misrembrances

I’m not the only one who misremembers the title of Marshall McLuhan’s famous book about how electronic technology is reshapting patterns of social interdependence.
As I’m packing up my books, I come upon a paperback book dated March, 1967 entitled The Medium is the Massage, by, yes, Marshall McLuhan. Well, dagnabit, lookit that — its MASSAGE, not MESSAGE, as so many of us misremember.
What a difference a vowel makes.
Back in 1967 this paperback book cost me $1.45. Ah, those bygone days.
I’m not misremembering that it’s Father’s Day. But my Dad died more than 20 years ago, and I’ve posted about him many times before.

more than a taste of honey

— sautee broccoli (or any other veggie) with olive oil, garlic, and honey
— add honey to basil pesto and every kind of marinade
— homemade salad dressing with apple cider vinegar and honey
— stir fry with honey and soy sauce
I always cook with honey. Love honey-mustard and honey-barbeque anything. Right now, pretzels.
I always cook with honey
To sweeten up the night…

That was one of my favorite Judy Collins songs.
Or maybe this one was really my favorite.
Or maybe I most like her versions of some of Leonard Cohen’s songs.
No, this is my all-time favorite:
ALBATROSS
The lady comes to the gate dressed in lavender and leather
Looking North to the sea she finds the weather fine
She hears the steeple bells ringing through the orchard
All the way from town
She watches seagulls fly
Silver on the ocean stitching through the waves
The edges of the sky
Many people wander up the hills
From all around you
Making up your memories and thinking they have found you
They cover you with veils of wonder as if you were a bride
Young men holding violets are curious to know if you have cried
And tell you why
And ask you why
Any way you answer
Lace around the collars of the blouses of the ladies
Flowers from a Spanish friend of the family
The embroid’ry of your life holds you in
And keeps you out but you survive
Imprisoned in your bones
Behind the isinglass windows of your eyes
And in the night the iron wheels rolling through the rain
Down the hills through the long grass to the sea
And in the dark the hard bells ringing with pain
Come away alone
Even now by the gate with you long hair blowing
And the colors of the day that lie along your arms
You must barter your life to make sure you are living
And the crowd that has come
You give them the colors
And the bells and wind and the dream
Will there never be a prince who rides along the sea and the mountains
Scattering the sand and foam into amethyst fountains
Riding up the hills from the beach in the long summer grass
Holding the sun in his hands and shattering the isinglass?
Day and night and day again and people come and go away forever
While the shining summer sea dances in the glass of your mirror
While you search the waves for love and your visions for a sign
The knot of tears around your throat is crystallizing into your design
And in the night the iron wheels rolling through the rain
Down the hills through the long grass to the sea
And in the dark the hard bells ringing with pain
Come away alone
Come away alone…with me.

fresh air

Hot. Humid. Ugh.
At least it’s not 111 degrees, which it is in Phoenix, where Randi Rhodes blows fresh into the air waves on Air America Radio.
According to Rhodes:
As I walked out of the Barry Goldwater Memorial Terminal (seriously) at Sky Harbor Airport, I couldn’t help but think about how many so-called Goldwater-Conservatives actually STILL believe that Sen. Goldwater and the Bushies are cut from the same cloth.
In fact, it was this 1964 Goldwater quote that came to mind:
I’m frankly sick and tired of the political preachers across this country telling me as a citizen that if I want to be a moral person, I must believe in A, B, C, and D. Just who do they think they are? And from where do they presume to claim the right to dictate their moral beliefs to me?
Terri Schiavo, stem-cells, corporatist judges, purposefully lying “journalists,” Downing Street Memos, etc, etc, etc. ENOUGH! Regardless of your party affiliation, how much more are you going to take?! And more importantly, how much more can we afford to take?

…………….
I dreamed last night that I went to see my former therapist, and when I stood in front of him, I was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t even articulate what I was coming to see him about. And then the room was full of people getting in my way, and I left.
I’m packing for two. Move of big stuff is scheduled for July 14.
Hot. Sweaty. Tired. Need some fresh air.

no wonder we’re all dizzy

If they spin us any faster, we’re all going to have scrambled eggs for brains and then we’ll all become dumb and dumber Bushites.
Source: Media General News Service, June 10, 2005
“The U.S. Special Operations Command has hired three firms to produce newspaper stories, television broadcasts and Web sites to spread American propaganda overseas.”
[big snip] The firms will produce “print articles, video and audio broadcasts, Internet sites and novelty items, like T-shirts and bumper stickers, for foreign audiences. Video products will include newscasts, hour-long TV shows and commercials.”….
Source: Washington Post, June 8, 2005
“The new drug safety board established by the Food and Drug Administration to restore confidence in the nation’s drug supply will actually set back efforts to improve the safety of the medications Americans take and will not make it any easier to take dangerous drugs off the market,” the Washington Post reports…..

