Friday Night Frolic — Are You Still Dreaming?

It is preoccupation with possessions, more than anything else, 

that prevents us from living freely and nobly.

 ~ Henry David Thoreau

Adbusters Corporate Flag

You know, about the Dream. The American Dream: Justice, Freedom, Equality? Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness? Oh, that's right, the American dream has fizzled along with your investments and savings—if you've been so lucky as to have saved at all.

Really though, are you still dreaming?

Or are you weary to your bones?

The dream, as James Truslow Adams wrote in his book, The Epic of America, is the "[...] dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement..."  Yes, life should be better for all. It should, dammit. Now wake up from the dream. (If you are, in fact, still dreaming.) Because that dream is over. Poof.

Things are beginning to get a little ugly on Wall Street (as if they were not already grotesque). And elsewhere. Police and protesters are clashing across America. Our government's leaders praise the youthful anti-establishment protests overseas, but in America—Land of the Free, Land of Hope and Promise—peaceful activists are being arrested and even run down by police scooters. Who knows what's next.

"...It is a difficult dream for the European upper classes to interpret adequately, and too many of us ourselves have grown weary and mistrustful of it..." 



I'm dreaming...

I can't help it, I wonder what's gone wrong.

Our young have taken to the streets in an assemblage of civil disobedience, giving temperate expression to anger. I pray it remains peaceful. They do, we do, of course, have every right to protest. As we should. We must rise against corporate greed and confront Wall Street, the banks, the thieves with their crimes! After all, our government (ha!) simply won't do it. They won't. They prefer to bail out the thieves. With our money.

We are still a nascent country. We are still trying to find our way and we are floundering. Worse, we are drowning in our own greed. And make no mistake—it's not just Wall Street or big corporate or the banks. It's a two way street. Greed runs both ways. Greed throws rationality out the window. Greed takes hostages and then forgets about them. Disposes of them. Makes casualties of them. Greed never looks at the fine print. Greed signs contracts while disregarding consequences. Greed makes ill-advised and just plain wrong decisions. Greed gives bogus advice.

"...It is not a dream of motor cars and high wages merely, but a dream of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position."

What we are sorely in need of, as individuals and as a nation, is self-actualization. You laugh. Bwahaha! I mean it,  we need to get ourselves self-actualized and but quick. Has our collective dream become solely the pursuit of mounds of money? Does that trump all?  I think not. (Though many's the time I've been mistaken.)

The disparity between the wealthy and poor is profoundly absurd. And no matter how one spins this dubious distinction when it comes to a full stop it is transparently clear that it's a dizzy and thickly layered black blotch against humanity.



I'm still dreaming...

What if, my OWS and Working America and Adbusters friends and All those interested in reform—and I don't care from where the financial backing comes—what if we considered doing more than just hanging around financial centers throughout the country. Now that OWS has gained momentum, what if the cause were to  use the cash to find us a new leader—hell, we should All use our cash for that purpose—to broaden the candidate pool (the pool obviously ought to be emptied, political parties sucked down the drain, cleaned and re-filled with a fresh, clear, odorless solution), and not another politician chained to big corporate and financial institutions, but someone, some thing, who's nested in the loamy grass of the earth. Someone, some thing, that understands the heart and soul of a country, its people, it's greatest desire, its dream—we could search Thoreau's woods and root him out—and what if we stood him firm on packed soil (though he may not come so willingly—who, what, in their right mind would)—brushed him off a bit and tossed him into the pool (which has been cleansed of its greedy, beastly, sell-your-soul-to-the-devil political system that has never truly represented We the People)? What if? What if we rewrote the whole damn system?! Our new earthly candidate won't need to answer to or feast with the great corporate powers that be. The People will back him! You think he'll get eaten alive like a vegetable? The People will back him! He will serve humanity. Humanity will feast!

Uh, I am having night sweats. I am turning and tossing...

Oh, dang, I just woke from my dream!

... But it's all right, it's all right
You can't be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow's going to be another working day
And I'm trying to get some rest
That's all I'm trying to get some rest.

* * * 

Paul Simon turned seventy yesterday. When he wrote  American Tune back in the 1970s our country was in high turmoil. We were in the midst of the Vietnam War, the Pentagon Papers were laid out for public consumption and horror, and the Watergate scandal sealed Nixon's fate. The American people had been mislead and violated. 

History does have a tendency to repeat itself.

And then comes Simon with his textured and rhythmic, So Beautiful or So What, which the Rolling Stone declared "His best since Graceland."





The road to America's self-actualized soul is littered with obstacles. The journey is long. The GPS is our collective conscience. I hope we never lose sight of it: our destination—our Dream. I hope we've enough fuel to get us there. 

