RYNSA: WORDS

I just love the game of basketball. It’s exciting, elegant, and always fun to watch. Even a bad basketball game has a certain chess-informed, dance-like quality to it that makes it hard to avert one’s gaze. Unfortunately, however, I don’t always have the technical access necessary to keep up with both the NBA and NCAA regular seasons, at least to the degree that I would prefer via traditional media outlets (ie, cable television). But, like a good point guard, I do what I gotta do to be where I need to be. So I try my best to stay abreast of all things b-ball through personal and commercial blogs, online video, a variety of print publications, and often simply by word-of-mouth interaction with my fellow ballers. It’s not ideal but it works for me.

So, being that we have just entered 2010, I think it’s only prudent to look back at the year-that-was and consider the game from a fresh perspective. A lot of compelling things happened in 2009 — Kobe won his first ring without Shaq, Calipari left Memphis (and an ass-load of troubles) for Kentucky, Hansbrough finally won a national championship in his senior year with North Carolina, owner Mark Cuban got fined for criticizing refs on his Twitter feed, top draftee Greg Oden went down again and thus substantiated the “Trail Blazer Curse,” AI returned to Philly, kissed the logo at center court, and renewed his relationship with the fans, Jazz-man and hall-of-famer Wayman Tisdale died of cancer, and much more. Once again, it was a remarkable year both on an off the court.

That said, for me the basketball story of the year is actually none of those described above. Unless you’re a fan of the political theater behind the game, in fact, you’ve probably never heard this story because it’s still unfolding even as I write these words. I am talking, of course, about the 2010 NBA All-Star Game, Tracy McGrady, and the specter of the league’s international online voting system.

In case you weren’t aware, as of Thursday, January 7th, Houston Rocket’s renowned shooting forward, Tracy McGrady, was second in line among all candidates to win a starting position on the Western conference All-Star squad — a somewhat prestigious accolade that is determined solely by NBA fans via an online, winner-take-all ballot system. That McGrady would be in the running for a starting position is not, in and of itself, all that unusual as he is a wonderful talent who has already played in the All-Star game on seven prior occasions. What makes 2010 special, however, is that the raw numbers just don’t add up, and McGrady doesn’t deserve the recognition. Due to injuries and the politics of back-room wheeling and dealing, etc., so far this season McGrady has only played a grand total of 47 minutes — that’s not even a full regulation game! Subsequently, as you might expect, his statistics are nothing near what a reasonable person would describe as “star-like.” In other words, Tracy McGrady really doesn’t belong. He just hasn’t earned it.

So what’s going on here? Why, you may ask, has McGrady been rewarded for his poor performance? What could explain such a obvious discrepancy between his admittedly pedestrian output as a player and the honor prize that is a spot in the All-Star game?

The answer is simple: China.

That’s right, the People’s Republic of China, an enigmatic and rapidly-developing nation of 1.4 billion people, really, really loves basketball, especially the NBA. China’s most well-known and successful player on the global stage is the 29-year old, 7ft 6in Yao Ming, now a kind of de facto cultural representative (e.g., he carried the Chinese flag during the opening ceremonies of the 2008 Beijing Olympics). Unfortunately for the Chinese, however, the powerful center has been sidelined all season long with yet another foot injury, making him ineligible for the All-Star game. In response, Chinese “netizens” have come out in large numbers to throw their support behind the next best thing, namely Yao’s Houston Rocket teammate, Tracy McGrady. With over 300 million regular internet users, this massive Chinese voting block is proving to be quite the boon for an otherwise unworthy candidate, and a tremendous disadvantage for truly stellar guards like Steve Nash, Chris Paul or Deron Williams. It seems, to the average Chinese basketball fan, that little details like shooting percentage, assist ratios, and rebound totals are totally inconsequential. Apparently, they’re just eager to see a friendly and familiar faces on the television screen (or computer monitor) come February 14th.

