Last week, on a Monday, a man named George Floyd was arrested in a section of Minneapolis, MN called Powderhorn. He was suspected of committing forgery using a fake $20 bill. Police were called and in the process of arresting the man, they used a tactic that was not recommended, not really taught in police academy, and not practiced. Derek Chauvin used his knee as a chokehold, applying pressure to Mr. Floyd's neck. He could be heard by the crowd saying "I can't breathe. Please let me breathe." After nearly nine minutes, the chokehold was released, and Mr. Floyd, unresponsive, was placed in an ambulance, and taken to a hospital where he later died.
Last week, one man's callous and unthinking cruelty sent shockwaves across the nation. We've seen eruptions of this kind since Michael Brown and Ferguson in 2014, but this one feels different. I have spent enough time on this planet to remember the riots in 1992 in Los Angeles after a black man named Rodney King was savagely beaten by LAPD officers. When the officers were not held responsible, the city exploded in violence and flames. This feels like that moment to me. Then, there was a video recording. Now there are recordings, including footage of the entire 10 minute encounter that ended in George Floyd's death. I've linked to it here. For my own sanity, I have not watched that footage, and I will not post it here.
"I can't breathe", he said. "Please let me breathe", he said.
My God.
What are we?
What have we become?
Do we understand how our actions can have far-reaching effects and consequences?
Do we understand that we have sown to the wind and are reaping the whirlwind?
Do we understand that we've done this before?
How many times do we need to hear those words?
How many more have to die before we repent this nation's original sin?
In the last two weeks, I've tried to really focus on making sure I get time in on my drawing table, even if it's just a couple of hours in a day. Because of health issues, I was away from it for quite a while. As you might imagine, I felt rusty. So the first marks on the page felt unsteady, and I wasn't very happy with my execution. But I think, well, bit by bit, I can feel it coming back, getting steadier and more natural. It's a work in progress (I'm starting to dislike that phrase), but...what counts is how it feels to be doing it, and it feels GREAT. The technique and the fluidity will come back. I just have to keep at it. It's like the title implies...muscle memory.
So here's a sketch detail of an idea. I don't know where it will go or if it will become anything. It's based on a concept I came up with years ago called "Snow Angels". It was used in a holiday card that was sent to friends and family. After so long away, it felt good to re-visit the idea and see if I could improve on it a bit. Right now it's just practice.
Anyway, here it is. Enjoy.
Here's what the original looked like when I first conceived it.
Well.
Look what's changed in a mere 3 months.
Up is down.
Down is up.
The sky is red.
The oceans are chartreuse.
Seriously...what the actual HELL??
Is this...ACTUAL HELL?
They taught us that Hell was a place of torment and eternal suffering.
If you visit an ICU anywhere in this country, that's what it feels like.
Oh, but you can't visit an ICU anywhere in this country right now. Even if you have loved ones in the ICU, you can't see them. That could be a definition of hell. During this pandemic, there have been absolutely horrific stories of families who have loved ones in the ICU who are dying of COVID-19 and they aren't allowed to see them to say good-bye. So people are dying alone.
This was not supposed to happen. We are supposed to be smarter than to allow a microscopic virus to essentially bring the country (and the world) to its knees, aren't we?
Apparently, something has taken over for our good sense and our much touted American ingenuity.
We are now seeing what happens when we give in to our worst instincts, which we did in November of 2016, when we allowed a callous, venal, odious, and wholly unqualified thug wannabe to ascend to the highest office in the land.
We wondered, those of us who knew this was going to be bad, just how bad it could get.
We now have the answer.
83,284dead Americans as of this writing. That's a football stadium full of moms, dads, grandparents, kids from all walks of life, all political persuasions, races, etc. That's a small city.
A microscopic virus. Amazing how something so small could be so utterly destructive.
Our economy has ground to a halt.
Gatherings of large sizes have been effectively banned for the time being.
The big cities are ghost towns. New York City, that colossus, is empty.
As is L.A. And Chicago. And Boston.
I live in a city of 185,000 people in Central MA. Normally getting around this town by car is a trial.
Not lately, though. Not for the last two months.
