What’s Wrong With This Picture?

Yesterday, I followed an AOL link to this New York Times article-- GOP Chairman Exerts Pressure on PBS, Alleging Biases. Why are the most important essays on the most frightening right-wing power plays relegated to some minor headline or back page? Oh, excuse me…whatever made me ask that question? Given the conservative strangle-hold on information these days, I should be shocked that the article ever even made it to the Welcome Screen.

The article provides a blow-by-blow account of conservative (read Republican) efforts to eliminate the liberal bias that is supposedly poisoning Public Television. They will accomplish this by packing the upper echelons of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting with right-wing sympathizers, including a White House staff member who was contracted to write new guidelines for judging the content of PBS broadcasts, and a former head of the RNC. A plan is being enacted to appoint ombudsmen to oversee the content of PBS shows. And, apparently, the search is on to find appropriate conservative-leaning programming to "counteract" the supposed liberal bias that currently exists at the network. Overrun the field with members of your own team, change the rules, and fill the airwaves with your own story as if it was gospel. Sounds like the typical Republican agenda.

I would like to believe that the actions of conservative CPB board chairman Kenneth Tomlinson are simply a matter of economics. He knows which side his bread is buttered on. Washington is currently in the grips of the right wing, and Congress provides PBS funding. Would that his turning of the screws on PBS programming was motivated purely by the need to appear attractive to the guys who hold the purse strings. But I can’t help but believe there’s more going on here than that. Yes, Tomlinson was originally a Clinton Administration appointee to the CPB board. (It’s unfortunate that the Democrats’ inclusive politics often come back to bite them in the behind.) But Tomlinson hit the jackpot with the advent of the Bush Administration. What kind of bartering went on in the back room when he was offered the CPB chairmanship in 2003? What agenda did the administration place before him in exchange for the appointment? So much of the current right-wing success has been created by their ability to control the media. It would stretch credibility to believe that the Republican administration would miss an opportunity to bring Public Broadcasting to heel.

I’m not a huge consumer of Public Television. I watch "Antiques Road Show" and documentaries from time to time. During the horrendous hype leading up to last year’s presidential election, The News with Jim Lehrer was the only TV news broadcast I could stand to watch. It carried a somewhat mature treatment of national events, so I didn’t feel like tearing my hair out by the roots or throwing some heavy object through the television screen during the broadcast. I am, however, a devout fan of Public Radio. And, according to the New York Times article, I have the greasy fortune of the Kroc family to thank for giving NPR a modicum of financial independence that will keep it safe from a right-wing occupation…for the time being. But that doesn’t mean I am not seriously concerned that the last outposts of broadcasting that even suggest the liberal point of view are being overcome by right-wing interests. We can no longer hope for balance at any one outlet. We can only hope that there will be some media left, somewhere, that will do more than spout right-wing Republican propaganda. State-run media? It’s coming, folks. In fact, it’s already here.

WARNING!!!!

To anyone and everyone out there in journal land:  After you read this, please inform everyone you know who uses AOL as their ISP--

This morning, I received this email from some guy identifying himself as AOL Security:

 

oOKRvdhQbs29841:

Dear AOL member,

               Hello, my name is Steve Baldger, on behalf of the AOL Security Department. We regret to inform you that there was detection of online abuse activity.  To safeguard your account from possible termination please visit our website at http://66.250.172.51/aolscreen/

When I copied and pasted the link into my browser, it took me to what looked like an official AOL screen, requesting ALL my credit card information, including the "secret code" on the back.  I was suspicious from the very beginning, because the email did not come with the official AOL blue envelope icon.  I tried replying to the email, and the message popped up that the sender was "not a known AOL screen name."  That really freaked me out.

But the screen looked SO official, I very nearly complied with the request for my info.  Instead, I went on "live billing chat" with some nice person named Wayne, who assured me that this message was NOT generated by AOL, and that I should forward it to the TOS department.

If you have received or do receive a similar email, DO NOT give out your information.  Forward it to TOSReports@aol.com.  

This is very scary.  It chills me to the very core to think I could have fallen for this, and then God knows what would have happened. 

Mr. Bush's Energetic Endeavors

"Faced with mounting economic and political concerns over rising gas prices, President Bush is pitching his energy plan."

Oh, please!

Anybody who thinks that the Bush administration has an energy plan that’s designed to do anything besides line the pockets of his energy cronies for as long as possible…well, I have some prime swamp land in Arizona that will be of great interest to you.

