Fiction…sometimes, and sometimes non.

One good exercise is to watch “The Motorcycle Diaries” followed in quick succession by “Before Night Falls.” Or better yet, READ them. You see the cause for change in ideology in the former, and the devastating effect it has on humanity in the latter. I remember the first time watching “Diaries” thinking that there must have been a huge disconnect (which they missed outlining in the film) between the Che Guevarra travelling throughout South America, and the Revolutionary, murderous Che who commanded death squads 10 years later in Cuba for Fidel. Indeed, seeing and acknowledging extreme poverty and the exploitation of the poor by the “haves” is repulsing (as it is to me to-day), but does it drive that violent instinct we all have to flourish like it did in Che? Is the repulsion and disgust that strong to change you from within, and then turn around and torture and murder the likes of homosexuals, intellectuals, artists, etc.?

This will be a weird and savage connect-the-dots to my idea above, but for a brief few seconds yesterday I felt it. This enormous rage and repulsion against a segment of humanity which, at least temporarily, yielded a murderous instinct within…one that was so powerful (albeit brief) and intoxicating, I actually had to check myself out of the particular situation and go pour a pint of black and tan. I watched about half an hour of a show on Bravo called “Housewives of Orange County” or something like that (I won’t bother to factcheck). It spotlights the daily lives of four or five Beverly Hills-type women whose mere existence on this planet is to consume and to annoy. Of course each woman has various augmented body parts, preposterously-skewed ideas on life, and is armed with a certain color American Express card, which actually mandates that owners spend at least $150,000 a year using it.

My pressure was rising with every minute I watched, but nevertheless I watched because I have never before SEEN people like this; I’ve heard OF them, having lived both in Los Angeles and Palm Beach, FL…but I had never seen or heard the likes of this sort of human waste. As I started thinking that the world would be better off if this sort of animal was literally eradicated by any means necessary (including travelling death squads a la Che), I realized that this is not entertainment, despite its billing by Bravo. It’s brainwashing…dangling the carrot…it’s advertisement for and perpetuation of a lifestyle which is detrimental to humanity and this planet in general. It’s consumerism in its most vile and foul incarnation. It’s the ugliest of ugly sides of capitalism and social class oppression; even a form of environmental apartheid.

And so in my rage at this despicable spectacle of human beings and their destructive behaviour, I thought of the triggers that must have driven Che to radically switch from the compassionate doctor he was studying to become, into the murderous communist revolutionary thug he ended up. And I fully understood the rage Che Guevarra cultivated and harbored for those of the upper class (politicians included) who “have,” and who mindlessly walk through this life, exploiting weaker or less fortunate human beings for the sake of consumerism and acquisition of material. I fully understood that society could stand to be without these human beings, and that this segment ought to be forcefully erradicated. And I fully understood that for that instant, I thought like a communist.

If you know anything personal about me, you know that I am an immigrant from a communist country. My mother defected to the States in the late 70s, fleeing an oppressive, totalitarian regime which sent hundreds of thousands, if not millions of innocent souls to their brutal deaths. You must realize how taken aback I was for thinking what I had just described. For aligning myself—even briefly—with that reprehensible dogma from which I was saved almost thirty years ago. It’s complicated. This government and this socio-economic system have driven me to the point at which I feel I have very little choice but to give in to my animal instincts and start going down a lethal, radical path. The better part, or larger part of me checks and balances that awful bile and vitriol. But it’s the first time I truly felt the absolute rage and hatred that, I assume, changed the likes of Che from compassionate men into revolutionaries. I am realizing that the maze which capitalism has created for its consumer-citizens, doesn’t have any way out. It has painted me into a corner, and no matter how much I resist and fight, I cannot make headway.

This is not a declaration. It’s a realization.

