ITHACA SUCKS SUNDAY EDITION

 

Friday night the bars, boutiques and bistros on the Commons started filling up again. Suddenly there were actually people downtown after 6 pm.

It wasn't the British invasion. ("I wanna hold your hand.")

No, it wasn't Bush's invasion either. More like schlock and brawl than 'shock and awe.'

And they definitely aren't Arabs even though they throw their money around like little oil glutted sultans out on the town in Switzerland.

It's the students! Ithaca's own endearing invasion force, loaded up with credit card gelt, nice Florida tans, Chinese army shirts, state of the art jeans. Hey, Ezra wants to know which designer came up with the idea of putting something resembling paint stains on the backs of jeans. Like you missed the 'wet paint' sign and sat down on a park bench anyway. That dude must have made a fortune! Why doesn't Ezra ever come up with million dollar trend setting, blockbuster ideas like that? Maybe he could convince kids to start carrying pitchforks? Just like the dude in the American gothic painting by ---Ezra wants to say Grant Wood ---but he's terrible with names. Can you spell Alzheimer's?

Designer pitchforks, yeah, that's the ticket! Imagine working in a coatroom somewhere and having to deal with hundreds of pitchforks? Apply for hazardous duty pay immediately! Detroit would have to install pitchfork holders in their 2004 model cars. But the dough would be rolling in like Iraqi oil after Bush gets done. Ezra wouldn't have to live in Ithaca anymore! He could buy Ithaca just like his namesake.! Turn it into an amusement park. He could afford to ransom the lake water from Cornell. You know, they pump it up there ostensibly to cool or heat their buildings , then pump it back loaded up with who knows what contaminants.
People downtown are starting to glow in the dark! Green! Just like your screen when you're watching Bush bomb the daylights out of Baghdad. Night visions.

Don't the students know there's a war on? Or are they going to cover that next semester?

They walk around, flipping their credit cards, cruising the shops, bopping up and down on their bar stools, laughing and carrying on like they don't know that Iraqi kids are ducking 2,000 lb bombs, that people are dying in the Middle East? Like your mother used to say to get you to eat your vegetables - folks are starving in Africa.

Ezra would like to dress up in sackcloth and ashes, parade around on the Commons carrying a sign - The End is Near! Repent! Stand outside of Simeon's or Moonshadow, staring inside the window like some fierce incarnation of John Brown, wagging his fist. That would change the conversation from how I spent my spring break. But would Ezra get arrested for disturbing the peace? Demonstrating without a permit? Impeding the wheels of commerce in our little dystopia here in Ithaca?

Ezra's friend, Jake, talked about the war today. Jake was a Vietnam vet who went apeshit faced with all the killing and slaughter he saw over there. They had to put him in an appliance shop fixing things to calm him down. He still fixes appliances for people. Jake mentioned how this latest war is a defining moment for America. How public morality is declining and going out of our lives completely. We don't insist that our leaders act morally, that they follow accepted international conventions for dealing with conflicts. No, we let them go to war on the most specious of arguments, invade a country that didn't attack us or anyone else for that matter in the last 10 years. We pit Saddam's dubious morality against our own questionable motives for securing his vast oil fields, throwing our weight around as the world's only superpower, all under the pretext of a war against terror designed to produce more terror than we will know what to do with. Hey, we're pissing off millions of Arabs! Anti-war demonstrators are being shot in Yemen, not what you would call a pro-American playground to begin with! We call the UN 'irrelevant' because it blocks our global ambitions at the same time we bypass our own so-called democratic institutions. Shouldn't Congress declare war? How many little executive actions will it take, how many precedents of the White House going it alone, will it take to undermine that assumedly august body and make it 'irrelevant?" Is this a paradigm shift for us with dire consequences for the future?

Hey, it doesn't matter. It's Friday night and we're partying in Ithaca like it's 1999 like the Prince song goes. Read the studies, dude. Public man died a miserable death in a nursing home with oxygen tubes running up his nose, wheezing and coughing, rubbing his greasy bathrobe and dreaming of the '60s. The personal is the global and the global rights belong to Phil Knight, AOL/Time Warner, George Bush and the empire of the commodity.

You ever live with cats who throw up a lot? Wake up in the middle of the night to take a piss, walk out into the living room and squish!! You step right into a pile of disgorged Tuna Feast lying on the carpet. S - -T! That's the way it feels living in the US of A these days.

