tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81637625330342433282024-03-12T21:39:42.888-04:00Cycho LibrarianRamblings of an opinionated bicycling librarian.Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-56597507231964028032021-05-26T07:51:00.021-04:002022-02-05T11:41:18.053-05:00Are you sure?One of the more common things I see and hear from people who are defending the display of the Confederate battle flag is “My ancestors didn’t own slaves.”<br /><br />
Putting aside for a moment that this isn’t really a very good defense of a symbol that has stood for hatred and terror for the better part of 150 years, the main thing I want to ask the people who say that is, are you sure? I mean really, are you sure?<br /><br />
Thanks to a lot of research that was done by my great-grandmother, grandmother, and other members of that side of my family, I have a pretty good idea of the history of the branch of my family tree. I’ve spent some time looking for more details about that history, and every so often I’ll take another look to see if any new information or records have moved online. A couple of weeks ago I was doing just that, looking for a more complete family tree.
I have to take a moment here to acknowledge that I am able to have that understanding in large part because of the privilege that comes with being White. My ancestors' names were recorded in many places. Stories about them were written down and kept. They received grave markers in cemeteries that were preserved. The descendants of people who were enslaved don’t usually get to learn those facts about their ancestors.<br /><br />
My grandmother’s family name was Maxwell. We managed to track the family back to the person who (most likely) settled in the American colonies after leaving Scotland some time in the 1750s or 1760s. While stories were spun about Robert Maxwell being a Jacobite partisan or son of one in the 1740s and having to flee Scotland, the reality was probably much more mundane. At that point in time, the ships carrying wool from the colonies to feed the mills of Glasgow and Belfast had to make money on the return trip, and they did it by taking poor Scots and Irish who were looking for a better life to the colonies to start farms, often sheep farms to keep feeding the mills.<br /><br />
Robert settled in the Pennsylvania frontier, and his son Thomas, like many Scots-Irish people following the American Revolution, got involved in land speculation in the western parts of Virginia. While securing land for his family he died in the 1790s, probably in his late 20s. His wife Jane still moved the whole family to Harrison County in what is now West Virginia. Three of her sons helped to establish several towns in that region of Virginia, but her youngest son Robert, my ancestor, left for Ohio some time in the 1820s.<br /><br />
In case you haven’t figured it out yet, the Maxwells were hillbillies in the truest sense of the word. Whether the term “hillbilly” came from the Irish settlers who were followers of William of Orange, or from a Scottish term for “comrade,” they were all hill folk who came from Scotland and Ireland and found a way to make a living in the Appalachian foothills. This story is not very much different from many other family stories of the Scots-Irish who settled in these mountains following the revolution. I imagine that many of the people who share this family story would assume that their families didn’t enslave people. How could hillbillies be slaveholders? Didn’t West Virginia split from Virginia over this issue? My ancestors couldn’t have held slaves, right?<br /><br />
The thing is, people-- men, of course-- like my ancestors were the first Europeans to come to this area. With the backing of the United States Army they displaced the native populations and carved out land holdings for themselves that made them wealthy. They lived in Virginia and they ran farms. And if you were wealthy and ran a farm in Virginia between 1790 and 1865, you most likely enslaved Black people.<br /><br />
This most recent time that I started digging around in my family tree, I <a href="https://www.doddridgecountyheritageguild.com/maxwell-family-cemeteries">found an article</a> about Franklin Maxwell, who was the nephew of my ancestor Robert Maxwell. Franklin was one of the largest landowners in Doddridge County, and further inherited the lands of his childless uncle Lewis who was a surveyor and land speculator. And there it was in that story: in the 1850 census Franklin was listed as enslaving four people. In 1860 that had grown to six people. Apparently that made him the largest enslaver in Doddridge County. In the census listings there’s a hint of an even darker story. The 1850 census lists a 23 year old Black female and a 3 year old “mulatto” female and 1 year old “Black” male. It’s possible that Franklin enslaved the mother and daughter together, but it’s probably more likely that “mulatto” child was the product of rape. In the 1860 census the now 12 year old girl is listed as Black. There are also now two more younger children who are also listed as Black.<br /><br />
So there it is. My first cousin five times removed was an enslaver and possibly a rapist. Chances are also pretty good that if I did some more digging I would find more of my cousins, uncles, and maybe even grandparents who were enslavers. Given the roots of the Maxwells in that area of West Virginia, and given what I see when I drive through that area, I suspect that I have distant cousins there who are currently displaying the Confederate battle flag on their homes and vehicles. If they’re questioned about that, do they claim that their ancestors “didn’t own slaves”? Do they know about Franklin?<br /><br />
One of the things that I don’t like about how most people do genealogy is that they start with themselves, and then watch as the tree of ancestors grows above them in a bigger and bigger spread. While this does show how so many different people had to come together to make you, it also creates an illusion that the further and further back you go, the more people there are. Of course the opposite is true. There were fewer people the further back you go, so we all have a lot of common ancestors in our individual family trees. We are all more closely related than we might think at first. It also means that each of us has a pretty wide variety of ancestors that ultimately account for a lot of the people who have lived in the world. Chances are pretty good that you can find an ancestor that has done or been involved in some of the most amazing and positive events in history, and you can find one that has done or been involved in some of the worst events in history.<br /><br />
I’m not looking for anyone to feel guilty about what their ancestors did or didn’t do. What I am looking for is for all of us to take a long, hard look at the systems that created and still operate in this country and figure out what we need to do to correct the injustices of those systems without trying to get out of that work by saying “My ancestors didn’t own slaves.”Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-36742337263120192132020-06-19T10:00:00.018-04:002022-02-05T12:04:09.563-05:00JuneteenthI’m amazed and heartened by the number of White people I see recognize Juneteenth publicly today. I’m trying very hard not to think “it took you all long enough!”, recognizing that I had no idea what Juneteenth was myself until I was well out of college. Once more, we White people were shielded from the lived reality of millions of our fellow citizens.<br /><br />
But my greater worry about Juneteenth is that it’s another recognition of evils that we White people committed against Black people that gives us an easy out. “It’s terrible that those people were kept in bondage for two years after the Emancipation proclamation, but then the Union soldiers showed up in Galveston Bay and everything was made right!” Juneteenth, particularly for us White people, can fall too easily into the “White Savior” narrative that excuses what actually happened.<br /><br />
So what’s much more on my mind today is Reconstruction. That is, the reason why there were Union soldiers landing in Galveston Bay. I came across <a href="https://twitter.com/michaelharriot/status/1186468302400507904" target="_blank">this Twitter thread</a> by Michael Harriot that does a much better job than I could of explaining the reality of Reconstruction, but the takeaway is that with Union troops occupying the defeated confederacy there was a brief moment when Black people began to have representation in our government, and then White people started killing them to stop it. When the southern states finally succeeded in ejecting the occupying forces following the extremely messed up election of 1876, they essentially got permission to do whatever they wanted to Black people. <br /><br />
In other words, the Civil War did not end in 1865. The killing and fighting continued for another 11 years, and at the end of that time, the South won. The only reason you don’t know that is because the people who were dying were, by and large, Black people.
I was dimly aware of some of what happened during Reconstruction prior to reading the thread, but I definitely didn’t know all of it or the full extent of what happened in the south during Reconstruction. That got me thinking about what sorts of stories and ideas about Reconstruction that I was aware of growing up, and one of the first ones that came to mind was “The Carpetbagger” from Gone with the Wind. In case you’ve forgotten or never saw it, <a href="https://youtu.be/PUBpMYc-16w" target="_blank">take a look</a>.
<br /><br />
So just to break it down, in case it’s not completely obvious: Here we have the defeated Confederate troops, White men all, staggering back to their homes, while a well-dressed, fat, Black man sings his way along, running them over, on his way to take over the South. No mention that the “Land of Grace and Plenty” was built on the backs of slaves. No mention that the actual Black people who “took over” were the people who had lived there under slavery for generations before, and they constituted a majority of the population of several of those states. And certainly no mention that those Confederate troops staggering back very shortly would engage in a campaign of outright slaughter of their Black neighbors.<br /><br />
And this scene is in a film that is still widely acknowledged to be one of the greatest American movies of all time.<br /><br />
If you are a White person around my age, this should enrage you. The stories you were told about the Civil War and Reconstruction were lies. The images of the Civil War and Reconstruction that populated your childhood and most of your life were not real. Your privilege has sheltered you from the knowledge of what we White people actually did, and you owe it to yourself to get educated and start trying to make it better. So this Juneteenth, spend a little less time thinking about those slaves in Galveston who were finally informed that they were “free,” and instead go read a book that talks frankly about the reality of what happened after the Civil War. From Michael Harriot’s thread above, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40909438-stony-the-road" target="_blank">here’s one to start with</a>.
Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-66304024963722723922020-06-02T22:30:00.006-04:002021-11-13T09:42:54.340-05:00Underground<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBEXoBUs_Zpo65i8j4wEt43zCQAAAVOo3mzF-PnKwyC-ETcaeK2CSK9_K-HxoY-7xdgFEDoLdJ08st6UNB6uBtQxmdc3ens6m4-t0dyVYJZBGorVUd4rS27DZ-AlJB9asfuUWXUc-5o5T/s2016/102939017_10157530714298668_5909797354877222912_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBEXoBUs_Zpo65i8j4wEt43zCQAAAVOo3mzF-PnKwyC-ETcaeK2CSK9_K-HxoY-7xdgFEDoLdJ08st6UNB6uBtQxmdc3ens6m4-t0dyVYJZBGorVUd4rS27DZ-AlJB9asfuUWXUc-5o5T/w640-h480/102939017_10157530714298668_5909797354877222912_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Today I got to drive one of my favorite roads in Southeast Ohio, route 329 between Amesville and Glouster. 329 winds its way from the Hocking River near Guysville up the Federal Creek valley through Amesville and on to Trimble. It’s a beautiful farming valley that is filled with history from the coal mining era back to the early days of European settlement and on from there back to the mound-building cultures of North America before European contact. You can’t help but feel the weight of history as you wind your way through this unglaciated valley carved by water and time through the former sea bed that makes up our topography in this area.<br /><br />
But today what was most on my mind was the tour I got of the area from a former Board member who is a historian and community activist with deep roots in our county. She gave me her Underground Railroad tour of Athens County, and Federal Creek features prominently in that story. Ever since then I can’t drive 329 without thinking of the stories of the people who made their way up these creeks to various safe houses like this one, where they got some refuge while trying to make their way ever further northwards.<br /><br />
If you’re a White person of a similar age to me, you probably heard about the Underground Railroad several times during your education. But you probably have some dimly romantic notion of it: runaway slaves make their way into the welcoming north, where all of their problems are resolved and everything is okay, blah blah blah Harriet Tubman blah blah blah. Honestly, I think it’s almost criminal that we were taught about the Underground Railroad this way. The reality is of course much darker.<br /><br />
The reason there was a need for an Underground Railroad wasn’t just the existence of slavery in the south. There was also the Fugitive Slave act of 1793 and the fugitive slave clause of the US constitution (Yes, that’s right, it’s in the constitution: Article IV, section 2, clause 3). These were exacerbated by the Fugitive Slave act of 1850, which required that slaves be returned to their enslavers even if they were captured in a non-slave state. That meant that not only could bounty hunters and law enforcement go after freedom-seeking persons in the north, anyone who harbored or otherwise aided a freedom-seeker could themselves be sent to jail. And that was the legal consequences. The non-legal consequences were far worse. It also means that the final destination of the Underground Railroad wasn't just the north: it was also British Canada, where slavery was illegal. There were some safe places for a freedom-seeking formerly enslaved person in the US, and some of those places were here in Ohio; such as Berlin Crossroads, Albany, and Tablertown (now known as Kilvert). But many freedom-seekers were destined for a longer journey to a place where there weren't laws that constantly endangered them.<br /><br />
So what was the journey a freedom-seeker had to make in our area of the country? While freedom-seekers from well into Virginia and the Carolinas came through Southeast Ohio, others were enslaved much closer in northwest Virginia (now West Virginia), and so didn’t have to travel far to get to the Ohio river. There were several large slave plantations near Parkersburg, and a slave auction in downtown Parkersburg. Once you made it to the Ohio river, crossing could be fraught. Bounty hunters or law enforcement could be watching the river. Some freedom-seekers were able to get assistance on abolitionists on the other side to help, but most had to find their own way across. Either way, you might cross to find hunting parties waiting for you.<br /><br />
But making it across the river wasn’t enough. From there you had to find your way to the Hocking, and work your way upstream to Guysville where Federal creek entered the Hocking, and then further upstream to Chesterhill or other communities with houses like this one. It was best to do this at night, when there was no moon. You never knew when someone might be watching or waiting. And try to stay in the water as long as you can. Maybe you’ll leave less scent for the dogs that they’ll have tracking you tomorrow.<br /><br />
If you’re lucky, you manage to fight your way through the overgrown stream, avoiding copperheads, mountain lions, bears, and the men who were hunting you and find your way to a safe house like this one. Again, if you’re lucky, everyone in that household is on your side. No one is going to let slip at the tavern that you’re there. No one is going to be so scared or disgusted by having a Black person in the house that they call in law enforcement. Because by your presence there, every single person in that house is breaking the law.<br /><br />
One of my favorite stories of the Underground Railroad in our area is of James Smith Sr., who was an ardent abolitionist, as was his whole family, and who lived near Cutler, Ohio. The Wood County (Virginia) sheriff came to the house to arrest Smith and take him to Parkersburg to stand trial for violating the Fugitive Slave Act. The sheriff and his deputies rode up to the house to find him seated on his porch, and informed him that he was under arrest. He replied "That may be well and good but before we depart I suggest you look up and see what's in my window." Looking up the sheriff saw Smith's five sons at the windows with guns trained on the posse, and chose to retreat until another time. (From "Washington County Underground Railroad" by Henry Robert Burke and Charles Hart Fogle)<br /><br />
Cool story, right? Those were some really badass guys, and they were on the right side of history, right? But that’s not the point. The point of that story is that every single person in the household had to be on board, because if you harbored a freedom-seeker, you were all breaking the law. These were people who were standing up, armed in many cases, against the legal authority of the United States. Many Black people throughout the country and a few White people like James Smith were putting their bodies and their livelihoods on the line to protect Black people who would undoubtedly lose their lives if they were found.<br /><br />
For my school education, the story of the Underground Railroad ended with the Civil War. The slaves were freed, everything is fine now, right? Of course it wasn’t, and that’s a topic for another post. But the point is this: we as a country have never come to terms with this. We don’t know how to teach it, and we definitely don’t know how to talk about it. Even after the Civil War we have tried again and again to ensure that Black people do not have a say in government. That Black people are denied the rights of being a citizen. That Black people are somehow less than any other person just because of the color of their skin. That treatment of Black people has continued up to the present day, in ways both overt and covert. Major incidents of Black people being mistreated and killed by government officials have happened throughout my lifetime right up to the present day. And those who stand up to point out the wrong and the injustice are still, right now, being told that their complaint is illegitimate. That they have nothing to complain about. That they need to sit down and shut up.<br /><br />
And now there are people who can’t understand why there are protests? Why people are standing up against legal authorities? For an otherwise well-educated white person, this is willful blindness. For over 400 year Black people have been marginalized, criminalized and made invisible and enough is enough. You owe it to yourself to learn what really happened in our country. To learn what the lived experience of millions of your fellow citizens really is. This has been happening for 200 years and more. And if you truly understood what happened inside this house 200 years ago, maybe you would begin to understand what is happening now.<br /><br />
<i>(Many thanks to Ada Woodson Adams for helping me to update this post to more accurately reflect the history of the Underground Railroad and the experience of Black people in our region.)</i>Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-29233915993872185222020-03-18T20:00:00.001-04:002021-11-13T09:57:14.493-05:00Take a Hike<p>We got out for a hike this morning, and we’re going to try to do that every morning weather permitting. I’m grateful that we live in a place where beautiful and wild places are minutes away. I’m also grateful that we don’t have a shelter in place order and most likely won’t thanks to the small size of the community and our low population density. I feel for my friends in New York and San Francisco who no longer have this outlet.<br /><br />
But I think the most important thing I was grateful for this morning was some space: a break from being up to my eyeballs in news and updates and decisions related to the current situation. While social media has been a great benefit during this time in many ways-- up to date information, fun diversions, connection with friends near and far-- it has also created an environment where it’s very easy to begin to lose hope, fall prey to worst fears, and get sucked into pointless battles about which conspiracy is true or not.<br /><br />
My advice for all of you, my friends, is to get outside if you are able, and if you are not to find some other way to unplug from the crisis. Greet your neighbors from a safe distance. Sing, tell jokes, create art together. Find ways to connect and build community in real life and not just online. The world you see through the lens of social media is only one very small aspect of our vast and beautiful universe. Make sure you give yourself a chance to pay attention to everything else.</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAaEN7gmZBXfRuNT-20f67PirunzYvC_ao4fIbkCELLNTJQMQrWTKuHMcyJH8TFoRAA1arcFQeQDgTQiuI1u9bqMGUsV4pTqozAUTULXocqRQObXxNfKzgq74Iol1VaDWPnNv-BzBwFdOS/s1440/FBDB5191-BC3F-4D03-97D5-B7B441C01C56.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAaEN7gmZBXfRuNT-20f67PirunzYvC_ao4fIbkCELLNTJQMQrWTKuHMcyJH8TFoRAA1arcFQeQDgTQiuI1u9bqMGUsV4pTqozAUTULXocqRQObXxNfKzgq74Iol1VaDWPnNv-BzBwFdOS/s320/FBDB5191-BC3F-4D03-97D5-B7B441C01C56.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqncRL4CZ9vBIN9s2un1SK0Sm2ovmDGSe9JUkSSwWh_tYjtst-HBllGj8aBL3UG1hhsbwHHUsvLWORUzrSBy7mkfVKWBqhpIZk018hGpZaxTw6bA-Tk2wXoxM9Z4uCsBQP2vz9qt6sLlnd/s1440/CF28AD51-BED6-4D5D-BD42-7D3FD016BA9C.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqncRL4CZ9vBIN9s2un1SK0Sm2ovmDGSe9JUkSSwWh_tYjtst-HBllGj8aBL3UG1hhsbwHHUsvLWORUzrSBy7mkfVKWBqhpIZk018hGpZaxTw6bA-Tk2wXoxM9Z4uCsBQP2vz9qt6sLlnd/s320/CF28AD51-BED6-4D5D-BD42-7D3FD016BA9C.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEUljkRQwU73tCe72gyr8r5s0LjAYpat-4_Uwksc5BgAerRaYtK2qT_QYqoD5jkq6Bt4zk7qE0ILDEpGTO2dCKLqlLhExdMb8A37LaYlKXsEMLTV9-eFKgNdq82RG3FGlosS5YwdI1lqmy/s1440/A77C081E-63DC-4594-98BB-949020A28AA8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1439" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEUljkRQwU73tCe72gyr8r5s0LjAYpat-4_Uwksc5BgAerRaYtK2qT_QYqoD5jkq6Bt4zk7qE0ILDEpGTO2dCKLqlLhExdMb8A37LaYlKXsEMLTV9-eFKgNdq82RG3FGlosS5YwdI1lqmy/s320/A77C081E-63DC-4594-98BB-949020A28AA8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p>Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-10670625160430905532020-03-05T23:00:00.027-05:002021-11-13T10:24:25.455-05:00No Country for Old Men<img style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" align=left border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUujz8QAdluSu8o28JSxCms7WihaO21XLLWVWgBJSP-zYKU62dOPpqDTY9KNp3lSBk2xjRjhxTblKbpZ17zNf2Y5AAtt55Uor086ash4M4OolIIIoTn8HSFvIdw5b0Msy-c1txaXlc8Tme/s320/106463839-1585321997746bb.jpg" width="320" /> So now we find ourselves with the fate of our democracy hanging on two old white men. Somehow or other we looked at all the options we had and managed to talk ourselves into the idea that either a) “other people” would only be able to vote for Biden, or b) no one else was as “pure” a progressive as Sanders. And let’s not even get started on misogyny. We had more than a couple female candidates who could have mopped the floor with Trump, and the only reason we’re not looking at Warren or Harris as a clear frontrunner right now is because they’re women.<br /><br />
I am, honestly, fine with either of these men as the nominee. I can vote for either one with a clear conscience. But geez, we had to go and make it hard on ourselves, didn’t we? Here’s what I hope to Bog both of these candidates and their teams are thinking about, and I very much hope that you, my friends, are thinking about these things as well as we head toward convention.<br /><br />
First off, these guys are old. I am not using that word pejoratively. Current life expectancy in the US is 78-79. Biden is 77, Sanders is 78. It’s not ageist to point this out. These are concerns that the campaigns need to address clearly and straightforwardly. Sanders had a heart attack already. Without speculating about anything more serious than that he’s getting up in years, Biden is clearly not as sharp as he was 8 years ago. These are, in fact, serious concerns.<br /><br />
Second, these are two white men. That just isn’t going to fly in 2020. There had better be a woman of color on their ticket, or at the very least a woman. To not do so will basically guarantee that many Democratic-leaning voters will stay home, and we need every single vote. Yelling at people who do not see themselves represented on that ticket that it’s “in their interests” to vote Democratic is racist, misogynistic, and it will not make them get out and vote.
