IPOD
RADIO
And now something a little more concrete, a little less impressionist.
Burning man.
I don't exactly know what I was expecting. I know that my expectations were exceeded.
It is astounding, the scope and splendor of the thing. The magnitude of the art projects there, even the simple ones, and the amazing effort people put into them. The diversity and disparity, my word. There's no simple way to express just how wide the array of possible sights and experience and activities at any one time is. Drum circles and electric sitar jam sessions, raves, light shows, meditative calmly lit areas run by librarians, science expos. Nothing I can say will really do the scope justice.
Being there slaked my hunger for a few things I didn't even know I desired, and a number I was quite aware of. Having lived through the 90s, I felt pretty lame for having never been to a rave. My Thursday night there was spent scratching this itch. The dome I mentioned in the last post was a huge dance space. A writhing mass of burners. Many under the influence of excessive substance use, all under the influence of excessive youth. I eked out a cube to dance on, and, sure, the music was horribly repetitive. But it's like an electronic drum circle, right? It's not about the music. It's about losing yourself in the dance. And I must have danced for hours. I spent a portion of the time dancing with a stranger, in my first real successful attempt at dancing with anybody. We did sort of "goth club" dancing. We weren't touching, just kind of chasing each other. It was interesting. Rave dancing might not be something I'd ever do outside of burning man, but I am glad to have done it.
I spent a lot of time just stopping and appreciating the spirit of the event, and the things people put together in its name. In the real world there's museums around, always. There are parades with huge floats and paper dragons and fireworks displays. I CAN appreciate these things, but I have an odd taste in my mouth all the while. Something about the way it's fed to the audience. The motive for the creation of art in the desert changed my experience with the installation art. Maybe because it was temporary, or because it wasn't meant to bring in the bucks. The motivation (and this might be slightly rose tinted) was purely expressionistic. An idea festers in the somebody's mind until it explodes out into reality: conceived just for the sake of its conception. It was genuine. So much there was just completely genuine. Maybe I didn't like it all, but almost everything positively smacked of sincerity. And not in that annoying after school special sort of a way.
Every sense was stimulated. I smoked hookahs with strangers, met with old friends, and attended a lecture series on neurochemistry and politics. I saw the Shulgins speak about their adventures in neuropharmacologia. I tore down some hippies in poli-sci debates afterwards. It was satisfying.
As I may have mentioned, I was initially apprehensive about the size of this thing. In this instance it wasn't the "everything popular is lame" phenomenon. My concern just stemmed from unfortunate truths about people and my basic dislike of people. For one, Savage's law: as any event increases in popularity, the probability that somebody will do something stupid, mandating many new restrictions and regulations or simply ruining it for others approaches 1. I was afraid that it would be regulated, pre-packed carnival bullshit. While a lot of regs have come to being over the years, it was still incredibly free-form. More so than I have ever known of before. My second fear stems, as I said, from a general dislike of most people. I like individuals, but it seems that as group size goes up, average intelligence and tolerability goes distinctly downward. Regardless of why (I can think of a number of explanations) it seems to be the rule. As the festival grew, I reasoned that there would be more gawkers, frat boy types, people who hear about the "wicked big party", and want to "fuck some loose hippy chick". People who had no interest in the art or the spirit of the thing. The first half of the week, I saw virtually none of these types. It was all people who were enthusiastic and energetic and full of life and ideas and other good, if hippyish bullshit. Then came the weekend. And the weekend warriors arrived. They were dressed in their spencer's gifts imitation 'burner' attire. They came ill-prepared, contributed little, and got pissy when we didn't offer them booze. But something else new appeared on Friday. A fence. A roll-out orange plastic fence. We put it up between the main dance area and our living area, which, all week, had needed no barrier. I see this as I chill near the sofas and I realize something.
This is the circus, and I am in it.
The population of counterculture performers comes on Monday. We set up our amazing city and ASTOUND each other with our knowledge and fantastic skills and tricks. We dress up to create a surreal environment. We have fun which can only be had among our own kind. It's performers only. The sense of community is undeniably strong, and everybody basically trusts one another. Then the weekend comes and the gawkers arrive. So, what the hell, we put on a show for them. We let them marvel at all that we have wrought, and partake, for a little while, in the spectacle we put together to entertain and inspire our own. We let them peek into our world, even though they didn't really participate.
