Saturday, November 26, 2005

A Working Life - Part One. Other People’s Toilets

A Working Life - Part One. Other People’s Toilets

This past Spring I completed my first full year of teaching (college composition). It was a rewarding experience and one that solidified my initial feelings that a bad day teaching is better than the best day of cleaning toilets.

I cleaned houses once for a about half-a-year. It was one of the worst jobs I’ve ever had (although not the worst – see later tangent). A lot of kids my age (at the time, early 20s) who did a lot of crank and listened to heavy metal. Everyone always looked grimy and haggard. Dunkin’ Donuts at 4:45 in the morning, waiting for the supply guy to arrive and give us our day’s supply of cleansers and sponges. The pay was terrible because of two assumptions (neither of which originated with us, the workers.). Assumption #1 came from the management who told us that while our hourly pay was low (about a buck above the minimum wage), the owners of the houses we would, like our wait-staff brothers and sisters, be compensated by gratuities. Assumption #2 originates with the actual homeowners (or renters) who felt that the job we did was so grueling, so demeaning, that it was assumed we must be getting well compensated for our work from our bosses. After all, we were Caucasians in an industry dominated by Hispanics. So, between the willing ignorance of management and the ignorance bred of misunderstanding the work-to-pay ratio in this country, we cleaners took home a little less than $300 bucks a week through salary, and about $10 a week in tips (in a good week). Over the course of six months, I raked in about $60. When folks did tip, they barely recognized denominations beyond Hamilton. Somehow, the hedonic fuckwad who slithers over with your $10, over-iced gin and tonic is more deserving of a reasonable recompense than he or she who just spent two hours picking god-know-what off the sides of your bathtub (some sort of blend of mineral salts and human gravy? I don’t really want to know.). All of my co-workers hated the job and hated the customers. The revenge was simple: steal as much as you can possible get away with. I was always too chicken-shit to take anything myself but then again I didn’t have a crystal meth habit to feed. I also didn’t stay there very long. Among other things, the cost of gas to drive from one end of the South Bay to the other was cutting into my already meager profits.

After the initial disappointment of not getting the tips I was promised in orientation, I was burned out by month-six. Usually inertia will keep you working a bad job for years sometimes, but house cleaning is irregular and choppy in scheduling. I would sometimes have three cancellations in a day which was a mixed blessing. It was great because it meant I didn’t have to lug vacuum cleaners (yes, plural), buckets, mops and brooms all over creation, but of course, not workie, not money. A particularly bad/good week might have 80% cancellation. Anyway, there was no “getting used” to the “flow” of the schedule. Sometimes I’d be working from 6:00 am to 8:00 pm, other days, I might have one office cleaning (my favorite gig. Easy. No one around. Usually a longer gig so more pay) and be home by noon.

I wish I had some sexy story to tell you, but I think only our cohort in pool cleaning business get those. Or, it is more reasonable to believe that they might get laid, there is that beach bum, slightly Lebowski-looking fellow with pack of Newports and John Holmes mustache who just seems to be attractive enough to the fabled housewives of Rancho Palos Verdes to allow in for a quick screw. But we house cleaners, girls and boys alike, are a grubby bunch. We smell of bleach and whatever you puked up on to your carpet last night. In other words, no perks. But crank-heads love to clean, and delusions of grandeur come easy to those without a thought-filter to catch all wild shit as if flies from idea to action.

Words to Live by:


“You can never clean someone else’s toilet to their satisfaction.”

Friday, September 02, 2005

A Good Walk Spoiled

For Our Gentle President, Who Just Wanted to Play a Few Rounds

in old rome,
nero, he did play
while the city burned.
it might seem perverse,
but be cheered in the thought
of how beautiful it would be
were the situation reversed.


sorry that your holiday was interrupted.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Getting it Down Pat: Right Wing Story Time

What would it take for someone on the right to say “whoop! Sorry ‘bout that”? Bush and company are, of course, totally incapable of saying mea culpa (and W, undoutably, can’t spell it). Made-up war-reasoning, continued oil obsession in light now self-evident global warming, mass murderer Bin-Ladin still on the loose, and a degree of insensitivity that blames a dead soldier’s mother for a fucked up vacation all add up to a pretty nifty tally.

Of course, Pat Robertson is not really, officially attached to the Bush administration. Not in any “according-to-Hoyle” sort of way. No, he is one of those figures who exist in the shadows, behind the curtains, doing the moral dirty work on the front lines of the screaming, lunatic fringe of the right. Just as Fox is not an “official” instrument of the right’s agenda, Pat Robertson and his ilk (Fallwell, Reed, take your pick) stand on the oblique sidelines of the political process, getting to act like maniacs for their cause, doing their damage, then slipping back under their veils of “private citizen.”

