The End of the American Century

I might be going at things a little backwards. Most people concerned about our involvement in Iraq are probably looking for something positive to agree with. There isn’t much out there, ranging from the president’s most recent iteration of “stay the [ever-changing] course” to the Democratic rebuttal: “pull out now,” or “at least pretty soon.” Both options seem to offer great risks and only minimal chance of success.

When neither extreme offers an answer, reasonable folks look for someplace in the middle to find a compromise. This is happening in Congress as moderates from both parties try to build consensus around a plan for accelerated withdrawal that falls somewhere between Bush’s acknowledgement that his plan has large numbers of Americans in Iraq for decades and the anti-war Dems’ plans, which would have the troops home for Christmas, or at least Valentine’s Day.

For me, all sides seem to offer some compelling arguments, but only when they’re attacking the other sides. In other words, it seems clear to me that no matter what we do, it’s going to turn out badly. In other words, we’re pretty much fucked here.

To the Iraqis, “Oops.”

Imagine this as a platform for one of the dozen or so presidential candidates: “I promise [insert sound bite that substitutes for a complex military and political strategy], and I believe the results will be disastrous for the United States and for Iraq. Still, that’s what I plan to do.” But if you add up all the stark assessments of recent days, it’s hard to believe much of anything else. Petraeus, for all his confidence in the surge strategy, won’t project anything further than about a year out. Such projections, he concedes, have been unreliable in the past. Additionally, he’s afraid he just can’t say if the war in Iraq is making America safer.

This is a far cry from reaching Berlin by Christmas. Now that was a war that lent itself to calendar references.

What’s clear to me, and to most Americans, is what an unqualified disaster Iraq is right now. What seems unclear, or possibly just unacceptable to most everybody else, is that there’s nothing we can do about it. In fact, all sides make compelling arguments about how bad it will be if we do what the other side wants

Does this make me a pessimist? Probably, but maybe not entirely.

For a few years now, I’ve been thinking of these later years of my life as “The End of the American Century.” It’s coincidental that our American century happened to occupy roughly the 20th century and the end of a millennium, but it feels fitting somehow that the new millennium is going to look very different from the last one, America-wise. This suggests that the American empire was remarkably short lived. The Mayans, after all, had three thousand years, and they didn’t even have the wheel. We had everything from Silly Putty to manned space flight and we could barely squeeze out a century.

None of what I’m suggesting is particularly farfetched or even cynical. It’s obvious in Iraq, as it was in Vietnam, that American military power is unsuited for and ineffective against determined little insurgencies. But that can and should be seen as a good thing. We might even come to feel some gratitude to Bush 43 for so clearly illustrating in so short a time that American military domination is no longer an effective tool of foreign policy. In the end, if we want to have much influence on the world stage, it’s going to have to be as one nation among equals. The best hope for Iraq might be an international effort to rebuild, not destroy. We might try to get something started on that.

Or not. In any case, Iraq’s future is beyond the influence of American military determinism, as is the future of, say, Iran and Syria. The fundamental neocon principle of projecting American power abroad has been shown to be more than just a failure. It might, dare we hope, be America’s last such failure. In its place might arise a new American foreign policy of cooperation for mutual benefit, not premised on military threats. The possibilities are quite exciting, really. We’d just have to be patient with the rest of the world if they were suspicious for awhile.

American economic dominance also pretty much ended with the stroke of Y2K. The smart money for the new millennium is on China and India, but the millennium is still just a baby. Again, cooperation instead of domination might lead to possibilities that are difficult to visualize but not that farfetched. Imagine a significant part of our military budget going into education, and it’s possible to see an American economy that can still compete with the rest of the world. And imagine an economic theory based on cooperation rather than competition.

Personally, I think capitalism and competition are way over-rated.

If we weren’t spending all of our time and effort on world domination, we might be able to do a better job at home on some basics such as true universal health care, which by itself could save more lives than a dozen wars on terror. We might turn our creativity and determination toward developing energy sources which are cheap, clean, and entirely renewable. This would eliminate the risk losing Middle East oil.

Wouldn’t if be fun to thumb our noses at the sheiks and sultans? We could do the wave from coast to coast and find a way to hook that up to the grid.

The end of the American century does not necessarily mean total social collapse, as happened to the Mayans. Just as most countries have adjusted reasonably well to a post-colonial era, America could adapt well to a post-imperial era. We could be like France. Okay, Denmark then, but warmer.

But collapse is possible, as Jared Diamond documents in his book of that title. It could be triggered by an oil crisis, climate crisis, credit crisis, or an as-yet unidentified crisis. Like the Mayans, it could happen very quickly. In the end, perhaps our future depends on our ability to rethink ourselves into a new paradigm.

The American Century is over. Long live the new world order, whatever it turns out to be. Despite my tendency towards cynicism, I’ve been thinking of the last few years as a beginning.

My Summer Vacation

The weather begins a subtle but perceptible change that tells me fall is almost here. Afternoon temperatures are still in the mid-80s, but nights are cooling off faster. With nighttime lows in the 40s, the house is slightly cold as I write this. Sometime in the next few weeks, I’ll start turning on our geothermal heat overnight to take the edge off the morning chill.

Around the neighborhood, leaves show the first signs of turning, and the pear tree in our backyard is already dropping fruit and leaves.

