Angry Old American

Today, I turn 45.  Clearly on the back 9.  Thoughts from today:  

Driving home from the dog park, L.A. radio station "Indie 103" announced it is going off the air, and will begin "broadcasting" over the Internet exclusively because the station didn't want to "play the corporate radio game."  The station went off the air with "Anarchy in the U.K.," an apropos, if not archaic anthem.  The announcement claimed it didn't want to play "Brittney or Puffy -- music that was neither new nor cutting edge."  I'll agree, "Anarchy in the U.K." was, at one time, both, but today is as "neither" as the other music the station condemns.  But as an old guy, still, give me the Pistols.  They still kick the ass of anything coming out today.  On the one hand, I see Indie's passing as a milestone that marks the path into my long goodnight; on the other hand, I am refreshed to feel the same teen-angst anger-at-the-man-for-killing-all-that-is-true-and-beautiful that I felt during late adolescence.

At the dog park, I met a beautiful, young Polish woman named Magdalena, with her four-month-old husky puppy, Leia.  At some point the conversation turned to "Poles and other Europeans' view of Americans, particularly over the past eight years, and how this may have changed with the election of Barak Obama."  She said that people in her country love America, but hate Bush. I offered that Americans who live closer to the coasts encounter people of other cultures more frequently and travel abroad more often, while Americans in the interior of the country don't.  That, I suggested, means that more people on the coasts accept the good that other cultures have to share, and through travel may learn that, but for the luck of the stars, they could have been born anywhere else in the world, such as Somalia or Afghanistan.  Too many American, I said, feel entitled to the greatness of America and immune to fault, not because they do anything to keep this country great, but just because they believe it is providentially so.  And if the people of Poland or any other country think that this is a great country, it's because we were lucky enough to have a collection of geniuses found the place and establish the Constitution that governs it, and great enough to live up to the vision it set forth.  It's because of the U.S. Constitution that we have a great country -- and to the extent we truly uphold and defend it, we are great; to the extent we ignore it, or brutalize it, we fail.  These guys, I said, have trampled it.   Have treated it like dirt.  They've used it to support their lies and ignored it when it stood in their way. 

"Not to get all philosophical here in the dog park, but here you have this group, this Republican Party, that has aligned itself with religious zealots who claim to have all this faith in a being that they cannot see, yet they feel that they cannot extend that same faith to their fellow human being," I said. (In God they trust, but if YOU step out of line, brother, off to Gitmo you go!  That may be a slight exaggeration, but it does reflect the ideology.)  She seemed intrigued by that comment; clearly she hadn't heard anyone say that before, neither have I, but it does seem accurate.  We talked more about Polish food (my grandmother was Polish) and motocross (that's how she and her husband met, in Milan; they were both involved in the motocross industry).  Then we had to go.  Workmen were putting down new white lines along the road that passes by the dog-park, and we had to move our cars. 

Later, my mind came back to our conversation, and I thought: that's the thing about this new administration, the Obama administration, historically sweeping into office next Tuesday.  It offers us hope that America will once again strive to live up to its original vision.  It will embrace faith in whatever God you imagine, but mostly in our capacity to live God-like lives.  And charity.  What about charity?  Once again, may we offer charity to those who require it, in the U.S., in the countries upon the backs of which multinational corporations grow in might, and to the planet herself; her whimper having grown under Bush into a desperate scream.

I did not say this, but I'll say it now that my advanced age permits me the liberty of waxing wise:  Let us fly the Gadsden flag with its "Don't Tread on Me" slogan on the lips of every brave American.  But in our hearts, let us carry the call of the truly great: not for how I may beat you, but how I may bear you."

Third thought:  Kylie is truly an awesome little being.  She is kind and generous, and cute as all heck.  And her mother is as captivating as she is.  Jae is a marvelous mom, and if I ever figure out how she puts up with me, I'll have to start a whole new blog just to sell the system!  

Final thought:  Today is the three year anniversary of my father's funeral.  I'll add more to this tonight.  For now: G'night, Dad.  Go, Iggles!

Today's Proof That I Am Old

After showering this morning, I felt an itch on my back.  Couldn't quite reach it; it was just in that spot that you have a hard time reaching, just at the bottom of my right wing-stub.  But now that I'm old, that's no problem!  My skin is loose and malleable.  It's like wearing a suit made out of "Silly Putty."  "Silly Skin!" I was able to just grab a handful of flesh right at my shoulder and give it a good yank -- and VOILA!, the itchy spot came up and over my shoulder, and I scratched that itch no sweat.    Loose skin, tight muscles; these are the hallmarks of one's 40's.  Next blog entry: the time I actually pulled a hamstring in the shower -- a story that sounds like it should be so much more interesting than it unfortunately is.