In the press, this phenomenon has been dubbed simply the “China effect,” a well-worn phrase that first came to being in 2003 when Yao (17.5 ppg, 9 rpg) was inexplicably voted into the Western Conference All-Star starting lineup ahead of Shaquille O’Neal (21.5 ppg, 11.5 rpg). The phrase reemerged in 2008 when another up-and-coming Chinese player, Yi Jianlian, received a surprisingly high number of All-Star votes despite his mediocre showing as a rookie. Put simply, when it comes to All-Star voting, everyone knows that Chinese players have their thumbs on the scale upon entering the league. And now even Tracy McGrady has slyly acknowledged the great influence of Chinese voters. Without directly mentioning the influence of Yao, McGrady recently hinted at the reasons behind his ballot-box successes:

“We have a great relationship. That started when I was in Orlando. I used to go over there [China] every summer. Those are great fans. I enjoy my time over there, and I’ve gotten to know them throughout the years. It’s been great. They’ve been very supportive through the good, the bad and the ugly. I appreciate them still sticking with me.”

Naturally, McGrady’s unwarranted awards have inspired much discussion on the internet from both professional sports writers and everyday basketball fans. As for the voting system, some really don’t care about results; the All-Star Game is primarily a show for the fans, they claim, and it has no real impact on either the remainder of the regular season or the all-important championship playoffs. But others see a travesty of justice (Denver Post, EndScore, Sporting News, NBA Noise, Valley of the Suns, News OK) wherein much more-deserving NBA players are relegated to the sidelines simply because they have not developed a relationship with the massive Chinese fanbase. Wherever they may position themselves in this debate, it appears that everyone seems to have an opinion on the matter. A few have started casting nationalistic aspersions at their opponents. What may have started as a quirky eccentricity from the world of basketball is quickly devolving into a referendum on cultural supremacy.

It’s interesting to note, also, that though there are a number of media scholars who are actively researching Chinese internet usage few have specifically addressed this “China effect” on the NBA. They have chosen instead to critique the overall relationship between the Chinese government and the internet. While there are a variety of opinions on the matter, the academy basically falls into two opposing camps: those who feel the internet is virtually unstoppable as a force for information exchange, social progress and political transformation; and those who feel the internet is increasingly less and less open as the Chinese authorities continue to clamp down on access in an effort to maintain control.

(See the writing and commentary of professors Rebecca MacKinnon and Xiao Qiang. More links below.)

That said, and putting both heated rhetoric and academic considerations aside, it’s fairly clear that China has come to play in the NBA in much the same way they have emerged as an agent in the Frankenstein project of neoliberal globalization. The same psycho-social aspects of gamesmanship that we see in the realm of international economics and political discourse also apply to the much less important areas of our shared cultural life, like voting to determine who will play in a simple game of basketball. The details of the “China effect” are, therefore, largely insignificant; it’s the big picture that matters. So, for instance, while I’m definitely irked that my favorite player, Phoenix Suns’ point guard Steve Nash, probably won’t make it into the starting lineup — despite putting up yet more MVP-like numbers this season (18.7 ppg, 3 rpg, 11 apg) — I must admit that I’m thrilled to see so many Chinese participating in the NBA’s online voting system. I may not agree with their choices, but this is perhaps the closest thing to direct democracy that the Chinese have experienced on either a national or international scale (possible exception being shows like “Super Voice Girls,” a hugely popular singing competition on Chinese television). Now that’s certainly nothing to scoff at!

Basketball has become (like many sports before it) a potent vehicle for positive cultural diplomacy. It’s a game that often transcends the harsh pettiness of international politics and gets right to the root of our common human values for joy, camaraderie and achievement. For example, when President Obama ventured to China this past November, among the many pointed and state-approved questions asked of him by the students in the mock town-hall meeting space in Shanghai was this playful request:

“Can you have a word with the NBA to let Yao Ming and the Houston Rockets win one championship?”

