Judge not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character. Or, throwing handfuls of change at certain mf'ers

If I had a nickel for every time I've heard somebody use the phrase "black on black crime" to justify racial profiling, longer sentences for black people or police killings of black people- I would take those 1000's of nickles and throw them at the next mf'er who makes that argument (just kidding, I'm gonna take that shit to coinstar and buy me some lottery tickets). Stop it though! It's a BS argument! I don't care how many times a host on Fox said it, it's complete bullshit and I'll tell you why.

The same people who love to make that thinly veiled racist ass argument, also are some of the same who like to quote MLK Jr's "not by the color of my skin but by the content of my character." The thing is, and maybe some people who make this argument haven't really thought it through, but the thing is.... Bringing up black on black crime as some kind of justification for police brutality or racial profiling, is the absolute antithesis to being judged by the content of your character.

Yes the vast majority or crimes against black people are by other black people, as they love to say. Did you know that this is true for absolutely every ethnic group? But yet we never hear the phrase white on white crime, do we!

When someone is racially profiled by the police, are they being judged by the content of their character? When a black person is shot by a police officer because they look like someone the officer was afraid of, is that person being judged by the content of their character?

I have been around white people who, in the all white spaces that make me itch like a meth addict, admitted that they didn't like or were fearful of black people, because of what they'd heard, or an experience that they had. These prejudices undoubtedly form and influence their actions, are these people likely to judge other black people by the content of their character?

So it's natural to prejudge people based upon experiences with others of a similar hue, right? No, it's learned behavior that needs to be unlearned. How do you unlearn this behavior, start with empathy. Start with seeing every person you meet as individual. Not in a faux color blind, I want to teach the world to sing kind of way. I mean in a real way, including acknowledging their race, fully equal humanity and the experiences they have had. Maybe start with, oh I don't... listening?

I have been white for 40 something years (I know I look barely 30) and the only time I've been racially profiled is when an officer thought I was Latino. I have only felt a fraction of what it must be liked to be racially profiled. Yet, I have a modicum of empathy and can at least try to put myself in someone else's shoes.

The plain reality is that, while white people get to be individuals, other groups have to be a community that is judged together, not as individuals.

The other night when a Wendy's was set on fire in Atlanta after yet another police killing of a black man, whose name was Rayshard Brooks, several black protesters took some video of a white woman who was alleged to have set the fire. The most striking thing to me (not shocking ,mind you), is that the protesters felt the need to say "it wasn't us, it was a white woman." Sit for a minute and ruminate on that statement, it wasn't us. What does it mean? What they are literally saying is that it wasn't a black person, please don't blame us.

It is taken for granted in this country that black people and other minority groups need to be judged as a community. It is so sickeningly accepted that we don't even question the logical fallacies or motives behind this unspoken reality. We have heard this story so many times that it has become almost gospel.

When a black person commits a crime, black people are expected to speak out, to condemn the criminal, to vociferously state "he is not reflective of our community as a whole," why? Black leaders are expected to come out and make statements that speak for the entire community, as we shake our heads and ask, who is the leader that can speak for the black community? Except there isn't one black leader who speaks for black america. This isn't The Highlander, there can be more than one.

When an Islamist group carries out an act of terrorism half a world away, moderate Muslims are expected to speak out, to apologize, to assuage the fears of a scared world, why?Islamic leaders are expected to come out with statements, ostensibly condemning the act, but really coming out to say, It wasn't me who did this, it wasn't us.  It's as if we think, you know if ole moderate Joe had just talked to that guy about his life choices, he wouldn't have detonated that bomb.

If a white person guns down 50 children, I am not expected to get up and say, "he was not reflective of the white community. Yet again, is the bias really that hard to see? Is the differentiated treatment really that difficult to comprehend?

If we are truly judging each person by their own actions, arguments such as black on black crime become completely irrelevant. When George Floyd was alleged writing bad checks, do you really think that he was murdered for that alone? Do we really think that Eric Garner was killed for allegedly selling cigarettes? Was Breonna Taylor killed because she was sleeping? Did they really buy an unharmed Dylan Roof some burger king after killing 9 people, because of the content of his character? Were these people who should be alive but aren't, judged by the content of their character?

So many white people are waking up to a long, sad reality that has been played out time and time again. That is a good thing, it's not too late- we are all here to learn. If I could give these well meaning folks one piece of advice, it would be the following. STOP ACCEPTING AS FOREGONE REALITY, A CONDITION FOR SOMEONE ELSE, THAT YOU WOULD NOT ACCEPT FOR YOURSELF! 

History vs Nostalgia and things that make you go Hmm

History is, in it's purest sense, a recording and recounting of events that happened in the past. Nostalgia is different. Nostalgia is a longing for some point of time in the past and a romanticized notion that, said period was somehow better. Growing up in the 80's, I recall a great deal of 1950's nostalgia, a longing for a past was that thought to be more wholesome, with great milkshakes, jukeboxes, route 66 and Arthur Fonzarelli. 

The problem with this nostalgic view of the 1950's is that it was, as nostalgia always is, a veneer. It was a shallow notion of a different time, one of a blatant discriminatory and misogynistic pre-civil rights era America, that was no more pure and moral than times in which we live. The problem with passing this sort of nostalgia off as history, is that it is a revisionist retelling of history without context or consequence.

My son, who is 8, was taught about some history in school. The inherent trap of teaching history is that you cannot possible teach all of it, and that it is ever expanding. My son was taught cute facts about our founding fathers and the presidents. He had an idealized view of these historical figures, because he was only given a surface level nostalgic view of people and time periods. One day not so long ago, I watched tears well up in his eyes as he discovered that George Washington was a slave owner. Nobody in school had told him that fact, they told him only that George Washington was a hero, a president and a face on money.

It broke my heart to see my son's reaction to finding out this fact about our 1st president. The idealized nostalgic view of history he had learned was suddenly replaced by a hard truth. My son is African American, he like many others in this countries, has a family tree in which his ancestors his "heritage" includes names on a property sheet and the great genealogical brick wall that surfaces when attempting to access any census records prior to 1870. On a side note, I recommend to any white person who truly wants to become anti racist, study African American genealogy, understand the devastation and loss that is shown in records or lack thereof. It may change your paradigm from wondering "what is wrong with black America" to thinking "what a testament to the triumph, endurance and sheer will of African Americans, that they have done as well as they have."

It is a hard truth that so many men we practically worship as founding fathers, were what we would consider today to be human traffickers.  Yet today in the United States, there are countless streets, schools, churches, colleges and even states, named for these men. They are even on the very money that we are forced to use. 

History is full of very flawed men, guilty of inexcusable acts of cruelty. Yet so often, instead of honestly portraying these men as they were, we engage in a similar yet much darker revisionist nostalgia that gave rise to 50's restaurants and Happy Days. In so doing, we ignore the totality of history and instead cherry pick what we want to believe, often becoming apologists for our own fore bearers and ancestors.

In Richmond, we've seen the recent toppling of several confederate statues. I'll admit that I am inherently uncomfortable with statues and iconography that seeks to elevate the status of past leaders. I am wary of the heritage not hate argument that is floated so often in defense of the confederate flag and these confederate leaders. Yet my argument in what I see as a very shallow and dismissive defense of the confederacy, which admittedly also forms a part of my own heritage, is that hateful actions cannot be separated form heritage, they are a part of that heritage. This too is a form of nostalgic cherry picking.

It is not my job to define historical figures as bad or good, to do so would also be engaging in a form of revisionism that I am careful to avoid. Historical figures did what they did and were responsible for the totality of whatever legacy they left, yet so often our society and educators fail to present a complete version of a person. In the absence of historical accountability, nostalgia creates a convenient narrative that serves only to form a tradition of denial and create a false chocolate nougat covered coating, betraying that whatever lies beneath is a heaping pile of garbage flavored garbage. 

