MAS!

This year's holiday T-shirt
On the front:
MAS!!!
On the back:
(keeping the mas in christmas)

sister-kissing

"Winning isn't everything. Men, it's the only thing!"
-Coach Red Sanders
"A tie is like kissing your sister."
-Coach Eddie Erdelatz

It would be hard to overstate the impact that the culture of sport has had on american society. Particularly among white men, whose voice was for so long America's only one. Having myself been a white male (the five longest minutes of my life), i ought know of such things. Our national values are those embedded in the turf of our fields of play. And nowhere is the essence of those values more revealed, than in our attitude toward tying. There was once a time when a tied game was an acceptable result of a well-played contest. A round of handshakes, with no chins held low. We gave our all, and found ourselves and our foe not lacking!
Seen many ties lately?
Like toll booth collectors, they've done disappeared.
Even as a youth, i could see the writing on the wall. Despite our zeitgeist's one nod toward a more noble philosophy of competition, journalist Grantland Rice's "It's not that you won or lost but how you played the game", it seemed from an early age that i was the only one among my peers taking those words to heart. I also had the good fortune to have a father who set an excellent example of how not to act. His hyper-competitiveness made backyard family games a fascinating study in people surreptitiously scrambling to NOT be picked for the winning side. The short-tempered dressing-down that was sure to follow any slip-up by one of his teammates, was a treat no one wanted. I can't recall him quoting Sanders directly, but Erdelatz's words sprang readily from his mouth. To this day, if he plays a game that ends in a tie, but has no provision by which a single winner may be then decided, he'll quickly invent one.
Why has the tie disappeared? Why is America more uncomfortable with tying, than outright losing? Is it something to do with the Vietnam war? We pulled our last soldier out in 1973. Was it a coincidence that in 1974, as football was eclipsing baseball to become our national sport, sudden death overtime arrived, heralding the end of all that tying nonsense? I remember murmurs as a child, that we didn't LOSE Vietnam - we tied. Losing was that alien to us. Did the seeds of our national disgust with anything other than winning start there? Was our nascent superpower ego so fragile? Or was all of it simply a reflection of the superpower mentality itself? As our nation was on its way to becoming as powerful as the rest of the world combined, did we have to tweak our national identity to rationalize that?
The winner must be crowned. The loser must be shamed.
How good does winning feel in this world? At the risk of putting too fine a point on it, Nobel winners and sports hall of famers live an average of two years longer than their non-winning peers. Oscar winners live four years longer than nominees.
A study of olympic athletes' facial expressions on the medal stand found that only two of the three medalists regularly register as "very happy". Gold and silver, perhaps? Try again.
The winning sickness isn't confined to America, of course. The world over, males have made tie-aversion a central part of most games. And they're ever so clever at coming up with ways to avoid that unseemly result - overtime, rematches, penalty shootouts...even something ominously called "aggregate point difference". Do you suppose there's a cheerleading squad somewhere with a kickass aggregate point routine? We got aggregate point difference, yes we do...
And if all those methods fail, some sports ties are decided by, well, coin toss. I apologize for calling males clever.
But to be sure, the american obsession with winning runs singularly deep (The pre-eminent world sport, soccer, is still a veritable hotbed of tying activity - damned commie socialist sports pinkos!). I originally thought i would cap this article with a list of history's most memorable ties, but then i realized that you, the reader (and even i, the writer, mayhap) might be tempted to decide which was the BESTEST, COOLEST TIE EVER! Are we that far gone? Of course we are. Never mind that any sensible person knows you learn more about yourself when you lose. Never mind that losing is immeasurably more character-building.
As i grew, i kept my spirit vigilant against the sickness. I knew i was swimming against the current. Trying to live by Rice's credo in this society is a little like trying to save a wet moth from the ocean. It can't fly, so you hold it with one hand above the water as you swim for shore. Society is the twenty-foot wave that suddenly appears. The funny thing is, somewhere along the line, i became an ardent competitor. I think most sensitive people react to the winning sickness by washing their hands of it. Avoiding the competitive arenas, eschewing hyper-competitive games. But i've adapted by becoming a fierce competitor...who cares not one whit who wins. Perhaps i need to prove to the world that excellence needn't care about victory. On the sporting field or gaming table, it may seem like i'm pushing you. But i'm only pushing myself. And yes, i realize this paragraph is overflowing with water metaphors. That's just me challenging myself (or another writer) to pen a single organic paragraph with even more! Do it, i dare you.
There are also plenty of contexts though, in which my disinterest in winning is blatantly evident. With many games, i'm the one who suggests ditching the score-taking altogether.
Many enmeshed in the winning sickness, or disgusted by it, interpret my often spirited play as a sign of competitiveness. When i explain my actual focus, some refuse to believe, not wanting any worthy competitor to be a traitor to Hemingway's bullshit machismo. Others just can't trust any kind of competitiveness. Some think i'm fooling myself, and that deep down i want to win as urgently as anyone.
Tain't so, i promise.
There is no more joyous result for me than the roller coaster of a dramatic, tightly-competed game...that ends in a tie. The more winners, the more i like it.
Sometimes you win.
Sometimes you lose.
Sometimes no one wins. Or everyone.
Sister-kissing has nothing to do with it.

no one there

I searched my spirit high and low
Found a truth i could not bear
When i lost my pretense and vanity
i found there was no one there

Friendship, desire, pity, scorn
Beneath all for which we care
Absent pretense and vanity
It evaporates into air

Everyone you've loved or hated
What's the one thing they share?
Strip away pretense and vanity
You'll find there's no one there

why are you smiling?

(a woman and man masturbate one another with their left hands)
HE:  This is amazing...you are so amazing...
SHE:  You're pretty amazing yourself...but there's something i should tell you...
HE:  Mmm, what's that...
SHE:  (switching hands) I'm not left-handed.

"Fire with Fire"

(The New Female Power, and how it will change the 21st Century)
-by Naomi Wolf
1993
One of the most essential books on feminism - ever. Breathing the rarefied air of THE SECOND SEX, THE MISMEASURE OF WOMAN, and THE WAR AGAINST WOMEN, Wolf's second book has been dismissed and overlooked, especially in comparison with her classic THE BEAUTY MYTH. Which is a crying shame, as she deftly avoids the overearnest flaws of her debut bestseller.
Like a roller coaster, FIRE WITH FIRE starts out slow and steady. One even begins to worry that the ride might be gradually burying itself in the dirt. But like THE WIZARD OF OZ bursting into color, about a third of the way through Wolf tosses aside the academic/polemic veil, and the book begins to vibrate with self-revelation and clear thinking. The very best books engage us in such a way as to feel like a conversation with the author, a trick Wolf pulls off with unerring grace. She heralds the arrival of global female power during the "genderquake" of 1992 (which had the Thomas/Hill hearings as its epicenter). Tellingly, i used to forget that Thomas' career actually survived those hearings - but my mental lapse mirrored the larger historical shift, as women were ever after empowered with the knowledge that their truth-telling could remove misbehaving males from their power base. That the pendulum was swinging in a new direction cannot be denied. That it swung too far is also hard to deny (i myself got caught in that once, when i got fired for telling a co-worker i liked her smile). In addition, '92 brought elections in which women's voices (now a majority of the electorate) shifted national politics like never before, as Clinton's female-rich administration came to power. It was also presumably the last time that female U.S. senators would more than double their ranks within one year.
Yet just as these changes were taking place, feminism itself had become an unpopular word among both men and women. Going beyond the male power structure's backlash, Wolf explains how this change was due also to dissensions among women. Feminism had come to be perceived as man-hating, dykey, or middle-class and white. In addition, a new distinction was being born - "victim feminism" as compared to "power feminism". Victim feminism points toward inherent gender differences, and how women need to be "rescued". Power feminism places women's salvation in their own hands. Victim feminism places the most victimized woman as the highest moral authority. Power feminism asks us to judge the message, not the messenger. Wolf argues that victim feminism is anti-humanist. Her most clarifying example is the 1992 Berkeley incident wherein female students forced the administration to clothe a male student who went naked on campus, as a pro-freedom, pro-nature statement.
There have been one or two instances when my own writing has been accused of victim feministry, and i almost took it to heart. But like the big sister i never had, Wolf points out that ALL feminism is sourced from the awareness that women have been history's victims, and shedding light on that is vital.
Yet another light went off as i realized that on more than one occasion, i've been chastised for claiming to be more feminist than most women, and admonished that such an observation is insulting. I generally bit my tongue, but Wolf has empowered me to nevermore back down when someone suggests i don't have the right to compare my feminist credentials to anyone's, and chide those who fall short, regardless of gender.
She illuminates the psychological aspect of women that resists power, which is "male" (and therefore carries all the moral baseness inherent thereto). Add to that a resistance to giving up the "moral lightness of being infantilized, the simplicity of having limited choices, the sense of specialness that comes from being treated as a frail exotic". She deconstructs the ways "man as enemy" is self-defeating. She reclaims heterosexual healing, and argues that the roles of pursuer or pursued, possessor or possessed, can be healthy expressions of sexuality - for anyone. She challenges the assumption that men are visual/promiscuous while women are emotional/monogamous, by talking about her college days. She and her female peers made a sport of sex. They greedily related tales of performance and physical endowment, and were often less than faithful. Like men, they had to learn to see the person beneath the sex object. In Hollywood, it's now common for famous actresses to take up with younger (and unfailingly non-ugly) men. Her comments shade toward monogamy being desirable, which runs counter to what science now knows, but that's this book's only real flaw, and you have to have hawk eyes to even notice it.
Wolf talks about her struggles and discomfort with money and fame, and how this touches upon female power illiteracy. I realized how much my own relationship with money parallels the traditional female attitude - just this month, i made a flyer advertising my services that contained the words "pay what you can afford". While my relationship with capitalism has a larger humanist context, the example reminds me of the first time someone told me i had a lot of feminine energy - it's clear she wasn't just blowing smoke up my ass to get me in bed (although some college women do that, apparently). Wolf correctly contends that women need to become comfortable with power if they're to make the complete leap forward which is within our grasp. She argues that powerlust is not alien to women, by examining the behavior of females under the age of five. She calls the "sisterhood" model of feminism insufficient, as women are too diverse and numerous to be united under the umbrella of intimate connection. She outlines ways for women to achieve, hold, and expand their influence in a world of money, votes, and public perception. And the main thrust of this amazing book is that the power is already in women's hands - the only thing that can hold back the dream of equality at this point, is women themselves.
How deeply did this book move me? I'll now forever dream of feeding Naomi.
To understand that one, you'll have to read the book.