I went from a little angry at the idiots who had been littering all over, to grinning ear to ear.
I've run away with the circus. They've got me.
Very sneaky.
Burning man.
I don't exactly know what I was expecting. I know that my expectations were exceeded.
It is astounding, the scope and splendor of the thing. The magnitude of the art projects there, even the simple ones, and the amazing effort people put into them. The diversity and disparity, my word. There's no simple way to express just how wide the array of possible sights and experience and activities at any one time is. Drum circles and electric sitar jam sessions, raves, light shows, meditative calmly lit areas run by librarians, science expos. Nothing I can say will really do the scope justice.
Being there slaked my hunger for a few things I didn't even know I desired, and a number I was quite aware of. Having lived through the 90s, I felt pretty lame for having never been to a rave. My Thursday night there was spent scratching this itch. The dome I mentioned in the last post was a huge dance space. A writhing mass of burners. Many under the influence of excessive substance use, all under the influence of excessive youth. I eked out a cube to dance on, and, sure, the music was horribly repetitive. But it's like an electronic drum circle, right? It's not about the music. It's about losing yourself in the dance. And I must have danced for hours. I spent a portion of the time dancing with a stranger, in my first real successful attempt at dancing with anybody. We did sort of "goth club" dancing. We weren't touching, just kind of chasing each other. It was interesting. Rave dancing might not be something I'd ever do outside of burning man, but I am glad to have done it.
I spent a lot of time just stopping and appreciating the spirit of the event, and the things people put together in its name. In the real world there's museums around, always. There are parades with huge floats and paper dragons and fireworks displays. I CAN appreciate these things, but I have an odd taste in my mouth all the while. Something about the way it's fed to the audience. The motive for the creation of art in the desert changed my experience with the installation art. Maybe because it was temporary, or because it wasn't meant to bring in the bucks. The motivation (and this might be slightly rose tinted) was purely expressionistic. An idea festers in the somebody's mind until it explodes out into reality: conceived just for the sake of its conception. It was genuine. So much there was just completely genuine. Maybe I didn't like it all, but almost everything positively smacked of sincerity. And not in that annoying after school special sort of a way.
Every sense was stimulated. I smoked hookahs with strangers, met with old friends, and attended a lecture series on neurochemistry and politics. I saw the Shulgins speak about their adventures in neuropharmacologia. I tore down some hippies in poli-sci debates afterwards. It was satisfying.
As I may have mentioned, I was initially apprehensive about the size of this thing. In this instance it wasn't the "everything popular is lame" phenomenon. My concern just stemmed from unfortunate truths about people and my basic dislike of people. For one, Savage's law: as any event increases in popularity, the probability that somebody will do something stupid, mandating many new restrictions and regulations or simply ruining it for others approaches 1. I was afraid that it would be regulated, pre-packed carnival bullshit. While a lot of regs have come to being over the years, it was still incredibly free-form. More so than I have ever known of before. My second fear stems, as I said, from a general dislike of most people. I like individuals, but it seems that as group size goes up, average intelligence and tolerability goes distinctly downward. Regardless of why (I can think of a number of explanations) it seems to be the rule. As the festival grew, I reasoned that there would be more gawkers, frat boy types, people who hear about the "wicked big party", and want to "fuck some loose hippy chick". People who had no interest in the art or the spirit of the thing. The first half of the week, I saw virtually none of these types. It was all people who were enthusiastic and energetic and full of life and ideas and other good, if hippyish bullshit. Then came the weekend. And the weekend warriors arrived. They were dressed in their spencer's gifts imitation 'burner' attire. They came ill-prepared, contributed little, and got pissy when we didn't offer them booze. But something else new appeared on Friday. A fence. A roll-out orange plastic fence. We put it up between the main dance area and our living area, which, all week, had needed no barrier. I see this as I chill near the sofas and I realize something.
This is the circus, and I am in it.