Summer went by so fast that it’s hard for me to believe it’s almost over. It seems like only a few weeks ago that I turned in grades for the three classes I taught spring term and immediately left on a five-day motorcycle trip. Travel throughout the Northwest occupied most of my time this summer, and I’ve been gone more than I’ve been home.

My first trip was to a BMW motorcycle rally in John Day. I’ve belonged to the Oregon BMW riders for over twenty years and have many friends in the club. Although I haven’t owned a Beemer for some time now, they still let me tag along and only slightly give me a bad time because I ride a Honda.

Shortly after getting back from the rally, I left again for Laguna Seca and the world motorcycle grand prix races in Monterey. These are the best riders on the fastest bikes in the world, and Laguna Seca draws tens of thousands of enthusiastic riders every year for the races and the festival atmosphere that goes with them. I was out for two weeks, making my way down through the redwoods and the Oregon and California coast. Usually I camped alone, but I also stayed with friends in Santa Cruz and met another friend and his sister in Big Sur, where we camped during race weekend. It was a great trip and I was out for two weeks.

As soon as I got back, I started setting up our little travel trailer and Mary and I left for another two-week vacation on Orcas Island in Washington state’s San Juans. We took four days getting up there, staying on the northern Oregon Coast. On Orcas we did the usual tourist things. We rented a kayak and took some lessons and an evening tour around the island. It was good fun, but I was a little surprised that I didn’t fall in love with it. I thought I was going to have to buy one.

I was more excited to rent a sailboat and take it out solo for a great afternoon in a brisk wind on East Sound. I sailed quite a lot on Klamath Lake when we first moved here twenty-three years ago but reached a point at which the limits of lake sailing dimmed my enthusiasm. I don’t doubt, though, that if I lived on the coast I’d soon be back into it.

For the most part, we spent our vacation enjoying the spectacular scenery and the good fun we always have together.

We got back from the San Juans a few days earlier than I expected, which made me realize I could still make it up to Portland for a meeting of Honda VFR riders. I hang around an internet discussion site devoted to this bike, and the Pacific Northwest subgroup was hosting its third annual get-together. After only two days at home, I expressed an interest in going up and got an invitation from the organizer to stay with him, so I hooked up with two other riders from Southern Oregon and made the trip.

There were about fifty guys, and my host Tim and his wife put on a magnificent barbecue, and all of us had a great evening of food and motorcycle talk. The VFR goes back to the mid-80s Honda superbike race machine, and the street version is now in its 6th generation. It’s widely celebrated in the motorcycle press as the best all-around sport touring bike ever made, and although there is plenty of competition now from other manufacturers, it’s still regarded as a superb and spirited sport tourer. It exaggerates but not too much to say it has a cult following.

The next day we made a group ride up to Windy Ridge to view the Mount Saint Helens spectacle. Mary and I were there a year or two after the eruption, and although there are visible signs of recovery, the immense power and devastation of the blast are still quite apparent.

Still, our stop was brief. Being motorcyclists, we were more interested in the power we were sitting on, and during the day we put in about 300 miles of scenic and spirited riding. I was rather proud to be able to stay with all but the fastest riders. (I believe in the Goldilocks principle of motorcycle pacing: people who ride faster than I do are riding too fast; people who ride slower than me are riding too slow. I like all my rides to be just right.)

Now it’s time to settle in at home and start to slowly catch up on all the deferred maintenance of my life. Mary is back at school and students return tomorrow. By choice, I’m not teaching this fall. I am taking a couple of classes: Spanish and Tai Chi. I look forward to being a student for a few weeks again.

It remains to be seen whether the community college will have any classes for me winter or spring, or if I’ll feel like taking them on. For now, I’m content to settle into fall, the cool and colorful season that invites us to wander aimlessly through our external and internal landscapes.

A Day at the Races

I had my best year ever at the races at Laguna Seca, despite the heartbreak of our American hero Nicky Hayden's early crash, totally not his fault. Hayden is the reigning world champion in a sport that is second only to soccer in popularity worldwide: motorcycle roadracing. In his own country, he's virtually unknown, except to a hardcore cadre of race fans like myself and the 54,000 other fans at the race last Sunday.

After winning at Laguna the last two years, this year doesn't count on my scorecard, and I'm hoping he can win it next year and I'll call it a triple.

I spent two weeks on the road, camping every night or staying with friends. I travelled 2,500 miles and spent less than $1,500 total, including race tickets and a couple of souvenirs. I don't think it's possible to have such a fun vacation for much less money.

The VFR was a great ride, even with about a ton of gear strapped on. I've never been known to travel light. The Honda sport-tourer is consistently rated one of the best bikes in the world and has won many award as Bike of the Year from cycle magazines. After seven years in the saddle, I still love it like it's new out of the box.

The Laguna Seca facility continues to learn and improve after some serious crowd management problems in recent years, compounded by 100-degree temperatures last year. There were lots more shade areas, plenty to be able to find shade between races if I needed a time out. Also, they had giant "fog" machines for cooling off, which proved unnecessary this year as temps only made it to the upper 70s. Perfect! It's important to be able to cool off when I get overheated.

