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Archive for the ‘Culture’ Category

For Your Consideration

Posted in Culture, Politics, tagged , , , , , , , , , on 28 Jun 2024| Leave a Comment »

Well, that was a bloody disaster.

I’m talking, of course, about last night’s “debate” between Biden and Trump. While Trump played the usual bloviating, grievance-fueled prevaricator who couldn’t manage to actually address 90% of the questions put to him, Biden’s performance was—there’s no way to sugar-coat it—feeble, stumbling, and unfocused.

While I don’t see the event as having helped either candidate, I know it hurt Biden, and that pumps up my already elevated cortisol levels into the red.

Democrats are in freak-out mode, and I am not about to attempt a prediction as to how this will play out. What I do want to do is throw a lifeline to those who are understandably concerned, who like neither of the candidates, and who are genuinely worried about the GOP’s right-hand trend toward lawless autocracy and unabashed theocracy.

We must, as a good friend of mine said, change the narrative.

Here’s my suggestion of how we can do this.

Vote for the Agenda, Not the Candidate

American politics took a wrong turn back when voters began to use the “Who would you rather have a beer with?” metric for deciding on a candidate. It was arguably the first misstep that put us on the path to where we are today, where we vote solely on who the candidate is (or appears to be), and not how they will govern. This is a critical distinction, as the person who is president is much less important than the agenda that person brings into office.

So, if you’ll indulge me, let’s do a little thought experiment. Take the candidates out of the equation—no Trump, and no Biden—and compare just the agenda that each major party is working toward. This is actually an easy thing to do as both parties have manifestos and a track record.

————

For the GOP, one need look no further than Project 2025. This 900+ page roadmap is the product of The Heritage Foundation, a highly influential ultra-conservative think tank that has been fighting against reproductive rights, LGBTQ+ rights, civil rights, and climate change for decades. Aiding and abetting this project are over a hundred other right-wing groups such as Stephen Miller’s (he of the “family separation” immigration policy) America First Legal, and the book-banning, racism-denying Moms for Liberty. While Project 2025 is not officially the platform of the GOP’s campaigns, we hear them use its talking points in their rhetoric, see the actions they’ve already taken in support of it, and read about the steps they are taking toward a fuller implementation of its goals.

It’s impossible to accurately summarize this incredibly broad-based agenda, but let’s at least point to a few examples of where they’re going:

  • Christian nationalism is a driving force in the Project’s philosophy. We see already the attempts to erode the separation of church and state, with Christian teachings being mandated in schools (see Oklahoma, Louisiana) and attempts to eliminate the long-standing ban on churches endorsing candidates.
  • Climate change mitigation efforts should be abandoned by repealing regulations that curb emissions, downsizing the EPA, and abolishing the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), which the Project calls “one of the main drivers of the climate change alarm industry.”
  • Reproductive health is on the block, as the Project insists that life begins at conception, and intends to explicitly reject “the notion that abortion is health care.” This, includes the withdrawal of FDA approval of (and funding for) medical abortion drugs and the “morning after” pill. One spokesperson has said that the Department of Health and Human Services should require that “every state report exactly how many abortions take place within its borders, at what gestational age of the child, for what reason, the mother’s state of residence, and by what method.” General healthcare, too, is up for changes, as the Project wants to rescind Medicare’s ability to negotiate drug prices (which recently brought the monthly price of insulin down to $35) and eliminate gender-affirming care.
  • Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) projgrams, which have far-reaching positive effects for many vulnerable minorities, will be removed and federal employees who have participated in such programs can be fired.  The Project proposes the recognition of only heterosexual men and women, the removal of protection against discrimination on the basis of sexual or gender identity, and promotion of a government that will “maintain a biblically based, social-science-reinforced definition of marriage and family.”

These are highlights only, and do not paint a complete picture, as we also need to keep in mind that the GOP talks openly about more tax cuts that primarily benefit the wealthy and corporations, about eliminating the ACA that provides healthcare for millions, and about letting Putin and Russia do “whatever the hell they want” and walk all over Ukraine (and wherever they want to go next).

————

On the Democrat side, it’s pretty much the opposite: religion has no place in government, climate change is real and must be combated, reproductive rights are essential healthcare, prescription drugs should be cheaper for everyone, and America is stronger because of our diversity.

