These are the People in My Neighborhood...

It's been about five years since I first moved into my neighborhood, and I am still having difficulties fully engaging it. My (mostly) daily walks have helped a bit, but sometimes they make me feel more alienated than when I first started taking them. I guess I had certain preconceptions about how the place would (or might) develop, and these ideas look more and more naïve with my growing familiarity. Occasionally I'll catch a glimpse of what appears to be a young urbane couple, but for the most part it's mostly peopled with the type that I don't want to spend any of my free time around. This is a real shame because otherwise it has an awful lot to offer as a community.

We chose to move to our area because of the school system... or more precisely because we wanted to avoid sending any of our future kids to the public facilities that reigned in our favorite neighborhood. There's no way we would have moved out of the city proper otherwise. The most desirable sections of the 'burgh are expensive (obviously), and even in those parts the charter and magnet schools seem more desirable than the standard options. So we found the most gritty section of one of the best public school districts in Western PA. M. knew a lot more about it than I did, because her family had once lived there. She knew what we were getting ourselves into, and felt comfortable with it.

I'm moved to reconsider all of this due to an experience I had on my rounds the other night. A friend who lives in the next neighborhood over is looking to rent a space for a studio/collective project. She asked if I could look around and find a suitable place. I really had no idea how to start that search. I figured I could stroll about and look for signs in windows, etc. There are a host of properties that seem enticing, and they also seem to be empty. However there aren't many indications of who owns them, or how I can get in touch with whoever is responsible for managing them. I decided that I would have to ask around to see if anyone had any useful leads.

Unfortunately I don't have current phone numbers for the few folks who might be able to help. So I'm left to strike out blindly and figure out what bystanders might be able to provide assistance. On a whim, I stepped into a bar I had never been in before to get some local expertise. As soon as I entered, I knew I wouldn't get what I was looking for. There were about five guys and a torn-up looking woman at the bar, and everybody swiveled around on their stools to look at me directly. The closest dude started interrogating me before I could even let anyone know why I had interrupted their Monday night "revelries". I can't accurately reconstruct our short conversation, but I will say that he turned out to be the type with no love for the arts.

By the end of our exchange he started making primate gestures in an attempt to assert his alpha male status. To me he was just a fat slab of hick with an unrealistic image of his own potency and a loud mouth, yet that didn't keep him from shaking a bit as he pretended to prepare for a fight. His buddies were much more amiable and tried to calm him. That probably wasn't even necessary, as he was coming off like a melodramatic tweenie preparing for his role in West Side Story. If he truly wanted to fight he would have simply attacked without the show pony antics. Still I had no desire to escalate the situation, so I thanked everybody and walked out. It was absolutely the right move, but I was pissed off enough to imagine coming back with my aluminum bat to remove one virulent stain from my neighborhood.

They Love Me, They Love Me Not...

A few days ago, when I first heard about the Iraqi journalist who threw his shoes at George W. Bush during a press conference, I really wanted to post about the incident. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I got a big kick (no pun intended) out of it. I just had too many other things on my mind to delve into the subject. It's not like there is an overwhelming amount of news on the national political scene. Things have finally calmed down with the President-Elect. He's made most of his major cabinet appointments and is now busy filling the remaining slots, which include positions overseeing stuff like the White House bathrooms and tennis courts. Obama simply doesn't appear to be able to generate as much controversy as his predecessor (yet).

As far as Dubya is concerned, I'm forced to concede that I have developed the slightest hint of sympathy for the guy. This is inconvenient and even a bit painful, as he has been the figurehead overlooking eight years of almost unmitigated disaster. Yes, I've heard all the arguments about how safe he has kept the country over the last eight years. But to buy that premise you have to overlook 9-11, and believe that he could have done nothing to stop it. You also have to come to the conclusion that the War in Iraq has made the world (and thus the homefront) more secure. And you might even have to get over any qualms you have about how his administration has responded to domestic disasters.

Add to all of this the power his master Cheney has seized for his "unitary executive branch", and the terrible leadership he has extended over the economy, and I understand why anyone would be resistant to feeling sorry for Bush. Still I can't help it, and I suppose that the reason for that has something to do with the irrationality of feelings. I've always had an eye for the underdogs in life, and despite his natural advantages, George W. Bush has perpetually managed to force himself into that category. He's been a singular failure at every endeavor he's ever undertaken. That takes some mad determination, especially considering the family he was born into. His level of incompetence makes you want to cheer him on to a single victory.

But it seems all too clear that his redemption will not be forthcoming during his last month in office. Even Oliver Stone, with his reportedly sycophantic biopic and tradition of historical revisionism, couldn't rehabilitate this guy's reputation. Bush sits at favorable odds to be remembered as the worst president in US history... worse even than Herbert Hoover, James Buchanan, and Andrew Johnson. That's sordid company indeed. And now he wants to portray his adventurism in Iraq as a positive story, with a happy ending (a sadly fitting description, if you apply this term's more obscure meaning). However, he can't get everyone to play along. This isn't the Special Olympics, and he doesn't get points just for surviving his presidency.

If we want to properly place our warm sentiments, perhaps we should direct them at the hurler himself- journalist Muntadhar al-Zaidi, who was employed by the Egypt-based al-Baghdadia television network. He even flung an accompanying insult, shouting "It is the farewell kiss, you dog." That, of course, referred to the soles of his footwear, which he certainly meant to come into contact with the President's smug face. While the meaning may be lost on some Americans, this gesture was the ultimate indictment, and an action conveying the deepest disrespect from an Arabian point-of-view. For his indiscretion, al -Zaidi now faces a likely two-year stint in an Iraqi prison for "insulting a foreign head of state"*. Yikes! No doubt Iraqis are enjoying their new "free society".

* al-Zaida also suffered a broken arm and several cracked ribs as a "result of the incident".