Ellen Page turns 32 today. Here is a speech she gave in 2014:
Ellen Page turns 32 today. Here is a speech she gave in 2014:
I laughed often during RBG, which tells you something about how the film is constructed. Cohen and West allow the audience to be charmed by Ginsburg. This is not a warts-and-all production. The filmmakers avoid hagiography, but only barely.
It helps that they have such an interesting subject. Ginsburg's work as a lawyer arguing gender discrimination cases before the Supreme Court are featured (she won five of six), and the time is taken to explain why these were important beyond the immediate moment. We also learn how Ginsburg is not the flaming liberal of her reputation. The film suggests that when she joined the Court, she was ideologically planted in the center. Over time, she has moved left relative to her colleagues, but she herself hasn't changed.
I'm currently reading Rebecca Traister's Good and Mad: The Revolutionary Power of Women's Anger, and she argues that powerful women are more appreciated when they are in fact relatively powerless. About Ginsburg, she writes:
Ginsburg, whose fiery dissents have become the stuff of internet legend, and who has become known on the internet as the Notorious RBG, is in the minority of the Supreme Court. The pleasures of celebrating her toughness stem in part from her actual physical stature: she is a short, thin, octogenarian who has twice had cancer; the whole punch line of admiration for her is in part rooted in the improbability of her threat; she's like a little doll of female anger who we can all cheer for, even as she is outvoted again and again and again. It's extremely difficult to imagine the same kind of tattoo-inspiring admiration for her angry opinions if those opinions were actually reshaping the law.
But Ginsburg has said, "Reacting in anger or annoyance will not advance one's ability to persuade." Persuasion is her speciality ... she has persuaded many people in her career to make the right decision, and did so without anger.
RBG the film, though, could use a little anger. We are shown things that would make us angry, but they are usually presented as obstacles Ginsburg helps us to overcome, so even the anger turns positive in the movie.
There are many highlights. The footage of her as a young woman reminds us that she wasn't always 80+ years old ... it's one thing to read that, to think that, but here a picture does indeed say a thousand words, and Ginsburg is a more real person to us when we see where she has come from. Her lifelong love affair with her husband is a joy. Her friendship with the ultra-conservative justice Antonin Scalia has never made sense, but seeing the two old friends interact here, that friendship makes perfect sense. Watching her workout is inspiring. And it's fun to see her accept her new celebrity. I laughed hardest when Cohen and West sat Ginsburg down in front of a TV and showed her Kate McKinnon's impression of her on SNL. She laughs throughout ... she thinks it's quite funny ... when asked if she thinks McKinnon is like her, though, she laughs again and says no.
I know more about Ginsburg than I did before I watched RBG. It was an enjoyable film. It could have been harder-hitting, but that's not the film Cohen and West wanted to make. As far as I can tell, they have succeeded in what they set out to accomplish. Nominated for two Oscars (one is for a Diane Warren song, so it doesn't count).
(Explanation of the Film Fatales Series.)
[T]he Movement must address itself to the question of restructuring the whole of American society. There are forty million poor people here. And one day we must ask the question, "Why are there forty million poor people in America?" And when you begin to ask that question, you are raising questions about the economic system, about a broader distribution of wealth. When you ask that question, you begin to question the capitalistic economy. And I'm simply saying that more and more, we've got to begin to ask questions about the whole society. We are called upon to help the discouraged beggars in life's marketplace. But one day we must come to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring. It means that questions must be raised. You see, my friends, when you deal with this, you begin to ask the question, "Who owns the oil?" You begin to ask the question, "Who owns the iron ore?" You begin to ask the question, "Why is it that people have to pay water bills in a world that is two thirds water?" These are words that must be said.
I've posted this the last couple of Martin Luther King Jr. Days. I used to assign it to my students. It still hasn't lost its relevance.
In 2002, Randy Newman finally won an Oscar for Best Original Song, after being nominated without winning more than a dozen times.
