Better Days

I've returned, and while I'm organizing and composing my thoughts, this is the song I'm listening to.



I'll have thoughts for you all later. Much love and hope for the future.

Obama's inauguration, an inspiring pain in the ass

"Well, at least getting there. Having a standing room ticket to the inauguration didn't seem to help a whole lot of people get into the national mall. I arrived with my purple ticket at the closest open metro station, Chinatown, around 9am. The station was so full people didn't have enough room to get off the train. The escalator I was on got too full and broke. Two blocks form the purple ticket holders' gate a mass of people was inexplicably stuck at the intersection of First and D. Two concrete barriers that you could easily walk around were keeping thousands of people in a very tight space. I stood there like a sardine for almost two hours...some people passed out, others vomited. Somehow they managed to drive an ambulance through the middle of the crowd, squeezing us even tighter. Jesse Jackson and his entourage squeezed through...I only got a picture of the back of his head. I have it on good authority that Al Sharpton also made an appearance in our mob just before I got there.

Just as inexplicable as the mob itself, I got pushed five feet and everything opened up. I was greeted by another mob, apparently waiting in line for the purple gate. Funny thing is, the gate was locked and wasn't letting anyone in. People were pissed. There were people who had been waiting there since 5 and 6 in the morning, and they were standing in the same place I was. They randomly chanted "let us in!" and, for some reason, "Purple! Purple!" Finally, at 11:30, just as the ceremony was beginning, an entrance about 100 feet from where everyone was lined up opened and something like three thousand people tried to squeeze through an entrance about ten feet wide, awesome. Apparently I was lucky. Word is, a whole lot of purple ticket holders never got in. Some people claimed they were turned away, but my hunch is that that's bullshit. Mostly, people were sick of being sardines and once 11 o'clock rolled around, people gave up and tried to find a nearby bar to watch the inauguration on tv. But, then again, Facebook tells another story. The day after, already a dozen groups popped up, some of my favorites: "Purple Inaugural Ticket Holders for Truth;" "Purple Ticket Holder Conspiracy Group;" and "Purple Ticket Holders: No We Didn't."

Security was mostly a joke, but at least there were metal detectors. I'm told some Silver ticket holders rushed their gate and hopped over the fence without being screened. I ran from the security check to the ticketed area and caught the tail end of Biden's swearing-in. I had a good ticket on the Capitol lawn inside the wall, but it was impossible to see anything. The two jumbotron screens were strategically placed behind trees and Obama looked like an ant. None of that really mattered though, being there was cool enough. There was a lot of nodding heads and "yeah, that's right!" during Obama's speech. People seemed to really like it when he talked about not compromising ideals for expediency's sake, or something along those lines (ouch, Mr. Bush). And while I recognize that my continued belief that Obama is going to save the world is naïve, being hunkered down next to a whole bunch of Kenyans somehow convinced me that he could pull it off (something to do with international support, I dunno).

The sound for Obama's inaugural address was good, but everything else was impossible to hear from where I was standing. I ended up watching it all over again on C-Span (that is, YouTube) after I got home. Funny thing, on tv, when Obama thanked Bush for his service to the country, all you hear is applause. On the Capitol lawn, and certainly what Bush heard, was more a mix of applause and booing...mostly booing. Come on now, really? I felt it cheapened the moment.

With all that said, it was awesome. More or less having come to political maturity during the Bush administration, it was really exhilarating to be around so many people that were actually excited about a president. My friend Jason, also a purple ticket holder, cried at the swearing-in. My friend Sandy, wandering around the Washington Monument, partook in random stranger hugging (apparently, booing Bush was louder back there too). And 7th St from Chinatown to the mall practically turned into an independent economy of poorly made Obama kitsch almost over night, and people are actually buying this crap! Fantastic, I say." - Abel Kerevel.

Since I managed to score a few tickets to the inauguration for my brother, I asked him to write up a little piece on his experience for the blog. I'll be in DC on Friday, maybe I'll be able to score some discounted Obama merch?

Best Inauguration Ever

A couple of days ago over at Kos, Bill in Portland Maine put up this poll about which past inauguration you wish you could have attended. An insane amount of people said JFK in 1961. This says a lot about the Baby Boomer readership of the site. Kennedy is the most overrated president in U.S. history. It took Lyndon Johnson to actually get things done. But that's not my point here.