Also amazing is the fact that we were a country that was humming along in familiar if problematic fashion just 8 weeks ago. Overnight, we were plunged into this...Bizarro World where things like shaking hands and hugs and closeness could potentially kill us.
Someone said that we aren't missing the material things so much as we are missing the need to physically connect with each other. I agree. I miss that most of all right now.
I am grieving.
So, in times of grief, we artists make art. I was debating whether to save this piece for another post. I've decided to share this now for those who are dealing with the various shutdowns, lockdowns, quarantines, or as we have here in MA, "stay at home advisories".
That's basically all of us right now.
So, here it is. Hopefully it lightens things a bit.
It's possible that by the time I post next, things will have eased up a little.
I certainly am holding on to hope.
Do what you can to hold on to hope. This will end. Hell may be eternal torment and suffering, but this will end. Do what you can to stay connected. We need that more than ever, any way we can get it. And please be safe.
For the 153 of you who found this blog last month (including one in the Netherlands), I apologize for having been away so long.
Health issues.
I'll explain more in another post.
For now though, I'm glad you found this little space dedicated to affirming the work of making art.
Thank You.
Happy 2018!
Dear God, in the words of John Winston Lennon,
"Let's hope it's a good one Without any fear"
From his lips to God's ear. If anything, before we get too far into what this new year may bring, it might be a good idea to look seriously at what 2017 and the years before it have brought us.
Now before anyone says "Donald Trump as POTUS", it should be noted that in 2009, many people thought our unresolved national and cultural issues were finally addressed with the election and swearing in of Barack Obama as President of the United States. We were riding a multi-cultural, "post racial" wave of optimism. Finally, FINALLY, someone had come to unite us all and save us.
The same thing has been said of Donald Trump by his apparently narrowing base of supporters, and a fair number of them are feeling the same sense of disappointment as many people did with Obama when they began to realize that neither man had "saved" us. Hence the rumblings of our discontent continue as we search for the next "savior", and wait for his (or her) glorious appearing. But there's a problem with saviors, and there's a problem with always needing to be saved. It kind of speaks to a predilection for finding trouble or trouble finding us. It says we haven't solved some basic problems in a truly meaningful way. We haven't resolved the issues that keep getting us into the kind of trouble that requires a dramatic rescue. Saviors and superheroes can be very good at dramatic rescues, and God knows it makes for great TV, movies and art. Witness the current box office titles or spend a night watching the CW network.
But what happens when our purported saviors are merely human (Barack Obama), or as in the case of Mr. Trump, not a savior at all but a blunt-spoken, charismatic (albeit mean-spirited) con artist who knows how to manipulate racial and gender animus to a contingent of our fellow citizens who are already inclined to believe that women, minorities, immigrants, LGBT people, and other "liberals" are what is holding this country back? More importantly, what happens when these saviors or savior wannabes fail us, as they invariably do?
If recent history is any guide, there will be the search for another savior, a crisis of faith such as what John the Baptist had when he sent people to ask Jesus, "Are you the one who is to come, or should we be looking for another?" Unfortunately, then as now, this tendency misses the point. During the Golden Globes event on January 7th, Oprah Winfrey addressed a crowd of celebrities about the gravity of the current "Me Too" moment. In a mere nine minutes, she once again proved why she is the icon and inspiration that she is. Following that came speculation of Oprah running for president in 2020. I groaned at the suggestion.
Let's just take this off the table. Oprah Winfrey will not save us. Barack Obama did not solve our racism problem. Donald Trump is not solving his base's perceived problem with the afore-mentioned "out" groups. In fact, he's given strength to a resistancewhose real power is only beginning to be felt. These people, many of them women (not surprisingly) and the very diverse people who Mr. Trump and his cohorts wish would just go away, are not superheroes or saviors. We know that neither Superman nor Supergirl nor the Flash are likely to come rescue us. We know that what needs to happen is the kind of creative thinking and problem solving that keeps us out of dire peril in the first place and we know we're the only ones who can do it.
We are, as Mr. Obama, a now rising icon said, the ones we've been waiting for. Cynics scoffed at the time. Note that these same cynics embraced their icon/savior with almost equal fervor in November 2016. Even so, Obama was right. With that in mind, our heroes and icons serve a purpose for good or ill. They inspire us to be more than we are or imagined we could be. Or they remind us of our failings and our sometimes dark and grotesque tendencies. We might do well to steer clear of saviors offering easy fixes to complex problems. They often fail us, and when they do, we tend to crucify them.