"God Damn It - You've Got To Be Kind"

So says Kurt Vonnegut to the babies. 

These past few days my heart's been bled dry, my mind near numbed by Saturday's massacre in Tuscon, AZ. I've no relation to any of the victims, but yet, I do. I feel immense kinship toward them, and I'm sporadically driven to tears. One does not need to be intimately involved to feel the impact. We all grieve this loss. We grieve for the families of those killed and injured, the little girl, who could have been mine, at any supermarket, in any state. We grieve the loss of civil days and civil discourse. We are reminded not only of the fragility of life, but how staggeringly dangerous this world is; how insanely violent and destructive humans may be. The utter randomness of things.

But was this event entirely random? Could it not have been prevented? What kind of steps will we, as individuals and a country, take to prevent these senseless (and too numerous) tragedies from occurring? Is there nothing we can do? I'm afraid of the answer, because I fear that this slaughtering will bare little consequence, will not move this nation, its people, to change. 

As details of the story unfold, the twenty-two year old gunman is described as mentally ill, a ticking time bomb whose motive remains unclear. The shooter most likely would have perpetrated violence no matter the reason. He's the same guy who shot up Columbine High School, bombed Oklahoma City's Alfred P. Murrah building, riddled Virginia Tech's campus with lead. He needs no motive.

But one cannot deny that political (or otherwise) vitriol is fuel for fire. All hate mongering is, and vitriol in any form is nothing short of this. Still, in the aftermath of last weekend's tragedy, the rhetoric continues—partisans denying blame, flinging accusations; using the event to discredit each other. However, whether the assassination attempt and killings are politicized is beside the point. It happened, as this kind of wickedness inevitably does with many a loose cannon. It would have happened in or outside of this particular framework.

The point, quite simply, is that there is too much ugliness in the world; so much so, that we ought to behave in such a manner as to diminish as much odiousness as possible. We ought to act more civilized. We ought not tolerate vitriol from our elected officials, our national representatives who speak for our country, are our face and voice, the embodiment of who we are as a nation. You and me. 

Can you imagine what people think when they see bullseyes painted on a map of the USA, and are told by a former governor—a celebrity and hero to some—that the areas (and their politicians) marked by a bullseye are targeted, prepare to lock and load? Some may think nothing. Some may laugh. Some of us are so desensitized that we don't flinch when we see the graphics or hear this kind of rhetoric. Some are in denial, think our words and actions have no effect. But others, others are appalled. Others are concerned and angry, because they understand how this conversation, these actions, divisive declarations, chip and fray and corrode the moral, ethical elements of this nation, and of each other.

The fact that this particular dialogue has been accepted doesn't mean it should continue. It needs to end. And I've one thing to say to these politicians: You may have the liberty to exercise Free Speech, toxic political rhetoric, under the First Amendment, but you have the Free Will to not do so. Choose wisely, please. 

I cry as I write this, I cry when I see the quizzical expressions on my children's faces, when they beg for answers where there are none. None. I want to offer them the same advice Kurt gave to babies, I want to say, Just be kind, damn it. No matter how much it pains you, be kind. It won't fix the evils of the world, but at least you'll know you played no part in them.

A nation's culture resides in the hearts and in the soul of its people. 

~ Mahatma Gandhi

Signs Of The Time (Around Town)

I ask myself that everyday. What's my purpose here? Where was I going? How do I get there? What was it I was doing? Gah, I forgot the market list! As if I really need to be reminded of my thought process on a billboard. Though it appears I do.

Driving or walking around town can be pretty humorous when you have funny neighbors and equally entertaining signage. Some neighbors love to expound pertinent news—or gossip—while others live in caves. The signage, however, always keeps us informed.

For instance, I didn't realize that this town still had farmers (I thought, in fact, that almost every square inch of this formerly rural area had been developed—such are our zoning laws) until I saw this:

Can you imagine my surprise? And on Industrial Drive, no less.


I know I've driven by this a thousand times, but something about it struck me today:

What do you think this curve could have possibly done to be so labeled? Talk about a scarlet letter. It's got lots of letters to tell us how awful it is.


Perhaps that bad curb was why this sign went up a few years back:

Every time I pass this sign, I half expect to roll through some kind of vortex that forces all moving objects to operate in slow motion; whereupon, such objects are released after the 0.5 miles odyssey and instantaneously propelled forward, turbo charged. I call this sign "Flux". It's my life in a nutshell.


And then there's this, that gives me vertigo every time I look at it (so I try not to):

Geesh. I don't know what the hell to do here.


