Author Archives: Tata

Everybody’s Time Has Come

Posted by Tata on

Let us take stock of this moment. Our current normal:

  • Economists are now conditioning us to accept double-digit unemployment for at least a decade.
  • Foreclosures continue.
  • Our police forces regularly apply potentially lethal electric shocks to our neighbors for sometimes no reason at all.
  • The people who wrecked the economy got richer and Congress just adjourned – again – without extending unemployment benefits or covering COBRA.
  • Our military prosecutes two pointless, already lost wars that are draining our treasury and killing uncounted numbers of men, women and children, and apparently will forever.
  • Our children’s future is being subverted by people who seek to destroy public education.
  • Even reality itself is subject to revision, sometimes several times.

    • I could fill this post with links to appalling breaches in the public trust and demonstrate the world is actually a lot worse off than we even know, but that would be beside the point. Yes, I have one. Don’t act so surprised, sheesh!

    The most outlandish ideas enter our public discourse first as a joke, then as a crazy suggestion, then our talking heads repeat magic words and then Constitutional scholars talk about torture in casual tones and we ourselves become monsters. Gingrich likes to claim credit for changing the language of our public discourse but his tactics wouldn’t have been possible if advertising hadn’t taught us to take a cue when a turn of phrase meets our verbal, tribal needs. In other words, if we weren’t looking for words that told us we had found fellow travelers, a good portion of American pop culture falls apart. Don’t believe me?

    Why, I can make a hat or a brooch or a pterodactyl…

    Of course you’re laughing. Welcome to my tribe. So back to the discourse: you’re watching TV and some maniac with a strange glint in his eye says something so bizarre you hope someone’s going to adjust that guy’s meds. Let’s fabricate an impossibly stupid example: “Nurses promote weakness by healing sick people. If we weren’t burdened with a parasitic nursing industry, Americans would heal themselves and trim the deficit.”

    Work with me, here. That is some hot, steaming horseshit. You can almost hear George Will let that one loose.

    Anyway, some plainly crazy person says this. Then another crazy person says it in print. Then a bunch of less-than-sane commentators on TV, radio and in magazines say hauntingly similar phrases like those fake Florence Nightingales and healthcare hoochie mamas and next thing you know, 30% of the population cringes at the sight of crepe soled shoes and pickets vaccination clinics. All of this goes on way too long – nursing schools get the Molotov cocktail treatment in Kansas and hospitals close in rural districts – and one day, for no reason anyone will ever discern, the fire goes out and twenty years on, women’s history courses include a small, puzzling mention that spawns a few Ph.D. theses. The hospitals never reopen.

    This is what happens over and over because we allow it, because crazy people shout and we politely refute their points and they keep shouting, because taking a step back and murmuring, “Well, the smell of rubbing alcohol makes me nervous, too” is all the agreement a crazy person needs to control the conversation. Got it? Get this: crazy people have been working to cut Social Security and the rhetoric has reached the stage where a Democratic President agrees. There is no need to cut Social Security. Doing so will not fix the deficit. The point is to fuck the poor and middle class.

    If you flinch now, if you take a step back, it will happen. It is time to ditch wonky, splintered arguments and take passion straight to the crazy. Your opening line:

    Your ideology failed.

    Oh yes. You are GOING THERE.

    YOUR IDEOLOGY FAILED. COMPLETELY. CATASTROPHICALLY. It destroyed the industrial manufacturing base and the crashed the world economy. Trashing the Geneva Accords has wrecked our international reputation. Your racism and sexism are evident to even the most casual onlooker. There is nothing you can say that can twist these failures into grand successes. They are failures.

    You’re not done yet.

    You can say anything, but we know you’re lying. New Orleans drowned and we saw you let people die. We saw you. We know most of the prisoners at Guantanamo are innocent. We know that you are poisoning the only planet we have because you love money more than your children. We know you hate women, working people, the poor, children, and you see us as serfs and servants. We see you. And we are not going to back down anymore. We have earned the right to grow old with dignity and we will not give it up for your personal enrichment. YOUR IDEOLOGY FAILED AND THERE IS NO FURTHER NEED OF YOUR ADVICE. YOU ARE WRONG ABOUT EVERYTHING. STOP TALKING.

    Specifics?

  • If they say, “No one could have known,” you say, “Inevitable outcome.”
  • If they say, “Business must have a free hand,” you say, “Business can make plenty of dosh when it’s stringently regulated.”
  • If they say, “Illegal aliens,” you say, “that’s a racial slur. Would you care to rephrase that racial slur?” AND KEEP SAYING “RACIAL SLUR.”
  • If they say, “No timetable for withdrawal,” you say, “Why do you hate our men and women in uniform?”
  • If they say, “Homosexual agenda,” you say, “ARE YOU GOING TO THAT PARTY? WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?”
  • If they say, “Criminalize abortion,” you say, “LOCK ME UP RIGHT NOW, I MADE THE RIGHT DECISION, AND I WILL NEVER STOP DEFENDING EVERY WOMAN’S RIGHT TO MAKE HER OWN.”

    • Let no point go. Let no lie pass. Let no banker off the sharpened hook. Let no insult go unanswered and no fatuous ass go unmocked. Go. Don’t let ennui become your normal state. Go forth and be a ferocious, mouthy defender of your and your children’s future. Go.

    And here, take with you some way-dated, eighties musical inspiration: Rise up!

    BB Guns Or Stupid Archery

    Posted by Tata on

    Do not make eye contact with the demon.