ohio movers

Accountants are miserable
Soldiers are afraid
Teachers are depressed
Writers don't get laid

But Ohio movers
get sex when they want
Ohio movers
work three hours a day
Ohio movers
call everyone friend
Ohio movers
They think, laugh, and play

Bankers got no soul
Miners got no goal
Prostitution takes a toll
Scientists got no control

But Ohio movers
get sex when they want
Ohio movers
work three hours a day
Ohio movers
call everyone friend
Ohio movers
They hug, laugh, and play

Musicians got no bread
Doctors get sued
Journalists are owned
And nobody gets nude

But Ohio movers
get sex when they want
Ohio movers
work three hours a day
Ohio movers
call everyone friend
Ohio movers
They sing, shout, and play

Cops get no love
Lawyers are despised
Parenting ain't fun
And painters ain't prized

But Ohio movers
get sex when they want
Ohio movers
work three hours a day
Ohio movers
call everyone friend
Ohio movers
They laugh, jump, and play

hive

He offered her good love
She thought it was something else
She's nobody's friend
Least of all herself

She offered them good love
But they didn't want to share
They're nobody's friend
They're going nowhere

Jealous, vain, afraid
Living mental double lives
We're nobody's friend
in this human hive

whither marriage 2

(a follow-up to http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2013/11/whither-marriage.html)

WHITHER MARRIAGE 2/TWO/TOO/TO?
(Or, Raising the Kids)
Some of you are nodding your heads. I hear you thinking, "Okay wrob, that almost makes sense...and frankly most of those things do sound better than the crap life i'm currently up to my nose hairs in. But i'm not ready. Or even if i am, i'm damn sure my schmoopie/spouse AIN'T. So...is there anything i can do to take some, y'know, baby steps in the right direction?"
Of course there are. "Baby steps" - aren't you cute?
I direct the following tips to soon-to-be parents, or parents of children. For marriage is ultimately about children - the way we choose to bring them into the world, and the kind of nurturing we want to provide. Some may pretend that marriage is about being in love, but anyone who's been married over a year knows differently. Without children, marriage is about self-interest (or self-abuse) only. If you're a parent, however...
First, breathe. I'll keep this short, in case your respites from poopy diapers are measured in minutes or seconds.
You're nowhere near ready for polyamorous collectivism, but don't want your babies to become the neurotic mess you turned out to be? Here's whatcha do - find other parents with children (or fetuses) around the same age. Pick some you really like! One other family will work. Two or three will be better. This first step will be easy for those of you still attending birthing class.
Found 'em? Good. Now everybody move within easy walking distance.
Once the babies are birthed, every couple or single parent will be responsible for one night a week in which they have everybody's children at their place. The whole evening, plus a sleepover - this will cement your children's relating to the other kids as siblings, and to the other adults as parental figures.
One night a week is rotationally-hosted gonzo communal night (or a day trip). All the kids and parents together for food, frivolity, and foofery. Sleepovers optional.
The math wizards among you are already aware that with four blended families, couples or single parents will have three whole evenings (and nights) to themselves! Add some eager grandparents to the mix, and you might even have some weeks with more free nights than not. And freedom is something few parents taste these days.
Things like financial burdens and benefits can be shared, or not. Each child will naturally gravitate to the siblings and adults with whom they feel most comfortable. Non-communal days will probably be a swirl of "Can i visit so-and-so? Can such-and-such come over?" Once you've explained to your little moppets the difference between "can" and "may", they'll be on their happy way. Before long, you won't be able to wrap your mind around the thought that couples were once expected to do all that raising by themselves.
I think i smell that poop now. Get back in there, trooper.

human march

Legs open, dick in
Legs open, baby out
Legs open, dick in
Legs open, baby out
Do we know what we're about
Seems to be a little doubt
Mouth open, food in
Ass open, poop out
Mouth open, food in
Ass open, poop out
On these nuclear kegs of powder
Desperation getting louder
Mouth open, mind shut
Legs wide, eyes closed
Mouth open, mind shut
Legs wide, eyes closed
Fearing, killing, making wars
Making daughters into whores
Eyes shut, fists closed
Heads dead, hearts froze
Eyes shut, fists closed
Heads dead, hearts froze
Enslaving other animals, raping the land
Exploiting and raping our own gay band
Turning jungle into sand
Our specieal suicide well-planned

"Boston Legal"

2004*-2008
I'd avoided this one as i understandably avoid most cop, doctor, and lawyer shows. Moreover, i'd seen some of producer david kelley's work (L.A. LAW, ALLY MCBEAL), and hadn't been particularly moved.
Surprise, surprise.
This spinoff of THE PRACTICE, from which james spader, william shatner, rhona mitra, and lake bell land in the Boston firm of Crane, Poole, and Schmidt, finds kelley tweaking the format, injecting loosey goosey silliness while keeping the serious side, and upping the ante by putting issues of profoundest social import on trial. Progressive values come shining through, mostly through the mouthpiece of spader's alan shore. The show crackles with sharp writing and quirky performances. It's also unique in this reviewer's experience, in that a four-star rating system is insufficient. The installation of a fifth star located between "good" and
"great" is essential for this show, which was only unqualifiedly great once, but hit the ground running and never looked back. Not once in five seasons did it descend to bad or even okay (a distinction i'm hard-pressed to make for any other show), and hardly EVER was it only merely "good". The core cast of spader, shatner, and candice bergen (but mostly spader and shatner) carry the doings delightfully. The theme song is perky and poppy, with a surprise jolt of funk. The producers seemed a bit blase with the revolving dressing room doors that gave us the rest of the cast...perhaps a gamble that worked, but one can't help wonder how a little more devotion might have played out, both in giving them more to do and retaining their services (they had nineteen cast regulars come and go-go-go, which has to be some sort of instability record). They also tinkered with having the actors break the fourth wall occasionally, which never quite popped. But i quibble. The show is a delight, from start to finish and everything in between.
*I ought mention that it should be considered as running six seasons, not five, as the final season of THE PRACTICE is season 1 of BOSTON LEGAL, in all but name. Although the writing isn't quite as sharp, that final season is an indispensable, delightful appetizer, giving depth and resonance to shore's relationships with tara, sally, and denny. It's all good, but absolutely indispensable are "Concealing Evidence" (which gives both the A and B plots to a courtroom-hopping shore at his shady best), and "The Firm" (a veritable lost treasure of the Sierra Madre for shore/crane lovers).
FIVE-STAR EPISODES [season]
-Head Cases [1]
A pilot episode that bursts with brilliance, as one of the name partners shows up at work without pants, and an old friend hires the legendary denny crane to find out who is sleeping with his wife...only to discover it's the legend himself.
PERFORMERS (# of episodes)
JAMES SPADER - alan shore (101)
Spader (SEX, LIES, AND VIDEOTAPE, STARGATE) walks the line between idealist and hedonistic nihilist beautifully. There could have, should have been more of a resolve to his emotional intimacy issues.
SUMPTUOUS SHORE SUMMATIONS [season]
-Angel of Death [3]
Alan defends a doctor who mercy-killed terminal patients stranded after Hurricane Katrina.
-The Chicken and the Leg [4]
Alan sues an abstinence-only school district on behalf of a teen who had unprotected sex and contracted HIV.
-The Court Supreme [4]
Alan takes a capital punishment case before the Supreme Court, and gives them a verbal spanking for their constitutional and moral failings during the bush years. Ah, if only. The writing is a shade less than tight, but shore is at his iconoclastic best.
WILLIAM SHATNER - denny crane (101)
Crane is a conservative, gun-totin', lecherous, senile blowhard. Shatner (STAR TREK, INVASION IOWA!) is shatner...and that's a beautiful thing.
CANDICE BERGEN - shirley schmidt (91)
Candice (CARNAL KNOWLEDGE, MURPHY BROWN) is a steadying presence...who never gets the storylines she deserves.
RENE AUBERJONOIS - paul lewiston (71)
The brilliant rene (M*A*S*H, STAR TREK: DS9) almost never gets the chance to shine.
MARK VALLEY - brad chase (70)
Mark (HUMAN TARGET) is a perfect ken-doll foil for alan. His late-season absence was felt.
JULIE BOWEN - denise bauer (52)
Julie (HAPPY GILMORE, MODERN FAMILY) went from being a post-potter disappointment to someone you hoped they'd give more. Her character arc never quite recovered from the abandoned romance with justin mentell, though.
CHRISTIAN CLEMENSON - jerry espenson (50)
Christian (BAD INFLUENCE, THE FISHER KING) plays jerry's asberger quirks beautifully, no mean feat. They should have gone deeper into his character's obstacles, to make his failings more human and his happy ending with katy more earned.
JOHN LARROQUETTE - carl sack (33)
It's easy to imagine that john (STRIPES, STAR TREK III) had a "non-steamrolled by shatnerspader" clause in his signing contract. And they actually honored that clause a bit...
TARA SUMMERS - katy lloyd (33)
Tara (FACTORY GIRL, HITCHCOCK) is thoroughly charming...all's the more shame they didn't go more than puddle deep with her character.
HENRY GIBSON - Judge brown (24)
Henry (THE NUTTY PROFESSOR, LAUGH-IN) is part 1 of the three-headed judge that comprised the third-most effective character of the show.
MONICA POTTER - lori colson (21)
Why??? Why did she leave??? Monica (PATCH ADAMS, PARENTHOOD) created a character every bit as resonant as the Big Two, centered and capable of grounding the wackiness around her. Then, after one season...gone.
RHONA MITRA - tara wilson (20)
Sigh. The disappearance of rhona (HOLLOW MAN, THE NUMBER 23) after season 1 left another hole they never quite filled. As smart as she was sexy.
SAFFRON BURROWS - lorraine weller (20)
Just when we were becoming fascinated by the possibilities saffron (DEEP BLUE SEA, FRIDA) tapped into with alan...poof. Gone.
MEREDITH EATON - bethany horowitz (18)
Shatner and a dwarf? Yes, please.
BETTY WHITE - catherine piper (16)
What crime did she commit now? Fool-proof casting. She debuted (and shone) in THE PRACTICE.
LAKE BELL - sally heep (14)
After a scintillating debut in THE PRACTICE, did she receive love from the producers during her one aborted season? She...did not. Shame.
CRAIG BIERKO - jeffrey coho (14)
A wonderful performance of an ill-conceived character, a brad/alan hybrid.
MARISA COUGHLAN - melissa hughes (12)
Another character bursting with potential who disappears...into witness protection, perhaps? Is there anyone who thinks a deeper relationship with alan couldn't have been fascinating, enriching, and surprising? Kerry washington, jeri ryan, and nia long also fell into this crack.
SHELLEY BERMAN - Judge sanders (11)
Wait...shelley berman? Not THAT shelley berman, of course. Well, actually...yes. That very one. I don't know how many episodes it took for me to realize that this hysterically addled judge (#2 of 3) is the very same standup icon from the 60s. Or was it the 50s? Amazing. Wonderful.
GAIL O'GRADY - Judge weldon (7)
Tantalizing. Gail (NYPD BLUE, DEUCE BIGALOW) epitomizes the line this show walked, in trying to have depth while not straying too far from comedy. Her relationship with alan sizzled with possibilities for emotional growth and self-realization. As often happened, the producers leave you wishing they'd plumbed deeper, but...tantalizing.
LARRY MILLER - edwin poole (4)
The scrumptiously skewed miller (BEST IN SHOW), and pantless named partner poole, could have been so much more. A size regular? Sure.
HOWARD HESSEMAN - Judge thompson (3)
Offbeat judge #3 of 3, WKRP's booger-spouter is bravura.

