wordsmithlind

In a speech the people of Berlin wanted to hear last month, Barack Obama made it clear last night in Denver that the reign and failed policies of George W. Bush are over.  A new style of politics will be born and the American Dream will become a possibility once again.              

I was in Berlin last month when Obama gave a speech that many Europeans saw as just another in the long line of continued intrusive foreign policy.  My reaction was the same, I felt Obama was doing nothing more than towing the Washington line.  I felt that Obama’s speech implied an eventual invasion of Iran; he made it clear that the US would not go at it alone, but Europe would join them.  To me this was the most disappointing aspect of his speech.  I had become disenchanted with Obama just as the many Germans and Europeans that I talked with following that speech.             

Last night changed this.  I won’t go as far as to say that I am an Obama believer (I have been hesitant of the hype, but see him as the only answer compared to McCain).  Obama’s Convention Speech took American politics to a level that has been ignored for way too long—back to the people—while at the same time discrediting the notion that he is in way over his head in his own celebrity when he claimed that his campaign was not about himself but the American people.  His personal stories humanized him, further discrediting the idea of celebrity.  In a brilliant moment, he brought attention to an aspect of politics that is never addressed, the fact that he and his wife are only standing there because of their own education.  Education is spoken about, but the privilege of education is not, and this he made a point to end.             Obama is on course to victory; he is the change that this country needs.  I just hope he isn’t sat down like Bill Clinton was by Greenspan and told that his radical ideas don’t go over well in Washington and forced to swim in the middle.

I wrote this in hopes of it getting published in the local paper in Algonquin, IL.  I haven’t heard anything from the paper, so here it is…. 

A simple bike ride in Algonquin is not possible.  I take that back, a simple bike ride if one is to leave the neighborhood is not possible.  A carless individual like myself, isolated in the outer ‘burbs, runs into numerous problems.  The gargantuan intersection of Randall and 62 is a risky endeavor on foot as no crosswalks are present.  The same can be said of an attempt on bike.  Both options put the pedestrian at the mercy of the inattentive drivers looking to roll through the red light and make a right turn.  When crosswalks are present, drivers do not think twice about stopping on them, forcing the ped to walk around it.  In many instances, especially along route 31, sidewalks end, leaving no option but to ride or walk on the main road with cars zipping by at 35-plus mph, unaccustomed to having bikers and pedestrians present.  To add to this, there are many places where the sidewalks end only to continue as an improvised footpath well worn into the soil.  For some reason the city planners of Algonquin have not paid any notice to these years’ old paths—they did not make themselves, people walk and ride there, so do them a favor and build a sidewalk. 

            I’ve lived in Amsterdam, Berlin and other German cities, and spent more than enough time in Chicago, and nowhere do I feel more at risk as a pedestrian than in Algonquin.  In Amsterdam, cars drive alongside bikes with only inches separating the two, yet there is little to no danger for either; in Berlin bike lanes are apparent and all respect them; and in all these cities, crosswalks are provided and respected for the pedestrian cross safely. 

            Algonquin needs a change.  More and more bikes will be on the streets for the use of transportation (not to be confused with the after work workout crowd) as gas prices climb and the American public becomes more concerned for the environment and personal health.  Sidewalks need to be completed, bike paths and lanes need to be built, crosswalks painted in at all intersections, and drivers re-educated.  Algonquin can be amongst the leaders issuing in a new era of suburban planning, or it can continue its path as a late-blooming suburb, following the failed path paved by Hoffman Estates and Schaumburg.       

A brief blog about nothing really except an advertisement for other writings that I have done that appear on another blog.  I wrote album reviews for Johnny Cash’s At Folsom Prison, Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited, and The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds (begins: After hearing…).  They appear on www.oldsongs.com.  Unfortunately, I am not credited as the author, but hey, a ghost write is a ghost write, and what more can one say, that is how the wheel goes.  In the future, hopefully in the next couple of days I will get back to writing.  Right now I am in suburbia and there is quite a bit to say about it, along with the struggle of looking for a job while having no real home along with the opposite struggle of trying to find an apartment without having a job.  An endless circle of struggle.

I recently set myself upon a quest.  At first I foresaw no difficulty in this journey into consumerism.  I had grown tired of sub-standard merchandise produced overseas and sold for outrageous profit here in the “Western” world after a pair of Vans I owned had fallen apart after a mere six months of wear.  In the past I have owned the same pair of Vans that have lasted upwards of three years, and this pair with this pair dying after such a short period of time, I’d had enough, thus began my quest for ethical shoes…

            My quest took me to every shoe store in Ansbach, Berlin, and other random cities throughout Germany that did not look like a Footlocker.  For weeks I searched and I searched, and nothing could I find.  I found “ethical” shoes in the fight against poverty made in Vietnam.  I found “earthy” shoes from Thailand.  And as always, I found sneakers of all varieties from every alternative brand with the “Made in China” tag below the tongue.  Only one brand, El Naturalista, was made in a non-traditional sweatshop country, Spain, thus theoretically having to follow EU guidelines.  They offer a decent selection of shoes, but after trying on a few pairs, these shoes just did not work for me.  All the while, I searched online, from which I learned that I am not alone in this quest.  The few shoes made in the USA fall mostly into the category of dress or boots, and then there is the German made Birkenstock, none of which help me in my search for casual gym shoes.  I did find smaller brands made in the USA that did offer gym shoes, but most of these looked like bad imitations of Chuck Taylor’s (I guess this would be the shoe equivalent of a soy steak).

