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About greg

Just another bozo on the bus.

a pathetic, fearful little man

Rush Limbaugh is a coward. He hides behind the title ‘entertainer,’ which he believes gives him cover for making the most reprehensible and offensive remarks. That title also gives timid Republican politicians cover; they can dismiss the things Limbaugh says as outrageous while claiming it’s just entertainment.

It’s a convenient lie that nobody believes—including the people who speak it.

Rush Limbaugh is a coward, and like so many cowards he’s a bully when given the opportunity. He sits in a small sound studio, protected from the outside world, insulated from reality, and from that safe vantage point he mocks and jeers at people who disagree with him. He surrounds himself with sycophants and toadies, people who adore him because he’s found a safe way to say the ugly things they think.

Rush Limbaugh is a coward and a bully, a contemptible and despicable person. But behind all the bluster and bloviating, Limbaugh is also a pathetic and fearful little man, deeply inadequate—and he must be painfully aware of that. He must be terrified that others may recognize his fear and inadequacy. It would be horrible, I think, to be so afraid of so many things.

This isn’t to suggest Limbaugh is deserving of our empathy or compassion. He’s not. But one difference between us and Rush Limbaugh (one of the many differences) is we don’t reserve our compassion and consideration just for those we think are deserving. That would be a cheap sort of compassion.

Rush Limbaugh is a coward and a bully, and as much as I despise the man and the many horrible things he says, I can’t help feeling a grudging sort of sadness for him. In the words of the poet Mr. T., I pity the fool*. But I can’t pity him very much.

 

* To be more accurate, the phrase “I pity the fool” originally came from James Merle, an Autobiograph, which is a novel written in 1864 by William Black. He wrote: I pity the fool who marries and yet imagines he may be a great man. That seems to apply to Rush Limbaugh, who has married four times and so must want to believe he’s four times a great man. In fact, he’s merely four times a fool.

only a matter of time

Rick Santorum deserves to win the Republican primary and represent his party in the contest for the presidency of the United States. He is the quintessence of the modern Republican party — a candidate who is the purest, most concentrated extract of a philosophy grounded in fear, scapegoating, finger-pointing and resentment.

It wasn’t that long ago, really, when the Republican party was what it still claims to be — a political party dedicated to the idea of a small government that interfered as little as possible in regulating the workings of the nation and its citizens. It was a philosophy grounded in an idealized and romanticized past, in the belief that life was better before. Before there was so much immigration, before laws and regulations were reformed, before workers became so dissatisfied, before.

There’s something almost innocent about that notion. They didn’t blame individual immigrants; they blamed the phenomenon of immigration. They didn’t vilify specific workers; they vilified the movements that encouraged workers to be discontented with their situation. They accepted there was some need to reform laws and regulation, but they resented the reform process. And they accepted the fact that somebody could disagree with their approach and still have the best interests of the nation at heart. The concept of ‘the loyal opposition’ wasn’t foreign to them. The Republican party espoused a positive conservative approach. It’s one I disagree with, but they had actual ideas they believed would improve things.

Then came Newt Gingrich, who discovered you could win elections not just by suggesting that your opponent’s policies were ineffective and possibly harmful, but by claiming your opponent was actively and intentionally trying to destroy everything that is and was good about this nation. I’m not convinced Gingrich actually believed that; I suspect it was just a cynical strategy to win elections. But in the span of just a couple of election cycles, the Republican party turned away from the notion that Democrats were just wrong-headed and toward the notion that Democrats were an actual threat that needed to be stopped in order to save the nation. There was no more ‘loyal opposition.’ There were only enemies to be defeated.

Elections became less about how to improve the nation and more about who to blame for the current shitty state of affairs. And the Gingrich approach worked; the Republicans started winning elections.