In addition, the Democrats:

  • Have been working toward immigration reform and border security (though the GOP killed a bill they’d already agreed to, because it’s a good political football)
  • Have helped eliminate or reduce student loan debt for millions (though the GOP has worked hard to thwart every attempt)
  • Were able to bring down gas prices about 40 cents/gallon through a savvy set of maneuvers using the Strategic Petroleum Reserve
  • Have passed bills on infrastructure and manufacturing that have brought thousands of jobs and billions of investment dollars back to the states
  • Want to raise the minimum wage, fight for higher tax credits to offset child-care costs, and support workers who want to unionize
  • Support the fight against autocracy, be it against Putin’s imperialistic goals in Ukraine, or Iran’s proxies in the Middle East

————

Regardless of who is at the top of the ticket, these are the agendas, and one will win in November.

My vote will go toward the Democrat’s agenda, up and down the ticket, because:

  • Even though I live in a reliably “blue state,” I want to repudiate the GOP agenda.
    • I don’t want to win by a squeak; I want to win by a lot. I don’t want anyone to stay home or vote for a third party candidate because I want this extreme GOP agenda to be resoundingly defeated. I want the Democrat agenda to be given a mandate to proceed.
  • I want to give the Democrat agenda the tools it needs to realize these goals.
    • That means a majority in the House and the Senate, as well as control of the Executive branch. The GOP has proven it cannot/will not compromise. Hell, even when they did agree to a bill that gave them almost everything they wanted (i.e., this year’s immigration/border security bill), they killed it rather than give any kind of a “win” to the Dems. So I want a government that can actually do something, instead of being stuck in gridlock.
  • I want the Democrat agenda to have a chance to re-balance the Supreme Court (or at least maintain status quo).
    • If the GOP comes into power again, they’ll be able to replace aging conservatives Thomas and Alito with younger, more rabid justices, who will give us retrograde decisions like Dobbs for decades to come. And let’s not even think of them expanding the conservative majority on the bench, should one of the liberal justices retire.

There’s a lot at stake this election. We’re reaching a fever pitch and the results will shape our nation for decades.

One of these agendas will win, come November, and we don’t have the luxury of letting others decide for us.

If you’ve read this far, I thank you for your indulgence, and I greatly appreciate your time and attention.

k

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(Hidden) Child

Posted in Culture, tagged , , , on 17 Jun 2024| 2 Comments »

Ronald Achilles Giambastiani

Yesterday was Father’s Day here in the U.S., and it was a rather difficult one for me. Unexpectedly so.

My pop died back in 2016, at the age of eighty-six. His final years were not pleasant for him (nor for us, in many ways). He’d outlived two wives, had lost a lot of his vitality due to emphysema and spinal stenosis, and the whole “estate” thing—rewriting wills, selling his home, moving into assisted living, etc.—took a terrible emotional toll on him. But his death was eight years ago, and while the first few Father’s Days were understandably difficult, I’d weathered those that followed with an increasing sense of love, serenity, and gratitude for the Old Man.

So, why did this one hit me hard?

I spent much of the day looking at that question, wondering, wanting an answer. It seemed so random. Was I just on edge due to [gestures to the world at large]? No; the world’s Turmoil Coefficient has been in the red for several years, now. Was I suddenly aware of my own mortality? Hehe; not really, as that has been on my mind pretty much since Dad died (the death of one’s parents will do that to you). So, then, what?

When I finally pinned my brain to the mat on this (and trust me, my brain is an eel in this regard), it turned out (to my chagrin) to be all about me. Specifically, teenage me.

Within all of us, I believe, is what the woo-woo folks call our “inner child,” that part of our psyche that still thinks (and, more importantly, feels things) like a child. We carry our past with us, our memories of years irretrievable, and they affect us. Like when a certain song comes on, or you catch a whiff of a distinctive scent, or someone says something entirely random that transports you back through the decades, and you react, sometimes strongly, sometimes illogically, with happiness, sadness, anger, fear, you name it. For instance, here in Seattle, whenever the conditions are right, the wind carries the scent of low tide in from the shore, the air heavy with the aromas of salt, mud, kelp, and moisture, and when I take a lungful I am suddenly five years old walking barefoot through the toe-squishy, pebble-strewn shores of San Pablo Bay, and I am inexplicably happy. (I love days when that happens.)

