Community: Or Why You Should Quit Your Day Job

10 I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another in what you say and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be perfectly united in mind and thought. 11 My brothers and sisters, some from Chloe’s household have informed me that there are quarrels among you. 12 What I mean is this: One of you says, “I follow Paul”; another, “I follow Apollos”; another, “I follow Cephas”; still another, “I follow Christ.”- 1 Corinthians 10-12

Ours is, we say, a leaderless faith. And yet, patterns of leadership arise quite naturally in all of the democratic back and forth. We don’t have leaders until we do. We are of one voice until multiple voices grab control of the microphone and the floor during Business Meeting. We are proud of the weighty Friend who, during Worship, always condenses every message that came before into an inspiring synopsis. We like our favorite speakers and dislike the ones that seem to us to ring hollow, or to challenge our preconceptions.

Proclaiming that we don’t have this often uneasy range of emotional response simultaneously married to cold logic is in opposition to the facts. It is slight of hand, mere magical thinking to believe otherwise. Better that we swallow hard and admit that while all Friends are equal, some are more equal than others. In that same spirit, all arguments are persuasive, but some are more persuasive than others.

The courses of action undertaken to resolve concerns also reflect who we are and what we believe. Problems are routinely brought to a resolution not within ourselves, but by way of intermediaries. Need an objective voice? Hire an expert. More often than not, we rent-a-Quaker from an adjacent Monthly Meeting or Yearly Meeting. This sounds proactive enough, but it serves as mere window dressing when a full makeover is required.

I often hear ineffective resolutions excused by saying that novices, not experts have sought to resolve them. Under this line of thinking, mediocrity is and should be tolerated because Meeting work is no one’s day job. This is not an incorrect statement, but the logic is faulty. Friends did away with the clergy and left the responsibility to the rank and file for good reason. Doing what needs to be done with precision and accuracy is not good enough for government work, so to speak.

I am not unsympathetic towards the challenges that face such an exacting, careful standard. The larger a Monthly Meeting or Yearly Meeting, the more difficult it is to keep good intentions from grinding to a halt. The anonymity of a megachurch will work in a programmed setting, but it would be a dismal failure within unprogrammed Worship. Imagine straining to hear the ministry of a worshiper from the upper deck, seeking to locate a speaker who seems to you to be about the size of an ant.

Growth is a desired state, but it is my opinion that Monthly Meetings for Worship ought to be restricted to a certain size, then split neatly in two. The really hard work is in developing strategies for people to truly get to know each other. This is why many Protestant denominations have placed such reliance upon small groups, conceding that Worship alone is not sufficient for building real, not superficial community.

Recall, if you will, that Community is one of our Testimonies. It proves to be the most difficult to grasp for many Meetings and, indeed, many individual Quakers. Should one read the First Epistle to the Corinthians, one might make a strong case that Community is what the church was lacking most acutely. Though not as immediately appealing to Quaker eyes as Peace or Simplicity, it should not be overlooked.

It was fortunate for me that I first found Quakerism in a Meeting with only ten to fifteen regular attenders. My first few plaintive attempts towards vocal ministry were accepted and nurtured, not callously discarded or silently ignored. I was made to feel a part of a larger ecosystem of believers. Most of us, I would hope, are familiar with this family environment, this intimacy in communication. For every person added to the rolls, success requires we take their own unique cares, causes, and personality into account. No one said this was easy. The very fact that it is not simple is why many fall short of the mark.    

As I give the troubled church in Corinth one more read, I’m reminded of something that’s always kept me curious. We know the problems, the charismatic figures, and the theological diagnoses. What is unknown is whether or not Paul’s words made a dramatic difference either way. Certainly had the first attempt succeeded, there would have been no need for a second. Scholarship over the centuries has suggested that there might very well be a third letter to the Corinthians that has been lost over time.

By way of an exercise in critical thinking, what critique do you think your Monthly Meeting would receive? Some relatively new Quaker meetings have an institutional memory of their founders, a person or persons who remembers the beginning and the building up. Other Meetings have been around for hundreds of years, leaving behind them only a dimly recalled historical record. The Pauline Epistles would cease to be relevant to the current day if organized religion wasn’t such a formidable challenge.

But this does not let us off the hook. Our fore-parents adopted a radical course of self-denial and morality. We inherit a legacy that stretches beyond five days a week, eight hours a day. Leaders without ego are needed. They will step aside when planting is done, tending to new shoots and leaves. Newcomers will be welcomed with open arms. Quit your day job. Don’t give your religious life short-shift. It takes everyone’s effort.

Out or Not?

One of my mentors broke down the whole of LGBT expression and identity into two categories. To him, there were queer professionals and professional queers. We know which is which without having to use too much brain power. Boy George is a professional gay, as is k.d. lang. Your trusted physician or pharmacist is most likely a gay professional. Only a few of us have the ability and desire to shape public perception this openly. I personally see these individuals as a necessary evil, since they frequently overreach. At times they have embarrassed me and others.

This argument may be an oversimplification in terms, but it works well enough for now. I've never had the confidence to be as outspoken as some. If I were to be fully gay, I think I would shrink from being labeled a gay writer or a gay anything. I choose not to drape myself in a rainbow flag and rarely attend Pride. Nevertheless, there is a part of me who would gladly be identified in bold terms and in hyperlinks at the bottom of a Wikipedia entry.

I've always been torn between which path I should choose for myself. Bisexuality is invisible enough by itself and I know this far too well. If I speak up and self-identify, others know about it in the form of my personal presence. Ever since I can remember, some intangible something has fueled my interest and enthusiasm, and even now words often fail me. Often I am seeking to elucidate the part of me that identifies more strongly with women than with men. And yet, my pursuits and interests do not always make me as feminine (or more so) as any woman. Those who I have deliberately informed about my sexual orientation are not surprised if they have given the matter some thought. That said, I escape detection from most everyone else.

I think there's a place for outspoken LGBT expression, but aside from a few subtle references here and there, I'm never going to wear it like a badge. Whether this is fair or not, a part of me is simply not interested and very much conflicted. In the whole of my adult life, I've known men who, like some women, secretly harbor desire for unattainable relationships. That's safe for them, though it promises absolutely nothing besides fantasy. This is the opposite extreme, and I'm not nearly as repressed as they. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Those who pursue this course live lonely lives.

Many people don't realize how educated I have become in a specialized field. They fail to notice, as well, that I am no stranger to queer-friendly terminology and even have a personal history to share, if I wish. Let me put it another way. An acquaintance of mine once pursued a career as an engineer. As is true with many in the so-called STEM fields, she was enrolled in a field vastly outnumbered by men. For her own reasons, she chose a different path altogether, changing majors in midstream.

Her adviser, also female, was irate. Her prized pupil was viewed by her instructor as almost traitorous. The student was not doing her part to swing the gender balance towards a fairer, more equal setting. What the adviser did not recognize is that her own private dream was simply not the same as her young protege. The pupil did not owe her professor or American womanhood anything.

This is an example of what happens when we view any issue through only one lens. I myself have been shamed by impatient reformers in the same way that befalls brave gender pioneers like these. The same tactics are used by radical outers, shoving the closeted outside into the bright sunlight. The good news is that a new permissiveness has gratefully made it easier to exit the closeet. Now we are fighting to give someone the right to be out or not out, which to me will always be a personal decision.