Rick Santorum is Newt Gingrich without the beard of cynicism. He’s not just saying stuff to win an election; he appears to actually believe what he’s saying. Sadly, he’s steeped in the same toxic brew of blame. The United States would be a better place if only the wicked elements could be expunged and we could return to the way things were before. Before there was contraception, before gay folks were visible, before there was all this fuss about the climate, before that evolution nonsense.

But the natural result of turning people who hold different beliefs and opinions into enemies is that you can’t contain it. You can’t restrict it just to the opposing political party. It necessarily morphs into an increasingly more paranoid purity test. If you fail to meet the narrowing standards of your own party, you join the ranks of the enemy. The organic result is a Republican party whose base actually believes Mitt Romney is a liberal — a party whose base believes Rick Perry, who casually talks about secession from the Union, has liberal tendencies because he doesn’t blame immigrants quite enough.

Right now Rick Santorum is the perfect distillate of what has become the modern Republican party — self-righteous, judgmental, angry, fearful, moralistic, scolding. It won’t be long, though, before he’ll be seen as another liberal. It’s only a matter of time.

it’s okay, be a sap

Okay, it’s Valentine’s Day. A lot of folks really hate this day. Hate it. Hate it with a disturbing amount of passion. Maybe they hate it for good reasons, because it’s clearly the most emotionally-laden faux holiday ever driven by commerce. It’s a lot of pressure to drop on this one day out of the whole long year. Tens of billions of dollars are spent to compel men to be romantic on this one day, to compel women to be romanced.

It’s a sad thing, isn’t it, that we have to set aside a day for romance. For that reason, it’s a good thing that we do it—even if we’re doing it for all the wrong reasons. Even if it’s driven by the makers of chocolates and by florists and by jewelers and by the manufacturers of greeting cards. Even if the engine of Valentine’s Day is almost completely commercial, it’s a good thing we do it.

Because romance is important. Romance lifts us out of the mundane. It elevates us. It sweeps aside the boundaries of our ordinary workaday lives. Romance, really, is the willingness to let yourself be carried away by something larger than you are.

That doesn’t necessarily mean romantic love. You can be happily single and without a partner and still be caught up in romance. You can find it in novels and movies, to be sure, but it’s also out there in the real world. It’s the delight you take in a foggy day, and it’s that moment of undiluted pleasure you get when you see a Canada Goose scull its wings before landing, and it’s that smile you get from a stranger you see through a shop window, and the smile you give back. And yes yes yes, that’s all incredibly sappy. But it’s true all the same. A large chunk of romance grows out of the willingness to be sappy.

So yes, it’s a stupid, commercial holiday destined to disappoint more folks than it pleases. But it’s not the day that matters, or the chocolates or the jewelry or the flowers or the dinner at a nice restaurant—although those are all very nice. Valentine’s Day is good because romance is good, and anything that reminds of that is worthwhile.

So just give into it. Be a sap. Be an unapologetic sap. And then go out and do it again tomorrow.

not quite as clever as mickey

Finally…some real voter fraud.

For a long time Republican lawmakers have been making it more difficult for people to vote, citing the possibility of voter fraud. They often cite the case of ACORN (Association of Community Organizations for Reform Now), an affiliation of community organizing groups, as a prime example of ‘massive voter fraud.’ This is based on voter registration forms ACORN volunteers and paid staffers turned in as a result of a voter registration drive.

A small percentage of those forms included clearly false information. For instance, some individuals might have filled out the form claiming to be Mickey Mouse or Thor, God of Thunder. By turning those forms over to local election officials, Republicans accused ACORN of attempting to commit voter fraud. That, of course, ignores a couple of inconvenient facts.

First, the people who engage in voter registration drives don’t get to pick and choose which forms they turn in. Otherwise partisans for one political party could simply throw away the registration forms filled out by citizens who identified as belonging to a different party, leaving those prospective voters with the impression they were registered to vote. So it’s legally required for groups to turn in ALL voter registration forms—even if they’re signed by Thor.