So there’s a part of me still, even though my dad is long gone, an ancient part of me, that “burgeoning young man” part, that yet seeks his nod, that wants him to be proud of me.

And this year, the year of my retirement, is in many ways the culmination of my labors, and my dad did not live to see me reach it.

My dad never really understood me. He told me that, directly, and more than once. He never “got” the whole of me, never understood how my mind worked, couldn’t see how or why I could drop one interest, the focus of years, and pick up something entirely new. He never understood how I could remain constantly “on task” while continuously shifting gears. In short, to him, I was an enigma, unravel-able. Yes, he was proud of some of my achievements—my books, for example—but those were shining moments in time. Overall, I think I was too much of a mixed bag to warrant his unequivocal stamp of approval.

And yet, yesterday, it is what my heart wanted. And couldn’t get, of course.

Dad wasn’t a demonstrative man. He always held something in reserve, kept a large chunk of himself private. I have my theories as to why, but in part it’s just what his generation did. I know he loved me, warts and all, as he did all of his children, but in my own desire to be the kid no one had to worry about, I became, in part, the hidden child, the child no one really saw.

In twenty years I will reach the age at which my dad passed. I hope I have that much time (and a bit more, if I’m honest). But a father’s pride is out of reach for me now.

Luckily, I’m satisfied with my own.

k

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With Tears in my Eyes

Posted in Culture, Politics, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on 02 Jun 2024| 1 Comment »

There was a lot of celebrating, when the verdict came in, and a lot of gnashing of teeth, as well. I fully expected, given the outcome, to be in the former group. I wasn’t. Nor was I in the latter group, either. Instead, I was somewhere in between.

I was genuinely upset, not because of any imagined “travesty of justice.” I’d been following the trial closely, reading reportage from dispassionate sources, and listening to analysis from those who know the law much better than I, so I understood the charges, was familiar with the testimony and arguments, and understood the basics of the jury’s instructions. While verdicts of guilty seemed likely, I was prepared for a hung jury, because, well, Trump.

But as the guilty verdicts came in, on count after count after count, each one hit me like a gut-punch. I had to sit down, hand over mouth, tears in my eyes. Surprised the hell out of me, if I’m honest.

Why? Because it felt right, it felt correct, but it also felt terribly wrong. Wrong in the sense of, we shouldn’t even be here, we shouldn’t have to do this. We should not have a major political party that is hell-bent on nominating for the presidency a person who is an adjudicated fraud, a proven sexual assaulter, and who now is convicted of using illegal means to cover up payments and avoid election finance laws and thereby hide what would have been, for some, a critical fact concerning his character.

The names Gary Hart, Bill Clinton, and John Edwards—Democrats who suffered various political and civil fallout from their own sexual impropriety—came quickly to my mind. Why them, and why not this one? “It was a different time,” I hear some say. What? Was 2008 (for Edwards) a “different time?” As late as 2016, even after the Access Hollywood debacle, Trump’s Janus-faced surrogates were hounding Clinton for his decades-old antics.

Moreover, it was the nearly unanimous Republican response that felt wrong. No, more than just wrong. Dangerous. From the spectacle of the Red Tie Brigade that came downtown in lockstep to sit behind the accused in court, to the unison mouthing of ill-wrought talking points throughout the media, the country has been assaulted by words like “rigged,” “corrupt,” and “conflicted,” all designed to attack and weaken the judiciary and, critically, to erode our trust in the rule of law.

This is what the former Party of Law and Order has become. To defend the indefensible, they attack. They attack the judge, the judge’s family, the prosecution, and even the jury. The jury. Ordinary citizens, people like you and me, all deemed acceptable by lawyers from both sides, are attacked and slandered, doxxed and made to fear for their lives, simply because the defense’s rusty bucket of an argument didn’t raise a reasonable doubt in face of concrete evidence.

Now, a few days after, the sadness has not left me. I find little cause for celebration, as it has become clear that these thirty-four felony convictions will not make a difference to a large swath of the electorate. They have proven that Trump could, literally, shoot someone dead on 5th Avenue and he would not lose their vote.

And what does that say about us? As a country, as voters, as a population? What sort of respect could such a people enjoy? What sort of leadership could such a nation provide on the world stage? If America’s influence in the world is eroding, it is we who are doing the chipping away. If nations are crab-walking their way toward autocracy, it is in part because we are not bolstering our own democracy.

