TV wasteland

Remember when there were only three networks, PBS and later FOX. Where there was only half an hour of news? Families would fight over which show to watch because there was only one set and you arranged your schedule around what was on that night. Ah yes the good ole days. Not anymore.

Three things came along to ruin the network hold on the viewing public. The Federal Communications Act, cable and the internet. Cable, of course, meant you had 50 channels (hundreds now). From CNN news 24/7 to MTV and the invention of the music video to HBO where you could watch movies-uncut- in the privacy of your own living room.

Then FCC - long the guardian of public interest and protection -decided to do away with limited ownership of media and the fairness doctrine where you had to offer two side of any issue. Multimedia companies gobbled up competition until today all TV, radio and print media is in the hands of about five multinational corporations. The fairness doctrine gave rise to conservative talk radio and removing the last remaining vestige of objectivity from reporting.

The internet was the most dramatic and unforeseen phenomenon to change television. Now you could watch any show anytime, anywhere. How could the big four possibly compete with that?

Now that more and more people watch cable there is a demand for original programming instead of endless reruns of network shows. That demand is making FX, AMC, HBO and other channels worthy competitors for the networks in ratings and quality. One only has to look at the growing number of Emmy nominations to see the challenge to broadcast networks (ironically most of these channels are owned by the big four). Digital TV will further erode the broadcast hold as people switch to cable.

As technology changes the way we digest media so it changes society which in turn changes the technology. Some may insist that television is it still a vast wasteland but it is an increasingly diverse wasteland. What’s next? Stay tuned.

Sour Grapes from the Disenchanted.

I’m a writer, see. I love to write, the formation of ideas, the plotting, the editing all of it exciting when I’m on a roll. I write everything, fiction, essays, opinion-editorials, articles, whatever strikes me as interesting. One day I was reading -because I do a lot of that too- about the porn industry. It’s a $13 billion a year business. Wow, that’s got to be a good story. So I researched, read up on the subject making tons of notes. I crafted several different articles to suit the various markets I wanted to pitch, sent out queries to magazines and- Nothing. Nada, zilch.

I couldn’t get anyone interested in the idea. Huh, my writing isn’t that bad, what gives? maybe people aren’t ready for the subject, we area nation of prudes after all. I pondered this lack of success for some time and in utter frustration that I would ever make it as a writer I gave up and did something I rarely do. I threw out all my reference material -the hell with it. Then this week I read a story by sex educator Violet Blue on the porn industry and social attitudes toward sex. I agreed with everything she said because it was exactly what I had written. I was pleased to see someone write this, I just wish it had been me. But who knows me or reads my stuff?

Here I sit with a dozen ideas for articles and nonfiction books. I have at three novels in various stages of first drafts, even a few ideas for a play-something I am too intimidated to try. I write for my blog, which gets posted on Facebook but it’s all empty air. I write and it goes in a drawer for want of an audience I have no idea how to attract. It reminds me of the paradox of getting a job. You can’t get hired until you have experience but you can’t get experience until you get- you know.

Maybe I should go into porn, I hear there’s big money in it.

When cops act like commandos

Today I present two links on articles about police and the effects of paramilitary training. Great for combat, terrible for interacting with the public. 

First they don't deal with dogs very well at all. Second, the heavy hand of authority in schools not unlike a hard ass parent has a negative effect on people not a positive one.

NYCLU, Annenberg Institute Release Report on Successful and Safe NYC Schools that say No to Aggressive Police Tactics | NYCLU

Now substitute soldier for police and you get an idea of how inappropriate military training is for law enforcement and civil liberties.

This is your brain on aikido

It ‘s Thursday, time for Aikido class. I grab my gym bag and head off to the dojo a few blocks away from home. I have trained off and on for years. The off occurring when I get irked at the sensei, or annoyed by my pansy ass lack of discipline. That’s the way it goes sometimes.

Aikido is a Japanese martial art developed in the 1930’s from a blend of judo, Daito-ryu jujitsu, kendo with a dose of Shinto and Buddhist philosophy thrown in for good measure. What makes Aikido different from the other martial arts is the strong emphasis on Ki- or universal energy.

Ki is hard for the western mind to grasp. Everything is made of ki and it flows in all directions. By unifying mind and body you can access this energy and use it to fill your life. When I explain this to most people they just look blankly at me until I tell them it’s like the force in Star Wars. Then I show them “unbendable arm”. I hold my arm out in front of me in a relaxed but focused state as I extend ki and it is impossible for them to bend the arm no matter how they try. It’s great for winning bar bets.

I like the class and the way the arts provide physical feedback of the abstract concepts we’re taught. I had a head start with my exposure to Zen Buddhism. Little did I know how long it would take to really grasp the concept of ki- way too long, I muse for the thousandth time as I change in the dressing room.