I've been at this picture for a while. It's a kind of update or snapshot of my progress as an artist in the last 20 years. It's called "Chiaroscuro 2.0". Now the word "chiaroscuro" comes from the Renaissance painters who used light and dark to create a dramatic effect when rendering three-dimensional forms. Leonardo daVinci and Rembrandt van Rijn are known for developing the technique. When it's done right, the results are stunning.
My attempt began 20 years ago with a pen and ink rendering based on some really great photography in a Victoria's Secret catalog. Now, some may scoff, but I should note here that beyond the obviously gorgeous women and the clothes, the photography in these catalogs is quite exquisite. One could argue that Russell James(no relation to LeBron) has a pretty sweet gig.
Anyway, my attempt in 1997 won Honorable Mention in a town art show up here in New England. Not too shabby considering that I was just figuring out how light and dark contrasts worked and how to render them correctly. Twenty years later, I'm still intrigued by it and I wanted to do another version of the piece, but this time in colored pencil. Herewith, I present to you, the original, and the newer piece which, at this moment is a work in progress.
Enjoy.
The original, done in 1997 and, below, the update for 2017 work in progress.
As you can see in this last image, it really begins to take on a kind of life, a substance if you will, which is exciting for me. Sometimes, prior to that moment, I have no idea whether the damned thing is even going to work. Here, it begins to. Obviously, it needs more to get the full effect, but we're well on the way at last. Check back for more updates as this gets closer to completion.
Just a note to add to the story of Chris Cornell's still bewildering suicide: according to his wife Vicky Karayiannis, Cornell spoke to her after his show in Detroit and she noticed that his speech was slurred, so she asked that one of his crew check on him. He said that he may have taken a bit more Ativan, which is an anti-anxiety medication, than he should have. One of the side effects of the drug is suicidal thoughts. Ativan reportedly is taken by some recovering addicts.
Chris Cornell had been an addict but was in recovery.
Everyone around him said he was fine, upbeat, and looking forward to more of life, more of touring, more of his family, so the suddenness of his passing is confusing to say the least. That he committed suicide is even more confusing, and only adds to the grief his wife and family, as well as all who knew him are feeling. Bad enough that he's gone. Worse that the circumstances surrounding his death are unresolved. Adding to this is the fact that the City of Detroit Police Dept. is considering this an "open investigation" and hasn't released any records yet.
Cornell's remains were cremated on May 23rd.
He is gone. Now we can only remember.
Chris Cornell, former (hellified!) lead singer of Soundgarden and Audioslave died May 17th in Michigan after playing a sold out show as part of the reunited Soundgarden's tour. Early confirmed reports say that he committed suicide by hanging himself in the bathroom of his hotel. His wife was shocked and grieved by his sudden departure, as were his many fans who were looking forward to seeing him perform. He had a full slate of appearances scheduled. Cornell was only 52.
He was in Worcester, MA last summer to do a show at the Hanover Theater. I never got to see him. Another flame of creative passion has been snuffed out for reasons that I cannot, and we cannot begin to imagine. I will be sad if the cause was related to addiction. Or depression. Sad because we still don't understand these things. Sad because it continues to afflict all of us.
Nothing else to say here. So I leave you with his music and with sadness that he cannot bring us more joy through his distinctive gift.
Chris Cornell
Born July 20th, 1964
Died May 17th, 2017
Rest In Peace
We were not ready for you to leave us.
Also, in other news, Gregg Allman died last week on May 27th. He was considered one of the pioneers of what has been called "Southern Rock". He was also the co-founder of the Allman Brothers Band. He was 69.
Last year this time, we were still reeling in shock and sadness over the sudden death of Prince on April 21st. I attempted to write about it at the time, but no words seemed adequate to describe what he had been, the sheer enormity of his talent and prodigious productivity or how the loss of him would reverberate. He was an incandescent flame of creative energy. We all feel the darkness now that he's no longer here.