The population of counterculture performers comes on Monday. We set up our amazing city and ASTOUND each other with our knowledge and fantastic skills and tricks. We dress up to create a surreal environment. We have fun which can only be had among our own kind. It's performers only. The sense of community is undeniably strong, and everybody basically trusts one another. Then the weekend comes and the gawkers arrive. So, what the hell, we put on a show for them. We let them marvel at all that we have wrought, and partake, for a little while, in the spectacle we put together to entertain and inspire our own. We let them peek into our world, even though they didn't really participate.
I went from a little angry at the idiots who had been littering all over, to grinning ear to ear.
I've run away with the circus. They've got me.
Very sneaky.
I'm back from a strange place.
An Oasis of life in an otherwise dead land.
I don't exactly know how to convey to all of you what it's like to be there, in the desert.
It's trite, at this point, to call it dream-like. It's something people say, and it's taken at face value. I mean it in more than a superficial way. Imagine with me for a moment, okay?
You find yourself on a street at night. It's is just too dark to see clearly. Waves of haze float by, partially obscuring your view and the landscape. On one side of you are huge structures covered in light, and full of life. On your other side is the vast, wide open. An empty dark space broken only by a skyline of sorts: a strip of colored lights quite far away. You are surrounded by people who glow from every part of their bodies; others with wings and claws are passing beside you. These figures navigate the night and the dust with astounding comfort and confidence. They belong in this place. They are creatures meant to be seen only partially.
As you marvel at the crowd, you hear music steadily increasing in volume. You turn to look behind you and see a massive beast drawing near. It's a dragon fly, and it is emitting music. It's 30 feet tall at least. It has a 40 foot wingspan. It flies slowly, slowly towards you. Parts of it phosphoresce with an other-worldly light. Its wings begin to unfold in an elegant sweeping motion. As the wings reach their horizontal state you see that two dozen people at least are riding the thing, dancing on its back. It's close now. You can finally make out the driver of the thing. His co-pilot seems to be the DJ.
The dragonfly passes very close by, and its occupants are beckoning you to join them. The riders of the great beast themselves appear para-human. They glow and throb and cheer. Some are spinning poi, another dances with a flashing hula-hoop. You have somewhere to be. Despite not being exactly sure where it is, or when you have to be there, you can't join them. You have a goal: ill-defined, but compelling.
You marvel at the thing's passing, watching it drift into the night. Just then packman floats by, mouth opening and closing, followed closely by three ghosts. Coming from packman is a man's voice screaming "WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA".
The PACK team rides away.
In the distance, you see a forest of fire. The "trees" reach up to the sky, tipped by small flames. In a magnificently choreographed sequence, the trees release crests of flame. In the center of these "trees" are human figures, four of them, each dancing with fire, displaying an absolutely unreal elegance.
Beyond this you see a huge white dome. It's massive, even at the better part of a mile away. It is intermittently illuminated from within by flashes of bright light reminiscent of white magnesium fireworks. The flashes display the lattice which makes the dome stand. More impressive, however, are the directed lights. They light triangular segments of the dome are illuminated in brilliant color extending up from the base. The pattern of light zooms around the circumference of the dome, giving the distinct illusion that the thing is spinning.
Approaching the dome, the crowd grows dense and the music becomes unbearably loud. Giving a spare pair of ear plugs to a stranger holding his ears closed, you are adorned with glowing lights by him and his friends. Now inside the light show you notice that the writhing dancing mass of youth is directing their attention to the center of the floor. Three women begin climbing long silk scarves which reach the ground. As they climb, the structure to which their silk is attached to begins to rise up into the air. They are at the ceiling, easily 50 feet off the ground. Again and again they throw themselves from their scarves, letting the fragile pieces of fabric catch them from freefall. The onlookers cheer wildly. It's impossible not to join them.
Walking away, three hours later, the crowd has only grown. The energy here is irresistibly contagious.
But it's more than the landscape and environment which is dream-like. The people seem like figments as well. Interaction is whimsical and fleeting. Impermanence seems to be the order of the day on all things, friendship included. You may touch somebody for a moment. Speak to them for a moment. Have a thirty minute conversation about Consciousness. Then it's off to another dream. The interactions seem as if they might very well have never happened the moment they are over. If you don't do something to remember, they'll slip away just as easily as any daydream.
