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If by any chance you are a local reader, or perhaps you are just plain in support of better passenger rail service as a good principle, please go to the Iowa City Chamber of Commerce website and fill out their online support form.

 

S.K.

 

This morning on the Today Show I heard NBC’s political analyst Chuck Todd suggest that Barack Obama’s laughing incident on Sunday’s 60 Minutes was a consequence of the president’s fatigue. IN short: when asked on the CBS news program last evening about the economy the president did some extended chuckling as he framed his answers–so much chuckling that Steve Kroft of CBS asked the president to explain himself.

The president dutifully said that he didn’t think the economic state of the nation was funny but added that sometimes one has to see the dark humor in a bad situation. (The paraphrase is mine.)

“Well,” I thought. “If I ain’t a horn swoggled Deja-Vu Voulez Vous–I mean, what the heck–I mean didn’t we just get rid of a smirking sub-Cartesian-ding-Dong? I mean, weren’t we bargaining for big C Change?”

“What is it?” I asked just out loud enough that my dog looked up. “Is it the drinking water at 1600Pennsylvania Avenue? Do presidents move in, unpack their boy-toys, drink a glass of water and turn into Schmucks? Did the CIA engineer this back in 1960?    (I know of no particular incident where J.F.K. laughed at the nation’s problems but he “did” bring Thumper and Bambi onto the premises for sexual hijinks in the White House swimming pool–an activity that requires some serious smirking. 

Personally I don’t care if the president is tired. That’s what we elected him to be: tired. Tired beyond any routine level of human suspension. I want the man to be tired and serious. I want him to be serious as a Special Olympian. Serious as an Iowa farmer. Serious as all the people who are frightened out of their frigging wits because has anyone noticed–there are no jobs in Michigan?

Last night’s interview on CBS may have done the White House a whole lot of damage. CNN has a headline today: “First 100 days gone in 60minutes”. That may well be far fetched but perception is nine tenths of public relations and getting good will “back” in Washington or with the Washington “bubble” media is very hard to do.

S.K.

 

Advocates: ‘Atalissa Needs To Bring Change’
(Des Moines Register)
March 20, 2009

Excerpt from The Inclusion Daily Express
ATALISSA, IOWA– [Excerpt] The Atalissa scandal must serve as a catalyst for overhauling the way Iowa protects the mentally disabled, parents and advocates told a state task force on Friday.

The committee was formed last month by Gov. Chet Culver in response to disclosures that dozens of mentally retarded men had been working for several decades in a West Liberty turkey-processing plant for as little as 44 cents an hour, plus room and board.

The task force is looking at ways to close the gaps in Iowa’s regulatory system and strengthen state laws dealing with unlicensed care centers that house the disabled.

Geoffrey Lauer, executive director of the Brain Injury Association of Iowa, urged the task force to use the opportunity created by the public’s outrage over Atalissa.

“Please, do not squander this gift. Do not turn away from this opportunity to boldly and publicly declare our system of service as one that has been, and is, stuck in an outdated and broken model of thinking and serving.”

Entire article:
‘Atalissa needs to bring change’
http://www.inclusiondaily.com/news/2009/red/0320f.htm

Some Atalissa men malnourished (Des Moines Register)
http://www.inclusiondaily.com/news/2009/red/0320e.htm
Atalissa: Feds saw no need for fines at bunkhouse (Des Moines Register)
http://www.inclusiondaily.com/news/2009/red/0320d.htm

 

We have received an invitation to read a post over at “A Dog’s-Eye View”

The visit is well worth it if you’re interested in knowing what legal blindness feels like.

Our favorite line:

“I come from a place where
taking in even the slightest glimpse of something is immensely gratifying, and a good view is never taken for granted.”

 

S.K.

Its a worn observation that on occasion people can learn more with their eyes shut but Ye Olde Bromide is warranted when the biology class doesn’t seem to be learning.  

Right about now if I had my way I’d have our elected officials in Washington slow down and if that meant asking them to wear blindfolds or struggle through the service entrances of badly designed buildings while using wheelchairs so much the better. (I don’t believe in “Try Disability On for a Day” sensitivity exorcizes and I don’t favor disabling vengeance fantasies but if having to work with accommodations made the politicians have to think for themselves, well I’d be for it.)

Not long ago I told a friend who has deep pockets and a clear head that I felt President Obama’s job at hand is to prevent the United States from becoming a third world country. We weren’t having an argument but we were feeling around the issues–I was for the president’s economic stimulus plan and my friend had serious doubts about the enterprise. I said a third world nation was one where the government and the people were so entirely in debt to the rest of the world that they no longer had any say about how they could spend moneyor what crops they could grow. I think I also said something about crumbling roads and bridges.

The spectacle of last week’s televised capitol hill outrage over the AIG bonuses tells me that the legislature is going to be unable to dissect the frog. Every minute of every day that our leaders are not putting their full attention to restoring the flow of capital and creating a renewed climate for investment is time wasted and I think this country has very little time.