You don’t need great physical strength to do Aikido which suits me fine; a casual glance at my beer keg physique reveals I’m not an active person. The toughest part is putting on the hakama.

As a black belt one is required to wear the traditional wide pleated black pants that looks like a skirt, over your gi pants. It’s tied around the waist with two long belts involving an elaborate bow in the front. It’s an honor to wear one but there are drawbacks. One trips on it frequently when getting up from sitting seiza or while doing an art. It’s hot in the summer and forget about going to the bathroom in a hurry.

Aikido is a purely defensive art, where one learns to blend harmoniously with an opponent in a kind of dance; deflecting and dissolving the attack without anyone being harmed.

Tonight is the advance class which meant hard work. The class is split in two, the lower ranked students to one side, the black belts on the other. I pair off with Dennis who is the size of the average apartment building, he doesn’t faze me at all. I like to work with the big guys, then I know I have to use ki and not muscle to lead them.

We bow to each other and begin as the sensei calls out the maneuvers. Dennis raises his arm and charges at me, intending to whack me square on the head. I turn out of the way just before his arm comes down, avoiding the blow, then sweep him in a graceful arc with one hand in front of him like a carrot on a stick, the other hand nestling his head. My hand comes down close to his face and he falls, executing a perfect backward roll that brings him to his feet again. In the next maneuvers he trys to punch me in the stomach. Ah my favorite move.

I glide out of the way of the blow at the last instant, gently take his hand like coaxing a child to come along, and we travel in a circle. I reverse direction abruptly causing his wrist to bend in my grasp. I lead his hand down, then toss him away like a dish towel, he flies into the air making a loud thud as his weight hits the mat.

The sensei debriefs me on my technique and we switch places. It’s a silly sight, a five foot woman ferociously attacking a large man, but he deflects the blow and throws me easily. By the time we finish, we are both panting and sweaty. As class ends, we all line up and bow to the front then thank each other.

A lower ranked student asks to fold my hakama and I’m grateful for the offer. For me it’s the only perk of being a sensei as I don’t feel any different from any other student most of the time. Sensei means “ one step ahead “ but I think it means “You have to act like you know what you’re doing”. That’s the real challenge in aikido.

Fixing the World in a 100 words or less

Random good (?) Ideas

Warning! These ideas may make cause the following: critical thinking outside the box, viewing subjects from an alternative angle, brainstorming and problem solving. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. In these troubled times we are offered lots of problems but few solutions. Since I spend most of my time thinking I decided to consider some thorny issues and come up with a few suggestions.

Schools. Many schools are losing their sports, arts and music classes due to budgets. Well, how about pro sports supporting school sports- it’s where they get future athletes anyway. Arts and music? Same thing. Instead of coke machines to raise money ( and student weight) why not have private sponsors to promote art and music. Studies have shown how these programs help kids to learn better and keep them away from drugs, gangs etc. Sheesh this is a no brainer.

Roads. I already explored on how the government practically gives away money to build roads. If they really want to put their -excuse me- our money in the “cut addiction to foreign oil” rhetoric, pay 90 cents on the dollar to build mass transit, railroads and alternative transportation. To ensure the money is actually spent on these projects and not pissed away by bureaucratic waste, the government insists the money be paid back in say, ten years. This will encourage real change in higher ridership and create lots of jobs.

Afghanistan. What will save the country from thirty years of fighting? A demoralized and poor population? Help restore a non existent economy and slow the heroin trade? Pomegranates, almonds, and dates. Just ask Sara Chayes, a former NPR correspondent who has been working in the country for years. Never mind troops, oil, and propping up a corrupt government to bring stability to the area. Make it the fruit basket of the middle east.

“Estranged husband shoots wife, family.” This headline has become all too familiar. More and more churches are shunning quickie marriages (so is Las Vegas, you have to wait 12 hours to get a license instead of immediately). They require pre- marriage counseling to make sure the couple is compatible. Therefore, before getting divorced couples are required to get counseling to make sure the husband doesn’t go on a shooting spree. Men build monuments to themselves. The dissolution of a marriage can be seen as a huge failure, causing stress, anger and rejection by gun. Divorce runs women’s self esteem into the ground. An acrimonious divorce it’s not good for children either. This has got to stop.

Gun control. This solution was offered by a friend of a friend and the more I think about it the more potential I see in it. In order to own a gun everyone must have insurance. Prove to the insurance company that you’re not a nut job waiting to go off, or an enraged ex husband/boyfriend/ lover (see above) and that you know how to safely load, clean and store a gun and you’re ok. Let the gun and insurance lobbyist duke it out in Washington D.C. over this on. For the rest of us, it’s an additional buffer for public safety.

Somethings have got to change, I’m not sure how but these ideas should get the brain cells moving.

