Speak up!!!

I just received an email detailing the proposed bugdet cuts to pay for Hurricane Katrina. These cuts outlined in the email include the following:

$225 billion cut from Medicaid, the last-resort health insurance program for the very poor.
$200 billion cut from Medicare, the health care safety net for the elderly and the disabled.
$25 billion cut from the Centers for Disease Control
$6.7 billion cut from school lunches for poor children
$7.5 billion cut from programs to fight global AIDS
$5.5 billion to eliminate all funding for the Corporation for Public Broadcasting
$3.6 billion cut to eliminate the National Endowments for the Arts and Humanities
$8.5 billion cut to eliminate all subsidized loans to graduate students.
$2.5 billion cut from Amtrak
$2.5 billion to eliminate the Hydrogen Fuel Initiative
$417 million cut to eliminate the Minority Business Development Agency
$4.8 billion cut to eliminate all funding for the Safe and Drug-Free schools program

You can sign a petition, make phone calls, etc. through this link:http://www.political.moveon.org/rebuild/?id=6042-3278797-ZjrKRrOnw1.OFBBbeufwMg&t=5

It's time to speak up.

In Conclusion, Jump Little Children actually play the Variety

Despite the fact that the Variety is actually called the Variety Playhouse, I was still unprepared for the rows and rows of seats when I walked in. On either stand of the playhouse were little standing room alcoves, and the entire front floor was also standing room. The place was BIG, but really, probably around the size of the Canal Club in Richmond. The difference was that the Variety was PACKED. It has been quite a while since I've gone to a show that had such a huge crowd. The capacity at the Variety seems to be about 700 people, and I suspect that on this evening, they had possibly oversold capacity.

Sarah and I walked to the front to stand as the opening band rocked the audience. I can't remember what they were called, but they were actually pretty good. It was certainly enjoyable, but after our adventures, I was definitely ready for Jump Little Children.

I was reaching that point of the opening band's set that I wanted to pull out my phone and check the time when Jonathan walked past us. He had apparently been standing in the crowd in front of us, and as he passed, I smiled, because a) he's brilliant and b) it meant that the opening band was just about done, and JLC was getting ready to go on.

Sure enough, the lights came up, and I realized during that passage of time between the opening band and the headliner that the Variety was non-smoking. As a hundred or so extra people squeezed into the front with us, I decided to forgo the nicotine, and keep my place.

Which was the best decision, because the intermission was short. The lights went out, the crowd roared, and Jump Little Children immediately went into "Hold You Down."

With the first chord I went all giddy. Their CDs are excellent, and I love listening to their music at home or on my iPod. But these guys are a LIVE band, and nothing in the world really compares to standing in a screaming crowd who knows all the words while the bass recalibrates my hearbeat to beat in time with the song. And it's in those first few seconds when I can tell what sort of show I'm in for--as my ears are submerged in thick waves of sound, and lights roll over the stage, and watching the first few bars of a song get played--the energy onstage, the energy in the crowd--and damn, this was going to be a great show.

I've never been the kind of person that was good at remembering set lists. I get too entranced by the music and I just live in it while it happens. But I can tell you this--I felt like I had written down my dream set list and handed it to them. They played "Violent Dreams", "Vertigo," "Afterlife," "Rains in Asia," "Education," "Requiem," "Body Parts," "My Guitar," "Not Today," . . . . . just to name a few. Every single song I wanted them to play, they played. And if it didn't make it in the set, it made it in one of the FOUR encores.

Yes, that's right, FOUR encores. Apparently Atlanta is their town--this is where they first started getting recognition, and as the night went on, the last show in Atlanta became quite emotional. The first two encores were planned--and I remember the first one had "Cathedrals" and the second had "Dancing Virginia." Each one had two or three songs. The unexpected third encore was one of the most deeply moving moments I've ever had a show.

When they came out for the third encore, the stage was starting to get shut down, so they decided, on the spur of the moment, to play acoustic. And what they decided to play was "Where She Lies."

The audience, familar with the two encore scenario and not expecting a third, had almost halved. There was a good amount of space up at the front now. We stood still as Jay talked from the stage, and since there was no amps or mics, we became very very silent.

It was quickly clear that they were not used to this--the first verse they were adjusting their volume, Jay was trying to compensate for no mic, and they seemed a little hesitant. Then, going into the chorus, it clicked. They suddenly somehow got the acoustics and the projection and everything PERFECT, and this beautifully haunting song reverberated throughout the Variety and into the vaccuum of silence created by everyone's held breath.