Meanwhile, actual private citizens like Cindy Sheehan are pilloried mercilessly as though they were some incorporated bulldozer ready to roll over unborn fetuses. The worst thing she did, of course, was to use the Christian cross in her protest. The right, as we know, has proprietary rights to the use of the symbol, therefore, it is not sacrilegious that some cowboy clown blazed over them in his massive, Saudi-oil powered SUV. Whoa to the feckless PETAphile who accidentally snags a Birkenstock on a similarly themed right wing sponsored vigil. There’d be no pitch too hot for little Moonglow.

The right’s great weapon of recent years has been a kind of “shock ‘n awe” kind of overreaction to anything that smacks of criticism of political status quo. If Bill Mahr questions why US Soldiers are ill-equipped in the theatre of war, then the right-wind congressman will simply label the comedian’s comments as treasonous. If Chris Mathews questions the whack-job senator (who happens to be some kind of democrat, evidently) as to whether accusations made against former Presidential hopeful John Kerry’s war record are true, that senator must then challenge Mr. Mathews to a duel… so he can kill him, obviously. Thus, when the grieving mother of a solider killed in Iraq decides to go to the vacation Shangri La of our poor, exhausted leader, to gain an audience, the thing for the right to do is to go ape-shit, organize, make tee-shirts, and assume Sheehan is the head of some neo-pagen, vegetarian conspiracy to make sure flags are burned at regular intervals and that Christian children are forcibly placed with lesbian parents.

My thought is that the right reacts this way not because they are particularly concerned about the specific event – Cindy Sheehan protesting the war, for example – but because they link the protest to a broader, more symbolic cultural conflict. Let’s face it, they do enjoy tarring the left with a fairly broad brush. You cannot, for example, be an anti-war supporter of the NRA. You cannot be pro-choice and pro-war, etc. The narrative is too difficult for the far-right. I am sure the left does the same thing to those on the right – all right wingers are anti-choice, pro-gun, know-nothings. That, in a nutshell, is the real problem with America: an inability to accept a more complicated, more nuanced narrative.

Of course, Pat Robertson is not really interested in a complex narrative, unless, of course, it is his own. After calling for the death of Chavez, he back pedals in a way that recalls Bill Clinton’s eroto-linguistic hair-splitting during the Lewinsky scandal (and aren’t you feeling a little bit nostalgic for that feel-good era?). The difference is that in the case of Robertson, we have a record of what he actually said because he said it on television in his own words. To quote today’s Washington Post:

[...] a video of Monday's telecast shows that Robertson's exact words were: "You know, I don't know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war, and I don't think any oil shipments will stop."
He continued: "We have the ability to take him out, and I think the time has come that we exercise that ability. We don't need another $200 billion war to get rid of one, you know, strong-arm dictator. It's a whole lot easier to have some of the covert operatives do the job and then get it over with."


I guess Pat is attempting to spin the word “it” as being taken “out of context”. I guess I don’t know too much about the way Southern Baptists use their pronouns but if it’s the same way we Hollywood Pagan Liberals use it then “it,” in this context, replaces the previous proper noun, and that is “the doctrine of assassination.”
Ok, Pat is a total idiot but that’s not what’s important here. What is important is some consideration of why the right would want this particular messenger out there running wild. Simple: Chavez is sitting on an oil reserve that might mean salvation in these post-Saudi-Oil-peak era. As Saudi Arabia starts down the road of reduced output (10-15 years?) and the trickle-spout that is the Anwar oil refuge is shown to be what it is (trickle-spout), then we need another oil sponge that we can push around or at least play nicely with. That would be Venezuela. Sadly, we don’t have a friendly on the ground there. Chavez is too social a democrat. He is too friendly with Castro (who, for some bizarre reason, we continue to have a hard-on for 40 years on. Pfizer and Glaxo should figure out how to bottle whatever is making this foreign policy so turgidly vertical), and he is too beloved of the poor (only in Caracas do anti-government protestors show up with manicures and leave in Jaguars). But, of course, the time is not right for a new demonization. We still have Iraq, we have Iran in our sites, and let’s not forget North Korea (but do forget about Bin Ladin. He’s not currently on the radar and his presence just complicates things). If Chavez’s policies continue into the next several years (provided he is still in power and some locally grown thug doesn’t return power to the 1% of the population who actually own land), then we might start considering how to best handle the situation in South America. Right now, Pat’s comments are seeds, or trial balloons, of what narrative might be forthcoming.