As I said, I am ever wary of statues and monuments to individual people at baseline, it is admittedly an strange perspective for a Catholic (a church whose own historical reckoning could launch 1000's of condemning blog posts). There are thousands of statues all over the world to people who don't deserve them. Statues are always erected with an agenda. One of the first acts of dictators is create statues of themselves, their agenda in doing so, is remarkably clear.

As for the confederate statues that adorn, or formally adorned Richmond. These statues were erected during the Jim Crow era, to honor the heroes of a false narrative, that narrative being the great Lost Cause, defeated in the War of Northern Aggression. Make no mistake, the Civil War was about the preservation of slavery.

The US Civil War was about states rights, to preserve slavery. It was about preserving the southern way of life, to continue allowing slavery. It was about the economy, that was dependent upon the forced labor inherent in slavery. 

It is bizarre to me that those who glorify the Confederacy and argue that it is their heritage (as it is mine), have such a difficult time understanding that the glorification of their confederate heritage is painful to the ancestors of slaves. This is prime captain obvious territory for me. It requires only a preschool level of empathy. It is also bizarre to me that the ancestors of confederates, as I am, so lovingly glorify the confederate cause.

Yes most of us whose ancestors fought for the Confederacy, have relatives who did not own slaves. At the time of war and in the antebellum period, most southern whites were poor and illiteracy was common. It stands to reason that many of the young men who fought for the confederacy simply did so because it was expected of them. There is also a revisionism to how these soldiers were ultimately remembered. 

The economic system of the antebellum south was abjectly devastating for African Americans. Yet this same economy was not beneficial for poor whites either. This system of slavery suppressed wages and opportunities for poor whites as well. Most of the soldiers who went to war for the confederacy were poor and like in most wars, consisted of poor kids fighting a rich mans war for the right to preserve their riches. So is it ultimately honoring our own white-southern heritage, to glorify these rich men? Is it a service to our ancestors to glorify these wealthy landowners who sent poor white boys out to fight a war to preserve the economic and cultural systems that benefited only the wealthy and powerful?

A full understanding of the events of history and historical figures, is to understand the complicated relationship we have with history and heritage. It is precisely for this reason that we need to think and deliberate, before we make history our hero. Ultimately our engagement in nostalgia undermines our historical understanding and the purpose of learning history in the first place, that purpose being to learn from our experiences, not to glorify and venerate the experiences of others. What we may find ultimately, is that when taken in totality, most of the people whose statues we erect and defend, are really not all that deserving of the veneration. 

Ultimately it all makes we think of a question to ponder. What is our reason for being here? Why are we here if not to learn and do better? As a Catholic it makes me think of the concept of purgatory. Purgatory is, among other things, a place of cleansing and learning. I wonder what these men, whose statues stand among the living, would think of themselves and their legacies now, in light of what they may have learned and who they may have become? 

No answers, just questions, just things that make me go hmm!

Blaming Antifa, meh...I got tea to sit back and sip on.

I've seen a lot of posts from people lately, blaming the organization Antifa for much of the "rioting" that has taken place. Conversely, I have seen several posts chastising those blaming Antifa for the "rioting," my response to it all-meh.

My personal belief, backed by continually mounting evidence, is that much of the "rioting" has been instigated by white supremacist groups and those with a mind toward trouble, perhaps including Antifa associates. I have no idea what the involvement of Antifa might be. I am not sure of the organization of Antifa, I am not a member, nor do I know anyone who is affiliated.

I am a member of Toastmasters International, this is really the only group that I pay dues to at this point in my life. I am on the roster and get regular communication from this organization on our organizational developments. We have by-laws, officers and an ordered method by which we conduct our meetings. I don't think that Antifa has any of these things, but again I am not a member. Perhaps they do have meeting dues and follow Robert's Rules of Order. (Caveat- I am in way authorized to speak on behalf of Toastmaster International.)

I am not okay with Antifa being blamed, if indeed they are being blamed unfairly. Nobody should be blamed unfairly for something they didn't do. However, since the protests are about racial injustice, and black people being killed by police officers and other white people who want to act like police officers, please indulge me to point out something that is glaringly obvious from where I sit. 

Being blamed for something you didn't do is kind of step 1 in feeling, to a degree possibly, what it might be like to be black. I don't have the time or life space left to point out the number of ways in which black people have been unjustly blamed, but it's staggering. 

Each incident in which an unarmed black person has been killed by police or police acting wypiple, has brought a peculiar method of blame to the person who has been killed. In many cases we are shown, not the professionally developed graduation photos of white perpetrators of crimes, but mug shots- if possible, from that one time that maybe the person was arrested. The logic train in these incidents is clear, they were arrested once, they were bad, of course they instigated the incident, they deserved to die.

If a mugshot from any point in the life of the black person who has been killed in an incident with police or police acting wypiple is unavailable, then they go to step 2, blame it on past or present history of drug use, usually marijuana. This explains it all, even if you were killed by an off-duty cop who busts into your own house and kills you for no reason and later gets a hug from a judge. He smoked marijuana, he was bad, it must have been his fault somehow, he deserved to die. Also I heard he might have stolen a chicken nugget from a white girl in the 1st grade.

Black people are expected to denounce the actions of other black people in order to be considered "safe black people." They are expected to denounce rioting, or to speak out against any form of violence perpetrated by other black people. Black people are expected to speak for other black people and the whole diverse population of black people who are always lumped together in the black community pile, when we discuss these things. 

There is never a dissection of the voting patterns of blacks without college degrees. There is never analysis of the differences in what constitutes legislative priority for urban as opposed to suburban or rural black people. There is only one black community, all expected to speak for each other, as if that were even possible.

When a wypiple commits a mass school shooting, or becomes a serial killer, I am never asked to personally condemn these things. It is assumed, from the no shit Sherlock archives, that I am not the named person and therefore have nothing to do with the incident. Black people do not get the same pass.

I have never once heard the term white on white violence used in media, even though the vast majority of violent crimes perpetrated against white people are by other white people. Yet for black people, black on black violence is yet another excuse for being more heavily policed and then naturally, more heavily killed by the police. 

Bringing up black on black violence in the light of police killings of black people is abjectly absurd. It has no bearing on the subject at all, even discussing the two issues together hints at an agenda, another excuse to justify why black people killed by police deserved their fate. Past arrest history, marijuana use, black on black violence, looking menacing, speaking with a tone, listening to loud music, being in the "wrong place at the wrong time," fitting a profile, looking at a white woman; all of these things have been used to justify why a black person deserved to die at the hands of police or police acting wypiple.

Here is the thing though. None of the above listed things justify being murdered. Let me draw for you an absurd illustration, hyperbole to point out the glaring inequity of the absurd situation. I frankly don't care if all black men except Leon committed crimes. This does not justify profiling, arresting and killing Leon. White people would not be okay if this logic were applied to us. 

We love to quote MLK when he said, "not by the color of our skin but by the content of our character." Some of the same people quoting this are the same people who like to talk about "black on black crime" when providing softball excuses for the murderous actions of police and police acting wypiple. Yet, this makes no logical sense. You want to be judged by the content of your character, who the F doesn't. Yet are you, generic you person, giving that same grace to others? It is a question for self reflection that needs to be asked everyday.

So in conclusion, I don't know how much Antifa has to do with the "riots" in our present environment. I don't know why some people choose to focus on Antifa, particularly those who have said nothing else about the protests or the reasons for the protests. Perhaps it's a red herring or another defender of the virtue of white fragility. These are things that make me go hmm.

So if you, generic you person, have blamed or defended Antifa, I'm not going to draw conclusions as to why you choose to put your focus there. Quite frankly, I'm not terribly interested in the subject. There are enough people talking about it, ya'll don't need me. I think that being blamed for something you haven't done might even make you a better ally, just sayin. Now I'm just gonna sit back and drink my tea, discuss among yourselves.