Antagony

THEATER 74
-summer 2005
My first year in New York, i spent more time writing than acting, which was kind of cool. But my old buddy Chris Capp came calling, wanting to stage an original play he’d written. It was fascinating, a semi-autobiographical one-man show about a homeless heroin junkie who speaks directly to the audience. The junkie, Mac, relates tales of his life, from Vietnam to Wall Street to the street. He talks of his wife and kids, whom he hasn’t seen in years. He talks of his dead dog Blackie, his only friend. Extremely edgy, it begins and ends with a shooting; heroin at the start, and shot dead by an audience member at the end. He yells and cries at them, berating and abusing. It was indistinct in terms of dramatic structure, but that appealed to me. Very much like Chris himself, you either loved it or hated it. He had been such a supporter of my work at the Orpheus and Red Curtain, the only community member who had ever spontaneously slid money into my hand. I had rented an apartment in the house he shared with his mother Irene, and the low rate they charged allowed me to more easily continue creating. Chris had been the publisher of Fort Myers Beach’s only independent newspaper. He lived a life calculated to shock and provoke, but beneath the contentiousness was deep caring. His mother was just as wonderful in a more reserved and classy way, and the year i spent with them was beautiful. I had reservations about the piece, though. It would be tough, in terms of vocal control. And as a play, i wasn’t sure whether it were more striking than brilliant. And with Mac being 55, i wasn’t convinced i was old enough. I’d always felt that Chris himself was the perfect choice, but he maintained that he was no actor. I knew it would absorb a big chunk of my life, time that might be spent pursuing more personal projects. But i knew it would also be very rewarding, and in world where mediocrity is often venerated, it was a piece that needed doing. So i said yes. It ran about an hour, with two short intermissions. Chris handled the producing – it was nice to just act and direct. He did a lovely job, as we prepared for an open-ended run at the LBI Beach Haven fire hall. I arrived a few days before we opened. Chris ran lights and sound, and we called on our old Red Curtain buddy Paul to help too. It was a sweet reunion. For the audience plant who speaks a few lines as i badger and insult him, then shoots me, i enlisted my brother John, whom i was living with in Jersey City. It would be the first time we’d shared a stage since M.P.C.Y.C.’s JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR a decade or so before. We used a starter pistol for the shooting, and Johnny was all too happy to murder me. He took great delight in developing a Jersey goombah character, too. The script was tough to memorize, because it was non-sequential (indeed, during the second performance i was ALL over the place…a tight-rope act that few actors ever experience). I used my writing skills to hone the piece, even adding a few ideas and lines. Opening night was…well, amazing. We had a wonderful house of 100 or so. Despite technical glitches, the energy was crackling and the audience was with me from start to finish. Many of my family were there (the LBI location was nice, as that was where John’s grandmother lived). Chris had asked about him giving a pre-show speech. I thought not, especially not some B.S. about my dedication as an artist. I felt that drawing attention to the fact that i was an ACTOR would only make my job (making the audience feel off-balance) harder. He agreed, then went ahead and did it anyway. I couldn’t be too mad, as his gratitude was so sincere. At the end, the plan had been for me to not move from my death position, leaving the audience unsure as they leave the building. But Chris was so happy that he jumped up and asked me to take a bow. After a few moments, i complied. After months of preparation, the come-down was so peaceful and beautiful. The next day, my throat was raw, so when Chris came to me with reservations about a lack of reservations, i was content to postpone that night’s show. We were both wiped out. That day we relaxed on the beach, which i hadn’t had time for in the days leading up to the show. Several reviews came out, one of which was very, very gratifying. We had one more performance a few weeks later. Chris found a louder gun which i thought was maybe too much, but he and Johnny really wanted it. With only twenty-five audience members, the energy got sucked into some hole from which i couldn’t pull it out. It was perhaps the most “high school”-ish feeling acting i’d done since, well, maybe ever. On the plus side, the earlier technical glitches went BEAUTIFULLY (in the opening night "penis rap", the accompanying music was so soft that i’d lost the beat…but that and the synching of the heroin injection music was just perfect the second night). And the show did end with a bang, as the extra-loud shot tore through the hall. This time, i stayed down. It felt nice lying there. Despite the off night, i wasn’t too unhappy. A bad night in the theater still feels better than most other good nights. And sometimes there’s a certain beauty in a crappy show, if your humor is perverse enough. Mine is. The fire hall was next to a police station, and all along John had been worried about the shots attracting the wrong attention from the boys in blue, as he shoots me, then runs out and around the building. Sure enough, as he tore around the building that night, an officer came investigating. John had the gun re-holstered, and kept his hands well visible. We talked of doing the show again, perhaps on a college tour or in Florida. While not giving a definite no, i told Chris that i hadn’t been able to gain total control vocally, so it might be time for someone else to take over. An amazing piece.

whither marriage?