I have been in very few moments when I have felt that music became something tangible and I could feel it on my skin, or that I could taste it in the back of my throat. That was one of them.

They lingered on the stage as they left, reluctant and slow, each finding a piece of the moment to take with him. And then Jay did one more. He had his guitar and mic plugged back in, and then said farewell with "Close Your Eyes." And it was a farewell--when he finished, he thanked everyone, put down his guitar, and walked across the stage. He stopped in the middle, and just looked at everyone, memorizing that moment, and I thought he was going to cry. He was reluctant to take another step and leave behind something that meant so much to him. I could see him putting that moment in his pocket with all the other fabulous memories he'd created over the years. Then he waved, and forced himself to walk the rest of the way.

Jump (Little Children) play Turner Field--Continued . . .

So, Sarah and I were driving on Ponce de Leon, looking for Moreland. Our confidence was shaken, our determination was fierce, and we were haunted by the vision of TURNER FIELD looming before us.

We are Lewis and Clark, although female, and in the South, and making far less progress because other mischevious explorers have been here before us, laying a false trail. We have no Sacajewa to aid us. We have only MapQuest directions, a CD that no subsitute for the real show which has surely begun, and a pack of cigarettes. I roll down the window, light a cigarette, and exhale a cloud of smoke into the night. We reach a red light.

"What the hell?!" I exclaim, "Sherman razed this city to the ground! Couldn't they have rebuilt it on a grid? What the hell is this? Why do I not have OnStar? Or like, a GPS tracker thing? Is this some strange Southern ploy--once bitten, now you'll never make sense of this city? Good God! Is the Georgia Dept. of Transportation insane? Well we ARE going to find this place, I don't know how, but. . ." I am interupted by voice to my left.

"Hey, hey!" calls the voice, "are you ladies lost?"
I look out my window, and sitting next to us at the red light is a man who is leaning towards us in his SUV.
"Hey!" I call back, "Where is Moreland?"
"Moreland?" he asks, "Well, it's right up there, just go . . ." The light turns green. "Follow me!" he cries, "I will honk when you should turn!"

I follow our Sacajewa, and we eagerly listen for a honk. Instead, however, he eventually turns into an Exxon, and we follow. I pull up next to him, and lean out my window.

"Hey," he says, "It's that street right there. Just look for the bustle of people. Where are you ladies going? Do you need some company, he he?"
"Umm . . . thanks!" I call back, "No, we're late for a show. But thanks! Bye!"
"Wait, wait, " he says, "I am Rasheed. I will give you my phone number."
"Oh, um, okay, " I say, "What is it?"
"I must write it down, " he replies, "You will forget."
"No, no, " I protest, "We can remember it."
"Let me find a pen," he replies.

I look at Sarah. This is taking far too long. We search through the car for a pen and some paper. I find a pen in my purse, and Sarah hands me the MapQuest directions.

"We've got it!" I call over.
He gives me his phone number, and makes us promise to call him. Then he insists on shaking our hands.
"Thanks Rasheed!" I call out the window as we drive away. I look at Sarah. "We're not calling him, " I say.
"Ah, good," says Sarah.
"But he was a nice guy," I say, and Sarah agrees. "So I'll blog him."

So thanks to Rasheed, we find Moreland. We get pointed towards the Variety after parking the car, and we rush over to the club, while philosophizing that if we've missed too much of the show, we can always call Rasheed and invite him to the Braves game.

But we have missed nothing. The opening band was still playing as we finally, finally, finally walked into the Variety.

And because I have an Old English test today, and I because I just translated a sentence as "As Cyneheard and his men all at the King were fighting until that they he killed took," I am, tearfully, forced to leave this . . .

. . . To Be Concluded . . .

Jump (Little Children) play Turner Field?

I love Jump (Little Children). They are an extraodinarily good group of musicians, and I have been in love with their music ever since Ryan put "Cathedrals" on a CD for me, and Christy and Will took me to see them in Richmond. So when I discovered that their current tour was going to be their last tour, I decided that I was going to be a postman--neither hail, nor sleet, nor snow, nor rain or any other adversity would prevent me from seeing them on this farewell tour.