The Myth of Colorblindness- part one- Just say yes to Red Lobster Cheddar Biscuits

I used to live in Portland and when the topic of race would come up with one of Portland's many, many - very white people, I would often hear this lament in response to the glaring lack of diversity in their lives. "Well I wish I had black friends, but it's Portland so there aren't any black people here." My response was something like, well I also live in Portland and I have black friends, in fact there are close to 40,000 black people who live here, you telling me you couldn't find even one to be your friend?

"I didn't grow up around black people, I don't know how to talk to them." I heard so often. Yeah well I grew up thinking that Red Lobster was America's fanciest dining establishment and that rice pilaf was just rice with peas in it. We grow and we adapt boo. 

Every so often, I randomly find myself in an all white space. It feels unnatural to me after all these years, unnerving even and kind of makes me go WTF to myself. It isn't unnerving because I don't like white people, in fact, like so many would say in pitiful defense of prejudice, many of my best friends are white- I am one of them. It is unnerving because I see color and white is no longer the color I am most used to seeing in daily life. I like most people, or at least find them absurd enough to be humorous in some way, but I am also wary of many of the things I have heard expressed in some all white circles.

I am long past my days when I would have said something like my Portland friends, like "I don't see color" or to answer as human when asked about my own ethnicity. I see color, and so do you. I don't see color is a weak defense given to protect the the virtue of white fragility. We all see color, it is natural to see color. There is nothing wrong with seeing color. In fact to deny someone's color is to deny a part of what makes them human and to deny the experiences they may have had because of their color. 

Yes there is nothing wrong with seeing color, the wrong comes when we ascribe virtues to this color and when we denigrate this color. When we weaponize color, like that white lady who called the cops on a black man because he wanted her to leash her dog, I'll call her dog walking Donna. She saw color, and she knew she could weaponize it by leading with the phrase "Big Black Man." She probably said she doesn't see color either. I call bullshit. Or when people manipulate color, like saying "but some of my best friends are black." Or yeah well my black friend Mary said blah, blah, blah... Or switching to some 1972 Super Fly jive talk when encountering a black person who probably wasn't even alive in 1972.

There is, and I repeat louder for the folks in the back,  nothing wrong with seeing a person's color. It is a descriptor when used as such, but my challenge is this. When you are commenting on someone's color, why are you saying it? Dog walking Donna in the park knew exactly why she was stating the man's color when she called the police. I reference what I call the story in my earlier posts, she knows the story well and she knew how to use it, she knew how to weaponize and manipulate color for her own purposes. She knew her own power in that situation, even though she also knew that she was the one who was actually breaking the rules.

I grew up poor and white. I've been called poor white trash, I can say poor white trash. If you've never been called poor white trash and didn't grow up poor and white you shouldn't say it, it's offensive. This kids, is a much less weighted illustration of the premise behind the oft asked Caucasian question, "Why can they say the N word and I can't?" Let me be clear, I HATE hearing the N word in any context, with or without the - ER at the end, but there are some debates that are only for family, and in this instance, though I might be cool enough to invite to the cookout, I will not ever be black enough to use the N word. It is not up to me to define the use of that word because it has never been weaponized against me.

I do occasionally use the term PWT or Po White Trash. I don't like it, but it has been weaponized against me so it is mine to claim iffin I want to. I live outside the PWT sphere for the most part. Education and some economic status have brought me in contact with more sophisticated Caucasoids who may not understand the simple pleasure of Red Lobster cheddar biscuits. Sometimes I feel out of place with these folks too, they seem liberal and open sometimes, but so were barbecue Becky and dog walking Donna. One thing that I can say for PWT folks and redneck white people, which I shouldn't really say either, because it denotes certain rural roots, which I do not have, I am city white through and through. What I can say is this, we ain't no snitches. PWT ain't calling the police on nobody because shit, somebody in the house might have warrants.

I went through all that to say this. What we are really saying when we say "I don't see color" is "I can't handle my own feelings when someone talks about race." We've all been part of the story, we all know the story to some extent. Sure, I met some lovely people who were raised in rural Idaho and moved to Portland thinking it was Detroit. Maybe they weren't as exposed to the story. Yet kids, this life if for learning and we don't do that when we think we know everything. There have been many people who patiently absorbed my own ignorance in this electric thing call life. So with that said, here is some advice from Uncle J......

Do you see color, yes you do. You see color, and you should. The question, as I stated, and I don't like to repeat myself- so if I do- this shits important. Question yourself, challenge your assumptions, let every human being tell you their own story. See their color and see their humanity and know that it is all intrinsically linked.

So here is some more advice. Don't go around calling black men you don't know well brotha. Don't say "you go girl" or "talk to the hand" to a black woman- nobody's said that shit since 1993- stop it! No, you can't touch anyone's hair, if your so fascinated by hair texture, buy a damn wig and touch away. How do you talk to a black person, say hello and learn to listen. Finally, if you are at Red Lobster and they ask if you want another cheddar biscuit, say yes, that shits good.

Stay tuned for part 2 of the blog series I don't see color: A tale of Black Bob and White Bob.

1994 Part Deux- SAY HIS NAME!

A few years ago there was a hashtag created #sayhisname or #sayhername. It was created in response to the police killings of Eric Garner, Freddie Gray, Sandra Bland, Alton Sterling and a long, long list of other people who should still be alive but aren't. I'm not here to write about these killings or these human beings. What I am going to write is story of a bad thing that happened long before twitter, or facebook, when a # was still called a pound sign and you could still push that pound sign in a conveniently located phone booth.

The year was 1994, and his name was Edward Mallet. Edward Mallet was only 25 years old in 1994, not even a decade older than me, and much younger than I am today. He wasn't a famous actor or musician, but I will never forget his name.

On a hot late summer day in 1994 that I don't particularly remember, but will call hot because it was in Phoenix, Edward Mallet died. He didn't just die, but he was killed by the police, in what was later awkwardly labeled an accidental death that was the fault of the Phoenix police department. A death that would become the precipitating incident for the largest municipal lawsuit settlement in Phoenix's history.

I don't remember Edward Mallet's name because of the lawsuit, but because of the visual image that his death left in my young brain. I can still see this vision, a vision that can stop me in my tracks and bring tears right to the edge of my eyelids.

Edward Mallet was a double amputee, who like my 2nd grade teacher, had 2 prosthetic legs. On this August day in 1994 Edward Mallet couldn't breathe, and he never did again. During an altercation with police, they put him in a choke hold, lifting him out of his prosthetic legs and choking him until he died.

It was that image that I can't get out of head. That image of a man standing on legs, being literally lifted off of his own legs and gasping for his last breath. I remember Edward Mallet, because his last breath was the first time that I became aware of police officers killing an unarmed black man. It happened that hot August day, in my city, not from far from where I lived.

Over the years Edward Mallet's story has played out so many times that we become numb to it. I don't remember the names of everyone who has been a part of the #sayhis/hername movement, but I will always remember Edward Mallet.

I promised myself years ago that I would never forget his name. That no matter how many times this sad and pitiful story is played out, I will never forget the first time I heard it. Each new Eric Garner or George Floyd that enters the news cycle, always brings me back to thinking about Edward Mallet, and it always should.

Edward Mallet would not have died if he were white. He died because he was part of the same story that we have been told over and over again until it becomes the air we breathe.

We live in a time and place where not even the KKK can be counted on to admit to being racist. A time in which barbecue Becky's call the police on black people for existing in spaces where they are thought not to belong.

We like to act as if racism and white supremacy are aberrations, things that we are done with, inconvenient reminders of a past that we'd rather not remember. The thing is, that I can't deny what I have seen with my eyes.

Edward Mallet was like so many others, the victim of a lie, told in unconscious racial bias, that he was inherently dangerous and that his life was worth less than mine. Edward Mallet was a black man, and as such we have all been taught this lie, that he was inherently dangerous.