Clearly, the Chinese like our style, and I for one welcome them to the court. We must accept and celebrate a greater Chinese presence in the game even if that means our ideal of a meritocracy (inconsistent at best) is somewhat compromised. Online voting for the NBA All-Star game is, in my opinion, a large Petri dish for how we engage with the Chinese. It’s important to maintain the appearance of a transparent selection process, vis-à-vis the NBA’s online voting system, lest we risk undermining the image of democracy and alienating a huge population of Chinese “netizens.” We in the Western, so-called “developed” world would be wise to use such international athletic competitions NOT as an opportunity for regurgitating cultural stereotypes and aggravating old resentments, but as a resource for bridging the diverse perspectives of the world’s people.

Let’s start first with the ballers!

LINKS:
HoopsWorld
RConversation (Rebecca MacKinnon’s blog)
Council on Foreign Relations: Xiao Qiang (MP3)
Wall Street Journal
China Digital Times
NY Times
Talking Points Memo

*For my picks for the 2010 NBA All-Star Game, go to my media blog.

Chicago writer, performer, teacher, and filmmaker, Robyn Okrant, has just completed a new book chronicling a year of (get this) living according to the advice of media-mogul billionaire and cultural icon, Oprah Winfrey. No, no, really… one full, calendar year! Nutz.

From her website, Ms. Okrant coyly explains the impetus behind Living Oprah:

“I believe Oprah to be the single most influential person in the media today – especially when it comes to impacting women… I wondered what would happen if one of us committed ourselves whole-heartedly to her lifestyle suggestions. Would the financial and time costs of living as Oprah prescribes be worth the results?”

Honestly, there’s no way I could do something as masochistic as this. Beyond the everyday tedium of having to watch Oprah, read Oprah, and then do Oprah’s bidding, in the end I’m fairly certain I would not have learned anything new. I don’t need to be water-boarded, for example, to know that torture sucks, and I certainly don’t need to follow the half-brained, neoliberal, new age, new thought nonsense of Oprah frickin’ Winfrey to know that her ideologies are fundamentally corrupt. Ultimately, in my estimation of things, this life-style stunt amounts to a kind of death by a thousand cuts, and it’s definitely not worth all the hardship. I’d much prefer a quick and painless ending.

That said, I must admit that I’m happy Ms. Okrant was more courageous than me. She is clearly willing to subject herself to whole lot of costly, sanctimonious, froo-froo, snake-oil bullshit, and she should be lauded for her resolve through what must have been a very difficult year. But more than that, Orkant has decided to write about her experience and expose (we can only hope) the absurdity of Oprah’s worldview, to which I am exceptionally grateful. It’s high-time the suburban set were confronted with the dangerous bigotry of their televised savior’s magical thinking. Maybe Living Oprah, the book, is just the literary insight we need to finally stop ourselves from living Oprah, the phenomenon.

LINKS:
Living Oprah Blog
Chicago Tribune Article
NPR’s All Things Considered
MSNBC Report

Yesterday, I joined my wife and two of our friends at the colossal El Con theater for a matinée viewing of James Cameron’s (newest) cinematic opus: Avatar. It was quite the adventure, right down to the NASA-sleek, black, horned-rimmed 3D glasses handed out to us at the box office. We brought our own snacks, of course (microwave popcorn and seasoned almonds), and Yan got her first taste of the big-time American theatrical experience. All in all, everyone seemed to have a really good go of it, even despite the stiff $9.50 ticket price and the bladder-test of a two hour and forty-one minute runtime.

Like most big-budget holiday blockbusters, Avatar had been highly touted in the mainstream press, and it continues to garner rave reviews from a multitude of professional film critics. From the venerable Roger Ebert, to AO Scott (one of Ebert’s replacements on At the Movies) — both of whom likened their Avatar viewing experience to the first time they saw Star Wars in 1977 — to Manohla Dargis, Joe Morgenstern, David Edelstein, Michael Phillips, and many more, nearly everyone seems to dig this movie!