One of the choices was Andrew Jackson's 1829 inauguration. Only 3% of respondants chose this option, but they were the knowing ones. For it was on that day that all hell broke loose at the White House.

Margaret Smith, a Washington socialite, described the scene. People from around the area came to see the popular hero take office. Those people followed him to the White House.

"But what a scene did we witness! The Majesty of the People had disappeared, and a rabble, a mob, of boys, negros [sic], women, children, scrambling fighting, romping. What a pity what a pity! No arrangements had been made no police officers placed on duty and the whole house had been inundated by the rabble mob. We came too late.

The President, after having been literally nearly pressed to death and almost suffocated and torn to pieces by the people in their eagerness to shake hands with Old Hickory, had retreated through the back way or south front and had escaped to his lodgings at Gadsby's.

Cut glass and china to the amount of several thousand dollars had been broken in the struggle to get the refreshments, punch and other articles had been carried out in tubs and buckets, but had it been in hogsheads it would have been insufficient, ice-creams, and cake and lemonade, for 20,000 people, for it is said that number were there, tho' I think the number exaggerated.

Ladies fainted, men were seen with bloody noses and such a scene of confusion took place as is impossible to describe, - those who got in could not get out by the door again, but had to scramble out of windows. At one time, the President who had retreated and retreated until he was pressed against the wall, could only be secured by a number of gentleman forming around him and making a kind of barrier of their own bodies, and the pressure was so great that Col. Bomford who was one said that at one time he was afraid they should have been pushed down, or on the President. It was then the windows were thrown open, and the torrent found an outlet, which otherwise might have proved fatal.

This concourse had not been anticipated and therefore not provided against. Ladies and gentlemen, only had been expected at this Levee, not the people en masse. But it was the People's day, and the People's President and the People would rule."

Is there any question that this was the inauguration party to end all inauguration parties?

Gross Travel Writing

It seems that southern Mexico brings out the worst in American travel writing. First, there was the New York Times "budget" (which for them means spending only $100 a night on lodging) travel writer's trip to Chiapas over the last couple of months, which is basically an exercise in travel writing as colonialism. I was so angry about these articles that I couldn't even coherently write about them, which is why I didn't. Now we have Eileen Ogintz writing about Oaxaca in the same way. She is so excited to meet the local artisans, such as this woman:

Talk about loving your work. Dona Sophia Reyes, 88, is a potter who works seven days and she hasn't had a day off since she was eight. Dona Sophia welcomed us into her studio and home in San Bartelo Coyotepec, a village about 25 minutes from Oaxaca City.

Um, she might love her work, but there's a reason people don't take days off for 80 years. They face starvation if they don't work. If you were forced to work your job everyday for eight decades, would you like it if people said it was all because you loved working? I doubt it. See, Dona Sophia can't take expensive vacations to different parts of the world and then romanticize all the people she runs into, erasing their poverty through describing them as quaint and cute.

This doesn't mean that we shouldn't enjoy our time when we travel. But we also need to be aware of poverty and social problems and try to think about our experiences through those lenses. Oaxaca is one of the poorest states in Mexico and while it is beautiful and charming, it is also rife with social problems, an oppressive governor (mentioned in the story but only in the sense that it has hurt the region's tourist industry), entrenched poverty, and massive migration to the U.S. I wonder if Ogintz would find these Oaxacans so darn charming if they were picking lettuce or standing on street corners hoping for a job as a day laborer?

The post is also laughable for how Ogintz acts a shill for the travel company Austin-Lehman, mentioning their name throughout the article (and least 5 times) and claiming:

We couldn't have arranged for experiences like this on our own. We needed a company like Austin-Lehman to lead the way, though such adventures don't come cheap.

That's bullshit. I've been to Oaxaca. It is not hard to arrange adventures out there, and my Spanish pretty much sucks. I wonder how much Austin-Lehman paid her for this? Oaxaca is as set up for tourists as anywhere in interior Mexico.

Travel writing is one of those genres that is usually either really great or really terrible. This definitely falls in the latter category.