Biden needs to figure out what he’s running for, other than “not Trump” or “Obama’s third term.” His policies are uninspiring, and when pressed on them he basically falls back on “you liked them fine when Obama had them.” First off, them being “fine” is open to question. I and a lot of other progressives perpetually wished that Obama had gone further. I recently saw a chart that put Obama fairly far to the left politically and laughed out loud. Obama was always center left, and it’s mostly a sign of how far we’ve fallen that that’s seen as somehow extreme. <br /><br />
But the bigger point is that the party has moved on. Most of us have spent the last 3 years studying exactly what’s wrong with our society that could have led to someone like Trump being elected and have come to the conclusion that there are fundamental flaws that have to be fixed before anyone else gets hurt. Any candidate who is not making those proposals will not be able to inspire people to vote for them. There are far too many Democratic-leaning voters who will stay home if they are not inspired to vote FOR someone.<br /><br />
Sanders needs to figure out how to get the more vocal members of his base under control. There is no grand conspiracy to undermine him, and his supporters who immediately go there are not helping him. Even the crap that happened in 2016 didn’t amount to a conspiracy. It was a bunch of people who worked for the DNC and liked Clinton complaining about someone they didn’t like. That doesn’t mean that they were conspiring to defeat him. The DNC just doesn’t have the organizational ability to pull off a grand conspiracy like that. Sure, a lot of the 90’s-era Clintonian Neoliberals are losing their gourds over a Socialist candidate, but they don’t have the influence they used to over the majority of the party. The DNC is trying to just hold things together and praying that Milwaukee 2020 doesn’t turn into Chicago 1968. <br /><br />
No, Biden surged because too many Democratic voters were playing the game of “who are “they” most likely to vote for?” It’s a fool’s errand to try to game out what someone else will do when they vote, and it likely leads to a candidate no one really likes, although in the era of Trump it’s at least understandable. But as long as some of Sanders’ supporters spin these theories, as long as they shout down anyone who isn’t “pure,” as long as they don’t listen to others whose views might be slightly different from theirs, they will alienate the very voters they need to get enough numbers to defeat Trump. I honestly don’t think Sanders knows what to do about this segment of his base, but his efforts to get them to stop have been milquetoast, and that lack of direct contradiction of those voices has permeated his organization. It needs to stop and it needs to stop now, or Trump will win.<br /><br />
I continue to be cautiously hopeful. There are a lot of people who are energized. There are a lot of people who are sick of what we’ve come to. There are a lot of people who are determined to vote blue no matter who the nominee is. But I know Trump voters. I’ve lived and worked with them for almost 8 years now. I know the true believers. I know those who think he’s not too bad. I know those who think the economy is going great, why rock the boat. They will all be voting. We had better be damn sure we’ve gotten every last one of our voters to polls, and the only way we can do it is by giving them something to vote FOR.
<br /><br />Joe, Bernie... that’s up to you.Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-32276089975030352172019-06-08T14:39:00.003-04:002021-12-05T11:20:37.384-05:00Finding a slice of time in Nelsonville<p><span><span class="nc684nl6"><span>The Breeders</span></span></span> had an amazing set last night. I jumped, sang, moshed, and felt that amazing joy that you can only feel when fully immersed in the music that formed you in your twenties. I walked out the festival with a grin on my face as big as Kim and Kelley’s were on stage, as they were clearly enjoying the performance as much as we were. I’m glad I didn’t listen to a lot of their albums before the set, so as they played songs I hadn’t heard in years I had some of that sense of joy and discovery from the first time I heard them. They finished with “Gigantic” and of course we all lost it.</p><div dir="auto"><div class="ecm0bbzt hv4rvrfc ihqw7lf3 dati1w0a" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id="jsc_c_15"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t ew0dbk1b irj2b8pg"><div class="qzhwtbm6 knvmm38d"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql oi732d6d ik7dh3pa ht8s03o8 a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d3f4x2em fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb iv3no6db jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v b1v8xokw oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">There was also a sense of time passing, though. Not sad or bittersweet, but just different. Kelley sat on the stage and put on readers so she could see the bass tab on one song. One of the guys with the band had as much grey in his beard as me. And the people I moshed with looked they may not have been born the first time I heard the Pixies.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I was also thinking a lot about my college crew. Rob and I debating whether we had a bigger crush on Kim or Kelley. <span><span class="nc684nl6"><span>Steve</span></span></span>’s stated preference for female-voiced bands (remember Cub?). All the rest of the Arts House crew is indelibly linked in my mind to these artists and that moment.</div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But who am I kidding? <a href="http://thebreedersmusic.com/bio/"><span><span class="nc684nl6"><span>Neil Gaiman</span></span></span> said it all way better than I could</a>. Take a read, and enjoy your slice in time.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigdvdHMXQguVNUuvg5RixGhkBIGxOdVXbFi1tJffWTwu_tWYIRQ7FBi2v8_I0PB79wb4Jg3IoJjlZ7w2Qux4s3RbdFnPxZiGy4--pZLZ9a1V9wB86MmIMCUXp6e-RbiG2I1YpVWq-sA4fxA-1kfk6VeN7vzKyYj2XmHMVbIZsBx2pPq4RuJ55oz8T7Zg=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigdvdHMXQguVNUuvg5RixGhkBIGxOdVXbFi1tJffWTwu_tWYIRQ7FBi2v8_I0PB79wb4Jg3IoJjlZ7w2Qux4s3RbdFnPxZiGy4--pZLZ9a1V9wB86MmIMCUXp6e-RbiG2I1YpVWq-sA4fxA-1kfk6VeN7vzKyYj2XmHMVbIZsBx2pPq4RuJ55oz8T7Zg=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHAPwdnNbQ4MOi4OJlwZGM-WUQReGFO4Vdm3Y2eoOPWEoZI14ueQ3igJs9arY0HeXqGptCnkqG14CUA_Szz4xircnu-60Io_Jt_JWUdXKtdnfYoeM8QxrNpgsbDq8bU39X1LGTIoWlfJrAsToGsjMqI1kl-14gdBHededIMp9WLFyYU67UDqMUbfdS-Q=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHAPwdnNbQ4MOi4OJlwZGM-WUQReGFO4Vdm3Y2eoOPWEoZI14ueQ3igJs9arY0HeXqGptCnkqG14CUA_Szz4xircnu-60Io_Jt_JWUdXKtdnfYoeM8QxrNpgsbDq8bU39X1LGTIoWlfJrAsToGsjMqI1kl-14gdBHededIMp9WLFyYU67UDqMUbfdS-Q=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgFqmTJfde9O0xDCNAP25HfDRlTJ0lbAZDVTvo4CJhk1mSV9575tPrEMXT9a5TWH95XQakiDgKpdhD-Y9qnLAUuM8VEUSomav4158eLtmyVtse2N3KmqKdLqDdR4AZ5VwDiiBbwgyzLnVLnH_FUVDb4USP6Frki21h29wDCxaCqZMDR7yMjVXBbutTAg=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgFqmTJfde9O0xDCNAP25HfDRlTJ0lbAZDVTvo4CJhk1mSV9575tPrEMXT9a5TWH95XQakiDgKpdhD-Y9qnLAUuM8VEUSomav4158eLtmyVtse2N3KmqKdLqDdR4AZ5VwDiiBbwgyzLnVLnH_FUVDb4USP6Frki21h29wDCxaCqZMDR7yMjVXBbutTAg=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLAzcufC1FU3UJ6pinSKM8iVAG4BjBbLmuvkVRxkY-_DDhoFaIYxxKLr2z9fRT7OCab3GgYUGWCTidlmY1V7fHFMdOv_2ltCkAqT-Ykqdr9-Sx6AzOfFC7GH56_-8A7dbz1sjt3LIgQ87nhHQOUa9DnabfqRbG55yksczZYLqZryYjxygXzbrJ3v2PIA=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLAzcufC1FU3UJ6pinSKM8iVAG4BjBbLmuvkVRxkY-_DDhoFaIYxxKLr2z9fRT7OCab3GgYUGWCTidlmY1V7fHFMdOv_2ltCkAqT-Ykqdr9-Sx6AzOfFC7GH56_-8A7dbz1sjt3LIgQ87nhHQOUa9DnabfqRbG55yksczZYLqZryYjxygXzbrJ3v2PIA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUYU4RrsqE0VdWwXCV08p0CL85z-FV8tcZahl6nwyC6lnF8SqV7ZODTe0RQOrqKCB2ytRCBcbKehuc-RjzJpgBWP3aVFUljHg-UHHLICA5SF_M9_mt77iXyc3UhCB2Xybu4Mf2YUBtKFDtMjaNmHWA__6LfhZ_A8PDLTLrILORCuXwbslvrrZ9AfDmaA=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUYU4RrsqE0VdWwXCV08p0CL85z-FV8tcZahl6nwyC6lnF8SqV7ZODTe0RQOrqKCB2ytRCBcbKehuc-RjzJpgBWP3aVFUljHg-UHHLICA5SF_M9_mt77iXyc3UhCB2Xybu4Mf2YUBtKFDtMjaNmHWA__6LfhZ_A8PDLTLrILORCuXwbslvrrZ9AfDmaA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgQGxNMZoAkoDGMRFP9qA_fP4-jVI0CNzthMv89Lw6LcOvvjoxBvIq3GS9IGXb3NQp5-XMfvczAFHR_JUMuzC01ibU_E8gTj4ba7LXVKWXQ2lCfzAQgzQxX5hEf42wD8boQWk01v2k8sC3TFw0MqN-Bgrs8tQdIt-pG-E-zlgG4fJhfCMZR41MLL0gnA=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgQGxNMZoAkoDGMRFP9qA_fP4-jVI0CNzthMv89Lw6LcOvvjoxBvIq3GS9IGXb3NQp5-XMfvczAFHR_JUMuzC01ibU_E8gTj4ba7LXVKWXQ2lCfzAQgzQxX5hEf42wD8boQWk01v2k8sC3TFw0MqN-Bgrs8tQdIt-pG-E-zlgG4fJhfCMZR41MLL0gnA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div>Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-30925758592530019022015-01-07T20:05:00.001-05:002015-01-07T20:43:46.027-05:00365<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwG0CAqJs7qfTvhyphenhyphenH4A6J1tQahZLkarqGGxuWyVSsWaAtit3lTXmnGwUpGQJycsMcuQkbHPxadZy7GGRkoPRfQ-phnZuZ0R4aOGK3dzfpa36I4jJJHmpAWPcDMCHSLn-CsfP3K1EGvtO9/s1600/2014-365.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwG0CAqJs7qfTvhyphenhyphenH4A6J1tQahZLkarqGGxuWyVSsWaAtit3lTXmnGwUpGQJycsMcuQkbHPxadZy7GGRkoPRfQ-phnZuZ0R4aOGK3dzfpa36I4jJJHmpAWPcDMCHSLn-CsfP3K1EGvtO9/s1600/2014-365.jpg" height="332" width="400" /></a></div>
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365 days, 365 photos. Sunrises, sunsets, woods, mountains, lakes, fields, cities, bike rides, hikes, friends, celebrations, and the ordinary beauty of the everyday.<br />
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It's more than a little odd to see an entire year reduced to a single image. On the one hand it makes the year seem very short, very small. On the other hand, it's incredible to see what one year, or one image, can contain. Every image in this has a story, and each story intersects other stories. In one image is an entire world, and in this one image is the entire year. Who I was on January 1 is completely different from who I was on December 31, and there's no way anyone could have predicted the path I would take to get there. And yet, here it is captured in a single image.<br />
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The sense of place a photograph gives you makes this so much more powerful than just a journal. I can remember exactly where I was when I took each shot, where I was going, what I was doing, how I was feeling, what I was thinking. Days that might have just been another day at the office become recognizable, and special days become even more significant.<br />
<br />