Crowd traffic was also much improved as they opened the track for fan crossovers after races, eliminating the bottlenecks. It was also very cool to stand in turn one, look down at the starting grid and up at the blind hill they hit at close to 200 mph. It barely looks like a turn from off the track, but many riders say it's the most intimidating point in the race, despite the famed corkscrew. And you could see the tracks of the bikes, about a foot wide, every rider hitting the perfect line on every lap. Amazing.

As always, the cheap seats, which is your own folding chair and a pair of binoculars, make for the best seating. Coming prepared is the difference between a spectacular day or a long ordeal. I try to come prepared and learn a little more about track survival each year.

Again this year, squid traffic was bad off track. I was turning into a freeway offramp in light traffic and was bumped from the rear by a guy riding two up. I gave plenty of signal and was to the right in my lane, so have no idea how he made that mistake other than just following too closely. He may have been trying to pass me on the inside, a common riding offense down there. But no harm.
Also, on the way back to my campground at Big Sur, a squid passed a line of bikes plus me and the truck in front of me going into a turn during triple digits and then some. An oncoming car appeared and he had to ride the double yellow between them. One of the dumbest moves I've ever seen on a bike, but not too different from other stunts I've observed. These people are putting MY life at risk. There were other lesser incidents, but again, no harm.

In contrast, everybody I talked to at cafes and gas stations was terrific. The excitement of the races brings out the most knowledgable and dedicated race fans on the coolest bikes. I just love it! My friend Keith, who I meet up with and camp with, brought his 41 year old sister, who is a NASCAR fan but has a crush on Italian Superstar Valentino Rossi. She said she couldn't believe how friendly everybody is compared to NASCAR events. She liked the diversity of the crowd. She tried hard to get a Rossi autograph but couldn't quite hook up. She did get one from some guy named Mick Doohan! Mick was world champion when I was living in Tokyo, and I'd watch the races with Japanese announcers on TV and it would sound something like "haji mashita goojie MICK DOOHAN des kamoto sanoma MICK DOOHAN!!!!"

I'd leave again tomorrow to do it all again, but have to wait another year. Hell, I'm sixty years old and the last time I had so much fun was when I was a kid and the Dodgers moved to L.A., where I grew up, and beat the Yankees in the World Series in four straight games. I had thought life was pretty much down hill from that point on, but Laguna is a close second, and my guy didn't even win.

Quite simply, Laguna Seca is the premier motorcycle event in North America, and the track finally has worked out all the kinks that have existed in the past.

It's like the pilgrammage to Mecca. If you love motorcycles and racing, God wants you to go there at least once.

What, Are We Stupid?

Today’s Oregonian features an editorial endorsing a really bad idea: humanitarian visas for tens of thousands of Iraqis. Oregon’s scrappy Democrat Peter DeFazio has sponsored a bill in the house calling for a free pass for 50 thousand Iraqis. Oregon Republican Senator Gordon Smith called and raised him 20 thousand.

The reasoning is humane. We created a mess over there and some Iraqis came to our assistance. They were the good guys who now face certain reprisals as our war strategy melts down. We owe them safe transit and haven, just as we did the tens of thousands of Vietnamese who served us as we retreated out of Vietnam in the 70s.

Mary and I sponsored two of those Vietnamese refugees in 1979, so it’s not as though I’m immune to these arguments. But how much damage from the Bush war can we reasonably be expected to mitigate? The Oregonian was in editorial support of “preemptive war” when I thought anyone with half a brain could see what a disaster it was going to be. Perhaps the editors feel guilty.

I feel a lot of things, but guilt isn’t one of them.

We’ve already paid with over 3,500 American deaths, the squander of hundreds of billions of dollars, and the crushing of America’s standing as part of the community of nations. Iraqis have paid much more, and they’ll continue to pay much more. But the mostly foiled bomb plot in Britain last week makes a good case to me that we should be admitting fewer Middle East immigrants, not more, regardless of their skills, education, or level of risk at home.

I’ve never believed the absurd argument that we must defeat the terrorists over there or they will follow us home. On the other hand, I don’t think it’s a particularly good idea to invite them to dinner, and there is simply no way in the world we could adequately vet tens of thousands of displaced Iraqis. Al-Qaeda, get in line! Doctors move to the front of the line! Await further orders when you arrive.

I’m tired of paying for Bush’s mistakes and being told we have a moral responsibility to pay more. If we want to bring 70 thousand Iraqis to the U.S., send them all to Crawford, Texas and let George make barbeque.

More realistically, we should be taking steps to help at-risk Iraqis resettle in parts of the Middle East where at-risk Iraqis are already settling, primarily Lebanon, Syria, and Iran. And we could pressure our good friends the Kuwaitis to open their doors. And Egypt. Saudi Arabia. Whatever.

So, call me racist. I’m happy to have twelve million illegal immigrants who are already here. I wish them well. I’m inclined to agree with those who say next step is to seal the border. It might not be perfect, but when the ship is sinking, you plug the leak, then you start to bail.

But at this time, I believe it makes every reasonable sense in the world to severely restrict immigration from any part of the world where polls show that the majority of popular opinion supports Al-Qaeda and direct terrorist attacks against America.

What, are we stupid?

The Devil in My Backyard

The Washington Post ran a series of articles on Dick Cheney last week. I’ve been reasonably sure for the last few years that Dick Cheney is The Devil, so I was interested in what the Post had to say.