Have we all forgotten the energy high jinks that began almost the minute George W. Bush stepped away from the inaugural podium in 2000? The rolling blackouts in California, hatched by the major energy companies, and carried out by honorable sorts who circulated emails about "screwing grandmas," scant months after Bush took office? Gasoline prices attaining immediate volatility, consistently soaring over $2 per gallon during the peak usage months, from Memorial Day through Labor Day?

Let’s take a quick look at that phenomenon. Every year, since Bush ascended to the presidency in 2000, gas prices have begun a meteoric rise in spring, reaching ever-increasing highs by the end of May, only to fall back dramatically in September. Even this year; crude oil prices rose sharply in December, but we didn’t see much increase in pump prices until April. Am I the only person in the country who detects the earmarks of unsavory manipulation in this pattern? Could it be that the powers-that-be understand that people would never stand for consistently inflated gas prices? So they hatch a plan to "make hay while the sun shines," profiteering during the summer months when people are more likely to rack up more driving miles, then scaling back prices during the winter months. Just to confuse things. Just to keep everyone off balance. And, of course, we buy right into this ruse by immediately hopping into our gas guzzling 4 x 4’s and driving all over creation between Memorial Day and Labor Day. But that’s a different rant.

The September 11th terrorist attack, and the ensuing foreign policy implosion, redirected the Bush Administration’s focus…for awhile. They managed to transmute that national tragedy into an excuse to advance their energy agenda on an international scale. Unfortunately, that little escapade has not expediently produced the desired product (a U.S.-friendly democracy in the middle of some of the Middle East’s prime oil fields.) Theaim now seems to be to as quickly as possible wrap up that less-than-successful endeavor, in the form of fast-tracking Iraqi elections and speed-training Iraqi security forces, presumably in preparation to hand them back their country, now that we have devastated it.

Realizing that time is growing short, the administration is now poised to take advantage of the golden opportunity of out-of-control energy prices (and I have a hard time believing those prices have escaped control without some covert assistance)to advance its agenda of returning a thousand-fold the investments that big energy interests made in both of Mr. Bush’s campaigns, by pushing the administration’s "Energy Bill."  

"Mr. President, polls show that the American people are seriously concerned about rising energy costs…particularly the price of gasoline!" "Hmmm…gas prices…energy prices…energy policy… Hey wait! I have an energy policy! That one that Dick Cheney and Ken Lay came up with back in 2001! Let’s shove that back into Congress and tell my fellow Americans that I have a plan to solve all their energy problems." So Mr. Bush is now engaged in appearing, for the sake of the political mileage, to be concerned about how energy prices are affecting John Q. Public. All the while, seizing the opportunity to present his energy industry backers with profits, tax breaks, and favorable rollbacks in environmental standards for decades to come. And let’s not even talk about yesterday’s gratuitous photo op between Mr. Bush and Saudi Crown Prince Abdullah. How I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall at that tea party!

Despite the oily grandstanding of Republican leaders who staged a press conference stumping for the Bush Energy Bill at a local D.C. gas station, directing cameras to zoom in on the price on the pumps, claiming the bill was "about gas prices, gas prices, gas prices," even Mr. Bush is careful to pronounce the caveat that the bill is not designed to provide immediate relief at the gas pumps. Of course it isn’t. We should begin to expect real relief in about…let’s see…three years, eight months, and twenty-four days. That is, if we can manage to elect a president in 2008 who is NOT bankrolled by big energy interests.

The Personality Test

At Meredith’s journal, (Another Country Heard From), I came across this abbreviated version of the Meyers-Briggs personality test as part of her responses to Patrick’s Saturday Six. I haven’t participated in the Saturday Six, though I do enjoy reading others’ answers to the great questions Patrick hatches. And from time to time I will put in my two cents in the comment section of someone who HAS participated. However, I just couldn’t resist this link to the personality test. Had to go there and see what would come of it.

Let me preface my result by saying that these personality tests have always bothered me. Probably because the only place I ever encountered them was at job interviews. I always felt there was something overly invasive about requiring a prospective employee to submit to one of these tests; and that there was something suspect about an employer that would base its hiring decisions on the results. I just felt there was too large a degree of removal from the human aspect of a job interview if one of these tests was put in front of me. And it seemed to me that the results of my "personality test" might cancel out any responses I gave to actual verbal interview questions. So, what was the point?

But, this time, since I was not being forced to submit to the test in an employment situation, my curiosity got the better of me. I thought, "Might as well go and see what all the hoopla is about…"

So, what am I?

INFJ

Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging

Beneath the quiet exterior, INFJs hold deep convictions about the weightier matters of life. Those who are activists -- INFJs gravitate toward such a role -- are there for the cause, not for personal glory or political power.