The institution of marriage is reeling, boys and girls.
And rightly so.
Will it disappear altogether, like other relics of patriarchy (the Miss America Pageant, the Tea Party, cosmetic surgery), or will it morph into something vaguely recognizable?
Probably more the former than the latter.
For any society's most fundamental institution, change takes place slowly. Relatively speaking, however, the speed with which marriage is dissolving has been positively breakneck. Our divorce rate is currently over 50% (up from 5% at the turn of the previous century - we don't lead the world though, that honor goes to Belgium's 71%). Unmarried households are now a majority in almost half the states. Singles don't outnumber married folk yet, but the gap is closing (92 million to 121 million). For those who divorce but try, try again, the numbers get worse, with 65% of all second marriages failing, and 73% of all third marriages.
If you're having trouble wrapping your mind around the thought that marriage is a fundamentally flawed institution, let's take a history lesson. Marriage started out as a transfer of property - a father selling a daughter to a male who could afford her. The "sanctity of marriage" (i.e. monogamy) didn't arise until males realized they needed some way to insure that their hoarded wealth went to people who shared their values after they died (i.e. male offspring). Over the past couple thousand years, in the furtherance of property protection, society has required more and more that men be as faithful as women...but only on paper - there have always been backdoors to relieve men of monogamy's burden. Social and legal penalties for adultery (up to and including death) have always been much more severe for women, the world over. Through mistresses and prostitutes, our mores and institutions have always reflected a "wink wink" attitude toward straying males. But all humans, male and female alike, were happily promiscuous before the invention of private property. Our growing knowledge of sexual biology makes this conclusion absolutely inescapable.
Has marriage been a good deal for women? Traditionally, the woman has been expected to do all the housework - the repercussions of this thrive to the present day, when the average woman still walks almost twice as far in a lifetime as the average male. Wives have always been expected to be sexually available at any moment, under any circumstance - as late as the 1970s, it was legally impossible for a husband to rape his wife. Drag her to the town square and sodomize her! You'd have faced a misdemeanor for public indecency, at most (and probably some free rounds at the bar that night). It's only within the past few generations that husbands have been disallowed from beating wives and children at will.
Yet ironically, women today defend marriage more ardently than men! If you find this utterly flabbergasting, you have to consider that a woman's sexuality is the only property she has had (for the short time historically that women have been allowed to have property at all). The selling of her womb (and labor and loyalty) into a lifetime of servitude has been most women's only bargaining chip in life. And as horrific as marriage has been, the few alternatives have been worse. So it cannot be surprising that women defend the institution. This is classic Stockholm syndrome, of course. The only thing i can think of that's nearly as perverse in american history, is the embrace of christianity by african-americans. Mind-bogglingly, they're often more devout in the religion of their former slave masters, than the caucasians sitting next to them in the pew (assuming that their neighborhood has a desegregated church, of course).
Monogamous marriage enjoyed a long run of stability, because it was founded on inequality in fidelity, burden-sharing, and dominance. In this era, when little girls are starting to learn that they're as deserving and capable as any man, marriage is tearing itself asunder. Many bemoan this, and point to one of the most immediate effects - how shattered unions and financial hardships affect the children. To be sure, that lack of stability has produced an epidemic of dysfunctions, neuroses, and social ills.
But was marriage ever a healthy way to raise children?
Not even a little.
It produced its own epidemics of neuroses and dysfunctions, but because they were within a framework of greater social stability (and the concomitant pressures to conform), these afflictions were more internalized. Consider...
When you restrict a child's support base to essentially just two adults, any personality conflicts become amplified a thousand times (including conflicts between the parents, which is the main reason why marriages of equality fail). If you're one of those rare adults who genuinely like both your parents, try to imagine what your life would have been like if one (or both) of them were someone you've never felt comfortable around. Most don't have to imagine it. Many spend their entire lives in therapy, for no other reason.
On top of that, monogamous marriage is brutally hard on the parents. Anyone who has any idea what they're talking about will tell you that parenting is the hardest job in the world. By far. The fact that it doesn't HAVE to be that way, simply doesn't occur to most people. With only two parents, you can pretty much wipe out any together time in which they might rediscover the reasons why they loved each other in the first place. Their alone time is pretty well gone, too. If Mark Twain could have children AND be prolifically creative, why can't i? Because i refuse to enter any personal union founded on inequity. And four hands just ain't enough to healthily manage the 24-hour need machine that is a child (never mind the two hands that we force our single parents [read: mothers] to cope with). Also, isn't it fun how we contort parents with guilt over the fact that they might like one of their children just a little more than another? Beelzebub forbid we allow parents to be, what's that word...human?
So where will all this social seismology end up? "Open" marriage?
Not really, no. Oh, for a while, sure...many will try to reconcile the old with the new, and incorporate a more evolved understanding of sex into something their parents (and government dispensers of financial benefits) will recognize a little. If it's good enough for Will and Jada, Shirley MacLaine, Larry King, and Newt, it's good enough for as many as six million american marital unions, currently.
But in terms of creating a functional family unit, open marriage is a band-aid on a decapitation.
No, the ultimate return to health in family life will be the rediscovery of what community meant for human beings over the vast majority of our species' history. No humans were ever meant to isolate their domestic hardships and happinesses into two-parent dwellings. In terms of practicality, there are a number of ways a burden-sharing renewal might manifest.
Couples living and recreating and procreating together, for instance. Four, six, eight hands pitching in to love, nurture, protect...and babysit. Undamaged by any artificial pretense to monogamy, these people might even be vaguely recognizable to our barbarian eyes. Perhaps some will still have one special significant other. There is evidence that a certain amount of "social monogamy" (cleaving more closely to one particular mate) may be natural to us. But however the sex and romance work themselves out, in a household of at least three parents, all would be free to pursue some semblance of an individual life. Every child would have access to a wider pool of parents, and be free to follow natural personality affinities in choosing the adult or adults they bond with most closely.
Is all this just fanciful folderol? A dilettante's daydream?
Not even a little. There are currently around 500,000 polyamorous families in the U.S. Half a million families with at least three parents who are happily consenting partners in much more than poopy diapers.
Nor do sexually non-possessive societies exist only in the murky depths of pre-recorded history. Some still exist! For an insight into humanity that might blow your little homo sapiens skull, check out the mosuo of southwest China. Their society is based upon sexual autonomy for all, the encouragement to take as many lovers as you wish, and a disregard for biological paternity in matters of parenting.
So perhaps our future will be even more far out than what i've painted. Maybe every woman will have two or three men...which is actually the only kind of system that's ever made any sense to me. Mr. Twain too, for that matter.
Did i mention that the mosuo have no words for murder, rape, or war?
Happy humping.

(see http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2013/11/whither-marriage-2.html for part 2, a parenting guide for those not quite ready for polyamorous collectivism)

squibnibs & squibnuvs

A thousand lovers would never feel so right for you as me
A thousand lovers would never feel so true for me as thee
But you're a squibnib and i'm a squibnuv
And squibnib and squibnuv ought never ever love

How can people live by wisdom of this sort??
It's time to appeal to a higher court!
But you're a squibnib and i'm a squibnuv
No, squibnib and squibnuv ought NEVER ever love

Is there no law of nature, no law of goodness true?
They ain't erected nothin' that'll keep me from you!
So you're a squibnib and i'm a squibnuv
And squibnib and squibnuv ought NEVER ever love?

I'll sleep on the floor outside your door
Until you say YES, or it's me that you abhor
For you're a squibnib and i'm a squibnuv
As squibnib and squibnuv, we'll show 'em how to love

our fire

Astride our love
in timeless tumescence
you'll unmask infinity

My lips will linger
in your velvet valley
Our fire will set you free

These hands will name you
This heart will claim you
These dreams ever turn to thee

My lips will linger
My lusts will linger
My length will linger
My loins will linger
My life will linger
in your velvet valley
Our fire will set you free

escape from planet earth!