America has never been perfect. America will never be perfect. But we need to strive toward that goal, toward the “more perfect Union” of which our first Republican president spoke.

We have some little time left. There is a handful of months wherein I hope we, as a population, begin to see past our individual trees and toward the forest that we constitute.

My heart’s wish is that we succeed.

k

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The Cold, Cold Heart of Home

Posted in Culture, Food, tagged , , , , on 28 Apr 2024| Leave a Comment »

Hearth and Home.

That’s the old phrase. Hearth and Home. It conjures up ancient images of thatch-roofed huts and stone fireplaces paved with glowing embers, perhaps topped by low-burning logs or maybe a kettle suspended over the flames. Move forward in time, and we imagine cozy cottages with wood-burning stoves providing heat for comfort and for cooking simple homemade fare. The hearth, the warmth of the homefire, the place where the family gathers to ward off the cold of night and keep the dangers of the rough world beyond our walls at bay, this hearth is the heart of the home.

At some point, though, the hearth and the cookfire diverged. While my great-aunt Italia prepared everything, from the morning coffee to the noonday bread and the evening’s ragout, all on her massive black-iron wood-burning stove, a behemoth that stood in the kitchen and that sent its warmth (and aromas) into every room of the house, the kitchen in my parents’ home had scissored the hearth’s purpose, assigning heat to the furnace, cordoning off cookfires to the tamed domesticity of oven and stove, and relegating flames to the fireplace where they functioned as mere decoration. We did not “gather around the stove” to ward off the night any more than we did so around the furnace.

As someone who enjoys cooking, “hearth and home” remained a catchphrase, but where kitchen became synonymous with hearth, and where (in my mind) the heat of the kitchen was the beating heart of the home.

Until last week.

Last week I learned that, in reality, it is not heat that makes my kitchen a place of love’s labors.

It is cold.

That’s because, a while ago, our fridge died. I woke up, made my super-strong coffee, opened the fridge for some cream and immediately knew something was wrong. The air within was a bit too warm, with a hint of mustiness. I was lucky in that we were able to save everything in the freezer, but everything else—dairy, many condiments, a lot of the veg, all the deli—was lost, not to be replaced until we could get a new appliance installed.

Living without a refrigerator for a week was, thankfully, not much more than a major annoyance and a relatively affordable expense; it was not a crisis. But it did show me how much large a part its simple duty—to keep fresh food cold—plays in my daily life. The refrigerator is like a time-machine, where time slows within its confines. Leafy greens do not wilt. Cheeses do not mold and milk does not sour. Refreshing beverages are ready to hand.

And when the new fridge was delivered and installed, as its refrigerant began to pump through its conduits, bringing life-altering food preservation back to my home, I felt like a hominid standing before a Kubrickian monolith, smashing bones with newly acquired power and insight.

The hearth will never lose its place in our collective consciousness as a symbol of home; its why we now put our single hearth in the main room of our houses, even if it’s fired only by gas jets or a “fireplace” video from Netflix.

But for me, the heart of my home is the kitchen, and the heart of the kitchen is the frigid lifeblood of the refrigerator.

k

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Cardinal Sin

Posted in Culture, tagged , , , on 14 Apr 2024| 4 Comments »

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since I last went to work . . .

In recent conversations with my sister, the word “shirking” was mentioned a few times. Growing up, shirking—the avoidance or neglect of duty—was Mortal Sin #1 in our mother’s book (followed closely by “imperfect result or performance”). Every day, every waking hour, was to be filled with purposeful activity. Productivity was the point. Recreation (where allowed) usually had a secondary educational goal.

My father was not as involved with this mindset. Though he worked long hours, and his off-days were regularly spent making repairs, improving our home, keeping cars in tune, and such, his recreation had no ulterior motive. His enjoyment of the 49ers’ football games was pure, and I long suspected that the point of his lazy Saturday’s spent surf-fishing was not, in fact, to catch fish.

But Dad’s counterpoint to Mom’s stricter zeitgeist really didn’t stand much of a chance and, in the end, didn’t make a dent in our training. As a result, my sister and I always and still find it difficult to stand down, take a breath, chill, relax. Everything must have a goal, a purpose.

