Memorial Day 2011

We've come once again to that part of the year where we pause to remember those who have served and died in America's wars; from the birth of our nation in the Revolution, through the darkest days of the Civil War; from the unimaginable destruction of the World Wars of the 20th century, through the 'police actions', humanitarian interventions, and 'regime change' which still take our young men and women in the 21st.

When we visit the graves this weekend, in person or in thought, let us also remember the many millions of non-combatants who also died in armed conflicts. They were, and still are, the 'collateral damage' of war, and victims to the hunger and disease that are so often war's companions. Their graves may not be marked by rows of white crosses on some hallowed field, or even marked at all, but their lives were just as forfeit and deserving of memorial.

This year, I would ask us to remember also the journalists and human rights champions, who observe and report our wars, and too often give their lives so we may know the truth.

Farewell and Rest In Peace to Tim Hetherington, photojournalist and filmmaker, who was killed this year in Libya. To his family and close friends he will be dearly missed. Those of us who had the privilege to know him, if only briefly, were impressed by his dedication, talent, and good nature, and we share your grief.

May we all have good memories, if bittersweet, this weekend, and return resolved to make real the day when war is no more.

Newt and Arnold at The End of The World

There are sometimes synergies between world events which enliven the news. And better still, there may be ironies included that lighten the otherwise heavy dudgeon - so viewers won't be bored or can skip their Zoloft. I think the week or so just past has been one of those times.

First we had the news explaining the split between Maria and Arnold; that is, we heard about Arnold's affair with his housekeeper and the 'love-child' he had with her. This was another of those fun moments when we realize that the tabloids and our paranoia can combine to be right about someone. Remember way back when Arnold was running for governor? Those stories about his groping and being generally a pig around women? They (and our gleeful gossipy hopes) were right!

And where had we seen this sort of thing before? Remember when Bill Clinton was first running for President? Remember those stories of his illicit liaisons, and the threats and bribes to keep the ladies quiet? Fast forward to Monica Lewinski and her dress: we were right!

Of course, in neither case did the rumors (or reality) cause them serious problems in their candidacies, and when we found out the truth, they were already out of office (more or less). Lucky. But not everyone is so fortunate. Take Newt Gingrich, for instance.

Mr. Gingrich is a notorious womanizer, according to the press (and the man himself). But, just as we witnessed with the two gents above, that kind of personality issue wouldn't, couldn't, hurt his candidacy. We just would never find out the worst until after he's ruled the world and retired.

No, Mr. G has been deliciously brought down, it seems, and herein lies the lovely irony, by giving a thoughtful, honest, opinion. Not a character flaw at all, unless you happen to be a power-broker in the republican party machine, or a Tea-Party fantasist. Then it seems, honesty is the flaw trumping all others.

When Newt was asked in a TV interview, what he thought of republican Paul Ryan's draconian budget plans for Medicare, he answered (and I paraphrase) that he didn't believe social engineering from either the left or the right was the proper duty of the legislature.

As Jon Stewart said on the daily show, that was a perfectly middle-of-the-road statement for a centrist republican - if only those people existed today. Newt forgot for a moment that his backers are fundamentalist in thought and fervent in their desire to dismantle government, i.e., to engineer social change as they see fit.

Now, there may be some doubt whether Mr. Gingrich really meant what he said, or was just trying to be noncommittal, as most serious politicians learn to be in the run-up to an election. It doesn't really matter, because in the eyes of his backers, he's a traitor.

So it looks to be the end of Newt's comeback from political exile to party favorite. At least he may not have to wallow in defeat for long. According to some people, the world will be ending today, May 21, 2011. As I write this it is 1:30 pm in Los Angeles, and the world is still here, but the day isn't over yet. Newt may yet be spared the long, painful journey into another exile.

What's happening to Arnold, and whether he'd welcome a remake of the End of Days I am not sure. But if he's trying to revive his movie career, he could do worse. Unless, of course, today is the End of Days, in which case ... he won't be back.

Life, as a Leaking Motorcycle

Those of us who find our fun on motorcycles, riding briskly along twisty roads any given weekend (and every other day we can break free of the grind), can't imagine truly living life without the experience.

