Make America Smart Again

I put up the picture of a red hat with the logo “Make America Smart Again” on Facebook yesterday as a joke, but I may have been articulating a repressed hope, a long lost sense of optimism. Optimism is probably a delusion. The picture is a meme. It's Facebook. Jesus.

I am by far not a tub-thumping patriot. I'm burned out and disappointed. I still have a fairly good memory and it seems to me that a lot of people have forgotten, or are too young to remember, that there was a time, distant past, when college was pretty cheap and functional. You could actually go to school, learn stuff and graduate without lifelong debt. Higher education wasn't about cultural misappropriation, safe spaces and microaggression. I found that it was about life and how to experience it in an intelligent, satisfying way. There was good literature and great film. Really. Don’t believe me? Google it for Christ’s sake. Sure, there was racism and sexism and violence, that shit is everywhere. Things may be getting better but I’m no romantic.

When my “friends” saw the post, the picture of the stupid hat, right away a lot people were triggered and started with their knee-jerk responses. “We’re worse than Africa”. Seriously, I saw that one. “It’ll take thousands of years”. Nice over-stretch. “It’ll take more than a hat”. Honestly, is that the best you can do?

Politics.

Man, many Sanders people (so far, my people) act like it’s a crusade and they’re the first ever to be disappointed; the Clinton supporters appear arrogant, smug and affluent and Trump’s people are scared to death due to reduced educational prospects (or none at all), lack of opportunities, income inequality and bad decisions by the whores in congress. And, yes, racism.

For all the people who think America is a 100 percent totally ignorant nation, backward and primitive: Try some traveling; leave your zip code; talk to those who believe differently than you do, without being an asshole.

Also, nice way to self-negate and marginalize yourself.

I get it. Everyone thinks everybody else is not as smart as they are. I’ve been around long enough to know what I don’t know. It’s both comforting and frustrating. Of course, I may be wrong. Again. What do I know?

Sanders or Clinton

      I’m still supporting Bernie Sanders, but I note that a lot of my Berniefriends are now claiming they won’t vote for Clinton if Sanders doesn’t get the nomination.
      You guys; holy fuck. Sure, revolution, rebellion, we’re pissed off and marginalized and they lie to us. Big surprise. Is this your first goddamn election?
      Don’t you know how this works?
      For fuck’s sake, get a grip. Unless these anti-Democrat Democrats are really well off, I mean rich and settled and happy and living the good life with lots of resources, they have a hell of a lot to lose under another Republican administration.
      I don’t trust Clinton; she’s got a spotty record and she’s certainly shifty as hell, but she’s made it clear that she would try to continue Obama’s programs (which, for the most part, have been fairly enlightened).
      If Sanders loses he will have plenty of influence and his supporters will still (I hope) be fired up and leaning heavily on the establishment. Seriously, I don’t like Clinton but I could have a conversation with her. All I want to do when I hear Trump is turn his face into mush. And move to another continent.
      You don’t like racism? Why would you give a vote to Trump?
      Do you know any women or are you a woman? Do you think women will be better off with a GOP president? Jesus Christ. Welcome to 1950.
      No one knows the future, but you don’t have to be Edgar Cayce to see what’s around the bend if Sanders’ supporters don’t help secure the barricade. Plus, our image as Americans has been slightly elevated in the past 8 years under Obama. Do we really want the rest of the world see us as a circus act, to dismiss us as fat, stupid dimwits and ridicule us, again, the way they did when Bush was screwing things up and making the one percent wealthier?
      There are times when I wouldn’t mind seeing the entire system come crashing down. I could be OK with that. But it’s not likely. Not even close. And since this is my last election as a Democrat (Yeah, so long to that crap), and perhaps my last election ever, I’d like to NOT turn it over to the women-hating, racist, uneducated, heavily armed, drunk, highly crazy and ultra-angry Tea Party redneck hatefilled right-wing infection that is supporting Donald Trump.

Pepperoncini-flavored Potato Chips?

      

 Since Columbus Day has been all but eradicated (a sensible move, considering history), I suppose the advertising geniuses figured they had to soften up the Italian Americans, offer them something in return, something personal, a memory of the old country. We no longer have a holiday to celebrate our heritage, like Cinco de Mayo or St. Patrick’s Day. One day a year when we get drunk, tell stories, sing sentimental songs and beat up family members. We’re OK with the disappearance of Columbus Day, though. We are still proud of our accomplishments: Food, furniture, the RICO act.

