist Christian church.

The creation myths of the Israelites have nothing to do with Christianity.

Those from either side of this argument who believe they do miss the point of the life and teachings of Jesus.

MarketWatch explains:

Why do advertising agencies think that extreme closeups of greasy, gooey, poorly prepared, cardboard cutout, unappetizing food will somehow make it appetizing?

Given that effective government is the protector of civilization and that taxes are the price of effective government, then what conclusions must we draw about those who would hobble government and would pay no taxes?

The story of Bushonomics as told by telly vision listings:

Flip this House fades.

Hardcore Pawn rises.

While I was watching the Phillies clip the Cardinals’ wings last night, I went through my blogroll and deleted a number of sites that no longer interest me, are no longer active, or are no longer relevant (such as a number of the early blog listing sites).

I will be adding some new sites over the next few days, but, since no one looks at sidebars, I will likely be the only person who notices.

The one site that caused me a pang when I deleted it was Jon Swift, for the author, one of the best satirists to grace the internet or, for that matter, the English language, passed away two years ago.

Gone from my blogroll, but not from the memories of those who appreciated the skill with which he exercised his scalpel and his kindness and generosity to new bloggers.