Picture three people in a room. One is eating, one is reading, and one is injecting heroin. What would you say if i told you all three were engaging in the same basic activity?
For this to make sense, one has to accept the following premise - every human you've ever met has been in about fourteen different kinds of pain, of which he or she is conscious of maybe three. The society humans have constructed over the past ten thousand years has strayed so very far from our most basic nature, that you have never met a healthy human. If you met one such, you might be amused or shocked, but you wouldn't recognize yourself in this creature. It is only through layers of rationalization and denial that modern humans are able to function at all. There is compelling biological, archaeological, and other scientific evidence to support this premise. This article is about none of those.
This article is about behavioral evidence.
This article is about escape.
How does a creature in pain respond? By trying to make it stop. If that proves impossible, the creature will try to escape that pain as much as they can.
If you step back and look at behavior objectively, you'll suddenly see around you a world of humans who are trying to escape reality virtually every single day of our lives.
This isn't about obvious escapes, like a flophouse full of strung-out addicts. This is about a universe of behaviors that affect our brains in the same way as "drugs". This is about adrenaline. Stimulants and sedatives. Dopamine and endorphins. I won't insult your intelligence by listing the things in this world that might render one anxious or depressed. I won't ask what percentage of people know that their most basic life-sustaining and intimacy needs, will always be met.
Or even met tomorrow.
Here are the ways that humanity is in a constant state of trying to flee this planet. And here are the drug realities that underlie them all.
FOOD
Oh, what a surprise - when we eat sugar, fat, or salt, our bodies powerfully reward us with feel-good brain chemicals (dopamine, a neurotransmitter with a hotline to the brain's pleasure center, and opioids, psychoactive chemicals which induce a feeling of euphoria). Chocolate and spicy foods promote the release of endorphins (neurotransmitters that reduce sensations of pain). You know the line about food not being love? In terms of brain chemistry, that's a lie - food IS love. Even though culinary highs pale in comparison with an orgasm or first kiss, no cookie ever made someone feel rejected or worthless. Food isn't love? I'm sure everyone's gotten that memo - but it seems a whole lot of people aren't impressed. And i won't even go into caffeine, other than to say thank you America, but i've avoided the amphetamine-style monkey you offered me as a child. Nine out of ten people aren't so lucky, but them's the breaks.
ADRENALINE
"Adrenaline junkies". So often the truth slips out in moments of glibness. All those testosterone-filled types chasing highs in unimpeachably legal ways. Get those dudes on a commercial! Um, except for the gamblers, that's not so macho. Adrenaline is a hormone that causes a rise in heart rate and body glucose. It constricts blood vessels and dilates air passages, making us hyper-responsive to stimuli. Any chance that under conditions like those we'll remember our miserable love lives or unpaid bills? No, we didn't think so. Get us a parachute/snowmobile/motorbike/bungee/four-wheeler/gun-with-one-bullet, stat!
RELIGION
Does religion feel good? Yes. Does it take us out of ourselves? Great googily, yes! How much further outside your own reality could you get than focusing on an invisible creature with the power to do ANYTHING? Do not underestimate god. Neurologically-speaking, for a believer, god (or its childhood equivalent, the imaginary friend) is just as real as any living being...which can obviously be immeasurably rewarding, given that each believer exercises complete control over god's identity inside their heads! On a more basic level, here is what religious thought does to the brain - it renders the anterior singulated cortex (the part of the brain that controls anxiety) less active. That sounds nice. Just be careful with this drug. Long-term faith has been linked to atrophy of the hippocampus, which can lead to depression and Alzheimer's.
HUNTING & SHOPPING
I put these two together because of the ridiculousness (but also, sadly, accuracy) in the stereotype of the old couple - she can't understand his obsession with hunting or fishing, and he can't understand the unending hours she spends shopping. Yes, mensaites, it's actually the same activity. Dopamine production is similarly stimulated in both. On a good day, both activities add adrenaline to the mix. Hunters are accused of being insensitive to the animals they slaughter, but if that were literally true, hunting would be far less popular. Indeed, it is the subconscious awareness that prey animals think and feel in much the same way as us, that makes hunting attractive. Put another way, if hunters knew that their prey were emotionless machines, many would become bored. The awareness that prey think and feel makes hunters relate to them, because hunters can imagine being hunted. It is this identification that feeds the adrenalized aspect of hunting. Any hunter or fisher who was truly blind to the suffering of other animals would be a full-on sociopath (as opposed to the semi-sociopaths we all are).
PORN/SEX/LOVE
The brain activity in pornography addiction is identical to drug abuse.
An orgasm is the simultaneous activation of pleasure pathways, and deactivation of defense pathways. Seeing an attractive stranger fires no less than four separate pleasure-related neurotransmitters. The chemicals in semen relieve a woman's anxiety or depression, and lessen her pre-menstrual pain. A woman having regular sex will become addicted to these chemicals.
In the second stage of falling in love, elevated levels of the neurotransmitter serotonin may render us temporarily clinically insane. In the third stage, release of the hormone oxytocin makes us feel profoundly pacified in the presence of our poopsie. Romance triggers the same part of the brain as cocaine.
Drugs, drugs, get your drugs here!
And if you're still unsure about the enormity of our need for escape, and the fact that for the most part it's each other that we're trying to escape from, look up a nifty little psychological condition called objectophilia.
TOUCH
Even more crippling than the sexual repression we endure in this society, is the touch deprivation. A simple hug sparks a wave of endorphins. Touch is the most immediate, effective, and safe drug. Science is only beginning to understand how we need it as much as water or air. Yet in regular social interaction, romance is the only place we sanction abundant physical intimacy, making it an unforgiving battleground in which we constantly balance reward with anxiety. So our bodies subconsciously drive us toward alternative outlets. How many who can afford regular massages, don't indulge? How many enjoy regular manicures, pedicures, or haircuts? How many of us have never NOT had a pet? How many have entered (or stayed in) a romance we didn't really want? Love is the drug? Yes, but touch is the better one.
PAIN
Do people like pain? Apparently we do.
Masochism as a way of life.
People who repeat self-destructive behavioral patterns, over and over.
Floggers and cutters.
High-altitude mountain climbers. Rugby!
The psychology behind finding pleasure in pain is a complicated thing. Both sensations emanate from the same brain centers, so there is an element of subjectivity involved. One of my lovers loved being bitten hard. Does that qualify her as a masochist? Does the fact that it gave me pleasure to please her, make me a sadist?? Nonetheless, an affinity for pain is often about conscious or subconscious self-loathing. A way of dealing with guilt or shame over what others have done to us, or what we've done to them.
Yet sometimes too, pain is simply nothing more than one hellaciously effective escape mechanism. Putting your entire nervous system on overload? A never-fail ticket to leaving all your worries behind.
RECREATIONAL DRUGS
Uncomfortable with my lumping "hard" drugs in with a roller coaster or pie? Get over it. While i don't deny that breaking a reality TV addiction is easier than getting over crack, the stimulation of particular brain centers is a goal that can be achieved in an almost infinite number of ways, and no drug expert would claim that psychological considerations aren't a big part of any addiction. It might be helpful to simply consider hard drugs as just the first escape mechanism to be "outed" in our understanding of addictive behavior. Nor is it only a drug's effect that delivers us out of life - it's also how others treat us when we're under some influence. Whether happy buzz or acid trip, nobody chooses that time to have a "we need to talk" moment with us (and even if someone is reckless enough to do so, you'll hardly be held accountable for your response). For a creature trying to escape pain, that alone is worth the price of any ticket.
ALCOHOL
Alcohol stands apart from other recreational drugs, but not because it doesn't belong in their category - it does. If you've ever used the phrase "drugs and alcohol", implying that they're not the same, you have a deficient grasp of pharmacology and cultural relativity. That said, alcohol gets to stand alone, because no other drug allows you ALL THREE drug escapes, and often at the same time. Alcohol allows you to feel good, bad, or both, on the way to feeling nothing at all.
SMOKING
The first few cigarettes of the day affect the same part of the brain as heroin and cocaine, and can boost your mood, suppress anger, and enhance concentration. Hardly news. But an unspoken function of cigarettes as an escape mechanism has nothing to do with nicotine. Every time a smoker lights up, particularly in public, they're rewarded with a few minutes of untouchability. No matter how shitty things are, they'll be left alone for that little window of time. For all the whining smokers make over their status as social lepers, a part of that is insincere. Many are as addicted to those five minutes away from the world, as they are the nicotine.
MUSIC
Depressed people suffer from low serotonin. Music stimulates serotonin production. It also stimulates endorphins, and has a salutary effect on the healing process. For someone who's spent a lifetime avoiding the weaknesses and pitfalls of drug use, this one irks me a bit. I'm just a sad junkie after all.
BOOKS, MOVING PICTURES, VIDEO GAMES
Do you know why we love movies and books? Why they arouse such passion and devotion? Because our brains don't know the difference between fantasy and reality. Studies have shown that doing an activity, or just thinking about doing it, triggers the same brain response. Have an athlete win a race, or just think about doing so, and her mind won't know the difference. Hence, we have the ability to bond with fictional characters just as deeply as any real person, but with one very important difference. Fictional characters will never, ever, ever, EVER turn on us. The comfort they provide today, they'll be ready to provide thirty days or thirty years from now - no questions asked. Are you beginning to understand why the average person spends NINE ENTIRE YEARS sitting in front of a television? It's the greatest drug ever, and nothing comes close. Understood this way, what percentage of the people imprinted in your memory as your dearest friends, are people you never met, or never even existed? Video games are a fascinating development of the genre. And it's here where the premise of this article takes on its most frightening weight. Video games go one step beyond fiction or fantasy - in video games, you're no longer YOU, and actions (even the most hideous) have NO consequences (except in our minds, which can never forget). Under those conditions, video game players spend hours, even days, in uninterrupted play. What level of misery must a life be in, to spend days pretending to be someone else? And i won't even get into the hyper-violent nature of video games. Unraveling that psychology is a multi-layered, even contradictory mess. But can we all agree that people who are strongly drawn to graphically violent fantasy are dealing with some powerful demons?
SPORTS
Just as alcohol stands apart, so too does spectator sports fill a gap that goes well beyond the escape of "normal" television. Humans are social creatures, and any who don't get enough social intimacy will become off-balance. Unfortunately, male indoctrination has traditionally produced enormous intimacy issues. The average male simply doesn't have the emotional tools needed to react with others in a healthy manner. This is profoundly obvious in the dysfunction of romance, but not so clear in male/male relationships, and a huge part of the reason is...sports. The bonding that males experience therein, is a substitute for actual emotional intimacy. Sports becomes an enormous source of passion, such that it's very often the only thing males are truly comfortable talking about (whether among strangers or those one has known for decades). And talk they do! For hours - team prospects, statistics, fantasies, favorite players, favorite games, even sports-related social issues. Competitive urges can be safely sublimated. And sports is the ultimate piggy-back drug. Is there any setting more natural for the serial downing of beer, beer, beer? For many males, high fives and chest bumps are the only real male physical intimacy they'll ever know. While watching a game, the adrenaline rushes and heartbreaks are a veritable ocean of brain chemical emotion. Now if only some genius could find a way to inject sex into sports. Wait, i've got it! Naked women jumping around on the sidelines! What? Too obvious?
CONCLUSION
Can you picture a close-at-hand future when all psychological profiles (or...shudder...dating profiles) will prominently feature "escape mechanisms" on the list of characteristics? Is it easy now to think of any person you know (including yourself), and break down their life in terms of escapes?
This list is far from comprehensive, of course. Our electronic modern media cocoons are the very definition of social isolation, false camaraderie, and escape. There are workaholics, cult members, comedy junkies, greed junkies, charity junkies, serial killers, trekkies, and a billion other escapees out there.
At this point, the reader might be inclined to say, "Wait...all these activities damn near encompass EVERYTHING humans do! It seems like you're pathologizing life, wrob. What about the simple desire for pleasure? Isn't a certain sensate hedonism just part of what it means to be human?" To that i answer, yes. But it's all about context, and need. We're biologically constructed to be pleasure-seekers, but we're not psychologically constructed to need pleasure (or pain, or excitement, or numbness) as a never-ending escape. A certain amount of escape is natural, too...we are creatures of imagination. But when escape becomes the only thing that makes life bearable, something has gone terribly off-balance.
Put another way, try to imagine how you would feel if you were cut off from your own favorite escape mechanism, suddenly and forever. Might you not become sad and withdrawn? Agitated and anxious? Edgy and short-tempered? Might not your behavior be indistinguishable from any "junkie" in withdrawal?
What then, is the answer? A continued search into what it means to be human. Our species' self-awareness is still in the infancy stage. As science continues to learn about our essential needs, physically and psychologically, we'll continue to understand just how dehumanizing is this world we've created for ourselves.
And in a more immediate sense, awareness of our profound investment in escape mechanisms can help us cope when they take over our lives. Addiction has very little to do with willpower, or the lack thereof. If you find a certain behavior (or substance) has you in a seemingly unbreakable grip, remember the word "replace". You'll never quit any addiction without replacing what it brings to your life. Holes will always demand to be filled. But fill them you can, with behaviors over which you can exert more control. Those words may seem idiotically simplistic to someone with a painkiller addiction...but Alcoholics Anonymous aren't nearly as dumb as they seem. Fill someone's brain with the power of community, get them hopped up on daily doses of religion...it may be borrowing from peter to pay paul, but you'll more closely resemble a functioning human being. And be less likely to set yourself on fire, or wake up naked in the mayor's gazebo. Or some such.
And i adore the phrase "painkiller addiction", by the way. It's got to be the most unintentionally-revealing addition to the english language in the last century. It describes exactly who and what we are, as a people.
Painkiller addict?
You've never met someone who wasn't.

