Category Archives: Uncategorized
Autumn leaves… (well, it will leave eventually)
I must admit to feeling a bit muddled lately. My mind feels as scattered as my Twitter feed. Here’s just a snapshot of what it has looked like the past few days (taken from actual tweets)…
Police arrest 130 protesters in Chicago
Boyz II Men issues new album today
Qaddafi sodomized after capture
Found a delicious recipe for pumpkin cookies!!!
NBA owners and players emerge from 19-hour session with no movement
Army Ranger killed in Afghanistan on 14th deployment.
Jenna Elfman joins cast of Damages
Pittsburgh settles G-20 lawsuit for $60,000.
MLB to ban beer from clubhouse
The US has the highest overall poverty rate and the highest childhood poverty rate of any major industrialized country on earth.
Rangers go with same lineup for game 5 of World Series
Panicked crossing guard drags dead third-grader to adjacent intersection (from The Onion)
President Obama outlines new foreclosure plan
The McRib is back!
Is it any wonder I feel so overwhelmed and distracted? I don’t know whether to march in the streets, watch baseball, or eat a fattening yet delicious sandwich that is only available until Nov. 14. I’m not sure whether I should enrage and engage or tune in and drop out. Is the world more complicated, or is it just hurtling in my direction at a much higher velocity?
This weekend will be filled with activities that range from cleaning up the house to cooking food to donating some warm weather gear to Occupy Pittsburgh to attending the Pittsburgh Symphony to participating in Lawrenceville’s annual progressive dinner.
I’m not complaining. It’s all good stuff. Great stuff! It’s just such a rush of activity, a mix of high brow and low brow, a dash of social action with just a pinch of self-indulgence for good measure. Before I know it, it will be Sunday evening and I’ll be wondering where the weekend went.
Meanwhile, autumn is rushing by. It’s dark when I get up and when I drive home. Maybe that’s why it’s hard not to find myself just staring out my window at work… especially with this view.
Hope you’re enjoying the fall while it lasts. And Tweeting about it.
Occupyin’ dahntahn Pixburgh n’at
James Buchanan, one of our nation’s worst presidents, is reported to have said, “I like the noise of democracy.”
Horrible president or not, I with Jim on that one.
Market Square, Pittsburgh
I am endlessly fascinated, inspired, and perplexed by the Occupy movement. It is sometimes ragged, often messy, usually chaotic, spectacularly unorganized, and stubbornly dedicated. On Wednesday, the movement turned one month old. Though the numbers of those actually camping out are modest, the numbers of those participating, supporting, and donating to the effort is silently and invisibly growing. It has been reported the Occupy Wall Street group has received more than $435,000 in donations. This is without doing much in the way of fund raising. Most of that money is being used to support the occupiers with food, shelter, clothing, and hygiene.
Mrs. Bagger and I marched with two to three thousand of our fellow Yinzers last Saturday and attended the Market Square rally afterward. Never saw Cher and Rich from AskCherlock because, did I forget to mention?, there were two to three thousand people there!
On Monday, I visited the camp to donate a bagful of hats and gloves, and some medical supplies. Donations of food, medical supplies, and clothing have been creeping in. To keep up with their needs, you can check their Website, which is updated daily. The camp itself has all the city planning of a small town. It is believed that somebody–either from the city or Mellon–hosed down the park beforehand to ensure that the camp would become a muddy mess. Did they think the protesters would go home because the grass was wet? Hmm. In the end, all that brilliant move achieved was to endanger the park’s grass. Hay–supplied by the good folks at NYMellon–was spread out by the protesters in an attempt to spare the green space beneath. Pieces of cardboard were then assembled into walking paths throughout the campsite. The campers refer to each group of tents between the paths as neighborhoods. At the upper end of the park (eastern side) are the tents for food, supplies, media, and medical.
I stayed to eat dinner with the occupiers and attended a General Assembly held across the street from the campsite. Although the group seemed small next to the tall buildings and city hubbub, there were approximately 150 people present. Some of them are what the media likes to call “unkempt.” If you didn’t know about the Occupy Movement, you might assume them to be homeless. In a sense, they are. This park is their home for an undetermined time. They are camping. Do you look ready for a job interview when you are camping?
Despite the media’s attempts, you can’t really pigeonhole this group. Certainly, some are of the younger counter-culture variety. Others are most likely college students. But there are also moms holding toddlers. There are fifty-plus-year-old men and women. There are even some grandparents. Most are wearing denim, plaid quilted shirts, or sweatshirts, but others are wearing business suits. This went along with my impression on Saturday that the Pittsburgh group’s median age is a little older than their New York counterparts. And for the record, they are not all unemployed. Some are, but others come and go from the park to work actual, you know, jobs.
This General Assembly was not like the ones featuring general announcements and calls for action that I had seen in New York. This was a down and dirty discussion about procedures, the decision-making process, and other questions of polity. From their first meeting, the group has dedicated themselves to utilize the Consensus Decision Making process, and were struggling even then to fully understand the method as they attempted to put it into practice. This led to many cul-de-sacs and pot holes in the communication and decision-making process. Ensuring all voices are heard takes great patience, understanding, and deference. It means respecting those with different ideas and opinions. It is slow and painstaking. It is where the Democracy sausage is made.
All in all, the protesters themselves have a great and positive attitude. They hear dissent and insults shouted at them from cars and from a few Pens fans as they pass by. For a while they kept a running tally of every time someone misguidedly shouted “Get a job!” Before long, that got old. They are not at all deterred by the haters. They are also aware of the constantly honking horns from sympathetic drivers on all sides of the park. They are aware of support from union bus drivers, custodians, and, yes, even police officers. On the first night, Mellon turned off the overhead lights, plunging the park into complete darkness. You might think this would be helpful for sleeping, but it also makes doing anything outside of your tent after sundown almost impossible. In support, the custodial staffs of both the Mellon and UPMC buildings turned on every light on their side of the building to provide a useful illumination.