Two weeks ago, I retired, ending forty-six years of employment, and in the time since, I’ve been busy. I’ve been doing chores (cooking, groceries, paying bills), handling situations (rolling over the 401(k), confirming insurance switchover), and even embarking on some larger projects (traction strips for the front steps, installing new raised beds). But I’ve also (usually at my wife’s suggestion) been taking time to enjoy some shows, read a little, and take walks. I thought I was doing pretty well.

But last night, my brain screwed up and showed its hand.

I was in bed, prepping for sleep and took a few minutes to plan the next day’s activity. The internal dialogue went something like this:

• Okay, tomorrow’s Sunday; the weather is supposed to be fine—mostly sunny, high of 62°F.
• Don’t want to waste the weather; outdoor activity should be a priority.
• I could work more on the front steps, scrape and grind to prep the surfaces.
• Should also see if we have any of that paint color left . . . Adirondack Brown, was it?
• Don’t want to get too deep into that. Don’t start anything that can’t be left for a while.
• Hmmm, what? Why?
• Only one day to spend on it; gotta go back to work on Monday. It’s been a nice two-week break, though.

At this point I heard/felt a click, in my head, like a physical switch being thrown.

Brain, you’ve been busted.

My subconscious had obviously not gotten the memo about our retirement; it was still operating as if I was only on vacation. It’s as if, deep down, I don’t really believe I’ve retired. That, or retirement is just too foreign a concept for my lizard brain to comprehend.

So, subconscious and I had a conversation wherein we discussed both the nature of forever and the fact that not every moment needs to have a goal.

Obviously, this is going to take more time than expected to truly sink in. The longest time-off I’ve ever had was a three-week vacation, so as far as I can tell my subconscious is now working on that premise, and we’ll need to have a similar conversation next week. But if that’s needed, we’ll have it, and again the week after, if required.

I’ll get there. Even if I have to drag my subconscious along, kicking and screaming.

k

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The Last Weekend

Posted in Culture, tagged , , on 24 Mar 2024| 1 Comment »

This is my last weekend. Ever.

From tomorrow on, I will merely have days, each barely distinguishable from the next, one after the other, days that form weeks, which form months, which in turn form years, onward, until I eventually end. The reason? This coming week is my last week in the work-a-day world, and as of this Friday afternoon, I will have retired from my 33-year stint at my place of employment.

We could have a semantic disagreement about the definitions. Some will feel that the weekends will always be weekends, fenceposts on the calendar of life, regardless of what activities I might (or might not) use to fill my weekdays. Others will say that I will have nothing but weekends, back to back, or that I’ll be on one very long weekend.

These definitions and outlooks have merit, in that they make logical sense within their framework, but for me, they just don’t feel right. For me, a weekend is the break between work-weeks, the time when one kicks back, tackles larger projects, gets together with friends, runs errands. I’ve long been one of the “early birds” at work, starting at around 6 AM, and I’ve been in the habit of “front-loading” my work weeks, working longer days Monday thru Wednesday, so I can shave an hour or so off my Friday, which when combined give me a jump-start on the weekend, giving me more like two and a half days for each weekend. And, of course, there’s the weekly case of Sunday-Night-itis, usually creeping in sometime Sunday afternoon, that dread knowledge that the weekend is almost over and tomorrow it’s back to the grind. This is what a weekend is, to me.

And this is my last weekend. Ever.

I expect I will be relying on the wall calendar more, checking the “day of the week” sub-dial on my old wristwatch, and of course, peeking at the time/date display on my phone. Because even though I will no longer have weekends, per se, the date still matters, and the day of the week still matters (especially on Garbage Night).

I’m not sure how I’ll structure my time, going forward. Will I plan? Will I occupy myself with whatever catches my fancy? I’m curious to see what works and what doesn’t.

However it works out, I know it will work out. Forty years ago, my wife and I devised a plan, and for forty years we worked the plan, and now we’re at the finish line, ready to reap the plan’s reward.

Excitedly, I repeat my mantra: Onward.

k

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Where

Posted in Creativity, Culture, Poetry, tagged , , , on 15 Mar 2024| Leave a Comment »

what if this
is heaven
where love rains down
on dreaming fields
to feed a soul’s desire

what if this
is hell
where acidic hates flood
shanty-clad plains
to burn flesh bone-deep

what if this
is both
where the ebb and flow
is merely a response
to our intention

k

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