I'm going to try to keep it basic this week. Simple, basic question, for which I am hoping for direct, thoughtful answers - Can a strong, committed liberal/progressive be a good, devoted Christian?
I don't want to say too much, else people wander in the weeds too much. I just want to clarify that, other than the unpleasantly hot weather and gnats, I like living down here in South Georgia. I have many good friends, some of them very conservative, but on a personal basis, they are very friendly and kind to me. And when you drift off politics, many of them are personally generous and giving people. I have spent most of my life living in very conservative areas and am comfortable with it, for the most part. I live a personally conservative life, even though my politics and theology are distinctly liberal.
The most upsetting thing about living here has been the whole identification and combining of conservative politics with religion, to the point that it's become accepted dogma that only conservatives are true Christians. Some preachers in the area use liberal as a kind of curse term, identifying all the ills of society as being caused by liberals. One large church in this area even had a debate a few years ago about whether they could accept active Democrats as members. My son participated in Upwards Soccer, in which devotionals are given during halftime. One of the times, a couple giving a devotion just started whaling on liberals as being responsible for all our ills. This was at an event where the devotionals were supposed to be directed at young children.
I have asked this questions to several of my friends, and the look I get from them withers my very soul, like the idea that liberals could be Christians is just impossible for them to fathom. And it hurts plenty to see it.
I go to a church that is open and tolerant, and has a mix ranging from very conservative to very liberal members, both theologically and politically. I love being in that diversity, where what share in common is our love of the Lord and our devotion to the basic tenets of Christ, and our coming together in Eucharisitic communion. I think our diversity makes us stronger.
So, I wrote too much again. Sorry. To repeat the central question - Can a strong, committed liberal be a good, devoted Christian?
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Sunday, March 4, 2012
The Homer
Hi! I’m Smith Landers. I’m whatcha call a minor league pitcher, relief at that. Never had even a whiff of the big leagues, and now that I’m a-fixin’ to slam inta th’ big three-five, I’m not likely to see it either. Usually a guy like me is called inta a game to throw a few trick knuckleballs and just get the team to stagger to the next inning, certainly not for any slugging. The rare at bats I had were freak occurrences, some team playing by National League rules ‘n’ the coach thought I was pitching too hot fer just one inning. What I’d like to relate is the freakiest of those occurrences, in a game where I was incredibly selected as a pinch hitter. And not just any game, but a game that could either win us or lose us a pennant!
Me ‘n’ Joe Cheezy had settled down in the bullpen for a 9-inning stay. We were just scrub relievers and didn’t really believe they’d call us in on such an important game. It was a game between us, the Batesridge Stompers, and our traditional rivals, the Tri-County Black Sox. It was the last game of the season ‘n’ we was only a half-game outta first place. An’ you kin just guess who was sittin’ purty in first !
Well, it seemed ta me like the whole dagblasted town of Batesville was there. The entire stadium was filled. Okay, it wasn’t really a stadium. My high school had larger facilities for field hockey! Double A ball – gotta love it! Nevertheless, people were sittin’ all over the place. In the bleachers, on the ground, on top of Blakely’s Grocery Store. All we had to do to start the game was get’em off the outfield.
In their half of the first inning, The Black Sox scored five runs and used up our best pitcher and best reliever. In our half, we struck out twice and scored one run offa Brinky’s homer (Brink Satterfield was our starting third baseman).
By the fifth inning, they had used five of nine pitchers on our staff. The score was nine to four in favor of those black-hearted Black Sox. Fred Gibbs, normally a starter, was our new pitcher. The first man up hit a single that scooted into leftfield, jes’ past the diving shortstop. The second man walked putting men on first and second. The man on second then stole third. The third man walked loading the bases. What a revoltin’ development!
This was our cue. The bullpen coach, Lem Forest, whipped around toward us, and gave us the evil eye. “Okay, I want you and you!”
Jes’ to emphasize his malevolent stare, he pointed at me ‘n’ Joe. Joe teased him. “Aw, gee, Lem, I jes’ got ta sleep!”
“If you don’t get out there, I’mma gonna put you to sleep. THE HARD WAY! Now git!”
Me ‘n’ Joe bounced out of the bullpen and began our warm-up tosses. Whilst we was warmin’ up, Gibby walked another man to bring in another run. Oh, lordy, it was ten to four.
Ol’ Lem, in his infinite wisdom, decided to put in Joe, not quite trusting such a vital assignment ta little ol’ me, Smith Landers. Heck, I couldn’t quite blame him. I hadn’t had a stellar season. I had won 2 and lost 7, with a 5.72 earned run average.
Well, Joe clambered onto the field and immediately began to play ball. Joe struck the next batter out on 3 wicked sharp pitches. The crowd cheered wildly. Okay, they didn’t go wild bonkers, but they definitely startin’ ta feel th’ itch of a momentum switch. Joe threw a fast ball down low. Larry Johnson, the man at bat, hit it high for a pop-up to shallow centerfield.