I get a kick out of Conservatives who have let the protests worm their way so far under their skin. As far as I recall, as put off as Progressives and Liberals were by the Tea Party demonstrations, I can’t remember anyone on the Left suggesting that they shouldn’t be allowed to do what they were doing. You would think that Conservatives would take the position of Voltaire, who famously said, “I disagree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it!” Instead, many seem to be incensed by the very presence of protesters of any kind. They react with the most hateful name calling and character assassination. Protesters are routinely and inaccurately called “Commies,” “Whiners,” “Freeloaders,” “Losers,” “Criminals,” and much worse. I sort of think of them as Patriots facing an overwhelming opposition for the sake of their friends and neighbors. During my visit, I was pleased to discover that much of the criticism bothered me a lot more than it did the the protesters, who remain, for the most part, quite unaware of all the media and Internet vitriol. They don’t sit around listening to talk radio, watching cable news, or reading right-wing blogs.
What many are slow to pick up on is that this is not just a protest against unemployment or rich people. Fundamentally, it is a stand against systematic injustice and inequity. While there are individuals with some extreme views, overall, it is not a call to dismantle Capitalism or free markets. At its base, it is a clarion call warning people that our markets are far from free, and that our capital has been hi-jacked and grossly mismanaged by a few who continue to profit from their crimes. Do they have answers and remedies? Some do; some don’t. Even if they came up with a list of policy fixes, would it matter? Our system is so rigged, no such remedies would have a chance of being heard, let alone being made into legislation. When the party that holds both the White House and the Senate can’t even get a hearing for their ideas, what chance do the rest of us have?
And although this began in New York, this is no longer an American protest. Unlike the Tea Party movement, this party has gone global. And let me tell you, there are those across the ocean who are pretty hardcore at this protesting stuff. Consider Spain…
Or England…
How about Perth, Australia…
And Copenhagen, Denmark…
Frankfurt, Germany…
Here’s a list of demonstrations outside of the U.S. No, really, you should check out the size of this list.
Thus far, authorities and institutions have found themselves in a tough dilemma. On the one hand, I’m sure they’d prefer to just enforce the law and clear out the demonstrators. In most cities, the police could do–and have done–the job swiftly and with a strong hand. (See Chicago, Denver, and Phoenix.) In a Times Square confrontation over the weekend, New York police decided it was a good idea to ride horses into the crowds. This created some ugly scenes which led to several injuries and one horse having to be put down. You see, authorities are well aware that when they act, they will immediately appear on YouTube looking like some kind of third-world dictator. No city police force wants to be compared to Cairo or Tehran or Beijing. Damn that instant social media. It’s getting so you can’t crack hippies heads like in the old days when grainy black and white film had to be developed and then aired by a corporately owned TV news network. Today, everybody is freakin’ Edward R. Murrow. They also know that, like a weed, whatever they crush today will only come back that much stronger, larger, and angrier the very next day.
Still, as protests grow in size and volume, there’s only so much “the man” will take. At this point, I think the authorities are hoping against hope that the icy grip of winter will do their job for them. If the protesters prove to be weather resistant, however, it’s only a matter of time before confrontation occurs. Riot gear will be donned. Horses will be employed. Hopefully, Kent State has taught us that the National Guard should be left out of it, but you never know.
So, to borrow from David Letterman, if you were wondering if the Occupy Movement is something or nothing… a month old and global in scope, I think we can all say that this is most definitely something.
Occupy Wall Street… part II
This is part II of my weekend in NYC with Occupy Wall Street. If you missed part I, scroll down or go here.
The Occupy Movement is as much an exercise in real democracy as it is a protest. They are not there to support a political party or to shove an agenda down people’s throats. In my opinion, they don’t need a coherent message. The reason they are there is plainly evident:
- Wall Street broke the economy badly.
- Middle America is still suffering for it.
- Three years later, Wall Street has never been held accountable for it. (In fact, we paid to wipe out their debts and today, they are coming after us for not paying ours!)
- Now, Wall Street is using its power and its money to keep us from fixing the mess.
Class dismissed. That will be on the test.
What do I mean by saying Wall Street broke the economy? How about this: Three years ago, twenty percent of our country’s net worth–accumulated over two centuries–evaporated. (That’s one out of every $5!)
How are we suffering for this?:
- 24 million Americans can’t find a full-time job.
- 50 million Americans can’t see a doctor when they are sick.
- 47 million Americans need government help in order to feed themselves.
- 15 million American families owe more on their mortgage than their home is worth.
That’s just the start. And I haven’t even mentioned the 10 years of war at the cost of trillions of dollars that continues to this day!
So, you can say you don’t agree with the Occupy Wall Street protesters. You can say they are wasting their time and that it won’t amount to anything. But please, don’t pretend to not know why they are there and why they are so angry.
Recently, I saw George Will giddily compare this protest with the anti-war movement of the 60s. He said that all the hippie movement achieved in the end was Richard Nixon in the White House. He expressed hope that the same result would happen today. Hey George! For one, history would suggest that all those foolish hippies were dead right about the Viet Nam war. And two, do you really want to put Richard Nixon out there as a proud Republican accomplishment?
Anyhow, these were our reasons for going to Occupy Wall Street. These are the reasons we will stand with Occupy Pittsburgh. These are the reasons people are rising up without wanting to associate with either political party in this country. Now where were we?
Oh yeah. With the General Assembly scheduled for 3pm, we scooted up to Greenwich Village on the subway and explored Bleecker Street around NYU. It’s a wonderful area of mom-and-pop shops, chess clubs, small restaurants and cafes, and hipster clothing stores. We grabbed some much needed rest at the Danté Cafe, where I slurped down a tasty cappuccino. As the protesters began to arrive for the Assembly, so did dozens of NYPD in vans and paddy wagons, and on motorcycles and horseback. This was a good neighborhood for a rally like this. It’s already populated by young counter-culture folks. The protesters don’t stand out here like they do next to Brooks Brothers.
The park filled up quickly, completely surrounding the fountain.