      I don’t know why I was reminded of the fleeting nature of patriotism and culture when I saw Pepperoncini-flavored Potato Chips and I never write about food but, holy crap, that seems like a reach by the snacky industry. Over-reaching, Gluten-free, Verified non-GMO, with the phrase, “Great Taste…Naturally” on the package. Trust me, there isn’t a fucking natural thing about this.

     How many psychedelics must a person ingest to come up with an idea like Pepperoncini-flavored potato chips? Lots.

      I had to buy them. I’m the target demographic and a sucker. Opened them in the car. Sealed so tight that I almost went off the road trying to tear the bag of this tasty car snack. Taste? Nothing like pepperoncini. I like pepperoncini and I’ve got a jar in the fridge. These chips were exactly like the Sea-salt-and-Vinegar flavored ones. Slapping a picture of a pepper on a green bag and calling them Pepperoncini-flavored is not going to fool anyone with a discriminating palate. I know my pickled and preserved snackfoods, goddamnit, and these bambini are several rest stops down the autostrada from authentic pepperoncini. Don’t buy them.

     Advice for the marketing masterminds at the Kettle Corporation: some things look better on paper than on the plate.

      But big ups for making a stab at corralling stray customers who have a desire to honor their ethnicity. At least some ad wizard saw the potential for picking a few bucks from of the pockets of needy second-generation immigrants with developing eating disorders Grazie bastardi.

Percocet

First of all, for God’s sake, take your meds responsibly and don’t be a moron.

I understand that there are individuals who misuse, abuse, and don’t understand their medications. That’s a shame, I hope they don’t die, but they can be trained and it’s a problem that  can often be corrected with education. There are others who are so confused and full of self hate that they can only get through life in an altered state. I completely understand. Drinkers, dopers, gamblers, pornographers, overeaters, etc&etc. Boy, do I appreciate their predicament.

Not everyone, however, is impaired. Believe it or not, there are plenty of people who drink conscientiously, budget a bit of money for the lotto or slot machines, smoke a little weed, graze the pornsites and have an extra piece of pie on weekends. Is it wrong to seek pleasure or stimulation or excitement in a non-conventional manner? No judgment from me. That would be totally hypocritical.

We can become obsessed or addicted to almost anything. I’ll never be out of the woods.

Now headlines blast off about the Opioid Abuse Crisis in America. People are dying. Our young people, our poor young people are in jeopardy. Doctors are prescribing. Law Enforcement, courts, judges, jails, bad, bad.

This isn’t new.

I find it interesting that this “crisis” has arisen just about the time when nearly everyone agrees that Marijuana is not harmful and if legalized it may have some social and medical benefits. Legislation and government and laws and cops are 50 or 60 years behind, but thank Christ they are beginning to wake up. Not much to argue about and we’re finally allowing cannabis to be used in a healthy way and without worry or shame. Like booze.

So what do we stigmatize to take the place of weed?

How do we continue to support the monstrous, top heavy, overcharging, militarized anti-drug industry?

The DEA? The criminal justice system? Private Correctional Corporations?

The Punishment Establishment.

What will their roles be now that weed is smokeable without felonious consequences? It’s a good idea, if the industry wants to continue to maintain and increase its budget, to come up with another bogeyman, another disaster, a national disgrace and an out-of-control threat to everyone.

Pain medications.

Let’s demonize pain meds!

Lets go after the doctors and patients and pharmacists.

Call the DEA, drop a dime.

Reformulate the medications, make them harder to obtain; let’s stick our collective noses up into people’s private business. Again and again.

Change the compounds, change the shape, change the colors.

Harder to crush, break, shoot, snort.

The government will save us.

Just like they’ve saved us from drug addiction and illegal sales and manufacture and how they’ve eliminated overdoses and drug-related accidents and crime.

Now that it’s harder to get ephedrine all the meth labs have disappeared.

Right?

I’m not saying that there aren’t problems. There are always problems. Anything that can be corrupted will be corrupted, but I wonder if we’re not splattering paint with a very broad brush.

We certainly understand, don’t we, that whenever a law is passed criminals are poised to find ways around the interdiction?