This blog was in its early days, and I was desperate for material, so I live-blogged the Oscars, and at one point, I wrote, "Not sure what it means, but Randy Newman was the first person where I thought, 'hey, that's one of us up there!' This was rather silly ... by that point, even Bruce Springsteen had won an Oscar. And there was a far more noteworthy example at that Oscars of people getting to see themselves ... Denzel Washington and Halle Berry won the Best Actor awards, with Berry being the first African-American to win Best Actress. Berry made history. But I can't deny my instant reaction to Randy Newman's win.
Barbara Lee has been my representative in the House for 20 years. She does us proud. A campaign motto of hers, "Barbara Lee Speaks for Me", couldn't be more true. You might say that in Congress, she is both Halle Berry and Randy Newman.
She just lost her bid to become the Chair of the House Democratic Caucus. The Intercept suggested she lost because of her association with Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, that she was punished for being on the side of the woman who unseated a man popular with centrist Democrats. I'm not sure about that. But neither am I surprised that the woman who Speaks for Me was unsuccessful in this case. I never expect the Democratic Party to make me feel good.
I was checking out Ocasio-Cortez' Instagram account, which is a delight. And I realized that the fact she uses Instagram the way many people do, as a way to present the "human" side of herself while also making policy statements, is one way she is of her generation. Instagram is more popular with the young than with geezers like me. Ocasio-Cortez' use of Instagram is just one item among many that tell us she isn't your father's Congresswoman. So far, I love her, but she speaks for a different demographic than mine. And that's a good thing.
So when she posted a brief Instagram video from a meeting of some sort for progressive Democrats, it warmed my heart that sitting right next to Ocasio-Cortez was ... Barbara Lee.
I wrote this in 1992. It was the first quasi-academic piece I ever published. Because of the title, it was linked to by a few right-wing sites, who likely didn't read the article but just agreed with the title. I'm reposting it here because Murphy Brown has been rebooted. I've included the entire text, because the site that holds it (Bad Subjects) has been flaky of late.
Dan Quayle Was Right
"Few contemporary forms of storytelling offer territory as fertile as television for unearthing changing public ideas about family.... The shared experience of tele-history has become one of the major ways in which we locate ourselves in time, place, and generation, and at the heart of that history lies television's obsession — the family."
— Ella Taylor, "TV Families: Three Generations of Packaged Dreams"
Dan Quayle doesn't think Murphy Brown sets a good example for the people of America. It seems that Dan decided, without actually watching any of the programs in question, that Murphy's decision to have a baby out of wedlock represented the crumbling of traditional American family values under the corrupt influence of the liberal entertainment industry in Hollywood. "It doesn't help matters," commented Dan, "when prime-time TV has Murphy Brown — a character who supposedly epitomizes today's intelligent, highly paid, professional woman — mocking the importance of fathers by bearing a child alone and calling it just another 'lifestyle choice'." It is unclear how much more damage could be done to the image of the American family after decades of watching such exemplary leaders as the Kennedys and the Reagans collapse across our front pages, but Dan apparently sees the popular culture of the 1990s as significantly more dangerous than the J(G)ennifers of George and Bill.
When I first heard Quayle's attack on "Murphy Brown," I wasn't surprised to find that Dan had never actually watched the show. His reading of the program's subtexts was so different from my own that we might have been watching different programs, and in a sense we were, since I was paying homage to the "text," watching the program on my teevee while Dan was "watching" the program in its broader cultural "context." Nor was I surprised when the "liberal media" rose up in arms against Dan's attack. The Veep has never been a favorite of theirs, anyway, and now he was vilifying their product in a most obvious way. What did surprise me, though in retrospect I'm not sure why, is the direction their response took. The general argument that arose against Dan Quayle's read on Murphy Brown went something like this: Dan Quayle is a moron because he thinks a teevee show has something to say about ourselves and our culture.
Master ironist Dave Letterman echoed the refrain of the media when he stuck his face a few inches from the camera on his Late Night show and yelled out, "Dan! It's a TELEVISION SHOW!" There seemed to be a general agreement amongst the "liberals" in Hollywood and the media in general that this time, the Vice-President had really flipped his wig. He couldn't tell the difference between real life and television ... imagine that! He had the cockeyed notion that a program watched by tens of millions of Americans every week might actually illuminate our culture, and for this he became, once again, the butt of our national jokes. But, in a warped way, Dan Quayle was right. Or rather, he was right where people thought he was wrong, for Murphy Brown is important. Dan's sense that sitcom values are markedly different from his own was a bit misguided, and the simplistic nature of his attacks belie the complexity of the relationship between the producers and consumers of popular culture, but his belief that our popular culture reflects the values of the culture as a whole is absolutely correct.