“The United States is unusual among the industrial democracies in the rigidity of the system of ideological control – “indoctrination,” we might say – exercised through the mass media.”
–Noam Chomsky

Rant O’The Day

No, no, don’t get me wrong. I’m not super-pissed that they’ve shut down practically all services here at my place of work. I’m fuming because they’ve shut them down in favo(u)r of security for one lady politician, making a last-hour, surprise decision to come and give yet another regurgitated speech to the energized suckers voters who actually believe they can make a difference in this election. I will try to compose myself (and this rant), after having waited twenty-odd minutes to just get into the parking lot at my office, only to be scrutinized and frisked and almost prodded by a handful of Secret Service goons with tailor-made earpieces and Men’s Wearhouse semi-cheap suits, driving gas-guzzling, black SUVs. My disclaimer: I am all in favo(u)r of supporting striking workers, even at the expense of services being cut off. Say what you will about the French and the snootiness, but those frogs have bigger bollix and more intestinal fortitude than a zillion Americanos put together. Here is a country full of purported paté eating snobs willing to go without mass transit, amenable to let the garbage pile up, in support of working-class strikers. In Toronto, over the past weekend, mass transit went on a short-lived work stoppage (two days) and the populace almost revolted in the streets, calling the walkouts slackers and lazy scum. Imagine that; Canadians being less than civil to one another! Our influence has rubbed off. Will we ever realize that the effects or, rather, resolution to these protests can actually positively impact and improve our lives? Apparently the French have. Not so the Gringos. Cut off water for more than two hours and see what happens. Better yet, cut off CABLE unexpectedly.

And so back to the wanna-be-lady-prez. In order for me to get to work this morning, I had to walk a venerable gauntlet of security detail. These are people that I truly despise–law enforcement in general, really. I felt like Hunter Thompson walking into the middle of that cop convention in Fear and Loathing. True, the massive hangover didn’t help, but the hyperactive, shifty-eyed gorillas brandishing many a concealed firearm outright ruined my mood and demeanor. I loathe politics. I don’t trust any of these nouveau automaton Manchurian Candidates, no matter what “fresh” ideas they bring to the table. That other bozo marionette claims he will effect “change we can believe in.” The geezer POW says “everything is possible in America.” I’ve been around for too long to swallow it. These weird freaks of nurture have been promising the same old rubbish for decades. Save the cow manure and let me get to work in peace. I’ve got a newsletter to put out to illiterate educators by the first of the month.

Quick, but related tangent here. Señor Darth Vader was also in town recently. He flew in yesterday for a few hours to meet with a group of other stormtroopers at a private residence here in the capital of this great state. His motorcade consisted of no less than 17 vehicles, most of them gas-guzzling SUVs. Following his fortified limo was an ambulance–presumably to offer assistance in case either our man’s pacemaker went off-beat, or he somehow managed to clip someone else with his buckshot-laden, duck-hunting musket. In any case, a stretch of 20 miles of highway was closed for more than two hours, so this neocon swine could make his meeting on time (whoa, that rhymes Tonto!). You can just imagine the traffic jam lined up, waiting for our man to make his graceless entrance. Bull in a china shop, y’all. Bull in a china shop.

In closing (thank Feck) my point is: I will suffer the lack of services in support of a good, social cause, but I will not tolerate enforced shortages and restrictions in favo(u)r of bottom dweller politicians peddling outdated ideas and beating dead horses. Remember kiddos, our vote most certainly does not count. Corporations have long ago become the Teacher’s Pet and any breadcrumbs that actually do reach us, have been properly funneled and processed with preservatives, anti-caking agents, enhancers, emulsifiers, stabilizers, and all kinds of acidity regulators and buffers.

I’ll leave you with some good news. Seems like the French influence is working. This is great news despite the corporate sponsorship.

Rotten Again

I took a few days’ respite to enter the world of my (almost) four-year-old, which is wonderfully magical; utopian even, if you will (and you will), but not devoid of rules and consequences which must be enforced with, at times, an iron will (but not hand). Throughout the last 53 hours, despite the distraction, Johnny Lydon’s words from 14 January, 1978 hung around and chiseled their way to the top of the Thought Queue from time to time, prompting me to spew here a second part to the post below.