Now our gang figured out whoever caught that ball would most likely be the hero of the game, because of putting out one and throwing out another, thus ending the inning without letting the game get completely out of hand. They knew that the big league scouts were watching this game, and impressing them was for many of our young players more important than winnin’ or losin’. So all of our outfielders, plus the shortstop ,’n’ second baseman came rushin’ in ta catch that blasted ball.
All five of ‘em screamed “MINE!” and not nary a one heard the others. They were all looking way up in the air for that crazy pop-up, so none of them saw the others. And so then, yep, you guessed it. CRASH! All five of ‘em…out cold! Time becomes all messed up and the ball jes’ seems to slowly float ta the ground, landing right in between them with a soft kerplunk.
For a few seconds, everybody who wasn’t unconscious jes’ looked at it, stunned down to their toes. Even the base runners were petrified. Not a sound was heard in the entire park. After an unknown period of time, immeasurable because the clock had been forgotten, the manager shook out of it and yelled, “RUN, you idiots, RUN!”
The runners, startled by their master’s voice, realized what was happening and started pushing towards home. Brinks, frozen like a deer in headlights, noticed the runner’s movement, and woke out of his trance, rushing over to where the ball lay betwixt the inert five. By the time Brinks picked up the ball, two runs were in. He panicked and threw the ball wildly to the catcher. The catcher, still shocked by the sight of the crash, missed the wild throw, an’ the ball sailed back to the screen. Three runs in.
Trying to prevent the last run from crossing home, Joe rushed in ta the plate, awaitin’ the catcher’s throw. The catcher groggily took the ball from the clutches of the backstop screen and threw it high to Joe. He leaped high an’ made a phenomenal grab. “Course there was only one thing to do. An’ that was to come down. Which he did. Right on top of the runner’s ol’ belly. “Safe!” called out the umpire. The runner pulled himself out from under Joe and laughed all the way to the dugout. Joe sat on home plate, put his face into his hands, and began to cry like a baby. I have to admit, that was probably the most terrifyin’ part of the whole incident, watchin’ ol’ Joe melt down. The crowd booed wildly, an’ the opposing team laughed lustily.
During the entire ruckus, the bullpen didn’t say a word. Nobody even breathed. Finally the silence was broken when the bullpen coach looked to the sky and softly said, “God, why us?”
And then he selected a sub for Joe. Poor Joe. While our unconscious quintet began to stir and moan, carried off in stretchers, poor Joe had to be carted off the field squalling like a temper-tantrummin’ toddler.
By the bottom of the ninth we had closed the gap to four runs. They were ahead 15 to 11. We had only two fielders and two pitchers (me an’ a young rookie who was the fourth starter) who had not yet played.
In the bottom of the ninth, Brinks hit a bases-loaded home run (his second of the game). The crowd dreamed of pennants. The players dreamed of more money and whiffs of the major league.
The tenth inning was pretty dry. Six batters went up and six batters went down. I can’t tell you what happened in the eleventh inning, or for that matter the twelfth, thirteenth or top of the fourteenth, ‘cause ta tell you the truth, I took a short excursion to sleepy town.
When I woke up, they were ahead 17 to 15. We needed two runs to tie up and three to win.
The first man up was the pitcher. I was surprised to find out it was that young rookie. But the youngin’ watched the pitches carefully and escaped with a walk. The next man up struck out. Binky Davis, our leading hitter (.362 average), hit a single, puttin’ the rookie at second an’ Binky at first. The next man his a deep sacrifice fly, deep enough to advance both runners.
Now everybody started a’whooping an’ a’hollering, ‘cuz they knew what was a’comin’ next. Brink was waiting on the on-deck circle. Jes’ as he was getting ready to come up to bat, the coach called ‘em back for a conference.
Now, I don’t know x’actly what happened next. People tell me the clod tripped over his own feet coming out of the dugout. Before I could absorb what was happening, our bullpen coach got a call.
Lem picked up the phone. “Hello, Sam.”
“But Sam, I only got one crummy guy who ain’t had a hit all year. I can’t recall if he’s ever actually hit the ball!”
I saw terror in Lem’s eyes. “But Sam, he’s stanky!”
Lem looked a cornered rabbit. “Ya mean we ain’ts got no choice?”
Once again, Lem turned his eyes skyward. “Oh, God, why us?”
Lem turned towards me. His eyes were watery. He pointed towards home plate. He struggled to make a sound. “You!”
“M-m-me?”
“YOU!”
I slowly stepped out of the bullpen and onto the playing field. The batboy handed me a bat. I walked slowly to the plate. I heard the announcer.
“Smith Landers pinch-hitting for Brink Satterfield.”