Second, there are NO records of anybody who filled out a voter registration form as Thor, God of Thunder actually attempting to cast a vote. Nobody claiming to be Mickey Mouse has shown up at a polling place, expecting to pull the lever or check the box for anybody running for office. That shit just don’t happen.

The fact is, voter suppression—a strategy at which Republicans excel—is far more likely to shape an election result than voter fraud. Individual voters attempting to cast more than one ballot or a fraudulent ballot is a wildly ineffective and inefficient strategy for stealing an election.

BUT…there are very, very rare instances of individual people who actually do cast an illegal vote. And we just had somebody convicted for actual, honest-to-Jeebus, no-shit voter fraud. Charlie White of Hamilton County, Indiana. A Republican.

And not just any Republican, but the Indiana Secretary of State—the top elections official in the state. Mr. White campaigned for the office by promising to “protect and defend Indiana’s Voter ID law to ensure our elections are fair and protect the most basic and precious right and responsibility of our democracy—voting.”

He might have gotten away with it if he’d registered as Mickey Mouse.

By the way, if you want to know the truth about voter fraud, you can read a report issued by the Brennan Center for Justice at New York University School of Law.

go tell it on the mountain

I like to walk. If I have a destination—a specific place I actually intend to go—that’s okay. But I prefer to walk destination-free. Today I put aside the eighty thousand things I have to deal with and think about, and I walked.

It would be more accurate to say I went meandering—accurate on more than one level. The term meander comes from winding Turkish River called the Büyük Menderes, known for its twisting course. Homer mentions it in the Iliad. And today I walked aimlessly and slowly along a river. It’s the end of January and 64 degrees Fahrenheit, which is just bizarre. The ice was melting rapidly in the river.

I encountered a few people. Spoke to some of them. Didn’t speak to others. I’m not sure how I decided which ones to speak to and which ones to ignore. Some ignored me back, or ignored me preemptively. Others spoke and were happy and cheerful to be out in such weather. And one sang to himself, softly.

As I shot this photograph, a man of about my age came strolling by, singing to himself in a very small voice. It was an old Civil War era hymn—what used to be called a ‘Negro’ spiritual, a song of hope and the promise of redemption written and sung by a people you’d think would have little of either. “Go tell it on the mountain,” he sang. “Over the hills and everywhere.”

And it all cheered me up. An unseasonably lovely day. Walking along a river, walking in a way that takes its name from a river half a world away, a river celebrated in song and poetry for ten thousand years. Hearing a man singing another song, this one only a century old, but like the Iliad also about hope. Watching rust do its slow work, which for some reason I find oddly comforting. All of those things, they cheered me up.

There’s probably a lesson in there somewhere. A lesson or a moral. I have little truck with lessons or morals or spirituals, though I’m mightily taken with meandering. But whatever there lesson or moral there is, I’ll tell it on the mountain, and over the hills and everywhere.

hey bingo, it’s all good

I don’t know how it works for you (assuming ‘you’ are somebody who attempts Iron Photographer projects), but for me the IP process follows a few common patterns. Sometimes I know exactly what I want to do—and even if the final photograph has almost nothing to do with my original idea, the process is smooth and harmonious and I get that whole ‘A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot‘ feeling.

Sometimes I have absolutely no idea at all what to do (even though I help come up with the elements, along with the Blessed Jamelah—may her hair grow long), and I spend the two weeks of the project squatting toadlike and glaring at anything that might possibly relate to the three IP elements.

And sometimes I just say ‘fuck it’ and start jamming stuff together. Which is what I did here. The elements of Iron Photographer 143 are 1) something with a handle, 2) the colour orange (we add the irrelevant letter ‘u’ as a sop to our Canadian and British members), and 3) vignetting. I was shaving and I noticed the blue razor in the mirror and thought “Oh, something with a handle. Hey, bingo—Iron Photographer!” So I brought the razor with me from the bathroom. As I dressed I remembered I owned a seldom-worn orange t-shirt. Hey, bingo—two elements down.

