Rod Amis - Unbound

PHOENIX, AZ, USA - 3 October, 2004: The ancient Hellenists, Greco-Romans, made it a practice -- covering their, ehm -- bases, we'd call it now -- to erect a temple or shrine to "the unknown god." I have felt myself faced with this same predicament during this hejira, this soul-journey, of mine. I shall explain this as we proceed. The short of it is that my agnostic heart, my belief that we are not equipped to comprehend divinity, won't allow me to accept an anthropomorphism or a personification of the great power behind life. This is just one of my personal barriers to the religious community; there are many.

Students of the ancient Hebrews have noted that at the beginning of their accepting their one god, it was a very personal initiative. The first appearance of the one god for the Jews was as "the god of Abraham." So it went for years; God was defined as being involved in a personal relationship with an individual; "the god of Isaac, the god of Jacob, etc." Jacob had God but nowhere do we find the reference to "the god of Esau," though they must have accepted the same faith in the personal god of their father. This presents an analytical mind like my own with as many questions about Judaism as answers. As to Christianity, there is the secret key of accepting that Jesus of Nazareth was the son of God; it is the only way "in", Christians make clear, and that's an awesome mental and philosophical leap --- when you give it any thought.

I address the two traditions which have most influenced my own country's culture but I could easily go on and on with this catalogue. There are objectionable, to my thinking, or simply fantastical aspects of any of the spiritual choices with which we are most often presented.

Why am I beginning my journal entry here? Why these issues? Because, in my extremity here in Phoenix, facing a betrayal of trust, I felt it was time to make a deal. I turned to "God," Providence, whatever and said, "Okay, I've exhausted my own efforts here, Old Man. I'll make you a deal: you help me navigate a way out of this disaster and I'll devote some part of every week to looking for you as both a demonstration of respect and a means of showing my gratitude. I'll give you, who or whatever you are, your due.

"Get me out of this and I'll start by going to a church. I'll give it another shot."

I like to keep my promises.

So today I went to St. Francis Xavier in downtown Phoenix. Being there, I was confronted with those barriers to Christianity I mention above. So this will be a difficult chapter of the soul-journey, my love. I mean to keep with it, of course, having been given my new digs here in the barrio, rather than being forced to sleep in the YMCA or the park near my job (all explained below,) and a deal is a deal ...

IN ANSWER TO YOUR QUESTION: I chose a Catholic church because I'm a purist. I'll always go for the closest proximity to the source I can find.

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29 September, 2004: I learn this morning, through our newsfeed from WorldPress.org (see cover,) that yesterday British Prime Minister Tony Blair admitted that the dossier on Iraq's weapons of mass destruction had been wrong. He made that admission, and an apology to the British people, at the Labour Party conference in Brighton. Mr. Blair said that he had to "tackle this issue head-on," as he prepares for Labour to seek its third term in government. The report I read, from The Scotsman, appeared this day before the U.S. Presidential debate.

I shall not be surprised in the least if Mr. Bush's camp seeks to ignore, perhaps even refute, Mr. Blair's announcement.

In Britain, the populace is upset about the loss of 68 soldiers; in America, the Bush Administration tells us that we should be sanguine after the deaths of over a thousand and counting.

Thinking about these facts as I ride the bus to work at my low-paying job, my stomach acidic from the morning tankards of coffee and the worry as to whether I shall be moving to the YMCA on Friday -- thinking about all the evidences in my country that life is cheap -- I am also made to think of one news clip of Mr. Bush.

In the clip that springs to my mind, Mr. Bush is opening a speech, standing behind the podium in a tuxedo he says, "It's good to be here tonight among the Haves and the Have-Mores ---" [Smirk.] " --- or as I like to call you, 'My Base.'"

Whenever I think about that clip, I become angry.

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I find it ironic that I must contemplate moving into the YMCA (Young Men's Christian Association residential facility) while living in a city with a demonstrable housing glut and being employed at a real estate agency.

Yesterday, I made an attempt to land a job as an on-site property manager for one of our office's clients, an absentee landlord in town for the day from San Diego. I got the sense that she had acquired the property virutally site unseen, that it was her first investment property and that she had had no idea, at the time of purchase, about the extremely competitive market for rental housing here in Phoenix. She seemed a bit overwhelmed. So I was not surprised when I did not hear back from her last night, as had been appointed.