It’s important to note that Avatar was an incredibly expensive film to produce, coming in at just under $240 million officially. It currently ranks as the fourth most expensive film of all time, according to Wikipedia, and still some sources suggest that this exorbitant number falls way short of its true cost. The NY Times, for example, estimated Avatar’s price tag at much closer to $500 million, particularly considering Mr. Cameron’s personal financial contribution and other international marketing expenses.

And yet there is every indication that Avatar will make back all its money and then some. According to Box Office Mojo, in only one week of release Avatar has already raked-in upwards of $160 million domestically and over $255 million from foreign cinemas. With several more weeks in theaters and a slew of future sales in DVDs, books, children’s toys, video games, clothes, etc., there is no doubt that Avatar will be a monumentally commercial success.

So, after the screening, and with all this pop-cultural buzz in mind, Xu Yan returned to her reclusive comfort zone in the back corner of our rental house and I ventured out to a local bar with the rest of our group — my fellow Tucson film nerds — to drink beer and discuss the movie in greater detail. Generally speaking, like everybody else, we were all impressed with Avatar’s motion-capture animation technology and the fantastic art direction. But we also each held serious reservations about a number of the film’s nonsensical plot points and the problematic socio-political message(s) therein. Here’s a very rough overview of our more pointed criticisms:

• One friend wondered why there weren’t more portrayals of color, namely blackness, both within the fictional, blue-skinned race known as the “Na’vi” and the invading human population, and he scoffed at the utter lack of LBGT representations among both their ranks.
• Using a feminist lens, my other friend expressed concern about the long-standing Hollywood habit of perverting reality and distorting images of the female body, particularly evident in the unrealistically slender, muscled and sensuous physical features of the lead female character, “Neytiri.”
• And, finally, in keeping with my own political struggles, I lamented at what seemed to be a complete denial of economic class stratification in the filmmakers’ decision to assign antagonist credentials to a cliche military machine and NOT the greedy, callous, Earth-based corporate interests that were ultimately responsible for initiating both the imperial pursuit on the distant planet Pandora and the genocidal violence against the indigenous people. Argh!

Clearly, Mr. Cameron has much to learn about storytelling if he is to satisfy our little gang of disgruntled Tucson film-buffs. Race/ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender, class… we definitely tried to hit ‘em hard, as it were, and in the end Avatar was left somewhat wanton. The fatal flaw of this film, in my opinion, is its unwillingness to acknowledge and celebrate sentient diversity — a fear of difference.

Let’s get right to the point: the Na’vi people are an incredibly homogeneous species. As one of my friends described it that afternoon in the bar, “no one has an eating disorder,” and he’s exactly right! In some ways, what we don’t see is more telling than the great spectacle (heavily marketed in the media) that we all paid so much to experience in the first place. We don’t see any fatties, no one with a physical or cognitive disability, no one who expresses political dissent against the Na’vi leadership, no variation in skin color, no kinky fetishes, no dialects, no slang, and on and on. In essence, we don’t see any of the things that make civilization simultaneously rich with meaning and also very, very challenging.

Cameron and company have pretty much edited out the complexities of life in a naked attempt to force an emotional bond between the movie-going public and the super-human (by definition) Na’vi people. Avatar’s version of “noble savagery,” as portrayed through the main protagonist’s intimacy with this idyllic, peaceful, and spiritually-connected little nation of stretchy smurfs, might make for compelling (even romantic) fodder for the big screen but it is ultimately a kind of bad anthropology. This film can in no way serve as a poetic allegory — much less a visionary model — for anything we might make manifest in contemporary society, for this day or tomorrow. Though they have been carefully and painstakingly crafted by a contingency of talented artists, writers, and computer technicians, the Na’vi are little more than giant blue puppets, hollow signs for a director that doesn’t want to get his hands dirty trying to flesh-out something “real,” something we can all recognize within ourselves, a common humanity; Cameron ignores all those tedious little differences that distinguish sentient beings from inanimate objects.