No surprise that Cheney is the most powerful Vice President in history. No surprise, either, that he’s also the most secretive. The lead author of the Post series said on the McNeal-Lehrer report the other night that what was surprising was the scope of Cheney’s activities.

I’ll say! The final article focuses right here where I live in the Klamath Basin and ties into a story I’ve followed closely for seven years. Dick Cheney’s been in the thick of it all along, though this is the first time he’s been tied by name to events here. I’m afraid to look under my bed for fear of what I might find. So far, it seems that’s the only place he hasn’t left any footprints, at least none documented in the Post articles.

Over the next few days, I’ll write up a few of my own posts and see if I can explain my understanding of the local story. It’s complicated.

It begins and ends with water.

Klamath Lake is Oregon’s largest lake, running about thirty-five miles long by ten to fifteen miles wide. In addition to the lake, we’re surrounded by wetlands and wildlife refuges, a mere fraction of what existed a hundred years ago, but still impressive. The basin is a main stop-over for migrating birds on the Pacific flyway. We host the largest winter population of bald eagles in the lower forty-eight, which come here to feast on the waterfowl. In summer, I’m always delighted to see the return of the white pelicans, our city mascot, from their winter stay in Mexico. Smart birds! And beautiful and majestic in flight. This is a magnificent place to live.

The view from my front porch, with the Klamath River and Mount Shasta in the distance

But water in the basin is a scarce commodity, and everyone who has an interest in it is always fighting everyone else for their fair share and maybe a little bit more. The lake itself, despite its size, is shallow and warm, and its health depends on adequate water levels even in the dry summer months. Despite its marginal environmental conditions, it’s home to record-size trout, often running over twenty pounds. It’s also home to two endangered species of sucker fish. The Klamath Indian Tribes, which hold treaty rights for fishing and hunting, depended on the sucker fish for food until recent years. They voluntarily stopped fishing when the sucker was declared endangered, but they’ve been willing to go to court to fight for lake levels that will contribute to its survival.

There are Indians downriver, too, at the mouth of the Klamath River. For countless generations the Hoopa Indians of Northern California depended on salmon runs to sustain their culture, and salmon runs depend on adequate water flows so they can swim upriver to spawn. Both commercial and recreational fishermen also depend on the salmon. At one time, the Klamath River salmon fishery was second on the West Coast only to the mighty Columbia itself. Today, native Klamath River salmon are also endangered.

Add basin agriculture into this already delicate balance. The Klamath Project, a Bureau of Reclamation project, diverts lake water to The A Canal, from which water is drawn to irrigate the fields of over a thousand family farms. And they really are family farms, too. So far, the Basin has been able to resist the spread of corporate farming, for whatever reasons. Many of the local farms go back for three or more generations.

In my next post, I’ll talk about what happened in 1991, when federal agencies cut off water to the Klamath Project to protect the endangered suckers.

Meanwhile, for homework, read Marc Reisner’s Cadillac Desert. If you have a little more time, you can read John McPhee’s Basin and Range for extra credit.

The Impossible Dream

http://world.honda.com/message/impossibledreams/cm/

Addicted to Speed

I got my first ticket as a kid of eleven. I had a bicycle fitted out with a lawnmower engine, and about the first time I rode it more than a block from home, a cop made a U-turn on a busy street, hit his lights, and started bearing down on me.

“Run!” my friends yelled. I probably would have just sat there and waited for the LEO to arrive, but when I heard that word I gunned it and took off, cutting through alleys and back yards and working my knowledge of the neighborhood to compensate for my horsepower disadvantage as the cruiser shot up and down side streets trying to cut me off.

I’ve never done it since, but I’ve got to say there’s a certain thrill in trying to elude a police officer in hot pursuit.

I almost made it, too, when I ducked into a friend’s open garage and pulled the door down behind he, but Officer Obie saw me and, to say the least, he came out of that cruiser so angry you’d have thought I’d robbed a bank and was shooting over my shoulder as he tried to bring me to justice. In the end I was written up for riding an unregistered motor vehicle and evading a law enforcement officer.

I’ve observed that LEOs have virtually no sense of humor when we stop to have a discussion of my driving habits. I remember I had to go to court with my dad, though I don’t remember what the sentence was. What could they do? I was eleven! Take away my license?

No, actually, that would have to wait until my sixteenth birthday when I got a license in the morning and promptly lost it that very afternoon when I got busted for going fifty in my parents Chrysler in front of the cute girl’s house a few blocks over. That would be fifty in a twenty-five. Pop! My second ticket, back in court with my dad, and I had to wait another six months before I could drive again. You’d think I would have learned.

But not, because like just about every motorcyclist I hang with, I’m addicted to speed. I love going fast. If motorcycles didn’t go fast and corner like the best roller-coaster I’ve ever ridden, I’d give them up and take up a hobby like model railroading. But they do go fast and there’s nothing I love more than sitting on top of one, tucking in low behind the fairing while I atomize about thirty dollars worth of rear tire behind me in a mad burst of acceleration, and—this especially—leaning into a turn fast enough to put the bike over at an angle that seems to defy physics and certainly common sense.