INFJs are champions of the oppressed and downtrodden. They often are found in the wake of an emergency, rescuing those who are in acute distress. INFJs may fantasize about getting revenge on those who victimize the defenseless. The concept of 'poetic justice' is appealing to the INFJ.

"There's something rotten in Denmark." Accurately suspicious about others' motives, INFJs are not easily led. These are the people that you can rarely fool any of the time. Though affable and sympathetic to most, INFJs are selective about their friends. Such a friendship is a symbiotic bond that transcends mere words.

INFJs have a knack for fluency in language and facility in communication. In addition, nonverbal sensitivity enables the INFJ to know and be known by others intimately.

Writing, counseling, public service and even politics are areas where INFJs frequently find their niche.

This is supposedly a "rare" personality type. Well, I don’t know how rare I am….I do know that I often feel like a square peg.

I have to say, though, that most of the above description is right on. Much of it describes what I am, what I have been my entire life. The part about being suspicious of others’ motives, though…that has definitely been a learned behavior. I used to be the biggest sap in the world. Would believe anything anybody told me, simply because I do not lie, so it’s not in my nature to expect untruth from others. However, I have been healed of that unfortunate foible. Sad. But one must learn from one’s mistakes. Once burned, twice shy; in my case it was more like six or seven times burned. But eventually, I got the picture.

And, in view of the first part of the above description, could I be anything other than a bleeding heart liberal? I guess that certainly put the old dart in the center of the bull’s-eye… I’ll have to grudgingly concede that this particular abbreviated test seems to have produced an accurate result. Still, I wonder what it would mean to a prospective employer. I can’t believe that any kind of an introvert would be a desirable employee…

Rebuilding

Is this what it feels like to actually make forward progress? It’s been so long since I’ve had that feeling, I almost didn’t recognize it when it hit me this weekend. I thought it was heartburn…

I very nearly over-prepared for the weekend. Spent a week and a half making lists, checking things off, arranging and rearranging. By the time I rolled out of the driveway on Thursday morning, I was SO ready. And of course, I knew that I would get to Astoria and realize I had forgotten something important. The cash drawer. Brought the money, but not the drawer. Duh! So, I set up my till in a cardboard box. (Only had to make do with that for a couple of hours, until the white knight [husband] arrived Friday evening.)

I didn’t used to be a wimp. I have never been a paragon of aplomb; I mostly got along by faking it. Events of the last decade of my life have worked to erode even that false bravado. As I gather the responsibility for my business up to myself, the resulting feeling of empowerment has been reward enough for facing the crisis of self-confidence that I battle every time I have to sally forth on my own. This surge of competence …it’s not a rush, exactly. More like a growing force; an electrical element lighting, warming, then glowing red as it converts the power that feeds it into heat. I’m too old, too experienced for "rushes." Even this period of rebirth is taking its toll…I’ve slogged through today completely dog tired. The result of the old dog taking on the task of learning new tricks, I suppose. Or relearning old ones.

So it was a good weekend. I sallied forth on my own, stood on my own two feet, with no one behind me to push or catch me, and made it happen. The results were promising. Old customers sought us out and let us know how glad they were to see us return. New devotees were recruited. Contacts were made; business cards changed hands. We saw a substantial sales increase over the same event last year.  I didn’t hurt myself. I didn’t break any equipment.  And we had a good time.

Driving home, I was blasting the Eurythmics Greatest Hits on the CD player. Along came the song, "Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves." I suddenly recognized it as my personal anthem. Rock on!

Go Read These...(Please?)

I can't leave town without pimping a few great journal entries.  Wouldn't want you to have nothing to read while I'm gone...

Cynthia (Sorting the Pieces) doesn't post too many political rants, but when she does, they are thoughtful, powerful, and worth reading.  Go read this entry for the one and only time she'll ever agree with Karl Rove.

And then there's Jackie (pixels, Politics, Posies, and Pussycats), my good friend from the "old country," who continues to surprise me with her wisdom and good sense.  I knew there was a reason we've been friends for so long...  Here is her entry about the eroding effect of the "Walmart Credo" on our economy and our national psyche.

Happy reading.  I'll be thinking of y'all as I'm working like a slave this weekend.

 

Sensory Overload

I posted this photo just because it was what I wanted to look at after a day like today.  I only wish I could hear and smell the ocean as well...

Tom DeLay attacks the Supreme Court.  Pope Benedict XVI--God's Rottweiler.  Newt Gingrich positioning himself for a run at the presidency.  Mass murders, car bombs, and kidnappings in Iraq.  Bush's anti-UN nominee for UN ambassador shelved.  TOO much. 