Okay, I’ve been saving this until now. Laws in New York forbid the protesters from using any type of voice amplification whatsoever. That’s right, it seems that there are more regulations on protesters than on Wall Street traders. Thus, they have had to invent their own system of voice amplification, which they use for all announcements, soap box speeches, or any other communication. It’s called the “People’s Mic.” Basically, it’s a rhythmical repetition in which the speaker says a short line, which is loudly repeated by the those close enough who can hear it, which is loudly repeated again by the people who heard the first repetition. There are a couple of rules to this. You are to repeat anything that is said, even if you disagree with it. No editing or censorship. Whatever it is, it is their right to say it. You repeat it for the people behind you. When the whole thing starts to break down–as it inevitably does–the leader or speaker yells “Mic check!” This is repeated all the way back and serves to reset the system. It’s a bit clunky but it works. Everybody hears what is said no matter how loud the speaker is. As the speaker, I’m sure it takes some time to get used to speaking in short bursts while waiting for all the repetition. I’d probably lose my train of thought. But here is how it works….
The Princess liked the “People’s Mic.” She said that repeating the message helped her to engage with the speaker and made her feel more a part of the group. Kind of deep, huh?
The Assembly introduced the heads of each “working group.” These are task groups that work on ideas to go before the larger group. There are “working groups” on communication, outreach, arts and culture, sanitation, comfort, medical, and direct action. There are others but these are the ones I remember. They were basically giving an invitation to anybody who wanted to join. At the end, a gentleman who had been part of the Arab Spring in Egypt made a short address to the group, encouraging them and reminding them that the world was watching and supporting them. They ended by encouraging people to mingle and get to know each other. We talked with a guy about our age who was from Switzerland. He was there out of concern for the power of the big banks. His message was to switch to smaller community banks. The guy next to him was fighting for the rights of small farmers or something like that. There was one older lady sitting in a chair next to an open chair and a sign that read “I’m willing to listen.” Everybody had a great story. It was very inspiring, and a bit overwhelming. Mrs. Bagger quickly stated that this was one of the best days of her life. (Partly because it was so awesome, and partly because she was able to share it with the Princess.)
Mrs. Bagger and the Princess debrief after the General Assembly
By this time, we had been on our feet and pounding the pavement all day. Our dogs were barking. We wanted the Princess to see some part of NYC that she wanted. Growing up, she was quite the Sex in the City fan. So, we headed up to Times Square, swung by 30 Rockefeller Plaza, and ended up at the shops on 5th Ave.
When do they drop the ball?
While we were there, a wedding party of Air Force dudes came out to get some pictures. What?! They couldn’t get the Naked Cowboy in the shot? He was about sixty feet behind us.
Ah, New York City. (Psst. We decided not to share this blatant side trip into materialism and commercialism with the other protesters. But we didn’t buy anything other than an I ♥ NY shirt for the Duchess–younger sister of the Princess–from a sidewalk vendor.)
By this time, my feet were going beyond “barking dogs” and venturing into “bloody stump” territory. I needed to take a load off and get some sustenance. Mrs. Bagger sat us down and went in search of food. Of course, she found the perfect little garden-level Italian restaurant around 51st and Park Ave. that looked as if it hadn’t changed a bit since the days of Sinatra and Mantle. The place was empty (6:00pm is a little early for NYC folk) and we had a great dinner. Afterward, we decided to visit Zuccotti Park once more on our way back to the ferry.
At night, Zuccotti Park is awash in an orange glow from the street lights. Half the park was engaged in an “open mic night” of soap box speakers, repeating each word so everyone could hear. Fighting against this were those in the other half of the park, who were engaged in a large drum circle. The signs were placed on the ground around the perimeter for passers-by to read. Several of the campers were settling into their bunking spots for the evening. Some were writing in journals, making new signs, or just talking with others. I’m sure I didn’t want to know what else was going on beneath all that plastic wrapping.
That morning, this had all seemed like a strange sort of movement and we were just visitors. By that evening, we felt more a part of things. Earlier in the day, a rather dazed, shirtless, and pungent young man wandered around the park giving out hugs. He had a scraggly beard and looked like he lived a forest. At the time, we had politely declined or avoided him. (We did hug the large man with the Yin-Yang symbol tattooed on his forehead because you don’t turn down a large man with a Yin-Yang symbol tattooed on his forehead.) At the end of the day, however, we all hugged the shirtless, smelly man. These were our people now. Through her rose-colored glasses, Mrs. Bagger thought he had taken a shower. The Princess and I weren’t as convinced.
As an act of disobedience, I refused to ignore this guy's sign. I'm a rebel like that.
We made it back to the ferry terminal for the 10:00 ferry. Unfortunately, they had canceled it, however, and we had to wait until the 10:30 ferry. Oh well, you live by the free boat, you wait for the free boat. It hurt, though, because we still had the hour and a half drive back to Bethlehem after a long and tiring day. Who am I kidding? I had the drive as Mrs. Bagger and the Princess slept.
All in all, it was a great day. Occupy Wall Street is many things to many people but it has proved to have staying power. This is not just a party. It’s not fun and games. And unlike the Tea Party, they are multi-generational, multi-cultural, multi-faith, multi-ideology. The one thing that keeps them all together is the notion that things are broken, we are paying for it, and nobody will fix it until we rise up to make them fix it or do it ourselves. I don’t know where it’s going. I don’t know if it will need to morph into something else to be effective. I don’t know what will happen when the snow and ice fall. I don’t know what will happen when the patience of the NYC authorities and the police wears thin. What I do know, is that this whole thing is just starting and, given the current political climate, it isn’t going away.
Bidding good-bye to NYC.
Our twelve-hour occupation of Wall Street
Mrs. Bagger’s family continues their tour through Pittsburgh, making it hard for me to sit down and process our weekend. Our niece, Princess Karina, flew back to Chicago tonight, but Jean’s brother, David the Anarchist, flew in from San Fran Sunday night. In fact, Sunday afternoon/night, we drove home from NYC and went straight to the airport to pick him up only to discover that his flight was delayed an hour and a half. That was a rough revelation after a six-hour drive. But what are you gonna do? Go home and then turn around and drive right back out there? Ugh, us and our first-world problems. Anyhow, with all of this hosting of “out-of-towners”, it’s been hard to squirrel myself away in the office to compose a post. But tonight at 10pm, I’m squirreling to git ‘er done.