Hey, how does Ezra do it every day? Provide semi-amusing commentary day in and day out, smoking 2 packs of cigarettes, a 40oz of Budweiser every night so he can hit the hay early and get up to write this stupid blog! Man, it should be fun! That's what RB says anyway. Instead Ezra's fingers are tingling, his gums are receding and what does he get for his trouble? No emails with encouragement, no little envelopes containing cash, no offers from babes in Arkansas to marry him, no product endorsements. He can't even get AK Press, the largest distributor of radical literature in America, to buy the ad banner on top of his blogspot. (Maybe he should try Fancy Feast, the cat food maker? Ezra spends a ton of money on that crap every year!) Hey, dudes, contribute a little material! Send the huskies up with some cash, a few co-eds, some Beck's. It's lonely getting up every morning to make the blogs.
Comments invited at: ezrakidder@gmail.com - Peace, Ezra at 5:40 AM

 
Yesterday morning , Ezra stumbled upon a peace demonstration on the Commons.

At first he wasn't sure what it was. A group of no more than 10 people- all huddled together in a tight circle under the large pavilion close to the Ithaca Center. At first glance, it might have been a yoga class, some kind of drumming circle minus the instruments, the contra dancing steering committee, or street people showing unity on a damp, cold, rainy morning for all Ezra knew. Until Ezra spotted a sign that one of the members of the circle was holding rather casually.

"All Life is Sacred," the sign read. The pro-life underground? Ithaca is a Planned Parenthood stronghold. Fetuses beware!

Other people kept arriving to join the tight, closed circle. Finally, the whole group broke up and reassembled in a larger version of a ring, standing together in the big open space in front of Juna's. More people showed up, including a couple of junior reporters, one carrying a notebook, the other a camera. That's when Ezra spotted a few more obvious anti-war signs.

Ezra hovered a few feet away, utterly ignored and unwelcomed within the circle - and utterly fascinated by what was happening. Even more people arrived including a hulking 6'5" dude with a gray Rasputin-like beard, clad in black like an Eastern Orthodox priest and a six year old blonde girl wearing a cute, home-made costume like the dove of peace or something. At least, it was white and she didn't have bunny ears.

As the jackhammers on the Commons grumpily rat-tat-tatted in the background, each member of the circle seemed to be making a personal statement. Ezra couldn't hear all that well due to all the construction noise. But Then someone started handing out pieces of papers and what appeared to be newsletters. A woman in her late 30's, holding a stack of flyers, glanced over at Ezra, scowled, then proceeded to distribute them to the group. Not offering one to Ezra. A few moments later Ezra heard the same woman announce herself to be a member of the Catholic Workers. In an officious, no nonsense tone, she rattled off news about a coming peace march that would actually circle the whole city of Ithaca.

What is this preoccupation with circles, Ezra asks? Are they talking about a march or a marathon? Peace demos are about density, crowds, bodies pressed together, phalanxes of protesters grabbing all the attention they can get. Right? And these people are heading out to Buttermilk Falls? Bring a picnic basket?

Ezra has learned a little over time about the people who comprise the peace movement in Ithaca. They're cliquish, they take themselves extremely seriously, and they tend to be what Ezra would define as sanctimonious stalinists. With a small 's." You start with a Leninist elite, a cadre of sorts and you combine it with a small town Rotary mentality, push that into overdrive because Ithaca is a very small community after all and you end up with a dictatorship of the do-gooders. There's no give or take, no sense of inclusiveness, no act or expression of welcoming. It's more like a mafia than a mass movement.

Should it come as any surprise that the peace movement in Ithaca is dominated by a couple of activist families. We're talking about the Gradys and the Ritters. Read about any act of civil disobedience within a 50 mile radius and you'll find that a Grady or Ritter was one of the first to be arrested. Gradys have taken over the Cayuga Mall recruiting station twice now, the last time, throwing blood on an America flag - an act of outrage which really got the Ithaca Journal worked up this time! A Grady was arrested in Oswego trying to do a spot inspection at the plant of a defense contractor. Gradys have been arrested in front of the White House. Grady's have been at the forefront of the SOA protests. Gradys have been to Viesques. A Ritter recently declared in the IT that Ithaca was " a creative and politically engaged community."

It reminds Ezra of a progressive Sopranos.