As we left, we were all handed little love notes. It was Puck's closing speech from Midsummer night's.
"Think but this and all is mended"
Nothing to mend, my humans. My aim next year is to be the dream, and not only a dreamer.
An Oasis of life in an otherwise dead land.
I don't exactly know how to convey to all of you what it's like to be there, in the desert.
It's trite, at this point, to call it dream-like. It's something people say, and it's taken at face value. I mean it in more than a superficial way. Imagine with me for a moment, okay?
You find yourself on a street at night. It's is just too dark to see clearly. Waves of haze float by, partially obscuring your view and the landscape. On one side of you are huge structures covered in light, and full of life. On your other side is the vast, wide open. An empty dark space broken only by a skyline of sorts: a strip of colored lights quite far away. You are surrounded by people who glow from every part of their bodies; others with wings and claws are passing beside you. These figures navigate the night and the dust with astounding comfort and confidence. They belong in this place. They are creatures meant to be seen only partially.
As you marvel at the crowd, you hear music steadily increasing in volume. You turn to look behind you and see a massive beast drawing near. It's a dragon fly, and it is emitting music. It's 30 feet tall at least. It has a 40 foot wingspan. It flies slowly, slowly towards you. Parts of it phosphoresce with an other-worldly light. Its wings begin to unfold in an elegant sweeping motion. As the wings reach their horizontal state you see that two dozen people at least are riding the thing, dancing on its back. It's close now. You can finally make out the driver of the thing. His co-pilot seems to be the DJ.
The dragonfly passes very close by, and its occupants are beckoning you to join them. The riders of the great beast themselves appear para-human. They glow and throb and cheer. Some are spinning poi, another dances with a flashing hula-hoop. You have somewhere to be. Despite not being exactly sure where it is, or when you have to be there, you can't join them. You have a goal: ill-defined, but compelling.
You marvel at the thing's passing, watching it drift into the night. Just then packman floats by, mouth opening and closing, followed closely by three ghosts. Coming from packman is a man's voice screaming "WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA".
The PACK team rides away.
In the distance, you see a forest of fire. The "trees" reach up to the sky, tipped by small flames. In a magnificently choreographed sequence, the trees release crests of flame. In the center of these "trees" are human figures, four of them, each dancing with fire, displaying an absolutely unreal elegance.
Beyond this you see a huge white dome. It's massive, even at the better part of a mile away. It is intermittently illuminated from within by flashes of bright light reminiscent of white magnesium fireworks. The flashes display the lattice which makes the dome stand. More impressive, however, are the directed lights. They light triangular segments of the dome are illuminated in brilliant color extending up from the base. The pattern of light zooms around the circumference of the dome, giving the distinct illusion that the thing is spinning.
Approaching the dome, the crowd grows dense and the music becomes unbearably loud. Giving a spare pair of ear plugs to a stranger holding his ears closed, you are adorned with glowing lights by him and his friends. Now inside the light show you notice that the writhing dancing mass of youth is directing their attention to the center of the floor. Three women begin climbing long silk scarves which reach the ground. As they climb, the structure to which their silk is attached to begins to rise up into the air. They are at the ceiling, easily 50 feet off the ground. Again and again they throw themselves from their scarves, letting the fragile pieces of fabric catch them from freefall. The onlookers cheer wildly. It's impossible not to join them.
Walking away, three hours later, the crowd has only grown. The energy here is irresistibly contagious.
But it's more than the landscape and environment which is dream-like. The people seem like figments as well. Interaction is whimsical and fleeting. Impermanence seems to be the order of the day on all things, friendship included. You may touch somebody for a moment. Speak to them for a moment. Have a thirty minute conversation about Consciousness. Then it's off to another dream. The interactions seem as if they might very well have never happened the moment they are over. If you don't do something to remember, they'll slip away just as easily as any daydream.
As we left, we were all handed little love notes. It was Puck's closing speech from Midsummer night's.