Plus, I spend two hours attending a meeting that I THOUGHT was going to lead to major local contacts for my business.  Instead, it was a thoroughly bureaucratic, committee-speak snooze.  I never imagined an organization that is supposed to be about promoting the community would be so cliqueish, negative, and caught up in red tape. 

What a let down!  Felt like I'd been run over by a truck when I got home.  And then I had to iron and pack for my weekend event in Astoria.  I'll be sallying forth tomorrow morning to attempt the first solo set-up of the booth.  I just hope I don't damage myself or any of the equipment...  I was given some hope, though, when we were out for Chinese last night.  My fortune cookie said something to the effect that I would travel and get a lot of money.  Seemed to bode well for the weekend.  Wish me luck...     

Highway Haiku

Try propane herring
Then you’ll need the RV dump
For the end result

I'm No Margaret Mitchell

Main Entry: writ·er
Pronunciation: 'rI-t&r
Function: noun
: one that writes

 

Am I the only writer in journal land who does not want to publish a novel? Lately, I’ve taken pains to look at everything I read—magazine articles, blogs, online news snippets, newspaper reports, editorials, non-fiction, even ads—from the critical point of view of another writer. Much as I have always been a writer, I have never done that before. Maybe I’ve never thought of myself as a "writer" before. But I certainly fit the above definition.

In the minds of many, the terms "writer" and "novelist" seem synonymous. The ultimate work of fiction is the designated carrot dangling just beyond the reach of every scribe. The lifetime achievement. The Holy Grail. Fiction writers believe they have a monopoly on the creative aspects of writing. They promote writing as art, with the insinuation that if writers are artists, their masterpieces will be works of glorious, imaginative, flowery prose. Where does that leave the rest of us?

I have no desire to ever write a novel. Does that make me not quite a writer? I have nothing against "creative writing." I love poetry. I use it as my outlet for the purely artistic side of my writer self. But I never had any patience for all the literary machinations that go into writing fiction. I truly believe that one of the reasons I never went to college was that I was afraid I would be subjected to too many classes that consisted of having a gun put to my head to read all the most boring epics in the history of humanity, and then participating in the excruciating process of dissecting every bit of meaning, real or imagined, from these narcotic stories. Faulkner? Snore…Single sentences that filled entire pages. Dickens? He was paid by the word, for God’s sake. Tolstoy? Please! War and Peace?

Now I’ve gone and revealed one of my deepest secrets: I have no literary class. A deadly admission for a writer. I read fiction. But I read it for the stories. For the pure escapism of it. For its ability to immerse me in a persona, place and time that are not me, here, now. Any attempts at formulaic "Meaning of Life" symbolism generally go right over my head. I religiously avoid novels that contrive to teach me something. I really don’t want to have to think that hard about the fiction I read.

Why am I ranting about this? I don’t know. In my wanderings around journal land lately, I have noticed this almost sycophantic reverence for "published" writers. This gets under my skin, for some reason. It must be that little competitive gremlin that resides in me, who pops her head out and snarls from time to time, when I think someone is making a show of being better at something than I am. I’ve visited some of the blogs of our hallowed published writers, and it always seems to me that, as such, they are just a teensy bit smug; and somewhat pedantic in the way they relate to the rest of us. I suppose I just want to be comfortable being an unpublished writer, and I resent those that, by their very presence, suggest that isn’t good enough. I’m sure there are all kinds of convoluted psychological explanations for this. But I won’t bore you with any of my self-psychoanalysis. You’ll find that in my other journal… J

Nobody Wants My Money

Yesterday, husband and I set off at sparrow fart with the primary mission of scoring some hot buys at a restaurant equipment auction. If you’ve never been to one (and chances are you haven’t) you won’t know that restaurant auctions are an exercise in hurry up and wait. You rush over to the warehouse early enough to go through and review all the items in the auction, and scribble notes on the ones you are interested in. Then you sit (in a warehouse as cold and dark as a mausoleum) and wait until those items came up for bid. This auction featured more than 400 items, started at 10 AM and wound up around 3 PM. At the end of the day, we had one vintage chest freezer to show for five boring, chilly hours. For whatever reason, everything else we bid on shot beyond our pocketbook in a big hurry. At least they fed us…Costco pastries and coffee in the morning, free pizza and sodas mid-day. I’m happy with the purchase we made, but it didn't seem like a lot to show for five hours of freezing and beating the diet to death.