How fast? Well, a capable modern sport bike on a straight, open county road with no traffic just starts to feel planted and exciting at about a buck twenty. My bike, considered rather sedate by superbike standards, has a top speed of 155. I've never ridden it that fast. It will go from zero to sixty in a little over three seconds, again, rather slow by superbike standards but faster than virtually any car on the road, no matter how much you pay for it.

Corner speeds vary depending on the corner, of course. In tight twisties I can work the tires out to near the edge of their tread at speeds as low as maybe forty. Big sweepers get fun somewhere between 80 and 100. These numbers seem to indicate shocking irresponsibility to non-riders, but sitting around the campfire with my riding buddies, I might say something like I crossed the Klamath Marsh road at about a hundred and elicit little more than vague grunts of acknowledgement.

All of the above might suggest that I’m a cocky and irresponsible rider, but I try not to be. Most of the miles I ride are at a moderate touring pace, and I try to always keep something in reserve in case I run into the bit of stray gravel in a turn. In traffic I’m so defensive people begin to think I have a complex, and in wet conditions I ride so slow I’m in danger of being rear-ended by a street sweeper. And I know when I’m over my head, which I always am when I get with a bunch of the really fast guys. I’m happy to let them ride on ahead.

In fact, I’m basically a chicken, which is a big part of the reason I hope to be celebrating my 60th birthday in a few months. Still, in the end, I love motorcycles mostly because I’ve never outgrown my love of speed. If I had to ride a cruiser, I’d quit riding.

And all the guys I ride with—those conscientious, upstanding citizens; taxpayers and church-goers; doctors and lawyers, LEOs themselves; teachers and preachers and accountants; sensible, responsible individuals every one of them—they’re addicted to speed, too. We love to complain about inexperienced kids who ride way over their limit and give us a bad name with John Q. Public. In the end, if we encounter one on the road, though, we see if we can take him. We can’t help ourselves.

May we all live so long as to one day be able to talk about how we finally outgrew it. In the meantime, the most fun I can have in a single day usually involves going fast on two wheels.

User-Whee!

The state legislature has finally lanced a pustule on the ass of the Oregon body politic. By a vote of 18 to 11, the state senate voted to cap interest rates on consumer loans at 36 percent. The bill goes into effect July 1st.

I sure wish I could make 36 percent on anything, but for a decade now, Oregon’s payday loan sharks have been charging—but wait, you really have to take a guess on this.

How much do payday loan businesses need to charge to be able to stay in business: 100 percent? 200 percent? 300 percent?

Mais, non! Payday loan sharks need to charge 500 percent(!) interest just to stay in business. At 500 percent, they seem to be just getting by, which is why we now have more payday loan shops in Oregon than McDonalds.

A typical loan is about $300 and is made to a poor person who also happens to be stupid. They would use the money for discretionary items such as food and rent or to fix their car so they could get to work at their minimum wage job.

Some of them were Oregon lottery addicts, so in a way the PD loan industry was subsidizing state government, and I guess my pension, for that matter. Thanks!

Thing is, the loan would be due in a few weeks, and since Citizen Stupid doesn't have any more money now than he did then, he would pay a big fee to roll it over for another few weeks.

Where’d he get the money for the big fee? Why, right next door at another PD loan shop! You can see how poor money management skills, crap jobs, and a low IQ could combine to produce what people in the PD loan industry refer to as “clients.”

This has been an issue in Oregon for several years now as the newspapers have picked up on how the scam works and how many families and individuals it has forced into bankruptcy. It all started in the late 90s when the legislature lifted the cap on legal interest rates to adjust to the quickly rising loan rates. Instead of adjusting the usury definition upward, though, they just eliminated it.

Within minutes, signs went out on shop fronts, and loan sharks who used to work from street corners got to move indoors.

This detestable practice was allowed to continue for a decade because the sharks quickly formed a professional association and started lobbying and because Oregon Republicans have become so ideology-driven they don’t know a turd from a truffle anymore. “Let the market work,” one of them said in arguing against the new bill. There would also be a market for contract murder if we legalized it, but fortunately, that one hasn’t come up this session. No question it would have Republican support.

“Industry” spokesperson Steven Hanson said “These politicians don’t care about the small Oregon business owners who are going to be on the street. They ought to care about the consumers.”

Poor babies!

Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

Toast the troops!

My friend Ed Robinson passes along a link to this website.

http://www.sixpacksforsoldiers.com/

I’m never quite sure what “support the troops” means, but this seems as good a way as any.

One of the small but telling ironies of this nasty little war is that our troops on the ground are not allowed to consume alcohol. No stopping by the enlisted men’s club for a cold one after a tough day of routing out terrorists. There is no Miller time in Iraq, this out of sensitivity to the Muslim prohibition against alcohol.

So as we’re over there fighting for their freedom and ours here at home—so it is hoped we will believe—our own troops are forced to conform to the tenets of a faith not their own. I think that’s wrong. I think commanders should have the balls to say to the locals, “Hey, we’re infidels! We’re drinking us some beer! Get used to it!”

Wanna bet those suits in the embassy find a way to smuggle in some liquid refreshment?

Dog Trouble

I posted a few months ago about a run-in Mary and I had in a campground when walking our dogs. That incident involved two pit bulls, but these encounters aren't uncommon, and I'd say I have some kind of incident maybe one in five times I go for a walk.