Monday, August 01, 2005

Current TV - Candy Everbody Wants

So New World International, the CBC's no-frills, no-nonsense, cable news channel, signed off forever at 9:00 PM PST or a little more than an hour ago. I wouldn’t say I “loved” NWI. In fact, I was often annoyed by its lack of content – flying in hours of programming from other channels rather than developing their own – but in the kingdom of the blind – the blind being the McNews hegemony represented by CNN-FOX, with their overheated news anchors, short-attention span blurbing, and celebrity-obsessed, USA-Is-Number-One propaganda – the 24 hour news channel without an annoying news ticker, is king.

Actually, I only really watched NWI because I could rely on it to give me seven-to-twelve minutes of headlines at the top of the hour (sorry for the “news-speak”). And the reason I went to Canada for my headlines rather than CNN’s Headline News Channel is because I knew that I wouldn’t have to listened to the thinly veiled sanctimony of some polished and primped American news reader who you know really wants to join the Ministry of Information so they can serve up the pabulum fresh from the source.

NWI tearfully went off the air without any real sincere hope of staging a comeback. The CBC doesn’t have the capital. I can only hope the BBC will make the World Service more widely available to American cable.

Al Gore’s Current TV took over at nine o’clock PM (midnight EST) with a rousing couple of verses from The Ramones version of What a Wonderful World. It didn’t matter that they had recorded it with un-ironic intent (Joey was dying and wanted to send out positive vibes), the new channel wanted to co-opt the song to make a very important statement about their relative hipness. Shortly, a flurry of text and images hurl out of the screen like some sort of amphetamine-induced psycho vomit, before dissolving into the dot-matrix retro-font declaring its name. For the next hour the channel throws down dozens of “pods” or mini-documentaries. Each segment ends with a return to the channel’s HQ, a swank techo-lodge of red paneling and 360 degree views above a city (sort of a way of saying “we’re COULD be watching you, but we’re having too much fun in here to care.”) where we are greeted by the same sort of folks who, twenty five years ago, would have been veejays on the fledgling MTV. From their Urban Outfitter/Tommy H. couture, to their slightly askew way of talking to the camera, to their “I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying, and I don’t care” prattle, they are “Cool” in the most trademarketable way. You half expect them to announce each segment with “NOW HERE’S MY BOY KINKO DA KLOWN WITH A REPORT ON PRISON LABOR IN CHINA… TO THE EXTREEEEME!!!!”

One segment that was of particular interest was the “pod” about youth culture in Iran. That is to say, the only youth culture worth talking about which is the western style of hyper-consumerism, loud music, sex, drugs, drink, and generalized debauchery. The reporter, either an American or a Canadian, interviewed a rather select group of Iranians including a bunch who had congressed at an upscale apartment for a house party. The music was blaring, the gals were scantly dressed, cigarettes, booze, “even Ecstasy!!!” were widely consumed. Reporter: “If I didn’t know any better, this could be a party in Brooklyn.” Except, these Iranian kids are, I surmise, less than “typical.” Later she interviews other young people and, I would say obsessively, inquires about whether they know any gay people. One group of girls needs this explained to them: “you know, girls with girls, boys with boys.” For some reason, these young women were less than forthcoming about admitting to anything so commonplace as being acquainted with someone who, in their country, could be executed for the crime of homosexuality.

The segment ends ( I am not going to call it a “pod” anymore. It demeans us all) and we return to the lounge. The camera whirls around the host in that way that is supposed to simulate the viewer’s perception (because, don’t you bob and weave with your interlocutor when having a conversation?). She introduces herself as “Amanda,” she looks a remarkable combination of bored and horny. Wet, sultry, pink-glossed lips manage to part with great effort. Surely she has something of value to say of merit. She is, after all, being beamed into pontentially millions of households” “wow… it’s a crime to be gay in Iran. Bummer.” Ok, she didn’t say “bummer” but I am trying to get across her general attitude, one of “I don’t really care, but I hope I look good.” This was followed by a segment by a fellow who had his cel phone number hacked off of Paris Hilton’s gizmotron and how its actually a good thing that his privacy was invade. “Its like hosting my own radio call-in show!” and “Maybe too much privacy is a bad thing.” I probably would have felt bad for him if he A) weren’t a friend of Paris Hilton’s, and B) if he weren’t driving around an expensive sports car.

Too much privacy? Ok, I’ll let your car insurance company know you are driving around the Bay area having endless chat-ups with your new cel-friends. Would you mind?

Connect TV, though still less than a day old, seems to already be the most annoying channel on television. Which is saying a lot considering how ESPN now offers competitive hot-dog eating as regular programming and Fox will soon launch a 24 hour reality TV channel. All that is crass and self-reflexive about what we used to call Gen X (and those little horny sluggers in Gen Y) comes to the surface in the most mundane and banal manner Connect. It all seems so desperate… and I mean that to the EXTREEMMMM!!!!