It was not politic, under the circumstances, to share with her my own sense of urgency about securing the job and the concomitant apartment. So today my stomach is roiling.

I can hope to hear from her still; I can call the Y; I can pack.

"What about Doug?" you are probably inclined to ask, my love. "Didn't he convince you to move out there? Didn't he promise you a soft landing, a place to stay, a job?"

And I reply, What about him? As I've intimated, nothing he promises ever materializes. I have found it a more successful strategy to simply disregard his version of the truth -- it never pans out.

So, not unexpectedly, though Doug also has to move in two days, he has not collected boxes or begun to pack. He has encouraged Jaimie, his girlfriend, and I to look for apartments in which he can live. In short, he waits for something to fall into his lap based on the efforts of others.

I actually arranged a series of appointments for us to look at apartment, after I got off work, last Friday. Doug reneged on the proffered ride(s) to these locations, choosing to party with Jaimie instead, and leaving me high and dry. He announced to me that he had changed his plan and that he and Jaimie would be getting a place together.

He did not continue to say that I was on my own. He did not bother to wish me good luck.

Yesterday, after I returned from my meeting to discuss the property management position, Doug confided that he was not confident that Jaimie would secure an apartment they could share and suggested that he would be willing to be my roommate should I get the property manager job.

I listened. I did not speak...

I sat down with my employer at the end of the day today and explained to him my predicament as, since staying at the YMCA seems nearly inevitable, I need his permission to store Victoria, my Memory Machine, at the office. It would be foolhardy to do otherwise.

30 September, 2004: As the old folks say, it (my Fate) is in God's hands now. I have made a deal with the Almighty that if I miraculously escape the worst outcomes that this path seems to be leading toward, I shall devote part of each week to completing the spiritual search that has been part of this hejira.

I make my journey to work with divergent thoughts racing through my head and my stomach raw.

One good thing has happened. "Van Helsing," my old and dear friend in northern California, has surprised me by sending more money. He figured I would need it now that I must move on my own. I immediately went out and bought meat to go with my beans -- meat being a luxury in my diet these past months -- peanuts, which have become a staple for me and a bottle of wine.

The plan is to live as though life were better tonight, because tomorrow we must be out of this apartment. I have no place to go. It's either the park or the Y. So I pray that the YMCA will have a vacancy when I call them tomorrow.

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Doug materialized last evening as I was cooking my dinner and sipping wine. He wanted to know if I'd heard from the woman in San Diego, he asked about my plans. He suggested that we move together to some undetermined place. He says that things would be "easier" for him if I no longer mention Jaimi in these journal entries. I comment that I'm amused by the fact that anyone would object to the little I observe about them here. After all, it is not as though I've made a secret of the fact that everything that occurs in/with/to my life is open to the scrutiny of the world.

Satisfied that he had gleaned the information he sought and delivered the directive to me, Doug takes off for Jaimie's, informing me that we'll look for apartments on the morrow.

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I suspect this is my last bus ride downtown through the mountain pass that is SR51 going from Scottsdale into Phoenix. The beige, brown and slate of the rocky spine should have been described in this column before now. My mind has been too busy; my life has been too much a stroll along a high wire looking down, only when I dare, at a certain annihilation if I lose balance for an instant. There is no safety net. The only two people I know here would say it was merely a cosmic joke that I had broken my bones and perished in the fall. They would deny that it was death.

"It is merely a myth-appropriation of matter," would fall blithely from their lips.

That is how I feel and think today on my long bus ride to work ...

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5 October, 2004: There were only a few things I knew for certain when I clocked out of work on the last Thursday of September:

1. I would get paid by my boss.
2. John Kerry and George Bush would stage a debate in Florida and maybe I'd catch a few highlights.
3. It would be the last night I could sleep in the apartment in Scottsdale.

Doug had telephoned me at work and said that he would go looking for apartments between noon and three o'clock. He would be at my office at three, he told me, so that we could look at and secure a place.

He actually did arrive at my office at three. He hadn't spent any time trying to find an apartment though. There had been more drama with his girlfriend instead and then a frantic lurch of doing some editing work for one of her clients in order to get together money so that he could contribute to the move.

