Service.

After a whirlwind lame duck session for the 111th Congress, it appears as though gays will soon be able to serve openly in the military. I must emphasize the modifier “soon”, as it is not yet safe to make your sexual orientation known in the service, and it won’t be until the Administration and the Pentagon completes their review process. None the less, this was a long time coming, and I am glad for those in uniform for whom the repeal of DADT means a kind of liberation. DADT was implemented before we started asking way too much of our military – multiple deployments to multiple simultaneous occupations, heavy fighting over stretches of months at a time, high casualty rates, etc. – and it has simply outlived its mandate, in addition to being dead wrong from the start.

That’s all good, but it’s just a step in the right direction. Gay Americans are still second-class citizens, barred from full civil rights as of this moment. As of now, there is an institutional necessity to allow gays to join the military – with an all-volunteer force like ours, we cannot wage two (or perhaps three) simultaneous wars without providing incentives to talented people of every persuasion to participate. The trouble is, when they return to civilian life (those who don’t choose to make the military a permanent career), they find themselves unable to marry, to raise a family, or to hold certain types of positions in some states. Not a dissimilar situation to that of the late 1940s, early 1950s, when black soldiers returned to the segregated south and a nearly equally racist north. My guess is that it’s just a matter of time before the crumbling edifice of discrimination against gays falls entirely to pieces.

It is worth saying, too, that while we’re now legislatively bound to start welcoming gays into our military, we might want to take this opportunity to consider more carefully what we’re asking our military to do. Right now, we are involved in two indefensible conflicts. This is not the fault of those who serve – this is the fault of our policy makers and, by extension, us. It gives me little satisfaction to know that, while gays need no longer serve in fear of exposure and expulsion, they are still compelled to participate in conflicts that are killing thousands while making us decidedly less safe from attack.

If we’re asking people – gay and straight – to sacrifice, let’s make certain it’s for a damn good reason… one good enough that each of us would be willing to sacrifice in kind.

luv u,

jp

Lost in found.


That looks like my first pair of Chuck Taylors. Always wondered what happened to them. And there’s that bike that got stolen when I was twelve. And some pocket lint that looks very familiar.

Oh, hi, friends of Big Green. Glad this is getting out to you. WiFi is a little unreliable out here in the midst of the Kuiper Belt… all these particles and planetoids cause a boatload of interference, as you might well imagine. Yes, we did manage to navigate our way through the black hole that had parked itself next to that annoying Goldilocks Planet our label talked us into playing. (We now know why the Gliesians call the black hole “Papa Bear”). The advice we’d been given took us right into the old vortex. Turns out it’s just a transdimensional expressway back to the Kuiper Belt. Bit of good luck, that.

So, yeah… we’re here for the final leg of our somewhat anti-climactic ENTER THE MIND: THE ULTIMATE BIG GREEN EXPERIENCE interstellar tour 2010. Why anti-climactic? No climax… Why else? We’ve gone something like 60 gazillion miles in the last seven weeks and what the hell do we have to show, eh? No cash, no kudos, no nothing. Bloody flop.  Still, we’re indefatigable (except for the man-sized tuber, who hasn’t been out of his terrarium since three stops ago). So we’ve already spent a couple of days on Pluto, the big brass buckle of the Kuiper Belt, jamming out to a frozen house, making the icicles shake, rattle, and crack. (No rolling on Pluto. They have a code, you know.)

There are three things you need to know about this Kuiper Belt place. The first is that it’s bloody cold. I think you might have guessed. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has tanked out his battery half a dozen times since we got here. The second is that this place is like the solar system’s lost and found. Apparently everything that gets lost on Earth (and everywhere else in Sol’s neighborhood) ends up here. For instance, there are literally billions of odd socks floating around and between the asteroids. Explains a lot. That stuff they call “dark matter”? Socks. Just socks. I think it’s just centrifugal force, spinning everything out to the rim. Now you know.

The third thing is that… some of these venues are so small, it’s almost impossible to perform. Right now, I’m straddling two of these Kuiper Belt objects, my keys parked on a third, playing to an audience perched on dozens more within earshot. Keee-razy.

Dear Santa.

I’ve heard a kind of depressing story the last couple of days about a bureau of the Postal Service tasked with opening letters to Santa Claus. Here’s a somewhat strange version from NPR’s All Things Considered in which Robert Siegel tries to lighten things up with some lame quips. They’ve been finding that, this year, kids are tending less to ask for gaming consoles and the like than stuff like warm coats, shoes, etc. Just a hint of how rough people have it these days – a peek into the Dickensian hellscape inhabited by the millions upon millions of children (and their parents) living in poverty. Our top-down economy is literally killing hope before it even has the chance to learn how to express itself.

I’m not a practicing Christian, nor am I big on organized religion in general, but if there’s one thing valuable about the Christmas season it’s the sense of possibility it can engender in people – not so much the expectation of personal gain, but more the notion that things can be better, that in the midst of an unforgiving universe, we can be fair and decent to one another. So in a way these letters show that, even in the midst of an unrelenting consumer culture, these kids are more focused on those ideals than might be expected. So even though Santa may not be coming for many of them, they are very good little girls and boys indeed.

That’s not to say that Santa isn’t coming for anyone. Not a bit of it. Our nation’s millionaires and billionaires can now expect a little something extra in their Christmas stocking, like another yacht or a Lamborghini, perhaps. Yes, the tax compromise package has been passed by both houses of Congress and is on the way to Obama for his signature. That means low, low taxes for everybody, ludicrously low estate tax rates, and an untold bonanza for the richest 1% in general. Also… a pile of additional, non-investment debt to be paid off at some point uncertain, a significant undermining of the funding vehicle for Social Security, and a paltry 13-month extension to unemployment benefits.

And for those kids, maybe some second-hand shoes for mom. Jesus… this is why we suck.

luv u,

jp

Weird ass music since 1986