Last year this time, we were beginning to suffocate as the news media was giving us unprecedented coverage (and an unprecedented amount of air time) to a simpleton, rage-fueled, attention whore, racist, erstwhile billionaire TV personality who was aspiring to the White House. He figured his scheme of being outrageously xenophobic enough, unbelievably "politically incorrect" enough might actually work. Meanwhile, many of us underestimated him, including me.
Last year this time, with the Paris Climate Accords having been signed in NY in April (the day after Prince died), we had hope that we were finally as a planet going to get a handle on climate change. Innovation and technology are leading the charge ahead of actual government policy, which I think is encouraging. Our collective creativity may yet win the day.
The conclusion I'm drawing here is that despite the turbulent and even savage times we live in, we are finding inventive ways to create lives that work, or at least work better. Take this story about an art studio in Manitoba, Canada that helps people who are mentally ill (which is to say suffering from things like depression, schizophrenia, etc.). They lost a federal grant which was worth $100,000, but the community stepped up and gave $153,000 to more than make up for the loss. This was reported just yesterday on the Good News Network. This is just one example of the ways in which we all find ways to "keep on keepin' on", as the old song goes.
The results can be pretty damned awesome.
More Later
KCD
P.S. The song, by Gladys Knight and the Pips from the 1970s is called "I've Got To Use My Imagination". Appropriate for these times, no?
The moment that many of us have dreaded since November 8th has finally arrived. Donald Trump was formally sworn in as President of the United States on Jan. 20th, 2017. It's probably the most scandal plagued administration that ever took office in the history of the Republic, as recent events are bearing out. Out of respect for my peace of mind, I am now ignoring the 24-hour news cycle and selectively reading stories that catch my interest.
Noting that, as this is a blog about art, the new president, consistent with Republican ideology will attempt to make dramatic cuts to things that we know to be public goods, such as Social Security, Medicare, funding for public education, healthcare, and the arts. Things such as the CPB (Corporation for Public Broadcasting which helps fund NPR, Sesame Street and Masterpiece Theatre), the NEA (National Endowment for the Arts) and others are once again in the crosshairs. Now, to be fair, funding for the arts has never been particularly robust at the federal level. In fact, according to a new analysis by Salon.com writer Scott Timberg, the previous administration's commitment to arts and culture funding was less than his predecessor, George W. Bush, who I note with continued shock, in his post-presidency, has taken up painting!
The new administration's budget blueprint calls for eliminating these agencies altogether. It's basically a symbolic move to show voters that they're serious about eliminating "wasteful spending". The truth is the combined money spent at the federal level on arts and culture is a scintilla of the overall federal budget. We still spend more on defense that the next 7 nations combined. What would happen if that were inverted? What would happen if things like inspiration, beauty, and reflection were actually priorities of local, state, and federal governments? What would our country, and indeed the world look like?
Whether these cuts happen or not is really dependent on people standing up and saying "NO" just the way we should be saying "NO" to the renewed and really quite tired attempt to slash Social Security and Medicare and all the rest. We must once again prove that engagement with art (having it and making it) is beneficial to the public and worth public investment.
There is a lot of research that shows that it is. Without these things we become more savage, less able to think and reason deeply, less contemplative and reflective, and more prone to the simplistic and reductionist ideologies of racism, misogyny, homophobia, and authoritarian-style strongman rule.
In other words, since our public investment in arts funding has been historically abysmal, I would argue it is part of the reason we have Donald Trump in the White House and not someone who truly represents the best of the US. The best of us. Now I understand that this is more political than this blog has tended to be, and I have heard the argument that the arts and artists shouldn't be political. Art shouldn't be provocative, or so the thinking goes. But it's precisely because art is provocative that repressive governments attempt to eliminate art from the public space. There's historical precedent for what's being contemplated here, and it's why we all need to make our current government STOP THIS. Ultimately, we the people have the power to stop yet another idiotic and cynical attempt to cut something that does a tremendous amount of good for a relative pittance.
Do the math: $448 million to the CPB vs. $54 BILLION for our military apparatus.
My return from blogging purgatory is greeted by a new, grim, surreality. It's called Donald Trump as incoming President of the United States. What the hell happened?