People don't like to think about their biases, their shadow selves, the small moments when the evil thoughts that don't align with the way that we see ourselves creep into our minds. Yet it is these small moments, cracks in our wall, that crawl through when we are stressed, cracks that are caused by the same tired story that we've been told over and over again, until these cracks become the air we breathe.

I don't believe in the inherent goodness or evil of humanity. We are good, we are evil, we are all things in between. What I do believe is this. We must push back on this story, the one that has us believing that some people are less than, that some colors are worse. We have to push back against this story in ourselves because it is so pervasive that it is always knocking, trying to get in. I have spent many years rooting this story out of my head, and though I never met him, Edward Mallet is like my guardian angel, standing watch and making sure that this tired story never again finds, in me, fertile ground in which to bury it's roots. #sayhisname

Stay tuned for 1994 part III- Things that might have actually happened in 1995

1994- Part 1

Picture it, South Phoenix, AZ-1994. 1994 wasn't the first time I noticed racism, or discrimination or how people with darker skin were treated differently. I was born in the late 70's, I had already seen Boyz in the Hood 12 times and vividly remember the LA riots in 1992, or more likely the episode of A Different World where Dwayne and Whitley got caught up in the riots while on vacation, or their honeymoon; hell if I remember,  it was a long time ago. 

No, 1994 was after I had lived in and gone to school in areas where the people looked different from me or read books by black intellectuals and had already developed a fondness for W.E.B Dubois. It was after Penny got burned with the iron, Prince Hakeem came to America and Calvin finally got a J-O-B. I already thirsted for knowledge and understanding and was a few years past the bitter cancellation of my 9 year old self's favorite TV show -227. I had already been a strange Caucasoid, on perennial race card probation, saved only by my love of dogs and my complete and utter inability to jump. I have an almost pathological need to understand, but in 1994, I longed to understand but still didn't know shit.

In 1994, Arizona was still reeling from the fallout of our failure to make MLK day a reality. We had been boycotted and skewered in the media, even had public enemy make a song about us, not their best if I'm being honest. 

I marched in 1994, the first of many MLK day marches that I would eventually join. My high school was in some ways the heart of Phoenix's black community, yes we have one! It was also at the crossroads between this small but established black community and a larger and more dispersed Latino community. Sometimes there was violence in the surrounding area and this violence usually manifested in the ranks of differing gangs, fighting over turf that neither of them actually owned.

In 1994 it is said that a gang dispute spilled over into the school and started what was widely reported as a race riot between African Americans and Latinos. I've always been suspicious of how the incident was reported but it was before google, youtube and the 24 hour news cycle. Nobody had cell phones and we still thought we were cool because we could send pages with number that looked like they were spelling balls or boobs.  What I do know of that day, what I can't un-know- is what I saw with my own eyes. There were helicopters, cops in riot gear liberally giving out free samples of mace and groups of scared and confused children running back and forth, trying to make sense of it all. 

The next day the news crews were there, they had already been reporting on the incident using words like riot and melee. Now they were there, asking to speak to some students. To gauge our first hand reactions to our strangest day, since that time there was water in the river and we all had to go home early (if you understand, you're probably from Phoenix). I was on the student council and because our ranking student council members were ironically participating in a camp developed to increase cultural awareness and understanding, they wanted to speak to me. 

I was an odd choice. The only caucasian male on the student council of a school that was decidedly uncaucasian in it's makeup. I don't remember what I said, but it was likely a somewhat less articulated version of the following. "Yeah there were some fights, but I doubt a similar event across town would have brought helicopters, riot cops and mace. I also doubt that you'll be here tomorrow to report on our good grades or our academic events or that you will be here on graduation day to celebrate our successes."

It was there that I took the red pill from Morpheus, that which would reveal an uncomfortable truth, from which I could not retreat. I learned that day in 1994, that it didn't matter how bad our so called riot was, or what might have happened on the other side of town. What mattered was that we fit the narrative of a story that they wanted to tell. A story that has been repeated so many times, in so many ways for so many years, that we are born believing in it, just as we are born needing air. A story so insidious that we are taught it without even knowing. A story that we unconsciously believe without ever having questioned. That story is that some are better than others, that some are more valuable, and that some matter less than others.

Follow me for 1994- Part 2

No Offense, the Subtle Art of Marginalization

I operate in a world where, outside of a work context, I can go months without having significant interaction with others of my predominate ethnic group- (aka-white people).  I have long surrounded myself with diverse people from diverse backgrounds and am thus quite comfortable in situations where I am the only person who looks like me, most of the time.

I was at a party once a few years ago. I was the only person in the room who was not African American. At one point in the party somebody used the "N" word and then turned to me and said "no offense."  On a side note, in my thinking, I am probably the last one in the room who should have received an apology, as pathetic as that apology was.

Yes, I abhor the "N" word in any context, regardless of the melanin level of who said it and whether or not the word ends in ER or A. What I also abhor is when someone says something and then turns to say "no offense."

To me, saying no offense yields only two logical reactions, both result in the taking of offense. The first reaction is to think, if you knew it was offensive why did you still say it? The second reaction is to think, no I wasn't particularly offended, but now that you pointed out the offensive nature of the statement, I probably should be.

This happened to me again last week. Someone in the room said something about a particular white person or a group of white people. I don't remember because I wasn't offended or particularly impacted by the comment. The person who made the comment then turned to me and said "no offense." Except by this time, though specifically told not to be offended, I actually was.

The comment didn't bother me. What bothered me is that up until that moment I was just a human being sharing space with other human beings. After being told to not be offended, I was suddenly and completely reminded that I was, to paraphrase Sesame Street, the one of these things that is not like the other.

This wasn't a conversational moment in which differences were discussed. That would be called dialogue. This was a conversation halt, in which the one person most different in the situation was put on display for all to see. That is called marginalization.

Marginalization is to relegate or confine to a lower or outer limit or edge, as of social standing (dictionary.com). Marginalization can be personal (like in my example) or institutional.

Institutional marginalization can occur within the context of racism (such as redlining or segregation), classism (like relegating poorer people to less desirable parts of town, see segregation), ableism (like relegating disabled people to live in subsidized housing in these same less desirable parts of town, see segregation). It can also occur in families or in groups of individuals, like in my example. The end result of all incidences of marginalization, is that they suck.

Before I stray too far from my actual point into writing about oppression, which believe me, I can. I will say that I see value in having had the experience of being marginalized. These experience, these feeling, are part of why I strive to be observant of instances where injustice is present, not that my example presents an instance of injustice (yet another blog post that I would be all to happy to write).

Shared personal experiences help us to recognize the complete humanity in others who are different. Sadly many people do not seek these experiences.  Over time, because I observe and listen, I have developed an ability to move freely among different groups of people and in multiple contexts. Yet the older I get, the less comfortable I am in uni-cultural environments, regardless of who comprises the majority culture.

Back to the point though. There are things that many of us say because we think we are being nice. No offense is one of these things. Unfortunately, saying something that might be offensive and then covering it with, no offense, doesn't make you nice. It makes you an asshole.

Posting Political Articles to Facebook and Why it Sucks to Be a Pisces

As a rule I don't tend to post many articles or memes on subjects of politics or social justice. Sometimes I think that because I don't, I must be a person cowering in the corner afraid to say anything controversial. Yet this is a gut reaction to seeing other friends who post 20 articles a day and never leave any doubt as to where they stand on anything.

Many years ago, as a good Pentecostal child, I thought that I wasn't courageous for Jesus because I didn't stand in parks yelling at people and passing out tracts, politely pointing out who was and was not going to hell. Over the years I learned that most people think that park yellers are crazy and not particularly effective in their um, craft. Yet I remained somewhat conflicted. This conflict is mostly because I am a pisces and we are pretty much always conflicted about everything. Yet the good side of that, is that we easily see issues from multiple angles and often act as a bridge between dogmatic individuals, who love to readily break everything and everyone down into exactly 2 always opposing camps. So yeah, it kind of sucks to be a pisces, but then it's cool and then it sucks again.

