Wednesday evening, RAI International News showed images of wildfires in Sicily, where the situation looked bad to me. I don’t understand Italian, but when hillside villages are going up in vivid flames, I can follow the story. So when the report went to the national map and a generous handful of flashing symbols lent the impression that half of Italy and Sicily were en flambe, I was horrified. Still, I am wary of getting emotionally involved in situations where my hovercraft may be full of eels, so I hoped everything would be okay and forgot about it.

This is another story. From the New York Times, in English:

Greece declared a national state of emergency on Saturday as scores of forest fires that have killed at least 46 people continued to burn out of control, leaving some villages trapped within walls of flames, cut off from firefighters and, in some cases, from firefighting aircraft grounded because of high winds.

Desperate people called television and radio stations pleading for help that they feared would not arrive in time.

“I can hear the flames outside my door,” one caller from the village of Andritsena told a Greek television station, according to Reuters news service. “There is no water anywhere. There is no help. We are alone.”

Hear the flames? Oh. My. God.

Firefighters expect the death toll to rise, because they have not yet been able to search some areas that had been overrun by flames. Hardest hit by the fires were a dozen hamlets tucked into the rural highlands around the town of Zaharo in the western peninsula, where at least 12 people, including some who may have been trying to flee by car, were killed. Charred bodies were found in cars, houses and fields in areas around Zaharo, firefighters said.

At least some of the people there were believed to have been killed or trapped after a collision between a fire truck and a convoy of cars apparently trying to flee the flames. Scores of other residents, including elderly and disabled people, remained trapped in their homes, phoning in to local television and radio stations, crying for help.

“Help! Help! Help!” wailed one resident as he spoke with Mega television from the town of Artemida. “Get some one here fast. We’re losing everything.” Minutes later, another caller pleaded for authorities to help save her two children, one of whom she feared was in shock after having seen their home go up in flames.

South of Zaharo, rescue teams confirmed at least six deaths in the seaside town of Areopolis, in the Mani region, a popular tourist destination known for its rugged cliffs and ravines. Among the victims in the area were a pair of French hikers who were trapped in a flaming ravine. Their charred bodies were found locked in an embrace, the authorities said.

I’m fucking speechless. Not this guy.

Late Saturday, Mr. Karamanlis appeared on national television and declared that he was mobilizing all of the country’s resources to tackle the blazes to “prevail in a battle that must be won.” Mr. Karamanlis also suggested that the recent fires might have been purposely set. “So many fires sparked simultaneously in so many regions is no coincidence,” he said, wearing a black tie and suit in a show of mourning. “We will get to the bottom of this and punish those responsible.”

But political opponents accused the prime minister of shunning responsibility for what the authorities have called a “national tragedy.”

“Rather than deflect attention and lay blame on some anonymous arsonist, the prime minister should take blame for the government’s failure to effectively handle this crisis,” said Nikos Bistis, a opposition socialist lawmaker, on local television.

I don’t give a good goddamn about the politics, but I care a whole lot about the suffering that is and will be for a long time to come, and there’s almost nothing I can do about it. Well, I guess there’s this.

Biography Channel
A&E Televison Networks

To Whom It Concerns:

Whenever I mention my current favorite show in cnversation it is immediately canceled. It took awhile to catch on. It started with Soap, which everyone says was canceled when Jerry Falwell flipped his wig over Billy Crystal’s gay character but I know it was me. I mentioned it in sixth period Chemistry and whoosh! No more Soap. Even so, it wasn’t until my friends and I refused to go out on Saturday nights until after – shhhh! – Xena that I knew I could have favorite shows but their names could never cross my lips.

So it’s totally my fault that your fellow A&E stooges canceled Nero Wolfe. At the time, I wrote A&E a letter filled with naughty, unprintable words, though I didn’t hesitate to print them. It’s effortless with that SEND button, isn’t it? I apologize to your programming executives since I plainly forced their hands by inviting friends over and throwing weekly Nero Wolfe parties. I even got The Nero Wolfe Cokbook for Christmas one year. Obviously, the cancelation was my own fault.

You will be pleased to know I subsequently learned to tell people my favorite show was one I wanted canceled immediately. Most of the time, this strategy was successful. A number of unpleasant sexist and even racist offerings went the way of the electronic dodo, so I’ve thought of it as Using My Powers for Good. The name of my real favorite shows were my secret for the better part of a decade. Then I slipped.