Friday, July 22, 2005

BBC America and its discontents

I hesitated setting up a personal blog for many reasons. Primarily, I got through phases where I am wanting to write something of substance but lack the will (read: too bloody lazy) to really work out the ideas in a cogent way. Secondly, I feel the urge at times to say trivial things of little important. In other words, what 90% of other bloggers do. For example, today I want to write something about BBC America programming rather than the London bombings, Bush’s choice for Supreme Court Justice, the Downing Street memos, the price of oil, etc. Call it leisure guilt but I sometimes (SOMETIMES) am overcome with the romantic notion that these text spaces are of value only if they speak of global things and to trivialize it with talk of the lack of The Avengers on the Friday night line up, the leaking of the new Depeche Mode song, or the genius of David O. Russell’s “I Heart Huckabees” just seems irresponsible. Why not just post to Craigs list “Rants and Raves” and be done with it?

But then it occurred to me that no one will ever read this space so who cares?


Why does BBC America hate it’s viewership? Why don’t they just devote their entire schedule to What Not to Wear, Cash in the Attic, and Footballers Wives? Oh, I forgot, they already do.

I don’t ask for much out of life, and yes, I could watch less television than I do, but I recently caught a rare, incurable disease called myoliteratae – the inability to read anything longer than a comic book. I blame this on my James Joyce seminar of two semesters ago. I have islands of sanity in this life – cheap wine, chunky peanut butter, Soulseek, JLU, and Friday nights of The Avengers on BBC America. Two hours of Steed and Peel (or Steed and King. I was not a purest. I found both ladies have their charms.). Eleven to midnight then midnight to one, then a lovely sleep with dream of lead-filled bowler hats, trounced would-be saboteurs, and funny, sexy, kung fu-ing heroines.

BBC Am. started this routine two months ago. Lovely. I had never been an Avengers fan prior to this, but there was something lovely about the weekly routine of elegance and wit that kept me looking forward to week’s end. I was hooked. Now, scanning my program guide I see that they are instead featuring a marathon of something called Footballers Wives followed by something called Prime Suspect. Now, I am sure these shows have their own following, but aren’t there enough programming hours during the week to feature all these shows? I mean, how does it serve a Prime Suspect fan to not be able to plan a viewing when the broadcast plan keep moving? Do the program planner even care about viewership?

Similar annoyances and disappointments abound with other BBCA shows – Goodness Gracious Me, Look Around You, The Kumars, Black Books, etc – but I assumed the lack of these shows over a consistent period owed more to the relatively few episodes available. Look Around You, for example, are very brief segments of about 10 minutes. They are only a few years old and there simply aren’t that many of them. But The Avengers was on for nearly a decade, surely they could plug even a consistent hour of the show on the channel on a weekly basis.
Cable TV really is becoming a wasteland, isn’t it? I bark at the BBCA but it’s an epidemic of idiocy. Too many channels, to little programming. How many sport channels do we have? Ten? Why should there be 12 poker shows on at the same time? Now they are showing competitive eating on ESPN. Who is really interested in watching cars being rebuilt? Who is that audience? I am sure its out there… but is it that sizeable? Even National Geographic is dumbing down – the shows seem to be about “extreme” nature and why you should be scared shitless of it. Very different than the magazine.

And what the hell happened to A&E, TLC, and Bravo? When did “Arts and Entertainment” come to mean 18 hours (I subtract the infomercials they run overnight) of poker contests between D list celebrities, humiliation-based “reality” shows with E list celebrities, murder investigation shows and celebrity exposes? Look, I’m not expecting marathon runnings of Mansfield Park or a Robert Bresson marathon, I just want truth in advertising. Even Pro Wrestling had the good graces to change it’s tag to “Sports Entertainment.”

Bottom-line mentalities in corporate board rooms erode cultural diversity.

But kudos to a few good players. Cartoon Network and Boomerang offer a quality product. I am not by nature a huge fan of animation but if it’s “the good stuff” I can be corralled. What I admire, especially about Boomerang, is its clarity of vision. Basically the producers are saying “look, we’ve got nearly 100 years of short animation here. Why not watch some of it?” Boomerang, at least in the US, is commercial free. This is a huge relief to non-Tivo folks like me. The commercials on cable TV are perhaps the most banal cultural artifact we can possible generate – diet pills, crap gadgets, real estate schemes, you name it. And, although the programming itself is hit or miss – I can’t stand more than 5 minutes of any Hanna Barbara ‘toon – there is plenty else to admire.
So what was the point of this rant? Mostly to organize my thoughts on the subject. Deeper meaning may be forthcoming…

Monday, July 18, 2005

How to Enjoy Popular Culture

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