Source: New York Times, June 8, 2005
In a lengthy memo Rick S. Piltz, a former senior associate in the Climate Change Science Program, revealed that U.S. government climate research reports had been edited by a White House official, Philip A. Cooney, to emphasize doubts about climate change. According to Piltz’s memo Cooney, a former “climate team leader” and lobbyist with the American Petroleum Institute, changed one 2002 document to “create an enhanced sense of scientific uncertainty about climate change and its implications.” …..

Source: CBS.MarketWatch.com June 14, 2005
ExxonMobil has confirmed that it has hired Philip A. Cooney, the former chief of staff at the White House Council on Environmental Quality who resigned last week after it was revealed that his editing of government scientists reports downplayed the significance of climate change. An Exxon Mobil spokesman declined to provide details of Cooney’s new job, which he starts in autumn. Deputy spokeswoman for the White House, Dana Perino, told the New York Times “Phil Cooney did a great job and we appreciate his public service and the work that he did, and we wish him well in the private sector.” ….

Source: The New York Times, June 8, 2005
In a joint meeting in Washington, President Bush and British Prime Minister Tony Blair brushed off a recently revealed British memo from July 2002 that said “intelligence and facts were being fixed around the policy” to remove Saddam Hussein “through military action, justified by the conjunction of terrorism and W.M.D.” or weapons of mass destruction…….

All of the above, and more, are detailed on www.prwatch.org the website of the Center for Media and Democracy.
Don’t know what to believe any more? Check in with the watchers. Don’t get caught up in the spins.

while mom saves pie tins, I save magazine articles

Back in 1995, as my mother was diligently adding to her collection of used aluminum pie tins (I just threw out 43 of them that were hidden in the back of her closet), my son (then AKA Slowdog; now AKA b!X) was diligently collecting signatures for his “Hands Off! the Net” petition.
I think of this today because of the death of Senator James Exon, who tried, unsuccessfully, thanks in part to b!X, to introduce the original Communications Decency Act.
The October 5, 1995 issue of Rolling Stone Magazine had this to say about Slowdog/b!X as he led off their article on “Ten Things You Can Do to Make A Difference.” There’s no link anywhere to this article; of course, I still have the hard copy, which begins:
Slowdog’s hanging out upstairs at the @ Cafe in New York’s East Village, sipping cup after cup of coffee and tap-tap-tapping into the Internet on one of the computer terminals that looms over every table like a television set. Slowdog is 25 years old, with black pants, black t-shirt, black baseball cap, black sneakers, long black eyelashes, and a face that sees very little sun.
Born Christopher Frankonis, Slowdog used to work at the New York Public Library and log on, stop at the @ Cafe and log on, traipse back to his basement flat in Brooklyn, NY, and log on, surfing the Internet that runs like a vast river through wired America.
No real point, no particular politics, just another college dropout hooked on the Net. A kid from upstate New York with a mouse and a quick wit.
Then came Sen. James Exon, D. Neb, and his Communications Decency Act. Exon introduced a bill this March that proposes to tame the Internet. This senator wanted to pasteurize Slowdog’s wild river of words and symbols, criminalize the transmission of lewd and lascivious language, make the world safe for June Cleaver.
An activist was born.
“Instead of understanding a new medium, they want to extend an old law from television,” Slowdog says. “I’ts going to chill speech, make users liable for content. I knew I had to go beyond my insular little world on the Net. Here is my shot.”
Slowdog and a half-dozen young activists worked with the Center for Democracy and Technology in Washington, D.C., and started a computer petition. They hoped for 10,000 signatures in three days. Two and a half months later the tally stood at 121,284, with support ranging from the libertarian Cato Institute to First Amendment absolutists. “Man, we were getting 1,000 signatures an hour,” Slowdog says.
In late April a messenger walked into the office of Sen. Larry Pressler, R.S.D, whose committee was holding hearings on the bill, with a 1,000-sheet printout containing the names of the petition’s signers. “To a politician, that’s like carrying a political loaded gun,” one staffer recalls. The petition came on top of the e-mail messages and faxes that Pressler’s office had been getting for weeks.
Slowdog takes a hit of his latte and smiles. “I don’t know that I was ever political before,” he says. “But this was so severe and showed so little of understanding of something new. All of a sudden I had to put up or shut up.”

b!X has not shut up since. I’m afraid, though, if he doesn’t get some advertisers, he just might have to find another way to keep getting his words out.

no Maine in June for me

June is the month during which I usually go to Maine for the week of the Summer Solstice. I am usually accompanied by one, two, or three of my good women friends. We missed the summer of 02 but 03a, b, c, and 04 were worth blogging about. [For some reason, some punctuations in those old posts show up as question marks; I don’t have the energy to go in and fix them. Sorry.]

