You'll Sort of Know What I Mean as I Discuss Excess Verbiage at This Point in Time

Twenty one times. That’s 21. One score and one. Ten twice and then one. Four fives plus one. Five fours and a singleton. More than double ten.

Yesterday I was at a 12 step meeting where a gentlemen shared, as one does in a meeting and he uttered the words, “ya know what I mean,” twenty-one times. This was not during the course of a one hour oration, he squeezed that dreaded phrase into what was less than five minutes.

Amazing.

There was a chap at a meeting I used to attend who once let forth with 32 “ya know”s but “you know what I mean” is twice as long as — more than twice as long as — a simple “ya know.”

The worst part was that he didn’t once stop to wait for someone to say, “yeah, I know exactly what you mean” or “no, we have no fucking clue what you’re talking about!” The nerve.

(You're probably wondering: what kind of idiot counts "ya knows" and "ya know what I means?" Fair point.)

I wouldn’t have minded so much but earlier in the minute someone babbled on for well over five minutes (I didn’t think to time him) in a veritable stream of consciousness covering all aspects of his life and sobriety. The real culprit in this situation was the secretary of the meeting who should have cut him short. Several people didn’t get to share because of Mr. Diarrhea of the Mouth.

It behooves me to hear add that the above events are unusual at meetings I attend. For the most part people are respectful and don’t babble on and on and on when sharing and while verbal tics such as sprinkling “ya know” or “sort of” are common enough, a full-fledged battery of “ya know what I mean” is an extreme rarity. 

I suppose complaining or making sport of people who are merely trying to maintain sobriety is gauche but at the same time we can keep off the sauce and maintain decorum at the same time

Here’s something else: I was changing (clothes) in the gym the other day when a behemoth strode between me and the lockers on his way to his locker. He prefaced this invasion of my personal space with the this: “I’m gonna sneak past you.”

Suffice it to say that his attempt at “sneaking” was an utter failure on several counts. First of all there was  his was odd decision to announce the “sneaking.” If you want to sneak anywhere successfully you should by all means keep your intentions to yourself. Secondly, as a man of well over six feet in height and probably nearing 240 pounds in weight, he had zero point zero chance of “sneaking past” anyone who was conscious. 

In other words, he failed to “sneak” past me. But to me the greater sin is the use of the “sneak past” you line. Why not instead employ proper manners and say: excuse me? I would have much preferred those two simple words to his attempt at being cute. It is akin to when someone announces that they’re going to “steal your salt” as opposed to asking if they can borrow it.

But I suppose even that is preferable to the silent ones who require you to stand up at a theater or sports venue as they shuffle by. There are an increasing number of people who fail to offer an “excuse me” “pardon me” or an “I’m sorry” and virtually no one can manage a “thanks” for your consideration. Here I am exception offering both an “excuse me” and a “thanks.”

Earlier I made brief reference to the overused “sort of.” Some people litter their talks with it. “We sort of met to talk about the issue and sort of decided that we’d sort of form a committee to sort of finalize some sort of proposals.” Enough to sort of drive one sort of crazy.

Lastly my favorite podcasters have taken to using “at this point in time.” I often respond to this by saying aloud: “you mean, ‘now’”? 

“At this point in time” has a cousin I very much hate: “at this moment in time.” It can also be translated to: now. 

I guess that at this point or moment in time sounds more erudite to some people. To other people such as me it sounds like excess verbiage. Which is what it is. 

One With the Soil, Reflections and Reminiscences on Dirt

This morning I walked by a house up the street where there is heavy duty construction going on (I here note that there is ALWAYS construction of some sort going on in our neighborhood, when it comes to their houses people can never leave well enough alone). I noted that there was some serious digging, the kind done by a machine, not a shovel. Thus there was a huge pile of dirt and a deep, long ditch. 

Cool.

Ever since I was a wee lad (and dinosaurs roamed the Earth) I’ve had a fascination with holes dug in the ground and the earth thus removed. I used to dig holes in our backyard, at least once this was much to my father’s chagrin.

Why is that? Was I hoping to uncover buried treasure? Dinosaur bones? Evidence of Native American tribes? The answers to these three questions are: yes, yes and yes. 

When I was staying for a short time at my brother’s house in the early Eighties,  and was aimless, scared, lost, confused, anxious and depressed (that was a helluva combo) I didn’t actually dig in his yard but did manage to unearth some artifacts just the same. They included utensils and housewares all from the time a Japanese-American family owned the house and were driven off their property to internment camps courtesy of racist government. So that was interesting.

In fact it’s interesting how archeologists will uncover remains from a particular civilization or time period from one layer of earth and examples from another era a layer or two below.