Don’t believe the hype.
I was looking so forward to seeing National Geographic’s “Human Footprint” which premiered last night, but frankly, after the initial wow factor was gone (within the first 6 minutes), the two-hour extravaganza amounted to nothing more than a staggering, relentless statistic machine spewing out numbers upon numbers of our appetite for consumption. For some suspect reason (not really), when outlining the number of bread loaves we consume in our lifetimes, the producers chose to line up scores of thousands of Wonder Bread product (shown several times at several points of the show), prompting any wise viewer to ask: who exactly sponsored this programme? A quick shot of research gives us nothing in terms of finance or corporate endowment. Statistics, however, were compiled by the Wildlife Conservation Society and the Earth Institute at Columbia University. What I do know is that in April, 2007 billionaire media entrepreneur John Werner Kluge gave $400 million to Columbia for financial aid — one of the largest gifts ever to an American university.
Don’t believe the hype.

When my daughter was younger and tried hard to impose her will onto some situation we did not wish to occur, the best way to deter her was to deflect. Distract. Usually the deflection was situation-based, but just as often, the material version would do the job. Don’t want her to open the drawer of knives in the kitchen? Distract her with an event going on in the living room (Sesame Street videos, rubber ball bouncing, etc.). Don’t want her to pull down the floor lamp? Ring some ringhy-ding-ding toy in the other room and watch her wobble straight to it. Ah, the artful science of deflection. It’s much like what’s happening to-day with advertising. It’s much like what’s always been happening. We’ve fallen for advertising like slobbering zombies for a century running. And advertising is nothing more than deflection. Distraction from the real issues. Material distraction usually works with grown-ups, in that it builds upon the other–the situational–because we understand material prowess yields everything else. And so, financial power (security? freedom?) is the initial step to the situational distraction: take that vacation to the Caymans. Because you can afford it.

I’ve been writing about “the American Dream” and the powers-that-be (initially the Church, then monarchy, and government, now corporations funneling favours through government legislation via intense lobbying) dangling that carrot in front of our eyes for years now. At this point, I truly cannot imagine why anyone would want to come to this country to stay. Or make a living. I truly cannot. As horrible as conditions may be around the world, I cannot see why well-informed immigrants would want to choose this country to settle. And therein lies the issue. Information. Not all of us have the time and access to read through diligently, find the truth, and make a well-informed decision. Not all of us have the energy and time to conduct research and not be driven mad, straight to the bottle or syringe, after finding out the truth about the FDA (Food AND Drug Administration: conflict of interest), the FAA, the IMF/World Bank, Health Maintenance Organizations, pharmaceutical companies…and corporations in general. The “powers-that-be” have morphed (and joined) and become so compartmentalized and mitotic that they’ve attained the sanctified status of a venerable labyrinth watched over by a corporate, sterilized Pan ready to strike down anyone who figures out the convoluted path out of the quagmire. Instead of the mythic flute, our corporate-sponsored son of Hermes dons a giant Louisville Slugger with which he keeps all in line.

There is a loophole in the mentality of The Corporation which dissenters and dissidents often exploit, thereby enabling them to push through information which may balance and challenge the advertised “truth.” And that is: The Corporation believes in nothing. Nothing but profit. And so it will allow anything that may have a chance at generating just that. Even criticism of its own practices. It will allow the likes of Michael Moore (disclosure: I am not a fan and believe he’s as big a propagandist as the entities he criticizes) to make his films because they will generate incredible revenue for Miramax and the Weinstein brothers. But I believe the big boys have figured out that loophole–and why not, they’ve created it originally–and are now taking advantage of it themselves. It is the reason why Wal-Mart has suddenly “gone green.” Going Green sells. It’s huge business. Going Green has sprung divisions within private sector corporations (and government) which bring in magnanimous amounts of profit. It’s the snake who devours his own tail, figuring out how that is actually self-serving and most importantly, self-preserving.