Luckily, I had none of these things to contend with, since they had a show scheduled in Atlanta, at the Variety Playhouse which I have heard so much about. All I had to worry about was getting to the Variety, and hell, I've been to Little Five Points before--Priya and Govind took me there. I could find it again. No problem.

So Sarah (an awesome Medievalist student from PA) and I made extensive plans (Me: "Hey, it's 7:20 pm. Wanna check out this show?" Sarah: "Sure! You know how to get there?" Me: "Oh yeah. I can totally find it. TRUST ME.") and I went to pick her up.

Perhaps I became excessively confident after finding Sarah's apartment. I only made one directional mistake, and I quickly realized it ("Ah," I said to myself, "That street must not have been marked!") and corrected it. I drove on 285 for the first time, successfully, and the world was rotating in sync with the Jump Little Children CD I was playing on my car stereo. The show was going to be incredible, and we were ready for a night out.

Without hesitation (I'm excluding the moment when we left Sarah's apartment and she said, "Turn left," and I immediately turned right), we navigated back to Ponce de Leon, and drove down the street, looking for Moreland. I had memorized the exceedingly simple directions to the Variety--left on Moreland, then left on Euclid. As we drove, we scrutinized the street signs; after all, it's Atlanta, the land of unmarked streets. And as we peered into the darkness and the headlights of cars going in the opposite direction, we studied the signs that were presented to us on the right side of the road, the signs we could actually see--our first mistake, after living in towns that made sense. We assumed that an intersection would have the same street on both sides--that the intersection for Moreland would indeed be the INTERSECTION of Moreland, with both sides marked and ready to indicate where we should turn left.

This is where it gets good, so I'm switching to present tense.

So we drive. And drive. And drive. And there is nary a Moreland sign to be seen. But there IS a MARTA station up ahead. And it's . . . it's . . . it's the Midtown station. Midtown? We're in Midtown? This CAN'T be right.

"Sarah," I say, "I think we're in Midtown."
"Midtown?" she asks, "Are we supposed to be in Midtown? I haven't seen Moreland."
"Me neither," I reply, "I think we're ummm . . . I think we're north of Little Five Points." Really, I have no idea if we're north or not. But saying a direction on the compass sounds informative. "Let's look a little more, and then turn around. If we see Peachtree, we've gone to far."
Sarah laughs, "Which Peachtree? That one?"

Indeed, we are about to cross one of the Peachtrees. Ponce de Leon has become one way, so I hang a right to turn around, and we see some very bright lights up ahead.

"What are those lights?" I ask, as an uncanny feeling of recognition begins to creep over me. It looks like a stadium. "Is that . . ." I hesitate, disbelieving, "Is that where . . . where the Braves play?"
Sarah and I contemplate the crowded bleachers before she responds, "Yeah. That's TURNER FIELD!"

Yes. On our way to Little Five Points, we have somehow ended up at TURNER FIELD. At THE BRAVES GAME. There were only two things to do. Laugh, and find Ponce de Leon.

I immediately turn right, and we attempt to find the portion of Ponce de Leon that runs both ways. In doing so, we find the intersection that sums up all of Atlanta. We stop at a red light, and discover that we are (I am not making this up) sitting at the intersection of Peachtree and Peachtree. I should have whipped out my phone and taken a picture of the two little green signs which declared that Atlanta is the most ridiculously designed city on earth. But I was laughing too hard.

Because the world was rotating in sync in my Jump Little Children CD, we managed to find Ponce de Leon again, with minimal trouble. We were determined women--Moreland would not evade us this time. We would now be taking a right onto Moreland, and we would be able to see the sign.

And because the world was rotating in sync with my CD, Fate did not leave us to our own devices to find Moreland. Fate had seen our excursion to TURNER FIELD, and kindly decided to prevent us from ending up at Six Flags, or the Margaret Mitchell House. Fate sent us a guide to our street sign. Fate sent us Rasheed.

And I want you to know that my Henry James seminar has reminded me of all the great works that have been serialized. So, as I attempt to do schoolwork and emulate several literary heroes, I will leave this story . . .

To Be Continued . . . .

My first paper

This is the first paper I've written at GSU. It's for French class, so if you read French, tell me if it sucks or not. It's not for a grade, since I'm auditing, but still. When you have a sentence that says "When I arrived in London, I slept immediately, because I did not sleep on the plane, and the plane flew at night" you get a little nervous about turning something in.