I had never heard a crowd change mood so fast, from hail the hero cheering to lynch mob jeering. I though I was going to get stoned to death.
Why me? In all my minor league career, I had only been to bat seven times. Six were strikeouts, and the seventh was a popup that hit the umpires head an’ I was thrown out of the game (probably shouldn’t been laughing at him so hard).
The third base coach came over and told me just to try for a walk.
So I did. I jes’ stood there at the plate. Strike one.
The catcher derisively said, “C’mon, Larry, dis guy’s jes up here for a walk.”
Wise guy. So I decided to swing at the next pitch. I thought if I just pictured nice things, I would hit it. I thought of winning the pennant, the major leagues, more money and a big-screen TV. By the time I was done thinking he had already thrown a pitch. Ball one.
Ooops. I decided I better listen to the third base coach. Strike two.
I was mad. I was determined to bonk it out of the park. The pitcher wound up. So did I. He threw. I swung. CONTACT!
Now I started to run like heck ‘cuz I knew I don’t hit far. But then I realized from the crowd reaction that I must have hit it pretty far. I rounded first as fast as I could. I stretched towards second. As I scorched past second, I heard the voice of the shortstop.
“Hey, nice going buddy, ya hit a home run!”
I slowed to look at the fences. I couldn’t believe it. “I did?”
“Nope.” And then that lying bugger tagged me out.
They scored another run in the fifteenth and beat us 18 to 17.
Now I’ve been cut from the team, ‘n’ I don’t know if’n I’ll ever get to play professionally again. But, y’know, I can’t bellyache too much. Overall, baseball was very good ta me. I got to go to a lotta places, I met a lotta great people, there were as many victories as losses (well, almost), an’ I didn’t get stuck in a low-payin’ warehouse job like my Daddy did. I guess the moral of the story is, if’n there is one, the next time someone tells what a great job yer doin’, make sure they ain’t hiding a ball behind their back.
Me ‘n’ Joe Cheezy had settled down in the bullpen for a 9-inning stay. We were just scrub relievers and didn’t really believe they’d call us in on such an important game. It was a game between us, the Batesridge Stompers, and our traditional rivals, the Tri-County Black Sox. It was the last game of the season ‘n’ we was only a half-game outta first place. An’ you kin just guess who was sittin’ purty in first !
Well, it seemed ta me like the whole dagblasted town of Batesville was there. The entire stadium was filled. Okay, it wasn’t really a stadium. My high school had larger facilities for field hockey! Double A ball – gotta love it! Nevertheless, people were sittin’ all over the place. In the bleachers, on the ground, on top of Blakely’s Grocery Store. All we had to do to start the game was get’em off the outfield.
In their half of the first inning, The Black Sox scored five runs and used up our best pitcher and best reliever. In our half, we struck out twice and scored one run offa Brinky’s homer (Brink Satterfield was our starting third baseman).
By the fifth inning, they had used five of nine pitchers on our staff. The score was nine to four in favor of those black-hearted Black Sox. Fred Gibbs, normally a starter, was our new pitcher. The first man up hit a single that scooted into leftfield, jes’ past the diving shortstop. The second man walked putting men on first and second. The man on second then stole third. The third man walked loading the bases. What a revoltin’ development!
This was our cue. The bullpen coach, Lem Forest, whipped around toward us, and gave us the evil eye. “Okay, I want you and you!”
Jes’ to emphasize his malevolent stare, he pointed at me ‘n’ Joe. Joe teased him. “Aw, gee, Lem, I jes’ got ta sleep!”
“If you don’t get out there, I’mma gonna put you to sleep. THE HARD WAY! Now git!”
Me ‘n’ Joe bounced out of the bullpen and began our warm-up tosses. Whilst we was warmin’ up, Gibby walked another man to bring in another run. Oh, lordy, it was ten to four.
Ol’ Lem, in his infinite wisdom, decided to put in Joe, not quite trusting such a vital assignment ta little ol’ me, Smith Landers. Heck, I couldn’t quite blame him. I hadn’t had a stellar season. I had won 2 and lost 7, with a 5.72 earned run average.
Well, Joe clambered onto the field and immediately began to play ball. Joe struck the next batter out on 3 wicked sharp pitches. The crowd cheered wildly. Okay, they didn’t go wild bonkers, but they definitely startin’ ta feel th’ itch of a momentum switch. Joe threw a fast ball down low. Larry Johnson, the man at bat, hit it high for a pop-up to shallow centerfield.
Now our gang figured out whoever caught that ball would most likely be the hero of the game, because of putting out one and throwing out another, thus ending the inning without letting the game get completely out of hand. They knew that the big league scouts were watching this game, and impressing them was for many of our young players more important than winnin’ or losin’. So all of our outfielders, plus the shortstop ,’n’ second baseman came rushin’ in ta catch that blasted ball.