Well, simply, 61 million people voted in the states that mattered in the Electoral College and on November 9th, the rest of us woke up in this alternate universe. And you thought "Flashpoint" was just a story arc on "The Flash".
People are imagining the worst possible scenarios right now in a Trump Administration. It's not unreasonable to assume that at least some of that could happen. I've spent nearly two weeks in a near fetal position waiting to be awakened when it's over. But I've also spent the last few months doing what I do: making art, and that takes on renewed and critical significance given the new landscape. So while journalists and sages (we call them "pundits") report the details and provide analysis, I will continue to do what I have been doing, what I would have been doing if Hillary Clinton were the incoming President of the United States. From that perspective, nothing has changed. If things were the other way around, there would still be a need for the kind of breath of fresh air that living with well-made art of all kinds brings. There would still be the need for beauty and deepening of soul. There would still be the need for the kind of emotional and mental reset that art brings.
We would still have divisions to heal in this country, hurting and angry people that haven't been listened to or tended to for a long time, people who haven't benefited from this "recovery" that the current administration is so proud of. Unfortunately, that anger has given oxygen to the very worst elements of our political expression.
So I would say grieve if you must. Go through the stages, ride the waves of emotion that will surely surge. God knows I am. But when those waves recede, and they will, remember that this wave will recede as well. It's already happening in the UK as people rethink Brexit.
David Bowie is dead at 69. He fought an 18 month battle with cancer that apparently no one knew about except his family.
Alan Rickman, a.k.a. Severus Snape (and the bad guy in "Die Hard", and the Sheriff of Nottingham in "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves" who chewed the scenery while Kevin Costner attempted, badly, to affect a British accent) of the Harry Potter franchise is dead at 69. Apparently he had cancer as well and kept it a secret.
Now, here stateside comes word that Glenn Frey, founding member of the Eagles has died of a variety of illnesses relating to arthritis, ulcerative colitis, and pneumonia. He was 67. The Eagles had completed a two-year tour called "History of the Eagles" this past July. The tour came with a 3-hour documentary on Showtime that was quite compelling.
We're not even 3 weeks into 2016. What the hell's going on? Well, on one level, there is a very natural passing on of life. People like me grew up listening to the Eagles in the 1970s and were trying to figure out just who or what the hell Ziggy Stardust was. Alan Rickman was already 28 years old when he started his career as an actor. No one had ever even heard of him. Now, Don Henley calls the day he met Glenn Lewis Frey in 1970 a moment that changed his life forever. The proof is in the pudding obviously. But that was 45 years ago.
WHAT??
By the time Alan Rickman cast a contemptuous eye on his unsuspecting students at Hogwarts Academy as Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, his career as an actor had spanned 25 years. And David Bowie was long past his Ziggy Stardust, gender bending days by 2001. A mere 15 years ago. In my mind, and in the minds of many others my age, these people, these artists were doing amazing things, and I was still a kid. I hadn't figured out anything. So it's a shock when these people suddenly pass because we're still looking up to them to inspire us, to lead us. Maybe to let us know that there's still time to sort it out. One more spin of "Heartache Tonight" or "New Kid in Town". Or one more turn of "Let's Dance" or "Fame" by Bowie. One more time watching Rickman as Snape or the Sheriff of Nottingham. One more time around. Where's that VHS?
Oh. It's a DVD now. No. It's BluRay. Or Netflix. Or Hulu. Now you can see it (or hear it) on these little mini-computers that allow you to make phone calls. They're called "smart phones".
Smart phones? It took me hours and a search to figure out how to just answer the goddamned thing when a call comes in. I feel pretty dumb to be honest.
And I feel blindsided.
And I don't really care a damn that these people have had pretty amazing lives, done pretty awesome things and have now moved on. It's too damned soon. I wasn't ready for them to leave. I'm just beginning. How will I know whether I've got it right? When did it happen, when was the moment that I stopped being a kid? I was always in awe of these people. Like so many of us.