I started this project just because I enjoy finding beauty in the world around me, and sharing it with others. I hope that what everyone who followed or stumbled across this took away from it is that there is beauty around us everywhere we look, if we just take a moment to find it. Take a moment to notice that, and realize how much you can find to be joyful about in 365 days.Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-59993398629748708952013-11-28T22:50:00.001-05:002013-11-29T10:09:55.094-05:00Thanks<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span class="userContent" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">So what am I really thankful for?<br /><br />I’m thankful for my home; cozy and warm, with cats curled up beside me.<br /><br />I’m thankful for Mozart, Haydn, Brahms, and Mahler, and the chance to sing them to thousands.<br /><br />I’m thankful for art; in galleries, on streets, danced on a stage, seen in a museum.<br /><br />I’m thankful for pizza, beer, and Douglass Street.<br /><br />I'm thankful for comfortable saddles and chain tools.<br /><br />I’m thankful for a place on the floor at the SOMC Life Center, and getting stuck at railroad crossings.<br /><br />I’m thankful for my Light and Motion Urban 550 and Scioto Trails after dark.<br /><br />I’m thankful for people who think it’s a good idea to ride 50 miles to a garden.<br /><br />I’m thankful for chainsaws and friends who know how to use them.<br /><br />I’m thankful for mosh pits in Pearl Alley.<br /><br />I’m thankful for sprints in the dark.<br /><br />I’m thankful for Lower Twin and Mingo Road.<br /><br />I’m thankful for Ohiopyle, Cumberland, the big slackwater, Harper’s Ferry, Silver Spring, and the Dubliner.<br /><br />I’m thankful for tomatoes and fires.<br /><br />I’m thankful for bells and the chance to share them.<br /><br />I’m thankful for Great Seal and Lake Hope.<br /><br />I’m thankful for Red Sox Baseball.<br /><br />I'm thankful for a crash pad in Old Town East.<br /><br />I’m thankful for whiskey sours and poetry slams.<br /><br />And I’m thankful for all of you. Here’s to another year to be thankful for.</span></div>
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Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-82129016505052628132013-10-06T11:17:00.000-04:002013-10-06T11:17:31.653-04:00Now We Are 40I don't care about birthdays.<br />
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To be clear, this doesn't mean that I don't like birthdays, or that I have some sort of pathological aversion to getting older. I literally don't care about birthdays. My birthday rolls around, and most of the time my only reaction is, "oh yeah, it's my birthday again, isn't it?" I've had people suggest that I'm avoiding some deep seated anxiety about getting older, but seriously, I really don't care. Since I've been divorced, it's been a good excuse to throw a party and have some friends over, but I could do that any time. Granted, people are more likely to show up when it's my birthday, but all I really want is to hang out with my friends.</div>
<div>
<br />
Against all of this, this time it's different. As much as I'd like to think that this is just another number, it is a landmark. Both because we happen to have ten fingers and so have a weird affinity for intervals of ten, but also because of how it uncannily falls so close to the middle of our lives. Whatever the case may be, it's been more on my mind than any birthday I've had as an adult.<br />
<br />
40.</div>
<div>
<br />
The chances are pretty good that I've got fewer years in front of me than behind me at this point. This inevitably makes one go reflective. What's happened in the past 40 years? What have I accomplished? How have I made my mark on the world? How have I impacted those around me? And of course, what does it all mean?</div>
<div>
<br />
Maybe I haven't done everything I might have wanted to. Maybe I haven't done as much as I could. It has been a messy, human life. Not everythng has gone as I might have wanted, but it has been lived...</div>
<div>
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I have traveled half the world, and around every corner seen something new and amazing. I have sat at the feet of those learned beyond my years and gained from their wisdom. I have revealed the thoughts of ancients to new students eager to learn what it all means. I have climbed inside the language and the world of those who came before and gleaned glimpses of their minds.</div>
<div>
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I have ridden thousands of miles over hills and plains, in heat and snow. I have piloted boats across northern lakes and through sub tropical seas. I have tread mountain ridges and wilderness deeps. I have lit fires against the cold and plunged into icy streams to escape the heat.</div>
<div>
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I have stood in front of crowds of hundreds and made them laugh. I have lit the stage to make them cry. I have sung under starry skies and blazing sun, in caverns and on mountains, before thousands and to one. I have thrown myself headlong into the tumult of music, and sat patiently as its beauty unfolded before me.</div>
<div>
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I have seen death, I have seen birth. I have joyed under the moon at a friend's happiness. I have cried at a friend's funeral with the loss of one who helped to make me who I am. I have held those I love as they mourned, and I have been held as I mourned in turn.</div>
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I have laughed with friends new and old, and wronged friends now lost to me. I have failed, gloriously, and learned more about myself through that pain.</div>
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I have given of my time and treasure to help those closest to me, to help the city I live in, to help the least fortunate among us.</div>
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I have raised from a child a woman beautiful and strong.</div>
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I have loved, and been loved in return.</div>
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It's been a good 40 years. Here's to the next 40.</div>
Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-31860025930664773382012-11-05T21:25:00.000-05:002012-11-05T21:25:33.617-05:00Last WordI am so tired of this.<br />
<br />
I don't know what's different this time around. We have many of the same players and attitudes as we did in 2008, but for some reason back then it didn't seem to bother me as much. Maybe it's that, as I observed to someone the other day, at least McCain was consistent. But this time around there doesn't seem to be a coherent, let alone consistent position on the right.<br />
<br />
But I don't think that really explains my weariness with the election this time around. It's more than that the position is so incoherent. It's that so many people have bought into it and don't seem to have the foggiest idea that everything about it is so wrong, and so dangerous.<br />
<br />
Most of you know that I'm fairly upfront with my political leanings and my beliefs. If I feel that the person I'm talking to can handle an intense debate without it damaging our relationship, I'm even more than happy to really engage, to really push and argue and tear apart ideas and examine assumptions. But the fact is that I'm always holding back. I doubt that anyone has seen me really go after a debate for years. And recent changes in my career have made me even more reluctant to let loose.<br />
<br />
But now I'm so tired of it. I'm so tired of smiling and nodding as people who I love and respect make excuses for the conservative side in this election. I'm so tired of people ignoring obvious gaps in the arguments, or passing over borderline racist and misogynist comments from actual candidates for political office, and doing so because "things haven't gotten better fast enough" or because "he's arrogant" or because "it will cost me money."<br />
<br />
There is no argument on the Republican side this time around. None. As near as I can tell their platform is:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Cut taxes. Doesn't matter that it will cost well over a trillion dollars over the next ten years. Do it anyway.</li>
<li>Increase military spending. Doesn't matter that we already spend more on the military than most of the rest of the world combined, or that the military doesn't want or need it. Do it anyway.</li>
<li>Let insurance companies continue to inefficiently make life or death decisions about people's lives while bankrupting them. That's better than costing everyone a little more money in taxes.</li>
<li>Remove any regulations on industry, especially the fossil fuel industry. Because that costs jobs, renewable energy is nothing but a scam, and record drought and several 100-year storms in a row isn't a sign that anything's wrong.</li>
<li>Get government out of people's lives, unless it involves a very narrow reading of certain Bible passages, in which case legislate the hell out of it.</li>
<li>Oh, and we're going to do all that while cutting the debt. Because once we do all of that everyone will be so happy that we'll have enough money to do it.</li>
</ol>
<br />
I'm happy to discuss the relative merits of free market economies, or libertarian principles of government, or the role of taxes in a modern democracy. But that isn't happening here. There is no positive argument for true conservatism being made, because the positive argument might alienate some centrist voters. So instead, let's either scare everyone into voting for the Republican candidate, or convince them that we have some magic bullet that's going to make all their problems go away.<br />
<br />
I'm not the biggest fan of the president. I think that he hasn't been anywhere near as forceful as he needed to be in making his case. I think that he placed too much faith in rational decision making and lost a lot of political capital in the process. And I think that he's abandoned a lot moral issues that really need to be addressed, like the use of drones in combat, or the ongoing detention of accused terrorists at Guantanamo without trial or counsel, or the growing power of the Executive branch. But at least he has a coherent plan to continue to ameliorate the country's economic problems, which has been working for some time now. If anything he hasn't gone far enough in demanding sacrifice from the wealthiest Americans or supporting infrastructure and alternative energy development. At least he's not making stuff up.<br />
<br />
But even beyond the platforms, you also have to consider who you're actually supporting if you vote with the Republicans in this election. You're supporting people who think it's necessary to qualify rape as "forcible" or "legitimate." You're supporting people who think that certain people in our society shouldn't have the same rights as others because of who they love. You're supporting people who believe that our current president is a secret Muslim communist who was born in Kenya, but probably actually just don't trust him because his pigmentation is a little on the dark side.<br />
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After all of this, I'm sorry. There is no argument to be made to vote Republican in this election. And I am befuddled and distressed that it is as close as it is. Are my fellow Americans so small-minded, so easily swayed by pretty words, that they could be won over by arguments as flimsy as this? Or is it just that they are so afraid of people who are different from them, or so afraid of perceived threats, or so afraid that true recovery is HARD dammit, that they cling to the one person who sounds like he's going to make it all better? Is almost fifty percent of the country nothing more than scared children in the dark, crying for daddy?<br />