All five of ‘em screamed “MINE!” and not nary a one heard the others. They were all looking way up in the air for that crazy pop-up, so none of them saw the others. And so then, yep, you guessed it. CRASH! All five of ‘em…out cold! Time becomes all messed up and the ball jes’ seems to slowly float ta the ground, landing right in between them with a soft kerplunk.
For a few seconds, everybody who wasn’t unconscious jes’ looked at it, stunned down to their toes. Even the base runners were petrified. Not a sound was heard in the entire park. After an unknown period of time, immeasurable because the clock had been forgotten, the manager shook out of it and yelled, “RUN, you idiots, RUN!”
The runners, startled by their master’s voice, realized what was happening and started pushing towards home. Brinks, frozen like a deer in headlights, noticed the runner’s movement, and woke out of his trance, rushing over to where the ball lay betwixt the inert five. By the time Brinks picked up the ball, two runs were in. He panicked and threw the ball wildly to the catcher. The catcher, still shocked by the sight of the crash, missed the wild throw, an’ the ball sailed back to the screen. Three runs in.
Trying to prevent the last run from crossing home, Joe rushed in ta the plate, awaitin’ the catcher’s throw. The catcher groggily took the ball from the clutches of the backstop screen and threw it high to Joe. He leaped high an’ made a phenomenal grab. “Course there was only one thing to do. An’ that was to come down. Which he did. Right on top of the runner’s ol’ belly. “Safe!” called out the umpire. The runner pulled himself out from under Joe and laughed all the way to the dugout. Joe sat on home plate, put his face into his hands, and began to cry like a baby. I have to admit, that was probably the most terrifyin’ part of the whole incident, watchin’ ol’ Joe melt down. The crowd booed wildly, an’ the opposing team laughed lustily.
During the entire ruckus, the bullpen didn’t say a word. Nobody even breathed. Finally the silence was broken when the bullpen coach looked to the sky and softly said, “God, why us?”
And then he selected a sub for Joe. Poor Joe. While our unconscious quintet began to stir and moan, carried off in stretchers, poor Joe had to be carted off the field squalling like a temper-tantrummin’ toddler.
By the bottom of the ninth we had closed the gap to four runs. They were ahead 15 to 11. We had only two fielders and two pitchers (me an’ a young rookie who was the fourth starter) who had not yet played.
In the bottom of the ninth, Brinks hit a bases-loaded home run (his second of the game). The crowd dreamed of pennants. The players dreamed of more money and whiffs of the major league.
The tenth inning was pretty dry. Six batters went up and six batters went down. I can’t tell you what happened in the eleventh inning, or for that matter the twelfth, thirteenth or top of the fourteenth, ‘cause ta tell you the truth, I took a short excursion to sleepy town.
When I woke up, they were ahead 17 to 15. We needed two runs to tie up and three to win.
The first man up was the pitcher. I was surprised to find out it was that young rookie. But the youngin’ watched the pitches carefully and escaped with a walk. The next man up struck out. Binky Davis, our leading hitter (.362 average), hit a single, puttin’ the rookie at second an’ Binky at first. The next man his a deep sacrifice fly, deep enough to advance both runners.
Now everybody started a’whooping an’ a’hollering, ‘cuz they knew what was a’comin’ next. Brink was waiting on the on-deck circle. Jes’ as he was getting ready to come up to bat, the coach called ‘em back for a conference.
Now, I don’t know x’actly what happened next. People tell me the clod tripped over his own feet coming out of the dugout. Before I could absorb what was happening, our bullpen coach got a call.
Lem picked up the phone. “Hello, Sam.”
“But Sam, I only got one crummy guy who ain’t had a hit all year. I can’t recall if he’s ever actually hit the ball!”
I saw terror in Lem’s eyes. “But Sam, he’s stanky!”
Lem looked a cornered rabbit. “Ya mean we ain’ts got no choice?”
Once again, Lem turned his eyes skyward. “Oh, God, why us?”
Lem turned towards me. His eyes were watery. He pointed towards home plate. He struggled to make a sound. “You!”
“M-m-me?”
“YOU!”
I slowly stepped out of the bullpen and onto the playing field. The batboy handed me a bat. I walked slowly to the plate. I heard the announcer.
“Smith Landers pinch-hitting for Brink Satterfield.”
I had never heard a crowd change mood so fast, from hail the hero cheering to lynch mob jeering. I though I was going to get stoned to death.
Why me? In all my minor league career, I had only been to bat seven times. Six were strikeouts, and the seventh was a popup that hit the umpires head an’ I was thrown out of the game (probably shouldn’t been laughing at him so hard).
The third base coach came over and told me just to try for a walk.
So I did. I jes’ stood there at the plate. Strike one.