Historical Image of the Day

Claudia Jones, immigrant from Trinidad to the United States, leading black feminist and communist. Member of the National Committee of the Communist Party of the USA. Imprisoned four times during the McCarthy years. Deported to Britain in 1955. She continued in her social justice work while in Britain, in particularly defending West Indian communities from attacks by white racists. She also played a major role in introducing Carnival to Britain. She died in 1964, at the age of 49.

Historical Image of the Day

The swearing in of Barack Obama to be the 44th president of the United States, January 20, 2009

A Sad Note to a Great Day

I fear we are about to see a new senator from Massachusetts.

New Writer--Welcome Kim G.

As you can see from the post below, we have a new writer here at Alterdestiny. Kim G. will be writing about a variety of things for us. She will strengthen some of our specialties like political commentary. She will also expand our coverage of issues that I think will help us become an even better blog and community. In particular, Kim G. is one of Texas' leading young environmentalists and will be writing about those issues. She'll also be expanding our coverage on race. Finally, she's spending the next few months in Mexico and so we'll have even more reporting on Latin America, a region for which I think we are one of the strongest and deepest blogs out there. And of course she'll talk about any other issues that she feels moved to discuss.

So join me in welcoming Kim G!

The Inauguration

Hi! Perhaps it is a bit cliché to write my first post on the first day of our new presidency, but I can live with that...

As I sit watching the inauguration, I am amazed at how much religion is still present in the ceremony. Even though President Obama explicitly stated that the United States is a nation of Christians and Muslims and even non-believers, the ceremony opened and closed with Christian prayers, and the oath was taken on the Christian bible. Obama also quoted scripture in his address, calling on the American people to "turn away from childish things."

I guess there are no specific contradictions to the constitution, which states only that "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof . . ." But it still seems odd that Christianity plays such a large part in the traditions of the inauguration. Don't get me wrong - I think the prayers were great, and I liked how the cameras showed people in the crowd during the prayers, which reminded me of being a kid looking around the dinner table at Thanksgiving to see whose eyes were open during the blessing. But during an inaugural address that seemed so focused on inclusion, it seemed to certainly exclude a large part of the American people.

I began to wonder how people would react if those religious elements were taken out of the ceremony, but then I realized that I don't think a non-Christian candidate would be elected. Is religious diversity really more of an obstacle to the presidency than race?

Lowery

Joseph Lowery is awesome. That was a great benediction.

The President Is Dead, Long Live the President

Not quite, but close enough.

President Barack Hussein Obama

Wow.

The Monks

The Monks, a briefly together mid 60s band, certainly seem interesting:

The Monks were a band of American soldiers stationed in Germany in the 1960s who decided to stick around Germany and keep playing music after their tours of duty ended. For some reason, they all shaved monks' tonsures into their heads and wore cassocks and nooses onstage. They also recorded just enough deliriously raw garage rock jams to secure their place in history, taking freaked-out punk rock anxiety to new heights before the Stooges pushed it even further. They reunited for a tour in 1999, playing sporadically until Dave "Day" Havlicek, their electric banjo player, died last year.

Huh. Maybe Yann has heard of these guys?

Also, maybe I should shave a tonsure into my head. Though going bald makes that kind of pointless.

An Inauguration/MLK Day Story

I'll write more when I get back, but some stories simply must be shared.

Today (Monday, Martin Luther King Jr. Day) I volunteered at the Day of Service event in D.C. at RFK Stadium. We coordinated about 13,000 people making care packages for the soldiers serving overseas. Included in those 13,000 were Michelle Obama and Dr. Jill Biden, Nancy Pelosi, Hilda Solis, and Freddy.

Freddy is from Savannah. Actually, he was born in Jasper County, South Carolina, which is between Savannah, GA and Hilton Head, which regular readers know is where my family lives, and where I lived for a while.

Freddy grew up there when it was still segregated, and he couldn't go to the beach in Savannah because it was whites only. He went to the beach on Hilton Head because there was no one else there to care who swam there.

Now, 50 years later, rich people from around the world swim and play golf there. My parents live and work there. I went to high school there.

The last time Freddy was in D.C.was 40 years ago, to hear Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr give his "I Have A Dream" speech. He was living in New York, and took the bus down.

Now Freddy lives in Atlanta, and came up to see Barack Obama get sworn in.