"Think but this and all is mended"
Nothing to mend, my humans. My aim next year is to be the dream, and not only a dreamer.
Coffee makes me euphoric.
No, seriously. About half an hour after a big cup, I am stricken with affection for my friends, and the people I half know who thrill me. I am overcome by love for life and the world and everybody I know.
It's really something.
I also got the magic berries I mentioned last post.
This'll be fun.
No, seriously. About half an hour after a big cup, I am stricken with affection for my friends, and the people I half know who thrill me. I am overcome by love for life and the world and everybody I know.
It's really something.
I also got the magic berries I mentioned last post.
This'll be fun.
Some of you will probably remember the story. A while ago the Times ran a story about a magic berry. When swirled around the mouth, it inhibits (or alters) the tongue's ability to detect sour and bitter. The result is finding new and fascinating tastes buried under other flavors. A Guinness stout tastes like a milkshake. Lemons and oranges, various soft cheeses, and cheap tequila are all brand new experiences.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/28/dining/28flavor.html?_r=1&ref=dining&oref=slogin
I am fascinated. Fascinated. A 30 box is $90, and is the minimum order amount.
If people are interested I am going to order these. And throw a party with all kinds of good things to eat. Everybody can buy as many of them as they like, and go nuts.
You guys in?
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/28/dining/28flavor.html?_r=1&ref=dining&oref=slogin
I am fascinated. Fascinated. A 30 box is $90, and is the minimum order amount.
If people are interested I am going to order these. And throw a party with all kinds of good things to eat. Everybody can buy as many of them as they like, and go nuts.
You guys in?
Trivialities:
Got a new lens. The 17-55 2.8 with the IS.
With the IS engaged I can take shots hand-held with a one second exposure and have them come out acceptably clear.
Effin.
Sweet.
Also, I can now run the 7-minute-mile. Now I need to train til I can do it twice in a row. Then to the six minute!
Tomorrow, the world!
Got a new lens. The 17-55 2.8 with the IS.
With the IS engaged I can take shots hand-held with a one second exposure and have them come out acceptably clear.
Effin.
Sweet.
Also, I can now run the 7-minute-mile. Now I need to train til I can do it twice in a row. Then to the six minute!
Tomorrow, the world!
Gun control is one of the matters on which I have a fairly extreme view when compared to my countrymen. I think that it's been fairly well established that humans aren't responsible enough to be allowed firearms. We are petty, base creatures; prone to fits of passion and fits of idiocy. Really, are fucking slaughtering each other. Bottom line I think we have no business owning things which allow us to kill each other with such ease. But no, they keep us safe, I am told: More guns, less crime. So, we all get our pistols, lets say. We all have them. Fantastic. Now we're living in a society where every day, in every dark ally, I have to worry about whether or not I'll be the one to draw first. Or whether some idiot is going to take offense to something I say and pull his gat. That's not civilization.
But you fucking cowboys have to have your boom-sticks.
You know, really, the 'wild west' spirit of Americans is actually one of my favorite aspects of our culture. Whether or not we are, we idealize being independent and self sufficient. We "make it work on our own". That mindset ain't goin' no place, for better or for worse. And anyway, the country is fucking full of guns already. Because as the cowboys keep screaming: 'we've been granted the right to bear arms!', and, it seems, the right not to read the first half of the fucking sentence.
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.
So there it is. Fuck my feelings, it's in there, and I am down with the BoR. But I read that, I don't read that every Cock, Dick, and Harry gets a weapon. I read that militias get guns. So here's my idea. Individuals can no longer own guns. Only militias are allowed that privilege. Guns (excepting MAYBE shotguns) are issued solely to licensed, responsible institutions. Each gun is marked in an irremovable way; such as a low-level radioactive tagging ON/IN THE BARREL using Americium, or similar. But hold on fellas, don't shoot just yet; it's about to get interesting. The militias are allowed to issue guns to their members. The members pay for the weapons, take them home, keep them, clean them, love them, just like today. But here's the catch: the militia is responsible for its members actions with those guns. If a pistol issued from Manchester Militia 102 is used in a robbery? One strike. Another is issued to a felon who uses it in a mugging or a rape? Two strikes. After a few incidents, the militia is shut down. Their license is revoked and its members have to move to another militia to keep their guns. This would force the militia to police themselves and take gun control very seriously. So, if an individual is ever convicted of a crime, starts acting erratically or irresponsibly, the militia is within their rights to demand that this person return the arm and get their money back. If it can be proved that militia organizer neglected warning signs in a member who then kills his whole family he can be prosecuted for negligence. This localizes and personalizes gun control. Many militias will only issue guns to people who pass tests proving there are stable and sane. It also keeps illegal guns of the street. If guns marked as issued to Militia 102 are found being sold illegally on the streets? Automatic license loss and federal prosecution on militia leaders.