No Maine for me this year. I’m packing for our big move out of what Old Horsetail Snake calls “the old folks home.”
For all the effort I’ve made to try NOT to be like my mother, here I am confronted by the fact that I’m almost as bad a pack rat as she. This time I keep taking bags of stuff to the Salvation Army. But my mother won’t part with a thing. Tonight I found a box she packed filled with such things as plastic lids from various long-finished snack containers; five dish washing brushes, never used; the top of a coffee pot that she no longer has; an old greasy broken wooden hour glass egg timer; the lid I’ve been looking for that belongs to one of my pots…etc. etc.

Me? I just have hundreds of pens and pencils and videotapes of movies I taped from tv.
—————–
On this June night that I am not in Maine, I go out and steal willow branches from the tree on the far side of the building where I live. A waning sickle moon pierces the thick black sky above the pond where bullfrogs are singing each other to sleep. I slip inside the dark heart of the willow….

Here in my apartment,the branches are soaking in a pan of water. Tomorrow I will strip off the leaves and form the pliable willow stalks into circles. I have gathered the materials I will use to make willow talismans. My hope is to start them all on the Solstice, June 21.
————-
My former colleague and continuous friend who owns the cottage I stay at in Maine has offered me time there this month for free. She reads my blog; sees the stress. I wish I could take her up on her offer. But I’m packing. I’m packing for two. And I’m doing the ol’ “four times a day one drop in each eye of four eye drops” for my mother, who had her second cataract out earlier this week and now keeps marveling at all of the different colors of green of the trees around where we live.
————–
no Maine for me
just a waning sickle moon
and willow branches
waiting for magic

The lure of the smart, seductive sociopath.

For the first time in her life, a woman I know is seeing a therapist. This is a woman who, sans therapy, survived living in foster homes as a child, her husband’s premature death, her own bout with cancer, and the fiery destruction of her home.
But the seductive sociopath broke her heart in enough pieces to require help putting it back together.
I think that the character Jack that Thomas Hayden Church plays in the movie Sideways has that conscienceless charm of the narcissistic sociopath.
It’s so easy for a woman to get obsessed over a sociopathic lover. He plays his part with infinite finesse and plays you even better. It’s like he’s born knowing exactly what to say and do to get you to painfully yearn for more.
At least I managed to get some decent poetry written as a result of my stint with one of those.
I think of my feisty and bright woman friend who had the recent misfortune to be hurt by a seductive sociopath. I know that she thinks she should have known better.
Uh uh.

All my life’s a circle.

Mary Travers of Peter, Paul, and Mary 60s folk fame sang this, my favorite song, on one of her albums — which I wish I still had but I don’t.
All My Life’s a Circle
All my life’s a circle, sunrise and sundown
The moon rolls through the night time
Till the day break comes around
All my life’s a circle, but I can’t tell you why
The seasons spinning round again
The years keep rolling by.
It seems like I’ve been here before, I can’t remember when
But I got this funny feeling
That we’ll all be together again
There’s no straight lines that make up my life
And all my roads have bends
There’s no clear cut beginnings, and so far no dead ends…..

I’m thinking of these lyrics now because, as a result of getting in touch with a college classmate of mine, I’ve been able to get in touch with a few more through him.
I have to admit, I get very nostalgic when I think of my college days, during which I pursued fun and frolic a bit more than I pursued academic achievement.
One of my recent old-classmate-e-interchanges reminded me how the girls from my sorority would gather in the Student Union on Sunday evenings and take over the place with our dancing. Mostly the Lindy. With any guy brave enough to take us on. And if there were no takers, with each other. I so miss dancing.
————–
Circles are comforting — full of mythic meaning.
I am making circles made of willow branches. Within them I will weave special symbols and give each of my closest 6 women friends atalisman before I move away. It’s what I do.
There’s no straight lines that make up my life
And all my roads have bends
There’s no clear cut beginnings, and so far no dead ends

Blog It and They Will Come.