I don't want to view myself only through the lens of sexual orientation and expression. Activism often invites this kind of navel-gazing, but I don't want the whole of my identity to hinge upon one metric alone. In 2016, it may be finally legal to marry someone who shares your gender, but it is entirely possible to lump all sexual orientation into two and only two categories. Frustratingly enough, I do the same thing myself. If a woman is dating another woman, I automatically assume she's a lesbian. If she's dating a man, I assume she's straight.

Being mislabeled doesn't bother me as much as it once did. I can own who I am, finally. Well-meaning heterosexuals that try much too hard to be inclusive get to me most these days. But in the same spirit, I'm sure for people who identify as transgender that I've been guilty of the same offense. I want to be a good ally and I want them to know that I've clearly done my homework. Without meaning to do it, I've committed the same overreach. A more successful strategy for myself and everyone else is being much less concerned with exteriors, even though this seems to be a challenge for everyone.

Exteriors are what this entire post seeks to address. The most powerful forms of communication arise when we see our commonalities, not our differences. Liberals overdo this sort of thinking very easily, consumed as they are with being inclusive and diverse. Individuals who identify as a minority once again face the same conundrum.

How open and out do I want to be? Should I demand recognition on my own terms, or instead take a step back and examine how I am perceived? These are rhetorical questions. The only valid answer is this: it depends.  

Quote of the Week

Well, they’re Southern people, and if they know you are working at home they think nothing of walking right in for coffee. But they wouldn’t dream of interrupting you at golf.

-Harper Lee

Rest in Peace.

Saturday Video

I feel the earth move under my feet
I feel the sky tumbling down
I feel my heart start to trembling
Whenever you're around

Ooh, baby, when I see your face
Mellow as the month of May
Oh, darling, I can't stand it
When you look at me that way

I feel the earth move under my feet
I feel the sky tumbling down
I feel my heart start to trembling
Whenever you're around

Ooo, darling, when you're near me
And you tenderly call my name
I know that my emotions
Are something I just can't tame
I've just got to have you, baby, uh huh huh uh huh huh yeah

I just lose control 

Down to my very soul 

I get a hot and cold all over 

I feel the earth move under my feet 

I feel the sky tumbling down, 

Tumbling down, tumbling down...

A Harper Lee Story

Harper Lee, the famous writer of To Kill a Mockingbird, has passed away at the age of 89. The book was a critical and commercial success, led to an equally successful movie, and has been read by high school students for at least the past fifty years. Among Southern novelists, she has few peers. It's astonishing that her reputation rests upon a single book. It made up her sole literary output until last year's critically panned sequel, Go Set a Watchman. Many believe that Harper Lee did not agree to its publication in sentiment. She might not have been mentally functional enough, due to advanced age, to prevent someone from cashing in on her name.

I met Harper Lee almost in passing. This was nearly a decade ago, in the auditorium of the Birmingham Public Library in Birmingham, Alabama. The occasion was meant to showcase the photography of the folklorist and author Katherine Tucker Windham. Largely unknown outside the South, Windham was considered a local legend. Both she and Harper Lee were Alabama born and bred, and apparently the two were friends from way back in the day. Turnout for the event was high, as was the enthusiasm.

The notoriously reclusive Lee had taken a special trip from her home in South Alabama. By this time, Lee was confined to a wheelchair and required constant care. It was clear that her health was in great decline and she would not last much longer. For most of the event, she sat obligingly, saying nothing to anyone. Her attendance had been deliberately unscheduled and unannounced in an effort to not draw too much attention. I was pushing an older man in a wheelchair, and the four of us shared a quiet elevator ride. I didn't even know who she was at first, and I wouldn't know until I observed the fawning behavior of the audience.

A young woman gushingly approached Harper Lee as the latter was wheeled down to the stage.

"You're such an inspiration! I want you to know how much your work means to me!"

Harper Lee, who had been previously sitting sullenly in silence, craned her neck upwards. Before that instant, she had not made eye contact with anyone. One might have made an incorrect assumption that she was deaf or mentally impaired.

As it turns out, Lee was her typically crabby, cranky self.

"I came here to support a friend, not to be idolized," she spat.

That was all she said or was going to say. The young woman, her feelings clearly hurt, quickly departed. After that, no one else dared ask her a question or to make any comment at all in her company. This was not atypical behavior for Harper Lee, who valued her privacy to such an obsessive degree that she was openly scornful of the hosanna-shouting public. A person more comfortable in the spotlight might have feasted on the idol worship, but not her.

Anyone who know much about Harper Lee will not be surprised by this anecdote. Fanatically protective of her public visibility, Lee lived the life of a shut-in on nobody's terms but her own. This made no difference to the millions of people touched by her novel. Southern liberals and reformers see her as their champion, as her words made a strong case for racial tolerance and Civil Rights. The virtuous lawyer Atticus Finch was her own creation, played by Gregory Peck in the acclaimed film that followed.

Adding any new and relevant critique to her work is almost impossible. Her novel has been dissected in a million different ways over the years. The book's deceiving simplicity makes it easy for adolescents to read and everyone to love. To Kill a Mockingbird was a seminal work and would have been a tough act to follow. Even so, the public clamored for more, even a slow trickle of short stories. Like J.D. Salinger, who is a contemporary of Lee, she became withdrawn and secretive. It was plain that she never courted, nor anticipated superstardom.

Now she has departed this earth for the afterlife, remaining a figure shrouded in mystery. Lee did it her way or no way at all. A sensitive soul could only have written such an idealistic and noble work. She disappointed many readers and adoring fans along the way. A particularly persistent rumor insisted that her close friend Truman Capote was the real author. Though one could make a case for it, the book's author is almost assuredly her. I wonder if we'll still be reading To Kill a Mockingbird for another fifty years.

And Now for Something Completely Different...

In an ongoing quest to make myself as healthy as possible, I will start a period of transcranical magnetic stimulation tomorrow. It is a month-long, intensive treatment that will require me to participate five days a week for a month. Transportation costs will be high, my commute time will be lengthy, but I'm tired of waiting for antidepressants to work. TMS in combination with medication has proven effective to many in clinical trains and on an outpatient basis.

The procedure itself is relatively low-risk, much more so than the electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) that I was given in my teens. Medical science has revealed that the brain communicates by way of electrical impulses. It is postulated that people with depression and bipolar have faulty wiring, if you will. TMS seeks to establish a healthy brain balance that people like me were simply born without.

The procedure was developed thirty years ago, but it hasn't been used extensively until recently. I'm fortunate in that my insurance will fully cover the procedure. Many private psychiatrists and physicians take no insurance and insist upon fees upwards of $200-$300 a session. This is an unfortunately commonplace occurance for mental health services in general, but I'll save that rant for another post.

I can say that I engage in this course of action unafraid and hopeful. The worst that can happen is that I'll receive no positive gain at all. As is always the case, it took me turning over a variety of stones to find a provider who didn't charge an arm and a leg. My second condition was to ensure that their office wasn't located outside of the reach of public transportation. As it stands, I have an hour and a half one way trip upon which to look forward, but I'll manage.

My goal is to share with you the results I obtain or do not obtain here on my blog. Truthfully, I have no idea what to expect and, if you find my commentary interesting, you'll participate in the same discovery I will. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to feel the gain as each day's procedure adds to the one before it, and the one before that. These might be the most productive days I've known in a long time.