What seems most ironic about the faux-battle being waged between Quayle and the entertainment industry is that, whether they admit it or not, they are on the same side. Perhaps it is to be expected in a country where the moderately conservative presidential candidate attacks the conservatively moderate candidate for being too "liberal," but the difference between the positions of Mr. Quayle and the folks at Murphy Brown are barely significant. In the absence of real choice in the U.S. election of 1992, this minor tiff between the "cultural elite" and the actual "elite" is blown out of proportion, effectively burying the deadly, boring sameness of the major parties under a pseudo-war of massive unimportance.
If Dan Quayle had deigned to watch the 1991-2 season of Murphy Brown, he would have seen a tale of a pregnant woman who decided against having an abortion (never has a show been so proud of itself for what it didn't do: we had to hear endless paeans to the greatness of Murphy Brown because they allowed Murphy to choose, as if CBS wasn't still thinking about the uproar in the 70s when Maude actually DID have an abortion ... surrrrrre Murphy had a choice). She has the baby; don't you think Dan would have been pleased? Unfortunately, Dan was too busy to watch any of the episodes in question, and so he was stuck on the absence of a father in the new baby's life, and was unable to appreciate the importance the newborn Brown had in Murphy's life.
In any event, Dan Quayle was obsessing about fathers and children, and so could perhaps be excused for missing the underlying point of Murphy's motherhood. However, Mrs. Dan, Marilyn Quayle, might have been sneaking a peek at the teevee screen when CBS aired that classic season-ending, ratings-bonanza episode of Murphy Brown where Murph actually has the damn baby. At the Republican convention Marilyn spoke about the "essential nature of women," and echoed Murphy, sitting up in her hospital bed at the end of another profitable teevee season, holding her baby in her arms and singing "you make me feel like a natural woman." Essential nature, indeed. The viewer is left to decide on their own whether Murphy influenced Marilyn or vice versa.
What is dangerous about the Quayles, from the perspective of the entertainment industry, is that they suggest that a sitcom warrants our critical attention. Granted, the level of critical thinking practiced by Dan and Marilyn is pretty rudimentary, but in positing Murphy Brown as relevant, Dan and the missus are perilously close to those members of the "cultural elite" who hang out in universities, wasting taxpayers' money studying "TV Families: Three Generations of Packaged Dreams." What is worse, the Quayles take their opinions straight to the masses. No ivory tower for old Dan; he goes right on the evil Teevee itself to trumpet his message of shattered family values.
And in this Dan Quayle is right, and so is Pat Buchanan, for there most certainly is a cultural war going on. Has been for years. Where Dan and Pat go wrong is in their assumption that Hollywood and the "liberal media" are on the other side. This is nonsense. If Murphy Brown were really anti-family values, her sitcom might look something like a John Waters movie circa Pink Flamingos: just imagine Murphy chowing down on the baby's placenta while Eldon made a sandwich of baby poo and saliva. (Although, now that I think about it, a case can also be made that a certain type of family values are at work even in John Waters' early work.) The world of Murphy Brown is a world where imaginary choices are touted as the real thing, where an independent woman finds her essential nature in bearing a child, where controversy is exploited for the ratings it engenders. It is a world remarkably like the world of a presidential election in the United States in 1992: mock choices and "natural women," with one eye always cocked on the latest polls.
No one wants to question the notion of family values. Everyone just wants to prove they have them, whatever they are. The Republicans believe in family values. The Democrats respond by saying the Republicans don't really believe in family values; if you want a true "big tent" come to the Democrats, who know what family really is. Meanwhile, on teevee, Murphy Brown finds her true self in the wonders of childbirth. These people are all cavorting in the same playground, and a playground is what it is, a place where everyone has "fun" and no one questions whether or not a playground is appropriate.