Not to take away from the work they're doing. He thinks they're great! Somebody has to do those things! It helps though that the breadwinners in those families have jobs like soup kitchen coordinators so they can get off for jail time. Ezra is counting the days to retirement so he can lead a life full of rage and riot too. He will most likely chain himself to Dick Cheney's front porch. He's the real Darth Vader behind this whole mess., isn't he? That other dude is just the front man.

Probably what distinguishes the Gradys etc. from the rest of the peace movement is the cutting edge stuff they do. They grab the headlines, force other people to take sides. The everyday mundane work the peace movement does in Ithaca is to preach to the converted. That's important too, isn't it?

Incidentally you can upgrade your lawn signs at Autumn Leaves. They're selling a paste-on lettering kit so that you can change the No War in Iraq to Stop the War in Iraq. That way you don't have to buy another sign.

Hey, we're living in Ithaca. What do you expect? Maurice Hinchley doesn't have to join the Congressional Black Caucus in an act of political courage at what they call the well at the House of Representatives , damning Bush for his stupid war,to get re-elected. He can just convene a town meeting back home, deliver a few remarks and get all the votes he wants from this politically engaged community.

Comments invited at: ezrakidder@gmail.com - Peace, Ezra at 5:59 AM

 
Nothing brings out the best in America like war.

Of course the best is indistinguishable from the worst. 'They were the best of times. They were the worst of times. ' - C. Dickens. In America, it's always Miller Time.

Figure that America has never had a 100 or, a 30 YearsWar for that matter. The Vietnam War was the longest in our history, severely taxing our short little national attention span.

'Gee, Myrtle, why are they still killing the pajama people on tv?'

The Vietnam War became a presidential heirloom, passed from administration to administration, from Kennedy to Nixon. Twelve years. People forgot there was a war on until the headlines reminded us. Tet Offensive. Nixon bombs Cambodia. Oh, there's a new war now? There were too many new cars to buy, new girlfriends, new jobs to begin, new drugs to try, new concerts to go to. The Vietnam war was the low, dull, backdrop of a generation reserving space for itself on the remainder tables of the future. The Huge Book of the 60's. Now only $19.99.

America has learned a lot since Vietnam. All our later wars have been quickies. Americans like quickie wars. In and out, like bad sex. Like a visit to the muffler shop.

That's why the Internet is so great to keep tabs on America's latest nasty little war. Go to http://www.cnn.com/ and check out all the bells and whistles. Click a link for War Tracker and you get the latest developments from the battlefield updated every 15 minutes. There are maps, different on the scene report options, the weather in Baghdad, 3D models - even video, radio and slideshow links.

It makes you proud to be an American. Thanks Ted Turner, thanks Steve Case. (Unfortunately they were early casualties of another war.)

The only thing it doesn't have is a Body Count Update. Or a Collateral Damage Update . Or a place to insert your ad banner like Blogger. What would you want to advertise on a war website anyway? Johnson&Johnson Band-Aid strips?
Sunscreen? Marlboro?

It beats watching the war on tv. Peter Jennings, Dan Rather and Tom Brokaw tend to drone on after a while of watching expanded coverage. They're all pushing 65, veterans of a lot of America's big and little wars. Like Ezra. (But only at a distance,
thanks to the fact that he was a lucky birthday boy back in the '60s. They had real lotteries back then, not these Quick Picks. Ezra was lucky in war, never in love.)

Did you know there's a new Tom Clancy video game out on the market already? It's a complete simulation of desert combat scenarios. The commercial features virtual GI's's chanting - "we will fight so others can be free."

Give us a break already! The sum of all fears is that the damn thing won't play on your gameboy.

Maybe Bush could pay for his own personal little war (and the annexation of Iraq) by offering sponsorships? Ezra can see a whole range of products spun off from GulfWar2. Iraqi Freedom mugs, t-shirts, sneakers, beer coolers, chewing gum (with Tommy Franks and Donald Rumsfield playing cards), lunch boxes, board games, salad dressings, lip gloss, potato chips, playing cards, breakfast cereal, action figures, Saddam Hussein dart boards, dashboard doohickies, interactive cd-roms, you name a thousand other useless gadgets and products.

That way you can still afford a tax cut and pay for the next war with the sales tax.

It makes you proud to be an American, that's all Ezra can say.