My mind is perpetually overstimulated. I know I have limitations and I don't expect more than I will receive. I know I will not be cured, but perhaps my day-to-day existence will be improved. I'm tired of waking up depressed and having constant mood swings from the moment I rise until I go to bed in the evening. A proactive stand has always served me best over time. Here's another to add to the list.

The Pathological President

This week I spoke offhandedly to a psychiatrist on the subject of politics. I wasn’t expecting the precise topic to be raised, but was grateful for the insight provided. It was her learned opinion that anyone willing to be President had significant psychological and pathological issues. As she put it, those who would put that much stress and pressure on their shoulders had to have holes and substantial personal problems. Her view was that the egocentric conceptions of self that are commonplace with our high elected officials are balanced uneasily with a kind of outright masochism.

I can’t say I disagree with the doctor’s hypothesis. We are, as we know, in the middle of another contentious election year, where numerous important questions are being raised. I’d love an unguarded moment with every significant candidate for the office. If I was granted that degree of trust and access, I’d like to ask why they were running. In a debate format, I know I’d receive a carefully nuanced and mostly meaningless reply. Off the record, I wonder what drives and motivates those who have placed themselves willingly under a microscope.

Most people I’ve spoken with over the course of my life have no desire to be President. It was once fashionable to say, in all seriousness, that any boy and girl could grow up to be our Chief Executive. That may be so even today, but along with a mere willingness to run is an always unasked follow up question. We know the stated objective of our politicians, but what insecurities and yes, holes, are responsible for those who seek what can be such a thankless occupation. The stakes are high, the reward as elevated as the risk.

Historians have sought to probe the real factors at play. Any number of posthumous biographers dig deeply into a life to answer that very question. They have the benefit of hindsight at their disposal. And even then, some politicians keep their cards close enough to their vests that no one ever gets an authentic peek at who they really are. The narratives their campaigns choose are often adopted part and parcel without questioning. Those who are good at the game might forget who they really are, underneath it all. In their line of work, one is forced to equivocate and dodge, to bob and weave, and those pugilists who last into the late rounds usually become career politicians.

Both Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders are known quantities. We are encouraged to believe their campaign stop chatter, embrace their visions of reform, and pick sides accordingly. This time around, Bernie’s banter is viewed as somehow more authentic. That’s an upside, but what personal lacking would have him take on the highest office in the land? Hillary Clinton has a reputation, deserved or not, for being transparently power-hungry, a label that has fed the high negatives she has never been able to effectively shed. We want our President to provide what he or she espouses on the stump, which is partially a reason why Donald Trump’s campaign cannot be derailed.

It is very sad that we’ve become cynical enough to excuse boorish behavior and bluster as somehow being proof positive of authenticity. Trump’s supporters want a return to the good old days and will follow any leader who makes a different set of promises. They expect him to make good on their investment with him. We don’t know for sure that Bernie will provide free college education or establish a single-payer form of health care, but we want to believe. Conversely, we want to believe that Hillary will accomplish a few incremental, cautious changes to an increasingly complicated political reality.

Why would anyone want the burden of expecting a phone call at 3 am? After the spin and constant analysis, the speeches and baby kissing, the handshakes and fundraising, can we honestly say that our candidates even know who they are? If the compulsion to be President is a kind of pathology, the absolute horror of campaigning and then governing to follow will surely drive a person insane. We observe the weather-beaten look and grey hairs of our Presidents from the moment they take office until the day they leave.

This is why we should be careful, why we should peel back the veneer before we cast our ballots. The best orators and politicians will appear as though they know us, and we will allow ourselves once more to believe that convincing line. We will believe that, to our chosen candidate, each of us is the most important being on the face of the Earth. The passage of time will grant us some greater understanding and revelation, but many of our leaders will stay inscrutable from start to finish. I hope at the end we receive what we really need.

Quote of the Week

Art is an experience, not the formulation of a problem.- Lindsay Anderson

Saturday Video

Just a little lovin'
Early in the mornin'
Beats a cup of coffee
For starting off the day

Just a little lovin'
When the world is yawnin'
Makes you wake up feeling
Good things are coming your way

This old world
Wouldn't be half as bad
It wouldn't be half as sad
If each and everybody in it had, yeah

Just a little lovin'
Early in the mornin'
That little extra somethin'
To kinda see them through

Nothing turns the day on
Really gets it dawnin'
Like a little bit of lovin'
From some lovin' someone like you

This old world
Wouldn't be half as bad
It wouldn't be half as sad
If each and everybody in it had

Just a little lovin'
Early in the mornin'
(Just a little lovin')
(When the world is yawnin')
Just a little bit of lovin', ah
Oh, in the morning
Nothing turns the day on
Really gets it dawnin'
Make a little bit of lovin'
It's so good, its so good

Engagement Complications

What follows is personal reflection, a break from serious short essays.

I'm engaged. A wedding will follow in three years' time, since I am having $20,000 in student loan debt forgiven. One of my doctors signed a form for me which I then sent to the company in charge of loan payments. The document noted the severity of my illness and why I am unable to pay off the remaining balance. The loan company doesn't want to give up that much debt easily, but as long as my income from freelancing is this minimal, I have an incentive to stay poor. Soon I will owe nothing to no one, which will be a weight off of my shoulders.

I've gotten my credit in line. My youthful exploits and irresponsible credit card binges have been wiped away. I've done all the things that responsible adults are supposed to do before nuptials are underway. I work on myself daily to manage bipolar disorder, chronic pain, and a severe anxiety disorder. These take up a lot of my time, but I manage them with the same surgical precision. I have no other choice.

I can control my finances and my relationship to an extent, but I have no control over my extended family. This is where matters get very complicated. I haven't really allowed myself to think about wedding plans until the last several weeks. The ceremony itself will be simple and to the point, in the Quaker fashion. That part doesn't bother me. When the time grows ever closer, my partner and I will placidly begin the process of preparation. I see that being a calm and relatively straightforward process.

Here's the problem. Both of my uncles are self-absorbed and not terribly friendly people. Over the years, I've tried to understand how their dysfunctional upbringing influenced their behavior. The two of them don't even bother to justify their conduct, showing a complete unwillingness to be introspective. They grew up in a family where emotional displays were to be kept to a minimum. This was the exact reverse from how I was brought up, which is part of my confusion.

I don't think it was ever acceptable for them to express their true feelings for any reason. In adulthood, I recognize that my grandmother certainly bears part of the blame, herself the spitting image of WASP depression-era stoicism. When she was still living, the two of them marched to her drumbeat, but she has been dead now for over a decade. One of her sons, my uncle, is struggling with his own slow decline, his own ultimate demise from Alzheimer's. I should be more compassionate, but I'm not.

My uncles never learned healthy ways of expressing themselves. They've certainly never taken an active role in my life. Inviting them to the wedding would imply that I want them there, and the truth of it is that I don't. When one of my sisters got married, she invited the entire clan in the hopes of securing an expensive present. No present can buy the affection I craved and needed. They have money beyond my wildest dreams, more money than I will probably ever make in my lifetime, but it doesn't take the place of genuine sentiment and tenderness. To them, things are more important than people, which is a lesson my uncles will never learn.