In my view the three most impressive politicians in the United States other than the president are Governor Schwarzeneggerof California, Governor Rendell of Pennsylvania, and Mayor Bloomberg of New York City all of whom insist that we must tackle the erosion of the nation’s infrastructure if we’re to have an economic future.

Still I couldn’t help but feel today as I watched these men on Meet the Press that despite their collective argument that serious investments in rebuilding the U.S. are critical to our survival our Senators and Representatives in Washington are not up to the job.

Thomas L. Friedman’s OpED column in today’s New York Times is incisive about the evident crisis in our political focus. I was hooked by his opening lines:

“I ran into an Indian businessman friend last week and he said something to me that really struck a chord: “This is the first time I’ve ever visited the United States when I feel like you’re acting like an immature democracy.””

To this Friedman adds:

“You know what he meant: We’re in a once-a-century financial crisis, and yet we’ve actually descended into politics worse than usual. There don’t seem to be any adults at the top — nobody acting larger than the moment, nobody being impelled by anything deeper than the last news cycle. Instead, Congress is slapping together punitive tax laws overnight like some Banana Republic, our president is getting in trouble cracking jokes on Jay Leno comparing his bowling skills to a Special Olympian, and the opposition party is behaving as if its only priority is to deflate President Obama’s popularity.”

 

Friedman goes on to say that the president missed a teaching moment last week by not having a fireside chat with the nation in which he would have shared with the country the full measure of our current economic crisis and I agree in part but I would add that no one knows the full dimensions of the crisis and in the absence of all the facts Barack Obama is not likely to risk looking like Jimmy Carter–that is, you can’t lead with merely the appearance of seriousness you have to have substantive policy at your fingertips.

I thought it was a good sign when Obama met with Governors Schwarzenegger, Rendell, and Mayor Bloomberg last week–I took this as the week’s most substantive story. And now in the spirit of Thomas Friedman’s advice it is time for the president to lead with what he knows. We’re in the fight of our lives.And yes we may have to throw more money at  the banking and insurance systems before all is said and done. But we need to do this with a sense that every penny is accounted for, a matter that even revisionist types can’t take away from F.D.R.. Say what you will Americans didn’t lose money on the New Deal.

 

S.K.

Here’s a nugget from St. Augustine’s Confessions:

“Conloqui et conridere et vicissim benevole obsequi, simul leger libros dulciloquos, simul nugari et simul honestari .” (“Conversations and jokes together, mutual rendering of good services, the reading together of sweetly phrased books, the sharing of nonsense and mutual attentions,”)

In that passage Augustine captures all of what a writing workshop is about if its of any use–for the imagination requires nonsense, sweet phrasings, occasional conviviality (though perhaps not too much?) and yes, the good services of others.

“Good services”is a fine term. I must now tell a writer that his story is littered with cliches and that by turns he’s not the master of the language’s tone. The poor fellow felt fine about his material and now I’m telling him to feel otherwise.

If the teacher of a workshop and the workshop’s participants (notice I don’t use the word students–students take orders; writers are mixing it up with aesthetics–a different thing altogether.) –if the teacher is any good she or he tries out some suggestions and doses the matter with high or low comedy. Comedy says we’re in this together. Tragedy is the demonstration of ostracism and its the thing you want if you’re orchestrating a mythology but its useless as a workshop principle. 

So we’re in this together. We are going to levitate the cliches right out of this story the way Alan Ginsburg once attempted with about 100 other convivialists to levitate the Pentagon. Of course a good workshop has only 10 or 12 convivialists but the levitation doesn’t require more than that. 

A writing workshop is not the place for therapy or affirmation of desire or a massage but neither is it a place for excoriation or pedestal climbing.

The worst participants are those who want something of the above and the worst teachers are those who want to wave from a considerable height. Such teachers are among us and they’re invariably second rate though they are finalists for the Pulitzer or invitees to a Washington reception none of which means they can teacha workshop. There’s no room for a crystal throne in a good workshop.    

“Conloqui et conridere et vicissim benevole obsequi…”

Out you damned cliches! We shall substitute wormwood and the minty reeds of Lake Lentini. A cloud shaped like a spider. Victory tailed swallows. Dead leaves blown about in a Russian dance. Anything other than the word “awesome” okay?

 

 

S.K.

 

Logan Magazine: Spokane Woman Finds Niche In Publishing
(Spokesman-Review)
March 19, 2009

Excerpt provided by The Inclusion Daily Express.

 
SPOKANE, WASHINGTON– [Excerpt] In the fall of 2006, Logan Olson became a publisher, and a young one at that.

She was 21 when the first edition of Logan Magazine hit the stands. Producing a glossy magazine four times a year is a big job for anyone, yet Olson had mainly one person on her staff: her mom, Laurie. Neither had any publishing or professional writing background, and there were many times they found themselves overwhelmed by the decisions they had to make.

“We thought we were just going to do a magazine for Spokane,” Laurie Olson said. “But now it’s going national and we’re hearing from people from all over the country, all over the world. We never thought that would happen.”