The catcher derisively said, “C’mon, Larry, dis guy’s jes up here for a walk.”
Wise guy. So I decided to swing at the next pitch. I thought if I just pictured nice things, I would hit it. I thought of winning the pennant, the major leagues, more money and a big-screen TV. By the time I was done thinking he had already thrown a pitch. Ball one.
Ooops. I decided I better listen to the third base coach. Strike two.
I was mad. I was determined to bonk it out of the park. The pitcher wound up. So did I. He threw. I swung. CONTACT!
Now I started to run like heck ‘cuz I knew I don’t hit far. But then I realized from the crowd reaction that I must have hit it pretty far. I rounded first as fast as I could. I stretched towards second. As I scorched past second, I heard the voice of the shortstop.
“Hey, nice going buddy, ya hit a home run!”
I slowed to look at the fences. I couldn’t believe it. “I did?”
“Nope.” And then that lying bugger tagged me out.
They scored another run in the fifteenth and beat us 18 to 17.
Now I’ve been cut from the team, ‘n’ I don’t know if’n I’ll ever get to play professionally again. But, y’know, I can’t bellyache too much. Overall, baseball was very good ta me. I got to go to a lotta places, I met a lotta great people, there were as many victories as losses (well, almost), an’ I didn’t get stuck in a low-payin’ warehouse job like my Daddy did. I guess the moral of the story is, if’n there is one, the next time someone tells what a great job yer doin’, make sure they ain’t hiding a ball behind their back.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Alice & Dorothy Into the Okee Faynoke Part 1
Alice & Dorothy Into the Okee Faynoke
Act 1 Scene 1
The stage is set to resemble a swamp.
Alice & Dorothy enter. Both are middle grade school girls, dressed in modern casual school garb. Both are happy as clams.
Alice & Dorothy (singing): Field Trip!
We’re finally on a…field trip!
It almost makes our hearts skip
To be out on a…field Trip!
No dusty schoolrooms today!
No heavy school books..no way!
We’re outside and free to play!
It’s a fun play day I must say!
Alice: And what about Marty?
Ain’t he a smarty?
And you got a crush
You act all a-mush!
Dorothy: And what about Jack?
I’ve seen you look back
Your eyes all a-moon
I think you will swoon!
Giggling, Alice & Dorothy skip offstage.
Enter Danny & Artie. Two nice but geeky boys, dressed like nerds, Artie with big coke bottle style glasses.
Danny & Artie (singing): Field Trip!
We’re finally on a…field trip!
It almost makes our brains flip
To be out on a…field trip!
We’re out in nature today!
Lots to discover…oh yay!
Put our science hat on this way
It’s a fun day to learn I say!
Danny: And what about Dorothy?
Is not she your key?
To open your heart
And give you a start?
Artie: And what about Alice?
Don’t try to be callous
I give you a dare
To say you don’t care!
Danny (not in song, pointing to someplace offstage): Oh, look! It’s a Didelphis Virginiana!
Excited, Danny & Artie exit.
Enter Marty & Jack. These are bigger, stronger boys, very athletic, dressed in the sharpest, most current fashion.
Marty & Jack (singing together): Field Trip!
We’re loose on a…field trip!
It’s good to make nerds slip
When you’re out on a field trip!
We’re going to have fun today!
We’ll find something to slay
Critters ‘n’ geeks we may
Anyone who gets in our way!
Marty: And what about teach?
It won’t be a reach
To scare him with snakes
As long as they’re fakes!
Jack: And what about Artie?
We can watch go him go flartie
With a frog down his pants
We can watch a nerd dance!
Exit Marty & Jack, as they punch each other in the arm.
Act 1 Scene 1
The stage is set to resemble a swamp.
Alice & Dorothy enter. Both are middle grade school girls, dressed in modern casual school garb. Both are happy as clams.
Alice & Dorothy (singing): Field Trip!
We’re finally on a…field trip!
It almost makes our hearts skip
To be out on a…field Trip!
No dusty schoolrooms today!
No heavy school books..no way!
We’re outside and free to play!
It’s a fun play day I must say!
Alice: And what about Marty?
Ain’t he a smarty?
And you got a crush
You act all a-mush!
Dorothy: And what about Jack?
I’ve seen you look back
Your eyes all a-moon
I think you will swoon!
Giggling, Alice & Dorothy skip offstage.
Enter Danny & Artie. Two nice but geeky boys, dressed like nerds, Artie with big coke bottle style glasses.
Danny & Artie (singing): Field Trip!
We’re finally on a…field trip!
It almost makes our brains flip
To be out on a…field trip!
We’re out in nature today!
Lots to discover…oh yay!
Put our science hat on this way
It’s a fun day to learn I say!
Danny: And what about Dorothy?
Is not she your key?
To open your heart
And give you a start?