It is indeed a tangled web of which we speak, where Dan Quayle is mocked for critiquing popular culture, where said culture is nowhere near as dangerous to Dan and his cohorts as they would suggest, and where any real and legitimate discussion of the values promoted by Murphy Brown and their ultimate similarity to the "family values" of the Republican and Democratic parties is almost entirely missing. Quayle gets pilloried for attempting what cultural studies scholars attempt every day: critiquing contemporary culture. That his "critique" is wrongheaded is not news; that he dares to critique at all is the issue. The uproar over the importance of culture overshadows the very real similarities between the world views of Murphy Brown and the mainstream political parties in the United States. The Republicans attack Hillary for being anti-family, Hillary touts her own work in behalf of children, while Murphy Brown sings "Natural Woman" to her baby, echoing Marilyn Quayle's bizarre notions from the Republican convention. The Republicans and the Democrats fight for votes, CBS fights for ratings, but it's all part of the selling of the mainstream.
Thus, we shouldn't be too surprised to discover that Dan Quayle did promo spots for Murphy Brown. Seems Dan was giving an interview to a local teevee station in L.A. that had just begun showing Murphy Brown reruns. After the interview was over, Dan agreed to tape a couple of spots advertising the reruns of his "favorite show ... NOT!" For a few seconds, the symbiotic relationship between the "liberal media" and Dan Quayle was laid bare; then Dan went back to stumping on family values, and Murphy Brown writers went back to creating ever more tart putdowns of the Veep for the ratings-bonanza season opener for 1992.
Postscript:Murphy Brown did indeed take on Dan Quayle in the 1992-3 season opener. Midway through a special hour-long episode that had until that time dealt mainly in standard sitcom humor revolving around a new baby in the house, Dan Quayle appeared on Murphy-the-character's teevee screen as we, the viewing audience, watched Murphy-the-program on our teevee screens. Quayle once more spouted the sacrilegious remarks about "Murphy Brown." Murphy-the-character tried to avoid the ensuing controversy, while reporters (actually actors) camped out at her house and George Bush (actually George Bush) made a Murphy joke on Murphy-the-character's teevee. Murphy-the-character finally went on her own fictional teevee show, "FYI," to respond to the Vice-President's "real" remarks, capping her speech by introducing some "real," not-quite-traditional families ("real" people, not actors). The following day, the "real" Associated Press sent the text of the "fictional" Murphy's speech across their newswire for subsequent quoting in papers across the country. Though Dan Quayle was ridiculed for "confusing" fiction and reality, "Murphy Brown" won kudos for doing the same.
The ratings were very good. Sponsors paid $310,000 for one 30-second spot. Dan Quayle watched the program at long last, and stated afterwards that it was "basically another Hollywood contribution" to Bill Clinton's campaign. Dan was right once again.
Sarah Griffiths has a good piece over on Medium: "Your Childhood Memories Are Probably Fake".
Fictional memories seem just as real as those we have evidence of and therefore know to be true. Brain scans have shown that the neural activity for false memories in adults looks incredibly similar to the activity for a real memory and involves the same regions of the brain, including the hippocampus. This means it could be questionable whether we have any “real memories” that can be relied upon at all, because to some degree all our memories are reconstructions.
I used to obsess about this stuff when I taught classes on critical thinking. Well, I still obsess, I just don't teach classes on it, so I don't have the opportunity to force it down my students' throats. One of my favorite anecdotes about the hazy nature of memory is about July 30, 1959. On that date, future Hall of Famer Willie McCovey made his major-league debut, going 4-for-4 with 2 triples against another future Hall of Famer, Robin Roberts. We know this happened because baseball has detailed records.
I remember this game, not because I was in attendance, but because it was a big deal. The Giants only arrived in San Francisco in 1958, and it was normal to hear the games on portable radios wherever you went. I had just turned six years old, so this is one of my first memories, and what I remember (besides McCovey which can be looked up and verified) is where I was at the time, with my family. And what makes that interesting is if you ask my brother, who was six years older than me, or my cousin, who was seven years older than me, they will tell you they also remember that day, and remember hearing it on the radio, only they were at a different place than I remember ... with my family. Someone's memory is wrong.