If I have my way, I'm bound to bruise feelings. I want to invite one set of cousins, their significant other, and their kids. That will be it. I do not want to invite anyone else from that side of the family. My uncles have never made time for me and I'm tired of being tight-lipped and tolerant for their sake. Part of being a family member is being there for the little things, even if they're comprised of quite ordinary trips to the grocery store or moments watching television together. My uncles could be coerced out of guilt and obligation to spend time with me, but that's not exactly love for love's sake.

When word gets around, I expect I will have to defend myself. Mostly I just want to be left alone. This is my day in the sun, the culmination of dreams I was beginning to worry would never come true. I will be close to forty years old by the time I actually say my vows, which is late even for these times. In the conservative South, people get married much earlier, and by now the first flood of early divorcees is leading my contemporaries into second marriages. I hope mine lasts longer than theirs did, but no one can say that I married too young.  

Faith, Power, and the Role of Women

The candidacy of Hillary Clinton creates by its very nature very predictable arguments about sexism. Over the course of the next several months, voters will be asked to discern what sexism is and where it is found. Certain instances are glaringly obvious, others much less so. Personal experience fuels the debate, but until now, no compelling and unfair Anti-Clinton argument or tactic has been brought forth to the American people.

Though it is true that the United States has never had a woman President, women have taken active roles within large structures of their creation. Clara Barton was motivated enough by her traumatic experience as battlefield nurse during the Civil War to found the American Red Cross. Any number of other examples of women’s leadership can be cited. Desperate times beg for desperate measures, but despite what candidates in 2016 might tell you, we are not in the midst of upheaval anywhere near that profound. Chaos, not necessity is the mother of substantial and effective invention.

Women have dominated religious settings for generations. Conservative faiths which insist that women be subservient to their husbands have nevertheless been enriched by major contributions. Women might be asked to cover their heads, but they are allowed to open their mouths and put pen to paper. As a person of faith, I know some of what a society run by women would look like. Women have made up the majority of religious gatherings for a very long time. As long as I can recall, women much more than men regularly attend and eagerly take leadership roles.

Unsurprisingly, there is significant historical precedent for these mostly selfless gestures. Three faith traditions actively value and have been significantly enriched by the contributions of women. There are probably more than that. Christian Science was founded by Mary Baker Eddy. The teachings of the Seventh-Day Adventist Church were nurtured by the writings and example of Ellen G. White. My own faith, the Religious Society of Friends, commonly known as Quakers, was skillfully directed and guided at its very beginning by Margaret Fell. All three of these could be characterized as Radical Protestant, since each took a sharp departure in practice and in theology from more established faiths.

Two of these are distinctly American creations which have their beginnings in the 19th Century Great Awakening. Another dates back to revolutionary England of the 1640’s. Quakers, in particular, sought to draw no distinction between the voices of women and the voices of men. Complete equality between the sexes, however, was still a few years away. Men and women were seated together during Worship, but separated by gender when it came time for Business Meeting.

American society would be quite different if the roles were reversed, but I am cautious of going out too far on a limb. What I will say is that politics might be far less directly confrontational if women’s voices spoke loudest. It could potentially be less violent in practice and in policy. This is, of course, no hard and fast rule. Women like former UK Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher have been eager hawks during their tenure. I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard recently that Hillary Clinton is too cravenly warlike to be trusted. Peace churches like my own always seem to find themselves as outliers during times of military action, and I expect to be on the outside looking one more time should she be elected.

It may be too much of a stretch to compare faith groups with politics. Even so, struggles for power and influence within both are prominent and constant. Shut out of active governance, ambition and an altruistic desire to improve conditions for everyone, male or female, led many women to found their own organizations. Several of these exist to the current day, peopled by cause women who have, over time, pushed hard over the years for Prohibition, women’s suffrage, the Equal Rights Amendment, and now, an increased profile of women in positions of power.

It was no accident that these self-identified groups did not divorce their cause from religion. The Women’s Christian Temperance Union, as the name would suggest, used the language of Christianity to further its aims. One could argue that these groups came of age in more religious times, and while that is indeed true, few of their contemporaries ever complained that these highly motivated women were violating the separation between church and state. The two were forever intertwined, in their minds. Moral crusades must reflect morality, and organized religion preaches it from every pulpit.

Colossians 3:23 reads,

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters.

When we go astray from this maxim, we lose.

Moving to the current day, Gloria Steinem’s recent remarks show the desperation of aging boomer women. They want to see a woman in the White House in their lifetime, but, as we know today, that outcome is nowhere near a given. We should always give careful consideration when sexism is invoked, but we should also consider the instances, like this one, where it is transparently self-serving. I agree that it’s past time for a woman to occupy the Oval Office, but the fight now ongoing for the soul of the Democratic party is legitimate and does not come at the expense of sexist cheap shots.

Quakers, by in large, have passionate opinions about politics. I have learned to remove myself from these arguments, especially in an online environment, because they quickly go off the rails and never end up anywhere productive. My hope is that those who share common purpose like me would devote half as much effort towards their personal spirituality that they do in over-analyzing soundbytes. I am a man of God first and a liberal Democrat second. I never forget the proper order.

Quote of the Week

Criticism should not be focused on Nazi Germany alone but extend beyond to include physicians in democratic countries, as well. Physicians outside Germany before the war, in the United States in particular were well aware of the evolving racist thrust of the health care system. They chose to remain silent.- William E. Seidelman

Saturday Video

Everybody's doing a brand-new dance, now
(Come on baby, do the Loco-motion)
I know you'll get to like it if you give it a chance now
(Come on baby, do the Loco-motion)
My little baby sister can do it with me
It's easier than learning your A-B-C's

So come on, come on, do the Loco-motion with me
You gotta swing your hips, now

Come on, baby
Jump up
Jump back
Well, now, I think you've got the knack
Wow, wow

Now that you can do it, let's make a chain, now
(Come on baby, do the Loco-motion)
A chug-a chug-a motion like a railroad train, now
(Come on baby, do the Loco-motion)
Do it nice and easy, now, don't lose control
A little bit of rhythm and a lot of soul

Come on, come on
Do the Loco-motion with me

Ye-ye-ye-yeah
Move around the floor in a Loco-motion
(Come on baby, do the Loco-motion)
Do it holding hands if you get the notion
(Come on baby, do the Loco-motion)

There's never been a dance that's so easy to do
It even makes you happy when you're feeling blue
So come on, come on, do the Loco-motion with me

You gotta swing your hips, now
(Come on)
That's right (do the Loco-motion)
You're doing fine!
(Come on, do the Loco-motion)
Come on, babe
(Come on, do the Loco-motion)
Hm-hm-hm, jump up
(Come one)
Jump back (do the Loco-motion)
You're looking good
(Come on, do the Loco-motion)
Hm-hm-hm, jump up
(Come on)
Jump back (do the Loco-motion), yeah yeah yeah

Blogging: Past and Future

Ten years ago I began blogging. It was a new platform for personal expression and I'm grateful for the experience. In the beginning, I was part of a group of fifty or so motivated and creative bloggers. We were a tight-knit bunch who coalesced around a nakedly self-promoting writer who used her Ivy League credentials quite productively. Even with the exposure and ample hits, she rarely made much in the way of revenue. Nor did any of us. We were writing for the love of it, and maybe to even win an modest audience for our troubles.

I've recently learned that blogging still isn't profitable in the conventional sense. Many of us have hoped otherwise, only to eventually abandon our hard work in frustration. A few companies, mostly small potatoes start ups, peddle content in the hopes to win advertising dollars. I was recently employed briefly by one of them, who simply stopped e-mailing me assignments without bothering to tell me why. A more professional entity would at least have had the courtesy to say thanks, but no thanks. Fly-by-night organizations like this one are about the best a person can hope for in today's climate.