And I feel sorry for this driveway, and wonder if it was born this way or involved in some terrible accident:

(I know, I  just couldn't resist. Go ahead, slap my hand.)


And then, today for the very first time, I saw this:

Holy cow, there are still farms in town! Hallelujah. Actually, this is right by Franklin Farm. A nice little slice of heaven. And those farmers do good work.


And this:

Hallelujah again. Yes we can! Can what remains a mystery.


The below sign has been around for a while. I never really read the fine print, and I see now that I've been missing some rather critical information.

I wish I had had this phone number sooner. I've so many questions... like, what if I have some even numbers in my odd numbered house?


And our town's pièce de résistance:

I'm tongue-tied. No, actually I'm not. I'd be very interested to know who the graphic designer is for this piece of work. I need some help with my website. I'll bet she charges a fortune.


At least one neighbor had the good sense to dress up her sign for the holidays:

And for Heaven's sake, who the heck is throwing their poop bags down the drains?! Shame, shame.

Gauche: The New Gold Standard

Honestly? Does Rhode Island really want to continue wandering about with its palm permanently stuck to its forehead?



It looks like our General Treasurer, Frank Caprio, has raised the bar...

America, the Beautiful—O Beautiful for Pilgrim Feet...

Yesterday, one of my Facebook friends posted an entry on his Wall concerning an automated teller machine (ATM) . This would seem like a fairly benign topic, no? The comment, essentially (correct me if I’m wrong, friend), addressed his being asked by an ATM (I love this personification!) if he would prefer service in Spanish. Meaning: the language. His pretty simple entry, which could be construed—I think—in many ways, evolved into a thread of comments ranging from “I agree” to some serious anti-immigration rhetoric. I hopped in on the thread, stating that (not in so many words) in my opinion a multi-cultured environment is infinitely more interesting than white bread; that I wished ATM machines had options for every spoken language in the world; that I wished my Canadian grandparents hadn’t assimilated so quickly into our homogeneous Anglo-American culture. Well, the thread went on with some pleasantries, as well as some vulgarities, which left me wondering: how does one simple comment evoke so many different opinions?


When I checked back in on my FB friend’s Wall this morning (ok, so I was curious to see in which direction the thread had traveled), his entry—and all its tumbling comments—had been deleted (or misplaced, or moved, but to the best of my recollection it was a fairly new entry). I’m not sure where the comments ended, but I wondered if they had gotten too ugly, or—gasp—too serious. I know one thing for certain, my FB friend’s what’s-on-your-mind thought struck many a high and low chord in certain FB users, and revealed just how disparate our feelings are when it comes to our language, our American culture, preserving the same, and immigration reform that—as perceived by some—could threaten the American society we know today.


Immigration is a hot topic right now, with legislation addressing immigration reform snaking through Congress. Many people argue that illegal immigrants take jobs away from Americans, but according to Compete America, it may be just the opposite, especially when it comes to immigration and technology. Either way, legislating this issue is critical, as it will play a vital part in shaping our country’s future. I’d like to think that we’ll take as much time as we need to sort it out rationally, justly, humanely.


I think about all those years back (actually, not so many years back, just 150 give or take) when European and Canadian nationals were actively recruited to work in our mills and factories. I think about all of our ancestors, who—for the most part— came to this nascent country from elsewhere, who labored and toiled and lived too hard, and too short lives in an effort to create a better life and country for all. I think of the many reasons why foreign nationals would want to risk their lives to sneak (often under treacherous conditions) into this country, to find some work, to feed their families, to escape persecution, to live without fear of one’s life being cut short by war, or famine, or drug lords, or lack of health care, or a tyrannical government. These illegal immigrants, some of them—I’ll bet the majority of them—are desperate. And while I (conservative-at-heart) don’t believe in a welfare state, I do believe that we, the people of this great country, these United States (which we gruesomely battled to keep United), the most fortunate people in the world (really, take a look around), must think deeply, must slosh through all the muddy waters and topple every stone, dissect our preconceived notions and prejudices, before we decide what to do about illegal immigration.


And some of you, my friends—or your ancestors—may have gotten here by way of legal means, with papers and with open arms (some of your ancestors, because this country was desperate for them), but some of you—some of your ancestors—they traveled paperless, sailed perilous seas in ships the size of a coffin, they dug through dirt and trekked many shoeless miles, they hid in crates or hay or anything that would conceal their terrified bodies across our borders, so that you and your families, may live in this country, land of the free and home of the brave, without fearing for your life, without fearing a deadly Fatwa, for defending your rights, voicing your opinions, speaking your truths—whether those rights and truths may concern an ATM or illegal immigration.

Happy 4th of July!