Yes, it’s true. In March, my father became ill and I met his Canadian in-laws. They look just like us, you know. Anyway, with these cultured, intelligent people, I discussed British comedies we all loved. We had as marvelous a time quoting Monty Python as you can have while your beloved relative is dying. My guard was down, and I mentioned my favorite show was Midsomer Murders. The televsion was in Dad’s sick room, so I didn’t see any TV during his month-long decline. Naturally, when I came home, you’d canceled Midsomer Murders along with Poirot and Sherlock Holmes, leaving me with no British detectives all day Sunday. Fortunately, you replaced it with things called The Unexplained, Psychic Investigators, and Haunted History. Please know I am almost prepared to tell everyone I’ve ever known these are my favorite shows.

It’s tough, though. I hate you a lot for taking away shows that didn’t consdescend to me. But – for the moment – I still hate Cops more.

Yet another Republican sex scandal? How can there be anyone left babbling that family values shit?

On a positive note: when senators get caught in diapers the rest of us look rather mature.

in alamogordo, new mexico, on july 16, 1945

Sometimes, we must become quiet and patient with ourselves to learn when we have stopped hearing anyone else.

It is of course everyone’s hope that diplomacy alone can achieve this goal. Iran’s activities inside Iraq were the central issue raised by the U.S. ambassador to Iraq in his historic meeting with Iranian representatives in Baghdad this May. However, as Gen. Bergner said on Monday, “There does not seem to be any follow-through on the commitments that Iran has made to work with Iraq in addressing the destabilizing security issues here.” The fact is, any diplomacy with Iran is more likely to be effective if it is backed by a credible threat of force – credible in the dual sense that we mean it, and the Iranians believe it.

I am not become Death, the destroyer of worlds.

Additional, courtesy of Wintle: I am not a bomb.

Once again, someone’s got to fuck with the kids.

Threats Force SC Library to Cancel Summer Program

Was it a program called – I dunno – Crank Calling for Selfish Bastards?

A South Carolina library system has closed down its summer programs for young adults after receiving threats and allegations that it was trying to promote “witchcraft” and “drug use.”

The Pickens County Library System’s half-hour summer programs for middle and high school students were supposed to take a light-hearted look at the topics “Secrets and Spies: How to Keep a Secret by Writing in Code or Making Invisible Ink” and “What’s Your Sign?” Another program was to examine astrology, palmistry, and numerology; and others were to feature tarot cards, tie-dying t-shirts, how to make a Zen garden, and yoga.

Now the programs are cancelled in the wake of phone and e-mail threats from the community, believed to emanate from a single local Baptist church. The astrology program was labeled as “witchcraft” by callers, while the Zen garden and yoga programs were objected to as “promoting other religions.” The t-shirts workshop? “Promotes the hippie culture and drug use,” callers said.

“If you have an anonymous call of a bomb, what do you do?” asks Library Director Marguerite Keenan, explaining her decision to cancel the YA programs. “You clear the building, you close the building for the protection of the children. And that’s hugely sad.”

I don’t feel sad. I’m pissed.

Keenan says that the stream of threatening 20 or 30 anonymous phone calls, plus e-mails, began two weeks ago. Callers spoke of “picketing” the county’s four libraries and made statements such as “We’re going to get you” and “How dare you?”

She says that a local reporter traced some of the signed e-mails to congregants of a Baptist church, whose pastor was interviewed about the threats.

Keenan adds that she made her decision because she also runs children’s programs and “I’m not going to have preschoolers walk between a gauntlet of pickets.

“It’s just sad that they didn’t feel comfortable enough to talk,” Keenan says of the church protest. “We do have a broad community here. And we are a public agency that needs to support all.”

I have only one question: who’s under arrest?

Part One

Part Two
The Blogosphere’s gone twitchy with this whole who-said/who-didn’t-say thing. It’s spattering everywhere, and it’s going to be a long time before people forgive one another for what they’re saying, if they do. I would have been happy if that woman in Tennessee had simply amended her post and said, “Oops. Sorry. Didn’t realize these words could be viewed that way.” That’s it, done. It’s too late now, and former allies aren’t going to trust one another anymore.

Now might be a good time for everyone to go out for flan and calm down. Go ahead! Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you get back. Go on, take your keys and go have some yummy custardy goodness. Mmmm. I’ll wait.

…tap tap tap…

…feelings…nothing more than feelings….trying to forget my…

Hey! Feeling better? That’s great. I’d like to try something and I hope you’re up for an experiment. Without some shitty team-building retreat that eats your weekend and destroys your personal boundaries, let’s try to trust one another. I’ll go first.