Any number of public relations firms have contacted me with the promise of free work. For a time, I pursued these as a means of boosting my profile. The problem, among many, was that they were getting paid for my troubles and I wasn't. I can't count the number of bad self-published books I reviewed over a two year period. Interviewing the writers was sometimes very painful, and there were instances where awkward phone conversations could simply not be used.

Plum assignments were hard to come by, but I appreciate the ones I received. I was given the opportunity to interview former Illinois senator Adlai Stevenson III. In addition, I had the opportunity to examine the writings of a young Kurt Vonnegut. Naturally, none of these assignments even paid me a dime. Breaking through is not a one-step process. One quickly finds that many ceilings have to be broken through on a consistent basis, and the process never really stops.

The signs are not promising. Professionals who have been to journalism school and have specialized training are fighting for paid gigs. If a person can manage to find a single publication that will routinely feature his or her content, he or she considers it a coup. Any number of others are given highly sporadic work, but not a regular column. Be it known that I recognize the challenges and steady headwind that faces me. In an over-saturated environment, who you know is more important than talent.

We may think that the internet is the great leveler, the triumph of democracy. It is, and it isn't. It has eliminated jobs as frequently as it has created them. I've sought to keep alive the first generation of blogging, which takes time to craft an argument and requires full attention. With time, our arguments have been broken into smaller and smaller bits. As we know, Twitter limits a person to 150 characters or less. The trend is towards shorter and shorter attention spans. I try to keep my contributions to the discourse to the point, never laborious to read, and still informative.

I think there is a market still for a carefully constructed stand-alone piece. I wouldn't continue writing if I didn't think this was the case. But be it known that I don't expect much in the way of financial compensation. Most of us will be known by our name, never our face. We will pass unrecognized on the street. We will only be as good as our last column. Along the way, if we're lucky, we'll win a few followers and regular readers.

Quote of the Week

"Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!

"But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.

"I shot him dead because —
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That's clear enough; although

"He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like — just as I —
Was out of work — had sold his traps —
No other reason why.

"Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat if met where any bar is,
Or help to half-a-crown."

-Thomas Hardy, "The Man He Killed"

Saturday Video

If you, if you could return, don't let it burn, don't let it fade.

I'm sure I'm not being rude, but it's just your attitude,
It's tearing me apart, It's ruining everything.

I swore, I swore I would be true, and honey, so did you.
So why were you holding her hand? Is that the way we stand?
Were you lying all the time? Was it just a game to you?

But I'm in so deep. You know I'm such a fool for you.
You got me wrapped around your finger, ah, ha, ha.
Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to,
Do you have to let it linger?

Oh, I thought the world of you.
I thought nothing could go wrong,
But I was wrong. I was wrong.

If you, if you could get by, trying not to lie,
Things wouldn't be so confused and I wouldn't feel so used,
But you always really knew, I just wanna be with you.

But I'm in so deep. You know I'm such a fool for you.
You got me wrapped around your finger, ah, ha, ha.
Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to,
Do you have to let it linger?

And I'm in so deep. You know I'm such a fool for you.
You got me wrapped around your finger, ah, ha, ha.
Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to,
Do you have to let it linger?

You know I'm such a fool for you.
You got me wrapped around your finger, ah, ha, ha.
Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to,
Do you have to let it linger?

Why We Can't Hide Behind Our Words

I'm back over here today.

Snow Pictures

Sidewalk

                                                     Me

The joys of being young.

More here.

Quote of the Week

A little snow, tumbled about, anon becomes a mountain.-
William Shakespeare, King John (1598), Act III, scene 4, line 176.

More than Conversational Snow

I could have pushed the ruler in two or three more inches, but that would have ruined the effect. Snowfall thus far is around 14 inches.

Early Saturday Video

In real life it was timing
Nothing more than a ball of dust
And the truth was shining
Heavy with the weight of the ice

We got home
Just in the nick of time

Three hours later
Everything was white

I'm not going out tonight

Three hours later
Everything was white

I'm not going out tonight

Next thing I was stranded
With nothing more than
The shoes on my feet

So it seemed we had landed
The wrong side of the street

All in the back yard
The houses flurried by

And three hours
Everything was white

I'm not going out tonight

Class 3 Kill Storm!

The Ultimate Sacrifice

I'm over here today.

Quote of the Week

"In reality there are as many religions as there are individuals"- Mahatma Gandhi

MLK's Legacy in Rear View Mirror

Monday we will celebrate anew the birthday of Martin Luther King, Jr, which always provides us a fresh opportunity to look at race relations. I write today in anticipation of the federal holiday to avoid the pile-on of blog posts and columns set to be submitted in a couple of days. It's a struggle to come up with original content in the forty-eight years since MLK's tragic assassination in Memphis. As I often do, I'll write about my personal experiences close to the source.

I'd like to pursue a different angle, that being the city of my birth and primary upbringing. The demographics of Birmingham, Alabama, have changed considerably since the days of Civil Rights. Though the city has recently showed a few tentative beginning stages of gentrification, that development is currently isolated to a few blocks in downtown. On a drive back from the airport over the holidays, I observed how much of the city is still blighted by years of poverty and gloom. Birmingham proper grows poorer and blacker by the day.

Shortly before the merging of several highways ignobly referred to by natives as malfunction junction lies the heart of downtown. The multi-purpose arena known as the Birmingham-Jefferson Civic Center is showing its age. Built in 1976, four years before my birth, a look from the interstate shows what forty years of wear and tear will do. In my childhood, I was taken there on field trips to see the Alabama Symphony Orchestra. This was at the dawn of the suburbs, where white wealth and population continued to stream over Red Mountain in a torrent.

Dr. King spoke quite a bit about a very real War on Poverty towards the end of his life. If he had lived, what would he have said about white flight? In his time, white liberals were beginning to flood out of the District of Columbia into Northern Virginia. That retreat would only continue over the decades. Census data shows that the population of the District sharply declined until very recently. Washington, DC, is not Birmingham (nor can the two be fairly compared), but there are observable trends in place between them.

Though we may be uniform in our belief that integration and Civil Rights was a success, dissenting voices did exist. It may be instructive to know what Malcolm X said about King's Birmingham Campaign, fifty-three years in our past. In his 1963 message to the Grassroots, the Nation of Islam leader goes aggressively after King and King's strategy.

As soon as King failed in Birmingham, Negroes took to the streets. King got out and went out to California to a big rally and raised about -- I don't know how many thousands of dollars.

And as Negroes of national stature began to attack each other, they began to lose their control of the Negro masses. And Negroes was [sic] out there in the streets. They was [sic] talking about [how] we was [sic] going to march on Washington. By the way, right at that time Birmingham had exploded, and the Negroes in Birmingham -- remember, they also exploded. They began to stab the crackers in the back and bust them up 'side their head -- yes, they did. 

The critique here is harsh and unrepentant. King is showed to be counterfeit, a mere fundraiser. Malcolm's "Negroes of national stature" continued the lamentable trend. Birmingham's history post Civil Rights is a Greek tragedy of the highest stature. Corruption, wasteful spending, and mutual race baiting have left the city paralyzed. It has only been in the past several years that something akin to a revitalization has broken ground and kept moving forward. In building a new stadium, the city has attracted the return of the local minor league baseball team and has modernized the airport after years of neglect.