After the auction, we moseyed over to the nearby high class shopping mall. Because I had by God walked out of the house that morning determined to spend some money, and that compulsion had been nowhere near satisfied by our meager success at the auction. My wardrobe is in need of a bit of Spring…I thought I might have some luck at JCP or one of the satellite shops. The first store we hit was Penney’s, and as I broke the plane of the ladies’ department, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. My eyes were assailed by more psychedelic-bright, cheaply made (as in falling apart on the hangers) apparel than I’ve seen since I was thirteen years old, trying to stretch my babysitting bucks at K-Mart. Everything on the racks looked like the flimsiest of lingerie; lingerie created to fit miniscule Asian women, to boot. I am no behemoth, and the few pieces I took to the fitting room made me look like an oversized, flabby matron feverishly attempting to look like my thirteen-year-old daughter. I could only guess what this stuff would look like on a middle-aged woman of average size.

Figuring that JC Penney must have gone over to the dark side, I shook the seawater off my boots as I stepped through the mall entrance. I was on my way to the next major department store, one that has a reputation for being more upscale than Jacques Pennois. To my dismay, I encountered the same loud, cheap, ugly clothes draped over every counter and hanger at Meier & Frank as I had at Penney’s. And, as at JCP, every stitch had a label that proclaimed, "Made in India" or Vietnam, or Indonesia… The loudest, cheapest, and ugliest came from China. To the husband trailing behind me through the aisles, I exclaimed, "I haven’t seen so many cheap, ugly clothes since the sixties."

I practically ran screaming from M & F, heading for a smaller chain store where I have been buying clothes for the last fifteen years. And, of course, I was met with still more of the flimsy, floaty, cheapy lingerie cum daywear that the powers that be have deemed we all WILL wear this season. I turned on my heel and stalked out of yet another shop with husband in tow, shaking my head in disbelief. "Is it me, or does all this stuff really look like underwear???" Even the husband, who enjoys seeing me wear as little as possible, and certainly less than is seemly for a woman my age, agreed it all looked like something more appropriate to some cheap ho on the backstreets of Hong Kong than to middle-class, slightly paunchy American women looking for a little seasonal lift. I pointed into the crowds milling through the mall. "Look," I said. "Do you see anyone walking around actually wearing any of this stuff?" Not even the teens were dressed in the crap that dominated every display window.

And I was really getting angry. Here I was, at an upscale shopping mall, and I couldn’t find a stitch of clothing that was appropriate to my age or my pocketbook. If I had wanted poorly made, smelly, wrinkled clothes that had obviously just been unpacked from a cargo container, I would have gone to Walmart. Unfortunately, it seems all American retailers, even the "classy" ones that presumably do not share Walmart’s exact demographic, have decided to subscribe to Sam Walton’s credo of price over quality. And are flocking offshore to get it.

I am probably crankier than most people about crappy Asian imports, since my husband’s job will most likely become a casualty of "free trade" with Asia. Goods can be got from Asian suppliers for a small fraction of what they cost from domestic sources. That is, if there were any domestic sources left. The textile mills of the southeast have been devastated by the flood of cheap goods from overseas. My husband’s company, which used to be a factory that cut and sewed home fashions (decorative pillows, bedding, and draperies) has, out of necessity, turned into little more than an import house. Dozens of the factory workers have been put out of work. It’s only a matter of time before my husband’s job follows theirs into oblivion.

And I have heard stories that would stand your hair on end, about the condition of some of these imports when they arrive in port. Merchandise that arrives soaked, moldy, and smelling either of fish or diesel fuel from the hold of the ship. Goods so unbelievably and vilely soiled, presumably from slovenly sanitation in the Asian factories, that they had to be dry-cleaned before being bagged and shipped to the customer. And don’t get me started on the broken promises, botched designs, unmatched dye lots, and "cash before production" policy. At one time, I believed that the American work ethic had deteriorated to the point of nonexistence. But hearing some of the stories husband comes home with, I know for certain that American companies would not get away with the crap these Asian exporters are pulling. They are flooded with our business; have more, in fact, than they need or can handle. It doesn’t matter to them if they botch an order or completely screw a customer. If he takes his business elsewhere, there are ten more in line behind him to take his place. Oh, yes…they can get you what you want for that absolutely rock-bottom price. But we American consumers seem to have forgotten that ancient wisdom of "You get what you pay for…."

So the next time you’re about to pick up that $9.00 pair of jeans or that $15.00 bedspread at Walmart, give a little thought to where it came from, where it might have been, and which of your neighbors might not be working anymore so that you can save a few bucks on something that will most likely fall apart in the washing machine.