When the wall is made higher, people build longer ladders.

Pain medications work. For some they are a lifesaver. If you’ve never had chronic pain, lucky you. Talk to someone who has suffered for decades. Back problems, migraines, shingles, arthritis, multiple sclerosis, nerve damage, etc&etc.

Friends have committed suicide because their pain was severe and unmanageable. Medications are a good way to live without misery while waiting for treatment. Have you tried to see a doctor lately? In some cases you can get an appointment with a specialist in a month or two, and if you need follow-up procedures you might have to wait another few weeks. Or more.

Suck it up. Meditate and use your Ibuprofen and stretching and heating pads and aspirin and chiropractors and acupuncture and reiki and crystals.

Suppose that stuff doesn’t work. It often doesn’t.

If I ask my medical practitioner for some relief am I going to have to fill out a crapload of forms, answer questions, give up more of my personal information, make more appointments with more professionals, register, have my picture taken, initial here and here and here and sign there and we’ll get back to you in a week or so and give you our decision?

I have herniated discs, goddamnit, I’m not Osama bin-fucking Laden.

It’s half of a Percocet, for shit’s sake, not an Uzi.

All those forms will be delivered to the government, a big bland office, to be reviewed by an army of civil servants, ex-TSA workers and recent college grads trying to save enough money for their own apartments. They will care as much as they are paid to care.

Agents and cops will be poised for the reports, the suspicious activity, red flags and furtive movement. We will be safe and our nation will be strong because the prescription medication crisis has ended.

Do you believe that?

I can hardly wait.

The Friendship Games

 

 I suppose I'm feeling a bit judgmental today. It happens.

But having a lot of friends on social media is not a real thing. Most of them are not friends, as in, “Let’s have lunch”, “Lend me $100”, or “Can I hide in your garage?”

Nah, they’re just people who are in need of acknowledgement and attention. Like the rest of us. Being on my fairly limited “friends” list is no big deal. Not much of a compliment. I browse the list of individuals from time to time and weed out those who have moved away and are out of touch. Also, I get rid of dead people. They do me no good whatsoever. Take up space and distract me from interaction with the living.

Sometimes I wonder, come Tuesday, November 8, Election Day in America, if I will have any friends left at all. That’s cool, I can manage, but the list is shrinking and there are still almost seven months to go until the Big Catastrophe.

I’m sorting it out again. Saying “so long” to contacts in the following order:

Racists. No more bullshit from insanely stupid racist mafaks (some may be supporters of D. Trump). If I see anything from anyone that is blatantly racist, that person is gone, button pushed, toilet flushed. I don’t care if they are family, co-workers, or someone I’ve met once and made the mistake of accepting a friend request. They can bite me. No time.

Predictably Angry: Mostly Dems, or whatevers, who are all locked and loaded with their one-note outrage. Scoldies and pundits who constantly accuse anyone who disagrees with them of sexism, stupidity, naiveté. If I deviate from Clinton about anything, it’s barely hit the cyberwaves when the responses roll in: “Sexist”…” “You men”…”You could never understand”. People who don’t support Sanders are immediately accused of not being true liberals or properly progressive. Wow. I've become gun-shy by these unfounded denunciations.

Fuck off. Delete, goodbye and good luck with the wrath. Don’t have a cow.

Sexists: Men and women who are hateful and/or condescending to the opposite or additional sex. Men who hate women, women who hate men. See ya. (I’m trying not to use the word “bitch” in any context. It’s offensive to people I like. I will look at each entry on a case-by-case basis, but my first reaction is to drop the hammer. Try using “prick” instead, OK?)

Fundamentalists: Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus. If God is the answer, you are the problem. Ciao, bambini.

Selfie dispensers: More than one profile update a week? Several pictures of your fabulous face and body every day? Posing as a badass or a sexy bunny, duck lips, sunglasses, fedoras? Without irony? Have fun and don’t bother me. Hasta.

Absolutes: Use of 100% words. Everyone, no one, never, always, etc. That’s impossible and you should know better. Get out of the car and walk home.

Still under consideration:

Food pictures. Everyone eats; we know what it looks like, save the photos of your salad.

Fart jokes.

Improper use of the following: Their, There, They’re…Then and Than…A part and Apart…Apostrophes…Quotation Marks. Yep, I’m a grammar freak. I admit it.