Day Tripper

Gad! I have been unable to come up with anything new and creative so for your enjoyment (or boredom), here is an account of a trip I took to Portland a couple of years ago but is one of my favorite essays.

I had been in my house for too long and I had to get out of town or go crazy. This calls for a trip to Portland. I arranged to stay at a friend’s apartment and travel by train along with my trusty bike to get me around. Normally Portland is rainy, as the northwest usually is, but this time it was hot and dry and I mean HOT. Upon arrival I have to get a bike permit from Tri-met, the transit service. A bike rack is a pretty simple affair but they make you watch a cheesy video designed for morons before letting you pay them five dollars for the permit. I am now the proud owner of another plastic card to put in my wallet. Joy.

First on the list is the Japanese garden, one of my favorites places. I'm at the garden high in the hills overlooking Portland, the air still and heavy with heat. I looked at Mount Hood off in the distance floating above everything like an apparition. The sound of a flute comes from the interior of the large Japanese style pavilion behind me. Oddly though, when I look inside a few minutes later no one is there. Interesting.

When I left I decided to ride down the hill rather than take the bus. It will be easier I think, because it's downhill, right? Big mistake. It was nerve wracking trying to keep the bike from pitching me off as I went down the steep path through a park. Images of the brake cable snapping or hitting a hole and being thrown face first into concrete keep me company as I squeezed both brakes slowing my descent. I came out on Burnside ( a busy street) and frankly after that, merging with the traffic was kind of a relief. Once I got the hang of it biking through downtown was actually enjoyable -except for the streetcar tracks and all the one way streets.

Hot, tired and very thirsty I stopped at the next restaurant I saw in sheer desperation. Jake's Grill, adjacent the Governor's Hotel is one of Portland's oldest. I was told it was a speakeasy the thirties. Very classy place, heavy dark wood paneling, thick columns and a tiled floor. I had crab and shrimp cakes and a glass of wine ( which I do not recommend when riding in the heat). Sated and ready I headed off for what I thought would be a leisurely ride along the river.

Nope. My friend, whose place I’m staying at, assured me the bike path was an easy ride. It was more like a safari. The path was clear, wide and well marked until you left condoland, then it rapidly turned into a ride thru industrial land then after detours and head scratching, a path winding pass more condos, neat little houses clustered by the river and finally up an embankment to the Sellwood Bridge which had a narrow sidewalk on one side of the two lane bridge that required you to hug the concrete railing when meeting a jogger or bike going in the opposite direction. Yep, that was real fun. (Note to self: never listen to friend’s directions).The evening was mercifully quiet.

The next day started out with an occurrence that no matter how much planning on my part always mars a trip. My period. " It's early? Oh that's ok I'll start now and here, have some nasty cramps you don't normally have for good measure." Grrr. Sitting around waiting for pain killers to take affect is not my ideal way to start the day. It's just as well, the day was another scorcher. I biked up to 13th ave. to get lunch and check out the antique shops along the street. I bought a beautiful T-shirt with a bamboo motif. The shirt I had on was, after a yesterday’s trek, really stinky. It was a good excuse to buy the shirt .

I decided to check out Oaks Amusement park down the road . It was a neglected cluster of rides on an asphalt field. It had potential as a fine amusement park but that day it was mostly empty in the heat of midweek. I looked around with a critical eye like an investor. Commuter train track just outside the parking lot, nearby pond, good size for boats, ski jets etc. Good location. Wooded park overlooking the place, close to town. "If you build a premiere roller coaster they will come." I heard in my head. The staff of teenagers fresh out of high school looked bored and hot as I tried out the go-carts and small roller coaster.

Tired from the heat I stop by the apartment for a cool shower and decide on dinner. I wisely let the bus transport me and the bike into town. I went in search of a restaurant I had gone to once before. "Sushi Takahashi", oh I love sushi. [this restaurant is no longer there alas].

The place proved to be crowded and warm as the air conditioner couldn't keep up. It had once been a seafood place as the decor, cartoony fish and ocean waves painted on the walls indicated. Now a long sushi bar with stools filled the middle of the vast room. Instead of a conveyer belt or a channel of water with little boats, ( my favorite cheesy motif) to bring out the food, there was a -train. Two engines, larger than O gauge, with twenty flat cars chugged around carrying plates of rolls and sashimi. The chefs, none of them Japanese, were young punker types wearing engineers caps and kerchiefs and the well tattooed waitresses completed the cultural collision to mind fuck proportions. Every time the little engine came around I half expected to see Jon Voight strapped to the front of the yellow engine like the Film "Run away Train" Thank god the food was worth the wait.

I had time to make a cursory visit to Powell's books before heading down to the train station for the trip home. Next time I go the day after my period ends and when it's cooler.