So while I continue to chase my fish tail, let me offer a few reasons as to why I personally, as a proud piscean (sort of), don't (normally) post (many) articles and memes on social media (facebook- I'm too old for Instagram).

1. I prefer to blog (when I have the time and am between shows on Netflix) for a variety of reasons. A blog allows for deeper dissection of issues. Short blurbs such as status updates do not support any sort of analysis. When I hear another persons opinion on things, I don't just want to know what they are thinking. Chances are, because people are often predictable, I can already pre-determine what opinion almost everyone I know has on any given issue. What I want to know is how someone came to an opinion. What are the supporting arguments for taking a certain position? What personal experiences have led to the formation of a certain opinion? And ultimately, can a given argument stand up to logical scrutiny? I, for one, like to make sure that I know what I am talking about.

2. I prefer action to opinion. I know too many people who espouse ignorant and illogical views, yet do very kind things for others. I also know people who are always first in line to point out injustice, yet take an armchair view when it actually comes to doing anything for anyone else. I tend to think that I am more effective when I operate within my sphere of influence. Rather than casting a wide everybody net, to reach those who probably aren't listening, and are unlikely to change their mind anyway.

3. I don't think it is necessarily an effective tool for bringing about social change. I have many Facebook friends who are notorious for controversial posts and their ensuing arguments. Each time it is the same people taking the same predictable positions, often in contrast to the other same people who always take the opposite position. The rest of us, after awhile, just scroll past to see what people are having for dinner and to look at pictures of cats, and/or children. I am also not all that convinced that my opinion matters much to many people. Nor am I convinced that I have any more power to effect change than anyone else that I know.

However, I have a great many friends who would disagree, or who really just like to argue. I don't. At this point in my life I am perfectly content with being a person who doesn't enjoy arguing. If you, among the 11 people that read my blog, do enjoy arguing, do you. I will sit in my own little corner of the world doing what I can, taking respite in Netflix when the daily reality of life becomes to much to bear.

This is America, you want to end police killings of unarmed people- look to Capitalism

I, like many others, can not bear to wake up to another news story about another unarmed person shot dead by the police in this country. I generically use the term person but I could very easily put the word black in front of that statement and it would be virtually synonymous.

I had to resist the temptation to pass on a social media article or meme that cleverly describes why #blacklivesmatter is necessary, but those are ubiquitous at this point and those who don't have it by now aren't likely to get it anytime soon.

I hate talking about race with most (white) people. I find it so irritatingly frustrating that I would rather be getting dental work done by my barber. As I wrote earlier in my post about the confederate flag, it isn't because people who don't get it are bad, they just literally can't take the pain. Except unlike people of other hues, they don't have to, so usually they don't. That is what we call white privilege. Hell sometimes I wish I never took the pill all those years ago, my mind would probably be more at ease.

So to those, who like me,  feel that #blacklivesmatter is important, here is my point. The black lives matter movement is imperative, not because it seeks to convince white people to be nice, but because it helps black people assert that "yes- I matter also." It is important because it is a powerful statement of self love that asserts "I am important and I will not be silent." It is statement that is diametrically opposed to the reality of most of our collective US history. It is a statement and a movement that seeks to right real and present wrongs- and to begin a reversal of generations of psychological trauma.

Though I believe fervently in the power of the blacklivesmatter movement, I know many who do not believe or do not understand. I am not black, so my understanding of these issues will always be incomplete. So I get it when my brothers and sisters (white and otherwise) who don't want to give credence to black lives matter. Again it is hard to grasp when you don't have to. The inability to grasp the challenges faced by others who are different is not the mark of an inherently bad spirit, it signals a lack of empathy. This does not mean black people are inherently more empathic, it means that they are much closer to the ugly truth on this one. People aren't necessarily bad, many of us just live in bubbles until our bubbles get popped.

So how do we reverse the startling killing of unarmed (mainly black) people by law enforcement agencies? Cameras are good, citizens police committees are good. We also need to work together. This means, speaking for myself, we work with anyone who believes that killing of unarmed people is a problem (including white people, black people, Latinos, Asians, Native people, Muslims, gay people, Jewish people, butchers, bakers, candlestick makers and the 1000's of police officers who who have worked for years without engaging in unnecessary brutality ). On the other hand.

This may sound cynical but this is the United States of America, the ultimate answer lies in capitalism. Over the course of decades the US and individual states conducted massive public health campaigns to end smoking. These public health campaigns were of questionable effectiveness, however the rates of smoking did drop dramatically. These rates dropped dramatically in correlation with rising cigarette prices. In effect the smoking rate didn't change until it hit the pocket book of individual smokers. This effect is a principle of controlled capitalism whereby they increase the price of a commodity to create scarcity or price consumers out of individual markets (kind of like red-lining, gentrification or luxury goods marketing).

So how does this relate to officer involved shootings of unarmed people? It is simple. We can continue to encourage others to be good people and to pay attention, some will. However this issue, like global warming, will not get proper attention until it hits the pocket book. So, if you really want to effect change take one from the Erin Brockovich handbook- SUE!

The Confederate flag, the "N" word, racism and why I wish I still had my Boss Hogg action figure.

Should the confederate flag be removed from the state house in South Carolina and other official government places, absolutely!  Should the confederate flag be removed from the General Lee on Dukes of Hazzard, meh.

As with everything that is extrapolated to death, this debate was taken to it's least logical conclusion when TV land removed re-runs of a decades old show about an orange Dodge Charger and the people who drove it. This decision served to drum up interest in a bad show with cool car chases; sure to keep Bo, Luke, Daisy and Cooter in the luxurious glow of royalty checks for at least a couple more years. It also highlighted the preposterous, utterly ridiculous nature of what we deem newsworthy and the instantaneous way in which some human beings choose to take offense over the most asinine things.

A couple of days later and social media is littered with posts celebrating the young woman who removed the flag from the capital grounds and defensive memes about how not everyone who flies the flag is racist. First of all flying the confederate flag in an official government capacity is very different from allowing some guy to paint one on a truck, but I will get to that later.

Are you racist for flying the Confederate flag? Maybe you are, I tend to think most people are at least a little bit racist. We tend to treat racism as if it were an exception to the love and harmony we share as people in a nation that resembles a coke commercial. We do not live in that world. We live in a place stained by generations of institutionalized racism that continues to foster inequity in education, economic opportunity and in glaring, searing injustice in our justice system.

Racism is not an exception. It is a living, breathing organism in our society that permeates to our very core. It is a monster that we did not individually create and are individually powerless to stop. It goes well beyond a celebrity secretly caught saying the "N" word or some college fraternity singing drunken, racist songs. But this is what we like to focus on because it makes these issues seem smaller and more easily manageable, instead of what they are, gigantic messes that have no easy fixes and require a level of inward assessment that most people will never attempt, because it is painful and difficult.

I imagine most people who fly the confederate flag, for whatever reason, don't really think about institutional racism or the legacy of inequity when doing so. They probably think that they are good people who do nice things for others, maybe they are. They probably think they can fly the flag because it is their right to do so, it is. They may think they are honoring their ancestors, I could speak volumes to my disagreement with this but that is another post entirely. Maybe they just want to hear Skynard play Free Bird, well so do I, as long as I never have to Hear Sweet Home Alabama again!

If you fly the confederate flag, let me admit, I don't get it. Most of my relatives who were in the US at the time of civil war were confederates, but I am not a southerner. I am a westerner and not one given to romantic notions of how the past was somehow better. What I would ask of anyone who flies the flag is to really think about their reasoning and consider other perspectives.