Baseball is a useful way to check people's memory. Often, Giants announcer and former pitcher Mike Krukow will tell a story about some game he pitched, and I'll check it out to see if he has his facts right (he often does pretty well). I can tell you the date of the first time I took my son to a baseball game. If I was relying solely on memory, I'd tell you it was 1978, and he was three years old. But I also remember Giants catcher John Tamargo hitting a triple in that game. It was an important hit, bringing home the tying run in the bottom of the ninth, sending the game into extra innings, where the Giants eventually lost. But I can tell you the exact date, because John Tamargo only hit one triple in his entire major-league career. So all I have to do is find that date, and voila! (It was September 2.)
Here's one I was reminded of the other day when I was at the park and saw a famous (to Giants fans) photo:
The man sliding across home plate is David Bell. The Giants players are celebrating because when Bell scored in the bottom of the ninth inning, it gave the Giants the win that sent them to the 2002 World Series, their first trip to the Series in 13 years. Anytime I want, I can close my eyes and remember Bell's slide. It looks just like it does in this picture.
Except ... in those days, I had season tickets, so I was at the game in question. My seats were in the upper deck, almost directly behind home plate. Here is the view from those seats:
You see the problem here. When I watched David Bell slide across home plate that evening, from my view he was sliding diagonally along the base path from left to right. The famous photo, on the other hand, was taken from the right side of the field (and lower/closer, for what it's worth). From my seats, #35 (Rich Aurilia) was jumping in our general direction. In short, Bell's slide looked to me nothing like the way it looks in the photo.
But, as I said, nowadays, 16 years later and counting, when I close my eyes and remember the slide, it looks like the photo. The photo has become my memory, overriding the event as I actually experienced it.
Just to complete everything, here's how it looked on national TV:
A documentary about the gang rape and murder of Jyoti Singh, an Indian med student, India's Daughter fills its 63 minutes with just the right amount of information, never losing the feel of outrage and anger while connecting the act to the larger Indian society. We also see the enormous reaction of the people who weren't going to accept what had happened (along with the repressive actions of the state against those people).
The people who support the traditional Indian ways come off the worst, none more than defense lawyer A.P. Singh, who states, "If my daughter or sister engaged in premarital activities and disgraced herself and allowed herself to lose face and character by doing such things, I would most certainly take this sort of sister or daughter to my farmhouse, and in front of my family, I would put petrol on her and set her alight." Even so, some have complained that just by allowing such people to air their thoughts, Udwin is giving them a platform they don't deserve.
The film's title also exposes some of the problems with the movie. While it is specific to India, enough so that the Indian government banned the film, there isn't an effort to connect the problem to the worldwide presence of rape. You can only do so much in 63 minutes, and again, Udwin is being specific to the case in question and its ramifications for India, so I'm not sure this criticism is useful. More important, though, is the insistence, reflected in the title, that this is a movie about a daughter. As Tanvi Misra wrote:
The film shows Jyoti as an abstract symbol. She is “India’s daughter”—mourned by parents, and appropriated by both a cause and its opposition for their respective agendas. She is split in the imagination of her country. For the rapists and their lawyers, she failed her daughterly duties and bore the consequences. “India’s daughter” is supposed to have guarded her own modesty, which is linked to the prestige of the family. She was supposed to have been virtuous and virginal, protected and defined largely by male relatives....
The other narrative strain in the film ... talked about how “good” Jyoti was. She was a good daughter (she had asked for her parents’ permission to go out that night), a good student (she worked very hard), and a good friend. In this telling, she was ultimately a martyr—sacrificed to rally a country behind a cause....
I’m not saying that all these things about Jyoti—that she was a good student and devoted daughter—are untrue. I’m saying that they don’t have to be true for the crime committed against her to be just as heinous. The film shows this “good girl” and “bad girl” rhetoric—“India’s daughter” is either, depending on who’s talking about her—but not much else. In the movie, she’s a 2-dimensional figure. But Jyoti, the person, was probably much, much more when she was alive.