But I also think I like dirt. (Shouldn’t I know?) Okay, I like dirt. Why? There’s something natural about digging into the ground, being one with the soil as so many of us are after death. The soil is comforting. Why else would so many people love gardening?

I’ve hardly done any gardening in my life but when I have it’s felt good. One with the soil and making things grow. That’s power. You plant a seed, water it, tend to it, something grows. You’re like a god.

When I was young I liked to throw dirt clods. They would be solid enough to throw but then would break up into little pieces upon impact. That was cool. I used to hit them with my baseball bat. That never really worked out. The clod would immediately break into a zillion pieces many of which would fly back in my face. I still did it though. I here note that boys can be pretty dumb.

I like grass and meadows and sports fields. I loved playing soccer in part because you are — again — one with the earth. Well, to a certain degree, anyway. You, the ball, the pitch, teammates and opponents. It was best when the field was damp. Wet can be messy and make the ball move to fast, but damp was good. Actually, muddy was kind of cool too. Never for a game, but for practice and just fooling around. A bit of a puddle was nice. Splash! I had a coach who noted that when we were practicing shots or passing the ball I would always find a spot was there was near mud or a puddle. Controlling and shooting the ball in such spots tested your skills. But it was also fun. Boys stuff, I suppose. 

I remember one year we won a championship game played in a driving rain storm. It poured throughout the entire match. The kind of rain you have trouble seeing through. It was cool with me.

I didn’t mind playing in cold or heat either. If it was cold playing would warm you up. If it was hot you just sweated a lot — big deal when you’re young. Fog was great to play in, gave a sense of atmosphere. But wind. Fuck that.Wind would mess you up. You try a cross and the wind blows the ball past your target or knocks it right down. Messes with shots and clearances too. It could make you look like an idiot. You slam a well hit shot toward goal and the wind carries it well wide or blows it down making it look like a weak effort. No wind for me.

Good God I loved playing. I also liked getting dirty. What is it about getting dirty, muddy even, that was so appealing?

One with the soil.

Make America Great Again? When WAS it Great?

Congress has passed a spending bill that will give significant tax breaks to the richest Americans while imposing huge cuts on programs such Medicaid and SNAP. This will send many more Americans into poverty while denying health care and food to millions. Americans will die. The current government has already eliminated the United States Agency for International Development. It has been estimated that those cuts could cost the lives of millions human beings. Literally. This prompts the question: Is American great again? Or is this among the worst versions of it?

Which leads me to another question: When was American great before?

Was it during the nation’s first eight-nine years when slavery was permitted in fifteen of the country's thirty-three states? Mind you this was a particularly brutal form of chattel slavery in which family members were sold away from one another. It was human trafficking writ large.

How about the ensuing one hundred years when Jim Crow laws held sway. Not just in the South but throughout the country and lynchings were a daily threat for African Americans (virtually none of the perpetrators of these heinous crimes were ever prosecuted.) Was it when Southern Senators blocked any and all anti-lynching bills?

Maybe America was great when it was taking land away from the native tribes who preceded the whites here. When every treaty signed by the US government and the natives was violated. When hundreds of thousands of Native Americans were slaughtered. When they were given blankets infested with smallpox. Was America great then?

Was it great during the Gilded Age when the richest Americans grew richer and the poor got poorer — you know, exactly like today? It was a time when labor movements were brutally put down by greedy capitalists. Sound great?

Was it great during World War I when Americans were imprisoned under the espionage and sedition acts for merely expressing opposition to US participation in the war? When America protestors were set upon by mobs and beaten while the police looked on or in some cases helped the mobs?

Was America great in the immediate aftermath of that war when suspected anarchists, radicals and communists -- especially foreign-born ones were being illegally rounded up and deported for their political views. You know, kind of like today?

Was America great in the 1920s and 1930s when the Ku Klux Klan saw a resurgence and fascist groups emerged many of which voiced support for Adolph Hitler and the Nazis? 

Was America great when during World War II Japanese-American citizens were taken from their homes and sent to internment camps merely for the crime of being of Japanese ancestry?

Was America great in the late Forties and Fifties during the Red Scare when McCarthyism and the paranoid fear of Communists dominated American politics and culture? Was it great when thousands of Americans lost their livelihoods because of the mere suspicion that they might be “fellow travelers”?

Was America great when it used the Mexican-American war as a pretext to steal land from Mexico? Or how about during the Spanish-American war which was used as a pretext to steal territories from the Spanish? 

Was it great when it brutally suppressed Philippine efforts for independence?