Artie: And what about Alice?
Don’t try to be callous
I give you a dare
To say you don’t care!
Danny (not in song, pointing to someplace offstage): Oh, look! It’s a Didelphis Virginiana!
Excited, Danny & Artie exit.
Enter Marty & Jack. These are bigger, stronger boys, very athletic, dressed in the sharpest, most current fashion.
Marty & Jack (singing together): Field Trip!
We’re loose on a…field trip!
It’s good to make nerds slip
When you’re out on a field trip!
We’re going to have fun today!
We’ll find something to slay
Critters ‘n’ geeks we may
Anyone who gets in our way!
Marty: And what about teach?
It won’t be a reach
To scare him with snakes
As long as they’re fakes!
Jack: And what about Artie?
We can watch go him go flartie
With a frog down his pants
We can watch a nerd dance!
Exit Marty & Jack, as they punch each other in the arm.
Saturday Political Soap Box 20 - In Service to the Economy
I have a question, of which I am genuinely unsure of the answer. I am looking for answers and dialogue, however, only from those who agree with the basic premise that the key to a successful nation (indeed, successful planet) is a growing and vibrant middle class. If you believe that the world is better off with a shrinking middle class, please - pick another soap box to comment on.
I heard a panel discussion on the radio where a man brought up that some manufacturing jobs were coming back to the United States, but they were coming back at substantially lower wages than they were before they left. It was brought up that some plants were hiring young workers without the pay or benefits that the older workers were getting. Now, whatever you think of unions or how we compete in the world, you have to admit that represents a decline in middle class standards and not an improvement.
He also mentioned about how part of our solution lay in how we treat service jobs. We don't seem to want to pay them a wage adequate to middle class standards, yet that is where a lot of our future job growth is. So we have a manufacturing base that is declining (both in jobs offered and wages paid) and a service industry that is growing but whose wages are not. We also have a public sector that is being vilified and stomped on. Bizarrely, those low-paid private sector workers are going not "Hey, they get four weeks off, why can't I?" but instead, "Why should I pay taxes for them to get four weeks off when I have to beg for two?" dragging everybody down to the Lowest Common Denominator.
Manufacturing jobs were not always middle class jobs. It took the considerable efforts of workers through unions to make that so. It took thirty plus years of Reaganomics and globalization to batter it away. So my question is, why can't service workers be given the same dignity? Why can't they be paid middle class wages? Wages that enable them to have the basics in society - food, clothing, shelter, education, see a darn movie once in awhile, be able to dream for a better future.
A global economy based solely on manufacturing seems to me ecologically unsustainable. We are consuming resources at a rapid rate, and producing larger and larger junk piles. What if we had an economy that was based to a larger degree on the services that we render to each other?
It took me awhile, but that's my question. Is it possible to base the global economy as much or more on services as it is on manufacturing stuff, and if so, can those people in the service industry be compensated at a middle class level?
Let the squaloring begin!
I heard a panel discussion on the radio where a man brought up that some manufacturing jobs were coming back to the United States, but they were coming back at substantially lower wages than they were before they left. It was brought up that some plants were hiring young workers without the pay or benefits that the older workers were getting. Now, whatever you think of unions or how we compete in the world, you have to admit that represents a decline in middle class standards and not an improvement.
He also mentioned about how part of our solution lay in how we treat service jobs. We don't seem to want to pay them a wage adequate to middle class standards, yet that is where a lot of our future job growth is. So we have a manufacturing base that is declining (both in jobs offered and wages paid) and a service industry that is growing but whose wages are not. We also have a public sector that is being vilified and stomped on. Bizarrely, those low-paid private sector workers are going not "Hey, they get four weeks off, why can't I?" but instead, "Why should I pay taxes for them to get four weeks off when I have to beg for two?" dragging everybody down to the Lowest Common Denominator.
Manufacturing jobs were not always middle class jobs. It took the considerable efforts of workers through unions to make that so. It took thirty plus years of Reaganomics and globalization to batter it away. So my question is, why can't service workers be given the same dignity? Why can't they be paid middle class wages? Wages that enable them to have the basics in society - food, clothing, shelter, education, see a darn movie once in awhile, be able to dream for a better future.
A global economy based solely on manufacturing seems to me ecologically unsustainable. We are consuming resources at a rapid rate, and producing larger and larger junk piles. What if we had an economy that was based to a larger degree on the services that we render to each other?
It took me awhile, but that's my question. Is it possible to base the global economy as much or more on services as it is on manufacturing stuff, and if so, can those people in the service industry be compensated at a middle class level?
Let the squaloring begin!
Sunday, February 26, 2012
What a Wiz It Was!
It was my great honor and privilege to assist with the production Flying Dragon's Wizard of Oz. This was a great production performed the first two weekends of February. Pictured above was our phenomenally cute Lullaby League: Hannah, Marin and Madison.