            Frustrated and fed-up, I decided to look up Simple Shoes.  I remember reading that they were working on shoes that were 100% recycled—maybe a company concerned about the earth is also concerned about people.  To my sad discovery, Simples are made in China, but the company does display on the website their “Ethical Supply Chain Guidelines.”  These guidelines give the consumer the reassurance that the company is not using child/forced labor, unpaid overtime, poor working conditions, etc.  Unfortunately, Nike offers a similar, though less detailed statement on their website, so take I had to take it for what it was worth. 

            After more debate and sole (sic) searching, I opted for Simple’s Toemorrow shoe.  It is 100% recycled and falls into the ecologically “Best” category.  If I can’t prevent the use of sweatshops, at least I can do my part for the environment.  I am having these shoes shipped to my house in the US courtesy of UPS, thus a large part of my effort to save the environment is negated by the use of a door-to-door delivery service.  No matter the effort to be ethical and eco-friendly, it is almost never enough.  I am yet to try on the shoes.  It is going to be interesting to see if my quest will end a success upon my return to the US.

http://www.simpleshoes.com/info/escGuidelines.aspx?g=info

http://www.nikebiz.com/responsibility/cr_governance.html

photo by wordsmithlind

The next day we walked around and did the typical tourist activities.  The protesters were mostly gone, but the Republicans were all there.  They all dressed the same.  A long black coat, a bad scarf, and some sort of W memorabilia.  We talked to some protesters and told them about what we had done the previous day and what rally we had gone to.  “I don’t like them,” said one of them with a fork and spoon as earrings, “they are communists.”  Then he went on a spiel about how he was an Anarchist and how the Communists were centralized and that the socialists were blah blah blah.  The whole time I sat there thinking.  “Why are you trying to in-fight?  That is exactly how Franco won the Spanish Civil-War.  There is a larger enemy to defeat, don’t waste time bickering with your allies.”   

After we left the hate filled church group, we went to the Mall to see W get sworn in.  I could not believe the sheer quantity of supporters.  Who are these people?  Where did they come from?  What the fuck is wrong with them?  It was impossible to get anywhere near the capital, so they had these huge 1984 jumbo-tron screens with speakers all around so that you could see Him and hear Him without a problem.  Listening to W speak in person is just as funny as on TV, and just as unbearable.  After he called September 11th ”The Day of Fire”  we had had enough.   Not much happened in between the inauguration and the parade.  It was filled with mostly just lame protest chants and cold feet.  I wish the chants would have a little more heart than “Hey hey, ho ho, George Bush has to go” and “What do we want? Freedom!  When do we want it? Now!”  I kept suggesting “Bush is a dick, Cheney is too!”   As all great leaders have learned to do, along with great bands, not so great bands, and so so speakers, Mr. Bush was late.  Much to his dismay, the protesters waited out the cold.  And just when you thought he wasn’t going to show, our fearless leader did, in a cavalcade of limousines and SS troops, err, sorry, that’s Secret Service.  And, as all fearless leaders do, he went speeding by at forty miles an hour.  It’s good to know that a man who can talk so tough when he is armed with history’s strongest military is too afraid to even stick his hand out of his fortified limousine.

I went to DC to protest Bush on his second inauguration.  Quite an interesting dichotomy of people there.  Hippies, punks, gays and lesbians, young Republicans, Old Republicans, Communists, Anarchists, me.  There was this church group protesting because they hated Bush because he is a war monger, they are also feel that he is a fag enabler, meaning he supports gays, and they hated just about everybody.  This girl walked by this group, remember they are a church group, and one of the people, an ordinary looking guy of about 19, called the girl an “anorexic bitch.”  Then my friend says,” I’d nail her.”  “Oh, go ahead and spew insults,” says the kid.  “What exactly do you stand for?”  “Queers like you and Bush are going to hell.”  Then this kind of talked continued for a bit.  Then we started talking to an older lady, and she kept calling us “queers”, saying that we all were going to hell.  So my friend says,” So you mean to tell me that I have two options, either go to heaven and be with you or go to hell and be with all my friends.”  As he was saying this I got right in her face and snapped a picture.  “Show that picture to all of your queer friends.”  I thought it to be interesting that they kept using the word queer.  Nobody uses that word anymore, well, except, queers.  I kind of thought that had become their word.  For a reference on this see The Simpson’s when Homer thinks Bart is turning gay.  