Was America great when the CIA was helping overthrow governments all over the world in the fifties, sixties and seventies including — as just one example — the democratically elected government of Chile which was replaced by a military Junta that killed and disappeared thousands of Chileans without trial? Was that great?

Was the United States of America great when it was dropping bombs on North Vietnamese hospitals -- particularly the Christmas bombings of 1972 --or burning Vietnamese villages or massacring their citizens?

How about when this country illegally invaded Iraq and brought more turmoil in the Middle East or before that when they responded to terrorist attacks by attacking Afghanistan? 

Was extra-ordinary rendition and U.S. led torture a sign of greatness?

Maybe the country was great when Richard Nixon was running roughshod over the constitution before, during and after Watergate the break-in only being one of his crimes?

Say could it have been great when the FBI was infiltrating and spying on radical groups and killing its leaders, like Fred Hampton, in cold blood? Were the files the FBI kept on citizens a sign of greatness? How about the spying on Americans by the CIA?

I suppose it’s possible that American was great under Reagan who supported South Africa’s apartheid government and refused to do anything — even say anything — about the AIDS crisis. Maybe Regan’s demonizing of government services was a sign of greatness, ya know when he promulgated the ethos that government services that helped US citizens were the root of all evil and it was better to give hand-outs to businesses.

Were the massacres in places like Tulsa, Rosewood and Wilmington that targeted African Americans a sign of greatness?

Maybe the Chinese Exclusion Act was a sign of greatness. Or the horrible treatment suffered by Chinese immigrants and other people of color in this country.

Perhaps the murder of four protestors and wounding of nine others at Kent State in 1970 was a sign that America was once great, particularly as no one was prosecuted for the killings.

The brutal police repression of peace demonstrators by club-wielding police across the country could have been a sign of greatness. Ya know, like the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago.

It could also be that our lax gun laws are what has been making the US great. After all gun violence is 23 times higher in the US than any country in the EU. And how about all those mass shootings and school shootings and mass school shootings? Great!

Then again it could be that draconian punishments — such as three strikes — passed from the seventies through the nineties, that made our prisons bulge with young African American men was a sign of greatness.

Not only have we heard that America was once “great” but we’re constantly told that the US is “the greatest country in the world.” The latter is stated by people from both parties and what’s really interesting is that it’s said without a touch of irony. 

I may well hear in response to this post that if I hate this country so much I should just leave. This will be said in lieu of refuting any of the points I made. It will be said by people who don’t have the intellectual capacity to consider that maybe, just maybe America was never really “great.” There is no denying that the United States has contributed much to the world. Through scientific and medical breakthroughs, technological advancements, great artists in all manner of art forms and inspiring leaders who have fought against many of the injustices here mentioned. There have been great Americans and great deeds and great accomplishments and great moments. This is unassailable. But a “great” country? That’s a stretch. “Greatest country in the world”? Who but an arrogant American would think to say such a thing? This is not a contest. We are all part of the same planet. But if you really want to engage in rankings, the U.S. is well behind other countries -- for example the ones that treat their citizens with fairness and compassion.

Fairness and compassion. Wish we had us some right about now.

It's Time for Another Installment of It's Films I've Watched Lately Some of Which I Loved Greatly

From Starlet directed by Sean Baker

Midnight in Paris (20110 Allen. It’s not easy to make a movie that feels truly “magical.” This is evidenced by how bad most films are that try to delve in the supernatural in any way shape or form. Woody Allen as writer and director pulled it off with Midnight in Paris. There has be to be a dash of believability to the story’s conceit. Normal conventions need to be followed within the fantasy world. The story has to be compelling enough to make its total implausibility forgotten. The actors have to buy into the story and play it straight, not with a wink and a nod to the audience whether literal or figurative. Lastly it needs to move the audience either through its action, love story or message. With Midnight in Paris Allen made one of the best movies ever of any kind. The missus and I watched it Saturday night for the perhaps the fifth, sixth or seventh time. Hard to keep track. I could watch it again tonight. The story of a man who is able to travel from the 21st century to 1920s Paris every night is perfect for someone like me who is fascinated by certain eras of the past — including Paris in the twenties. I’m also fascinated by the notion of time travel which is why all of the books I’ve written have been set in the past. Imagine a film with characters that include F Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Pablo Picasso, Luis Buñuel, Josephine Baker, Cole Porter, Zelda Fitzgerald, Salvador Dali and TS Eliot, to name a few. You get that in Midnight in Paris. You get a lot and it’s all wonderful….and magical.