The confederate flag may be a point of ancestral pride to some but to others is a frightening reminder of slavery, intimidation, segregation and lynching. It is frightening to many, who have a core visceral reaction to the very sight of the stars and bars. It is a reminder of a terrible ancestral legacy to those who watched the flag used first for the confederacy and then co-opted by the KKK and other groups who sought to intimidate black people, Jewish people, Asians people, Latinos, immigrants and even Catholics.

Maybe those who fly the confederate flag are trying to rehabilitate it as a symbol. Maybe, like with African Americans who use the "N" word, they are trying to put some kind of good spin on an inanimate thing that has been used to for the purposes of evil. If this is the case, I offer the same argument I would to those attempting to rehab the "N" word. Words and symbols have power, they have legacies and meanings. We did not create these legacies and meanings, we cannot change them.

My personal hope is that the confederate flag would die to history, just like the "N" word. Does this mean that I believe people who fly it are bad? No! I have met people who said the most ignorant things and yet, when it came down to it, showed the deepest levels of human compassion. I have seen people who talk about helping others on a large scale yet ignore the suffering of those right in front of them. Life is too long and complicated for labels that fit into facebook memes or for simple solutions to deeply rooted problems.

As for allowing the confederate flag to fly on government property. Let me first admit that I  loved my General Lee toy car and Boss Hogg action figure as a child, I still wonder what happened to them.

The flag of the Confederacy was the flag of a nation that began in open rebellion with the United States of America. This was in essence the flag of a self declared nation at war with the United States. In this vein of logic the confederate flag would be on par with the flags of Britain, Mexico, Spain, Italy, Germany, Japan, North Korea and the Ottoman Empire.

As to the heritage argument. Yes many people have ancestors who fought for the confederate nation and live in the 11 states that formed this nation. We also have several states that were a part of Mexico until they were lost during the Mexican American war. There are many people living in the United States who are descendants of Mexican veterans of the Mexican American War. Imagine the uproar if a state decided to fly the Mexican flag on official government property, let alone any preposterous attempts to fly the official flag of the Ottoman Empire.

Beyond these arguments, there is a human one. The government, as flawed as it is, is supposed to represent all people. Openly endorsing a symbol that is so deeply offensive to a large portion of the population falls far short of this aim. So yes, it is your right to fly the Confederate flag on your scale model General Lee or rock the stars and bars on that old Skynard t-shirt, but no, this is not the same as flying the flag high on the grounds of a state capitol, it is not the same at all.

I am Rachel Dolezal- well almost- well not really- well just read the post.....

I will say it. With a lessened sense of identity, 1970’s home perm and a great self tanner; I could be Rachel Dolezal.

As a mental health professional, my first thought on this issue was that Ms. Dolezal has identity related mental health issues, likely rooted in trauma, an opinion that I continue to hold. My first reaction as a human being was empathy. I understood a part of her story that perhaps many do not.

My own relationship with my own ethnic group has always been complicated. Early life cruelty by white people, the prevalence of white classism and a strong affinity for Mr. T at the age of 5 (Ms. Dolezal’s purported age of the genesis of her racial identity) caused in me, the beginnings of a strong identification with those of other cultures.

A bit later in life I found love and greater levels of acceptance amongst those of black and latino cultures. As my relationships deepened I felt special, appreciated and ultimately more loved than I had ever felt in the monocultural white world. However, even among others cultures there was always a bridge to cross, that of being an outsider, of being always almost at the table but never quite there.

As an outsider, I desperately wanted to belong. So why not? Why not do like Ms. Dolezal and darken my skin? Why not settle into an ever more complicated web of lies and self denial? Why not seek comfort in a culture that feels more familiar?

I have no doubt that Ms. Dolezal is intelligent and talented in her work as a civil rights leader. I empathize with her and hate the way the media has sensationalized her story , as they do everything else. However, my identification with Ms. Dolezal’s story stops there.

As a mental health professional, I am interested in the idea of the possibility of transracial identity and its’ prevalence in our society. If nothing else Ms. Dolezal’s story brings to light an area of psychology that is largely unresearched. As a human being interested in social justice and in breaking down the barriers that separate us as human beings, I am deeply troubled.

In my opinion Ms. Dolezal’s claims of being African American aren’t rooted in a deep appreciation and identification of other cultures, which she genuinely seems to possess. Many people immerse themselves in other cultures. Many identify with the struggles of others and become allies and defenders of human rights. However, unlike Ms. Dolezal, most do this without losing their own sense of identity.

By choosing to represent herself as something she is not, Ms. Dolezal arguably lessens a perception of what it means to black. She lessens the experiences of millions of people who have come before her and didn’t have the luxury of being able to gain greater advantages by lightening their skin to become a part of a dominant culture. She cheapens these struggles by simply having the choice to pull out when the full reality of being black in America becomes too hard.

However in the greater scheme of life, she is one person. She is one headline, one blip in a 24 hour news cycle. In choosing to represent herself as something she is not, the greatest damage Ms. Dolezal does, is not to black culture, white culture or the NAACP; but to herself. Though she may believe her own deceptions, these deceptions are rooted, not in a deep appreciation for black culture but in a deep down sense of hatred for herself.  Self hatred that is like a fire and will ultimately consume her from the inside out.

The Dangers of Binge Watching

Among the greatest benefits of 21st century technology has been on demand television. As my son grows, I can only imagine telling him old war stories of how, “in my day we had to watch commercials and if something wasn't on at the time, we couldn't watch it. Gone are the days of consulting a TV Guide or watching a show one episode at a time. .

This is the era of DVR, Netflix and Hulu Plus. This is the era of marathon television watching sessions. This is a golden age of binge watching. While I love this golden age, I have recently realized the need to approach binge watching with caution and moderation.

The other day I woke up from a bad dream I can’t quite remember. The day before I felt off and the days that followed were the same. It was subtle, a slight touch of melancholy here, a tinge of regret for some long ago transgression there. I began to feel anxious, as if there were something wrong. For a moment I thought I had cancer. For an instance I had a strange craving for crystal meth, even though I have no idea what that might actually be like.

I searched my soul to find a reason for this melancholy, this strange affinity for pure blue crystal meth and the city of Albuquerque. Nothing had happened, there were no major changes in my life, no conflicts, nothing. What happened?

I checked my Netflix account. In the past week I had watched 35 episodes of Breaking Bad. It is a great show, among the most well written that I can recall. It is so good that it should come with a warning label. Warning: If you binge watch you run the risk wanting to manufacture crystal meth and call yourself Heizenburg.

Maybe I am just more susceptible than most to become caught up in artificially created television worlds. I had similar responses to The Walking Dead, where I began to formulate my plan of action for the Zombie apocalypse, or when I binge watched Battlestar Galactica and began to suspect that everyone around me was a cylon.

Or maybe, just maybe, this is a new challenge for a brave new world. The risks of binge watching are many. Some of these risks, like a sore behind, weight gain from a sedentary lifestyle or insomnia from staying up too late watching television, are obvious. The emotional risks are a bit more subtle.

Am I going to stop binge watching? Probably not. I enjoy the entertainment provided by television and the escape it provides from everyday problems. However, I will be more aware of the times when binge watching is not an escape from my issues. Indeed, binge watching can guarantee a  transfer to a world of even greater problems. In my real life, I may have issues paying the bills sometimes, but I have never had cancer, been kidnapped by deranged drug dealers or been forced to drive a Pontiac Aztec. Maybe the solution is to take a couple days off from Breaking Bad or binge watch something else entirely, a comedy perhaps.

Running Outside: My Love Affair with the Treadmill

Yesterday I decided to run outside. Though I have been an avid runner for several years, this occasion marked perhaps the 8th time that I have ventured to run outside. The results were, how should I put it, humbling.