This is real progress, but arrives too late. The southern suburbs now hold most of the revenue and the power. African-American families are now the ones leaving Birmingham for whiter pastures. If only this sad story were relegated to one city with a troubled past, but it is woefully commonplace. This is the story of America in the late 20th and early 21st Century. We should rightly pause to reflect the flurry of organization and activity designed to establish equality among the races.

Dr. King told us that the hard work isn't done. Here's the rub. It likely never will be.

Saturday Video

In 1814 we took a little trip
Along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip.
Took a little bacon and we took a little beans
And we met the bloody British in the town of New Orleans.

We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin'.
There wasn't as many as there was a while ago.
We fired once more and they began to runnin'
Down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico.

We looked down the river and we see'd the British come.
And there must have been a hundred of 'em beatin' on the drum.
They stepped so high and they made the bugles ring.
We stood by our cotton bales and didn't say a thing.

Old Hickory said we could take 'em by surprise
If we didn't fire our muskets 'til we looked 'em in the eye
Held our fire 'til we see'd their faces well.
Then we opened up with squirrel guns and really gave 'em ...well

Yeah, they ran through the briers and they ran through the brambles
And they ran through the bushes where a rabbit couldn't go.
Ran so fast that the hounds couldn't catch 'em
Down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico.

We fired our cannon 'til the barrel melted down.
So we grabbed an alligator and we fought another round.
We filled his head with cannon balls, powdered his behind
And when we touched the powder off, the gator lost his mind.

Yeah, they ran through the briers and they ran through the brambles
And they ran through the bushes where a rabbit couldn't go.
Ran so fast that the hounds couldn't catch 'em
Down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico.

Getting Spoiled in Victory

The University of Alabama claims 16 National Championships as of last night. I'm glad to have been a part of five of them in my lifetime.

Tell Me Why

Sailing heart-ships thru broken harbors 

Out on the waves in the night 

Still the searcher must ride the dark horse 

Racing alone in his fright. 

Tell me why, tell me why 

Is it hard to make arrangements with yourself, 

When you're old enough to repay 

but young enough to sell? 

Tell me lies later, come and see me 

I'll be around for a while. 

I am lonely but you can free me 

All in the way that you smile 

Tell me why, tell me why 

Is it hard to make arrangements with yourself, 

When you're old enough to repay 

but young enough to sell? 

Tell me why, tell me why 

Tell me why, tell me why

Is Religion Motivated by Guilt Trip?

The cynic rejects organized religion because of the perceived damage it creates to the believer. The atheist believes in no higher power, no higher authority. The atheist may observe nothing, but the cynic observes everything.

Certain biblical narratives in the life of Jesus could be said to invoke guilt to enforce belief. Matthew 23 speaks harshly to the keeper of God’s word, the scribes and the Pharisees. In modern parlance, we might deem the entire chapter and all forty verses as one extended rant. It is unclear whether this message should apply to the common person, but its inclusion in the text has been variously applied to everyone over the centuries.

Jesus’ anger builds to a fiery crescendo, a warning of apocalypse and eternal damnation. Like Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, the punishment is vocal and descriptive.

“You snakes! You brood of vipers! How will you escape being condemned to hell? Therefore I am sending you prophets and sages and teachers. Some of them you will kill and crucify; others you will flog in your synagogues and pursue from town to town. And so upon you will come all the righteous blood that has been shed on earth, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah son of Berekiah, whom you murdered between the temple and the altar. Truly I tell you, all this will come on this generation.

Should we fall to our knees in terror? Some of us will take these words as an admonishment to avoid hypocrisy in their own lives, but others will think the punishment too harsh. How we take the message depends on our conception of obedience to God. More individualistic faiths downplay this passage. The response of Liberal Friends and self-identified liberals might well be: Who are you to tell me what to believe?

A healthy skepticism is often a good thing. Converts to Quakerism are routinely attracted to a faith where no person speaks for everyone. Yet, I find many more have never quite gotten over their childhood scoldings by frustrated parents. Some have never outgrown their rebellious adolescence and early adult life.

The definition of guilt depends, of course, on context and on the individual. The words of Jesus or any authoritative voice can be by turns threatening, gently admonishing, and even constructive. Where we are along life’s journey and our internal responses to external stimulus dictate what we hear and what we ignore. For me, there are times where I don’t want to be reminded of the times I let my basic selfishness overtake my best intentions. I’m doing the best I can, I might protest.

Is it guilt that makes me claim I am being falsely accused or unjustly persecuted? I better get right with God, or I know where I’m going. Or, at least, that’s what some believe. I never was much of a believer in the benefit of hellfire and damnation. Liberal faiths discard the above scriptural passage altogether or downplay the venom.

In Luke, harsh Jesus appears again.

One day Jesus said to his disciples, "There will always be temptations to sin, but what sorrow awaits the person who does the tempting! It would be better to be thrown into the sea with a millstone hung around your neck than to cause one of these little ones to fall into sin.”

As I’ve noted before a time or two, Abraham Lincoln used this passage to great effect in his second Inaugural Address. In that context, he was addressing a destructive fratricidal war that tore not only a country apart, but the Religious Society of Friends. We may not have recovered from the strife and discord yet.

Guilt has its place, but not when it exists only to make someone else miserable. That approach isn’t corrective. It’s childish. If we consider ourselves Christians, we seek to be made in Jesus’ image, not to be chronically unhappy. Everyone knows a person who has been wounded by faith perverted, by the pettiness of human failure. Quakerism promises a freedom from the unhelpful and unnecessary, not the end of life lessons for right living. This is where some go wrong, very wrong.

Living the life requires that we keep our spiritual muscles supple. We only gain strength through exertion and constant focus. Protesting unfair treatment or largely imagined grievances weakens us. As we are forgiven, so we should forgive ourselves and begin again. The idealist in us wants to believe in the concept of adulthood as a goal to be reached, an apex to be scaled. In reality, maturity is often what people run from, not run towards.

I write to you today with no guilty conscience. My demons are inside me, not in a smoldering cauldron or, as we are taught, cast into a herd of pigs. Who am I to tell you what to do? May you be in a receptive mindframe, neither defensive nor reactive, ready to practice active listening. If a little healthy guilt trip now and again works for you, so be it. I wouldn’t live my life in fear of always doing something wrong. Doesn’t that interfere with our freedom of choice?

Quote of the Week

The good people of this world are very far from being satisfied with each other and my arms are the best peacemakers.-Samuel Colt

Saturday Video

What I like about you
You hold me tight
Tell me I'm the only one
Wanna come over tonight, yeah

Keep on whispering in my ear
Tell me all the things that I wanna hear
'Cause it's true
That's what I like about you

What I like about you
You really know how to dance
When you go up, down, jump around
Think about true romance, yeah

Keep on whispering in my ear
Tell me all the things that I wanna hear
'Cause it's true

That's what I like about you
That's what I like about you
That's what I like about you

Wow
Hey

What I like about you
You keep me warm at night
Never wanna let you go
Know you make me feel all right, yeah

Keep on whispering in my ear
Tell me all the things that I wanna hear
'Cause it's true
That's what I like about you
That's what…

The Nuance of Gun Control

I’ve written numerous times about my disability. Some have encouraged me to be less open about it, some have applauded my courage. I’m often ambivalent upon which side to favor. Plainly put, I have bipolar disorder, draw a small monthly payment, and above all, have guaranteed government health insurance. As I read the legal language of President Obama’s executive order, it appears to me that everyone on federal Social Security disability for mental illness will be flagged as potentially dangerous. We are not the same, but to the unknowing, it is easy to stigmatize.