(Me: file photo)

That's Philadelphia For Ya Phightin' Phils Phinish Phirst!

For the first time in 100 seasons, a professional sports team from the City of Brotherly Losers has been crowned a champion.  On Wednesday, October 29, 2008, the Fightin' Phillies, who hadn't won the World Series since 1980, beat the Tampa Bay Rays to the relieph of millions of phrustrated phans. 

(Okay, I already feel the "ph" thing has gone too ph^%*ing phar.   Enuph!) 

The Rays' 2008 campaign had been a sudden beam of sunshine that burst through ten years of stormy seasons, but came to a soggy end in a game that had been suspended the night before due to a horrendous downpour -- an omen that we Philly fans have learned to interpret two ways.

Was it the spiritual cleansing of 100 losing seasons (and 10,000 Ls); the gods' great catharsis before this long-awaited rebirth?

Or, as many liphers worried (okay, that's the last one.  Promise.  It's just that for many, being born into this world with some form of "P" on one's head can sometimes feel feels like a life-sentence.)

on the city's miserable sports record - or crying out tears of joy at the prospect that this team, any team that made its home on Broad Street, might possibly wind up a winner?  Either way, this was rain so dense that no Ray could penetrate its purposeful hammering -- except, of course, for Carlos Pena driving in BJ Upton in the sixth inning of game five, leaving the Phillies faithful (yeah, that whole "ph" thing went on way to ph#%*ing long) feeling a little under the win-column weather, as the lead, and perhaps the momentum slid through their soaked fingertips.

It's happened before, to the Red Sox, the Cubs, and others who got within pitches of Series championships only to be disappointed.  Why not the Phils?  They seemed born to play that role.  Indeed, it was in the year of my birth, 1964, that the Phillies blew a six and a half game lead  with ten games to go, throwing a perfect gutter ball to and the year.

Let me offer a little testimony.

I grew up watching the Phils, Sixers, Eagles and Flyers of the 70's, who, if not for them, I might have "traded up" to being a Baltimore fan, with their equally feckless Bullets and Colts (this was long after the Unitas era), and only kept rooting for them because I was the biggest fan of their biggest fan, my dad.

He cussed and swore at a great lineage of RCAs while I was under his tutelage.

Three years ago, next month, I was in his hospital room, while Dad fought his ultimate fight, against cancer.   One of the side effects of his drug treatment was, unfortunately, dementia. Dad would convulse and gesture through the night, and occasionally blurt out something mostly unintelligible.  Then, I guess it was about three a.m., he raised up a bit from his reclined position and threw out his hands in a gesture of apparent disgust, and he just said, "That's Philadelphia for ya!"

It would be just like his Phils to wait until he had his own seat above the 700-level to give him something worth watching.

I'm sure he saw it all.  And I'm sure that rain was no less than tears of joy pouring out from him, and countless other Phillies fans like him who couldn't seem to stay on earth long enough to witness a World Series Championship.

I'm glad he saw it.

Cox & Companies

Okay, here's another idea for a running segment on The Cox Section:  "Cox and Companies" covers the near daily roller derby between the corporations and customers.  Here's just a quick example of my on-line response to a Disney poll asking me to rate my satisfaction with its website.  Oh, they'll be funnier in the future, but for now, I do think it communicates my point:

Q: What do you like the least about the Disneyland.com webstite.  Please be as specific as possible.

A:  I was trying to purchase discounted tickets to Mickey's Trick or Treat Party.  I registered and created a logon and password.  An apparent but in the website, however, put me on a perpetual loop back and forth between putting items in my cart and logging in (or registering).  That is, when I put the tickets in my cart, and tried to proceed to checkout, I instead was taken back to the "Logon - or - Register" page (except there were now no fields to accept my logon or password).  When I called the company to make the purchase "manually," team members seemed resigned to the idea that "You've arrived in Never Never Land" and that nothing could be done.  Even Christine, the supervisor, seemed under-empowered (not unwilling or uninterested, only under-empowered) to complete the transaction, until I offered possible solutions.  I want Disney (and all companies) to remember that Walt Disney and Disneyland itself, are testaments to the truth that (as I said to Christine) "just becasue no one else has ever thought of it before, that doesn't mean that it can't be done, or shouldn't be done, or won't bring happiness to those we will encounter in the future."  Furthermore, especially a company such as Disney should be a great example that we use technology to pursue our goals, and not to govern our potential."  So make the website do what we want it to do -- and provide speedy recourse to achieve our goals when technology fails us.  I want to thank Christine, however, for listening, and doing what she could to resolve the situation in a timely and friendly manner.