Maybe tomorrow Ezra will fill in some of the blanks for all you boys and girls about some of America's other great war presidents, or men who braved the cauldron of war later to become president. Ezra's personal favorite is William Henry Taft. He weighed close to 300 lbs. And had to be lifted by pulley on to his horse. They didn't have an SPCA in those days. Taft was Governor of the Philippines after the Spanish American War. All the little brown folks looked up to him with hero worship (and avoided anywhere he might be trying to sit down.) Just like the Arab world looks up to our own 600 lb. Gorilla of the Global Frontier. Make us free, George! Make us free!
Comments invited at: ezrakidder@gmail.com - Peace, Ezra at 5:15 AM

 
What time is it anyway in Iraq?

It's 4 am in the morning here in Ithaca. The under-25 set have finally slipped into bed or are grappling with the Ceramic Maiden after another night of binge drinking. Clerks at A Plus are winking out behind the counter to the monotone hum of the coolers and the slow dripping sound of coffee machines, like spring brooks trickling through the winter ice pack.

In Baghdad it must be daylight. People are busy pumping oil into the desert sands -oil that will never power SUV's in America, never take people to Disney World, wasted oil that will bloat the price of gas at the A Plus pumps about a month from now. Or they're at work taping their windows - maybe some foreign subsidiary of Wal-Mart is rushing in tractor trailers filled with left over duct tape from last month's code orange alert. Our global village, the endless ebb and flow of goods. The open air markets in Iraq are almost deserted as most of the merchandise has already been sold out and folks have already left Baghdad.

It's Iraqi 9/11 Day. The connection that could never be convincingly made public is about to be made for once and for all. Connect the dots, share the pain, square death, spread the suffering. The crude ethos of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth that emerged from the desert thousands of years ago is finally coming home to bite them on the butt big-time.

Looking for a spark of resistance from his fellow bloggers, Ezra spied a recently published blog titled Wicked Go Away. Surely a parody, he thought, on the international Gunfight at the OK Corral that's unfolding like a bad grade B movie. Ezra opened it to read:
*Sigh*
Depression (OK no not really, but I'm bummed). It's the middle of March and I'm still looking for a job. It's 3am and I'm eating a fucking bowl of Special K. I stay up late and do very random things when I'm stressed. I did a major cleaning of my room tonight. Like one of those times when I'm leaving my room with two trash bags full of stuff that I just somehow accumulate. It's disgusting how much we process as Americans. It's even worse that we don't even realize or know where it comes from. We've become so accustomed to "things" around us our perspective of wastefulness is totally warped. On a more personal level I realized that I clean when I'm stressed. The only conclusion that I have is that it's a control thing. When things seem to be slightly hectic, there's always a messy room that can be told who's boss. Shove it up your ass Mr. Clean, I don't have golden glow surrounding me when my neuroticisms manifest themselves as physical labor. (The again, I'm not bald either, and I could never get something pierced)
Not all is lost though. I went to get a new pair glasses this afternoon while mommy and daddy's insurance still covers my sorry ass. (yes, I do wear glasses, in fact I have them on now, I only used them for work and school - i.e. that's why there's no photos of them) So I decided on some TAG frames that are pure titanium. The are soooo cool and I'm soooo psyched, and you can see them below.
Probably why Bush has a 66% approval rating going into this bloody mess. Americans just don't care. They're preoccupied with their new glasses at a time when the rest of the world sees that the Emperor has no clothes. George, your flagpole is showing. At least in Paris, Berlin and Moscow, and I'm sure some other places where people rouse themselves out of their stupor to ponder on world affairs.

Ok. It's time to dig back into the poetry archives again for a suitably depressing poem to sum up what a lot of people are feeling right now. Last year the following Auden poem was reprinted in an issue of The Book Press as a lead-in to a discussion of the meaning of America's 9/11.

September 1, 1939
W. H. Auden

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.

Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.

Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
"I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,"
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.


Change the dates and the poem works as a wrap for what is likely to be another depressing day in Ithaca and the rest of the world.

Ezra sends out a prayer to any available {g)od to look kindly on the Iraqi people this day and every day that follows. They deserve as much mercy as any group of vulnerable human beings who follow their leaders blindly, who attempt to find meaning in their lives and, in so doing, end up being consumed by the furies of history.

Comments invited at: ezrakidder@gmail.com - Peace, Ezra at 5:48 AM