But that would be a pretty dull photo, so I grab an old mirror off the dresser. Orange t-shirt as background, razor on the mirror and hey that’s still pretty damned dull. Wait, there’s an old Coca Cola bottle I’d set aside for the last IP project but didn’t use. Put it on the mirror and lawdy, it’s still dull.

Add some drama. Have the light reflect in the mirror, meter off the reflection. Nope, still dull. Get a sheet of black plastic, wrinkle it up for texture, put the t-shirt back down, fold it over a bit, add the mirror and the razor and the coke bottle, make sure the light is reflecting in the mirror and hey bingo—still needs something. Fuck fuck fuck.

Okay, maybe the bit of red plastic mesh I used in a much older IP project. Find that, knot it up. The red clashes horribly with the orange. I like that. Finally shoot a photo and—well, it’s better, but dull. Still dull. Still missing something.

Shift everything around. Shoot another dull photo. Shift it all around again. Shoot a couple more frames. The phone rings; I ignore it. Shift all the stuff around maybe three or four more times and shoot a couple more frames. Shifting it all around doesn’t help because it’s missing something. Shifting doesn’t add anything.

Study the mess I’ve made on the table for a bit, thinking about any of the bits that might please me. Decide what I like best is the curve of the mirror, and the curve of a fold in the t-shirt, and a curve in the knotted mesh and clearly what it needs is another curve. Grab a hanger from the closet. Slide it into the frame. No…slide it a bit farther into the frame. A bit farther. Too far. And there. Shoot two more frames. Process the one I like most, add a whole lot of vignetting (the third IP element) and…

Hey bingo, IP 143. Done.

Return the phone call I ignored earlier. First thing said: “What’ve you been up to?” And I realize I’ve just spent 90 minutes arranging and rearranging a jumble of random objects that are entirely unrelated to each other in any way. A razor, an old Coke bottle, a bit of mesh left over from some cherry tomatoes (that I didn’t eat, but bought purely because I wanted the mesh), a mirror, a t-shirt, a sheet of black plastic, and a coat hanger? So I confess to that over the telephone. After a long pause, “So, I’m thinking about going to Spain next summer.”

The phone calls ends after a brief chat. I look at the photo. It makes no sense. Nothing even remotely like sense. I consider deleting the photo. Then I figure, “What the hell. It’s Iron Photographer. The people who get it, will get it. The people who don’t will still discuss their travel plans with me. It’s all good.”

words is my business

Words is my business. I know a lot of them, and I enjoy using them. I enjoy seeing and hearing them used. I adore people who use them well.

One of the reasons I adore Meera Lee Sethi (just one of the reasons; there are so many reasons to adore Meera that you’d need an abacus to keep count) is because she’s engaged in the most wonderful and quixotic projects I’ve seen in some time: 366 Days of Words in Science.

This is more than a mere introduction to esoteric words. It’s partly a sort of diary, and partly a collection of philosophical musings, and partly a work or art (each term is accompanied by a photo that in some way illustrates the concept), and partly an act of immense generosity. It’s a delightful combination of intelligence and charm, and every day it offers something new to captivate the curious.

It’s highly unlikely I’ll ever be able to use ‘ceratotrichia’ or ‘palpebral’ in casual conversation, even if I can remember them. I’ve no idea how many of these 366 words I’ll actually fold into my vocabulary. But I do know that each day I look forward to another term, another photograph, and another brief peek into Meera’s mind.

So this little blog post is just an aliquot (a measured portion from a larger sample) of my affection for words and for science and for Meera. The level of my actual affection for words, science, and Meera is only measurable on a galactic scale.

the evolutionary process

Well. I suppose it’s a good thing that Bosch believes in evolution. That certainly puts the company ahead of the entire field of Republican presidential candidates.

But perhaps this is a way to make evolution palatable to those Republicans? Maybe they’ll accept the science if it suggests women were created by god to do laundry—and evolution has made them fit to do it in heels.