Shooting the Messenger (in a Friendly manner, of course)

Pity the poor earnest young man, trying to earn some summer cash by canvassing door-to-door for the Democratic National Committee. He just came to my door. He got an earful. He got two ears full. And a doggy bag.

I give him a lot of credit. He listened. He didn't argue with me. He didn't ask me for a penny. I've had people call on behalf of the DNC who get all huffy and tell me I'm wrong, and on more than one occasion I've had to say, "Wait a minute. You called me, asking for my money! You had darn well be willing to listen to what I have to say!"

This guy said he'd been hearing a lot about impeachment. Yeah, I'll bet. Hey, Dimocrats! Anybody home? Are you listening?

If I Had a Hammer ...

I did a fair amount of driving around yesterday, which was fun and exciting, given that a big snow/ice storm was moving in. Traffic moved slowly, and I was reflecting about our relationship to cars. That it is screwed up goes without saying. But just how is it screwed up? I think I figured it out.

Like all of the objects we use on a daily basis, cars are simply another tool, like a kitchen faucet or a washing machine. Yet somehow, probably starting with snake oil salesman Henry Ford, the idea of the car has grown to mythical proportions. Most people seem to view them as extensions of themselves, something to which we have an unalienable right. (Guns also seem to be viewed this way.)

I can't think of any other THING that inspires such strong emotion. I've never read about someone experiencing snowblower rage. No one says, "You'll have to pry my sewing machine out of my cold, dead hands!"

So the next time I'm feeling frustrated in traffic, I want to remember to tell myself, "This car is just a tool that I am using to get somewhere. Like a hammer or a snow shovel or my knitting needles. Not worth getting upset about."

On Patriotism, or Why I'm Not

Blue Gal recently posted a wonderful video of Billy Bragg singing 'Waiting For the Great Leap Forwards', including a snippet of an interview at the end where he talks about dissenters being the real patriots. And while I appreciate the sentiment, I have to say I am uncomfortable with attempts to redefine patriotism so that it fits dissenters.

Webster's has the following definitions:

patriot: one who loves his or her country and supports its authority and interests

patriotism: love for or devotion to one's country

I guess one could interpret those definitions in different ways. This is how I see it. I love many things about my country, without a doubt. Do I support its authority and interests? Not at all, and BushCo is just an extreme example of what the U.S.A. has stood for since its inception: imperialism, profiteering, expansion ...

Of course there are shining exceptions to the rule, but they seem to fall outside the authority and interests of the country, and are vulnerable to being co-opted or outright squashed.

What about devotion to one's country? To me, devotion implies a certain amount of blindness, and once again, I cannot allow that definition to define who I am and what I do.

So no, I am not a patriot, thanks all the same. I even got a chance to proclaim that nationally a few years ago.

Way back in 2001 -- pre-9/11 -- Republican legislators in our state managed to tack a bill onto the budget requiring daily recitation of the Pledge or singing of the national anthem in public schools. With a strange timeliness, it was shortly after 9/11/01 that it was implemented.

On 10/1/01 my mom lay on life-support in the ICU and I was at the board of education meeting arguing for an opt-in implementation (for example, an optional morning assembly) as opposed to having it piped into our rooms every day. (I think my mom would have been proud of me.) That night the school board made one of their infamous ill-conceived decisions, to require only instrumental versions of the anthem, which ignited a firestorm of controversy. The flames were fanned by the likes of Rush Limbaff and Dr. Laura.

Because I was one of the few who spoke out initially, I found myself in a rather bizarre situation of getting a phone call from an LA Times reporter, in the teachers' lounge on my lunch break one day. I said something like, "I believe that patriotism leads to nationalism, which almost inevitably leads to jingoism" which was published and widely quoted. (For a while after that if you Googled me, you would come up with right-wing websites raving about how I should be removed from my job. At Christmas that year my elderly and ultra-conservative Aunt Jean said, "I heard your name mentioned on Dr. Laura's show. She mispronounced your name, but I knew it was you." Yeah, well ...)

It gets stranger. About a week later I got a phone call from writer Mark Singer, a regular contributor to The New Yorker, wanting to interview me for an article. And then, one morning a photographer from The New Yorker showed up at my school to photograph my class reciting the Pledge. That photograph was published on a double page spread in the Nov. 26, 2001 issue. It's a motley crew in the photo, and the photographer was unhappy with the light where the flag was, so she actually took the picture where the kids are facing a banner proclaiming "PEACE" which I had hung up. Subversion R Us.

(And about 6 months after that, the author Mary Pipher -- who recently returned an award and resigned from the American Psychological Association in protest over their weak stance on torture -- requested permission to use that photo on the cover of her book The Middle of Everywhere: The World's Refugees Come To Our Town. Weird, eh?)

In another hilarious development, my principal brought in a recording of national anthems from around the world. She was away one day, but left directions for the secretary to "play the anthem." The hapless secretary didn't realize she meant our anthem, and played the national anthem of China!

Oh yeah, and the Pledge? After a huge media circus of a meeting, attended by busloads of Christian fundamentalists from out of town, Minutemen in full costume, and some normal people, the school board decided that principals would lead the Pledge over the P.A. system every day, but it must be preceded by this statement:

"We live in a nation of freedom. Participation in the Pledge is voluntary. Those who wish to stand may do so. Others may remain seated."

I am not a patriot. Come join me.

Harry Potter fan? Not!

The hot question is, of course: What now for JK Rowling? How can she possibly top the best-selling children's books in history? How can she match the weight of expectations about her next move? Will she write something quite unexpected - a history of the Franco-Prussian war, say, or a grown-up three-decker family saga set in Scotland? (Either would, of course, become a massive best-seller.) One imagines the senior management at her publishers, Bloomsbury, sitting around the boardroom table, gently trying to steer her towards a new seven-part childhood chronicle, but without becoming too, you know, insistent about it - nobody is likely to apply pressure to the glamorous goose that has laid seven enormous golden eggs. In fact, so nervous are they of giving the slightest offence to their star author, nobody at her publishers or her agent's office will talk to the press about Jo Rowling at all. (Read it all here, but be sure you have your motion sickness bag at hand.)

Oh, puh-leez!

Are these books good from a literary standpoint? I don't really care. I read the first 3 and they were OK and entertaining. There is a lot of mediocre literature and I may not like it, but I'm glad to see writers not turning their back on their muse. I can appreciate that nonreaders began to read when Harry hit the shelves.

It is the aggressive marketing that disgusts me. And more than that, the attitude that somehow J.K. Rowling invented, revolutionized, or rekindled the art of writing good books for children. That she's been called the best British writer (presumably not just of children's books,) beating out Harold Pinter and (this one really hurts) Terry Pratchett. Seriously, before J.K. Rowling, even before Terry Pratchett (tee hee) there was excellent literature for children in the middle grades. If they weren't finding their way to it, somebody was dropping the ball.

And guess what. There will continue to be excellent literature for children even if J.K. Rowling never sets pen to paper (finger to keyboard?) again.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that I placed an advance order for 2 copies of the new book -- and in order to get my children to buy it at the independent feminist bookstore instead of the deep-pockets mega-book store offering the 40% discount, I resorted to bribery, offering to pay half. If they weren't buying it there, I wouldn't pay anything for it, not even the $2 rental fee for new books at the library.)

Glad I got that off my chest. I am fully expecting some razzing from Poodle Doc -- to whom I have this to say: Go ahead and add Madonna to that list of my dislikes to razz me about. Along with Nicole Kidman, Harry Potter and Borders. I need to branch out ... Have I mentioned that I always thought Paul Simon was a bit of a phony? And don't get me started on Trader Joe's!