I took my two Jack Russells for our short, neighborhood loop today and got rushed once again by three big ones up on Loma Linda. One of them is very aggressive, though I think it’s a bluff charge. Still, it scares the hell out of me. I swing my walking stick and yell at them, and they circle and try to make rushes back in. All the time I’m holding my own two on leashes in one hand and trying to keep them out of it. Jack Russells would attack a grizzly, but they wouldn’t last a few seconds, even as tough as they are, against bigger dogs.

So I told the guy who finally came out it wasn’t the first time and would he please keep his dogs under control, and he said “I didn’t even know they were out here.” There are too many good comebacks to that, and I just kept walking.

I looked at cattle prods at a farm supply store once and decided against it because they’re big and I’d feel stupid carrying one around. Still, I wish I could think of a way to drop a dog in its tracks when this happens, leave it twitching and stunned for a few minutes.

I might have another look at cattle prods.

You Can't Make This Shit Up

I don't do bumper stickers for the most part. Last one I had, that I recall, was in 1964 and it said "Dizzy Gillespie for President." Wish I still had it.

But I was in Hood River last weekend and found a very cool little alt.bookstore that had a lot of bumper stickers I liked. I bought a few and so far have only put one on my scooter. It says "Earth" in green letters, and you'd have to live in Klamath Falls to understand why that could be risky.

I got a good laugh out of one that said "You can't make this shit up" because every day I think that as I read the paper.

Here's a link to a Washington Post editorial by Dana Milbank.

You really can't make this shit up.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/05/23/AR2007052301446.html?referrer=email&referrer=email&referrer=email&referrer=email

Happy Anniversary To Us

Yesterday, Mary and I celebrated our 32nd Anniversary.

“Celebrated” is maybe not the best term. She worked late because of a parents’ night at school. I went over to a friend’s house and watched motorcycle races he had recorded from the weekend.

Great races! Le Mans in the rain.

I consider myself to be a very lucky guy to be married to such a wonderful person, still in love and more in love every year. Lots of marriages don’t last. Some that do aren’t so great.

What did we do to be so lucky? I’ve reflected on occasion that when we met, I was far from emotionally mature. I could have easily ended up in a terrible relationship. But it wasn’t just luck, either. We’ve both done a lot of work on ourselves and on our relationship. Somehow we managed to stay together long enough to begin to get it right.

We’ll probably do something special this weekend, but I did remember to buy flowers and a card for the day.

I also filled her car with gas. What a guy I am!

Venus, not de Milo

Mary and I enjoyed the film Venus last night at home. If for no other reasons, it’s a delightful portrayal of three aging actors, good friends and sometime enemies, in the final weeks and months of life. It illustrates beautifully why old age can be a wonderful thing, not in spite of the aches, pains, disabilities, impotence, and organ failure, but because of them. When a good bowel movement becomes the best thing that happens today, life has truly been reduced to the simple pleasures. It helps if you’ve learned a few lessons along the way.

I’m not nearly so old yet, but I can begin to see it from here.

Peter O’Toole is wonderful as the aging, lecherous actor, equal parts charming and creepy. Together with his two friends, played always with either bawdy or subtle comic undertones by Leslie Phillips and the laughably rotund Richard Griffiths, the film could have stood its ground on just that one theme. But it quickly develops into yet another variation on Pygmalion when Phillips takes in the young and rather coarse daughter of his niece as a nurse/caretaker. O’Toole goes to work immediately, but it’s lechery and not transformation that motivates him.
The plot thickens when the girl, called Venus by O’Toole, turns out to be as much a predator as he is. In the end, they’re all equal parts repellent, charming, and even lovable. More lessons get learned.

Splendid acting around and an interesting if disturbing moral ambiguity combined to keep us up past bedtime.

In real life, Richard Griffiths is quoted as saying, "If I had my way, all actors over 55 would be issued a 3-lb. wet salmon with which to slap the face of every young, beautiful, successful upstart. 'That's for being so lucky, you bastard!' I would shout. And then, hit them again, if you can." In part, that could serve as a summary of the film if you keep in mind that comedy is a fine tool for suggesting paradox.

The New Know Nothings

Stupid Republicans: The National Journal reports in its recent poll of Republicans in the House of Representatives that only thirteen percent believe that global warming is real.

It’s too bad that George Tenet neutralized the expression slam dunk. We need to send a few thousand climate scientists up to Capital Hill to explain to these yahoos that the case for human caused global warming is “irrefutable,” as resoundingly affirmed in the latest UN report, which followed similar conclusions from our own National Academy of Sciences and pretty much every one else who bothers to read the newspaper once or twice a week.

The number of climate reports with similar findings and dire warnings seems to grow every day. What we should do about global warming might remain a matter of discussion and controversy, but that it’s happening and human caused has been settled science for at least a decade.

Apparently, the only way to get a majority of Republicans to accept this is if we could find a link to Al-Qaeda. If Al-Qaeda were building a series of massive coal-fired power plants in the Iraqi outback, Republicans might agree to a surge of engineers to the region to install scrubbers or force them to change over to wind or solar, two things they have more of than oil. Arguably, the whole thing would demonstrate that Al-Qaeda is more crafty and dangerous than even the Bush administration imagined.