I mean, can you imagine the crew of Apollo 13 calling Houston and getting the response that I got: "I can give you an e-mail address for tech-support.  I can't promise that they'll get back to you today, but they're your only option."  

Commander Lovell:  Houston, what is "Tech Support?"

Command Module pilot Swigert: And what is e-mail?

Lovell: To hell with you, Houston, we'll do it ourselves.  Swigert, hand me that duct tape and box of Jujyfruits.

COLUMBUS STOP FOR DIRECTIONS? Apparently, There Are No Gas Stations or 7-Elevens Between Portugal and New World

Catch the cryptic series of digits on the side of the Santa Maria?  The same strange numbers that won the lottery for Harley on ABC's hit TV show, "Lost," and perhaps altered the navigating coordinates for another of history's most-lost individuals: Christopher Columbus, whose holiday we celebrate today.

Some malign the day as the first shot in what would become the greatest genocide in the history of the planet.

Others revere the man after whom dozens of American cities, towns, squares, and one Transcontinental Highway (a.k.a. the 10 Freeway leading from Santa Monica, California to Jacksonville, Florida) are named.

Either way you see it, you can't deny that the continental ethnic cleansing that followed Columbus' arrival in the New World would be the injury added to the original insult of misidentification of the indigenous people as "Indians" by the explorer who thought he'd landed half a world away from where he actually was.   Of course, those white Europeans who followed the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria embraced the malaprop.  [Maybe it's what some would call "bleeding heart liberal" of me, perhaps simple pedantry (I like to think it's a simple desire for truth) but I'm not even sold on the updated term "Native American." No one on the North American continent before the Europeans arrived knew who the hell Amerigo Vespucci was; why should their culture(s) be named after him?]

                            

Cartographer, Vespucci, America's First Top Chef?

Let's for a moment give Columbus the benefit of the doubt.  The climate of Bermuda is similar to that of India, and the inhabitants of both locations often have dark skin.  But weren't there other clues that he was not at his intended destination?  Language, for example?  Or the fact that nothing matched up with anyone's descriptions of India?  How about the fact that none of the local restaurants made a decent samosa?  Whatever the reason, here stood Christopher Columbus, hemispherically challenged, to be kind, sticking a Portuguese flag in the sand, calling everything by the wrong name, and earning an eventual three-day weekend for millions of American taxpayers. (the percentage of whom are of Portuguese descent is too small to find in fifteen minutes searching the internet).

Columbus was lost -- again, he was fully half-way around the world from where he wanted to be.  If you look at a globe, you'll see that the only way for Columbus to be farther away from where he thought he was, he would have had to have gotten into a space ship and left the surface of the planet.  If Columbus had been any more lost, he'd have fought Sawyer and made out with Jack.  

So happy Columbus Day.  It's back to work tomorrow, but don't worry if you get lost on the way there, wind up in the wrong office, call everyone by the wrong name and initiate the demise of those who predated your arrival.  If all goes as it should, you'll get a holiday, not to mention cities, squares and maybe a transcontinental highway named for you.

The Im-Palin!

How's this for Liberal guilt: I already feel bad about myself for looking forward to tonight's Vice Presidential debate in the same way that I feel wrong for rubbernecking at the scene of a car wreck on the freeway, looking for victims.  But I'm not looking for a car wreck involving two vehicles.  I'm expecting, rather, a locomotive running out of control, off the tracks, and off the trestle to plummet 300 feet into the gorge below (which just may be the unsuspecting site of the world's largest dung heap, say) to explode in a spectacular eruption of carnage the likes of which the world has yet to witness.  Does that make me a bad person?  I mean, I am hoping for some minor insights on policy.  But who we kiddin'?  We all already know who we're voting for, don't we?  This is pure spectacle.  

Maybe the Republican strategy is to appeal to Joe Biden's sense of chivalry and decency, hoping he'll bow out in a gesture of pre-debate mercy.  They've implemented worse plans.

Anyway, between now and 6pm Pacific Time, I'll be BIDEN my time before the im-PALIN.  Oh, that was sublime.