This failure to appreciate the importance of diversity is certainly disappointing.  However, to Cameron’s credit, Avatar is not merely a character study in interpersonal dynamics.  Regardless of any imperfections three dudes in a bar might find to beef on, Avatar still stands-out as a coherent, beautiful, entertaining, and sometimes even awe-inspiring cinematic achievement precisely because the filmmaker has bigger goals in mind. Beyond the sexy bells-and-whistles of how it was produced, not to mention two surprisingly effective performances from young actors Zoe Saldana (“Neytiri”) and Sam Worthington (“Jake Sully”), Avatar ultimately serves as a vehicle from which to advocate for a grander and more complex understanding of our global network systems, be they ecological, cultural or even technological.  In other words, we are not-so-subtly asked to remember that everything is connected.

There is one scene in particular that fully articulates the praise-worthy underlying ethic of Avatar.  During the final third of the film, Sigourney Weaver’s “Grace,” the rugged and passionate botanist in charge of the Avatar science program, implores Giovanni Ribisi’s “Parker,” a sarcastic, upper-level corporate lackey and the top-dog behind the mining effort on Pandora, to reconsider his insistence on removing the Na’vi and destroying the land.  The dialogue proceeds in rapid-fire [SPOILER ALERT]:

JAKE:  You say you want to keep your people alive?  You start by listening to her.
GRACE: Those trees were sacred to the Omaticaya in a way that you can’t imagine.
PARKER: You know what?!  You throw a stick in the air around here and it’s gonna land on some sacred fern, for Christ’s sake!!
GRACE: I’m not talking about some kind of pagan voodoo here.  I’m talking about something real, something measurable in the biology of the forest.
PARKER: Which is what exactly?
GRACE: What we think we know is that there is some kind of electro-chemical communication between the roots of the trees, like the synapses between neurons.  And each tree has ten to the fourth connections to the trees around it, and there are ten to the twelfth trees on Pandora.
PARKER: Which is a lot, I’m guessing.
GRACE: It’s more connections than the human brain. Get it?!  It’s a network.  It’s a global network and the Na’vi can access it!  They can upload and download data — memories at sites like the one you just destroyed.  Yes!
PARKER: (beat) What the hell have you people been smoking out there? They’re just goddamn trees!
GRACE: You need to wake up, Parker.
PARKER: No, you need to wake up!
GRACE: The wealth of this world isn’t in the ground, it’s all around us!  The Na’vi know that and they are fighting to defend it…

In this dark era of slash-and-burn disaster capitalism, environmental degradation, and a plague of massive disinformation campaigns from a handful of elite economic entities hell-bent on maintaining their power and turning a profit at the expense of the natural world, Avatar offers a timely, grand, and much-appreciated word to the wise. I sincerely hope the audience is paying attention.

LINKS:
Wikipedia: Avatar
Review: At The Movies

Poetry died for me today.  Poetry in the form of an East-Texas, overweight, sixty-something sweetheart, stained and mouthy, a firecracker Bodhisattva with the earthen name Yazbek, now stillborn in a bed in the backroom with a trio of old dogs.  After a brief competition with cancer (we all know the score), Poetry slipped into the void on the back of a silver snake, coarse and wet with an endless length.  She was wailing in the rolling ascent, rocking and wailing, gone for good.  Amen.

Poetry was at home in Arkansas.  The electricity went out for days under the hammer of ice and tooth-ache cold, the metallic, Mason-jar lid of an Ozark winter sky.  One cannot breathe under such conditions.  But that was always the plan.  Poetry finds a crack in the most unlikely surface of time and sorrow.  Poetry grows in spite of its harrowing circumstances, and Poetry dies, again and again, with only the slightest degree of change, tiny transformations witnessed in the radical minutia at the atomic level of our genetic selves, where babies gather their heavenly scent, where I will always love you and you will always love me.  Poetry would have it no other way, like a flash of aromatic green at the precise moment the sun disappears below the horizon.  Bring on the night: Poetry sleeps for the promise of a new day.