This comes as a shock to non-riders, who think we must be anti-social, suicidal, or demented. To them, the image of bikes racing through country curves only elicits images of sudden, gory death. Or maybe, even decades beyond Brando's 'The Wild Ones' and the Angel's Mayhem at Altamont, the image raises fears of beer-bellied, hairy, alcoholics wielding knives and pool cues and pillaging villages. That's not who we riders are, although we perhaps relish the risk-taking, dangerous aura the image grants us from time to time.

Even so, non-riders who dismiss us and our hobby as Huns on Iron Horses are missing other life lessons motorcycling can teach, like persistence and infinite, Zen-like patience. Outside of farming or perhaps being Prince Charles, nothing else teaches those virtues quite as well as caring for your ride.

Take a modern-era Triumph Bonneville for example. Unlike its ancient brethren (up to 1976 or so), this bike doesn't leak fluids as a normal mode of operation. It is thoroughly new millennium in its oil tightness. So when this paragon of petroleum retention begins to ooze the precious stuff out from where it belongs to where it most definitely does not belong, like hot exhaust headers or rear tires, action by the owner must commence forthwith:

You begin by dismounting the smoking machine and walking around it, as if you can stare the problem away. Then you ride it some more in case the problem was a figment of your imagination. (Did I not mention the other life lessons, hopefulness and self-delusion?).

When the smoking inevitably returns you ride home, park the bike, and walk around it some more looking for the leak. When, after an hour or so, you see one single drop of oil on the pavement, you simultaneously rejoice (Aha!) and despair (Oh, No!). Composure recovered, you ride over to your most trusted mechanic and point and whine until he agrees to work on the problem right away (lesson: the art of effective persuasion).

As you wait anxiously at his side, your trusty Wrench decides that tightening all of the case bolts that were loose (even modern Trumpets vibrate a little) will do the trick. After running the engine until it's hot enough to sublimate lead, no leak appears and you are released to run free (after a modest fee). Twenty miles later, and the smoking reappears (double lesson: you get what you pay for, and life's a bitch).

You park the bike in your garage and make plans for further leak detection and redaction, beginning as soon as you can bear to face it, like the next free weekend in June - this being May (lesson: time management).

Meanwhile, you mount your other bike - your sole remaining fully-functional two-wheeled steed, a Ducati, and roar up the canyons, carefree and feeling very Zen, contemplating the delicious irony of such a famously maintenance-intensive Italian being your reliable ride.

And that's the final and best lesson motorcycling, in the form of a leaking Triumph, can teach you: always have a backup.

The Effects of Isolation on Osama bin Laden

Aside from getting shot in the eye and dumped in the ocean, the isolated life chosen by Osama bin Laden had some downsides that were less fatal, but still a bummer.

I say, 'Chosen', but OBL can't be said to have actually picked a life of solitude and reclusion for himself. It was more a life choice imposed by predator drones and snitches out for a 25 mill reward. Then again, he could have opted out of the whole jihad thing and remained a pampered, rich-as-he-wanna-be member of the Saudi semi-royalty and avoided all the fuss. So, 'Chosen' it is.

And those downsides? Man, there seem to have been many. Take a look at that beard he had to maintain. Useful for dodging facial recognition programs in a country full of bearded villains, but it had to be itchy as all get-out.

And those long hours of boredom with only his close confidants and a few wives to keep him company? Hardly entertainment enough for such a roguish blade and rugged outdoorsman. Plus, as a Muslim, he couldn't have a drink or three in compensation. Now that's isolation.

If only OBL had a friendly bar to frequent; his own local 'Cheers' to hang out and swap a few stories, and vent. About how his wives were driving him crazy; Or how he'd like to grab Al Zawahiri by the ears and bang his face in the table a few times to teach him some civility (always best to lead by example). Or how much money Pakistani protection was costing him - he couldn't afford another wife with what those crooks left him each month!