Now, we have to take the stage ourselves without them. Swallow the fear as they must have. Lean into that uncertainty and fling ourselves out there. Look to catch the wind and soar as they did. They were here to inspire us, but they couldn't very well fly for us, could they? Nor could we very well expect them to stay and watch. Something has ended. We feel that. But the time for our own uniqueness in this world has only begun. And it can't happen if we wait for the next great thing these people create while our own greatness languishes, while our own music still has yet to play. So maybe the way to remember these and others who've passed and who've left such a mark (like Lemmy Kilmister of Motorhead, and Mic Gillette who founded Tower Of Power) is by noting that though their time has passed, ours has come. And we're ready.
But first we mourn:
David Bowie (born: David Robert Jones January 8th, 1947; died: January 10th, 2016) Alan Rickman (born: Alan Sidney Patrick Rickman February 21st, 1946; died January 14th, 2016) Glenn Frey (born: Glenn Lewis Frey November 6th 1948; died January 18th, 2016)
Working artists all. We were not ready for you to leave us.
Rest In Peace.
"Let's Dance" by David Bowie
"New Kid In Town" by the Eagles with Glenn Frey on guitar and vocals.
The Sheriff of Nottingham in "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves" played with relish by Alan Rickman.
Wherever in the world Paris Hilton is laying her head tonight, I'm quite sure her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep will not be about me, or my little blog where I, among other things, skewer people like her and the Kardashians and the pop culture landscape that celebrates (yea, worships!) anything that promotes style over substance.
How do I know this? For two reasons. One, why should she? She exists in another realm and breathes another kind of air than I do. She doesn't have to care what I think. She's made a ton, several tons, actually, of money trafficking on her looks and on a carefully crafted version of herself that represents the kind of vapid, clueless celebrity that people like me roll their eyes at. But today I got a bit of an eye-opener after reading a fairly detailed story about her inBroadly. Behind the baby voice, and the doe-eyed, air-headed affect is someone who does in fact know what she's doing and understands that her persona is, in a way, a bit of performance art. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Hilton is acting. She's giving us a show. She's tried her hand at acting and at music while we all thought she was just looking for something to occupy her time, but if this story is to be believed, her dance card is plenty full. Always has been. From New York to Paris to L.A. and back. Rinse and repeat. She's been having us on the whole time. There's probably not a lot of social critique going on in all this. It's just something that happens to work for her and has made her quite wealthy and famous. From a business perspective, this kind of shameless self-promotion works. She's not the only one who's tried it, and it's essentially harmless compared to the horrific bombast of Donald Trump, who will not EVER get to be president, and whose only reason for campaigning is to promote his monumental ego.
He actually doesn't care a damn about the job of president anymore than Paris Hilton cares what I think. Which leads us to reason Number Two why Paris Hilton cares not a damn what I think: she's said as much. In the aforementioned article, she says, "I don't really care what people think about me." I take her at her word. My noting is of this phenomenon of faux celebrity that she's a part of and helped create. She, and the Kardashians and a bunch of others are a mirror for this culture of no-think. Of distraction. And, to be sure, a bit of it is fine. Just like a bit of McDonald's so-called "food" is fine.
You just don't want to mistake it for the real thing and make a steady diet of it. The effect, over time is deleterious. With that understood, I will say that like so many of us, I was fooled by the image of a shallow celebrity party-girl which is in fact, a brand being fleshed out by a rather attractive and canny young woman.
Well played, Paris. Not that you care a damn what I think. Nor should you.
Feast your eyes, friends. Maybe there is yet a functioning brain in there. But, as a friend of mine put it recently, "The brilliance only goes so far."
On Sept. 25th, Apple released its newest iPhone. The iPhone 6s and 6 Plus. According to published reports, 13 million of them were sold during launch week, with 10 million of them sold during the first three days of the launch. CEO Tim Cook announced that although they may look familiar, "we've changed everything about these new iPhones."
Oh, goody. Just when you were figuring out how to update your Facebook page with this thing, they go and change EVERYTHING. Just when you were figuring out how to speak in Emojis on your Twitter feed, they go and change EVERYTHING.
And did I mention that without a contract, these devices start at $650? Now, lest anybody think that I'm just "hatin'" on new technology, let me say that there do seem to be some pretty cool features with this upgrade. The camera features by themselves make this fascinating for the true tech-heads among us. The always on Siri feature could become a bit annoying in the way that Number Six was a constant distraction for Gaius Baltar. And it's safe to assume Siri bears no resemblance to Tricia Helfer.
