I’ve been noticing lately that the number of cats “accidentally”
strolling into Zoom calls has skyrocketed.
No doubt this on-purpose accident is to further their
agenda.
Once again, cats assert their internet dominance.
Stoke!
I’ve been noticing lately that the number of cats “accidentally”
strolling into Zoom calls has skyrocketed.
No doubt this on-purpose accident is to further their
agenda.
Once again, cats assert their internet dominance.
Stoke!
Today I set a personal record and attended two protests. Perhaps
this level of involvement is the new normal – I sincerely hope not.
The first was outside the post office in Hillsboro, an
action calling for strengthening and supporting the post office so we can have
a safe and fair election in November.
The action was sponsored by Moms Demand Action Against Gun
Violence and was well attended by middle-aged women and senior citizens. Most
drivers honked as they passed, showing support, and throwing a wave or two.
Only a few Trump supporters drove past.
The next protest was to counter a rally by white nationalist
in downtown Portland.
As soon as I arrived the violence started. Water bottles
began to be hurled from side to side, with lines like a medieval battle with
shield walls and helmeted warriors. I saw a skirmish and saw what looked like a
stream of water arc out from the crowd with MAGA hats, black and white American
flags, and Blue Lives Matter signs. By the time I figured out what it was, the
pepper spray had drifted the twenty yards and my eyes, nose, throat, lungs were
on fire.
I immediately retreated to the back to clear my head.
When I returned, the white nationalists were retreating
while being heckled by anti-racists with megaphones and a drum corp.
Soon the Portland police became involved, throwing flash-bang
grenades and setting up their own lines of defense. They announced that the assembly
had become unlawful and those who refused to disperse were in danger of injury
or arrest
I followed the drummers up a side street only to encounter a
cloud of tear gas. I had not brought a respirator, not believing a protest occurring
in the middle of the day would deteriorate to a riot. Live and learn.
I beat a hasty retreat, believing everybody had got what
they wanted from the day’s activity.
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The Racists carried guns, both long and pistols. Above, a man points a pistol, apparently displeased those assembled did not honor his white privilege. |
Since the protests began 85 days ago, I have been filled
with revolutionary zeal that our system of public safety and law enforcement
needed dramatic change. Although this thought is still forefront, the length
and ambiguity of night after night of protest is beginning to worry me.
Local Black leaders have called on the most extreme
protesters to focus on Black Lives Matter issues and avoid confrontations – to no
avail.
I worry that the momentum the activism this summer has
brought will be squandered and the public will demand that the police get even
more money because it is clear that no matter how awful they are the
alternative is worse.
I enjoy summer. I have activities I like to do. I like the
heat, the sweat, the possibilities.
When the middle of August rolls around I am reminded that
the clock is ticking and the last hot day, session on the river, bike ride in
only Lycra, may be at hand.
I stubbed my toe wading in the river a few days ago – a minor
injury – but one so painful it brought a limp to my walk.
I’ve since learned that riding a bike is fine. I suspect the
toe will be improved in a few days and I just need to chill out.
Considering the mayhem of recent weeks/months, I count my blessings
and am grateful for having been able to get outside a bit.
I’m going to ice the toe down and figure I’ll tape it up in
a few days if the wind blows strong.
Scary to think what happens outside of the 10-foot perimeter. |
Today is the 79th day of protests in Portland. Every night and most days since May 28th have seen some sort of Black Lives Matter gathering.
Humans, being adaptive creatures, can get used to just about
anything, even a civic culture of tear gas and clashes with police. This tendency
to adapt explains why we slowly became acculturated to a militarized police force
and ignored police violence against minorities.
Now the public is getting accustomed to on-going protest and
the counter-culture is becoming mainstream, so the snark is starting in
earnest.
The pizzeria gets in on the action. |
From Wikipedia:
In The Conquest of Bread, Peter Kropotkin (1842-1921)
points out what he considers to be the defects of the economic systems of
feudalism and capitalism and why he believes they thrive on and maintain
poverty and scarcity. He goes on to propose a more decentralized economic
system based on mutual aid and voluntary cooperation, asserting that the
tendencies for this kind of organization already exist, both in evolution and
in human society.
The Conquest of Bread has become a classic of political
anarchist literature. It was heavily influential on both the Spanish Civil War
and the Occupy movement.
In high school and college, I liked music. Loud.
I had big speakers, which may or may not have produced good
fidelity. But they were able to play music at a high volume.
Parts of that initial stereo accompanied me to foreign
sojourns, and back again to the States. When we bought our first home in 2002, I
still had the idea that a big stereo would soon grace our abode. In the meantime,
I used my ancient receiver and a small, cheap pair of speakers.
We bought another house in 2006, this one had a fancy sound
system left in it. Double cassette deck, turntable CD player, amplifier, pre-amplifier,
audiophile speakers, and a switching box to port the sound over wires to
different parts of the house.
As the years wore on each component broke in turn. In 2011 I
tried to repair the speakers and amplifier, getting rid of the cassette deck
and CD player. By this time, I was plugging various devices into the amplifier
to play music that was stored in electronic formats.
A few years later the speakers, with their beautiful cabinetry,
were stands for drinks and a Bluetooth speaker, which sounded really good playing
my music stored in the cloud. I admit my ear isn’t sensitive to the nuances of
recorded music, the convenience of the set-up outweighing any devotion to
puritanical snobbery.
All the wires and speakers in the house, and other stereo
gear, became just anthropological oddities.
I listen to music almost daily when I work at my desktop
computer, a small sound bar fills the room just fine with music that has enough
fidelity for my tin ear.
And on those days when I want to wake the household with
some inspiration, it gets loud enough.