Then you cowboys get your guns, and maybe, just maybe, fewer of the cock boxes in the masses get their Neolithic digits on the trigger.
Fire away, Tex.
But you fucking cowboys have to have your boom-sticks.
You know, really, the 'wild west' spirit of Americans is actually one of my favorite aspects of our culture. Whether or not we are, we idealize being independent and self sufficient. We "make it work on our own". That mindset ain't goin' no place, for better or for worse. And anyway, the country is fucking full of guns already. Because as the cowboys keep screaming: 'we've been granted the right to bear arms!', and, it seems, the right not to read the first half of the fucking sentence.
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.
So there it is. Fuck my feelings, it's in there, and I am down with the BoR. But I read that, I don't read that every Cock, Dick, and Harry gets a weapon. I read that militias get guns. So here's my idea. Individuals can no longer own guns. Only militias are allowed that privilege. Guns (excepting MAYBE shotguns) are issued solely to licensed, responsible institutions. Each gun is marked in an irremovable way; such as a low-level radioactive tagging ON/IN THE BARREL using Americium, or similar. But hold on fellas, don't shoot just yet; it's about to get interesting. The militias are allowed to issue guns to their members. The members pay for the weapons, take them home, keep them, clean them, love them, just like today. But here's the catch: the militia is responsible for its members actions with those guns. If a pistol issued from Manchester Militia 102 is used in a robbery? One strike. Another is issued to a felon who uses it in a mugging or a rape? Two strikes. After a few incidents, the militia is shut down. Their license is revoked and its members have to move to another militia to keep their guns. This would force the militia to police themselves and take gun control very seriously. So, if an individual is ever convicted of a crime, starts acting erratically or irresponsibly, the militia is within their rights to demand that this person return the arm and get their money back. If it can be proved that militia organizer neglected warning signs in a member who then kills his whole family he can be prosecuted for negligence. This localizes and personalizes gun control. Many militias will only issue guns to people who pass tests proving there are stable and sane. It also keeps illegal guns of the street. If guns marked as issued to Militia 102 are found being sold illegally on the streets? Automatic license loss and federal prosecution on militia leaders.
Then you cowboys get your guns, and maybe, just maybe, fewer of the cock boxes in the masses get their Neolithic digits on the trigger.
Fire away, Tex.
All in all, I have a pretty fun time with life, really.
These were from a few weeks ago, at a non-specified power plant which was abandoned in the nineties.
More photos, and a real update coming your way... some time...
These were from a few weeks ago, at a non-specified power plant which was abandoned in the nineties.
More photos, and a real update coming your way... some time...
Well. So. Here's the thing. I'm drunk. It's christmas. Or it was, recently. I'm bored. I need more friends in this area who i can drunk-dial/call for very late hangings out.
LEXIE I MISS JOO!!!
LEXIE I MISS JOO!!!
On the occupation of Iraq:
I've had my little internal monologue going about where the Left Wing and anti-war movement is going. I want to record it for reflection's sake.