    A couple of years ago, Trout gave me a homeless tomatillo plant. It was a tiny, pitiful thing. I planted it in the corner of the garden and nothing much happened for months. Suddenly one day the little thing started growing madly and my daily attempts to support branches couldn’t keep up. This went on until months after I thought for sure the monster would stop growing or I would lose my mind. I mean, holy crap! That is a picture of one plant, no doubt plotting evil. I couldn’t wait to pick the tomatillos and chop it down.

    Only reasonably daunted, I planted tomatillo seeds, which sprouted pitifully. The little things do not appear committed to this growing business, but I am not fooled. My friend Scout (no relation) reminded me that growing the monsters upside down might save me months of caging, staking, re-staking, tying, re-tying, staking, tying, re-staking, re-tying. Today, Pete and I transplanted and hung them up. And now we wait.

    Through Our Anecdotic Revue

    Posted by Tata on

    Sweet Kali, why why why?

    President Obama this week:

    Americans can help by continuing to visit the communities and beaches of the Gulf Coast. I was talking to the governors just a couple of days ago, and they wanted me to remind everybody that except for three beaches in Louisiana, all of the Gulf’s beaches are open. They are safe and they are clean.

    Christ on a cracker, everyone knows what happens when an authority figure says The beaches are safe! it’s time to make a break for the mountains: Greek tragedy-grade comeuppance is on its way. Canst thou catch Leviathan or a scriptwriter with a hook?

    Things That They Say Honor Bright

    Posted by Tata on

    This volcano is raining ash on my Guatemalan cousins. My cousin says ash is raining on houses and cars in Guatemala. The photographs of the eruption are elegant compositions depicting a frightening local reality. This one is my favorite. It reminds me of the reasons my great-grandparents left Sicily: Nothing there but rocks, they said. Of course, it wasn’t true. Sicily, like Guatemala, is by all accounts a lush, lovely place.

    Rumor has it the reporter who was killed was standing next to the lava like this guy.

    On the other hand, sometimes you could take a hint and a powder. My cousin, a tender hearted young mommy with bright, talented children, who speaks four languages and has traveled extensively, curtly remarked that reporters are supposed to be close to the story, but really. I was impressed with her pragmatism, seeing as how I have an irrational fear of lava that’s looking less and less irrational as Guatemalan children go missing. Perhaps my cousins would like to sojourn in torpid New Jersey.

    Look Amid the Garbage And the Flowers

    Posted by Tata on

    Last night, I saw about half an hour of this, though not the whole thing, because I saw a shiny object and chased it and I don’t drink bottled water.

    This morning, I looked at the ancient plastic cups from which I drink water-cooler-water coffee and water-cooler water and realized I drink so much bottled water out of plastic my innards are probably a Superfund site. Tonight, I washed out old ceramic mugs for coffee and a quart Ball Jar to minimize trips to the water fountain.

    No Rhymes For Me

    Posted by Tata on

    It's a particularly effective liquor store.

    Drusy’s eye is swollen today, poor darling. I’m hoping it’s just an allergy, but each time I look at her I worry. Meanwhile, Topaz has that same bemused expression on her face Larry, the little black cat no longer bent on stealing your soul, used to have. Lovely Topaz has adapted to medication for her oral infection through repeated application of delicious tuna, but the steroids have done little for her dark mood. Sweetpea now gazes at me with such adoration I hardly mind when I wake up pinned to my mattress by a 12 lb. cat, though I get the feeling she might be a liiiiittle bit obsessive. I like to think I’m paying gentle, constant attention, but where the cats are concerned, I might overpay.

    Back To the Day We Have

    Posted by Tata on

    Let's play dirty.

    The potatoes are growing like crazy. Pete says I dumped two full bags of soil into the potato towers in two weeks, but I’m not so sure. I think it might have been more. Today, we picked up another big bag of flower and vegetable soil and after he dumped it into the wheelbarrow Pete read the part of the bag that said it contained manure. “Wear gloves and wash your hands often,” he said. At the time, I was holding a bucket of goo I’d pulled out of the composter and wondering if those weren’t good instructions for me, you know, generally.

    One: Before

    I tried a couple of different ways to take these pictures so the height of the leaves above the level of the soil might be more visible, but you might just have to believe me. Some garden store soils feel dense as you shovel them out of the bag but that’s often moisture. The soil often compacts overnight or after a good rain, so while the plants are growing the soil also shrinks back. This has been driving me bats.

    One: After

    This is the same potato tower after the addition of a metric assload of soil mixed with compost plus some shredded leaves. Into the four potato towers I ended up adding about half the bag of soil, raising the height of the soil about five inches.

    Two: Before

    The last brand of garden soil we used turned out to be a lot more water than it at first appeared. I was having a lot of trouble reaching down into the bag on the ground, grabbing about a cup of soil, dropping it carefully into a tower and repeating the process forty or fifty times; I started to dread remounding the potatoes. Today, I asked Pete to dump the garden soil into the wheelbarrow rather than leave it in the bag. The wheelbarrow offers the distinct advantage of being just below hip height on me, and the mobility didn’t hurt either.

    Two: After

    The experiment with the potatoes has delivered a lesson daily. Yesterday’s was that potato-growing success might truly kick my ass. Today: we could use twice as much compost as we generate, perhaps more. The answer might be to get the tenant next door her own composter from which we draw more organic material. In the news: events too large, too terrible and too far away for me to act upon directly. Sometimes, the best I can do is shovel shit and banana peels.