Perhaps what’s most amazing about their publishing success is that Logan Olson is living with a brain injury, which makes it a little difficult for her to talk and type.

“It’s awesome that we have the magazine,” Logan Olson said. “We are having a blast with it.”

Entire article:
Spokane woman finds niche in publishing
http://www.inclusiondaily.com/news/2009/red/0319b.htm
Related:
Logan Magazine
http://www.loganmagazine.com

 

S.K.

Like most people with disabilities who find that their lives are not circumscribed by their physical bodies I discover myself itching every now and then to just go somewhere for the sheer hell of it. Its as though one of William Blake’s babyhood angels touches me: invisible fingers stroke my hair and I decide for no apparent reason to hit the road. I went once to the Aland islands midway between Finland and Sweden in just this way. I went with only a small rucksack filled with books and a guitar slung over my shoulder.

The next thing I knew I was sitting beside a Viking grave and singing Jim Morrison songs and a little ditty by Federico Garcia Lorca and I was splendidly alone. For me “getting away” has something to do with this desire to be by myself.

I’ve been giving this some thought because Lance Mannion has a superb post about Paul Theroux and travel writing and Lance makes some important points and one of them is that Paul Theroux didn’t do all that travelling to widen his character, he did it because his character was already opened and the art of travel has then to do with discernments both about others and about the self–what we really can call apprehensions of culture which always depend on opposition and similitudes. I am like this and not like that; I am furthered by this experience and not that one.

Traveling I learn that I’m at my best when alone. Sighted people say things to me like: “How can you bear being by yourself when you can’t see so good?” To this my answer is invariably: “Why is the joy of being a bit lost any different for the blind?” People are afraid to travel with no itinerary and they don’t like to lose their ways. I like both of these things and as I’ve mentioned already I like being solo.  

Here is a poem from my book in progress “Mornings with Borges” that I think captures something of this attraction for solitary disorientation.

 

Invisible Cities, Redux

Italo Calvino has invisible cities and I recommend them. What could be better than traveling the universe and finding extraterrestrial versions of Venice?

I go out in the early morning rain in Galway, Ireland and tap the cobblestones with my white stick.

Immediately I get lost.

On my left there is a river.

On my right there is a window shutter making a kind of funereal percussion.

“Songs of the Earth,” I think.

I am not unique.

I stand beneath the shutter and weep.

I love this world.

I am alone in a new city.

if I died here beside the river and the window maybe everything I’ve known would make sense in the gray of an Irish minute.

“Good-bye to the peregrine falcons,” I think.

Good-bye to the glass of water that contains a single day lily.

Farewell to Mahler on the radio late at night.

Don’t get me wrong.

I get lost in cities every week.

I have learned much by following, blindly, the whims of architects.

 

**

I like to think that being lost is what calls forward the material that’s in my subconscious: Mahler on the radio; peregrine falcons; a day lily; and weren’t these things always there and weren’t they waiting for me to feel sufficiently delicate to hear them?

 

S.K. 

Our friend Valerie Kampmeier writes: 

I thought you might be interested in the following: one of my favorite BBC radio broadcasters, Peter White, who has been blind from birth, and is a total delight to listen to, recently entered a competition organized by the BBC for their annual charity fund raising day “Red Nose Day”. It’s to raise funds for all kinds of causes at home and abroad. He competed against three other seasoned broadcasters to do five minutes of stand-up comedy. They were all surprisingly good (having never attempted it before) but he carried off the prize. Here’s the link if you’d like to hear him and the others:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/comedy/standupwiththestars.shtml

 

Enjoy!

 

S.K.

So a friend told me a hilarious story that I can’t repeat because its his story and he will doubtless write it but it involved childhood humiliation and turds. Listening to him tell it I had to lie down on the floor. I was preparing to meet my maker. I was thinkinghow in my first moments in Heaven I would have to explain that it was the word “poop” that killed me. I was thinking that everyone in Heaven would admit they also died of scatological shock. And yes the very thought made me happy. Lordy!Isn’t it great that dung is still funny? Isn’t it marvelous to contemplate an afterlife that’s sparked by a vast, collective shit hemorrhage?

I think this is a cheerful thought. What’s the opposite of entropy? Shit. What’s the opposite of situational depression? Shit. When my maternal grandfather died and our family was picking out his casket my uncle Mert tracked dog shit all over the funeral home up and down streaking the Persian carpets and the runners on the stairs and while the funeral director was declaiming the advantages of “the Conquistador–the coffin that conquers death”–well, seeing those blobs of shit all over the place caused first one of us and then all of us to break down laughing. And then the funeral director said: “No one has ever laughed in here before”but he said it with the neutrality of someone born without a medulla and therefore we laughed all the harder. Sweet Christ on a crutch! We had to get out of there.

I think rubber shit is funny. I think Freud was right about shit–its the same thing as money. I think its funny to think about astronauts and shit. I think the cuneiform mystic  shit that follows the circus has instructions in it about how to arrive at the pearly gates. I feel better just thinking about this. Ain’t caca grand?

 

S.K.