I’ve never agreed with much of conservative doctrine, but at least there seemed to be a doctrine there that was based on some kind of vision of reality. If you don’t approve of race mixing, you’re going to be opposed to racial integration. If you believe life begins at conception, I can understand your opposition to abortion. But when studies show that abstinence-only sex education has absolutely no effect on sexual activity among teens, what do Republicans want to do? Increase funding for abstinence-only sex education.

It’s too bad that “know nothings” has already been taken as a party name. Contemporary Republicans seem to be staying in office, albeit in fewer numbers, on a slam-dunk policy of “I don’t know nothing.”

Alvin Batiste Dies

One of my favorite jazz musicians has died. Alvin Batiste was perhaps better known as a teacher, but his album Late is absolutely terrific. It's one of those of the many hundred I own that gets played regularly.

He was a master on the clarinet, an instrument which was out of fashion for many years. And his music, though mostly in the mainstream, could move decidedly outside without leaving me behind. I hear a strong influence of Coltrane, but he always had his own voice.

He was 74 and died of an apparent heart attack just hours before a scheduled concert at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.

Think I'll rip Late tonight so I'll have it on my computer. I'm close to doing the iPod thing and will definitely want his tunes in my shuffle.

Riding to school last night

Yesterday evening I had a rather unsettling experience when I was riding the scooter to school for my 5:30 class. When I stopped for the light at the bypass, I noticed a woman in the crosswalk who was obviously very drunk. After a few stumbling steps she collapsed in the middle of the road. It took a few seconds to register that this had really happened, then I put the scooter on the side stand and ran over to her. I took my helmet off and was starting to call 911 when I could hear a driver in a nearby car already calling it in.

By this time, the woman had begun to seizure. I took off my jacket and put it under her head and just knelt with her. When she stopped, I stood up and made a feeble attempt to direct traffic around her.

While all of this was happening, two other people came over with a dog on a leash and said the woman had dropped the dog off with them and said she was going to commit suicide by taking an overdose of pills. It wasn’t clear if she’d taken the pills already or if she had passed out from drinking. The seizure could also have been from hitting her head when she fell.

The cops and then EMTs arrived in only a few minutes and took charge of the scene. I just stood around and waited for them to get her on a gurney so I could get my jacket and go to class.

As I thought about it later that evening, I felt good that I’d gone over to help. No one else got out of a car. But as I thought about it, I realized that the first thing the EMT did when he came over was check for a pulse. When I looked at her again, I realized she could have been dead. In the confusion of the moment and the concern about traffic starting to move around her, I hadn’t even thought to see if she was alive and consider starting CPR.

I briefly felt ashamed that I’d done a bad job of it but soon realized I have no training for emergencies like this. In a crisis, people fall back on their training, and without training, all I could think to do was stand there next to her.

When I talked with Mary about it, she said she gets to think about these things fairly often teaching junior high and has pretty much decided not to give CPR because of the risks of AIDS, hepatitis, and various other highly contagious diseases which are not all that uncommon.

I might make the same decision if it happens again, but I expect considerations like this are part of the training people receive. I noticed none of the cops tried to assess the woman’s condition before the EMTs arrived.

So, all of this has led me to think that I’d like to take a first aid class. They offer them at the community college, even up to EMT certification. Since I’m one who has never done well around blood or pain, I doubt I’d ever want to do anything like this for a living, but I’d like to have that kind of training to fall back on if it happens again. I might need it for someone I know.

I have no idea how the woman fared. They loaded her in the ambulance, one of the cops called out “Let’s clear the intersection,” and they were all gone in seconds. Other than the traffic snarl, it was as if nothing had happened.

I was glad she hadn’t puked on my vintage leather jacket. It’s my favorite.

Dennis Kucinich for President!

Here are a few excerpts from a Washington Post editorial today by Richard Cohen. It’s interesting both in that it takes seriously Dennis Kucinich’s articles of impeachment against Dick Cheney and Kucinich himself as a Democratic candidate for president:

“The resolution offered by the gentleman from Ohio reads sensibly. It alleges crimes high and low, misdemeanors galore -- all of them representing an effort to mislead the American people and take them into war. It is Dennis Kucinich's articles of impeachment directed at Dick Cheney. The vice president will, of course, deny being a liar. As long as Kucinich is at it, add that to the articles. . . .
“Kucinich also alleges that Cheney `purposely manipulated the intelligence process to deceive the citizens and Congress.’" That, as the expression goes, is the gravamen of the charge. Kucinich doesn't stand a ghost of a chance of making it stick because Congress is not about to vote impeachment. But no one who reads Kucinich's case against Cheney can fail to conclude that this is a rational, serious accusation. It's possible that each individual charge can be rebutted, but the essence of it is shockingly apparent: We were being manipulated. . . .
“Kucinich is an odd guy for whom the killer appellation "perennial presidential candidate" is lethally applied. But he is on to something here. It is easy enough to ad hominize him to the margins -- ya know, the skinny guy among the `real’ presidential candidates -- but at a given moment, and this is one, he's the only one on that stage who articulates a genuine sense of betrayal. He is not out merely to win the nomination but to hold the Bush administration -- particularly Cheney -- accountable. In this he will fail. What Cheney has done is not impeachable. It is merely unforgivable.”