It was an absolute honor to work with him today, to hear his story and be a part of it.
(Pictures soon)
Cross-posted.

Obama at 28

Check out this 1990 Boston Globe profile of Barack Obama published just after his selection as president of the Harvard Law Review at the age of 28. Pretty interesting.

Thanks Ralph

This, the last day of the Bush administration, is far and away the best for that very reason. Tomorrow will be a day of celebration. But before we celebrate, let's remember one reason we are in the mess we are in. There are lots of people to point fingers at for the last eight years. In a spirit of bitterness and bile, I want to note that a really long and crooked finger is pointed at the heart of the once great Ralph Nader.

Ralph, I want to thank you for the Patriot Act.

I want to thank you for Iraq.

I want to thank you for torture and the nightmares of Guantanamo.

I want to thank you for the government's incompetence in the aftermath of Katrina.

I want to thank for gutting all the laws you once worked so hard to pass in the fields of consumer safety and environmental protection.

I want to thank you for the nation doing nothing at all to fight global climate change.

I want to thank you for helping to undermine the nation's standing around the world.

Ralph, I just want to thank you for everything you did to fuck this nation over in 2000. Sure, you made a good point about the Democratic Party in the Clinton years. But did you have to let your ego get the best of you and convince you to throw the election to Bush? No doubt he deserves more blame than you. But don't forget your own culpability in creating this nightmare.

Historical Image of the Day

John F. Kennedy discussing Vietnam, 1961

I also want to note that I miss the days of gigantic maps that dwarfed the president.

Movie Talk

A couple of quick bits on recent movies:

I seem to be the only person to not like Slumdog Millionaire. I mean, it's OK. It's not a bad movie. But I felt like it was all premise. There's limited real character development, which is made up for by lots of cheap emotionalism (oh, look at those poor kids! oh, how could do they do that to the poor woman!), and a breezy good time. I know Sarah loved it, as does everyone else, but I was left thinking I had seen a fine movie but one that was eminently forgettable. It's like the Shine of the late 2000s. Everyone loved the story immediately after they saw it and then forgot about it 15 minutes later. Has anyone actually watched that movie in the last 5 years? Anyone on the face of the earth? I feel that by 2010, that will be the public reaction to Slumdog.

I did like Synecdoche, New York a good bit. I wonder if you can interpret the movie as basically a bad dream. Here's Philip Seymour Hoffman, a hypochondriac, struggling through a bad marriage, and with a lot of anxiety about his art. He goes to bed and dreams about what we all dream about--nightmarish futures for our relationships, sickness and death, exaggerated problems with our future lives (in his case his theater productions). Just a thought. Also, it's great to see so many fantastic women in this movie. Why don't we see Jennifer Jason Leigh more? Why isn't Emily Watson in every movie that comes out? Catherine Keener basically is in every movie and thank god for it. I can't agree with Trend that it is as good as Eternal Sunshine. However, it does comparably favorably with that film because Kauffman moved away from the gimmick and just let his weird story ride without artifice or explanation. Still, whereas Eternal Sunshine is a masterpiece, Synecdoche is just very good.

I also liked Rachel Getting Married, even if it felt like an updated version of Interiors with better music and hand-held camera. Speaking of forgotten actresses, it sure was good to see Debra Winger again. I'm pretty mixed on the addict genre, but I thought Jonathan Demme handled the whole film with a steady hand and coaxed a good performance out of Anne Hathaway that I didn't think she had in her. Sometimes, the depression got laid on a little thick and some of the scenes dragged a bit, but these are minor complaints. And this movie seriously had the best music of any fictional film I'd seen in a very long time. I think all films should have cameos from Fab Five Freddy.

I am excited to see The Wrestler and Gran Torino next, and might see Let the Right One In too, even though I'm not big on the horror movies. Compared to last year's bonanza of awesome movies, 2008 kind of sucked, but I'm finally seeing enough movies to put together my yearly top 10 list that will come out on Oscar Sunday.

Historical Image of the Day

The transcendentalist community of New Harmony, Indiana, 1832-33

Why you should care about tennis

It’s ironic that I would sit and make a case for tennis a few hours before a big Eagles game, having spent the last few days sending a shout out to avid followers, fair-weather fans, and the clueless alike to be part of a scream fest at a popular Philly sports bar.