In 1995, an associate professor at the unnamed university where I work asked me to read his book, which I did. It was an arid treatment of Soviet history in Eastern Europe and I struggled to push a bookmark through it until one night I sat up in bed, howling. Morgan thought I was having a seizure because we had a loft bed and it was just fractions of seconds before this moment came to its comedic conclusion: I smacked my head on the ceiling. This did not stop me from reading a passage out loud about The Great Soviet Encyclopedia‘s framing of history. Morgan agreed the words written in anger were accidentally hilarious. The following year of my life was devoted to a giant collaborative art piece called Redshow / Mytholodeon Black Wheel. It almost killed me, but it was good work, totally worth every bit of me – and all of Morgan – I subsequently lost. In writing PIC, I think of bits and pieces of Redshow I’d like to reference but that’d get us nowhere – until now. The people who collaborated on this tiny section have given me permission to print this and Siobhan made a beautiful page. I’m going to trust you now. This tiny section is about history and boredom, and our refusal to bear witness to the things for which we are responsible.

Trials of the Century.

In the stage version, I played FP, and I will never forget the abject despair I felt on my hands and knees, shouting people…people…people…PEOPLE! because that character’s assessment of the situation was beneath notice. If you’re a straight, white male, you should try this sometime: pick any opinion you hold, picture yourself on your hands and knees, and imagine yourself surrounded by people who refuse to hear what you say. That’ll wreck your whole day. Some people are forced into coping mechanisms like Stockholm Syndrome or like battered women come to see themselves as being to blame. Some people remain more emotionally intact, and they fight back. Apprehending this is the beginning of empathy. First, imagine yourself in a situation. Then, imagine people who are not you in that situation. The outcomes won’t be the same. After the pictures of Abu Gharaib were discovered, the most pronounced differences I heard in converation were between people who could imagine captivity and imprisonment and people bone-solid-certain that brutal indignity could not be visited upon them. In all likelihood, the people in those photos probably felt pretty secure right up until they found themselves there. And this opens up a whole new view to what people are, inside.

It couldn’t be simpler, and it couldn’t be more complex. Ah, fuck. It’s human.

It’s worth noting that Mr. Krancberg was an elegant gentleman who had suffered greatly under Soviet occupation. He read an early version of the Redshow script. “It would take,” he said, shaking with rage, “a real writer to do what you’ve undertaken.” He never spoke to me again. I didn’t take it personally and I didn’t blame him. By way of contrast, I recenlty wrote three pieces that felt and continue to feel like solid, beautiful writing for someone who sniffed disdainfully and turned up his nose, as if I’d painted a tryptich and we should argue about brushstrokes. To come to a point – finally – though as an artist I am not my work and my work is not me, when you as a reader reject my work on a personal basis you reject me. That’s just the way it is. This is the paradox of the Blogosphere. Readers, writers and commenters don’t just reject one another’s theses, they grab knives and reach for jugulars, after which a simple edit job doesn’t cut it. What’s happening out there is really personal. And there’s one more thing, also from Redshow: “Feelings are facts, man.”

It doesn’t take a genius to see where we’re headed, or that even the magic words “I’m sorry” uttered by hundreds of people at once will leave hundreds of people watching each for signs of remorse and recidivism. So, I’ve trusted you with a bit of my work. You can trust me, too, you know. I won’t always be right, but we can always get flan.

Part One
A certain amount of odd communication is fairly standard.

Sharkey: Our friend Ray’s cover band is playing at the bar tonight and you should leave your house. He is the only straight man who ever wrote a song about me.
Tata: Hilarious. What time?
Sharkey: I’ll find out.
Tata: Huh. I’ll probably go. What’s the name of the band?
Sharkey: RayC/DC.
Tata: This has potential, and by potential I mean I’d be disappointed if we didn’t spit beer a few times.

And:

Daria: Tyler and I are starting NutriSystem and there’s just one thing. I’ve looked all through the information and I don’t see –
Tata: A wine list?

Pretty much anywhere, you can see low-level clashes of language use and expectation. This morning, I got an email ad from my favorite online lingerie store – free shipping! – but the subject line made me flinch – Last chance to order for Father’s Day. Some women are wives; presumably this ad was meant for them and not for incest enthusiasts. But I digress.