A rep at the local Verizon outlet told me they were only getting 40 iPhones to sell initially that first day, and that there'd be a line stretching round the block. I didn't go check but he may have been right. Poor bastard had to work that opening too.
Ye Gods. Behold what Steve Jobs hath wrought upon the earth! Behold his second coming (or third or fourth; he died Oct. 5th, 2011) in every new iteration of the I...fill in the blank. There's a new movie out now about him, exploring his complexity.
I just find it a curiosity that a man so obviously brilliant could get people to plunk down a sizable chunk of change every time one of his digital offspring reproduces after its kind, so that they can go take "selfies" at a baseball game. I'd like to think Steve Jobs' legacy would not be another generation of mindless sheep, or worse, tech-starved addicts. Unfortunately, we have a predilection in this culture to lionize CEOs, to gather by the hundreds if not thousands and incline our ears for the next bit of "wisdom" these people might drop on us.
It's just another sales pitch, people.
But the multitudes stream forth from the event as if from some revival, and before you know it, everyone you know has the shiny new trinket, eyes glazed over, updating Facebook statuses and refreshing Twitter feeds and sinking into blissful oblivion from the lights on the tiny screen.
Go forth and consume. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.
Evangeline Lilly, the actress who first appeared on "Lost" has apparently decided to slip on a bikini following the birth of her second child. Hollywood, whose camera lens zeroes in on things of such magnitude, got pictures of what she looks like in said bikini after carrying extra pounds of human inside her.
Hadn't heard much from Evangeline Lilly in a while. Reports say the last movie she was in was "Marvel's Ant-Man" starring an insect sized superhero. I heard one report some time ago where she said she was done with acting. She was going to do "missionary work". I suppose one might argue that she's done exactly that.
One observer on social media posted, "Thank God. I was just getting wrapped up in the last school shooting. Glad there are more important things trending."
No more sleepless nights. Unless of course you want to concern yourself with the fact that Mexico might well go the way of Atlantis if this never-before-seen hurricane makes landfall.
Iggy Azalea, rapper from Australia, felt the need to remove her constrictions before boarding a flight at LAX back on Oct. 16th. Wearing a white bodysuit with a plunging neckline, she was photographed at the airport and the pics went viral.
Sigh. I don't even know who this woman is. Nor do I know if "Iggy" is a stage name or what her parents actually decided to call her (apparently, it is a stage name; her given name is Amethyst Amelia Kelly). All I know is that in the midst of all the insanity circling the planet and its inhabitants, the world still pauses at the sight of...breasts.
Admittedly, Amethyst Amelia Kelly at 25 is very attractive. She was a model who decided she could be a rapper and a singer. She's a pop music confection. Kind of a cartoon. Seems to be working for her. There may even be a method to her madness. There clearly has been with the multi-faceted, multi-talented Lady Gaga. Time will tell. Meanwhile, notice how our corporate-owned celebrity media has chosen to fixate on this girl's cleavage and turn it into some naughty sensation. The fashion press goes to this well often, and it seems like the well is always full. Yet the subtext is grounded in a kind of repression. "Proper ladies don't act like this, don't dress like this, don't flaunt it like this."
Right. "Tell us something we don't know". But that's just it. Our collective unawareness is such that we're all apoplectic, as if the sight of a woman's breasts is some new and salacious sinful thing loosed upon the earth by some minion of hell. And we fall for it over and over again.
Autumn here in New England is well and fully upon us, and despite some dry weather for a few weeks, some recent rain may well have saved our colors this season. California, on the other hand has more to worry about than fall colors. They need A LOT MORE rain than they've had in a while, and the good news is that it looks like they're going to get some if Accu-Weather is, well, accurate.
Thank goodness.
Bristol Palin is pregnant. Again. Outside the bounds of holy matrimony. Again. She who took off the Candies Foundation for a quarter mil for preaching abstinence has somehow found it impossible to keep from scratching the itch before she "put a ring on it".
It should be pretty obvious to anyone paying attention that whilst advocating for teen abstinence, Bristol, who was already a mother of one when she was 18, hasn't exactly been, ahem, abstaining. Now, amazingly, she says that she wants no judgment, no lectures, that her family is disappointed, and that this pregnancy was, in fact, planned.