But, No. No Beers, No Cheers

Which must be the reason he turned to porn to take the pain off those lonely hours holed up in the lavish bunker that was his Abottabad Abode. For a guy who otherwise could have afforded to hole up in the penthouse suite at the Burj Khalifa with at least 72 'virgins', the porn and possibility a little Afghan poppy-based refreshment must have seemed a sad, but necessary alternative. Better than eeny-meeny-moeing among the wives for the trillionth time, or watching paint dry.

So when we remember the feared and hated Osama bin Laden, let's try not to remember him as the masturbatory, possibly opium-addled, and surely hen-pecked wreck that got tanked by Flying Seals; let's remember him instead as the Osama that might have been if he'd only avoided that Afghan vacation in 1980: debonair, dashing, degenerate millionaire of the desert; humping his way through all the 'virgins' the white slavery market could provide, but otherwise harming not a fly ... (Nah, the Masturbatory Wreck is the better image; Hollywood's gonna make hay with it for sure)

Bath Time

A hot bath on a cool day can be philosophically dangerous ...

The porcelain, mere inches from the steamy water, was cool to the touch. I dipped cupped hands and splashed my face, then watched my fingers as the warmth left them through the evaporating water.

A thought pushed its way in: that we constantly fight for light and warmth in contrast to the cold and dark. That this contest is what defines us. Warmth is generated, but the generation has limits and is ephemeral. The cold everywhere waits to take the heat away and dilute it; separate it from us.

Can this struggle change our impression of the world? We fear snakes and sharks, and other life we perceive as cold-blooded, more than we fear far deadlier, but warmer creatures like tigers and bears. Perhaps the idea of being lost to cold predators is scarier than the idea of dying itself; as if the act would be doubly cold; more permanently, hopelessly, fatal.

It's true we love the feel of fresh, cold air; brisk inhalations that energize. But that is only with brief exposure, and from a place of secure warmth; offer us nothing but cold air to breath forever and watch us run away. We need fires to look out from, to return to; for their sheltering heat.

Perhaps change is a kind of perceived coldness too. It may be welcome in small, bracing, energizing doses, but feared when it threatens to tear down entirely our shelters from the cold. Add a room extension on a house in midwinter and you can embrace the change, warm in your existing rooms; tear down the house to rebuild everything and you are left exposed.

Familiarity is warmth and security; we tend to accept change only slowly and carefully - unless everything is taken away; unless nothing familiar remains. Then we may embrace the cold. Then change becomes the only thing.

The next time you are in a bath, reach out and touch the porcelain or ceramic or metal near you, and reflect on how the difference between that coolness and the heat of the water mirrors the Change in your life, or your fight against it.

Poetry Break: Mitt's In a Pickle

There once was a politician named Mitt,

Who gave his Party a Fit,

Over Health Care he championed,

And Health Care he opposed ...

"Too Alike" said his fellows;

"No, they are different", said Mitt; dignified; composed.

But none could really tell,

If RomneyCare was or wasn't ObamaCare; To most, a rose was a rose was a rose, thorns included.

Meanwhile, across the aisle, smiles broadened. "Our foes have a dilemma, and on its horns they will be stuck"

"Mitt's in a Pickle, and the rest have no ideas, plans, or pluck"

But Romney rolls on, determined to win;

Good thing we Demos can always remind folks he's Mormon, again ...

Jobs for Everyone

Traveling abroad as I have been recently, combined with reading as many of the news blurbs on jobs and the economy (foreign and domestic) as possible, has given me a new perspective on the Future of Jobs in America.

And it's hopeful ... but with a pretty big 'Gotcha'

The World will need us to Work - there is simply no way as large and capable a workforce as in the US can be idle without hurting the World Economy.

US workers are innovators: whether it's to make our jobs easier, or to make more money, or both, we tend to create new ways to do things rather than repeat the same process over and over. This can increase productivity which means we are valuable.

We Live to Work. Not all of us, thankfully, since that would be boring, but American culture is still immersed in Work-as-Identity-as-Life. This keeps us working all the time - not always efficiently, but all the time, and that can boost productivity, which makes boardroom work metrics presentations look good.

So American Workers will still be needed ...