The Ice Bucket (or any other) Challenge.

Poor bastards who post dumbass easily debunked crap like “Bill Gates will give you one million dollars if” or “I hereby notify Facebook that all content on my page” or “OMG, stop everything and watch this video it will change your life.” No, you are wasting your life and my time. Get a brain.

I’m really interested in the coming Presidential election in November. May be some big changes. Or not. I might be living in a Socialist Democracy, a Fascist Dictatorship, a Plutocracy, or our on-going Oligarchy of The Entitled. Whichever ideology emerges victorious, I pretty sure that I’ll have fewer friends. What the hell, we all die alone anyway.

Crazed Fruit and the End of The Vagrant Cantos

I have been planning to end The Vagrant Cantos this spring after I had finished my 100^th post.

For the past several months I’ve been watching Japanese films. I started with the classics, Roshomon, The Seven Samurai, Yojimbo, but soon found myself searching for more modern, post-war films. As I drifted through HULU, Netflix, YouTube and IMDB, I came across a genre of film called Japanese or Nikkatsu Noir.

I’m almost at the end of my commitment to The Vagrant Cantos. I was going to write 100 pieces and then stop. It was an experiment in self-discipline and exploration. I’ve enjoyed the work, my style has, thankfully, changed; I’ve learned to experiment and also I’ve found out that it takes some courage to keep putting this crap up and taking the heat for some of my observations and opinions. Don’t care. It’s been worth it.

After entry number 100 I was going to quit, devote time to short stories and obsessively edit the novels I’ve written. Since I’m really enjoying film for the first time in decades, I’ve decided I’m going to continue the blog, but I’m changing the focus (and possibly the name of the blog) from rant, humor, sarcasm, fucking off, improvisation, commentary and outrage to the occasional film or literary review which will include, I’m sure, criticism, rage, opinion, intolerance and judgment. I’d like to communicate my enjoyment of these films and, if possible, to entice others to watch.

Many years ago my friends accused me of having my own cable channel. Whenever I’d recommend a film, they would watch it and then they’d ask, “What the hell is wrong with you?”  I’ve heard that a lot. Doesn’t bother me any longer. Watch, don’t watch; read, don’t read. Enjoy if you can. I know I will.

Crazed Fruit

I can’t get enough of Nikkatsu Noir. Nikkatsu Studios produced Japanese films after World War II that were patterned after American film noir. The films, referred to as Nikkatsu Noir, are choppy and sometimes too stylized, but the stark black and white photography, the cultural differences, the weird plots and the odd, often extraordinary soundtracks are enough to keep one’s attention. The films, for me, are addictive.

Crazed Fruit (1955), starring Yujiro Ishihara (The Japanese Elvis) and Mei Kitahara, is the tale of two brothers who are tempted by an alluring young woman; soon they begin to compete, lie and scheme to win her affections. The ten or so main characters in the film are all in their early twenties and were children during the war. Now, in the mid-1950’s, they are disenchanted, bored, and sexually agitated. Their rebellion may be linked to the violence and deprivation that they experienced in their formative years. Also, Crazed Fruit was made only a few years the United States had dropped atomic bombs on Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Along with hundreds of other films, Crazed Fruit made it clear to the rest of the world that Japan may have lost the war but they were far from beaten. Recovery was well under way.

The erotic scenes in Crazed Fruit are fairly chaste but the movie is surprisingly modern in its depiction of a sexually active, liberated, existentialist post-war generation.

Mei Kitahara as Eri, the shadowy, mysterious beauty who may be a prostitute, or simply an innocent girl on vacation, is beguiling as the focus of male lust. Eri is a free woman and it is clear that she’s in control of her choices. She initiates sexual encounters and is more sophisticated, and about ten to twenty years more advanced, than roles offered to women in the U.S. at the time.

The macho posturing and attempts at tough-guy dialogue are clumsy and humorous but there is an unexpected confidence and psychological refinement in the production. Once I decided to accept fake backgrounds and awkward eye contact, I was hooked and fully involved.

 For those who are curious about little known but cool films, developments in cinematography, historical commentary and cultural evolution, beach vacation movies, sibling rivalry, moaning squawking saxophone music, rudimentary waterskiing, the ukulele as sexual metaphor and a seriously massive assortment of the coolest post-war shirts ever exhibited in one place, this is a film that is rewarding, delightfully confusing, and mildly hallucinogenic.