India's Daughter is compelling, and you can't help but be angry over what happens to Jyoti, and how Indian tradition reinforces misogynistic patterns. It's perhaps unnecessary to ask for more.
(Explanation of the Film Fatales Series.)
I woke up in the middle of the night to pee ... I'm 65, I do that several times every night. Being a modern guy, I checked Twitter while I was up, and saw that my cousin had tweeted that Ron Dellums had died. He noted that there was no confirmation anywhere but social media ... I took a few minutes to check for myself, saw nothing to corroborate the news, went back to bed, and turned the local news station on my radio. I fell back to sleep without hearing any more about the Congressman.
Over the past several years, I have extremely vivid dreams, several a night (waking up to pee means I go back to sleep and another dream kicks in). I usually don't know I'm dreaming until the last seconds when I wake up. In this dream, I was at a ballgame and saw the actor Erik Todd Dellums, Ron's son. I asked him if the news about his father was true, and Erik told me a long story about how his dad was fine, these stories get started, you know how it is. I was relieved, and headed back home. At that moment, I woke up to the radio reporting that Ron Dellums had indeed passed away.
In 1969, I was living in Antioch, California, a suburb-in-name-only of San Francisco that was close as the crow flies to the big city, but far away in any useful description. I had spent my entire life in this factory town, and until my senior year of high school, there were no black people in Antioch. If you were black, you lived in Pittsburg, right next to Antioch. My parents were politically moderate. During the People's Park battles of 1969, KQED, the local PBS (then NET) station, televised some Berkeley City Council meetings. There was one councilman in particular who got my attention. As I recall, he spoke passionately on behalf of the people being attacked by the police. My parents thought he was dreadful, which only made me like him more. He was a 33-year-old ex-Marine named Ron Dellums.
Dedication of a sculpture
It would have been in the late 70s/early 80s. A friend who was a sculptor had some work installed at the Macarthur BART station. At the unveiling, Ron Dellums, by then our representative in the House, came to say a few words. I had moved to Berkeley in 1974, and was proud to be able to vote for Ron every two years. I brought my movie camera to that event to take some footage, and when I saw the Congressman, I went over to express thanks for the work he was doing in Washington. Looking like a random guy with a movie camera didn't appeal to the Secret Service guys, who closed in on me immediately, which freaked me out enough that I still remember the incident. As I recall, Ron instructed them to let me through so I could shake his hand.
Taking a leak
It was 1988. I was in my first semester as a grad student at Cal. Congressman Dellums was visiting campus ... this was during the Bush-Dukakis presidential campaign. I went to take a leak ... Old Blues will know where I mean, the bathroom off of Lower Sproul by the bookstore. I don't remember who entered first, but at some point, I realized that standing at a nearby urinal was Ron Dellums. Ron, I said, I'm so proud to have you representing me, and I respect your opinions. Tell me why I should vote for Dukakis.
Ron, an admitted Socialist in the Democratic Party, began a conversation littered with good cussing ... no big deal, except I remember being naive enough to think, hey, the Congressman says fuck! His argument was pretty basic, Dukakis wasn't any good, but he was better than Bush, we gotta get the Republicans out of the White House. (Two years later, Dellums was one of 54 congress members who sued Bush's actions building the military presence in the Middle East, a case that became known as Dellums v. Bush.) We left the restroom together and were joined by his Secret Service men. It happened that Ron and I were headed in the same direction, so we walked up campus together as he made the case for Dukakis. He could be quite persuasive, although I was, then and now, pigheaded and so I never was convinced to vote for Dukakis. But it was a memorable few minutes for me, as the Congressman took some time to talk to a friendly constituent about an important issue.
Ron Dellums' "son"
There was this guy, a friend of a friend, who would come by our house and visit for a bit, usually looking for a couple of bucks. He was a raggedy fellow, but friendly, and we would talk for awhile. His story, as he told it, was that Ron Dellums was his father. He said he was told this by his mother, and that everyone "knew" this was true because he looked so much like Ron. Understand that Ron Dellums was a handsome man who got more distinguished looking the older he got, and that my friend, god love him, was not the handsomest man alive. Nor did he look a bit like Ron Dellums. But he was convinced that one day, Ron would admit the connection, and he would be set for life. While it was kind of loony, I loved the idea that being Ron Dellums' son was something to aspire to.