In all honesty, I see nothing spectacular about the fashion here in Berlin.  For the most part, it is your typical hipster look.  I have always wondered how that happens, how all hipsters, no matter what corner of the world, how they all end up looking alike.  Is there some sort of handbook distributed throughout the hipster universe directing the hipsters on their next ironic fashion statement?  Is there an international committee located just blocks from the UN in the Lower East Side or across the river in Williamsburg where representatives from all across the globe come together to discuss what accessory will be the next must have item of the year?  I also wonder how these people come to the conclusion that by dressing like everyone else, they themselves are being alternative.  There is nothing alternative about it except that it is different from the way the mall shoppers are dressing.  To be truly alternative these people would have to abandon this new way of life they have subscribed to.  Or, more realistically, they would actually have to subscribe to this new way of life and thus individualize their mind and thus their wardrobe.  That would truly be an alternative statement, not riding around on a 10-speed like everyone else.  But what do I know, I never received the handbook.

In Berlin it seems as if you can dress like a clown and get away with it as long you consider it fashion.  The ridiculous, the outrageous, the recycled 80s cliché, these are just some of the rules.  Self-indulgence, narcissism, and arrogance—style and attitude are one in the same.  On this island in the heart of the former GDR, eccentrics, artists, and individuals are free to experiment in fashion, mind, and matter and are free to walk the streets without the normal hindrances society enforces through its looking glass.  Fashion statements here would be preposterous in other cities.  When walking down the streets in any of the numerous hip districts, hipsters mingle over a mid-day (and mid-week) cup of coffee at one of the literally thousands of sidewalk cafes oblivious to other hipsters walking past.  The woman with the shiny shoes, shiny dress, shiny belt, and oversized sunglasses sucks on her cigarette as her greasy-haired, side-parted, tatted and dressed in black boyfriend tells her a story.  Women’s fashion stands out more here than the men—the men stick mostly to the routine tight dark jeans, t-shirt, longish hair and aviator sunglasses (which are quickly being replaced by Risky Business-era Tom Cruise shades) whereas the women incorporate all sorts of accessories, earrings, funky belts, and various other reinterpretations of the used, reused, recycled, and cliché in this era of post-punk fashion and campy irony.

            No matter its discomforts, the 10-speed bicycle is the vehicle of choice, my mother’s old fanny-pack holds the moneyless wallet and cigarettes of the aspiring artist, a Casio watch on the wrist and big Nike shoes grace the feet of these eco-friendly, politically informed individuals aware of the irony but, hey, fashion is fashion.  With The Dark Knight sure to be all the rage here upon its release next month, I would swear that the year here is 1989, and like the current Batman, it is darker and more serious but just as over the top.      

photo by wordsmithlind

Reeducation through the Deconstruction of Symbols.  Not destruction, deconstruction.  I was staring at the floor while the movie played.  I remembered an image of a video of a memory of mine.  In the video an American flag is lying on the grass while a green A with a circle is spray painted.  In real life a friend of my brother says how it disgusts him.  A voice that is mine says why.  That is an American flag is responded.  Who cares my voice again what does it matter it is only a flag.  It is fabric.  It is nothing.  That flag does not mean nothing.  Everything it stands for is disrespected.  I stare and I look.  I see nothing.  I see kids with paint and an old rag playing revolutionary.  I see a kid with a sweater holding a video camera playing proud patriot.  I see actors in a play following a script.  The rag is hung upside down.  Disrespect.  SOS.  Emergency.  Excuse me sir your flag is upside down.  Yes, I know.  Thank you for your concern.  All right, I just wanted to let you know have a good day.  Good-bye.  The man in the mask follow his herd of Individualists.  Free thinkers.  Radical.  Progressives.  The system.  System.  The System beckons them.  On and on with no where to go.  Fragments of a mind.  There is some paint on your flag.  Oh.  I didn’t know.  Let me help you with that.  Be careful, you might get some on your clothes, there you go.  Thank you so much, that was a close one.  If only everyone could be as nice as that gentleman.  Men.  Women.  Gentlepersons in a gentleworld where peace is the ever attainable goal.  Peace through Art that are currently symbols that will no longer be seen.  Evoking nothing it will.  An image that becomes a relic.  An image that inspires no politics, emotions or ideas.  All symbols will become the Great Wall.  I stare at the TV in my brain on the floor and the image is gone.  Nothing.  Only the fuzz of the television that was never there.  I wonder how this will be accomplished.  Not now it will soon it won’t someday maybe.  Deconstruct the symbols around you and a new light will be seen.  No drugs necessary just the means.