A day in the life

If I kept a diary, this is what I’d write about on September 11, 2013:

Although there was little notice of it elsewhere, I observed that the History Channel—both of them—seemed to be running wall-to-wall with 9-11 oriented programming. I checked the calendar and determined that indeed this was the 12^th anniversary of the terrorist attack. Bush administration officials (well, at least Condoleezza Rice) provided the “insider” talking head on at least one of the segments. Of course no tough questions were asked to what the administration knew before the event. I recall earlier on a late night radio program listening to some solemn-voiced nonsense intertwining right-wing paranoia with the paranormal; the host had unknowingly made the mistake of inviting a guest who proceeded down a sordid and tawdry laundry list of Bush administration officials and private persons whose scheming it abetted, all who in some way or another helped make 9-11 not only a reality but an inevitability. The host moaned and groaned at these revelations, apologizing to listeners for obliging them to hear things so unexpected and puzzling. Listeners were leaving text messages decrying that it was all left-wing propaganda, or at worst it detailed “incompetence” on the part of the Bush administration, rather than outright criminality. 

Meanwhile, on right-wing KOMO news radio, it was mentioned every hour that the Republicans were continuing their efforts to try to turn the attack in Benghazi and the four Americans killed in the diplomatic compound last year into a political scandal. Not to take anything away from the tragedy, but isn’t it odd how the bigger the outrage, the less anyone is required to take responsibility for it, or turn it into something wholly different than what it is? Remember the Iran-Contra affair? That was treason, yet the perpetrators somehow managed to convince many Americans that they were “patriots,” and eventually almost all involved emerged unscathed and unpunished. Prior to 9-11, the Bush administration received warnings from the Clinton administration and FBI field agents about a potential attack on US soil involving aircraft. If these warnings were followed-up, some of the hijackers would likely have been detained and deterred the rest. 

But the Bush administration intended on launching a war in Iraq and needed a pretext; remember George Bush’s look of confused dismay when he was first informed of the World Trade Center crash in that classroom? Could it have meant that he had expected something to happen, just not this? 3,000 people who need not have died—wasn’t this something like being an accessory to murder? How was he going to explain this? And then compounding the outrage by lying to the American public about the need to invade Iraq and costing yet more thousands of American lives? I’ve posted some recent headlines coming out of Iraq; who can honestly say that the country is better off today than it was pre-US invasion? In many ways it is actually worse off. And for all that bloodletting, Republicans are still trying to hang the Obama administration over Benghazi? Who has greater contempt for the American people and their interests?

But this was only part of what I experienced today, because I had some things to do in the outside world. I had to pick up my mail in “liberal” Seattle, and then go to a public storage facility in right-wing Kent. Here are some of things I noted riding a bus to Seattle:

I am constantly confronted with images that conceal true purposes. Take for instance Planned Parenthood. Posted among a row of advertisements is its current ad campaign, having ditched the vaguely racist one concerning the Latina mother and daughter. The one I observed now proclaims “Reason #9 to love Planned Parenthood”—apparently that it accepts most insurance plans. Of course the question is how many insurance plans accept it. As always, these ads never explicitly state what its principle “service” is. I also don’t recall what the other 8 reasons were. 

I observed this white female get on the bus. She was wearing this goofy hat out of the Bowery Boys that she apparently thought gave her “character,” or at least made her look “special.” Not in the way of a “blueblood,” but in the way of a supreme egoist. I noted that she kept her blue eyes straight ahead and she had that “I’m superior to the rest of you” smirk on her mug. I observed her strolling past the “unacceptable” types until she encountered another white female, who apparently had a bag next to her. Our Ms. Special did not say a word, but motioned her hand in that imperious manner that was expected to command immediate obedience. The woman in the seat looked at her as if she was crazy, but complied. As the subject was vacating the bus, she kept her eyes straight ahead, with same self-involved, holier-than-though smirk. As she passed by me, I said “How arrogant are you?” I observed that for a split moment her eyes and smirk altered their position, if slightly. At least the point was made, if nothing else.