Well and good. I had ideas of my own. I had money in my pocket. I would devote a few hours to looking for a place with him but not my entire evening. I had already called the YMCA and knew I could go there if necessary.

He wanted to show me a place that offered weekly rentals. I was categorically opposed to this notion and had told him so once before. My reason was straight-forward: you pay more in that type of temporary arrangement than you ever would for a "real" apartment AND it eats away any money you might have saved for the latter.

So, after looking at the type of place I'd love to live -- a referral we got from a shady broker -- but simply can't afford, I suggested that we go to a place I'd made an appointment with the week prior and was almost certain could be had in spite of our meagre resources. I had spoken with a woman named Maria almost two weeks prior. Everything sounded to fit our straits. I knew I could get the apartment in my name and afford to hold it if Doug followed his usual oblivious route as regards commitments. It would be tough on me at first but hadn't everything been with this gentleman thus far?

When we went there and I reiterated to Maria that my credit was shot, awful, horrific, she said: "I don't need a credit application. We already talked about your situation, Rod. You can rebuild your credit rating here." AND our first month's rent would be free, she concluded.

Doug was aghast. I said, "I told so."

I had been particularly keen on this place because it catered to Latinos. If any group of people in America know how to get by being entrepreneurial, making ends meet and understanding the life of the refugee -- nearly the definition of my own life, as I've mentioned, Luv -- its Latinos. I also believed and believe that only people who have been deprived have the inclination toward compassion; most others just give it lip service.

(It has been my experience that other people who are struggling are more willing to offer you a helping hand that people who are feeling well-off. People who are doing well tend to be callous, even disdainful, about the suffering of others.)

So, it was nearly certain that we would move into the barrio when we left the apartment complex. Nearly all of our new neighbors would speak Spanish rather than English but we would still have a roof over our heads. I thanked God for having let me made that contact and finally convincing Doug to give me a ride there.

I did not make the decision and pay the deposit that night. I was tired from work, tired of running around town and wanted to watch the debate. My only trepidation about the lease was that I would be saddled with it and the rent for a two bedroom apartment that was more expensive than the monthly income from my new job should Doug renege on yet another commitment. I weighed that risk against adding some stability to my life here, the prospect of picking up freelance work and other Web design projects (one for an agent in the office where I work) and decided that I needed to take a chance.

I also hoped that, this once, Doug would do the right thing as regards a promise. I still bet on long shots.

You will say, "Gee, that's a long slide from 'thirty thousand a year and a new laptop'! It sounds like another hand of lousy cards."

And I must respond: I have just experienced the miraculous. I have a decent job doing things I like -- even if it is low-paying and only part-time right now. I have the chance to pick up a new Web design project from one of the people who works there. I managed to land my own place. I'm making lemonade, Baby.

NEWS TO ROD

6 October, 2004: Part of the move entailed losing Internet access for a few days. Fortunately for me, we have a wireless network at my Day Job and my boss was changing his Internet Service Provider (ISP), needed all his files downloaded and his Web site updated (one of the reasons he hired me.) My pal Scott Salin used to chide me about "giving away fire" because of the discount rates I give friends for designing their Web sites. If he knew what I was being paid for what I'm doing now ... Well, like I say, it's part of the price of ticket.

I don't doubt that I'm the lowest paid experienced Web designer in America.

I'll admit that fact demoralizes me. I cut corners. I'm not inclined to stretch at all any longer.

I drag Victoria to work with me to do the Internet part of the job because it allows me to download my e-mail before I clock in and then upload my responses the following day. It's like communicating from the moon.

So here, my little love, are some of the things that have been slipped over my transom this past week, for your consideration:

ITEM ONE: One of the things that has always enamored me to the Internet is its immediacy. When I was afforded the opportunity of being jacked in practically "24 and 7" it was often like being in the same room with the people around the world with whom I regularly communicate. Here's an example, that came in 26 September as hurricane Frances passed through Florida:

Subject: We're Still Here

The storm didn't take the expected NW [northwest] turn on time, so it is on our doorstep as "only" a cat 1. Pretty damn windy out.