Poetry once confided in me, from the fat couch in the corner, her wisdom obscured by blue flickering television light reflected in the lenses of her glasses, that she could never cook a meal for just one.  She always made enough for the house, and leftovers like an afterglow for weeks.  Poetry was accessible like that, with an insatiable appetite for the joy that is us, together, around a table, tongues coated in a singular taste, swimming in the warm language of ‘we,’ present and engaged, the greatest care.

God almighty, you will be missed, Brenda Moossy, amen.  My second mother, amen.  You are a treasure, the blessed word itself, amen.  Come back to us as soon as you can.

This evening I ventured down to the St. Kilda Night Market at O’Donell Gardens very near St. Kilda beach.  I was accompanied by Xu Yan, our mutual friend Li Haizheng (English name Ellen), her parents on vacation from Changsha, China, and the unbearable slow death of the Melbourne summer heat.  The purpose of our trip was ostensibly to introduce Ellen to another good friend of mine, Michelle, and one of the co-coordinators of the market itself.  But I think also we all wanted to get out of the house and into the well-known cool night air, the same air we’ve read so much about in numerous passages of verdant fiction.

This was my last Thursday in Melbourne for a long while.  In a few days, Yan and I will leave out for Sydney and then, with my father, who has not yet arrived, on to Adelaide and Perth and many a hiking trail and camping site in between.  So this final trip to St. Kilda was somewhat sentimental for me, as I honestly do not know when I will be able to witness that particular warm, beach-front, hippie spectacle again.  For that matter, I just don’t know when I’ll get the chance to come back to Australia.  My time here is quickly slipping away, and theoretically forever.

Yes, it appears that Yan and I will be making yet another move overseas; a transition of material possessions, currency, and hopes and dreams.  While we both fervently look forward to our new (in my case re-newed) life in Tucson, Arizona, there is more than just a little sorrow that we will be leaving a city and a people that have generally been very good to both of us.  The sadness of this reality would be difficult, to say the least, if I wasn’t already deeply familiar with the tiring process of packing up and starting all over again in a totally different place.  For me, and to a certain extent for Yan as well, this is old hat.  We’ve become accidental experts at not having a place to call home.

Quite frankly, I am thoroughly unsure as to whether or not this move from Australia back to the United States is really a good one for either Yan or myself.  It feels very much like a crap-shoot, a roll of the dice, and this after months and months of careful consideration and earnest conversation wherein we weigh the pros and cons of each culture, the ups and downs of the global economy, the value (or not) of my academic training, including this new Master’s degree, the pull or repulsion of a given natural environment, and the potential — especially the potential, blessed and heavy as it is — for both of us to accomplish the things we want to accomplish in this or that city, state, country, or in our lives as a whole.  It was not an easy choice, coming home, and I still hold many legitimate doubts as to the wisdom of our final decision.

I must say, mainly because the story is conspicuously present in the global media these days and I would be foolish not to address it, that I do take some heart from the recent election of Barack Obama to the office of US president.  While I have not bought in to the messiah-like status many of my fellow countrymen and women have ascribed to this man, I do feel that he at least appreciates the importance (and stress) of a needed change in direction.  The rhetoric is redundant in this regard, and sometimes quite tiresome, but it’s also, I think, especially pertinent to our collective circumstances in these complicated times.

In trying to correct the severe mistakes (I’m being very generous to leave it at that, actually) of the previous eight years, Mr. Obama is of course working on a macro level that extends out into the whole of the human species (I don’t think I’m exaggerating here).  My microscopic, individual little experience is certainly no match for this monumental task, but I do feel a certain resonance and camaraderie and empathy with Obama’s message of ‘change.’  It seems a significant change is coming in myself as well as in my country.  It’s probable that I am not alone here.  A change is coming… for us all.  It’s coming for Michelle and Ellen and her family.  It’s coming for Yan and for me.  It’s coming, and I accept it, even despite my sleepy heart.