I was proud that my son Benjamin played the Wizard, playing the character with flair and confidence. This also shows our amazing Toto, Daykota, who was perfection and the hit of the show. The Dorothy is our Cast One week Dorothy, Katie, whom I am very proud of. She is an outstanding young actress with a tremendous amount of potential.
This is Emily, the daughter of my good friend and co-director, Kimberly. She was the cutest Scarecrow ever, and very expressive.
Another picture of Toto, played by Daykota. This young lady always hit her spot, doing all the right things at exactly the right time. The audience loved her.
Cast One Lion played by Andrew, who was very charming and humorous as the Lion with well crafted dance moves. In back are our scarecrow Emily and our Tin Girl, Anna. Anna really impressed me with how she took control of her part, showing a lot of heart!
Out Green Man Group, playing our talking trees. Their movements during the Tin Girl/Man song added an extra special layer of fun and enjoyment for our audience.
Our Cast Two heroes...Ally as Dorothy (very sweet, amazing, and sang beautifully), Gage (perfect character and singing - hard to believe he was only eight), Adam (fabulous - just about stole the show!) and Krysta (Cowardly Lion extraordinaire). Many I want to recognize I don't have a picture of, but I want to thank for their performances, including our two talented witches, Amara Grace and Sydney, who interestingly, last year split the part of Dorothy.I was very impressed by the contributions of so many to make this show work. We had over fifty children, all learining their parts and having a great time. We had tremendous support from parents, who helped get their kids to rehearsal and contributed so much backstage. We had full house audiences every performance, showing fantastic community support.
I felt like I contributed very little to the success of the show. I did as much as I could given the overwhelming nature of my job, particularly when tax season started. I appreciate everyone who stepped in to help.
I did start with the vision that maybe we should do the play with all young people cast. I wanted to try it, but was unsure we could pull it off. That fear lasted until tryouts began. I was impressed by the depth of talent at the Flying Dragon. In fact, there were so many worthy young people trying out, that we actually made the potentially insane decision to double cast! We had ten roles, including most of the major ones, that switched from week one to week two.
Amazingly, we pulled it off! Each cast was both individual and brilliant. It was a tough thing to keep going, and sometimes I had to be the Tiger Dad, a role I hated but at rare times felt necessary. I am grateful that all the hard work we did paid off in a performance that was fun and entertaining for both the kids AND the audience.
As much fun as it all was, I think I need to pull away from theatre for a little while. There are some things I need to think about. I want to take some time for some other things. I want to improve my physical and mental health. I want to see if there are other things, supplemental and otherwise, that I can do to help support and assist my family. When I go back into theatre again (which I will), I can do so refreshed and renewed.
Again, God bless all of you who contributed so much to make this one of the area's most spectacular shows, reaching the stratospheric heights for successful children's theatrical productions. and...that's all, folks!
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Saturday Political Soap Box 19 - Original Sin
Let me make it clear. Bush Jr. was a rotten President, arguably the worst in American History. So no, I did not have a lot of good things, or even neutral things to say about him when he was President of the United States. So I want you to fully understand the impact of this when I say it. When gas prices rose under the Bush administration, I did not blame the Bush administration and would tell that to anyone who would listen to me.
Why not? The country was being run by two oil executives who clearly had the interests of the industry at heart more than they did the American people. They started, under false pretenses, an unnecessary and immoral war in Iraq that helped destabilize the oil markets. They had no intention of using federal reserves or price controls or any other domestic measures. So why didn't I blame them?
Two reasons. First the price of oil is largely determined by speculators. We've handed over the oil markets to gamblers who've helped to destroy every market they've touched. When you turn investment into a casino, these things happen. And you have players who try to cash in on volatility no matter what it costs the rest of us. This is what happened to the sports card industry and comic market in the 90s, the tech bubble, the real estate bubble, the derivative scam, etc. Bush Jr. encouraged this environment but he didn't start it. Speculation is sometimes created by actual events (hurricanes, wars, refinery fires and shutdowns), but it is taken to greater extremities and wilder swings because of it.
The second and more important reason for this is the nation's original sin, which dates back to the late seventies. A moment where had Americans reacted differently, the entirety of human history could have been changed. And that moment was President's Carter's so-called "malaise speech". He laid it on the line the future direction we had to take to survive, that we had to turn our backs on oil, learn to conserve, and develop alternate energy sources. But instead of endorsing this message and taking us on a road of energy independence and wiser energy use, we turned our backs on him. We voted in a President who, amiable old man that he was, ignored energy entirely and told us we were Americans by God, and we didn't need to change our consumption at all, didn't need that newfangled stuff, and we could keep right on chugging on our giant cars and spitting out pollutants, as we head towards that shining city on a hill (albeit a little hard to see through the smog).