The first thing I learned is that there are bugs outside that don't exist within the confines of a 24 hours fitness. Second, I shattered my long held belief that growing up in Phoenix has somehow made me immune to any effects of the sun. Third I learned that being able to run 10 miles on a treadmill, in an air conditioned gym, does not mean that I can run 10 miles on the road. Fourth, I learned that Portland is first rate for bike lanes and cut rate for sidewalks. Fifth, I learned that running in bike lanes is terrifying.

Why did I do it? I have been content to run on the treadmill. I can control the pace and know exactly what is going on all around me. Yet running a marathon is on my bucket list and apparently we all have to have bucket lists because Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman told us to. Quite simply there are no treadmill marathons. Thank God, frankly that would be more boring than watching a professional bowling match played by professional golfers.

I got very close to running a marathon 4 years ago. Then something happened. Between the overtraining and lack of calcium that comes from my milk allergy, at least this is my hypothesis, my ankle became so weak that it broke. I was left with an injury that took a full year to heal and the lamest broken bone story ever.

Four years later I am still a far cry from the shape I was in then. I am 20 lbs heavier (to be on the kind side) and cannot run as fast as I could then. Through it all I have kept trying but had yet to break out in the great outdoors.

Yesterday was a reminder that I am not as close to my goal as I would like to be. The good thing is a bucket list is composed of things one would like to do before death and I don't plan on dying for a long time. I will run my marathon someday, hopefully sooner than later. I will run a good race and will find the flattest marathon in the country, hills are killer.

Tomorrow I will go running again. This time back to the treadmill, back to the air conditioning, back to the music on my i pod, back to watching sports center as I kick the speed up and down.

*Any offense taken by bowlers and golfers is understandable. I find both fun to play but extraordinarily boring to watch. The same goes for baseball, and oh, Nascar is not a sport. We at Green Eggs never shy away from controversy, but as always, if you have a divergent view, go and get your own blog. I bet, like me, you can have 7 readers in no time.

Simple Rules for happiness in the world of Social Networking

We've all seen the chain responses on facebook. They come with different enticements. Some are positive or benign. Post this flag if you love America. Pass on this quote if you want good luck. Some are negative or downright threatening. If you don't pass this on you're helping kill puppies. If you don't post this immediately to your wall, then you hate Jesus.

As a response to the litany of posts like these, I long ago decided that I would not, under any circumstance, pass along or post these requests. Perhaps by refusing to pass these along I have sadly lessened the world's puppy population or inadvertently made Jesus cry on a number of occasions. It is not that I meant to murder puppies or cause personal harm to the savior of all mankind, it is just that I found a comfortable place in the sand and drew my line.

While refusing to pass these links is my most ardent rule, I do have others. I generally don't quote sources other than myself. Occasionally I find a good one and pass it along but for the most part I rely solely on my own clever thoughts.

I occasional post a politically charged thought or a link to an article about politics. I stop there. I don't involve myself in arguments on facebook. I used to occasional imbibe in this sort of banter but found that all it did was lead to disruptions in my own inner Fonzie. Nowadays If I comment on anything controversial, I make my comment and move on. Under no circumstance do I look back and comment again. Anyone who has ever seen Indiana Jones knows why looking back isn't a good idea.

The reason I have these rules is not that I am afraid of controversy or that I don't care. Quite honestly it is the opposite. Social media is a large place with many divergent points of view. It is a place with people who want to argue issues and those who simply want to show pictures of their dogs and kids having fun. If you are latter keep on keeping on. If you are the former keep on keeping on, but consider. If all you post is your thoughts on politics, you have probably reached a point of saturation. That is to say, only people who agree with you, or don't and like to argue, are going to care.

I do occasionally post something of a political nature. I like to think that by doing this occasionally, it might actually make people think, it probably won't. Whatever way you go, go ahead. Just know that I am not going to re-post the sign that says If I don't post this in 7 minutes a kitten will die. I will stick by my rules because they work for me.

*No animals were harmed or deities offended in the writing of this post. If you are in any way offended by the content herein, relax. I have no further advice.

Obamacare and the Tea Party

So the SCOTUS, as we are calling it these days, has upheld Obamacare. If I were President Obama, besides carrying around my birth certificate so that I could pull it out every now and then to remind people that Hawaii is a state, I would get a tattoo on my arm that says Obamacare in great big letters. Except that tattoos hurt and anyone who tells you otherwise needs to call the fire department and immediately buy new pants, preferably not skinny jeans.

With a stroke of pen, which I assume was not a bic or one of those random pens I find in my car from some business establishment I've never visited , President Obama managed to forever seal his place in history as the man who at least did something. Mitt Romney enacted a surprisingly similar law in Massachusetts and all he got was a reputation for flip-flopping and the enduring suspicions of the Tea Party. Which reminds me of some enduring questions I've always had about the tea party.

I wonder if tea party members call each other by tea nicknames and eat tea cookies? If I were a member of the tea party I would call myself Rooibos and eat the hell out of some lemon cremes. I feel sorry for the guy who got the nickname chamomile, I wonder if it is because he was late and Earl Gray was already taken?  I'd ask these questions but I live in Portland and we really are much more of a coffee town.


I digress. Anyhow, having worked in the healthcare industry for a number of years, I can say that Obamacare is not perfect, but it is hard to be worse than the fractured system we have had. I know, let the name calling commence, afterall calling someone a socialist is far easier than reading a health care law or even the definition of socialism on wikipedia or dictionary.com.


Even if you don't care about health care, consider a few points. Access to lower levels of treatment, ie PCP's and routine procedures, are far less expensive than emergency room care. The United States spends far more per capita on health care than other developed nations that have some sort of universal access to care.  Most US health care entities operate on a fee for service basis. This sort of funding structure creates a need for additional levels of bureaucracy and complex systems of billing and administrative approval.


Once again, while far from perfect, the Obamacare bill is at least an attempt to close gaping holes in a system that is not really a system. Personally I would prefer something more centralized in scope. However we in the US seem to have a baseline level reactionary fear of anything that is centralized. We prefer to create multiple levels of bureaucracy by layering them through competing levels of government and privatizing to agencies that that have their own, additional levels of administration. This way always ends up being more expensive and inefficient in the end but at least they provide multiple job opportunities to people not providing actual care. 


Finally a suggestion. If you don't like Obamacare and don't wish to participate, I'm looking at you Governor Rick Scott of Florida, I've read many wonderful articles on the health benefits of green tea. I'm not sure if that nickname has already been taken though.

*If you like the views expressed in this blog please feel free to tell me how wonderful I am. If you do not like my views feel free to get your own blog or talk to your mama. I have a rule against online arguments, I leave that to congress. God Bless everyone regardless of your circumstance or view.

Wow I haven't blogged in awhile.

Get ready. I'm coming back soon, with 30% more gubment cheese.