P.S. In the seconds after publishing this online, i felt one of the sweetest drug rushes of my life. We found another one...

"Animal Rights, Human Rights"

(Entanglements of Oppression and Liberation)
-by David Nibert
2002
Do you know what it feels like to hold the most important book you've ever read?
I've now known that feeling. Twice.
This book joins "Sex at Dawn", by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha, on a very short list - the only absolutely essential books for anyone wishing to understand humanity.
Stylistically, the two are quite different. Ryan and Jetha's work is as entertaining as it is informative, while Nibert tends toward scholarly dispatch. But before you're even done with Chapter 1, you'll understand the import of what you're reading. More concisely than anything i know, these books pull the veil off humanity, pre- and post- agricultural revolution.
There is also one striking similarity - misleading titles. Expectations of a study of animals (or sex) are quickly superseded. "Sex at Dawn" (http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2012/02/sex-at-dawn.html) is about human nature, and "Animal Rights, Human Rights" is about how far we've strayed in the past ten to twenty millenia.
Nibert studies exploitation, on a towering scale. He postulates that the oppression of other animals and humans has had far more than a parallel development - that these two realities feed off and reinforce one another. He diverges from many other animal rights advocates by averring that oppression is NOT about individual attitudes. It's institutionalized, embedded in the most basic structures of our society, and has given rise to every major social ill (sexism, racism, classism, speciesism...). To move beyond this barbarism, a reformer's attitude cannot be enough. Revolution is required.
Cruelty and abuse don't come naturally. For the vast majority of our species' history, we lived in harmony with ourselves and others. Thus, the rationalization required to make oppression feel right requires strong socialization. You can see the foundations as early as Socrates, who argued that "...it is undeniably true that [nature] has made all animals for the sake of man", and Plato, who created a hierarchy in which humans were either "gold", "silver", or "iron". Our language is constructed to make exploitation feel natural - why do we call someone a "meat-eater" rather than a "corpse-eater"? Our most basic laws and religious texts would have you believe that humans aren't even animals (or that, not long ago, women and non-whites weren't even human). Nibert replaces "animals" with "other animals", a distinction others have also made (What, you thought the "other animals" section of this website was because i'm needlessly verbose?). He takes a sociological walk through time since the development of hunting, to show how we came to be this way. In the era of corporate capitalism, our old way of thinking has led to incomprehensible suffering, wholesale extinction of uncountable life forms, and unraveling ecological disaster for any creature fond of moderate temperatures and oxygen. He points the way out - starting with getting all advocates for life on the same page, and creating more democracies of proportionate representation.
He also points to a blindness in my own worldview. In my rush to condemn the genocide of native americans, i've always put them on a pedestal, in no small part for their relatively egalitarian and non-oppressive ways. Yet their attitude toward the animals they slaughtered (filled with ritual and spirituality and reverence) is a classic example of how humans legitimize activities they're not entirely comfortable with.
How can i communicate my urgent esteem for this book? In the days since reading it, an image has popped into my mind - my own corpse, post-suicide, following the example of tibetan monks. Cradled in my right and left hand are two books.
I'm a writer. In this epoch of glorified ego, it's a pretty strong testament that neither of those books were written by me.
Sadly, we also live in the ultimate culture of celebrity. My own demise would lack the resonance of, say, a potentate or pop star. So if you know any such, particularly if they've got that lookin'-for-a-very-high-bridge look in their eyes...
Get 'em these two books. Posthaste.

"I've Seen All Good People"

The most mind-bogglingly ambiguous lyric in rock history.
Nothing else comes close.
We're not talking indecipherable or obscure, a la "sitting on a cornflake" or "nobody heard, not even the chair". We're talking multi-layered ambiguity in a coherent, grammatically-proper lyric that means something very specific. Or something else, perhaps. Or something else altogether? Or this other thing, maybe. Or...
Recorded by Yes for 1971's THE YES ALBUM, the song is a two-part composition. It starts with "Your Move", by Jon Anderson, which was released as a single. The version played on the radio however, almost invariably includes the second part, "I've Seen All Good People", by Chris Squire. All of Chris' lyrics are included in Anderson's section...and indeed, part of what makes this all so tantalizing is that the entire lyric of "I've Seen All Good People" is one single line. There are no surrounding words to give any kind of context, any kind of hint, as to what the hell it's supposed to mean. Nor does scrutiny of "Your Move" provide any seeming answers - the only thing one finds there are chess and Lennon allusions, in the general context of "might isn't necessarily right (or wise)". Once the "All Good People" lyrics take over, all we get is the following line, repeated over and over and over, in a descending spiral:
I've seen all good people turn their heads each day so satisfied I'm on my way
With perhaps intentional perversity, the album provides no punctuation to narrow the possible interpretations.
Is the message one of resignation? Did the singer expect people to turn their heads, and wasn't disappointed? He may have hoped for some other outcome, but that didn't happen, so he's accepting the inevitable apathy of "good people", which is perhaps a euphemism for the establishment?
Is the message one of disgust? Is it the people, not the singer, who are satisfied? Does the singer see self-satisfaction in the faces of all those who turn their heads, and so embraces misanthropy?
Or does it mean that all good people are satisfied the singer is on HIS way?
If so, does that satisfaction arise from knowing the singer is leaving? Or is it from knowing that he's "on his way" to the top?
None of these interpretations are a stretch. Can there be any doubt that this almost diabolical wordplay was Squire's intention? If one were inclined to stretch for more interpretations, how many more might we find? How many more have YOU found, driving alone in your car on a dark and late night, the radio your only friend?
Don't surround yourself with yourself...

"Last Words"

-by George Carlin
(with Tony Hendra)
2009
You know those disclaimers reviewers write when they have some personal connection to their subject matter? I feel i ought write one. But my connection is simply the overwhelming sense of identification that i (and many millions more) have felt with George's material. Whatever nerve he touched, whatever vein he sourced, he's the only comedian who ever made me feel like i was listening to some funnier version of my own thoughts.
His career was towering, enduring, and unprecedented. His 60s work was impersonal and apolitical (even though he knew and adored Lenny Bruce, it took a long time for him to evolve in a similar direction). In the 70s, he realized he could be funnier if he mined the experiences of his own life, but it wasn't until the following decade that he let rip his more naked self. It was at this point that he leapt past the boundaries of stand-up to join a rarefied pantheon, along with Paine, Twain, Thoreau, King, and Mr. Bruce.
The book was culled from decades worth of association with Hendra (THIS IS SPINAL TAP), collecting material for what would be the crowning of George's career, a one-person (sorry, George) Broadway show about his life. He died a year or two shy of realizing that dream, but all the material is here. In that respect, it's much more personal than anything else he's written.
Reading the book, i'm struck with how alike George and i were, at the end. We took different paths to get here - he had a rougher youth, with larceny, military courts-martial, and decades of drug abuse. But at the end, when he sums up his understandings of life, it's an almost eerie mirror for me. He even invokes an alternate version of himself who is almost entirely me - the loner who works in anonymity, running around on no one's hamster wheel, writing his thoughts on his own time and sending them in accordingly.
Another difference between us is that he spent almost all his adult life married...which may be the reason why monogamy is the one glaring social ill he never railed against, even though he may have very much wanted to. Very few of us don't have to kiss somebody's ass, if only to keep domestic peace. If i presume too much, George, it's not without cause.
About drugs however, if i may make an observation hopefully worthy of him, we all use drugs in one form or another, and many of the distinctions between them are so much bullshit. At the most basic level, drugs alter our mind and take us out of our reality. In those terms, comedy is a much more literal drug than you've probably ever considered. In that respect, George Carlin was one of the greatest drugs that several generations of humanity ever ingested.