Friday Meditations

(Notice: Upon re-reading these musings, this externalized internal dialogue, this blather, I admit that it is somewhat obvious that I am neither compassionate nor considerate. Sorry. I’ll try to do better. Trust me.)

If your Facebook profile picture is of an animal or a celebrity or has your husband/wife hugged up next to you, you are codependent, psychotic or narcissistic and probably irrelevant. Put your fucking picture there. Come on, you’ve go a photo around someplace. Slap it on your page. Fat? Nope. Old? Bite me. Pimples? Not enough. No one cares what the hell you look like and none of us are terribly important. Ugly or lovely, I just want to know who the hell I’m dealing with. I promise not to say anything.

Why are there so many amputees on my newsfeed this morning? Lots of “look how brave she is” and a video of a woman doing gymnastics but she’s only got ONE LEG. Amazing. A guy in a wheel chair on a trampoline. Blown up vets who have an indomitable spirit. One armed people who can juggle. Tattooed torsos. Fuck that. I have nothing against the disabled or differently-abled. Don’t even think about them; they can do what they want. Amputees are just like the rest of us except they have fewer arms and legs. Seems like everyday there are more limbless people in the world though, doesn’t it?

Scold me for my political beliefs? Sure; go ahead. I’m for Bernie, you’re for Hillary, some other genius is for Trump or Cruz. I’m so bummed out from being told that I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about and I’m wrong, wrong, wrong, because I don’t have similar beliefs as the scolders. Lick me, scolders. You don’t have to comment on every motherfucking post. You’re not that smart. Seriously, you’re not. And sanctimonious progressives are as irritating as the Tea Party toilets.

If you’ve got a shitload of money, no worries, two houses, several vehicles, buy what you want when you want it, no debt, plenty of food, gas, clothing, technology and comfort then you don’t have as much of a vote in my world as people who don’t have that stuff. If you earned it, OK, as long as you remember what it was like before you had plenty of dough. But if you married it, inherited it, stole it, I am not giving you the same credibility as I do those who work, raise kids, struggle, shop for sales, postpone purchases until they have enough saved up, are ill, old, disabled (see above), poor, depressed (understandable), marginalized and overwhelmed by the obvious corruption (look around). If you think our way of life and our political, financial, educational and healthcare systems just need a little fine-tuning by the right people, by The President, congress, you are a boob in Fantasyland and I am not listening. Delete.

Do you bring your own bags to the grocery store? Do you separate your garbage, and refill your water bottle and have a compost pile? Great! Damn, that’s wonderful. Except it is not going to do any good. Planet Earth? Done. Over. Nothing is changing fast enough. If you have a few kids, you’re part of the problem. If you have a load of kids, you are criminally responsible. Deny it all you want but if you are a parent you shouldn’t reprimand anyone for not recycling. It’s not about conservation unless it’s primarily about limited population growth (which we’ve known for centuries). Because unless there is a worldwide agreement to change everything right away, this year, this month, not a goddamn thing will alter and the world will end sooner than you can imagine. Sure, argue with me, go ahead, deny the math, the science, but really, honest, nothing except universal drastic measures will help. Complete commitment by everyone. And stop super-celebrating or politicizing birth. Get a grip.

Shouldn’t we teach kids about death, divorce and finance in grammar school? Start in the second grade, an hour a day? You can learn to multiply and divide and read and write in about four months but people are falling apart over the death of a dog or a grandmother, they are killing themselves and others when they break up with their boyfriend/girlfriend, husband/wife, and young people are deeply into credit card debt because they can’t resist buying shit they do not need. Teach children about suffering and heartbreak and financial responsibility. Save some lives, save some money.

Another thing, relative to a few responses I’ve received: if you think I’m angry, then you’ve never been around angry people. Do you know someone who has chopped a piano into pieces with an axe because his kid didn’t practice? I do. Have you ever sat at Thanksgiving dinner and seen your aunt smash a plate of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy and cranberry sauce over her husband’s head? I have. When was the last time someone berated you until you thought they’d break a blood vessel? Me: A month ago. I confess to being opinionated, intolerant of dishonesty and judgmental. And you’re not? Bullshit. If you think I’m angry, you don’t know anger.

Have a great weekend.