Glenn Greenwald's article on Salon.com, and the Letters in response.
Image, link and article are copyrights of Salon.com
Why isn't this all over the other media outlets?
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Forget Britney- Read This
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
New Year's in Portland
My, there was sickness in abundance on the streets last night. Now's when we could use a good rain, I'll bet.
I would liked to have spent the early evening walking around downtown and people-watching, but took my Tri-Met limo (aka bus) and didn't make the scene until about 10:30. The long lines outside then prompted me to land Somewhere Inside Where It Was Warm.
What a blast. Portland, you throw a nice party.
I spent the first hour or so trying to remember how to act in a club. I never went out in LA. The velvet rope thing is so wearing and it's everywhere that has decent music. So being out -or more accurately, being let in- on a New Year's Eve was pretty cool.
My very favorite thing about Portland is what I call "the Portland smile" which you lovely people seem to have for everyone you make eye contact with. Even hammered, you goofy lovely things. I'm often struck by how similar the PDX vibe feels to my actual hometown, which is back in Alaska- but I don't remember us *smiling* at each other like people do here. Probly because we were too drunk.
Anyway, the good times started after I finally got into the formerly sold-out Prince v Michael Jackson dance fever event. Danced myself into a joyous frenzy in the forgiving crowd.
Ah, the native Portland man, such a gentleman. Met one who saw to it I went home in a cab, rather than the arctic wait for Tri-Met I'd steeled myself for. And you PDX ladies looking fine in your sparkly little party dresses: god love ya for your verve, though I was freezing just looking at you. 
The topper was the early-evening scene on Broadway with a pretty bride and her wedding party getting some very glamorous photos taken in the street in front of the Theatre. Please baby Jesus, let my punk digital camera's flash have caught something of that... I join all the delighted smiles and honking horns of the people in the area in sending Best wishes to that couple.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Saturday, December 29, 2007
The Walk Home Teaches Me
I've been walking home from work the last couple of days.
It's lovely out of course; winter Portland weather. Dark, so I can admire the downtown cityscape and then, the reflections above the shiny river. I house-shop, picking one and then another house to be my ultimate residence. Vanity, or comfort? I grin at my flip-flops. There's just enough variety in the drizzle to make me picture the variations in the clouds above. I love this climate. I love the smells of the soil, cuddled in its new blanket of leaves, a solstice gift from the trees above. The smell of bark and cedar, juniper and holly. Perfect.
The bus was taking me through this route, too fast. The drivers at night are philosophers, given to commentary on the world that whirls past our fishbowl view, in a way the daytime drivers seem uninterested in. (In LA, the busses have signs saying Don't Talk to the Driver.) As charmed and warmed by these encounters as I've been, I still like the speed that Home comes to me when I walk.
It's infinitely preferable to being alone in my car, at least for commuting. In LA, I'd informally polled people on whether they would take mass transit or not. Most would reply that it's impractical for their route, hours, etc. I could tell most had not even considered it. The more honest ones would say, "I need my alone time."
For me, that "alone time" had a large percentage of literal screaming and sobbing. Funny how the "need" to do that diminishes on mass transit and disappears when I walk. Coincidence?
I loathe commuting. It's boring, wasteful and bourgeois. It teaches people to not care about the problems that pass by one's gaze. Whereas, if one's "commute" is one's own neighborhood, one stays engaged. Why is that garbage sitting there? Why is that building being neglected? Why are their so many homeless people gathering in that area? It's different when it's your neighborhood. And oddly, I noticed that the longer a person's commute was, the more limited a conversationalist they seemed to be. Coincidence?
People tell me that I'll really enjoy the days getting longer and the fantastic spring bloom that overtakes Portland. I respond that it's pretty great now.
End of the Year Omelette
Whilst cooking what turned out to be a perfect omelette for my dinner, I had a thought
The omelette was magnificent- free range eggs, spinach, brown rice with toasted sesame seeds, fresh-ground black pepper and cinnamon, with slivers of pepper jack and sharp cheddar. Photogenic in the pan. I paused to admire it, and thought of the journey the ingredients had each taken to reach this point. The benevolence of strangers in wanting me to have these gorgeous things to eat. How blessed I was to have them.