There is a huge push on the left, the swinging center, and even somewhat in the right to leave Iraq ASAP. Cut and run. Get out of Dodge. This movement's new broad-spectrum appeal has renewed the efforts of the left to demand an immediate end to U.S. overseas involvement. In the fervor of political righteousness, I think something essential to the character of the anti-war left has been lost. It's the large part of the left's anti-war stance, it's the reason I protested the initial invasion of Iraq: it is the desire to stem the loss of life. The left wing opposed going into Iraq because it seemed to us a waste of life, a bloody mess which would kill hundreds of thousands. Well, four years later, it looks like we were right. Blood flows freely in the streets of Baghdad, troops are forced into tour after tour, and the Iraqi government is a joke at best. It seems that many of my colleagues who stood with me in protest feel vindicated, justified in their stance_which they are. The problem lies in the fact that many, even those new to being active in the anti-war movement, have RETAINED the movement's former stance demanding an immediate end to military activity, as if nothing had changed in the last for years. They seem to show no consideration for the consequences of withdrawal from Iraq at this time. Forget how many hundreds of thousands would die, what nefarious leaders would grasp for power_"we were right four years ago, so now we get things our way, no questions". The demand is heard in Washington: the polls are in showing that the majority of Americans now oppose the war. As if that means anything. The fact of it is, in 2003 most Americans were FOR the war. The majority of the country thought it was the thing to do. Invade. Destroy. Shock and Awe. A display of the Ugly American, (mostly) the feeble minded or fearful, in my opinion. Now, in a display of equal shortsightedness, we the people want out and like a spoiled child, we want it now. Now NOW NOW. Despite my feelings on the invasion in 2003, the fact as it now stands is that my countrymen made this choice. Now we all have to live with it, and deal with it like responsible citizens_even those who never thought it was a good idea. Our country has made an absolute fucking mess, and if we have any sense of duty, any desire to stem the loss of life, we cannot leave. Not any more, friends. We're neck deep in the big muddy. We, as a nation, made our bed. Now we have to sleep in it.
The domestic effects of the growing anti-war push are themselves troubling. The extreme fraction of the right wing in power has, for the last seven years, wreaked absolute havoc on our budget and our civil liberties. It is absolutely vital that while the right wing is till controlled by these neo-con corporate buzzards that the left wing (impotent though it seems of late) takes power, and restores some of the lost balance to the federal government. The problem is the war. None of the candidates will vow to end the war; because as informed citizens they know the potential disaster which could be brought about by such vow. The result is a lot of bad press on some totally decent candidates. More ammunition for the conservatives or "actively apathetic" "too cool to believe in anything" types to loudly proclaim that the candidates are just Hand Puppets for the right wing. This drain of enthusiasm threatens the swing of power back to the left. It's a no win situation for the left. If they don't pull out and let the war drag on they get blamed both for the consequences and they get likened to neo-cons. If they promise to pull out, they violate rhyme and reason for political gain, to appease those who cling to their identities as "anti war" without realizing that, today, "Anti-war" has become, de facto "pro-catastrophe, bloody revolution, and the rising of a fanatically anti-Americanm state"
I just wish people would reason these things through, and stop trying to think with their emotions. That's not what they're for.
I've had my little internal monologue going about where the Left Wing and anti-war movement is going. I want to record it for reflection's sake.
There is a huge push on the left, the swinging center, and even somewhat in the right to leave Iraq ASAP. Cut and run. Get out of Dodge. This movement's new broad-spectrum appeal has renewed the efforts of the left to demand an immediate end to U.S. overseas involvement. In the fervor of political righteousness, I think something essential to the character of the anti-war left has been lost. It's the large part of the left's anti-war stance, it's the reason I protested the initial invasion of Iraq: it is the desire to stem the loss of life. The left wing opposed going into Iraq because it seemed to us a waste of life, a bloody mess which would kill hundreds of thousands. Well, four years later, it looks like we were right. Blood flows freely in the streets of Baghdad, troops are forced into tour after tour, and the Iraqi government is a joke at best. It seems that many of my colleagues who stood with me in protest feel vindicated, justified in their stance_which they are. The problem lies in the fact that many, even those new to being active in the anti-war movement, have RETAINED the movement's former stance demanding an immediate end to military activity, as if nothing had changed in the last for years. They seem to show no consideration for the consequences of withdrawal from Iraq at this time. Forget how many hundreds of thousands would die, what nefarious leaders would grasp for power_"we were right four years ago, so now we get things our way, no questions". The demand is heard in Washington: the polls are in showing that the majority of Americans now oppose the war. As if that means anything. The fact of it is, in 2003 most Americans were FOR the war. The majority of the country thought it was the thing to do. Invade. Destroy. Shock and Awe. A display of the Ugly American, (mostly) the feeble minded or fearful, in my opinion. Now, in a display of equal shortsightedness, we the people want out and like a spoiled child, we want it now. Now NOW NOW. Despite my feelings on the invasion in 2003, the fact as it now stands is that my countrymen made this choice. Now we all have to live with it, and deal with it like responsible citizens_even those who never thought it was a good idea. Our country has made an absolute fucking mess, and if we have any sense of duty, any desire to stem the loss of life, we cannot leave. Not any more, friends. We're neck deep in the big muddy. We, as a nation, made our bed. Now we have to sleep in it.