What has been put in force overreaches a little, but not in the way conservative commentators have said. It effectively disqualifies me from purchasing a sawed-off shotgun or a semi-automatic weapon, not that I ever would. It, in fact, disqualifies me from owning any gun. I believe in gun control, but to treat all people with mental illness the same is not fair. Most of us are not violent and will never be violent. Our own worst enemy is usually ourselves, and those of us who grab deadly weapons to address invisible grievances are in the minority.

Former U.S. Representative Patrick Kennedy has spoken about his own bipolar disorder and history of addiction. Occasionally erratic behavior aside, when he stepped down from the House, a prominent voice for our cause was lost. I wonder how he feels about being summarily disqualified in a very different way based on the worst fears of society. Before I stoke the fires of righteous indignation, the oldest trope in the book, I want to entertain a very different reality. It is not a stretch to go a step further. Effectively, everyone who has mental illness is now prohibited for owning and possessing any gun or guns. They are now treated like convicted felons, who lose their right to gun ownership and to vote upon conviction.

Whether this is right or wrong is something that we as a country have to decide. I’m not a gun owner, nor do I feel any need to be. Earlier in my life, like so many men, I learned to shoot and hunt. I never really took to the pastime, to be honest. If I even owned a handgun for personal protection, I want to stress that I'd give it up now and not complain too loudly. That proves how committed I am to a non-violent world, not that I don’t trust myself and my illness. If we take away guns, unlike the NRA slogan, the only people who might own them are violent, thoroughly insane offenders with a death wish and a desire to kill.

History is full of assassins with substantial mental health issues. But most of us suffer in private, feeling no desire to engage with the outside world, afraid to be lumped in with the ultra-violent or pitied for all the wrong reasons. A distinction needs to be made and constantly reinforced. It is fashionable to talk about the obsession and compulsion of America, the acts of the delusional and psychotic. In truth, the issue is much more nuanced.

Our real problem is a lack of adequate doctors and a lack of robust mental health treatment. The stigma of mental illness has subsided, but a lack of access to care and medications is part of the problem. Another part of the problem is a failure to intercede in the lives of the suffering. It may not be a popular sentiment, but I pity the workplace shooter while condemning his or her acts. That may be a stretch for us, because our primary tendency might be to bury our heads in the sand and play pretend.

An assault weapons ban and a closing of loopholes is a good first step, but it doesn’t go far enough. If we were committed to stopping random acts of violence, we would do the hard work of identifying every individual with homicidal tendencies. That’s not so easy, is it? Or maybe it is. I say again, as I have said many times before, this is why we can’t be hands-off and live without fear.

Mental illness runs in families and dysfunction is more common than we would like to admit. We can’t just leave it up to laws and government, we have to step in ourselves. That’s the only way to make this new order work. If we thought of each other as part of the same family, we wouldn’t need government to be our keeper.

Feelin' Alright

Feelin' Alright (Click to Hear)

Seems I've got to have a change of scene
'Cause every night I have the strangest dreams
Imprisoned by the way it could have been
Left here on my own or so it seems

I've got to leave before I start to scream
But someone's locked the door and took the key

You feelin' alright? I'm not feelin' too good myself
Well, you feelin' alright? I'm not feelin' too good myself

Well, say, you sure took me for one big ride
And even now I sit and wonder why
That when I think of you I start to cry
I just can't waste my time, I must keep dry

Gotta stop believin' in all your lies
'Cause there's too much to do before I die
Don't get too lost in all I say
Though at the time I really felt that way

But that was then, now it's today;
I can't get off so I'm here to stay

Till someone comes along and takes my place
With a different name and, yes, a different face

Christmas Update

I'm slowly easing back into regular posting. I'll be silent once again starting Wednesday, in observance of Christmas and New Year's. Like so many of us long-suffering writers, I've had to balance the work I do for free with the work I do for pay. Anyone who has blogged as long as I have (ten years, really?) has no shortage of free work, which I have done to further my publication name, even as I receive no financial compensation for my time and effort.

That said, I'm about to start a job where I will blog for pay. Unlike this forum, I don't choose the topics and the company I work for has primary rights to my content. It won't be featured here. Writers need good editors and editors need good writers, but the two are often mutually exclusive. I'm not blunt enough to poke holes through someone's baby but others most assuredly are.

Writing is a discipline that attracts many dilettantes and those who feel that it is somehow easy. In fact, writing is an intense challenge, and it requires hours of effort and lots of time devoted to revision. Like figure skating, it seems effortless when performed live, but this disguises the diligent work ethic that separates the average from the exceptional.

The internet has been my salvation and simultaneously the bane of my existence. It has forced me into narrower and narrower interest groups and the isolating esoteria of those spaces. I'm not feeling particularly religious or spiritual at the moment, nor do I feel it my current place to be Jimmy Carter to the liberal unwashed masses. I am nominally the man who gets it among feminists who are my contemporaries. Once I believed I was a voice in the wilderness, now I see how similar I am to others and how we have jumped aboard the same bandwagon and talking points simultaneously.

I continue to push myself off of my haunches as long as I have strength in my body. Young enough to be restless and unsatisfied, I'm growing into middle age slowly and steadily. I've been living in DC eight years now and am contemplating a lifetime in the nation's capital. Already I've seen great changes and I expect to see more. Every time I return home to Alabama I count the buildings that have changed owners and the vast new construction projects underway. Someone is making money, but it's not me or anyone that I know.

Christmas meant more to me when I was a child and I suppose that's true for most of us. If I had children of my own, I might be able to get a contact high from their enthusiasm. I paradoxically want my entire family around me at holidays. Since when did I become a believer in nostalgia and cease being the gritty realist? I'll make sure it won't happen again. I am on one coast, sister number one is on the other, and sister number two will never leave the South.

We're a pretty normal family that way. The teenage chip on my shoulder has departed. Fish and visitors still stink in three days, but can be forgiven under the circumstances. And even with the petty bickering that consumed whole years of my life, I wouldn't have it otherwise. I wish the best to you and your family, or the family you have adopted for your very own. The holidays can be a dose of depression to those without or with the huge silent tension that becomes open conflict.

May you get what you want, but be able to separate the genuinely helpful from the momentarily distracting. Merry Christmas. We're going to need it. 2016 is an election year.

Late Saturday Video

10.15 on a Saturday night
And the tap drips
Under the strip light

And I'm sitting
In the kitchen sink
And the tap drips
Drip, drip, drip

Waiting for the
Telephone to ring
And I'm wondering
Where she's been

And I'm crying
For yesterday
And the tap drips
Drip, drip, drip

Quote of the Week

A comment upon the lone wolf shooters that have terrorized our country.

"You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? [turns around to look behind him] Well, then who the hell else are you talking- You talking to me? Well, I'm the only one here. Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? Oh yeah? Huh? 'kay. [whips out his gun again] Huh?"- Travis Bickell from Taxi Driver.

