|
| Saturday, March 13, 2004 |
 |
Lives of our days 
| | This is Mom's 91st birthday. I feel the usual obligation to call, even though she's not there. They say it takes a year or so for us to get used to anything big: a new town, a new relationship, a new job, a lost parent... Of course, some things we never get over. |
| | Mom had a full and happy life, and her death at 90 last summer was sad but not tragic. (Also her 90th party was a gas. Knowing it would be her last big one, she wanted to do it right, and she did.) |
| | It's a perfect day here in Santa Barbara. I have work to do, but I can hear Mom's voice telling me to do what I've been doing most of the day. |
Free dirt
| | Why is sex the only "dirty" subject? Always amazes me. How do the prudes think we all got here? |
| | Anyway, the censorship crackdown has begun in earnest. Some Howard wannabe got nailed with a huge fine by the FCC. Clear Channel puts up no resistance. "If the FCCis correct, we'll live with the consequences," one of its execs said. |
| | Never mind that Clear Channel, more than any other company in broadcasting, has steamrolled the soul out of the whole damned industry, with hardly a peep from the FCC. |
Baloney
| | The only thing on SCAN the kid likes is oldies. Makes sense: most of them are nice and simple songs. They aren't rhyming chants over thumping rhythms or foxy ladies with acrobatic voices singing loud love songs. He's seven, and hasn't yet developed bad taste or a rebel 'tude. |
| | So, when we get in the car, the kid says "Turn on the oldies." Usually we do. It helps that we're old too. We bought a lot of those songs when they were new and came oån small vinyl discs with large holes in the middle. |
| | Last night a song came on. You've got to pay your dues if you want to sing the blues and you know it don't come easy. |
| | "Who sang that?" the kid said. |
| | "Didn't he sing Octopus's Garden too?" |
| | "Yes. Did you recognize his voice?" |
| | "I'm impressed you picked up on that." |
| | What followed was a line of inquiry that probed my motivations for saying I was impressed. I used to think the kid was like a little attorney, cross examining a witness, when he asked questions like that. Now I think of him as a little shrink, looking deeper into what makes big people tick. |
| | Earlier in the day, we heard a Mamas and Papas song in the car. |
| | "How many of them are dead?" he asked. |
| | "Two. John Phillips and Cass Elliott." |
| | "John Phillips died of heart failure, I think. Cass Elliott choked on a sandwich." |
| | "What kind of sandwich?" he asked. |
| | Looked the story up today and found that she died of a heart attack at 33. A half-eaten sandwich was, at best, an accessory to the event. |
Making scents
| | In Stupid Fucking Liberal, Sean Bonner explains why he started Americaforsale.org. Among other things, he wonders why people would rather call each other fucktards than talk about stuff that matters. Or talk at all, since the precipitating insult in this case was hurled, as they almost always are, from behind an anonymity shield. Sez Sean, |
| | I'm sick of people from both sides not being able to make their point without insulting the other side. Why is that required? Obviously because your facts are strong enough to stand on their own. Now, the topic that is being covered on AFS is highly critical of the Bush administration, but there's no editorializing. It's all factual, with proof, and links to solid news sources. It's not opinion based, and it's not insulting. I would LOVE to read a site with the same respect, and the same dedication to basking up with their claims but with an opposing viewpoint - unfortunately one doesn't exist. Maybe because the facts aren't there to support it, which is why the sites I've found arguing the other side all resort to name calling. |
| | I would love to start a website with several bloggers from the left, and several from the right who were committed to discussing the issues at hand, rationally, with intelligent back and forth, and facts to back up their claims but I don't know if I can find people to do it. I would love to read a blog like that, but where is it? |
| | I guess the point of all this is that it's a pretty sad state of affairs that the default response to hearing something you don't agree with is to insult whoever said it, rather than talking to them to find out what makes them feel that way, and trying to explain what makes you feel the way you do. |
| | Many years ago I saw a mens room wall in North Carolina that so perfectly put insults in perspective that just the thought of it still returns me to a state approaching serenity. |
| | It was a conversation, something of a debate, between two intelligent gentlemen making good use of time served in the same stall. The whole thing was written in tiny lettering, and stretched far down the wall. It was good reading, too; deep and provocative. Near the end of the dialog, somebody else wrote, "Why do people feel compelled to argue their differences on mens room walls?" |
| | Came the reply, "Because you suck my dick." |
discuss
Copyright 2009 The Doc Searls Weblog
|