Our stomping grounds of Melbourne got whammed again per the net and TV. Local stations have been in full news mode since yesterday afternoon. Lots of cool tech toys they are using now. They can actually enlarge the radar pics and click to get wind speeds in specific areas.

Wife feeds the wild birds. Always has lots of doves around. About 8 are riding out the storm in the low branches of our front yard tangerine tree. (Is sheltered somewhat by the house)

INTERRUPTED power went out as I was typing this, so lost modem.

Lost power at 11:45; got it back at 3:35. Am amazed at that. Understand there's 1 million without power in Pinellas and Hillsborough counties. (That's St Pete/Clearwater and Tampa areas)

Still blowing hard and POURING. Should dimish eventually since the storm is now north of us and moving away.

dc

ITEM TWO: A few days ago, I was forwarded a copy of an editorial by Simon Coss, Editor of Expatica that appeared in the International Herald Tribune. The piece centered around the derisive mirth aroused by Belgian Foreign Minister Karel De Gucht's criticism of George W. Bush's speech before the United Nations defending his own Iraq policy.

Mr Coss had this to say, in part:

... although it may be lacking in the firepower department, the rest of the world is actually a pretty big place.

So big in fact that most of the people on this planet live there.

There are an estimated six billion human beings in the world today of whom just over 293 million are United States citizens.

Now I am no maths genius, but I think that if you do the sums it's pretty clear that by a rather long chalk the majority of the world's inhabitants are not American.

And what is increasingly clear is that when it comes to issues like Iraq an awful lot of these people seem to be nearer to De Gucht's take on the situation than Bush's.

When, for example, the Belgian Foreign Min ister said that "for Europeans his declarations appear to show he is not living on the same planet," he was echoing the views of very large number of souls who live well beyond the borders of his own small country.

Indeed, from UN Secretary General Kofi Annan downwards, condemnations of Bush's policy in Iraq have come from all sides.

Of course the US is in the unique position of being able to ignore these comments totally and just keep on doing what it damn well pleases if it wants to.

No other state, or group of states, could or would ever dream of taking on the US head on.

They would be annihilated in seconds, and they know it.

But is that really the way the country that is the undisputed leader of the global pack wants to play it?

Sadly, Mr. Coss, the answer appears to be "Yes."

ITEM THREE: This e-mail, now circulating around the Internet, from Wall Street Journal reporter Farnaz Fassihi is devastating. When I read it, I forwarded to personal friends of mine with the opinion that it should be read by every conservative in America. It's so powerful that I would love to reprint it for you in its entirety, but that would violate the "fair use" rule. If you'd like to read the whole e-mail, send me an e-mail and I'll copy you in. Here's a snippet:

... Despite President Bush's rosy assessments, Iraq remains?a disaster. If under Saddam it was a 'potential' threat, under the Americans it has been transformed to 'imminent and active threat,' a foreign policy failure bound to haunt the United States for decades to come.

Iraqis like to call this mess 'the situation.'?When asked 'how are thing?' they reply: 'the situation is very bad."

What they mean by situation is this: the Iraqi government doesn't control most Iraqi cities, there are several car bombs going off each day around the country killing and injuring scores of innocent people,?the country's roads are becoming impassable and littered by hundreds?of landmines and explosive devices aimed to kill American soldiers,?there are assassinations, kidnappings and beheadings. The situation, basically, means a raging barbaric guerilla war. In four days, 110 people died and over 300 got injured in Baghdad alone. The numbers are so shocking that the ministry of health -- which was attempting an exercise of public transparency by releasing the numbers -- has now stopped disclosing them.

Insurgents now attack Americans 87 times a day.

And before I go, I have to share this, which did not come out in the first U.S. election debates, though I'm sure Mr. Bush and Mr. Cheney are aware of it:

... America's last hope for a quick exit? The Iraqi police and National Guard units we are spending billions of dollars to train. The cops are being murdered by the dozens every day-over 700 to date -- and the insurgents are infiltrating their ranks. The problem is so serious that the U.S. military has allocated $6 million dollars to buy out 30,000 cops they just trained to get rid of them quietly. ...

So this week, my love, that's the news to me.