Those are my anecdotes. Dellums remained in the House from 1971 to 1998 ... every two years, we'd vote him back in. There was something called The Dellums Machine ... don't know if it amounted to anything, but during elections, we'd always get a flier on the front door on election days with Ron's endorsements. After he left the House, he was replaced by Barbara Lee, who is still going strong, having been our representative for the last 20 years. It's nice to have a representative doing you proud, and here in Berkeley, that's been the case in the House for almost 40 years. Dellums was around so long, he was able to take advantage of seniority rules to get some important roles, even serving for a while as Chair of the House Armed Services Committee. He went into lobbying, which I admit was disappointing, and later became Mayor of Oakland, which by all accounts wasn't the highlight of his career. To me, he'll always be the first person I was glad to vote for, and the only politician who would spend time talking to a guy he met at a urinal.
We are seeing things right now on our American borders that are so shockingly and disgracefully inhumane and un-American that it is simply enraging. And we have heard people in high position in the American government blaspheme in the name of God and country that it is a moral thing to assault the children amongst us. May God save our souls.
-- Bruce Springsteen
I was born on this date in 1953, and in my 65 years I've lived through a lot that I found shocking and enraging and disgracefully inhumane. Over the years, I have heard many people in high positions in our government assault people, children and adults, with their self-proclaiming morality. There is no God to save us ... if salvation comes, it will come from us, not a higher power.
I am no longer able to say that the kind of behavior we are now experiencing is what Bruce calls "un-American". For there comes a time when we have to admit that it is all too American. We are not the good guys. Hunter Thompson once wrote, "This may be the year when we finally come face to face with ourselves; finally just lay back and say it—that we are really just a nation of 220 million used car salesmen with all the money we need to buy guns, and no qualms at all about killing anybody else in the world who tries to make us uncomfortable." Thompson wrote this in 1972.
In 1630, John Winthrop famously wrote of what would eventually become America, "We shall be as a city upon a hill, the eyes of all people are upon us." Ronald Reagan was fond of quoting Winthrop, and it is fairly common nowadays for politicians to reference Winthrop's city. Winthrop was warning his people of the dangers of living an improper life. "So that if we shall deal falsely with our God in this work we have undertaken, and so cause Him to withdraw His present help from us, we shall be made a story and a by-word through the world. We shall open the mouths of enemies to speak evil of the ways of God, and all professors for God’s sake." But today, that city is used not as a warning, but as a reminder of American exceptionalism, a braggart's boast.
And, as Thompson noted, we no longer give a fuck what the eyes of all people think of our actions.
At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer. If it ever reach us it must spring up amongst us; it cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot we must ourselves be its author and finisher.
-- Abraham Lincoln
Some of the women whose work informs and inspires me today:
Maureen Ryan, TV Critic, Variety. Sample piece: "‘Sweet/Vicious’ Canceled by MTV but Should Live on Elsewhere (Opinion)". "One of the greatest joys of this job is coming across something around the margins that does something cool, unique, or entertaining. When a show you’ve never heard of does all of those things, it’s like getting a jolt of joy straight to the nervous system."
Sleater-Kinney. All of them, in all of their projects. Special shout-out to Carrie Brownstein for her memoir Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl.
I think I was too scared to be open with the fans because I knew how bottomless their need could be. How could I help if I was just like them? I was afraid I might not be able to lessen their pain or live up to their ideals; I would be revealed as a fraud, unworthy and insubstantial. The disconnect between who I was on- and offstage would be so pronounced as to be jarring. Me, so small, so unqualified.
Dee Rees, Director, Mudbound.
Lana Wachowski, Director/Writer/Producer. Along with Lilly Wachowski and J. Michael Straczynski, created Sense8.
Hall of Fame: Pauline Kael. "In the arts, the critic is the only independent source of information. The rest is advertising."