Metro, the Culture of Dysfunction, and the Women Who Suffer

When I first entered feminist spaces, I encountered a huge supply of outrage and indignation regarding street harassment and other cases of men behaving badly. My immediate reaction was a compelling need to prove that I wasn’t that way. No one was debating that, but my male privilege was showing. I’m a large man who has rarely been propositioned inappropriately by complete strangers. It took me a while to realize that these stinging accusations had nothing really to do with me and everything to do with me.

Women, I have learned, can either shrug off these kinds of transgressions or get very angry. This situation reduced a friend of mine to tears, at which point she was strongly encouraged to formally report the crime. A security guard, aware of the situation, boarded the bus immediately following the verbal harassment. I should add that the driver had an outstanding warrant for rape, in addition. The man had been reported before, but I take it that many women would rather forget than prosecute or press charges. The security guard wanted to make sure this didn’t happen again.

It’s another black eye for Metro, whose shortcomings are profiled in the latest edition of Washingtonian magazine. The once revered public transportation system here in the nation’s capital has fallen on rough times in the past decade and a half. Filling openings for drivers has been difficult, meaning that problem employees are retained when they ought to be fired. This is not, as I said, an isolated incident. Women are subjected to such conduct on a regular basis, and that they soldier past it without growing bitter or angry is a testament to their own inner strength.

To quote from the aforementioned article, which focuses mostly on Metro’s command center,

It’s a self-reinforcing problem. Metro hasn’t been able to improve the ROCC [Rail-Operations Control Center] culture because it’s so beholden to the current personnel—yet the current personnel are a big part of the staff shortage. Despite a concerted effort to recruit and train new hires, Metro added just three controllers between 2011 and 2015, the FTA says.

As is often the case, a persistently dysfunctional culture shows itself plainly in ways that Metro tries to downplay. To return to the story of my friend, a security guard, aware of the driver’s indiscretions, almost forced her to press charges. It would be easy to assume that this reflects only a flawed system in one major US city, but it also shines light upon the plight of women. As is evidenced by the Bill Cosby allegations, women can be coerced to stay silent for years, well past the statute of limitations. And even within however many years the statue protects them, it takes a persistent number and severity of offense before successful prosecution can be all but ensured.

Meanwhile, management focused on making sure employees wore their uniforms correctly and used Metro-issued microwaves to cook food instead of their own. “Things are falling apart and you’re worried about a microwave oven,” Johnson says. “I mean, it was just dumb.” Accountability for day-to-day repairs had all but vanished:

“Consciously or subconsciously, everyone at Metro knows they’ve got a job for life,” he says, “unless they sit there and smoke crack in the middle of the platform.”

Critiques like these have been used to speak out boldly against unions. Metro’s employees have the right to bargain collectively, but it shouldn’t shield them from accountability, either. Color me disgusted at the whole sordid affair. My friend burst into tears at the brazenness of an indecent request that I will not justify by spelling out directly in this forum. It will take more than civic outrage and one story to change the lay of the land.

These days, I’ve come to terms with the kind of vulnerability women face, but I don’t want my sympathy to be confused or decried as insincere. When informed of the latest offense, I’ve recognized how jaded I’ve become, somewhere between the indignation of an activist and the fatalism of an old soul. This story is about the gaps in between these polar extremes and the problem that remains. It is everyone’s problem.

Isolation

People say we got it made
Don't they know we're so afraid
Isolation

We're afraid to be alone
Everybody's got to have a home
Isolation

Just a boy and a little girl
Trying to change the whole wide world
Isolation

The world is just a little town
Everybody trying to put us down
I - i - i - i - i - isolation
               
I don't expect you to understand
After you've caused so much pain
But then again you're not to blame
                 
You're just a human
A victim of the insane

We're afraid of everyone
Afraid of the sun
Isolation

The sun will never disappear
But the world may not have many years
Isolation

Quote of the Week

Kindness is a mark of faith, and whoever has not kindness has not faith.-Muhammad

Saturday Video

Let's have bizarre celebrations
Let's forget who forget what forget where
We'll have bizarre celebrations
I play the Satyr in Cyprus, you're the bride being stripped bare, bare

Let's pretend we don't exist
Let's pretend we're in Antarctica
(x2)

Let's have bizarre celebrations
Let's forget when forget what forget how
We'll have bizarre celebrations
We'll play Tristan and Izolde but make sure I see white sail, sails

Let's pretend we don't exist
Let's pretend we're in Antarctica
(x2)

Maybe I'll never die, I'll just keep growing younger with you
And you'll grow younger too
Now it seems too lovely to be true
But I know the best things always do

Let's pretend we don't exist
Let's pretend we're in Antarctica
(x8)

Loopholes Exploited in Health Care Coverage

It was only $5.37, but it was the principle of the thing.

A cluster of recent hospitalizations and Emergency Room visits has resulted in my being sent four separate bills for a variety of services rendered. A routine EKG was performed each time, a test that is relatively cheap by American health care standards. I know from my bill that it costs $15 for five minutes of monitoring the heart. I have found, much to my annoyance, that it takes another five minutes to painfully pick electrodes off of my body hair. Such is life.

I'm federally disabled and rely upon Medicare as my primary coverage. Medicare is sound insurance, but as some may know, it doesn't cover everything, every expense. I use Washington, DC's Medicaid program to cover the remainder of my expenses. Usually this arrangement is not problematic, but I find increasingly that hospital administrators are discovering ways around it. For example, some enterprising soul decided to outsource EKG payments to Michigan, where Medicaid cannot be charged because it is out-of-state.

It must make sense on paper, but it's not fair to those of us who subsist uncomfortably on monthly disability payments. They are designed to thrust one into the workforce, not for long term dependence. In my case, the latter has to suffice. I have never been able to hold a job for long and the shame has been terrible. Our system doesn't treat every case individually and perhaps doing so is impossible, but I nevertheless encourage reformers to take into account my story. It is not the only one.

No act designed for Affordable Care doesn't fray at the seams with enough time. As healthcare costs continue to soar, I fear that other hospital centers will use this precedent to wiggle through the loopholes. From the perspective of those who accept Medicaid, they always claim that the paperwork is extreme, the bureaucracy excessive, and the payments slow to arrive. This may be true, but what we may need is to cut through the clutter.

Medicare for all is not a bad aim. It is accepted almost everywhere, except in the field of mental health and psychiatry, but that is another story for another post. And rest assured I am thankful for the sacrifices and toil of the American taxpayer. They keep my head afloat, not totally dependent upon others for every penny. Medicaid, of course, is a different story. Red State governors continue to refuse Federal dollars to expand their programs. I'm glad, once again, that I live in a blue bubble.

As I peer from my bedroom window each morning, I see the cops pulling over speeders down a busy stretch of roadway. You'd think people would learn eventually. Every ticket paid goes towards my care and keeps my dental bills minimal. I'm not ungrateful, though I'd much rather be one of the faceless, nameless men in a business suit and professional clothes headed to work downtown. And I'm not alone, trapped in a body and a brain that has betrayed me. I'm educated, yes, but poor.

Government cannot be reset to a time before the New Deal, before the Great Society. We may never be a nation that embraces democratic socialism. But we can and should embrace looking out for those of us who are less fortunate. I don't wallow in my limitations. Instead, I ask for a leg up and usually don't complain. I don't believe that the world owes me anything, but I do believe that I have a right to add my voice into the discourse. Doing so is uniquely American, wouldn't you agree?