"Andromeda"

ANDROMEDA
2000-2005
"I SURVIVED ANDROMEDA".
Gotta be T-shirts out there somewhere.
Yes, campers, i watched it all. 110 episodes. Five seasons. More than classic TREK and classic GALACTICA - combined. Millions and millions and millions and millions of dollars, swirling down a commode set on permanent flush. This article ends with a marathon, but do NOT take that as a recommendation to watch it. This show had everything you could want. Everything, that is, except...
Writers?
Yeah, that would have been a good idea. Hire some writers. Theirs was an unremitting failure on both levels...the story supervisor was the ultimate absentee landlord, and the script writers cranked out turd after turd after turd. I gutted out the whole series because of dedication to the genre, plus the first two seasons' tease of faltering promise, but mostly because of the Roddenberry connection. Gene's name was in the title (though his contribution was only a few scribbles decades before), and Majel Barrett (every TREK incarnation ever) executive produced...so the possibility of TREK actor drop-ins coudn't be ignored. Alas, Majel either didn't recruit them, or they had the good sense to go spelunking that week. The only ones to appear are John de Lancie (a fine job in a couple flaccid outings) and Tony Todd.
ANDROMEDA is the queen of unresolved threads. Again and again, they toss out characters and story arcs that peter away into nothingness, very often illogically. Sometime in the third season, it all settles into unwatchable dreck, as the only idea the writing staff has after the banishment of story developer Robert Hewitt Wolfe (STAR TREK: DS9) is "Let's have Dylan get his Kirk on!" The ultimate failure of the show was in never making us care about the characters. They never showed us why these people became dedicated to one another. None of the friendships resonate, and too many motivations ring false.
The directors descended to the level of the writing. Again and again, the blocking reveals the hand of someone who has no understanding of how people actually behave in tense moments.
The show always starts with a new quote...which often disappears before you have time to actually read it! What, are they afraid we'll see through the so-so writing? The title credits finally settle for good in season 3 with a voiceover that begs to be mocked with a Crocodile Hunter "danger, danger, danger". The end-credits music is so grating you'll rush for the pre-emptive stop button every time. The blasters make a noise every time you activate them, which is perhaps the most unrealistic prop choice in the history of sci fi. And the performers?
KEVIN SORBO
-Dylan Hunt (110 episodes)
Executive producer Sorbo has the requisite presence for a series lead. It's a shame they couldn't find one for him. His costuming choice after the first few episodes feels a little "casual Friday". It's not as bad as the "Members Only" season of BUCK ROGERS, but it does make you go there. And is it possible i know more about Kevin's taste in women than i should? CASTING NOTICE: seeking females - tall, statuesque, caucasian, and ever-so-faintly horsey.
LISA RYDER
-Beka Valentine (109 episodes)
Passable.
LAURA BERTRAM
-Trance Gemini (109 episodes)
A delightful presence, almost masochistically defaced. Her original look, all blue with a fun tail, turned into a visual downer that mirrors her character's decline. Her final look reminds one of a second-rate Data from FIRST CONTACT.
GORDON MICHAEL WOOLVETT
-Seamus Harper (109 episodes)
Disastrous. Inconceivably, he usurps Michael Shanks (STARGATE: SG1) as the worst sci fi actor of all time. Imagine Neelix in the hands of a hack. Horribly overacted, yet somehow the writers kept thinking he was essential. You'll just want to walk through the screen, boot the director back to community theater, and tell Gordon, "Let's do another take, but this time give me less." Then you'll give the same direction for another take. And another. Sometime tomorrow, you'll have a usable performance. How much of the blame should be laid at his feet, is a good question. Certainly the writers thought they had him nailed, but they painfully didn't - nor were they able to produce lines that made us believe he's as intelligent as advertised. It takes 109 episodes to finally produce one scene that doesn't make you cringe.
LEXA DOIG
-Rommie (109 episodes)
Tantalizing. So much potential. The one character you almost really care about. You want her android story arc to be fascinating, but like everything else, it peters off into tortured limbo. The romance you keep waiting for between her and Dylan never happens. It should have been one of the key threads of the show. Part of this is understandable, as it takes about four final season episodes to realize that she's only being shot from the head up because...she's pregnant! Apparently, sabatoging his own series wasn't enough for father Shanks. By the time she fully returns, there's too little time to salvage anything. They scoot her off in the final scene, to leave Dylan alone on the bridge. You'll silently scream "WRONG, WRONG, WRONG".
KEITH HAMILTON COBB
-Tyr Anasazi (68 episodes)
Fine potential dribbled away. They had a chance to give us an insight into a different way of thinking, with this nietschean species. A race for whom self-interest is everything (overtly, not covertly like us). But instead of fleshing out that alternate paradigm, committing to it and making it consistent, perhaps imbuing Tyr with character growth...it all just piddles away.
STEVE BACIC
-Rhade (45 episodes)
A fine performance doomed by desultory writing.
BRENT STAIT
-Rev Bem (36 episodes)
A sweet performance of a well-conceived character. Allergies to the makeup ended his tenure early, but in the big picture, maybe his allergies were wiser than he.
BRANDY LEDFORD
-Doyle (20 episodes)
A last-season android fill-in who's not as awful as you fear.
NOT-WRETCHED-A-THON (season)
-The Sum of Its Parts (1)
Treading on well-trod ground, a pleasant enough meditation on matters of genuine science fiction - the crew receive an invitation from a supposedly-mythical collective of machines who live in the empty space between star systems. Their emissary assembles into sentience, and gets to know the crew. The collective's intentions are less munificent than advertised, however. The emissary circumvents its command to disassemble, and helps the crew escape. Guest star Matt Smith offers a lovely performance.
-Its Hour Come 'Round at Last (1)
This season 1 finale ups the ante, and the octane. Harper finds a lost file in the ship's A.I., which re-boots and perceives the new crew as intruders, while resuming an ancient mission into the heart of magog territory. The ship is boarded and the action is scorching, mostly because it imperils the cushiest conceit of all sci fi serials - the foreknowledge that no cast regular will die. But character after character gets creamed. On ANDROMEDA, this conceit is combined with the notion that a ship with a nominal crew of four thousand could be successfully run by six. Even though that first conceit will never feel more contrived than in the season 2 resumption, you may have to pick your jaw up after this one.
-Lava and Rockets (2)
The series' greatest burst of romantic/sexual chemistry, in an episode that features the three most resonant characters. Dylan is pursued by bounty hunters in an "appropriated" tourist barge with an outraged novice pilot (Kristin Lehman - JUDGING AMY). Under fire, the two of them come to appreciate each other. Tyr and Rommie search for them in the Maru. A little sexy, a little human, a little loosey goosey...
-The Lone and Level Sands (3)
Tight, compelling, and (most importantly) a sci fi serial idea that feels like something you've never seen...and you can't imagine why someone didn't think of it before. The Maru flees from pirates into deep space. They're rescued by a ship that Earth sent out centuries earlier, the Bellerophon. Equipped with the most powerful engine ever, of pre-slipstream design...meaning the faster-than-light travel comes with time distortion - to the crew, a journey of centuries has been measurable in years. The Maru unable to get home, they get caught up in a mutiny triggered by the knowledge that Earth is now a slave world. Rommie has a tantalizing romance with the ship's captain (TREK luminary Tony Todd - CANDYMAN, BEASTMASTER: THE EYE OF BRAXUS). A well-written story elevated by Todd's performance.
-The Unconquerable Man (3)
A passable little alternate reality exploration, as the original events of the story reverse, with Dylan dying and Rhade trying to resurrect the Commonwealth 300 years later.
-Day of Judgement, Day of Wrath (3)
An offering given the juice of sentimentality, in a marriage of STARGATE and ANDROMEDA (a second-rate series plus one that's sliding into third). Guest stars Michael Shanks and Christopher Judge play A.I. avatars in a death struggle. Not awful at all.
-The Heart of the Journey, part 1 (5)
Okay, actually kinda wretched. But it's worthwhile for feminist afficionados, as it's perhaps the only time in sci fi history that female regulars outnumber males on a starship crew. The writers play this up with an estrogen-enhanced slow-mo. There's also a blatant tribute to STAR WARS that would be sad if this series had worked, but in the context of a five-year failure, is kinda nice.

taryn, anari, angela

WOMEN 81-83
Taryn
We met through an apartment search. I had put an ad onto Craigslist, describing the kind of home i was looking for. I think she was the only person who responded. She was quite taken with the way i described myself...when we talked on the phone, she admitted she didn't really have a place for me, but wanted to meet anyway. So we did. She lived near Columbus Circle, in a somewhat fancy doorman building. We walked and talked for hours. She was funny, smart, progressive, and open. She'd been a dancer for much of her life, and was now a personal trainer. When it came time to say goodbye, it was obvious that our hearts weren't in it, so we went to her place. A few hours later, she invited me to spend the night, non-sexually (this was dandy with me, as i didn't rush into sexual relationships). Not only didn't she have a guest room, she didn't even have a proper bed, so we shared her pull-out couch. I asked whether she'd mind if i slept naked. She said no. As soon as i disrobed and laid down, she said all her resolve had just disappeared, and could we make love? I don't think i'd ever been with a woman who was so suddenly overtaken by her own carnal desires in such an objectively accepting way (she was even laughing at herself). It was adorable and made me want to care for her. So we made love. It was quite beautiful. We didn't share penetration, because she'd told me she had HPV (but hadn't had symptoms in a long time).
She had a glam side i didn't relate to...despite her body health awareness, she wouldn't give up high heels. And when she got made up to go out, she really threw herself into it. But too, she loved relaxing at home with me, with not a speck of makeup. So beautiful. She'd been a Rockette for a number of years, and i told her she had the kind of physique eighteen year-old girls wished they had. It was the stuff of my dreams too.
We settled into a fun relationship, getting together two or three times a week, often getting takeout and watching Bill Maher, or some such. We sought out vegan yummies. She respected how i lived with one foot off the grid. I learned that her biggest demon was abandonment issues stemming from her childhood and father. These issues had exploded any significant romance she'd ever had. I knew that might be a minefield no wisdom of mine could spare us from, but i didn't try to "fix" her, i just focused on learning and sharing. Her progressive side had one blind spot, in the form of a cinderella complex (surprise surprise). Though i knew it meant avoiding an issue that might easily end our time together, i was happy to offer her monogamy for the present.
Our sexuality was wonderful, even though a part of my brain had trouble wrapping around the HPV thing. I knew she could pass it on even when she was asymptomatic. For a month or so, we resisted any penetration. It was during this time that we shared one of the most beautiful sexual memories of my life. She lived on the third floor, and had huge windows running all along one of the walls. She didn't mind leaving the curtains open, which gave a show to anyone higher up in the building across the street. I didn't mind either...i'd always dreamed of loving a woman so uninhibited. One afternoon, with those curtains open, she lay on her stomach while i made love from behind...not penetrating, but sliding our tumescent, well-moistened genitals together, moving between her lips for time without end. So amazing.
Finally, i acquiesced to those loathsome things, condoms. She said she wanted to get tested to find out whether the virus were inactive. If so, she excitedly wanted to share condomless penetration. As much as i wanted that too, my understanding of HPV told me there was still a possibility of passing on the virus.
It was at this stage of our togetherness, that the explosion occurred. She was telling me about some of the horrible things she'd lived through, and that part of it had involved drug use. I told her i wasn't surprised...that her face had the suggestion of an alcoholic in it (my housemate had thought the same thing). The size of the button my comment touched in her was probably beyond words. She had lived most of her life in a world where looks were everything. I tried, over the next few weeks, to tell her how innocent my comment had been. But nothing i said was able to bridge the chasm that had formed. She thought i was horrible and insensitive. She resisted seeing me, and finally told me to go away.
In the aftermath, i wondered whether a part of her reaction didn't go back to her abandonment issues...that the closer we got, the more afraid she was of losing me. Perhaps she subconsciously needed to burn us, so that i would never have the chance to leave her.
I felt the sadness of losing her, for years to come. For more on taryn, see http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2010/05/karyn.html
Anari - see http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2011/11/njeri.html
Angela - see http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2012/05/janie.html