Prince of Broadway (2008) Baker. Watching this film and Starlet means I’ve know seen all of Sean Baker’s film. There’s not a lemon in the bunch. It’s a film that feels at times like a documentary. Baker’s films often feel like they’re shot from the real lives of people. In this case we have a West African immigrant in New York making a decent living as a hustler selling knock off clothes and shoes. He’s got a business owner as frontman supporting him. It’s all good until his ex brings by what she says is his son for him to raise for awhile. He is not prepared for this. It’s supposed to be for two weeks but we just now it’s not going to be anywhere near that neat and tidy. It’s a story that draws upon so much of what is challenging about being a father, about making it in the world, about small children, about dancing around the law, about survival in the city and how close we often are to slipping off an edge. Excellent stuff.

Starlet (2012) Baker. I knew nothing about the movie when I pressed play other than it appeared to feature a young, white female in the lead role. An hour and forty minutes I was left to wonder why I hadn’t been directed towards this film before. Brilliant. Bree Hemingway stars as Jane, a young porn actress who discovers wads of cash in a thermos she bought at a yard sale. She befriends the elderly woman who sold it to her, much to the dismay of the elderly woman who’d prefer to be left alone. As in all Baker films there are arguments, fights, emotional outbursts, resolutions and issues left hanging. Much of the trouble has to do with Jane’s housemate who’s also in the porn business, she’s something of a train wreck and her all-over-the-map boyfriend is Ward Cleaver in comparison. There’s a lot to unpack in this story of a bizarre but meaningful friendship and the side issues that complicate matters. The unpacking is well worth it as much as revealed and much is left for us to contemplate. Sean Baker is now one of my favorite directors.

The Flim Flam Man (1967) Kershner. Sometimes the story around the movie or the circumstances of seeing it or what you’ve heard or seen about it can alter the way you watch a film. This is often a problem as it skews the way you perceive it, but other times it adds an element to the viewing experience. With Flim Flam Man I couldn’t help thinking that I hadn’t seen it since it first came to theaters fifty-eight years ago. All I remembered about it was that began with the two main characters by a train track. I also had a strong mental image of a very cute young woman in a nighty which revealed luscious legs. Oh yes, I remembered that it co-starred George C Scott and Michael Sarazin. I really liked Sarazin as a kid, he seemed like a cool guy, the type I’d like to grow up to be. Sure Steve McQueen was my hero, but he existed in another stratosphere. Being a Sarazin seemed possible. So I watched the movie lo these many years later continually wondering what the young teenaged me thought of this, that or the other. I had no memory of whether I liked it at the time but having finally seen it again I’m sure that I did. It’s one of those fun, charming movies with ridiculous chase scenes, two mismatched buddies and a love interest. A story in which are rebellious outside-the-law hucksters continually outwit the cops. It was a pleasure to watch and fun to think about the lens I saw it through during my first viewing. It was also nice to see the young beauty who I'd remembered, she was played by Sue Lyons.

Intruder in the Dust (1949) C. Brown. One of those films that is all the more remarkable given the context of when it was made. A story about racism, Jim Crow and a near lynching set in Oxford, Mississippi is not something you’d expect to have been made way back in 1949 when Jim Crow still reigned in the American South and near lynchings were less frequent than actual ones. A black man is accused of murder and the evidence all points to his guilt. Even the well-meaning white lawyer is sure of the man’s guilt. But mostly through the help of a teenaged boy who was once saved from drowning by the accused, the truth seems that it will out. It’s a good story from any time but coming out when it did is amazing.

Hearts and Minds (1974) P. Davis. My favorite documentary of all time. It’s a searing indictment of U.S. participation in the Vietnam War. It has been criticized for its bias. That’s like criticizing a Holocaust documentary for only showing the Jewish side of the story. Any portrayal of U.S. incursion into Vietnam needs to focus on American arrogance, ignorance, cruelty, barbarity and incompetence. It needs to expose the lies, the hypocrisy and the racism at the core of U.S. policies and actions. As Daniel Ellsberg says during the film: "The question used to be: might it be possible that we were on the wrong side in the Vietnamese War? But, we weren't on the wrong side. We are the wrong side.” If you’d like to understand the American position in the war here’s a quote from the film by General Westmoreland: “The Oriental doesn't put the same high price on life as does the Westerner. Life is plentiful, life is cheap in the Orient. And that's the philosophy of the Orient. Expresses it - life is not important.” Or how about this from Lt. George Coker a former POW who said this: “What did Vietnam look like? Well, if it wasn't for the people, it was very pretty. The people over there are very backward and very primitive and they just make a mess out of everything.” There’s another side to this story? 

What the Hell is Wrong With Some People?

You’ve got to wonder.