Life took on a glow at that point.
--
It feels good to finally "get it."
PS the photo I've used is owned by this New Zealand website
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Santa Loves Portland
All the Best children live in Portland. With the possible exception of the little boy who pulled Santa's beard, right before this little girl came up.
See? It was real, because Santa is real.
And you better not have made Santa mad, or we won't get any presents.
A White Christmas in Camelot
This enchanting town doesn't miss a trick.
I was writing away on my resident slice of Mac magic, and got up for more coffee to see- SNOW! Fat snowflakes falling, a white Christmas. I haven't been in a place with snow in years. I love that it snowed on Christmas. I also love that it didn't stick! : >
Here's a pic I took of my little Rudolph. I was going to write a whole story about "Giant Rudolph Takes Over City, Vows Revenge for Childhood Bullying" or some such. But I saw some other things like that, notably a dub of the "Scrubs" people to the Charlie Brown Christmas Special" and it made me sad, And angry. I'd thought it was going to be a homage. So, I'll put this on here to confess that yeah, I thought I was real clever, too. But I'm not writing the rest of what I was going to write. Besides, I watched all my Christmas Specials again this year. That Rudolph is already got some bizarre subtext to it! But I love it (the restored version with the extra songs) and enjoyed it.
Hope you had a happy and joyous day.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
' "Loft Ceilings! Stone Surfaces Throughout! " ' Pop-Tarts, History and the "Spendy" Home
Know why those European castles are abandoned and crumbling? How come Nic Cage was able to buy one?
They're colder than *crap* to live in.
So, why are we rebuilding them?
Fred Flintstone made that whole all-stone construction thing looks good, didn't he? Seems like all a man needs is to throw on a pelt in a cave of his own? Well, darling Fred was a shill who sold out to anyone who'd offer and here's the proof. Smoking! 
That bare floor of yours is a heat-sucking Vampire. You were safe in bed. The Floor Vampire planted the thought of a delicious, crispy-fruity toasted Pop-Tart in your head. To have it, you must venture into the flagstone-floored kitchen, and this thought has made you cry. The Floor Vampire was lying in wait for you to venture out, and now, it has you. Feel it drain the life from your body as you pray in vain for the Pop-Tart to toast. You may make it back to bed with the Pop-Tarts, but you will have to crawl. Your former feet will be frozen to the floor.
Even before there were Pop-Tarts to lust after, people would throw hides and rushes down on those floors in self-defense. Wasn't this why we invented lineoleum? And moved to the city, selling the stone houses to idiotic American actors?
So OK, it's a stone floor. Why not fire up the heat? This works great. Below the loft ceiling, temperatures are snuggly-warm- - far, far above your head. The floor, as they say, remains unchanged. The resulting heating bill will enslave you.
Maybe a quick sandwich in your super-fab all-stainless steel kitchen? The peanut-buttered knife left in the shiny sink, makes the sink Rust. Feh. This is why our Creator gave us the miracle of Porcelain.
I predict the next design revolution takes us back to the easy-to-live-in 60's ranch houses, with wipe-clean countertops, porcelain sinks and linoleum floors- as a condo. Throw some thick, 70's wall-to-wall carpet in the den. Gimmie something heatable and livable. With Energy Star appliances, of course.
Friday, December 21, 2007
This Boycott Hurts Me a Great Deal
I adore this brilliant show. I watch the clock for the time I can see each new episode. Yet I've never seen it on TV. I don't even own a TV.
I've probably watched each of the Season One shows online 5 times each. Except for the Isabella Rossellini/ Paul Ruebens episode, which I've seen easily 15 times. Ads and all, advertisers.
But I am not watching any more online broadcasts until the writers and other guilds get paid for it. I'm talking to you, advertisers. Ad agencies. Why are you putting up with this strike? Having the nets refund your money is nothing compared to losing eyeballs in your key demographics. You can't get this fourth quarter back. Explain to the execs at your lucrative car account, how your unseen media campaign is selling their cars for them-? Maybe you want to encourage your obsolescence as the move to product placement increases? (The people at Snapple are geniuses. They've gone from bathroom break facilitators to snarky, self-referential "In" crowd members.)
Tell the AMPTP to get the lead out or your industry will die.
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