But then again, tennis was the first professional sport I ever watched, one that I’ve been intrigued by since Pete Sampras arrived on the scene as a gangly teenager and aced his way to his first grand slam trophy. And then he had fourteen. I remember sitting on the edge of my seat in clench-fisted panic during Wimbledon 2001, when a barely known, pony-tailed teenager toppled the-then indomitable god of tennis. Soon that teenager was swinging his racket with some flourish of his own. Now, he’s the god of tennis, better known as Roger Federer, fighting off dogged challengers to his four-year reign.

I wouldn’t arrange to go out to a bar to watch a tennis match, and not just because no bar in America would play one if the only other thing on TV was Jerry Springer. But because that is not how the sport is meant to be watched. In tennis, there is no unflinching devotion to your city’s team, no mob of screaming fans from your alma mater, no lithe cheerleaders waving colorful pompoms, and no mascots entertaining with cartwheels and flips.

In tennis, the only spotlight is on the ball at any given moment, and your only allegiance is to that single player, often one whose every hump and hollow you’ve followed through the years, one whose specific swings and angles you know as well as the back of your hand.

You have your pick of personalities...John McEnroe’s infamous inflictions on unfortunate linesmen probably earned him more glory than his seven grand slam titles (if nothing, it’s got him a lifelong endorsement with National Rental!). Andre Agassi’s flamboyance was certainly the talk of the tennis world during his two decades in the sport - from the loud hairstyles he donned in his early years to the clean-shaven veteran he came to be. Pete Sampras was best known as the player that let his racket do all the talking. And boy, did it talk.

And the styles...Roger Federer’s amazingly shot-enriched and smoothly artistic brand of tennis - that is often likened to a jazz musician on a court - is in direct contrast to his arch nemesis’ fist-pumping, grunting, scrambling fashion; Rafael Nadal’s game while by no means inherently pleasing to the eye – or the ear - is worth appreciation for the grinding relentlessness. There are the fierce players like Lleyton Hewitt who go after the ball with will power alone, and the dimunitive ones like Justine Henin who concoct miraculous shots with the sheer power of intelligence and quick thinking.

The turfs...In the professional tennis season, the lush green grass of Wimbledon’s Center Court immediately follows the harsh red clay of Roland Garros. But the colors don’t begin to describe the differences. The hours long, baseline battle on the much slower clay almost looks like a different sport when compared to the slick surface offered by the delicately pruned lawns of the All England Club. The high pressure and fast pace are perhaps the biggest challenges of the “glam slam,” also called the U.S. Open, since it comes with the razzle and dazzle of New York City. The long hiatus and the unforgiving heat of Australian summer that kick off the season early in the year ensure that players battle both the weather and their opponent with equal aplomb in Melbourne.

The rituals.....Two weeks of Wimbledon almost never go by without the familiar sight of hapless human beings scurrying over tennis’ biggest stage with that sophisticated piece of invention – the tarpaulin. Wimbledon is as notorious for its propensity to rain (often causing annoying delays and schedule changes) as for its strict adherence to age-old traditions. But it’s all part of the experience, like the strawberries and cream and the British insistence on pure white attire.

But most importantly, there is the invincibility.....the sheer mental toughness that allows these lone players to go out there and tackle all the odds against them, make and break records, supplement their numbers, and bag a few trophies along the way. In the unforgivable heat of Melbourne, in January 1995, Pete Sampras faced a two-set deficit to his friend and rival, Jim Courier, and when he received the devastating news that his long time coach and friend had a terminal illness. Sampras broke down and cried while the world watched - a very rare display from the usually stoic sportsman - before he reached up to fire an impeccable ace. Battling blistered feet, unrelenting tears, and a fierce opponent, Sampras came back to take the match, finally winning it an hour past midnight.

As Des Kelly writes,

"Tennis at its finest provides us with one of the few opportunities to see sportsmen and women pitted one against one in a gladiatorial contest. There is no hiding place, no team to help cloak your failings with anonymity. It is an examination of character. It is boxing without the blows and gore.”

Now that you’re convinced, the season starts tonight at 7 pm ET on ESPN2!