But here's that Gotcha. Actually there are three:

(1) Our schools may not be capable of producing enough well-rounded, capable people equipped to be flexible in the future workplace. And flexibility will be required.

(2) There may not be enough jobs available for every willing US worker. And worse, there may not be a viable support system for those who want to work, but can't find employment (and yes, I do mean even less viable than we have now ... )

and;

(3) The jobs we do get may be harmonized over a global economy, and may not support our accustomed standard of living. (There are good aspects to this, though. Think about it.)

The Future of Jobs in America is both bright and stark. Bright because there will be a need for us in the Global Economy; stark because there won't be Jobs for Everyone, and the employed will be judged and compensated on a balanced world scale, with all the changes that implies.

Good Luck to Us All

Binned Laden

Monday morning in Bangkok, the English-language version of 'The Nation' shouted the news '...World on Alert', which got my attention immediately. It only took a few moments more for the wheels to crank until I recognized why the World was so alerted - Osama bin Laden had been killed by US forces inside Pakistan. Way inside Pakistan. Killed. And his body dumped at sea. After Muslim funeral rites.

My faculties could barely stand the wave of contradictory emotions and thoughts crashing around in my noggin.

Like most people around the World, I am happy the man is no longer the leader of a deadly terrorist organization. I am also not broken up that he was killed rather than captured. But a part of me is a bit ashamed at our Country for implementing a national policy of assassination. Watching throngs of gleeful celebrators on the news later only added to the uneasiness.

Should we be celebrating anyone's death - even bin Laden's? If his death was necessary, so be it, but why make a Holiday of it? And apart from the questionable morality of the celebration, I am also leery of the precedent this may set for the future. Licensed national hit squads anyone? (OK, I hear some of you whispering this is already the case, but I'm talking overt here, not James Bond stuff). This smacks of cartel behavior, not that of a democratically elected government.

But the deed has been done, and there are many who have good reason to be happy bin Laden is no more. President Obama is happy. This will lift his credibility with the hawks ahead of the election, and more importantly, make him look like he's won something to the general public. (A feeling of 'winning' is definitely lacking in Afghanistan). I'm not too sure George W. Bush is happy; he says he is, but there must be some regret that it didn't happen on his watch. Not that he appeared to try that hard. (The bin Laden family was close with the Bushes, before 9/11 at least)

And now, just as with Saddam Hussein, bin Laden the evil terrorist will fade to vague memory (more so, since he's been hidden for so long already). But the problems of Al Qaeda and terrorism in general will persist.

And we've opened another can of worms too: what to do about our 'ally' Pakistan? Certainly someone in that country harbored bin Laden, right?

I am inclined to forgive on this issue. Pakistan is not a small country, and there are lots of factions with complicated loyalties. America has many partners within this fractious cultural soup, but enemies too. Determining who you can trust with really crucial information is difficult, but so is assigning blame. It appears the Obama administration is trying to strike the appropriate stance by shutting out the Pakistani's before and during the mission, while publicly lauding their assistance over the years with intelligence that made the assault possible. Media scrutiny is turning this stance into more of a high-wire walk over the Grand Canyon, but I admire the administration for trying it.

And we did send bin Laden off with some ceremony: a Muslim funeral at sea. Odd that we'd shoot him dead (unarmed the reports say) yet respect his religious beliefs. The burial at sea, we are told, was needed to honor the muslim requirement that the dead be buried within 24 hours. Honorable, then, what we did.

Convenient too, though, and that self-servingness takes a smidge off the honor. The actions also feed into conspiracy theories; like one that bin Laden is really alive and in custody, renditioned to some godforsaken part of the world like Newark, or Bakersfield. Being forced to listen to Lady Gaga and watch 'Married with Children' reruns until he spills his guts on every connection Al Qaeda has ever had. After all, why would you kill bin Laden when you could force him to betray every terrorist cell in his network?

But never mind any of that, our great nemesis is gone (it appears). Will the national angst return to pre-9/11 levels? Will the eternal orange terrorism alert drop to yellow, or even green? Will regular airport irradiation no longer be necessary?

I surely hope so ...

Bye-Bye bin Laden. Good Riddance to a nasty little human black hole.