What a weekend! As I said in the last post, we were quite curious to view Occupy Wall Street for ourselves (plus, we love going to NYC), but when we realized that Princess Karina would be with us, it became a must.
A little exposition: I call her Princess Karina because she is eighteen, sweet as can be, and as she freely admits, she has lived most of her life in a suburban, teenage bubble. That said, she was eager to expand her horizons. Earlier in the week, Mrs. Bagger schlepped her to the first organizational meeting for Occupy Pittsburgh. (“Organizational” being in the eyes of the beholder. But hey, democracy is always chaotic at first.) She then had the Princess read some articles and encouraged her to develop questions for discussion on our drive. (Can you tell Mrs. Bagger used to be a teacher?) Through all the articles and activities, the Princess went along without a whimper or protest. Although she’s always been shy in the talking department, we both noticed that she has somehow developed a sarcastic and acerbic wit. I couldn’t be prouder. (I asked her if she could see herself living in NYC one day. She said yes, but not until she was 40. I asked how her husband would feel about that and, dead panned, she said she’d be divorced by then. We spent the rest of the weekend in search of her “first husband.”) One of her first college classes when she gets back will be public speaking. I told her that she’d be foolish not to make a speech out of this trip at some point. Let me just say that the Mrs. and I now want to take the Princess on all of our future trips. (And the Princess agrees.)
Friday night, we drove to across Pennsylvania and finally found room in the inn in Bethlehem. A Best Western Inn to be precise. I named my own price ($69) on Priceline.com for a supposed 3-star hotel. Note to Best Western: I expect the drains in the sinks and bathtubs to work if you are going to masquerade as a 3-star hotel. FAIL. But I digress. Saturday morning, we woke the Princess at 7. (No easy task as she is used to staying up late and sleeping until noon.) We hit the road for the 1 1/2 hour drive. Whenever we go to NYC, we always park at the municipal lot next to the Staten Island Ferry. It’s $6 a day. The ferry is free, runs every half hour, goes right by the Statue of Liberty, and dumps you out at the point of Manhattan right by a subway station. Sure beats battling city traffic and paying Manhattan parking prices.
Mrs. Bagger and The Princess, on Staten Island
I'm going to suggest that this beats driving into the city.
As you walk up Whitehall St, the first thing you come to is the famous Wall Street bull statue. I was kind of surprised to find that he is not so much facing Wall Street as he is mooning New Jersey. It gives new meaning to the phrase “Balls to the wall.” He’s also surrounded by fencing and has a 24-hour police guard. I guess they figure he’d make a fine target for an anarchist with a can of spray paint.
The Jersey salute.
Wall Street is only about four blocks up from the ferry terminal. These days, the whole area is fenced in and under heavy guard. It all seems more like Ft. Knox, even on a Saturday morning. It’s an armed camp. And it’s not just for the protesters. I remember this from my last visit there.
Fences and cops everywhere
From Wall Street, it’s just about two blocks north to Zuccotti Park (Liberty Square), home of the Occupy Wall Street protest. It comes out of nowhere. You can’t really even hear it until you are almost on top of it. Of course, it was 10am and most of the young radicals were fast asleep after a long night of sticking it to “the man.”
Yes, there are people sleeping beneath all that plastic.
There's a sign reading "Respect these flowers"--and they do.
At first, it seems like mass chaos. For one thing, there is a road crew jackhammering up a street half a block away. And I have to say, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the street. I’ll lay 5-to-1 odds that the city told this crew to go down there and make as much noise as they could just to screw with the protesters. Keep ‘em awake. Disrupt their communication. Annoy the hell out of them. Sometimes “the man” can be such a bastard!
Make no mistake about it. The crowd “living” in the park is young. You’d have to be. We forty- and fifty-somethings would never put up with sleeping under a tarp on concrete for twenty days. We’d be Googling the Hampton Inn before you could say “caramel frappuccino!” That kind of commitment can only be achieved with the passion and joint flexibility of youth. It was hard to do a count, but I’d say that there are easily a couple hundred people encamped there. As with any group of young people this size, I’m sure they are there for different reasons. Some are political true believers; some are bored and in it for a good time; some are looking for romance; some are looking for adventure. No doubt, some are merely attracted at the prospect of being accepted “just as they are” by this large and diverse “family.” Hey, many people enter the military for the very same reasons and it doesn’t diminish their cause or their purpose. As the day goes on, the campers are soon joined by others who either live in the city, have means, or have found somewhere else to crash. These include an older crowd, aging hippies from an earlier time, intellectuals fascinated by the spectacle, and special interest types such as labor unions, feminists, Socialists, LGBT, etc. Still others, like myself, are the sympathetically curious. Their desire is not to be representative of any single group or political party. They want to be a large and inclusive tent. That is the biggest reason the media can’t define their cause or demands. Some are political Socialists. Others, want real democracy and see Socialism as big government telling us what to do and think… and how is that any different from what we have today? But Occupy Wall Street wants them all to come and work it out together.
I wouldn’t say that police surround the park, but there is a very heavy presence of cop everywhere. Later we noticed a crew of motorcycle cops and several empty NYPD buses a few blocks away, ready at a moment’s notice. The perimeter of the park is manned by protesters with signs. They line up, face out, and hold their messages out toward the pedestrians. Some signs openly contradict each other. Again, to the media, that looks foolish. To the protesters, that is democracy. The main job of the police seems to be making sure the sidewalk around the park is kept clear so people can walk. Here is a short video snippet that shows the police, the signs, and, of course, the sound of the jack hammers.
Again, chaos, right? But wander into the park, stepping over the sleeping lumps, and you begin to discover the makings of a little community. There’s a library with books and games…
There’s a press room…
There’s a kitchen…
There’s a compost pile and vegetable garden…
And a church, of sorts…
This and all the people, in a space about half the size of a football field. I was rather surprised to see how clean it was. Sanitation teams regularly patrol with plastic bags and rubber gloves to pick up even smallest bits of trash. Don’t believe what they say on Fox News about people urinating and being filthy. This was the cleanest camp site I have ever seen. They even had to come up with a system that regulated where people should spit their toothpaste. As problems arise, they work them out.