THE GOD OF ROD

I watched the PBS documentary "The Journey of Man" last night and learned that there is a school of geneticists who believe that our DNA shows we are all -- every single human being on the planet -- are descents of the San bushmen who now live in Namibia. Not very incidentally, these people are superb and highly analytical hunters. You would expect those skills of a people who were confronted with surviving the Ice Age. In the film, he traces their migration, and that of their distant descendants, between 50,000 and 35,000 years ago, around the globe. He asserts that using the information of the Y chromosone, passed on by males, he can trace lineage back for over 2,000 generations. Through DNA testing in various parts of the world -- Australia, India, Kazahkstan, Siberia, the state of Arizona in the US -- he concludes that he has traced the path of this migration.

The eland is sacred to
the San of the Kalahari Desert

As a purist, mentioned during my opening 'graphs, it dawns on me that it would be important to know what these people believe about the nature of the divine. As a 'nethead, I can Google or Dogpile that question today and see where it leads me. Am I discounting the felicity or importance of subsequent revelations? No. Just checking.

As I say, I believe in getting as close to the source as possible. I guess that's the journalist in me.

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9 October, 2004: The eland is among the many animals whose shape /[symbol for the glottal click in the San language] Kaggen, one of the San gods and Creators, takes. He also takes the shape of hares, praying mantises and other creatures, among them men. /Kaggen can be wise or foolish, beneficent or mischievous in his dealing with humans. There are also gods of the East and West.

I don't believe I'll find what I am seeking among our progenitors. Their religion is that one would expect from a first people and, like ours, is based on their experience of the world -- in their case hunting in the bush -- and offers little that a modern would find deeply satisfying or justifiable.

Tomorrow I'll go looking again. Somewhere.

Keep me in your prayers, as I keep you in my own ...

Thanks for coming back this week.

THINGS I NEED THIS WEEK

1. A second job or a new Web design contract.

2. Local friends.

3. Yeah, a new girlfriend.

"Work like you don't need the money,
"Love like you've never been hurt,
"Dance like no one is watching ... "

Love,
Rod

ROD AMIS has published this magazine since 1990. It first appeared as a hardcopy 'Zine. In March, 1996, he launched it here on the Web. Rod was a Contributing Editor at Suite101.com, where he wrote the " 'Net Publishing" feature. His work has been featured in the San Francisco Bay Guardian Online, NRV8, and at WebLab's Reality Check site. Rod was also a contributing writer on technology for Faulkner Information Services. He wrote on Web issues for MethodFive.com's Hyper newsletter.

Rod was a columnist for the Andover News Network, where he wrote over two hundred articles on web design and development issues. He was also principal writer and Editor for IT Manager's Journal, where he reviewed technology issues weekly, producing 383 editorials. He became the Managing Editor for Electronic Mail/Newsletter Publications at Andover.net at the end of February, 2000, and left in September of the same year. He was a contributing writer for ACCESS magazine, which appeared both on- and offline for 10 million readers in 100 newspapers like the San Francisco Chronicle, New York Post, Boston Herald, Austin American-Statesman, Denver Post and Orlando Sentinel, among others. Rod was the US reporter for Silicon.com, a division of Network Multimedia Television in London, UK, reaching 3.5 million European readers, until May, 2001.

In 2002, he worked as Assistant to the General Manager of a Big Easy company that does restaurants and nightclubs. He did stints as the Resident Philosopher at three separate gin mills in that city in the French Quarter and the Marigny, earning his stripes during two successive Mardi Gras seasons. Oh yeah, Rod's had Day Jobs working construction. Mostly renovations of old New Orleans structures, houses and a bar. Somet imes he designs Web sites for other people so that he can get his creative juices flowing the way he can't at a staid publication like this one. And he's been the instructor in Editing for Internet Publications at the Novi Sad School of Journalism in Yugoslavia. Our Resident Philosopher is now looking for creative ways of re-inventing himself in the Valley of the Sun. He works during the day in a real estate office in downtown Phoenix and spends his nights dreaming of a better life. In his spare time, he chases women in the manner that a fly pursues a spider.

Rod plans publication of the first Glass House book before the end of the year and is already working on the second, sequel, manuscript.

He continues to be committed to integrity, chastity and a dose of humility.

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