Okay. No judgment. No lectures. In exchange, Bristol Palin should just admit that she likes sex. A LOT. Oh, and she should give back the money. And, she should stop with the judgments and the lectures and the references to the Almighty, because that just makes her look like more of a hypocrite, as if we needed more of those.
If you haven't already guessed friends, this is another one of these posts where I observe how we in this country confer celebrity status on people who shouldn't be anywhere near it. Bristol Palin, whose mother ran for VP in 2008, is a particularly vapid example of those who preach a kind of repressive morality that they don't themselves practice, and get paid a lot of money to do it. So while Ms. Palin may want a pass for her obvious lack of integrity, she may just find rocks being thrown at her glass house.
Last week, after a long moment spent staring long and hard at the face and hair-do of Rachel Dolezal, she who would be outed for attempting (and succeeding for nearly a decade) to pass as black in Spokane, WA, we got jolted back into lurid reality from absurd fantasy. Down in Charleston, SC, a young man barely out of his teens (yea, barely out of diapers!) with the most awful impression of David McCallum's hair-cut from "The Man From U.N.C.L.E." proceeded to commit mayhem at a Bible study in one of the oldest historically black churches in the nation. After sitting for an hour with the attendees, and after having second thoughts because, as he said, "Everyone was so nice," he murdered 9 people, all black, including the pastor. He left one woman alive (after asking if she'd been shot yet), and explained to her that he had to do this, "because you're raping our women and you're taking over our country. So you have to go."
Let's just clear a couple of things up right from the off. This is aracially motivated hate crime. Full stop. Dylann Storm Roof is a domestic terrorist. Again, full stop. Somewhere along the way in Eastover, SC (a real place; not to be confused with East Over Shoe), this pathetic young man who had to repeat 9th grade and decided it wasn't worth the bother, became radicalized listening to the sweet rantings of the Council of Conservative Citizens which believes, among other things that mixing the races is against God and the natural order. Dylann Roof actually got the idea that no one was actively doing anything about the USA's steady movement toward inclusion and equality, which, despite all the focus on what's wrong right now, has been happening. If it weren't, we wouldn't be talking about a kid with a bad haircut shooting up a church full of black people.
So he had to act. Can't have these black and white folks getting together. God only knows what might happen. We might find out we're all (gasp!) the same. Dylann Roof was going to make damned sure that never happens, and in the process, start a race war (which radicals on the political right have been hankering for ever since I can remember). Civil War 2.0.
Funny thing happened though. The victims' families, instead of lashing out in absolutely understandable rage and pain, saw through that, and offered forgiveness. Now forgiveness is not something you do for other people. It's something you do for yourself. These families were taking the first step towards healing for themselves as they watched Dylann Roof on a courtroom screen being arraigned. He'd confessed to the murders. Now he looked a bit sheepish that his bold statement failed to have the effect he intended.
So what we have here is a restating of events. Just to be clear, this isn't a one-off. This is a pattern, a sort of deranged synchronicity playing itself out to its own strangely logical conclusion. Incidents of police brutality towards black citizens have been getting press for about a year now, but those who seek to profit from dividing us keep insisting race is not a factor, and that these people are just getting "what they deserve". Those same people are sputtering now to apply the same logic to this case and apoplectic that it doesn't hang as well. This case is pretty, as they say, black and white. Open and shut. The killer confessed. Even if we indulge the talking heads for a moment and say that these other cases are dubious, THIS ONE AIN'T. It's as clear cut as a case gets, and the victims could not be more innocent. It's time to connect the dots.
Let's quit kidding ourselves. The USA has a lot of ugly history to face up to and resolve if it wants to move forward, and the Dylann Rooves (plural of Roof), and their enablers cannot be allowed to frame the discussion anymore. They cannot be allowed to confuse the issue, divide us, and profit from that division. They have nothing to stand on and nothing to contribute. It's time we tune them out so that people who understand the truth can grapple with what the world will look like now that it's been proven that we are all the same, that we are all one.
Big Blue Marble, a PBS series that ran from 1974-1983. It showed us how we're more alike than not.