We wandered through the park. Mrs. Bagger and the Princess struck up a conversation with some folks from Richmond, VA, who had just arrived at the park that morning. Like us, they just wanted to come and be a part of it. I contributed to a fund that went toward subway fare for people wanting to take a shower. (Not sure where the showers were but they have access to some.) The natives were stirring and getting ready to face their day. I could tell that all of this was blowing the Princess’ mind a bit, but she said it might just be the most awesome thing she had ever seen.
There were protest activities scheduled for the afternoon, so we decided to go two blocks west to Ground Zero and check that out. This turned out to be a bit disappointing. It is really a huge construction site. I had thought that the pools and some of the grounds would be accessible, but not really. There is some kind of museum and paid tour, but the line was long and we weren’t sure what you would be able to see so we skipped it. I will say, however, that I LOVE the design of the anchor building. I love the way the corners flair out as they go up to form some kind of hexagon at the top. The glass is amazing. It is both reflective and translucent, meaning you can both see through it and see your reflection. The short, angular building just below the American flag is going to be the visitor’s center.
See those trees? That’s where the park and the memorial waterfalls are. Behind all that restrictive fencing. I guess we’ll have to 9/11 some other day when it’s finished.
If only I had a hard hat.
We spent some time at St. Paul’s Church. I told the Princess all about it. It is this amazing church directly across the street from Ground Zero. It is hundreds of years old. George Washington went to church there on his inauguration day. When the Twin Towers collapsed, they completely missed the church and didn’t even disturb the grave stones in the churchyard. It was quite amazing. The church then became a bunk house for the rescue workers. At all hours of the day and night, you’d hear the snores of workers on cots in the sanctuary. Each day, volunteers would change the bedding and place a small teddy bear on each cot. (Stop it; you’re gonna make me tear up!) It also became an interfaith prayer center where anybody could go to pray every day. It’s my favorite spot at Ground Zero. After that, we went back to Zuccotti Park.
As we made our way back, an army of skateboarders descended down Broadway. They kept coming for about a half hour. There were hundreds of them. They were going to join the protesters. They called it Occupy Broadway. It was pretty cool.
They just kept coming and coming and coming.
Occupy Wall Street had scheduled a General Assembly (basically, announcement time with the occasional guest speaker) at Washington Square, in Greenwich Village, near NYU, at 3pm. The leaders–although, again, there are no official leaders–were adamant that people were not supposed to march there. They did not want to attract police intervention before the Assembly. They said that we were to “trickle up there nicely.”
Well, I can see that I’m going to have to finish this post tomorrow. There’s so much more to tell. There’s the General Assembly. There’s “mic check.” There’s the hugging man. There’s Times Square. There’s the Egyptian from the Arab Spring. So much more. Stay tuned.
The american autumn?
It’s been an exceptionally busy week. Not enough time to compose new posts or do much blog surfing. Now, we are headed to New York for the weekend to stick it to THE MAN.
My 18-year-old niece, Karina, is in town from Chicago suburbia. We decided she needs a little civics lesson so we are taking her to New York to witness Occupy Wall Street. One day, zip in and zip out. Of course, I wanted to witness it, too. I probably would have gone by myself if no one else wanted to. As I posted before, I am a hippie in a yuppie’s life. Injustice is one of those things that drive me crazy. When I see people marginalized, taken advantage of, and generally trampled by the system, it makes me mad.
So, I feel the need for this pilgrimage. It doesn’t bother me that the protestors seem scattered, unorganized, and without a clear voice. The problems of this nation are not the sort you can reduce into a pithy sign slogan or bumper sticker cause. For now, this sign pretty much sums it up. Our problems are complex and deeply embedded in our social institutions. Our sins are well hidden and nefarious. Like an awkward family dysfunction, we have trouble identifying our own blemishes and when we do, we’d rather hide them in a closet before they are noticed by the rest of the world because they would ruin the narrative of America being such a freakin’ great country.
That said, something in me is so pleased by the Occupy Wall Street effort. I don’t care what comes of it; I am glad that someone is standing up and telling the tycoons and politicians and power brokers, “We know what you’ve done. You think we have no voice or power, and that may be true right now, but beware what happens the day we all decide to band together and do something about it.”
Of course, the whole thing is easily scoffed at as misguided and impotent by the media and other powers that be. But that is partly because it is the very thing they most fear: that the people will turn away from their hypnotizing televisions, log off of Facebook, put down the X-box, get off of their couches, and leave their humble but comfortable hovels to take to the streets. Occupy Wall Street is just a taste of what could happen if we are pushed too far. And I’d like to see it in person, if only for one day.
So, off we go. Karina will get to see Occupy Wall Street and Ground Zero on the same day. She starts junior college when she gets back. I swear, she should be getting college credit for this! She’ll learn more from this weekend than from a semester of books and lectures.
And what better time of the year could there be to drive across Pennsylvania?
¡Viva la Revolución!
The friday funnies: War is hell
The wealthy right in this country is incensed. They are under siege. Their very rights are being threatened. They are a poor (except in balance sheet) put-upon minority forced to sit in the back of the bus (or limo). “This is war!” they declare. And as The Daily Show‘s John Stewart recently commented, the rich aren’t used to fighting in their own wars.
Today, Washington Post columnist Charles Krauthammer identified the enemy (as if he needed to be identified): “Turns out, Obama really was the one they [liberals] had been waiting for. That is: the new Obama, today’s soak-the-rich, veto-threatening, self-proclaimed class warrior.” (Full disclosure: Charles is a chess-playing buddy of my uncle and is said to be a really good guy. That said, geez, soak-the-rich? I suspect that Charles might use a grenade launcher as a fly swatter!)
Let’s check the scoreboard (cue the sad violins!):
- Ninety percent of income gains in the last decade went to the top 10 percent of Americans.
- Forty percent of that increased wealth went to the top 1 percent.
- Almost 50 million Americans are now in poverty–the highest rate in 50 years, including 22 percent of all our children.
- The top 1 percent of Americans control 42 percent of nation’s wealth–more than the bottom 90 percent.