This is my prayer:

May I meet the challenges of this and every change with the courage of my forbearers, the bloody razor’s precision of now, and the grace of an unimagined, ungrounded tomorrow… and may I have a little bit of fun in the process.

Well, November 28th has finally rolled around, which means my favorite international holiday can officially begin (in North America, at least, for you Brits and Aussies, etc., will just have to wait until tomorrow).  That’s right, kiddies!  Today is ‘Buy Nothing Day’ (insert cheers and applause)!!!  Your one chance every year to refuse the perpetuation of crass consumerism, and to promote more ecological and sustainable economics.

Come on, dude!  Everybody’s NOT doing it!  Even the right Rev. Billy is playing his part with his Union Square Dance Your Debt Away party up in New York City!  So get yer little bum out there and start NOT buying things!!!

Buy Nothing Day, Links:

Wikipedia
General Info/Advice
BND United Kingdom

Buy Nothing Day, News:

LA Times
Chicago Tribune

UPDATE:

Clearly these Wal-Mart shoppers in NY state could use a little Buy Nothing Day.  Just stunning…

They’re at it again, god bless ‘em! Those rascally Yes Men, masters of the fine art that is ‘culture jamming’, have hoaxed the American media. This time their ruse involved printing and distributing a fake version of the New York Times, predated to July 4th of next year, and chock-full of unlikely, progressive ‘if only’ scenarios otherwise uncommon to corporate news outlets. The headline of this imposture edition, for example, simply reads, “Iraq War Ends,” a short three-word sentence that seems to sum up the hopes and dreams of many concerned citizens around the country (maybe the world?) in the post-election, Obama era of American politics.

(See Rocketboom, Boing Boing, The Huffington Post, or the NY Times online Arts section for more details and imagery.)

I am particularly fond of the fictitious editorial, presumably written by NYT columnist Thomas Friedman, brilliantly titled “The End of the Experts?”  In it the phony Friedman declares, “I will keep my opinions to myself.”  He goes on to aks:

“…why are newspapers like the New York Times letting people like me make fools of themselves, mislead the American people, and, worst of all, give their wives a lifetime of ammunition? To err is human, but to print, reprint, and re-reprint error-mad humans like me is a criminally moronic editorial policy.”

Here, here, faux Thomas Friedman!  For once, I couldn’t agree with you more.  Let’s hope the publishers of the fake New York Times can inspire the publishers of the real New York Times to get real for a change.

This so-called ‘economic meltdown’ in my own beloved United States is, in my opinion, nothing more than a carefully-crafted misnomer designed to camouflage the much more comprehensive villainy of American capitalism. You can’t ‘meltdown’ a global system that has been gradually tearing away at economic sustainability for years! Everything that we’re experiencing now is the entirely predictable outcome of numerous erosive, bipartisan, neoliberal policy decisions dating back to the 1980s; policy decisions that privileged unregulated money markets and corporate interests over the needs of the state and its people.

Honestly, this was inevitable. We could see it coming from a long way off. Sunset, if you will, has finally fallen on Reagan’s ‘Morning in America’.

For details on we how got here I refer you to the writing of journalist David Sirota, author of The Uprising, who has recently provided us with a summary bibliography of key texts, and in only one sentence. From the Huffington Post, he says:

“As I note, this week we will see Thomas Frank’s wrecking crew using Naomi Klein’s shock doctrine to justify a bigger free lunch than David Cay Johnston ever imagined.”

For the life of me, I simply cannot understand how anyone could continue to espouse, or even attempt to justify, the philosophies of ‘free-market’ neoliberalism. The great, green capitalist machine has not righted itself, and now we’re expected to burn 700 billion US dollars (OMFG!!!) to cushion the fall of those who passionately claimed the market would save us. Ultimately, this massive and unprecedented bailout of the financial sector amounts to a soft landing for the least deserving and most hypocritical among us.