<br />
Apparently.<br />
<br />
I'm so tired of this.Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-83690627024866370542011-11-30T18:24:00.001-05:002011-11-30T19:02:52.716-05:00The Tenth DoctorThe other day a friend of mine <a href="https://twitter.com/#%21/judahthor/status/141120826350116864" target="_blank">responded</a> to my comment that I missed David Tennant as the tenth Doctor Who, saying that there was something very meta about that because I could be a doppelganger of David Tennant. However, after thinking about it some more I'm wondering if David Tennant might be my doppelganger. So much so that I've started searching my belongings for a <a href="http://srrose.tumblr.com/post/8962172320/discovering-doctor-who-season-3-e8-e9-human" target="_blank">pocketwatch engraved with Gallifrean symbols</a>. Consider-- both Cycholibrarian and the tenth Doctor:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Are tall and skinny.</li>
<li>Have a tendency to run their hands wildly through their hair while thinking, and don't seem to care about the resulting mess.</li>
<li>Prefer to wear Chuck Taylor All-Stars (even with a suit).</li>
<li>Have a tendency to talk very quickly about things no one else understands.</li>
<li>Have been known to bellow "Allons-y!" and other non-English phrases for reasons only clear to themselves.</li>
<li>Have very expressive faces, especially when grimacing about Very Important Things.</li>
<li>Move so fast that others frequently have trouble keeping up.</li>
<li>Surround themselves with beautiful and intelligent women, even if they can't have a relationship with them.</li>
</ul>
And if that wasn't enough, when in High School one of Cycholibrarian's nicknames was "Nick of Time"!<br />
<br />
So please keep your eyes open for that pocketwatch... but whatever you do, don't open it!<br />
<br />
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<br />Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-62213960393593795722011-10-26T21:13:00.000-04:002011-10-26T21:13:08.867-04:00SonnetThere is a magic in the rising moon,<br />Across the sea the siren voices call,<br />The mountains pull the wand'rer from his room,<br />And forests make no lord so fit a hall.<br />Beneath clear skies we huddle round the flame,<br />Laughing until our hands and souls are warm.<br />New faces fast become our ancient names<br />Known to us all before the world was born.<br />This is my blessing and my greatest fear:<br />To see it all and never stop for rest.<br />I think and new frontiers 'fore me appear,<br />And pathways spread beyond each undimmed crest,<br />Until I feel my heart will burst its bonds<br />With all the possibilities and songs.Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-74576102886689619762011-10-07T10:02:00.000-04:002011-10-07T10:02:41.390-04:00Six Degrees<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This morning I had another of those "small world" moments that seem to come so frequently in our hyper-connected world. I'm involved in a public art project for Columbus's bicentennial next year to create original pieces for the carillon bells at my church, and one of the composers who I've shown around the tower friend requested me. Even though I had never met her before this project, I come to find out that she's already friends with two other friends of mine. This is the point where most people just laugh and make a joke about how Columbus is really a pretty small town. But I've thought about this before and I'm not sure that it's so much that Columbus is a small town, but that we are all connected a lot more than we think.<br />
<br />
Think about how many times this has happened to you: you're at a party, maybe not even in your hometown, and you fall into conversation with a stranger. That person happens to know someone where you're from or where you work or from your hometown, and son-of-a-gun you know someone who went to school with that person or who works with them or who dated them 5 years ago! Heh, small world, right?<br />
<br />
But what if you're not at a party? What about that person walking down the street towards you? If you started a conversation with them, how far from you would they be? Or what about that other driver who you yelled at for cutting you off this morning? Or what about that guy sleeping on the stoop next to the bus stop?<br />
<br />
Not so much fun anymore, eh?<br />
<br />
I think that the truth we never think about when we laugh about the fact that we "happen" to know someone who knows someone is that really it applies to <i>anybody</i>. And not even people in our own hometown or even our own country. I'm willing to bet that every person reading this right now knows at least one person who either currently lives or used to live abroad. As soon as you find that connection you're into a whole other network. So my parish priest who grew up in Liberia probably links me to the Nobel peace prize winner Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, and through her to all the people suffering in Africa who she and her compatriots have tried to help. Mankind's suffering and triumphs are not as far removed from us as we might think.<br />
<br />
Some may say that this is just the result of our hyper-connected world. Except that it isn't. In the Homeric epics every time a character comes to a new place they recite a litany of connections that tie them to the people in that place. Texts ranging from the Bible to the Norse sagas are filled with genealogies that are designed to give the reader context and connection to the characters in those stories. This is a fundamental human drive: to find the connection, to learn how we are all connected to each other and what that can lead to.<br />
<br />
Ironically, I think that the connections we are discovering through technology are are actually allowing us to return to our natural desire to find what links us together. I can only hope that as more people discover this and more connections are forged it leads to more understanding among all people, and a greater care for our common humanity.<br />
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<br />Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-37393070948012870542011-09-24T13:39:00.000-04:002011-09-24T13:39:19.728-04:00HomecomingWhen I studied Greek, and in particular the <i>Odyssey</i>, one concept that always stuck out to me was <span class="greek">νόστος</span>, a Greek word meaning the return to one's home, usually after a long time away. As with most translations, this doesn't do the word justice. So much more is tied up in that word than just coming home: the longing for one's home, the comforts of home, the end of a long journey. For me it was always best summed up by book 13 of the <i>Odyssey</i>. After 20 years away from Ithaka, Odysseus is left on the shore of his homeland, and hidden by a mist brought by Athena to hide him from his enemies. At first Odysseus doesn't recognize the island, and when Athena, disguised a shepherd, tells him where he is, he doesn't believe her. Finally Athena reveals herself and lifts the mists, showing Odysseus the familiar landmarks of his home, and Odysseus falls to the ground and kisses the earth. <br />
<br />
This is, to my mind, a perfect description of what it's like to come home after a long time away or a long ordeal. As I arrived in New Hampshire yesterday, I felt much like Odysseus. Somehow, the massive changes that I've been through put me in a reflective mood. As I made my way through the mists left by the recent rain, I tried to put myself back as I was 20 years ago, remembering how to get to the places I used to go, remembering driving to visit friends and visit school, seeing all those landmarks that are familiar but at the same time unfamiliar.<br />
<br />
I'm also going to be attending my 20th high school reunion, and I went to visit the school and some of my former teachers today for the first time since my brother graduated in 1994. Again, so many things were familiar but at the same time unfamiliar. I watched as the school librarian, my former adviser, taught a group of freshmen the basics of evaluating sources, while another former teacher called out some rowdy students with the familiarly gruff but good-natured "Guys, it's really simple. Be quiet, or die." He turned to me afterwards and said with a grin, "See? Nothing changes." But then lamented that since the school had gone to all white boards he no longer had chalk to throw at the unruly kids. <br />
<br />
The school has grown. My old haunts were all still there, but new buildings and additions made them all seem smaller and unfamiliar. However back behind the school I was still able to find the old path to the grove of hemlocks in a ravine that another adviser of mine had nicknamed "Socrates." Someone had added a rope line to mark the pathway, but I'm pretty sure that some of the logs preventing erosion along the bank are the same ones my friends and I cut and put in place more than 20 years ago.<br />
<br />
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So I have come home after my travels. It may have only been a year since I've been here, but it's been 17 years since I've been here in the Fall, it's been 20 years since I've seen many of my friends from high school, and it's the first time since moving away that I've been here on my own. So much has changed in this past year that I feel like a different person. This time it <i>is </i>my <span class="greek">νόστος. </span>I've awoken on my shore, and Athena has lifted the mist, and I will be restored.</div>
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Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-84257245790318304662011-09-11T09:00:00.000-04:002011-09-11T09:00:04.698-04:00RememberingTen years ago we all received an unimaginable shock. Everyone responded to this differently, but for me there have always been two main outlets when I'm dealing with something that extreme: music and writing. After September 11, 2001 I tried to put what I was thinking and feeling into words, really just for myself. I've carried the result around in a portfolio ever since, and it seems fitting to share on the tenth anniversary.<br />
<br />
<br />
New Phoenix<br />
<br />
I saw them once before—<br />
Atlasian pillars thrusting up against the dome<br />
In the futility of concrete,<br />
Pretending that the day begins<br />
And ends because we said so.<br />
<br />
So this is what we’ve wrought,<br />
O Beautiful for Pilgrim’s Dreams—<br />
The roar of our invention still echoes down the canyons.<br />
Thine Alabaster Cities Gleam a little less<br />
Now stained by human tears.<br />
<br />
Who were we to tempt the sin of Babel?<br />
The peoples of a thousand tongues<br />
Thrown all together in one place<br />
As though the color green were Word enough<br />
To reunite the sons of Abram.<br />
<br />
And now we think that all can be restored<br />
If we root out the devil in his hole.<br />
One man could not bring all this pain,<br />
And hurts of millions cannot be assuaged<br />
By further torturing of one tormented soul.<br />
<br />
Perhaps there is a larger frame:<br />
Blanched faces dig for crimson under azure skies.<br />
Why chase demons when the phoenix<br />
Has risen from the ashes before us?<br />
We have already won.
Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-78627784881584275582011-09-04T17:25:00.005-04:002011-09-04T17:35:36.478-04:00Car FreeOne of the more interesting side-effects of the divorce is that I am now car free. The reactions I get when I tell people this are, frankly, kind of amusing. Almost always there’s some look of horror, an expression of sympathy, questions of how I can possibly survive without a car, etc., etc.
<br />
<br />The way I ended up here is really very simple: we only had one car, she needed it, I didn’t. I was already riding my bike pretty much everywhere I needed to go. I have one bike with a crate and a trailer, so transporting groceries and so forth wouldn’t be much of a challenge; and in the worst case scenario, my new apartment is an easy walk from stores, restaurants, and a bus line. So really, it’s not that big a deal.
<br />
<br />In fact, one of the most interesting things about being car free is how surprisingly easy it’s turning out to be. “But Nick,” you say, “sure it’s easy for you. You’re cycho!” Okay, I grant you that I already ride my bike a lot, but contrary to what some people tell me, you won’t “die” if you tried to do it yourself.
<br />
<br />Take last weekend for example. That was the first time I did a big shopping trip by bike. There’s one store about 8 miles away that has a lot of things I need at really good prices. There’s also a Target en route, so I’d be able to knock out two stops on the same trip. I hooked up the trailer and set out at an easy pace around 9:00 in the morning.
<br />
<br />One of the first things I realized that I’d have to stop doing if the bicycle was going to be my only means of transportation was treating every trip like a race. I was in no hurry: I had nowhere to be, it was a pleasant morning, and I had planned a route that took me through the residential streets of Upper Arlington. So I just pedaled along and enjoyed the scenery.
<br />
<br />As I got further away from the 1950’s sections of Upper Arlington, I began to notice how the options for getting around became fewer and fewer until eventually I was in developments with no sidewalks, huge garages and parking lots, and wide boulevards that drivers treated like highways despite the 30 mph speed limits. Eventually these gave way to roads that hadn’t been improved since they were in a rural area, and now had to deal with huge amounts of traffic with no berm and no turning lanes. When I finally came to the major 4-lane road I had been dreading, I was pleased to see that there was at least a sidewalk. So for a change I broke the law and rode along the sidewalk. There were no pedestrians, and frankly it was in this one case safer than trying to mix it up with cars going 50 mph in both lanes.
<br />
<br />Putting that aside for a moment, one of the most common reasons I hear from people why they don’t want to ride their bikes for transportation is a fear of cars. The trick to riding in traffic is simply confidence. You are allowed on the road, and no one except for psychopaths really want to cause you harm. So if the lane is too narrow for a car to pass safely, do what the law says and take over the whole lane. Ride right down the middle where everyone can see you and have to wait to pass you. If you do this, you will be very safe. The only trick is developing that confidence.
<br />
<br />So I went through my shopping stops, loaded up the trailer with 28 lbs of cat litter, a 12-pack of coke, and 3 large grocery bags (with room to spare!) and headed towards home. I was grateful that it was (somewhat) downhill from there, but again, riding at an easy pace it really wasn’t a challenge. I made it home after a just about two hour trip, and since I hadn’t pushed myself I really wasn’t that tired. In fact, later that day I would run some more errands and finish having ridden about 35 miles.
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<br /><a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/view/48142638">My Saturday 08/27/2011</a><br/>
<br /><a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/?location=Columbus, OH">Find more Cycling Routes / Bike Rides in Columbus, OH</a>
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<br />Don’t get me wrong, a car is definitely easier. I have to put a lot of thought and planning into making my trips by bike. It’s not a simple thing to hop in the car and run back to the house if I forget something. I have to allow more time after I arrive to cool down and in some cases change clothes. And I have to pay more attention to the weather, so I can either wear the appropriate gear or (as was the case this morning) time my rides to avoid weather. But I can’t help thinking that’s a good thing: being more mindful our bodies’ needs, aware of our connection to nature, and taking more time with our daily tasks.
<br />
<br />The bottom line is that living life without a car <span style="font-style:italic;">is </span>a viable option. But the reactions I’ve gotten as I’ve told people that I no longer have a car underscore how much we as a society cannot imagine life without the car. A good thought experiment to demonstrate this is to ask someone how far it is to, say, Cleveland. Nine times out of ten the answer will be “about two and half hours.” The answer given<span style="font-style: italic;"> is the time it takes to drive there</span>, not the actual distance of 150 miles.
<br />
<br />I think we’ve also begun to lose track of what distances actually mean. Take my big shopping trip again. I rode 8 miles one way, and it took me about 45 minutes at an easy pace. How long would it have taken me to drive that? Well, from past experience, about half that time. That’s right, <span style="font-style: italic;">half</span>. So we’re making car payments of $200 a month, paying $70 a month on insurance, and spending $40 dollars to fill up the tank so we can cut the trip time in half?
<br />
<br />I fully realize that this would not work for everyone. None of this changes that our society has become car-dependent, and as a result many people can only afford to live far away from their work. But with careful choices about where we live, and thought and planning about how we structure our lives, it <span style="font-style: italic;">is </span>possible.Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-20189076956776522522011-08-29T12:00:00.001-04:002020-11-27T23:58:18.958-05:00Moving onHi there.
<br>
<br>
It’s been a while, I know. When I look at the last post date I have another one of those 20/20 hindsight moments and think, well of course I stopped writing then, that’s probably around the time things started to really go downhill. Not that they were great before that…
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<br>
By the time you all read this I’ll be divorced. In the grand scheme of things it’s probably not that big a deal. One of the things that’s struck me as I’ve gone through this and let people know is the number of friends who have already been through this but I had no idea. So that’s a positive to know that things do work out on the other side. But right now, from in the thick of things, it really sucks.
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<br>
As divorces go, this one is pretty straightforward. We had no children together, thank goodness, and my stepdaughter is an adult. No property to speak of. Massive debts, but those are easily split depending on whose name they’re in. I’ve found a nice place, moved out, and am starting to develop new rhythms to my life. So what am I complaining about? Yeah, it sucks, but it could be so much worse…
<br>
<br>
Well, I think for starters it’s because this was not my choice. Jessica has always had difficulties, and those have been exacerbated recently by what we now know to be the onset of Huntington’s disease. But I was prepared to stick by her, to take care of her through to the end. Even though for years now she’s been saying that she wanted to leave, and complained about how the only reason she hasn’t is because she has no job and no money of her own.
<br>
<br>
So I stuck it out. She left last summer for two weeks, with no intention of coming back. Her mother talked her into returning, and she said we would work it out. Maybe I should have tried harder to find a way to get counseling sooner. Maybe I could have done more…
<br>
<br>
Or maybe the boat had already sailed.
<br>
<br>
In November she finally said that she had it, that she wanted a divorce, and this time she was sticking to it. I cried, I argued, I shouted, I tried to persuade… in retrospect I really shouldn’t have. I already knew she was cheating. I already knew she had been messing with guys online and even driving places to see other guys. I probably should have left after the first time I discovered this. But I felt I owed her. I had sworn to take care of her. So I stuck it out. After November she stopped trying to hide it. Guys would come by to pick her up and all I could say was “I don’t want to see any of them because I think I might punch them in the face.”
<br>
<br>
I thought I could still help her. I thought I could get us both to a place where she would still be okay even though we were apart. But as I started the process, found a lawyer, and eventually tried to find a place for myself I discovered that was impossible. Not only was it hard enough to take care of myself through all this, if we were going to be apart she would have to take responsibility for herself eventually. Even if I did everything for her right up to the moment of the divorce, what about afterwards? I was doing her no service by trying to fix everything, to make everything right. But damn it’s hard. I felt that I was betraying myself by not helping someone in need, but whenever I helped her I felt like I was betraying myself by giving in to someone who had treated me so badly.
<br>
<br>
So here we are. I have no idea what she’ll do. I have no idea how she’ll take care of herself. And that scares the crap out of me. But I have to let go. I have to move forward and take care of myself and trust that one way or another she’ll do the same.
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<br>
Now that I’m on my own things are starting to get better. I’m starting to let myself relax. I’m starting to let myself do things I want to do and not feel guilty about it. I’m starting to feel like I’m allowed to be myself and be happy. But there’s still a long way to go.
<br>
<br>
Through all of this there is no way I could have made it without the help of so many friends. Perhaps the greatest bright spot in all of this is to know how many people care about me and want to see me well and happy. So many kindnesses stick out and hold me up through all of this. The friend who said early on that she had always wished I had a partner like she had with her husband, and that she didn’t think I ever had that. The friend who told me I deserved so much better and then chastised me when I said I had a hard time admitting that to myself. The countless friends who have gone to dinners and lunches, coffee and visits, and listened to the whole sorry story with compassion and love. Friends who have found ways to keep me busy, get me out, and reassure me that the best is yet to come. All of you help me to remain an optimist, and remember that this too shall pass.
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<br>
It may be corny, but I think there’s a reason we always turn to music to get us through hard times. One song in particular has been my anthem through all of this, and has suddenly appeared at the times I needed a boost the most.