And so, watching The Human Footprint last night, a perfectly feasible theory was proposed by my better half: this is the intentional flooding of “the market” (the consumer) with such overwhelming, swelling, truthful information pertaining to the destructive path that we all leave behind as top of the foodchain consumers, that it will drive us to, in effect and literally, throw up our hands in despair and give up because there is no choice. The train has left the station decades ago. There is no way to reverse the runaway locomotive. There is no time. Mundane details of our lives are devouring our time and so, if we cannot beat them, then we might as well align with them in the pursuit of The American Dream and have the flat screen, have the SUV, have the four-bedroom/three-bath, have havehavehavehavehave it all sold to us. There used to be a joke floating around in the 80s: you’d tack on “…we are Beatrice” to the end of any phrase. It would elicit a great many laughs. For those who don’t know, Beatrice was a conglomerate incorporated in 1898 and dismantled under a leverage buyout in 1986. Beatrice was built on the current tradition of decentralized and conservative management, acquisitions, and mergers, and constantly expanding profits for shareholders. It became one of the world leading but least-known companies, and expanded its base from milk and butter to a diversity of foods and goods ranging from LaChoy Chinese food products to Tropicana juice to Playtex underwear to Samsonite luggage to Avis rental cars to…you get it. And so–to personalize this–the joke runs: “Hi, my name is Alex Pruteanu…we are Beatrice.” You get it.

There is not enough room here–or more accurately, brain power and knowledge from your humble commentator–to talk about the current financial situation in the States and how Ben Bernanke and the boys are scrambling to avoid the dreaded R-word. But I will try with simple, common sense and with the limited history I do know: in 1785 the Americans adopted a bi-metallic standard of silver and gold. In 1900, the U.S. switched entirely to a gold standard. The U.S. maintained convertibility of the dollar into gold until 1933 when FDR banned U.S. citizens from owning gold, but the U.S. continued to honor convertibility by foreign central banks until Nixon closed the gold window to foreigners in August 1971, ending the Bretton Woods era and leaving the U.S. dollar as the world’s only reserve currency. The dollar from that point on has been no more than an “IOU Nothing,” to quote economist John Exter.

With the dollar tied to gold there was virtually no inflation from 1785 to the formation of the Federal Reserve System in 1913. In fact, 20 years before he was appointed Governor of the Federal Reserve, then private businessman Alan Greenspan released a very profound statement summing up the reality of a sound money/credit system tied to gold: “As the supply of money increases relative to the supply of tangible assets in the economy, prices must eventually rise. In the absence of the gold standard, there is no way to protect savings from confiscation through inflation. There is no store of value.”

In light of Alan Greenspan’s almost total disregard for the dollar’s integrity over his past 17 years at the Fed, and the inflation which has ensued, it is hard to believe he would stand by his statement of 1967. However, reports of conversations with the Fed Chairman indicate he recognizes gold as money and privately still embraces the gold standard.

Debasement of the dollar during the 90 years of Federal Reserve management is recorded for the world to see. Goods and services obtained in 1913 for $100 would cost $1840 today, and the loss of the dollar’s purchasing power goes on unabated.

Bernanke is particularly interested in the economic and political causes of the Great Depression, on which he has written extensively. On Milton Friedman’s ninetieth birthday, November 8, 2002, he stated: “Let me end my talk by abusing slightly my status as an official representative of the Federal Reserve System. I would like to say to Milton and Anna: Regarding the Great Depression. You’re right, we did it. We’re very sorry. But thanks to you, we won’t do it again.”

Ha.

And so…now what? What are the answers? The solutions? Are we to just throw up our hands in despair and “join ‘em?” We’ve been rendered impotent, it seems, by the sheer size of the intricate system which we’re traversing daily. So much so, that corporations are thumbing their Pinnochio-sized noses at us by flaunting the futility via statistics and numbers. In effect they’re saying: “we’ve created this almost infinite mess; look at the cyclopian numbers…just look! There is nothing you can do now. Nothing you do matters; recycling, voting, writing measly opinions on blogs, grass-roots volunteering…NOTHING. So, forget it all, have a good time, and partake in the destruction (which is imminent). Or, if you’re feeling a bit like a radical, a bit…tree-huggerish, here’s your Prius hybrid. Feel good that you’ve made a difference.” Made by Toyota, a corporation who’s figured out how to make a car that gets 55 miles per gallon, yet is currently fighting a 35 mpg standard. What are the answers?

Who is to be trusted?

“…ah, haha…ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?”
–Johnny Lydon, Sex Pistols, January 1978, San Francisco,California