En 1998, je suis allée en Écosse pour l’été. J’ai voyagé seule, et je suis partie après ma anniversaire. J’ai eu 21 ans, et j’ai voyagé en avion pour le première temps. L’avion est arrivé à London après six ou sept heures. Quand je suis arrivé à London, j’ai dormi immèdiatement, parce que je n’ai pas dormi sur l’avion, et l’avion a fait voler en nuit.

Je suis passée quatre jours à London. Je suis allée à les musées, à le Palais de Buckingham, à l’Abbaye de Westminster, à le Carré de Trafalgar, à la théâtre—j’ai fait les choses que les touristes ont fait. Puis, j’ai voyagé en train en Écosse.

L’Écosse est comme une autre monde. Je n’ai jamais regardé une place qu’est aussi belle que l’Écosse. Les montagnes ne sont pas grands, mais ils sont majestueux. Les lacs sont mystérieux et comme les miroirs. Le campagne est un vert magnifique.

J’ai loué un appartement à Edinburgh, où j’ai habité pour trois mois. Mais, j’ai voyagé en Écosse et Royaume-Uni aussi. Je suis allée à Inverness, où j’ai fait le bateau sur le Lac de Ness. (Mais je n’ai pas regardé Nessie.) Je suis allée à Stirling, où je suis montée le monument de William Wallace. En Pays de Galles, je suis allée à Aberystwyth et Cardiff, et en Angleterre, je suis allée à Liverpool, Cambridge, et London.

Mais vraiment, j’ai adoré Edinburgh. Le cuisine a été terrible (qui veut manger le haggis?) et le café n’a pas été bon, mais la ville a été comme un rève très beau. Le châteaux, le Palais de Holyrood, les rues que j’ai fait à pied tout les jours—je ces manque.

Speak for Change: a convoluted rebuttal to finger pointing

Few things drive me crazier than a bad argument.

Almost a week ago, Katrina caused one of the worst devastations our country has ever seen. Entire cities have been razed to the ground. Almost half a million people have been left with nothing. Thousands of people have been killed. At least four states have suffered from immense catastrophe.

And whose fault is this? Why, President Bush's, of course. The Government's. There is not enough being done to help the survivors, the victims, the decimated South. President Bush is, after all, the PRESIDENT. Why doesn't he use his immense power to make everything right again, to help, to provide, to stop the looting? Why do we have troops in Iraq and not Mississippi and Louisiana? Why can we not provide relief and homes and medicine and food to these thousands of grief stricken and displaced people? Why doesn't the Government DO SOMETHING?

Oh, and what are we going to do about the rising gas prices? My God!!

Because if the Government cared, of course, all of these things could be so easily fixed. After all, the Government has such power, such control, that with a snap of the fingers, and a little expenditure at home, we could take care of this problem. But that damn President Bush--he does everything wrong, he's posing for photos in the South, trying to look good by hugging African-American women who have lost everything, but he doesn't really care. His eyes flicker over the devastation, and his heart is unmoved. That bastard. He's the PRESIDENT, he has the power of the whole country, he could do something.

Because this kind of devastation is so easily reversed. Look at Sri Lanka. After an earthquake that rocked the whole earth, literally, and a tsunami out of our worst nightmares, Sri Lanka, Thailand, and South India are all FINE NOW, aren't they?

How could this happen in the UNITED STATES?, the argument goes. We are AMERICANS, how could this happen to US? Who would have ever thought we would be witness and subject to such a terrible, shattering catastrophe, that we would have citizens left homeless and destitute, that order would disintegrate and a hurricane bring us to our knees?

I am 28 years old. I live in Atlanta, GA, where refugees are seeking shelter and food and clothing. I have never been a supporter of Bush, or of most of our current Administration. I am a liberal. A bleeding heart. I donate to everything, and neglect to deduct it from my taxes. I am an English teacher, and a Literature student, and I deal in stories and language and words.

For the disaster of Katrina in the South, I have no words. My bleeding heart is out of blood, so I cry with every new photograph I see. I have no money, so I search my apartment everday for something I can give. This will haunt me for the rest of my life, like the Challenger explosion, the death of Ryan White, and September 11th.

I care.