I have to say that I’ve been contacted by the most interesting people who Googled something they were looking for or interested in and found exactly what they wanted in one of my posts.
Take, for instance, Canadian Carrie Watkins, who found this 2003 post of mine because she was trying to track down a particular photo of “Witches at Tea.” She was doing the same thing I was at the time — superimposing the faces of the women in her life over the faces of the old ladies. We’ve kept in touch on occasion, and the last occasion was her sharing of her blog experiment in creative writing: A Witch’s Corner. I promised I would go over and keep up with her story — which I didn’t for all kinds of lazy reasons, so now I will tonight.
And then there’s artist Jan Hurst (from Indiana, I think), who also was looking for the “Witches at Tea” photo to use in a collage. I really like Jan’s work. Some of it reminds me of Laurie Doctor’s wonderful pieces that combine calligraphy and mythic images.
Doncha just love Google??!

The Sensible and Sympathetic Mr. Smith

No, not Mr. Brad Pitt Smith.

The Mr. Smith to whom I’m referring is Adam Smith, whose ideas about free-market competition are associated with the belief that self-interest brings about a healthy economy. His book, “The Wealth of Nations,” is often referred to as the text or prescription for laissez-faire capitalism. “It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer or the baker that we expect our dinner,” Smith wrote, “but from their regard to their own self-interest.”

The above quote is from my favorite local newspaper columnist, Diane Cameron, who, yesterday, had a piece about Adam Smith, since it was his birthday.

She goes on to say:
Adam Smith did understand that. While he wrote about the importance of self-interest, we forget that he was neither a politician nor an economist, but rather, by training and practice, a moral philosopher. He never advocated not caring for the poor; he presumed that a community — whether that meant a village or town or a country — took care of its needy. Smith made his name with another book before “The Wealth of Nations.” His first book was “A Theory of Moral Sentiments,” written in 1759, in which he described the role of sympathy in society and advocated for the need of it to maximize the “efficiency of care in a community.”

Smith’s favorite metaphor, the “invisible hand,” came from that earlier book in which he presumed a basis of equality among men. It was that emphasis on equality that made his books bestsellers in the American colonies and, hence, still part of our political consciousness.

Smith believed that “there is no place for privilege and class” in a moral economy. In Smith’s scheme, wealth meant not just business and prosperity but also charity, generosity, compassion and modesty: having a sense of what is enough.

On the same page as Cameron’s article commentary is a piece by George Richardson of the Rockefeller College of Public Affairs and Policy, “Waging a Ratio.”

Richardson suggests a way to a achieve a more equitable wage structure in which the minimum wage is tied, by a ratio, to the salaries of top CEOs. He suggests:
There are those who are troubled by soaring top management salaries while the purchasing power of average and minimum wages erode. It seems both immoral and unstable for a society to drive such a growing gap between its rich and poor. And it is a dramatic example of a kind of market failure: Top management compensation appears to be a runaway cost. The phenomenon cries out for solutions that help to control the growing disparity between rich and poor, and reduce the compensation strains on corporations without harming the strength of our economy.

So what should Congress do? Rather than focusing on short-term, stopgap maneuvers increasing the minimum wage by $1 or $2, or even $3 an hour, Congress should reach for a policy that solves both the minimum wage problem and the inequity problem once and for all, without constraining the ability of anyone to make as much money as possible.

The solution is to substitute for the minimum wage a “minimum wage ratio,” or if you prefer, a “maximum compensation ratio.”
Here’s how it might work: Congress could establish a standard for the maximum ratio of top corporate compensation to the wage and benefits package of the lowest paid worker in a firm. We could take the standard that existed in the 1970s and say the maximum compensation ratio in every firm cannot exceed, say, 30. If that’s perceived as too low (so 20th century), set the maximum ratio at 40, or even 50. But set it, and enforce it through the income tax machinery. We would then have a federally mandated “minimum wage ratio.”

To raise top management compensation, a firm would have to raise the wages of its lowest paid workers. There would be no limit, of course, to how high any wages could go. The lowest and the highest would just have to stay within the ratio.
Congress could set the ratio and forget it. No need for periodic updates, as with the minimum wage. No periods of declining purchasing power for those on the minimum wage, unless everyone is experiencing that. The policy is self-adjusting.
There are problems to work out about how such a policy could be implemented — how to value stock options, how to handle sports and entertainment salaries, how to prevent corporations from gaming the policy, and so on. But it is time to recognize that periodic boosts to the minimum wage are like pushing on a string. They don’t solve many problems in the short run and may even create some.

It’s time to stop thinking about pushing on that string, and switch to pulling on it from the other end. We should work through the implementation puzzles and set a federal minimum wage ratio policy — a maximum compensation ratio — and set a self-adjusting standard for wage equity that re-establishes rationality in wages and compensation packages and is a model for equity and efficiency for the world’s economies.

I’ll bet that Adam Smith would have liked Richarson’s sensible and sympathetic solution.