A person was ejected from a major league baseball recently for taunting a ballplayer about the death of his mother.

To be clear, a spectator at a professional sporting event thought it a good idea to mock an athlete because the athlete’s mother had been killed in an automobile accident.

The player broke down in tears.

It has subsequently been announced that the “fan” has been barred indefinitely from attending major league baseball games. The assailant (for surely this was an attack) has supposedly expressed remorse and admitted that his actions were inappropriate. Well, at least there’s that.

One wonders about the mind set of a person who decides that it’s okay to taunt someone — anyone, anywhere at anytime — over the death of a parent. In what world is that anything but reprehensible?

In my younger days I would yell from the stands at opposing players. I don’t do this anymore but have no regrets for these past actions. Most of what I yelled was in good humor and nothing was personal or at all related to any tragedy that the person had suffered. I can’t conceive of what this fan in Chicago did. Like sexual assault, it’s something beyond my conception. I am no angel and I don’t pretend to ever have been. But what some people do and say is utterly shocking.

When present Golden State Warrior head coach Steve Kerr was eighteen his father, Malcolm Kerr, was killed by members of the Islamic Jihad while serving as president of the American University of Beirut. Four years later while warming up before a game for his college basketball team, the University of Arizona, opposing fans from ASU taunted Kerr with chants such as “PLO" and "Where’s your father?” (To his credit Kerr went off in the first half scoring 20 points and connecting on six of six three-point shots.) But again, what is wrong with people?

Yelling horrible things at people at sports venue is not exclusive to the United States. It is an international phenomenon — or should I say, sickness. For example, in England there have been incidences of tragedy chanting which is, according to a BBC News article: “When fans sing deeply offensive songs that reference stadium disasters or fatal accidents involving players or supporters.Despite being widely condemned by everyone involved in the game, it has been part of football culture for decades.”

Tragedy chanting has been directed at Liverpool’s football club because of the Hillsborough Stadium disaster in 1989 in which 97 supporters were killed as terraces collapsed at the beginning a match. Manchester United fans have also heard such chants as a consequence of a 1958 Munich air crash in which eight players and three club staff died. Such chants are still not uncommon and are perpetrated by fans from the continent as well as England.

Again I struggle to conceive of a mind that would feel comfortable engaging in such chanting. We’ve got enough pain and hurt in our world (see: Trumpy, Donald) without adding to it a fellow human being’s misery by reminding them of the worst moments from their life. Imagine someone mockingly reminding you of a personal tragedy while you’re working, which of course professional athlete’s are doing during games.

I don’t quite know what to make of people. We are seeing so much callousness, cruelty and insensitivity in the world today, particularly in the U.S. We have one political party and it’s leader (again see: Trumpy, Donald) who are enacting policies and eliminating programs that serve those in need. There’s even an ethos within the MAGA movement to not care about other people’s problems. And this from Christians. Liberals have been, in the past, mocked as do-gooders and bleeding hearts by conservatives who evidently believe in doing bad and whose hearts don’t bleed because they’re made of stone. These are people who relish “liberal tears.” They’re not interested in doing what’s best for the greater good. They just want to feel like they’re winning and that their foes are vanquished and miserable. They take joy in the misery of others because their inner lives are so empty and miserable.

I here remind of you a quote that can be found on the side of this blog: "They have a mind to till the soil and the love of possession is a disease with them. These people have made many rules that the rich may break but the poor may not. They take their tithes from the poor and weak to support the rich and those who rule." 

We are living in time when the rich are getting very much richer and the poor very much poorer and many of those on the sidelines are celebrating. It is, they say, Democrats who are are out to destroy America. Meanwhile they decry those of us who are woke. Being woke, they contend is a major problem for people and institutions. Here is how Merriam-Webster defines woke: "aware of and actively attentive to important societal facts and issues (especially issues of racial and social justice)." Sounds awful doesn’t it? Who'd want to be aware of social injustices? I guess it's better to institutionalize them.

So maybe it’s not surprising that someone would show up at a sporting event and taunt a player because his mom had the misfortune of dying in a car accident. It really kind of fits in with the direction many in the country are heading in. Nor is it all together surprising that left-leaning political figures are being threatened, shot, arrested and harassed.

I close with this quote from Woody Allen’s Hannah and Her Sisters: “You missed a very dull TV show on Auschwitz. More gruesome film clips, and more puzzled intellectuals declaring their mystification over the systematic murder of millions. The reason they can never answer the question ‘How could it possibly happen?’ is that it's the wrong question. Given what people are, the question is ‘Why doesn't it happen more often?’”

Fair point.