And yet, according to Krauthammer, raising the tax rates of the wealthiest Americans a few points–to the rates of the 1990s–would be soaking them? How dare the lower 90 percent declare war like that! Instead, they insist that if we would only lower their tax rates a few percentage points more, they would turn around and start creating those jobs. As Stewart also said this week, “They are like a slot machine. If we just keep pumping money into them, they are bound to start paying off.”
Lucky for Democrats, the GOP election strategy seems to be going “all in” on the side of the 10 percent. This might make sense in the primaries, but I’m not sure the math will add up in the general. (And, don’t you think it would be wise for the Republicans to stop holding debates in front of Tea Party cheering sections? Many of the candidates hear that wild applause and the booing of gay soldiers and probably feel that the whole nation is with them. I’m just saying…)
Enjoy.
We doth protest too little…
I love a protest.
Even when I was a conservative, I loved a protest.
It’s David vs. Goliath.
It’s sticking it to “the man.”
It’s so American, even when it’s trashing America. It’s celebrating our right to stand up and shout without fearing the gulag.
I love the signs and the freaks and the skits and the creativity. I love the in-your-face audacity of screaming truth to power. I love the little guys telling the big guys that we know what they are doing. I love the notion that maybe, just maybe, “the man” is a little bit embarrassed that what he thought was done in secret has been dragged into the bright light of public scrutiny before all of his neighbors and yacht club membership.
I’m pretty sure I should have come of age during the sixties because I am a hippie at heart. I long to get involved in a protest. I want to march and shout at the top of my lungs. I want to get arrested for a really good cause. Stupid job. Stupid career. Stupid grown-up life.
So, I was both enthused and outraged to read about the four days of protest on Wall Street last week. Enthused because, damn, somebody on Wall Street got away with the bloody murder of our economy a few years back and it’s about time they know that we know what they know. You know… that we’re pissed about it. But I was outraged to discover that it got very little coverage in any of the major media outlets, broadcast or print. Not on CNN or Fox News, not in the New York Times or Wall Street Journal.
There’s a great article about this on a blog at the Philadelphia Inquirer that compares it to the protests in Egypt, which were ignored by the local media there also. It was the foreign media that made it news. Likewise, only the foreign media seemed to think that hundreds of people spending four days protesting Wall Street was news worthy. You could find it in London and Al Jazeera and China, but very little about it in the good ol’ USA. I’m thinking that maybe if the protesters had worn tri-cornered hats and strapped guns to their legs, somebody in the media would have noticed.
That’s okay. This was just the overture. This was a mere trailer to the blockbuster, 3-D feature that is coming if some people don’t develop a little bit of shame and clean up their act. If the Arab spring has taught us anything, it’s that in this day and age of instant information and communication, a small group of the elite, powerful, and wealthy can’t oppress and rip off the masses without eventually hearing from them. Somewhere in New York, a few very powerful moguls sit in their corner offices or their exclusive clubs knowing that they reaped millions, maybe billions, in profit from tanking the world economy. They think they got away with it. Given the political and economic climate, and the way the rich continue to act, I have a feeling that it is only a matter of time before its not just a bunch of unemployed kids doing the protesting. Very soon, it could be huge numbers of middle aged workers who have been dumped on long enough.
Dazed and confused at McDonald’s by fudgesicles
Had another political post all ready to go this week but I’m second guessing it. It was about how the Republican party has changed since my early days as a voter. It was about how strange it would be to see Eisenhower and Nixon and even Reagan up there next to this current batch of cartoon characters.
But really, what’s the point? Half of us know what buffoons the Republicans are and the other half knows what imbeciles and country-ruining socialists the Democrats are. What’s going to change? Very few people even comment on my political rants. If any of you are anything like Mrs. Bagger, the whole thing just disgusts her. I wish I could just tune out on all of it until around October of 2012, but I am too much of an amateur political wonk. Got a minor in Poly Sci without even knowing it until the day I graduated. Never planned to. Just took so many elective classes in it that it ended up as a minor. In truth, my mood would probably improve these days if I turned off the MSNBC and CNN and spent more time reading or listening to music or writing. Maybe my post will eventually see the light of day. We’ll see.
So, I’ll just end another post-less week by highlighting a few of my favorite stories from the past few days.
The Song Remains the Same; The Name is Different
You gotta have a whole lotta love for sixty-four-year-old Missouri native George Blackburn who has officially changed his name to Led Zeppelin II. The kicker: he did it on the day he divorced his third wife. He said he just wanted to make a fresh start. “I don’t want to appear to be some off-the-wall drug-addict idiot. I just changed my name from the standpoint that I can be a better person than I used to be.”
As a point of clarification, the “II” doesn’t mean “the second.” It is a reference to the Led Zeppelin II album. George… er, uh, Led’s favorite. My man is certainly not a drug-addict idiot. He’s a music lover. Does anybody remember laughter?
Rock and roll, Led. Rock and roll.
Woman Killed by McDonald’s Soda Machine
We all know that eating McDonald’s will kill ya eventually, right? We just didn’t know that it could happen so suddenly. In Georgia, an eighty-year-old woman was killed right there at the restaurant.
When the Website Gawker reported this story, they channeled Encyclopedia Brown to get to the bottom of it. I’m more of a Clue board game guy, though. So, how would you suppose that such a thing could happen?
A.) Colonel Diabetes with high-fructose corn syrup with the dining room?
B.) Professor Gustav Gas with carbon dioxide in the women’s room?
C.) Penelope Palsy with a stroke in the drive thru?
D.) Mr. Mishap with a falling ice machine at the condiment counter?
What’s your guess? While you ponder the possibilities, do you think McDonald’s will put more labels on stuff to avoid lawsuits, like the coffee cups that read “Contents are hot, idiot!”? Maybe something on the soda cups saying, “What? You can’t just drink water?”
The answer: B. Carbon dioxide, the gas used to carbonate beverages in the machines, was accidentally piped through a leaky gas line in the walls between the soda fountain machine and the restroom. In the small, unventilated room, it sucked all the oxygen out of the air. They maintain that all gas lines have been replaced. Nine other people were hospitalized. Man, if I went out that way, I would be so bummed. Incidentally, The Hamburgler was not available for comment.
Is that my jacket?