Free Radical

STAGE/SCREEN 73
-fall 2004
A short film whose audition notice advertised it as a mockumentary a la Christopher Guest, about a college “radical” with grand delusions. The Guest allusion made it irresistible, and it was only when i was in callbacks that i realized it was non-paying (i don’t know how i could have missed that in the audition notice). They wanted to cast me as the hippie third grade teacher of the radical, and since it only involved one afternoon of shooting, i said yes. It was a fun little shoot. I got on well with the actor playing the radical’s dad, and with the two child actors. We shot my scene in an elementary school, and i gave it a basic hippie-dreamy quality. Director Andrew McKinnon was very cool, but never sent me the copy of the film i’d been promised.

nocturnal emission

I had a wet dream last night, for the first time in years. Maybe a decade, maybe more.
In the dream, i'm walking along a city street. There's a bit of a run-down, post-apocalyptic vibe (but that's just how a city can feel sometimes). I'm walking under scaffolding near the intersection of several small streets, almost alley-like. I stop at a vendor at a news stand. He's watching a baseball game on television. Not far off, another vendor is watching another game. I suddenly realize that in another reality, i'm a major league pitcher currently pitching, and going into the ninth with a no-hitter. I say to the vendor, "But i don't want that, i don't much care for spectator sports anymore." The vendor says that if i do it, there will be three TVs playing different games at that intersection, something that's never happened before. He seems excited, so i play along. Standing on the mound, i get ready to throw. I realize i'm holding a glass jar. Two of my fingers are inside the jar, so i know i have a good grip for an effective pitch. The jar is also a ball, so the batter will be fine (and perhaps get a hit). The next thing i know, i'm in an apartment above the street. I'm with a white married couple. The wife has decided to take me as a second husband, because one man isn't for a woman, sexually. I agree to do this even though the commitment might take years, because i'm proud of her for asserting herself (i know he's not comfortable with the idea). I'm not in love with her spiritually or hormonally though, and he's a bit of a corporate jarhead. The two of them finish making love...or rather, he finishes. She calls me to her, as he backs off unhappily. It feels strange, but she's also very attractive physically. Both of them are well-muscled, almost body-builder types. She hasn't moved from her position when he came, with her knees at her shoulders. I bring our naked bodies together. Her hair is lightened by dye, in a wavy perm. She also wears makeup...but i'm attracted nonetheless. Part of that is just pride in her for asserting herself. I penetrate her. It feels wonderful, so much so that i want to cum quickly. I try to resist, because the reason i'm here is to be long-lasting for her...but she tolerates my cumming, and it feels wonderful.
As i start to ejaculate, i wake up and realize what is happening. In such moments, it's sometimes possible to stop oneself, but i decide not to, as this hasn't happened in so very long. Even in the taoist years when i wasn't ejaculating, i would still have regular retrograde ejaculations.
It's strange that this would happen today, as i ejaculated just two or three days ago. It usually takes a week or two of no sexual release, to bring on a nocturnal emission.
This is also all very strange, because last night i had surgery on my penis.
Self-surgery of course, said the uninsured american (if you'll pardon the redundancy). But strictly outpatient stuff. I had a pinhead growth of extra skin on the lower shaft, and a blocked sebaceous gland near the head. The pinhead is new, the gland decades old. I used a sterilized nail clipper. Neither bled. The pinhead was tiny, the blocked gland a little bigger, so i just took off the top. It had maybe gotten a little bigger than it used to be (which was so small that no woman had ever noticed).
The gland, that is, not the penis.

aphorism

"You get out of a relationship what you put into it"

Ah, words of wisdom. Aphorism. Succinct sayings we turn to in moments of bemusement or bemoanment. They reveal life's mysteries, truths, and follies.
Or maybe they're just pretentious prattle we cling to, to make life bearable. A feeble attempt to make sense out of senselessness.
Perhaps they're even both.
Whoops. I came dangerously close to coining an aphorism there myself. Since that's not my intent, let's move to the business at hand. Aphorism #1, come on down! Let's hold you up to the light, take a little nibble, cup your balls, and find out what you're made of.
"You get out of a relationship what you put into it."
Very pretty words. Very, very pretty...
And pretty stupid.
Perhaps those words might have merit in a healthy world, where people knew how to share and love. Where people didn't live in a crippled haze of fear and insecurity, never knowing whether their most basic needs (food, love, shelter, sex) will be met, never knowing if they suddenly won't be good enough, smart enough, strong enough, young enough, desirable enough, or fortunate enough.
But in this world, you can pretty much count on hardly ever getting out of a relationship what you put into it. The selfishness around us (and in us) runs too deep. We spend our lives chasing our needs, walking on thin ice above chasms of despair. Equality is the exception, not the rule. We embed inequality into the very structures of our social institutions...bosses and subordinates, pecking orders...elaborate justifications for the ultimate payoff, "I get to tell YOU what to do." Just a generation or two ago, our primary social institution (marriage) was the ultimate realization of that ethos.
We live in need of what others can give us, trying to maximize what we can get, so to keep away the demons of want. With everybody trying to maximize, nobody's trying to give. We learn the value of having people around who need us more than we need them. They always come through, pretty much whatever we do. But we also find ourselves chasing those who embody our own dreams of love, security, or vanity. These others, however, know where they stand.
Deep down, everyone knows where they stand.
What we learn as children on the playground is not how to act, but how to appear. Kindly and compromising.
But somewhere deep inside, every littlest child absorbs the truth of this world.
The law of the predator.
This aphorism has a close cousin, "You get out of life what you put into it". That's even more patently stupid than the first! Perhaps you're one of the lucky few, living a life sheltered from this world's more overt inhumanities and horrors. But brutality's reign on this planet is a long, long way from over. Starvation, war, rape, torture, homicide, genocide, patricide, infanticide, suicide, celibacy, monogamy, exploitation, racism, speciesism, sexism, classism. Are "good people" rewarded fairly in this world? That's a notion so preposterous i won't even insult your intelligence by listing the litany of ways they're not.
Perhaps a more realistic version of the aphorism is "You can't expect to get more out of a relationship than what you put in"?
No, that's actually EXACTLY what you can expect.
Or less. Far less. That's a fair expectation, too.
Perhaps the only realistic version is "You shouldn't expect to get more out of a relationship than you put in". But that's so watered-down, it amounts to little more than passive-aggressive finger wagging.
Next?

"Failed States"

-by Noam Chomsky
2006
Chomsky's works centers on one of the great ironies of this land of the free and home of the brave. One of the metrics we employ in global relations is the term "failed state". The definition is complicated and imprecise, but can be said to describe any country that ignores both the dictates of the international community and a majority of its own population. By this metric, the U.S. deals with "rogue" nations, through sanctions and worse. The irony? By that definition, America is arguably the most failed nation in the world. Our history of ignoring the mandates of the UN and world courts is apalling. By a large majority, americans reject the notion of preemptive war, want reduced military spending and increased social services (in particular, the kind of health care that virtually every other industrialized nation enjoys), and strongly dislike policies that prolong our dependence on fossil fuels. In these and other ways, our government is more estranged from the will of the people than at any time in our history. Chomsky offers seven actions that will go a long way toward restoring us as a beacon of democracy and equality. They are worth repeating in their entirety. 1) Accept the jurisdiction of the World Court and International Criminal Court. 2) Ratify the Kyoto Protocol. 3) Let the UN take the lead in international crises. 4) Fight terrorism with economic and diplomatic measures, not machines of death. 5) Return to a traditional interpretation of the UN charter. 6) Give up our much-abused Security Council veto. 7) Cut back on military spending, and use that money for life-building purposes. Chomsky's work is well-researched (almost painstakingly so). "Failed States" is the product of an eminently keen mind, and profound patriot.