And because I care, because I feel my insides torn apart like these people's homes, I know that President Bush cares, and that any person who breathes, cares. To imagine that any person, no matter who they are, could look at the utter vastness of this tragedy, could look at the thousands of people being evacuated to Houston, to Atlanta, who have nothing, could look at the floodwaters and the bodies, the scraps of lumber that used to be homes, that used to be businesses that provided livelihoods--to believe that any person could look at Katrina's devastation and think "what a great photo op" is a statement of the most profound lack of faith in humanity that I have ever heard in my life.

To criticize and argue that "not enough is being done" is an insult to every rescue worker, every volunteer, and every donation that has been made. Katrina caused one of the largest natural disasters we have ever seen in this country, less than a week ago. To say that we should have re-created order, and repaired this devastation in a week is beyond absurd and ignorant.

To ask "why hasn't the President fixed this?" is an insult to the magnitude of this tragedy, and to the amount of suffering and loss Katrina has caused it's victims.

President Bush has had one of the most difficult presidencies I believe this country has ever seen. From September 11th and the war in Iraq, the nuclear situation in North Korea, the tsunami in the Indian Ocean, the London bombings, to the current tragedy in the South. For both terms, I have disagreed with almost every statement to come out of his mouth, when I've been able to understand it. But I cannot belittle the amount of hell he has had to contend with, and I refuse to withdraw my sympathy because I disagree with him. I cannot begin to imagine being President, and what that entails, in the last 5 years. I certainly will not fault him for not having the power to order a hurricane to stop, or for not having powers which have clearly been denied him by our Constitution and our laws.

No, there is not enough medicine in the South for the victims who are sick and wounded. But is this the fault of the Government? Medicine, healthcare, hospitals--we don't have socialized medicine here. Whether or not we should have it is not the question at the moment. We don't have it, and that's our current reality. Is the President being faulted for NOT seizing private goods and providing them to the survivors? Because that's what medicine is--privately owned goods. Where is the President, or the government, supposed to get medicine from? Seize it from drug companies? From other hospitals, who probably need it too?

And what about shelter? Should the President seize hotels, order them to allow refugees to stay for free? Or perhaps homes? Should the President seize your property and declare it the temporary (or maybe even permanent) place of residence of the refugees?

But what really bothers me isn't the blaming of the Government, but the blaming itself. Why do people feel compelled to establish blame for a natural disaster? Why are people so busy pointing fingers? Because they think it could have been AVERTED? Of course there are things that could have been done differently, but God only knows how much it could have helped. Or even, if some things were done differently and went wrong, how much it could have hurt.

I'm so tired of hearing people busily place blame, establishing themselves as innocent. It's one thing to watch the horror of this tragedy and wish that somehow we, or the Government, could have done something. It's one thing say "Bush should have supported Federal funds to reinforce the levees" and quite another to say "It's all Bush's fault."

Because we are not innocent. How many of us wrote letters to our Senators protesting the cut of the levee funds? How many of us have actively made our voices heard in protest over the troops in Iraq, and said "This is not an acceptable use of our resources?" Sure, we may have voted for Kerry, but WHAT ELSE have we done? What else are we doing?

Michael Chertoff, of Homeland Security, has stated that Katrina was a surprise. He knew the levees in New Orleans would be unable to withstand a Cat 4 Hurricane, several scenarios had been run to prepare for such a catastrophe, and all he has are excuses to explain the devastation of Katrina.

Is it HIS fault, then?

One of our biggest prides as a country rests in being a democracy. We are proud of our freedoms and our voices. And we should be. But if we use our freedom and our voices to simply establish blame, then we should be ashamed.

Perhaps Chertoff is at fault--for ignoring evidence, for making excuses, for not protecting our country like he should. But who is at fault for Chertoff?

The power of our Government doesn't rest in President Bush. It rests in us. We are the people the government is supposed to represent, and if the government isn't representing us, we need to start talking. TO them, not ABOUT them.

And if they don't hear us, we need to SHOUT.

And if they still don't hear us, we need to ROAR.

Because President Bush is right, this is not acceptable. But it's not just the devastation, the relief response, or the Government involvement. It's our involvement, too, that is not acceptable. If we want change, then we need to make change. And we can do it. The relief effort for Katrina is one of the largest in history. People are offering their money, their clothing, their homes--anything they can give--to the refugees. We have the power to act, we have the power to help, and we have the power to speak.

And we need to use it. To speak for New Orleans and Mississippi and Alabama. To speak for poverty, and AIDS, and equal rights. To speak for change.

And if you think of voices as futile, think of those who have changed the world with words.

Then join them.