Politically, both the republicans and the democrats have apparently converged to reform the fascist party, an orgy of wealth, exclusivity, and corruption. With rare exception (thank you Mr. Kucinich), there is no dissent, no opposition in Washington. There’s the money, and then there’s us. The US is officially a capitalist wasteland where gains are privatized and losses socialized, and the working poor always, always foot the bill.

If ever the phrase ‘the emperor has no clothes’ was relevant to our national discourse, it would be now. And like many of my countrymen and women, I’m just sick of it. Disgust prods me awake at night, like a wiry, old finger jabbing me in the ribcage. I can’t get that ethereal Dorthea Lange photograph out of my head: a furrowed brow and three kids, the world in black-n-white, to have and to have not.

In all probability it won’t be as bad as my night frights suggest. And I hate that fear can grip me so. But then again, what do I know? I’m not a money-man… I’m just one of the millions who have to pay for it when the money-men fuck up!

Argh!!!

On the August 12th episode of Filmschool — an excellent podcast/radio show out of the University of California at Irvine (KUCI 88.9 FM) — hosts Nathan Callahan and Mike Kaspar interviewed author and filmmaker Dorothy Fadiman about her new cinematic project, Stealing America: Vote By Vote. This feature length documentary explores voting fraud and the overall integrity of American democracy vis-a-vis the presidential elections of 2000 and 2004.

Beyond simply calling into question the legitimacy of the final tally, Fadiman and company (including usual leftist suspect Peter Coyote as narrator) call for widespread reform of the national democratic system. On the website for the film viewers are encouraged to “become part of the solution” and “…get active in the fight for our democracy” by registering to vote, writing letters to persons of interest, making phone calls, wearing stickers and/or buttons, and a whole slew of other tasks. In other words, exactly what you might expect from a director that recently published a book entitled, Producing with Passion: Making Films that Make a Difference.

In that I haven’t yet seen this film (or read Fadiman’s book) I won’t comment on the strength of its message. I suspect that in my case, irregardless of craft, it will be just another case of preaching to the choir. I mean, is this really still in doubt? Aren’t we already aware of the problem? And, more importantly, will placing a microscope over the many flaws of the electoral system be enough to elicit a response from what appears to be a fairly disaffected American citizenry?

God, I sure hope so…

Since starting my job lat month as a ‘computer literacy tutor’ with/for disabled adults in southeast Melbourne, I have become acutely aware of how difficult it can be for some members of our society (in this case Australia) to access certain institutions, services and cultural experiences.  These are things that individuals without disability often take for granted, and addressing them goes far beyond wheelchair ramps at the courthouse or braille consoles on public elevators.  It’s more complex than that.  Actually, it pretty much includes everything… even the web.

Last week, Xu Yan, who has been teaching herself all about CSS, discovered that my website is not particularly HTML compatible.  After the initial annoyance of this fact wore off, it got me thinking about universal access.  Right now the vast majority of people around the world who use IE (Yan says it’s around 55% now) cannot visit my blog without having to deal with some fairly obvious design flaws, issues that are not all that serious but may yet affect readability.  This then got me thinking about the small minority of global disabled internet users who probably face similar ‘compatibility’ issues all the time, whether it’s font size, color schemes, frame location, or something else that might make viewing a given website particularly difficult.

It suddenly seemed really, really unfair that this population of human beings, often the least-recognized or publicly accommadated minority in the world, couldn’t peruse the web with the same degree of care-free whimsy that I enjoy on a near daily basis.  It’s just wrong, really.  Everyone should have the privilege of reading my crappy writing, damnit!

Seriously, I am a little embarrassed that despite my technological (Web 2.0) interests over the years, in conjunction with my progressive political efforts, that I have not been more conscious about disability access until now.  In order to remedy this, then, I will be working towards redesigning my website, both the blog and the vlog.  I am therefore collecting URLs to code and design resources for making websites more accessible.  Currently my focus is on WordPress themes, and here’s what I’ve found so far:

Nice2All
Rapid Access

I’ll post more information as my research progresses.  Hopefully, time permitting, a new version of my website will be up an running within the next few months.