Is he gone?
From the “You Can’t Make This Shit Up” file comes a recent revelation by Nicolas Cage, who now lives in the Bahamas, of a home invasion when he lived in L.A. You see, he has a new movie coming out called Trespass and during the press tour, he told of a time when… well, it seems that… what happened is… All crap, I can’t do it. I just let him tell you.
It was two in the morning. I was living in Orange County at the time and was asleep with my wife. My two-year old at the time was in another room. I opened my eyes and there was a naked man wearing my leather jacket eating a Fudgesicle in front of my bed… I know it sounds funny … but it was horrifying.
Too… many… jokes… in my… head. Must… end… post… before I… type something… lewd.
Have a good weekend.
They’re blinding me with science!
I recently found an intriguing Website called Religion Dispatches. It’s full of some great opinions, debates, and articles from a variety of sources on the intersection of religion (not just Christianity) and life. A recent post highlighted a study done by Southern Illinois University that suggests that the beliefs of “sectarian Christians” lead them to perform “poorly on basic scientific literacy questions, and therefore have difficulty engaging in scientific discussions involved in public policy debates on issues like climate change.” Sectarian Christians is the study’s code term for “evangelical Christians.”
Although they deny it, evangelical Christianity is the jet fuel in the tanks of the Tea Party. This marriage has been twenty years in the making. It began with the rise of Rush Limbaugh and the election of Bill Clinton. This created a conspiratorial mentality that liberals were not just people of different political ideas; they were evil-doers who were conspiring to destroy America with their radical socialist agenda. This kind of demagoguery proved to be a boon for fund raising. Add 9/11 to the pot and you have more boogey men… Al-Qaeda, Muslims in general, illegal immigrants who might be Muslims in disguise (because they all look alike), and godless liberals who will let Sharia law take over America. 
Then, when the Bush administration screwed up so bad that any Democrat would do, the nation’s election of Barack Obama completely sent them over the ledge. Glenn Beck told them to turn all their assets to gold. Home schoolers entrenched behind their walls by snatching their kids out of the evil public education system. Next came arguments over abortion and gay marriage. Voila, you have an Internet-based constituency of Bible-believing voters who are scared and pissed and, in some cases, little paranoid. (Remember how many were saying that if Obama was elected, first thing he’d do is come for the guns?)
Now, Republican candidates only have to throw a little gasoline on the fire in order to reap a big reaction. Problem is, these reactions don’t seem to have legs that will last. First, it was Tea Party mascot Sarah Palin who stoked the flames until she became so unpopular nationally that she couldn’t even put together a viable campaign. Next, Donald Trump picked up the torch until his ridiculous rhetoric flamed out. Then, Michelle Bachmann was handed the baton. For two or three months, she was a force of nature. But just like actual forces of nature, her power soon dissipated when a stronger pressure system called Rick Perry sucked all the air out of the room. Now, not even a month into his campaign, cracks are beginning to form in his foundation. At last night’s Republican debate, who knew that the most controversial subject of the night would be science itself? When asked about climate change, Perry actually said the following:
The science is not settled on this. The idea that we would put Americans’ economy at jeopardy based on scientific theory that’s not settled yet to me is just nonsense. Just because you have a group of scientists who stood up and said here is the fact. Galileo got outvoted for a spell.
My head nearly exploded. All I could think of was Will Ferrell doing George Bush complaining about so-called “books” with all their suspicious “facts,” while using a lot of finger quotes. Sure, why believe something just because not one but a group of “scientists” say, “Here is a ‘fact’”? And this is the front-runner to run our nation. Then, he proved he’s not the quickest thinker by invoking Galileo. I think he was putting himself on the other side though, reminding us all that the astronomer was “outvoted for a spell.” He does know that the “spell” was a dark time of ignorance, right? He knows that Galileo was ultimately proved right, doesn’t he? Or does he think the jury is still out on that one, too? I can’t believe that this wasn’t a bigger deal than the Ponzi Scheme comment.
Bachmann wants to shutter the EPA. Ron Paul wants to privatize air traffic control. And there are like 5 more debates. Where’s the popcorn?
I was rather surprised to find that Jon Huntsman might be a candidate that I could actually vote for. Last night, he kind of slipped in the fact that he freakin’ speaks Chinese! He’d be a President who could speak to the Chinese people in their language. Of course, we’re too busy worrying about Al-Qaeda and foolish scientists to pay any attention to China. In the end, I’d probably be turned off by Huntsman’s thoughts on health care and fiscal policy, if he ever got a chance to put them out there. But at least he sounds like a smart, competent, viable Republican candidate. Last night, he actually had to say, “For the Republican Party to win, we can’t run from science.” What kind of bizarro world are we living in when a candidate for President of the United States actually has to say that? And nobody notices or listens. Can you imagine Nixon and Kennedy arguing over whether science is valid or not? Of course not. But back then, evangelical Christians were in churches, not on the Internet driving the political debate.
If recent history is any indication, Perry will likely burn out by October and Romney will become the nominee. He’ll probably add Perry, Christie, or Bachmann as a running mate to bring in the Tea Party vote. At least Romney seems like a guy who realizes the value of things like Social Security and scientific thought. And that will prove to be his downfall, as well.
The pilgrimage
Like the swallows of Capistrano, I return to Chicago each year. Often, I make it to that mecca of baseball shrines… Wrigley Field.
Despite a few changes, the old girl still packs a punch. Compared to the newer parks, Wrigley has many deficits. The concourse is dank, dark and crowded. There are no bells and whistles to the baseball experience. No large video screens for replays. No between innings t-shirt guns, mascots, or races. And the only music is provided by a live Hammond organ. Also, there is no official parking, and since the neighborhood is full of parking restrictions that favor the local residents, your only option is to succumb to the many parking tycoons who sell expensive spots in business lots, empty lots, and front yards. In my youth, I even remember being able to slip fifteen bucks to the nuns at a local Catholic school who then directed you to your spot. The city shut them down a few years back but I sure miss Sister Mary Elizabeth Entrepreneur and the change maker she wore somewhere in her habit. We opted for the DeVry Institute lot. It’s about a mile away but six bucks per car includes a shuttle bus ticket to and from the park for the entire party. Sold.