All Dogs Sniff Butts: Debunking the Myth of the Designer Pooch

       My dog Pavo weighs 8 lbs and could probably be carried in a handbag, if I were the sort of person who carried a handbag.  Though I bought him from the humane society, he is what would be decidedly called a designer dog. He is a chi weenie, a genetically altered creature bred, for God knows what reason, to combine the traits of a Chihuahua and a Dachshund.
He is the sort of dog who turns heads at the park and regularly elicits squeals from little girls who exclaim “Oh he’s so cute.” Though he would fit in a handbag and could wear a hand knit sweater, my guess is that he would jump out of the hand bag and chew the sweater yarn until he threw it up.
He is from the part of the dog world that conjures images of gourmet dog food eaten in crystal dishes at the dining room table. Yet, if I let him, my dog would spend the entire day obsessively licking the place where his testicles used to be.
Yesterday I caught my fancy, designer dog eating the remnants of my wife’s lunch from the garbage can. Last week he attempted to eat his own vomit and he enjoys nothing more than a good pissing contest with his best friend, a pit bull 10 times his size. Poor Pavo always loses.
When he meets another dog in the park he barks and then sniffs butts. When given a chance he will happily chase the neighbors cat. He is 8lbs, but 8lbs of pure, unadulterated dog.
Growing up we always had big dogs, breeds like German Shepherds or Black Labs.  I was hesitant to bring a fancy little dog into my home. I thought, what will the neighbors think? When I walk him, me 6’1, 225lbs, I worry about eliciting strange looks from people who might think to rob me because, surely a man with an 8lb dog couldn’t possibly defend himself. Then I look at Pavo. I see him beg for food at the table. I see him bravely chase the neighbor’s 16lb cat. I hear him bark with excitement when he sees a squirrel.
When I come home and he runs, tail wagging, to greet me, I forget for a moment that he is an 8lb designer dog. I forget the images of Paris Hilton strolling through the airport with her handbag accessory dog. I smile. My dog, all 8lbs, is always happy to see me. He is the most uncomplicated relationship I have in my life. On bad days he is my sanity. He is a dog. A creature who, regardless of his size, would be perfectly happy to spend all day rolling around in the mud and eating grass.

Life beyond the Lockout; Man up and support the WNBA

With the threat of lockout looming in both the NFL and NBA, it is no wonder that sports fans everywhere are considering prescriptions for Xanax. However, we needn’t look to medication to calm our building anxiety.  If you are like me, a professional sports fan who thinks baseball is boring and is not satisfied with collegiate offerings on ESPN 27, I have a solution for you.  It’s called the WNBA.

There is an unfortunate and all too common perception that the WNBA is boring, slow and lacking in highlights worthy of primetime coverage on Sports Center. I bought into that kind of talk for several years and recently discovered that I’ve been missing out.

While the WNBA may lack some of the showboating and Blake Griffinesque dunks over a brand new Kia, the game is comparable if not better in multiple ways.

The ladies of the WNBA are equally capable of draining eye dropping 3’s, setting screens and scraping the floor for a loose ball. Their passing game often surpasses even the most seasoned of the NBA’s floor generals and they do it all for far less money than even the lowest paid NBA player.

The current highest paid player in the WNBA is Lauren Jackson, 2 time league MVP for the Seattle Storm. The current highest paid player for the NBA is Kobe Bryant, whose team was swept in the 2^nd round of the playoffs. Kobe Bryant brings in an eye dropping $24,806,250.00, not including endorsements. Jackson brings home a modest $103,500, or roughly 1/24^th the salary of Bryant. To further put Bryant’s salary into perspective, his yearly salary is larger than the total GDP of a few small island nations.

While Jackson continues to drain baskets, set screens and wow the league’s dedicated fan base; Bryant and his fellow band of overpaid celebrities are threatening a potential lock out over stalled salary negotiations.

As a dedicated basketball fan I generally shy away from the temptation to call NBA players spoiled, overpaid cry babies. However at some point it is up to fans to come together and demand accountable from the leagues that we support with our money, time and energy. Perhaps with lockouts looming in the NFL and NBA, it is time to come together and say enough is enough.

Regardless of whether or not there is an NBA lockout, I will remain a rabid basketball fan. My love for the game is unsinkable. What is uncertain is how my loyalty to the professional branch of Men’s basketball may change. Either way, I remain comforted to know that there is a professional league out there whose players play with a passion and love for the game that is unquestionable. This league just happens to be the WNBA, a league composed of people who do not share my gender. I am fine with that difference and I hope that more men will discover that there is life out there beyond the lockout.

The Evolution of Ron Artest

NBA player Ron Artest recently announced that he will change his name to Metta World Peace. His revelation has been hailed by some as an arrogant publicity ploy. Others say it is just another in a string of bizarre actions by one the NBA’s most erratic figures.

Artest, despite being among the NBA’s best defenders in the post, is probably best remembered for his role in the much hyped 2004 fight between the Detroit Pistons and Indiana Pacers.

Following the fight, Artest received and served a 1 year suspension from the NBA. Since that time Artest has remained an emotional player who plays with a passion for the game that sometimes seems to transcend reason. Yet these levels of emotion, these occasional lapses in emotional regulation are some of the things that make Ron Artest so endearing.

What Artest proves time and again is that, if he is nothing else, he is a real person.  He is a flawed person who, unlike some of his teammates, allows his cracks to show.

Artest is not from a privileged background; he grew up on violent streets in parts of New York yet untouched by gentrification.  As a youth, Artest witnessed many acts of violence including a brutal basketball related murder. However, Artest is not a product of these streets, he is example of transcendence, of redemption. He is also a person who carries with him those memories, those habits, those insecurities; the experiences stamped into his psyche that cannot be expunged with million dollar contracts or endorsement deals.

I applaud Artest’s willingness to emphasize world peace in such a fallable and human way.  Even more I applaud his consistent efforts to advocate on behalf the mentally ill and to use his celebrity to be more than a false, exaggerated stereotype of a spoiled NBA thug.  Whatever name Artest chooses, he remains a growing and evolving individual who deserves consideration as a whole person and not simply a caricature. 

Worried about the end of the world? Try jogging

Some people believe that the world is going to end tomorrow. Others believe it will happen in 2012. If I were a Las Vegas odds-maker I would give equal weight to everyday between today and the actual end of the world, whenever that may happen.

Last year I decided to stop watching movies about the end of the world. I made this decision after watching the film "The Road" based upon the Cormac McCarthy book of the same name and my vote for the most depressing and hopeless film I have ever had the displeasure of watching.

If and when the end of the world comes; be it through rapture, disease, environmental disaster, a super volcano or a zombie attack, I have no control over any of these things. My current moratorium on post apocalyptic films (unless they are funny-see Zombieland), is about my desire to no longer "entertain" myself by watching things that upset my fragile psyche.

The end of the world has been predicted more times than Bill Gates has dollars. I imagine that if we were to take a survey of end of the world predictions these would correspond to at least one prediction everyday for the whole of history.

Some people look for evidence that the world is going to end. Some look to the Bible: plagues, wars, rumors of wars. There is not a time in history when a plague of some kind has not been present. There has not been a moment in time when a war was not being fought somewhere over something. Other people look to present natural or man-made disasters; earthquakes, volcanoes. A simple read of  history book tells us that earthquakes, volcanoes and other natural disaster have been present throughout history, ever heard of Mt. Vesuvius?

Some people, like Pat Robertson, see the hand of God in every disaster, calling it divine punishment for the wickedness of man. Other's see natural and man made disasters as evidence that there is no God at all. I prefer to believe that, in a world with so many natural and man made disasters, the fact that any of us make it a day is evidence of God.

While the question of God's existence and involvement in the daily operations of planet Earth will, without doubt, be debated until the end of time, the one thing that I am certain of is that what I have control over in this world is a very small postage stamp on a very large envelope.

I had a friend who spent most of his time reading about the end of the world. When he read the Bible he only read Revelations. When he watched television he only watched shows about various forms of catastrophic doom and gloom. When he got on the internet he only read various conspiracy theories about how the governments of the world have created diseases.

While my former friend is perhaps an extreme case, he is indicative of many of us. While he read, he neglected his body through a lack of exercise. While he watched TV, he popped potato chips in his mouth. While he read the internet, he smoked cigarettes. If I were a gambling man, I would bet that he will eventually die not in a nuclear holocaust or super volcano, but by heart disease or cancer. My suggestion to him, take up jogging.

So while the world may end tomorrow, or in a billion years. What remains true and timeless is that we only have control over what we can control. We only have influence over what we can influence. If you are concerned about environmental disaster, recycle. If you are concerned about a zombie attack, take up running.

I leave you with this final thought. Q: What has killed more people than all of the wars in history combined? A: The lowly mosquito. Yes, the truth is, no matter what we do, the mosquito wins in the end. Somehow I find that thought comforting.