I saw this billboard that showed a silhouette of what appeared to be a girl of about eight, with pony tails. Report child prostitution, it said. Despite what the creators of this billboard believe, it is not likely to create the reaction intended. For one thing, it is not believable. There is underage prostitution to be certain, but the numbers are sketchy at best and overblown at worst, while the “profile” of these tend to be teenage runaways who are looking to make a "easy" buck, and few are under the control of pimps, and there are nearly as many young males as females. Thus the image of an eight-year-old in pony tails out on the streets or even on-line is the unlikeliest scenario, thus leaving one the sense of being conned, maybe for “donations.” 

Along these lines I heard a radio ad concerning human trafficking, after putting on my headphones to drown out the person sitting behind me with the annoying and loud voice talking (or rather, shouting) on her cellphone. This exact same ad was being run by at least two different sponsoring groups, one them calling itself “Seattle against slavery.”  It turned me off immediately when it stated that human trafficking could be occurring in venues that you would “least expect,” starting off with the farming and construction. I viewed this as an open invitation to anti-immigrant xenophobes and businesses wanting to take out competitors. The fact is that “human trafficking” occurs on a much smaller scale in the US than the propaganda suggests; since farm workers and immigrants in the construction industry are presumably ”low wage,” this is used as a rationalization by anti-human trafficking advocates to include them in their statistics, which is helpful since their numbers are more considerable than what these groups can legitimately lay claim to. Thus their “concern” for farm and construction workers is nothing more than a rhetorical device that causes more harm to the alleged “victims” than good.

When I’m in Seattle, I frequently encounter people who think that being “friendly” means asking if I want to buy drugs, or have any to sell, mostly the latter. If not that, I mostly get noticed by people who want to beat me up or think I’m going to rob their cars. Otherwise I’m mostly ignored. Another thing I think about when I’m in Seattle is that while people insist that our society should be meritocracy-based, I can’t help but wonder what extent superficial considerations—like physical characteristics and glibness—play into “success.” The media certainly plays a role in this. Back in the day, there was Ironside in his wheelchair, Kojak and his bald head, Cannon and his immense girth, and lots of actors who first made names for themselves in television, but were not “glamorous” or Ken Dolls, and had real charisma of a kind that differentiated them from the common run--rugged-faced men like Clint Eastwood and Steve McQueen. Now, all you see are, well, “pretty people” indistinguishable from one another, save for the way they express their narcissism and self-involvement. On the streets of Seattle, it’s the same thing.

I’m back in Kent. Nothing changes much, except the politics. I’m walking down this sidewalk when this white female cuts in front of me from a parking lot. It was still early afternoon and near 90 degrees, and she is wearing a black outfit that absorbs heat; I notice this a lot, women wearing black clothes instead of something with a little color. It’s obviously meant as a “statement,” although one I don’t see the usefulness of.  She had just parked her car, and when she noticed me she beeped her car and took several glances toward it to make certain that it was “safe.” She glanced behind a few more times and for some reason she put her hand into a sack she had strapped to her shoulder, and kept it there despite the fact it gave her stride an odd appearance. The only explanation for it was that she was letting me know that she had gun, mace or some other weapon to use just in case I “tried” something. I startled her as I walked past her, saying “Now who has the sick mind?” A few minutes later I walked into a convenience store and bought a cup of coffee; when I walked out I observed the same woman standing outside a espresso stand. I called out to her “I don’t see your hand in your bag now,” which as before seemed to “startle” her. I like to do that when I encounter arrogant, conceited narcissists who make judgments on people they only know from their own prejudices. 

So finally I’m digging around in my public storage unit when I received unwanted company from a couple of older white people, well-to-do types who had too much “stuff” in the attic. They came in for a few minutes to dump odd, probably useless objects they didn’t quite feel they wanted to discard, in their unit; they noticed me and seemed somewhat perturbed. They whispered to each other, which I took a little offense to. Before they left the locks were checked, and doubled checked, and triple checked, and quadruple checked. Then they reluctantly left. I then heard agitated conversation outside, and the male of the pair came back in and shook the door and locks multiple times, looking at me in an accusatory fashion. I wanted to say something about Nazis in Kent, but I stifled this impulse just long enough for the old bastard to leave for good. Now, I know I’m not supposed to have an opinion or “feelings” about any of this, but question is “Who does this say more about—me, or them?” 

Such is a day in the life. And I have many just like this. This is why I view the world as I do.