It was a 12:05 start and we got there for batting practice, meaning we were the brunch crowd. Only the Pirates took BP. One of my buddies told me that the home teams usually take BP inside their club house. This was news to me as I normally arrive for games just in time for the anthem. Got this shot of Josh Harrison talking to some friends. He came up in the Cubs’ farm system and still knows many of the guys there. I got a kick out of the Cubs security guard behind him. He’s watching me like I’m going to start something. Don’t mess with a guy who wears a hat and a helmet! I also liked how Josh kept those sun glasses on his hat during the game, even when it was raining and overcast. Like me, he probably knows that if he puts them down somewhere, he’d lose them!
A word about the group. Ever since I moved from Chicago six years ago, a group of five or six of us (all Cubs fans) have tried to meet up for a baseball game each summer. For the first few years, we met at the halfway point between Chicago and Pittsburgh: Toledo. We’d take in a cheap Mud Hens game, stay in a hotel, and eat fried pickles and cold beer at Tony Packo’s. There’s not much else to do in Toledo. One year, I went out in the morning in search of coffee. The city streets were deserted like some sort of post-apocalyptic movie. I finally found a lady walking up the street and asked if there was a Starbucks around. Her reply: “Is that a restaurant?” I knew I was in trouble. The faces have changed a bit over the years, but each year, we’ve made it happen.
One year, they all came to Pittsburgh for two games with the Cubs. The Pirates won both games. As I’ve written before, to be a Cub fan is to know the bitter taste of suffering. A Cub fan would quickly trade a measly 19-year streak of losing records for the right to hoist five World Series championship banners outside their park.
This year, it almost didn’t happen. One guy moved to Milwaukee. Another is a teacher with school starting up. Yet another is an associate pastor who was asked to preach over the holiday. We finally just picked the Pirates’ visit to Wrigley on Labor Day weekend and whoever makes it, makes it. At least the tradition would continue.
Megan the Awesome
The pastor needed to get rid of his ticket. Believe it or not, we had a hard time finding anyone who would drop $45 to see a match-up between the Central Division’s fourth and fifth place teams.
So, my niece Megan said she’d go. Even though I picked up her ticket, you’ve gotta admire the moxie of a thirteen-year-old high school freshman who would volunteer to go to a Cubs/Pirates game with three old dudes. She’s either incredibly bored at home or a glutton for punishment. To make matters worse, Mrs Bagger dressed her in a Jose Tabata t-shirt. Nothing like sending your niece into the belly of the beast dressed as the opponent! Promptly upon getting in the car, she informed the boys that she’s actually a White Sox fan. They threw up in their mouths a little bit but remained polite, as Cub fans always are.
Ah, Wrigley. As ugly as it is inside, it still is one of the classic vistas in baseball. I’m not crazy about the weird Toyota sign there. And it now seems that every building around the stadium is topped with some scary-looking bleachers–even the ones beyond the foul pole that can’t possibly have a good view of the batter! But the scoreboard is still operated by hand and the ivy on the walls is thick and green. This is where Hack Wilson and Gabby Hartnett and Rogers Hornsby and Ernie Banks and Billy Williams and Tinkers to Evers to Chance played. This is where Jack Brickhouse and Harry Caray called the action. This is where Babe Ruth called his shot during an All-Star game. Unlike the new shiny parks with their fancy amenities, this is where baseball history resides.
In the spirit of pacing ourselves, we waited as long as we could to buy the first beer of the day. That meant we had beers in hand by 11:30am. Breakfast of champions, indeed. We texted this picture to our teacher friend who wussed out on us. That’s Brian on the left, Greg in the center, and ‘Bagger on the right in the Pirates gear.
The game itself was fairly unremarkable. The Pirates scored. The Cubs answered. The Pirates scored again. The Cubs took the lead by two. Then, in the seventh inning, the skies opened up and a fairly strong front of storms came through. 
As you can see by the picture, however, we were under cover. We sat through the rain delay, enjoyed watching the big spending folks in the front rows make a run for it, and laughed when one of the grounds crew fell under the tarp when they ran it on to the field. “Man down!” Megan roared as he had to blindly crawl his way out like a kitten stuck under a rug.
After more than an hour, the rain stopped and the skies brightened a bit. The game resumed. Then, with two outs in the ninth and the Cubs leading by two, the Cub closer, Carlos Marmol, loaded the bases. Up came former Cub Derrek Lee. This was the kind of drama baseball fans love. It’s not just about the stats and records. The Pirates traded for Lee at the end of July. He played only a few games when the Cubs’ Marmol broke his wrist with a pitch at PNC Park. He had been gone for about a month, until that Saturday.
Picture from the Chicago Tribune
On this, his first game back, he raked a couple of hits and then faced Marmol again in the ninth inning with two outs and the bases loaded. Cubs fans were on their feet cheering for one more out so they could go home. Crack. A long drive. Grand slam home run. The Pirates go up by two. The former longtime Cub hit it off of Marmol, the guy who had broken his wrist. Cubs karma. There’s nothing stronger, blacker, or more evil. Enter Hanrahan in the ninth… 1-2-3. The few fans left boo their own team and then, a silent crowd files out. It was damn near perfect.
I couldn’t even rub it in. The Buccos had no business winning that game. The Cubs just gave it to us. You don’t rub dirt in that wound. It’s just too painful. I know.
All in all, it was a great trip. The hot sultry weather was cleared out by the storms. It was like summer came to an end and autumn began. It was great to spend time with my friends and my niece, all while watching a little baseball. (very little)
To cap it off, let me introduce you to Steve Goodman. He was a Chicago folk singer. He penned the “official” Cubs song “Go Cubs Go”, which is sung after every home victory. However, he also wrote “A Dying Cub Fan’s Last Request.” It’s a classic, and ironic in that soon afterward, Steve himself contracted Leukemia and died. What did I say about Cubs karma? You don’t mess with it. Until the Cubs ever get around to being in, let alone winning, a World Series, this song will stand as the state of every fan of Cubbie blue. Here is Steve performing his ode just across the street from his favorite place.