<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">So make your siren’s call</span>
<br>
<span style="font-style: italic;">And sing all you want,</span>
<br>
<span style="font-style: italic;">I will not hear what you have to say</span>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-style: italic;">‘Cause I need freedom now</span>
<br>
<span style="font-style: italic;">And I need to know how</span>
<br>
<span style="font-style: italic;">To live my life as it’s meant to be.</span>
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</div>Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-16619897833418520142009-11-12T20:56:00.001-05:002009-11-12T20:58:22.856-05:00A ThoughtShort post tonight: just a thought really.<br /><br />When was the last time you climbed a tree?<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5KUNGk7FQorua67JDC_5ipU-n6sBv1LA8nLI9NziX95utRPRKa5hwsI4N5fKMZw0bex9NiFWxj9XNMNhFo_0LxQNA9WUes4OywZoRMs764gI1z6NR9p9zAXWqX1x3PqOwMDhyphenhyphenEJHxwiI/s1600-h/in-tree-calvin--26-hobbes-318462_1024_768.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5KUNGk7FQorua67JDC_5ipU-n6sBv1LA8nLI9NziX95utRPRKa5hwsI4N5fKMZw0bex9NiFWxj9XNMNhFo_0LxQNA9WUes4OywZoRMs764gI1z6NR9p9zAXWqX1x3PqOwMDhyphenhyphenEJHxwiI/s400/in-tree-calvin--26-hobbes-318462_1024_768.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403401543294793106" border="0" /></a>Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-72527451578407644182009-11-11T20:46:00.000-05:002009-11-12T09:04:27.563-05:00Can't we all just get along?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://alarob.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/donkey_elephant_small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 217px;" src="http://alarob.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/donkey_elephant_small.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Passage of the health care reform bill in the House this past week and the ensuing reaction put me in mind yet again of how absurd our political rivalries have become. That such a watered-down excuse for a "reform" bill would cause this much vitriol back and forth across the aisle is utterly absurd to me. How is it that we've come to a point where something that should be a no-brainer-- figuring out a better way to provide health care to everyone-- leads to protests that our government is either socialist or fascist, or possibly both?<br /><br />The main thing that confuses me is how we ever got anything done before this. Certainly emancipation, the New Deal, civil rights, and even Johnson's Great Society weren't uncontroversial. But they still happened. You could make the claim that extraordinary circumstances or the force of character of their proponents were the only reason they succeeded, but that seems overly simple to me. What has shifted in our society that now makes passing anything more than a weak excuse for reform all but impossible?<br /><br />It seems fairly clear to me that the way ideas are presented to the public must play a major role in this. Rather than (as was the case before) elected officials working in what amounted to a vacuum where they could work simply among themselves to accomplish whatever they politically could, instead the public is fed whatever story makes the most headlines and immediately do whatever they can to send those officials off the rails. I'm not saying that the way it was before was ideal. Such a model can clearly lead to vast corruption and cronyism. But does this new model make any more sense?<br /><br />We seem to be in a situation where whatever spin the media or the media face of our officials puts on an issue is what winds up shaping the debate. And for whatever reason, the media spoon feeds these angles to us instead of acting as the "4th estate" and trying to get at whatever truth is behind the spin. Outlets like Fox News are perhaps the most insidious and irresponsible examples of this trend, where there seems to be an extreme prejudice towards rhetoric over truth, with the result that absolutely nothing gets done. The ultimate irony of this to me is that in many ways Fox News is just as bad as Izvestia during the height of the Soviet Union. Viewers are told whatever the leadership want them to hear. Unfortunately the viewers are lapping up what Fox is selling them.<br /><br />I have no idea how to get out of this, since the left has had to assume the same tactics in response to what has been coming from the right, and any news outlet that tries to go down the middle loses market share. All I know is that if we can't fix something as obviously broken as Health Care in this environment, how can we move this country forward at all?Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-83309041087780669632009-11-10T21:04:00.000-05:002022-02-03T08:46:47.424-05:00ObscenityI have something obscene sitting on my desk at work. Shocking, I know. But there it is. Or at least according to <a href="https://www.cbr.com/kentucky-library-to-move-mature-graphic-novels-to-adult-section-updated/">these</a> fine, upstanding citizens it's obscene.
What is this obscenity? Shield your eyes children, for here it is:
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFxCnysyr4mehzUFxs37C5Iz-sdaXXeLB37qWPFHVG0GZRjfTSosn_3sVF7xIGdjucpnXWT4ZHvyTSwdNLSLAuKN1O0KnjjnH_buKQ1EHRmbqXO74uM4RM__dS3gL0KmmlkneVbcnmDl1kfcfg2eR8XVN0IYd6CoB5kREDnAeaAxMUB79JSu-AY0-Q2w=s600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFxCnysyr4mehzUFxs37C5Iz-sdaXXeLB37qWPFHVG0GZRjfTSosn_3sVF7xIGdjucpnXWT4ZHvyTSwdNLSLAuKN1O0KnjjnH_buKQ1EHRmbqXO74uM4RM__dS3gL0KmmlkneVbcnmDl1kfcfg2eR8XVN0IYd6CoB5kREDnAeaAxMUB79JSu-AY0-Q2w=s320" width="213" /></a></div><br /> Yes, it's a graphic novel. Personally, I'd maybe call this one R-rated. But apparently a couple library employees in Kentucky felt it was their duty to shield the community and an 11-year-old from being exposed to this execrable work, which was given a starred review by <span style="font-style: italic;">Publisher's Weekly</span> and named as one of the 10 best graphic novels of 2007 by <span style="font-style: italic;">Time</span>. Indeed, it was so insidious that it was necessary to pray over the reader to prevent the images from penetrating the purity of her mind.
It's utterly laughable to me that a few drawings of boobs and copulation without parts visible would cause this sort of reaction. Don't get me wrong, I don't think an 11-year-old should read this. And having read the book myself, I don't think she'd enjoy it very much either. It's probably over the heads of some adults (as this entire incident maybe demonstrates). But shouldn't the parent's first question to the 11-year-old upon her return from the library be "so what did you get?" And shouldn't the parent then investigate a title that doesn't quite look right?
As a librarian, I'm committed to putting works that the community and experts believe to be important on my shelves. That means that I've got <span style="font-style: italic;">Lady Chatterly's Lover</span> and this graphic novel on the shelves, as well as the latest Ann Coulter and Glen Beck (far more offensive to me, personally). But it's not my job to judge these works' morality or quality. I'm in the business of providing access to information, and these employees should have been too.
The worst part of this story to me is the arrogance displayed by these two in believing that they were better suited to determine what that girl could read than her own parents, let alone what the whole community could read. Apparently the book was purchased at a patron's request, so clearly someone in the community wanted to read it. What made these two think that they knew better than the person who wanted to read the book? Even though I find the aforementioned works by Beck and Coulter as execrable as these two found the graphic novel, I'm not going to tell someone they can't read them.
I can't help but think that we'd all be better off if we just lived and let live.Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-61621361017597265452009-11-09T20:17:00.000-05:002009-11-10T21:02:06.616-05:00Steampunk: an Analysis (sort of)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4LRUoxRYVNq7TZKO7DTidZvzkshJVtIt6kUka1tfpfQv1BoRyGCyMF3t8q4UsBscE3ABnSxcfWe52HWX6g2_5TyBBAY3jRUk7YikVQmZOQ-BdY5QCyYkRm7jsd6DWdcOpLoyQcYyT73Gm/s1600-h/Steampunk_Airship_Pilot_by_homarusrex.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4LRUoxRYVNq7TZKO7DTidZvzkshJVtIt6kUka1tfpfQv1BoRyGCyMF3t8q4UsBscE3ABnSxcfWe52HWX6g2_5TyBBAY3jRUk7YikVQmZOQ-BdY5QCyYkRm7jsd6DWdcOpLoyQcYyT73Gm/s320/Steampunk_Airship_Pilot_by_homarusrex.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402461828560617634" border="0" /></a>I first came across the term "Steampunk" earlier this year, and I had no idea what it was referring to. I was actually a little disappointed in myself that I might have missed some major cultural development. With the futuristic elements at first I thought it was based on some sort of "Blade Runner"-esque view of the future. You know, where there's lots of punks, and... well... steam.<br /><br />I should have known that wasn't what it was about, but it was a while before I figured out that it referred to the Victorian period. It was capturing an alternate history where adventuresome "punks" manage to corral steam-age technology into accomplishing all sorts of futuristic feats. Ultimately, it goes back to H.G. Wells or Jules Verne, who were able to envision fabulous technology in the future but based in the only technology they knew at the time.<br /><br />The first thing that struck me about this, was how often the signs of a cultural movement show up before the movement is really defined. Taking punk music for example, the Stooges or the New York Dolls were performing their music before anyone was calling it "punk." In the case of steampunk, I immediately started thinking about works like "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" or "Neverwhere." I also saw the origins of the style in goth style. I could even see how it developed looking at my stepdaughter's progression from something vaguely goth to more and more focus on Victorian styles to the point where she bought a top hat and dressed as a sort of Mad Hatter for Halloween.<br /><br />But the most remarkable thing about steampunk to me is that it even exists. If you think about other cultural movements in recent times, they all seem to be aimed towards the future-- like hippies or new wave-- or total nihilism-- like punk. Either way they're about significant change: trying to make society something different than what it is.<br /><br />But steampunk doesn't seem to be about making change now. Instead it's almost like it's an attempt to hit the reset button. We don't like how this future turned out, so lets go back to the end of the 1800's when all this wonderful speculation was happening, and let's take a different route. It's total escapism, but it reflects a deep dissatisfaction both with how things are now, and also a strong suspicion that nothing can be done about it. I think this makes it different than escapism like fantasy novels or sci fi. The former talks about the distant past or even completely alternate worlds, the latter envisions a future where at least we still exist, even if things are going significantly wrong. Steampunk seems to say "we messed up in the last 100 years, wouldn't it be nice if we could try again?"<br /><br />I'm not sure if this is good, bad, or indifferent; but I do think it's worth considering what it might mean about us and about what direction we want our world to go.Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-64455357790900128632009-11-08T19:43:00.000-05:002009-11-09T20:06:49.818-05:00Right Here, Right NowWith the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin wall, I've been thinking a lot about the event. Looking back on it, it's hard to describe just how shocking it was for this to happen, and so suddenly. I might have been more aware of the wall and the cold war generally, since I read a lot of spy novels and Tom Clancy books at the time, but I think it's safe to say that at the time no one thought the wall would ever come down, or at least not in our lifetimes.