There’s an old couples counseling game that involves Spouse 1 making a point and Spouse 2 repeating that point back without acting on homicidal urges. Secretaries do something similar when they take phone numbers and repeat them back to confirm that, yes, what was said was heard because often, let’s face it, what was said wasn’t heard at all. You can observe this phenomenon in your own environment.

You: If you finish your homework, you can join the Foreign Legion before dinner.
Your Kid: MOM! Dad said we’re going out for flan!
Your Wife: You’re right, I should take bossanova lessons…

My life moves at a more leisurely pace than most people’s so I can ignore other people for a good long time before anyone notices.

Person: Didn’t you say you’d meet me at such-and-such place?
Tata: I didn’t. You said I would. I thought your imaginary friend would wear a cute imaginary ensemble and arrive ten minutes late. The real Me would’ve been a third wheel.

Listening is one thing but hearing and understanding are quite another when we can’t agree on what words mean. A month ago, I had a bizarre conversation I didn’t understand until last Tuesday. Yes, I’m a slow learner. Shut up. To sum up: I asked what my friend was doing over and over for several weeks. My friend repeated three magical words, “You’re not listening.” Of course, I was listening. I was listening to every word and understanding less and less as time passed. On Tuesday, I realized the magic words “You’re not listening” actually meant “You’re not obeying me.” Well, I could draw you a diagram of how this communication went awry, but I’d have to start before the beginning, at the unspoken expectation that people know what we want and are simply denying it to us, and it would still end with my blurting, “What the fuck is going on here?” because obedience is not on the list of things friends should expect.

Balancing this brain-rattling confusion is an almost equal confidence in my evidently singular ability to look shit up. It’s not that hard, really. If I don’t know what something means, I open a dictionary. It’s my favorite book and has better character development than the Bible. But even this skill won’t help you understand what’s being said in a time when writers of whatever skill level grind an axe. Perversion of simple word meanings has become a hallmark of our sad age; a shining example: Steve Gilliard was not a bigot, no matter who says so, how often or how loudly. (I won’t link to the accusing douchebag – I trust the meaning of that word is clear. You can Google, if you must.) Let’s open our dictionary, shall we?

Main Entry: big·ot
Pronunciation: ‘bi-g&t
Function: noun
Etymology: French, hypocrite, bigot
: a person obstinately or intolerantly devoted to his or her own opinions and prejudices; especially : one who regards or treats the members of a group (as a racial or ethnic group) with hatred and intolerance

The devoted to his…opinions aspect of the definition, if it described Steve, is not enough to paint him with this brush. No. It doesn’t work that way. Use of the word includes hatred and intolerance and the racial or ethnic group connotation is not optional. It is intrinsic to the meaning of the word bigot. We can’t from here jete blithely to He couldn’t tolerate my opinion, therefore he was a bigot. I’m sorry, son. Language may be a virus, but few of us are Typhoid Mary. Neither is Jesus’ General a misogynist, and throwing that idea around in a snit is a shitty thing to do and a sign that someone hasn’t opened a dictionary recently.

Could I be a better listener? Certainly. Could I speak more clearly? Not without sodium pentathol, no. I speak and write to be understood – not in code or riddles. It is exhausting to try and quitting is unthinkable. You see my failures to communicate every day.

Part Two

As Driftglass says:

1. The scripture-barking, Christ-defiling demagogies who run the show carefully and deliberately angry up the dung people.
2. They glean votes and dollars and ratings and its all a lot of fun until Tim McVeigh blows up a federal building because he took them at their word.
3. Then the scripture-barking, Christ-defiling American Taliban who run the show swear they had no idea it would ever go this far.
4. Then they do it all over again.

A great many people in the center and on the left believe that if you ask a person to stop doing something unpleasant, that person will simply stop. The lesson of the last 13 years is that no, that belief is simply wrong when mania is in play and money and power are at stake. The Right Wing Noise Machine practices a scorched earth policy its opponents either pretend not to notice or pretend won’t scorch them. Well, events of the last week have demonstrated that no one is safe and for the noise machine, no tactic is beyond the bounds of decency.

It is long past time to recognize that bullies and blowhards have no power we don’t grant them.

It is time to go further and treat the Christofascists to a little doing unto them as they do unto others. It’s simple. There’s nothing to it. …And you’ve done something marvelous for free speech, for women’s health and reproductive rights, for Jews, Muslims and gays, not to mention a presidential campaign that’s barely started.

Whatever you do, don’t just sit there and feel powerless, because if you do, then you fucking are.