We've had opportunities to turn towards a better course. In the 90s, Al Gore raised the idea of a fifty cent gas tax that would have helped develop mass transit and fuel alternatives. Last decade, scientists laid very clear the scientific certainty of where we were headed with man-made climate change and global warming. And each passing year, the damage caused by our use becomes more and more apparent, and harder and harder to deny. If President Obama has a flaw or responsibility, it is in not doing more to help us grasp this fact.
So who do I blame? I blame ourselves, each and every one of us who insist that lower gas prices are more important than the very future of this planet. And every time we are faced with this reality, we turn our backs to it.
Why not? The country was being run by two oil executives who clearly had the interests of the industry at heart more than they did the American people. They started, under false pretenses, an unnecessary and immoral war in Iraq that helped destabilize the oil markets. They had no intention of using federal reserves or price controls or any other domestic measures. So why didn't I blame them?
Two reasons. First the price of oil is largely determined by speculators. We've handed over the oil markets to gamblers who've helped to destroy every market they've touched. When you turn investment into a casino, these things happen. And you have players who try to cash in on volatility no matter what it costs the rest of us. This is what happened to the sports card industry and comic market in the 90s, the tech bubble, the real estate bubble, the derivative scam, etc. Bush Jr. encouraged this environment but he didn't start it. Speculation is sometimes created by actual events (hurricanes, wars, refinery fires and shutdowns), but it is taken to greater extremities and wilder swings because of it.
The second and more important reason for this is the nation's original sin, which dates back to the late seventies. A moment where had Americans reacted differently, the entirety of human history could have been changed. And that moment was President's Carter's so-called "malaise speech". He laid it on the line the future direction we had to take to survive, that we had to turn our backs on oil, learn to conserve, and develop alternate energy sources. But instead of endorsing this message and taking us on a road of energy independence and wiser energy use, we turned our backs on him. We voted in a President who, amiable old man that he was, ignored energy entirely and told us we were Americans by God, and we didn't need to change our consumption at all, didn't need that newfangled stuff, and we could keep right on chugging on our giant cars and spitting out pollutants, as we head towards that shining city on a hill (albeit a little hard to see through the smog).
We've had opportunities to turn towards a better course. In the 90s, Al Gore raised the idea of a fifty cent gas tax that would have helped develop mass transit and fuel alternatives. Last decade, scientists laid very clear the scientific certainty of where we were headed with man-made climate change and global warming. And each passing year, the damage caused by our use becomes more and more apparent, and harder and harder to deny. If President Obama has a flaw or responsibility, it is in not doing more to help us grasp this fact.
So who do I blame? I blame ourselves, each and every one of us who insist that lower gas prices are more important than the very future of this planet. And every time we are faced with this reality, we turn our backs to it.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
This Blog Has Not Been Abandoned
It only seems like I went away. Looking at other blogs, I see many with huge gaps between postings, and others that look like people tried for awhile and just lost interest or focus. For better or worse, that has not been the cases with me. I do concede to some seasonal variations. The preceding two and a half months were very busy, as I was involved in both tax season and directing The Wizard of Oz for The Flying Dragon Arts Center. Tax season still slogs on (not even half way through it yet), but that still should leave me some time for at least sporadic postings.
As usual, the thematic structure of this blog will vary. I would love to go through a cookbook from start to finish, or review every Superman comic in order since 1938. But I'm afraid my interests are too eclectic to keep that kind of focus.
What to look forward to?
The Greatest Christian Heresies of Modern Times.
More Saturday Political Soap Boxes.
Further tales of my not so wayward youth.
Comments on theatre, books, movies and comics.
More pictures and bragging's about my beautiful family.
Short stories and poems.
And hopefully by mid-April to resume The History of The Trap. I also hope to reformat the prologue and make it available on Smashwords (for free, of course - I may be egotistical but I'm not insane).
I'm not completely out of the submarine yet, but I should be able to post at least enough that no one feels abandoned. Hang in there. The best is yet to come. Or at least more stuff, best or not.
As usual, the thematic structure of this blog will vary. I would love to go through a cookbook from start to finish, or review every Superman comic in order since 1938. But I'm afraid my interests are too eclectic to keep that kind of focus.
What to look forward to?
The Greatest Christian Heresies of Modern Times.
More Saturday Political Soap Boxes.
Further tales of my not so wayward youth.
Comments on theatre, books, movies and comics.
More pictures and bragging's about my beautiful family.
Short stories and poems.
And hopefully by mid-April to resume The History of The Trap. I also hope to reformat the prologue and make it available on Smashwords (for free, of course - I may be egotistical but I'm not insane).
I'm not completely out of the submarine yet, but I should be able to post at least enough that no one feels abandoned. Hang in there. The best is yet to come. Or at least more stuff, best or not.
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