<br /><br />I had been dimly aware at the time of how relaxed travel restrictions from Hungary and Czechoslovakia had led to large numbers of East Germans leaving the country and trying to get to the west through those countries, but I didn't think too much of it. Anytime there had been protest like this, inevitably the government would crack down, become more restrictive, and do everything they could to prevent things from getting out of hand. I just heard on a documentary about the fall that Erich Honecker had plans to further improve the wall.<br /><br />But then came November 9th. News showed people standing on the wall. This was just inconceivable. How could they be there without being shot? As we watched we discovered that the East German government had tried to diffuse the situation by relaxing travel restrictions themselves, but the people realized even before the government did that this meant the wall had no purpose.<br /><br />Anything could have gone wrong at any point along the way. The soliders could have fired to prevent the people from leaving: they had no orders telling them to let the people through. But the beauty of what happened that night is that the Berlin wall fell because the people wanted it to. After almost 30 years, it was finally too much, and it could not stand.<br /><br />The other thing that I knew that night was that the cold war was over. It would be another year before reunification. Two before the USSR ceased to be. But it was those people standing on the wall that was the real end. And it still gives me chills.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAybMlsz9FrVZpPzhoaDqIp_zYSs02_ZMRWpcs5E73HScxB55YR61tBE_K_P7sSvwnqP7aPB_HBagY6hpJtxyOex1yIHKSTw7-lmEk9L3lOgfnhVaeb7JPG0ylAnwutLB6IdH3GpeJJDyw/s1600-h/wallfall.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAybMlsz9FrVZpPzhoaDqIp_zYSs02_ZMRWpcs5E73HScxB55YR61tBE_K_P7sSvwnqP7aPB_HBagY6hpJtxyOex1yIHKSTw7-lmEk9L3lOgfnhVaeb7JPG0ylAnwutLB6IdH3GpeJJDyw/s320/wallfall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402274786284232386" border="0" /></a>Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-55443928952002346912009-11-07T20:24:00.000-05:002009-11-08T14:44:21.738-05:00Digital Killed the Radio Star<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitu60b6VgTtp6iRX7VbWRGP2SUkBO9kgcNkRRdQSjYUXQ4Rk0Y-4d2L6nluMfFv3jFiVOkUNbttc-qucTBI6ggNixtfE3FUeX0NKrbUphwyQNDQkiIrihlq7Gs7a6nkz7aFylfG7kmpJXd/s1600-h/37420109.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitu60b6VgTtp6iRX7VbWRGP2SUkBO9kgcNkRRdQSjYUXQ4Rk0Y-4d2L6nluMfFv3jFiVOkUNbttc-qucTBI6ggNixtfE3FUeX0NKrbUphwyQNDQkiIrihlq7Gs7a6nkz7aFylfG7kmpJXd/s200/37420109.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401820834082396130" border="0" /></a>For a couple years in college, I got to play radio DJ. I know that I wasn't especially good, but I like to think that at least I played good music. Our college radio station was pretty low tech at the time. We liked to say that we were broadcasting with the power of a light bulb (a 100 watt transmitter on the highest point on campus). And our equipment was far from sophisticated: an ancient board hooked up to a couple cart players, a couple turntables, and a couple CD players.<br /><br />As you can imagine, with a bunch of college kids running a radio station, it could sometimes be a challenge to make sure that you stayed on the air. Someone doesn't show up for a shift, or they don't pot up the right channel, and nothings going out. Dead air meant someone had screwed up, or the transmitter had crashed (again).<br /><br />So it always amuses me when I hear professional radio stations hit dead air. But it never really occurred to me why that might happen until today. I had known for a while that radio stations had gone digital. After all, why have to keep swapping CDs and fading between channels when you can set the whole playlist up on a computer and just let it run?<br /><br />But as I was driving home today, in the middle of the song, the radio station I was listening to went dead. I figured it was a fluke and waited for it to come back up. After several minutes of silence, suddenly, clear as a bell, the station broadcasts the Windows log-on sound.<br /><br />Apparently, they had to reboot. Who knew that Windows was alternative rock?Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-33279613988146220312009-11-06T19:30:00.000-05:002009-11-08T08:00:10.256-05:00All That We're Saying...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8JP17PGCI5-ovxYXjEjbNhAHnwxm0nrCGss24bEVfW0uWlURBDYWoymD7Xo_UJT1_LONREMZZwtKObcSUmtppe_wEP_tst2EieTPFtehy9XVFAR7BloBPk2BQnDY24YvFBeivzhy_b14/s1600-h/Peace+Dove.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8JP17PGCI5-ovxYXjEjbNhAHnwxm0nrCGss24bEVfW0uWlURBDYWoymD7Xo_UJT1_LONREMZZwtKObcSUmtppe_wEP_tst2EieTPFtehy9XVFAR7BloBPk2BQnDY24YvFBeivzhy_b14/s200/Peace+Dove.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401716817104181458" border="0" /></a><br />The other night while watching the History channel (yes, I am a nerd) when a trailer for one of the multiplicity of war programs came on, I was suddenly struck by the absurdity of it. Not the absurdity of the plethora of war programs on the History channel, but the absurdity of war.<br /><br />Think about it. What exactly is anyone hoping to gain in this time and place by putting an excessively large number of people into one place with the sole intent of blowing up people and/or things? I think that what really hit me about it was watching some footage of a sea battle from World War 2. Here are these large vessels in the ocean, pounding away at each other, but all that's going to be accomplished is enabling a force to land on a small island that normally no one would want?<br /><br />I suppose that there was a time when war made at least a little more sense. One group had something that was desired by another group, so the second group decides to take the something by force and the first group has to defend itself. Maybe it's still unnecessary, but it's at least understandable.<br /><br />But fast forward to today, and it appears that the sole reason we're blowing each other up is, to quote a <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2477117.The_Gone_Away_World">book</a> I read recently, "this insidious idea is antithetical to our existence and cannot be allowed to flourish alongside our peace-loving, free society." Where's the sense in that? At a time when you can pick up a phone and instantly make contact with anyone in the world, surely there are better ways to resolve things than resorting to violence.<br /><br />I think this shift happened sometime in the 20th century. Having lived in the last quarter of that century during a time of apparent peace, it's easy to forget that the entire century was essentially one gigantic war. It started in the traditional way: a few emerging superpowers decided that they wanted more land, and alliances were formed to prevent them from taking it. But that's where it ended. The treaty of Versailles was like no other treaty signed before: the winners got together, carved up the world the way they wanted it, and stuck it to the losers as hard as they could. The rest of the century became about vengeance for that act and rebelling against the imperialism that led those powers to think that they could simply cut the world up like pieces of pie. As soon as you start fighting about ideals like that, war seems to lose all sense of purpose.<br /><br />The other major shift was away from the "band of brothers" army and towards killing machines. In a significant way, it's a shame that the World War 2 mini-series was called "band of brothers." The line from Henry V continues "for he who sheds his blood this day with me shall be my brother." Remember, that's the <span style="font-style: italic;">King </span>speaking. Where was the "king" in the world wars? No longer were the leaders fighting alongside their men. When the people calling the shots are not putting themselves in danger, they no longer have direct motivation to protect their men. I don't mean to say that every leader since Waterloo has felt this way, but to an extent it's unavoidable. Troops become numbers. Citizens become collateral damage.<br /><br />And that's ultimately what leads us to where we are today. I'm sure that many of the men returning from Agincourt also suffered post-traumatic stress disorder, but consider that society didn't recognize it until World War 1 when the men started coming home with "shell-shock." And given the vast issues that our troops return with now and the cost to their families and society at large-- PTSD, familial violence, homelessness, depression, suicide-- we have to start asking what we're getting for this and stop sending people out blindly to fight for ideals when there is a better way.<br /><br />I don't mean to denigrate what the people who sign up for the military sacrifice in the name of protecting us. I think that their motivations are good, and that protection in some form or another is necessary. But I do question the leadership that continues to believe that it's worth the cost to send these people into harm's way in the name of an ideal. Ideas are meant to be discussed, not killed for. Surely it's at least conceivable that differences can be worked out and tolerated by sitting around the table and talking rather than by shedding the blood of millions.Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8163762533034243328.post-67190219587616969742009-11-05T21:44:00.000-05:002009-11-05T22:21:04.876-05:00Blow, Winds!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcD8H2qarJauCaU-b4FONi2Hn4JnqKnNkELUgME9ZvPW5rQyjo5Jt3NsnWqVbE2aGjnaD6VivtF34QqvUqaRM_s3uQtNIIdC08PaLCuVQLmJQPtfG4duhFMmHCGS0Zg-ai-EB9z6VE9K_v/s1600-h/Malcolm+-+Aeolus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 168px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcD8H2qarJauCaU-b4FONi2Hn4JnqKnNkELUgME9ZvPW5rQyjo5Jt3NsnWqVbE2aGjnaD6VivtF34QqvUqaRM_s3uQtNIIdC08PaLCuVQLmJQPtfG4duhFMmHCGS0Zg-ai-EB9z6VE9K_v/s200/Malcolm+-+Aeolus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400825413371798786" border="0" /></a><br />It never ceases to amaze me how much of a difference wind direction makes when you're riding a bike. Even on days when it's calm, on a bike you can tell what direction the wind is coming from. If you're pushing into it, just a slight change in pressure can make it harder to pedal.<br /><br />Today was one of the days when, even though the wind was blowing steadily from one direction, down on the streets you could hardly tell where it was coming from. One moment you'll be straining to make headway into the wind, then suddenly it's at your back. The pattern of buildings and cross streets can play havoc with the winds if they're blowing off the street directions. Since wind can make such a difference to how easy or hard my ride is going to be, I almost always check the NWS website before I leave on my rides. It just makes me feel better knowing what I'm getting into.<br /><br />This close connection to the weather and the outdoors is one of the many reasons I love riding. This week I wasn't able to ride for a couple days in a row, and I realized I had no clue what was going on with the weather. I mean, obviously I could see if it was sunny or not, and I could tell whether it was cold or warm. But I didn't feel it. I wasn't tuned into how the wind could indicate what the temperature would be later. Or whether it was going to rain the next day.<br /><br />It seems that all the time we spend in cars and well lit, well insulated, cooled or heated spaces has broken our connection with the world around us. There was a time when most everyone would have a decent idea of what the weather was going to do based on the wind or the clouds. There's a reason why the ancient festivals (and even the ones we still celebrate) were tied into the changing seasons. Our ancestors were so plugged into the world around them that even without our sophisticated tools they knew exactly when the seasons changed.<br /><br />It seems a shame to me that we've lost that connection. And I'm glad that by riding my bike to work every day I can experience a little of what that was like.Cycho Librarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12652617400961695172noreply@blogger.com0