The domestic effects of the growing anti-war push are themselves troubling. The extreme fraction of the right wing in power has, for the last seven years, wreaked absolute havoc on our budget and our civil liberties. It is absolutely vital that while the right wing is till controlled by these neo-con corporate buzzards that the left wing (impotent though it seems of late) takes power, and restores some of the lost balance to the federal government. The problem is the war. None of the candidates will vow to end the war; because as informed citizens they know the potential disaster which could be brought about by such vow. The result is a lot of bad press on some totally decent candidates. More ammunition for the conservatives or "actively apathetic" "too cool to believe in anything" types to loudly proclaim that the candidates are just Hand Puppets for the right wing. This drain of enthusiasm threatens the swing of power back to the left. It's a no win situation for the left. If they don't pull out and let the war drag on they get blamed both for the consequences and they get likened to neo-cons. If they promise to pull out, they violate rhyme and reason for political gain, to appease those who cling to their identities as "anti war" without realizing that, today, "Anti-war" has become, de facto "pro-catastrophe, bloody revolution, and the rising of a fanatically anti-Americanm state"
I just wish people would reason these things through, and stop trying to think with their emotions. That's not what they're for.
I need some lens advice. Despite my love for prime lenses, I have decided it's time for me to get a zoom.
The first one I looked at is The Canon EF-S 17-55mm f/2.8 IS. It's a fine lens. Nice range, superb quality, and FOR SOME REASON it has image stabilization. Three stops!
Thing is, for about $130 more I could just get the L series Canon EF 24-70mm f/2.8. I had an amazing experience with the last L series I bought (the 35 f/1.4 I use as my walk-around lens now). They are absolutely amazing quality. However, the 17-55mm I mentioned above is supposed to have near-L series quality. And If i go the L-route, I lose the image stabilization, but gain weather proofing.
Here is what it comes down to:
I've never owned a wide-angle lens. Do any of you have information on how useful the range from 17-24 is? Is it great to be able to go that wide? Or do you find it rarely useful.
Has anyone used a lens with image stabilization? Does it work as well as people would have me believe?
Alternately, do any of you happen to have experience with either of these lenses?
All advice is appreciated.
*edit*
It also seems that the L-series lens can manage macro shots. Cool!
The first one I looked at is The Canon EF-S 17-55mm f/2.8 IS. It's a fine lens. Nice range, superb quality, and FOR SOME REASON it has image stabilization. Three stops!
Thing is, for about $130 more I could just get the L series Canon EF 24-70mm f/2.8. I had an amazing experience with the last L series I bought (the 35 f/1.4 I use as my walk-around lens now). They are absolutely amazing quality. However, the 17-55mm I mentioned above is supposed to have near-L series quality. And If i go the L-route, I lose the image stabilization, but gain weather proofing.
Here is what it comes down to:
I've never owned a wide-angle lens. Do any of you have information on how useful the range from 17-24 is? Is it great to be able to go that wide? Or do you find it rarely useful.
Has anyone used a lens with image stabilization? Does it work as well as people would have me believe?
Alternately, do any of you happen to have experience with either of these lenses?
All advice is appreciated.
*edit*
It also seems that the L-series lens can manage macro shots. Cool!
OCTOBER 2008
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AUGUST 2008
JULY 2008