Back in ’04, I ran for the Oregon Senate as a Democrat in our heavily Republican district. I got creamed, as expected, but I ran a serious campaign and got three out of four endorsements from newspapers in our district. The one I didn’t get, of course, was written by an idiot!

One of the few high points of the campaign was when I twice got to introduce Dennis Kucinich, who back then was again a candidate for president. I introduced him once in Klamath Falls to an audience of several hundred. I got to meet and talk to him at some length later the same week at a meeting of progressive rural activists in Portland.

He struck me at the time and still does as the best of the Democratic candidates. He is a passionate and inspiring speaker, and he goes directly to the truth without trying to find the middle ground that might best mobilize the base and also woo the moderates of both parties. Of course, he got creamed as badly as I did, but I’ve since felt a strong affinity for him. And we’re both skinny, short guys.

He won’t do any better this time. As one of my editorial endorsements said, “that’s a shame, because he’s clearly the best candidate.”

Here's a picture of me impersonating a politician.

The Patriot Guard Riders

I’ve been suspicious of the group called the Patriot Guard Riders who show up in the news about funeral services for fallen American soldiers from Iraq and Afghanistan. They ride mostly Harley Davidsons, wear the usual do-rags and sleeveless denim vests, and fly gigantic American flags from the backs of their bikes.

They say they attend to honor the fallen but also to protect families from vocal anti-war demonstrators. They shield the families with their giant flags, and if demonstrators get too loud, they fire up their bikes to drown out the noise.

What anti-war demonstrators?

All of this smells faintly of the persistent rumors over the years of Vietnam veterans who were spit on when they returned home. No one can say with certainty that this never happened, but I’ve looked into it a little and it seems to be an urban myth. I can say that I frequently flew in uniform on commercial airlines when I was in the Army from 1967 to 1970, and I never saw an anti-war demonstration at an airport. Personally, I was met with complete indifference, even when I flew into San Francisco airport after my tour in Vietnam.

But last night after reading about yet another funeral of an Oregon soldier, I tried to find out what I could about the Patriot Guard Riders. It turns out they’re an informal network of biker types and a lot of Vietnam vets with links to the American Legion. They offer to attend military funerals but only show up with an invitation.

What was amazing to me is that they did form up in response to outrageous demonstrations at funerals, but not by your typical anti-war activists. Here’s an excerpt from a Time magazine story:

“They formed as a response to the Rev. Fred Phelps, an attention-crazed fanatic based in Topeka, Kans., who has logged 15 years as a kind of paleo-fundamentalist, gay-baiting performance artist. Last spring Phelps grabbed the already troubling line, taken by preachers such as Pat Robertson, that disasters like 9/11 were God's punishment for American sins, and spun it past the boundary of the outrageous by having his followers crash military funerals with signs like GOD LOVES IEDS (improvised explosive devices) and scream to grieving parents that their children were in hell as divine punishment for what Phelps calls the nation's "enabling" and "harboring" of homosexuals.”

Phelps hates “fags,” and his congregation of under a hundred makes news by gay-bashing their way around the country blaming 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, and even the war itself on American tolerance, such as it is, for gays. They even carry signs saying “God hates America.”

I guess in crazy times you’re going to hear a lot more from crazy people.

Here’s a link to the whole article:

http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1189333,00.html

Wild Hogs

Last night, Mary had dinner with a group of women friends, so, left to my own devices, I decided to go out to a movie, something I rarely do. I decided to see Wild Hogs, which I knew would be at best good for a few mindless chuckles. Actually, I enjoy mindless chuckles. Austin Powers movies, for example, crack me up. And Wild Hogs has motorcycles in it, even if they are Harley Davidsons.

I certainly had some good laughs, but overall, it’s a very poor comedy. I had hopes because John Travolta is, in my mind, best as a comic actor, and William Macy is always worth seeing. Still, the writing was mostly terrible and even the best of actors couldn’t do much with the material.

The funniest part of the movie for me was the ending, and I was surprised to find myself the only one laughing. Our four heroes, off on a middle-aged motorcycle odyssey to rediscover their lost youth and freedom, find themselves in a small New Mexico town being trashed by a gang of outlaw bikers. Just when it seems that all hope is lost, in rides the Shane character on his Harley.

We see only his boots and leathers as he steps off. And then, Peter Fonda walks into the fray and tells the bikers to leave the town alone; they have lost the meaning of freedom and what it means to be a biker.

The outlaws look like a playground full of chastised bullies, and I’m laughing my ass off because I know immediately that Peter Fonda is Easy Rider. It was a great visual allusion, and the film gets credit for not explaining it to the uninitiated.

When the lights go up, I look around and see that I’m the only person in the theater old enough to have seen Easy Rider and know what an icon it became for our generation. I felt like I sometimes do when I’m lecturing and my mind wanders off to some reference that’s not going to make sense to anybody under fifty. Most of the time, I don’t bother to try to explain.

My friend Broschat recently sent me a special edition DVD of Easy Rider, one of his unannounced and unexplained gifts that show up now and then. (Thanks, Michael!) I haven’t got around to watching it yet, and now that sounds like a great way to spend this rainy and cold Saturday afternoon.

Why We Teach

Join us as a mentor.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUak4zPWHdE