-> MY GLASS HOUSE
 BECOME A SPONSOR OF THE WORLD'S MAGAZINE.
WHY should you advertise here? We'll tell you.
VA INFORMATION and VETERANS' MORTGAGES 
|
Wooly Mammoth JOIN OUR MAILING LIST. It contains more jokes than not. G21 AFRICA G21 MIDEAST TRILOGY
G21 MIDEAST G21 MIDEAST G21 MIDEAST G21 POLLS MY GLASS HOUSE Happy Birthday, Mary. What happened to lunch ... and our bet? NEW YORK STATE SPECIAL SECTION
NEW YORK STATE NEW YORK STATE NEW YORK STATE NEW YORK STATE VOX POPULI RECOMMENDED DAILY REQUIREMENT ARCHIVES. MEMOIRS OF THE INFORMATION AGE ARCHIVES. LAST WEEK's EDITION MEET THE G-CREW! These are the people behind this jam-band every week. HOME TABLE OF CONTENTS & BACK ISSUES BECOME A SPONSOR OF THE WORLD'S MAGAZINE.
WHY should you advertise here? We'll tell you. We know you're lazy. Here's a button for a quick translation of this page. Just click on the flag for your country. You're welcome! OR TRY THIS GOOGLE TRANSLATION SERVICE. |
NEW ORLEANS - Perhaps we should begin with a dramatic entry, preparatory to an article I'm selling to multiple locations on poverty pimps like Louisiana ACORN -- and why I sympathize with rightwingers on this issue -- before getting to the meat of our usual and major concerns this Anniversary edition.
14 March, 2005Real niggaz don't die
ACORN
Attn: Beth Butler
Steve Bradberry
1024 Elysian Field Avenue
New Orleans, LA 70117Among the most abhorrent circumstances one encounters in life is the knowing lack of honor and the exercise of deception; I personally believe that these two widespread phenomena are the source of much of the cynicism in our society.
Far worse, and morally indefensible, is any organized attempt to prey upon the poor, the elderly, the disabled and the disadvantaged for financial or political gain. That is what I found at ACORN-New Orleans, smarmily masquerading as an effort to achieve "social justice."
Associating myself with such a deception was difficult enough; doing so based on a further deception is intolerable. I am left with no principled choice but to tender my resignation immediately.
Rod Amis
We retaliate with hate
and multiply -- Tupac .ROD'S HERESIES
Progressives in the United States would have been better served promoting a massive re-release of Monty Python's "Life of Brian" rather than supporting "Fahrenheit 9/11" in the 2004 election year. Ridicule is always more effective than mere facts.That a people who comprise only 5% of the world's population can blatantly waste 25% of its consumable resources -- with food waste at a rate of 50% -- while knowing that the vast majority of the world live in misery and suffering with the simple disclaimer, "Why should l care if it doesn't effect me personally?" is today's version of the"banality of evil" and should be remonstrated accordingly.
People so willing to emblazon their vehicles with "Question Authority" bumper stickers -- or, sans vehicle, ascribe to that slogan -- too often fail to realize that it is not authority itself that is questionable. By default, we all have an authority or authorities that inform our lives. It is authority in the hands of the rigid, the doctrinaire, the exploitive or the abusive that is our problem.
Herr Nietsche's aphorism's were as easily digestible as these "Heresies" are.The essential difference being that his were not true. As most thinking people have since realized, the fact that they could be equally applied by Nazis and nihilists says more about the nature of mein Herr's Zarathustra-isms that the mere fact that they were lacking in any bit of compassion and basically anti-social.
It should go without saying, but I fear that it does not, that Nietschism is most appealing to the adolescent mind which would accept that the Ubermensch (loosely and often translated as "Superman") is a lawless concept. Such people would have their children loosed into the wild to run with wolves. I suspect that Nietsche, to the contrary, would have had his own children live as comfortable and cloistered a life as he did himself. Therein lies the rub: real philosophy must past the test of the lives of real people living in an actual society.
As De Sade, surely one of the most challenging and erudite intellectuals of his own age -- and revolutionary, indeed -- represented the best of what the life of power and privilege could do to critique itself, Nietsche speaks well for the cloistered Ivory Tower but has no sense or comprehension of the man in or of the world.
While giving lip-service to the virtues and revolutionary nature of Christian philosophy, most thinkers have never attempted to analyze or attempt its application. Sadly, neither have most self-proclaimed Christians ... Perhaps the greatest evidence of this is that we now have established Christian churches and denominations. Both Jesus and Paul, the true founder of that faith, would have found this abominable.
With a few exceptions (and my personal icon Ambrose Bierce immediately comes to mind) none of us can remain entirely cynical. Hope peaks through the cloudcast of our disappointment with the way the world actually operates, now and again. For those instants, we become momentarily romantic again and it infuses us with the will to continue and to strive ... Without those peaking moments, we would gladly rush to the true destination of life's journey.
When you find Love, plans, nay! Goals, materialize in a wasteland ...
People who can ONLY get self-esteem from surrounding themselves with other people less fortunate or less socially adept than themselves have no self-esteem. You would think that would be evident, but it appears it is not ... If one can only look down or at one's self ... I don't have to complete this one, do I?
If you decide to look into the eyes of the World, if you dare, you will see a great deal of pain, oppression and inequity and you will also, and simultaneously, see that it is entirely unnecessary . You will see and understand that today, in 2005, there is no reason to tolerate hunger or illiteracy. If you dare look into the eyes of our World, you will see and repudiate selfishness in all of its forms -- and especially its most banal form: single selfishness. (I'm not the first philosopher to say this. So I am outraged that you, my little loves, manage to keep your ears tightly closed.)
The only way to have 'No Regrets" -- that macho shibboleth -- is to practice an enforced obliviousness to the swath you have made in the world as part of living. Regret is a healthy recognition of the damage we all do simply following the course of a regular human life. Its function is to give us some modicum of humility.
The beauty of aphorisms, as another philosopher obviously knew, is that they are as concise and undemanding as bon mots. In a short attention span society like that which obtains today, a medium like the Internet, adolescence, senility and the "three-dot journalism" so often practiced by Yours Unruly, aphorisms are the best means of getting your point across.
"Dude! You said you were going to tell us how you take sympathy with the Right-wingers because of Louisiana ACORN. When is that gonnah happen?"Thanks for asking. Read this:
I have begun a series of articles on "Poverty Pimps." It is a subject that I believe is a bane of the so-called Progressive movement in the United States and a big toe on "our" feet of clay.My thought is that, if we are honest enough to acknowledge the legitimate target these people make for right-wing analysts, we begin the process of rejoining the national political discourse.
I have never called myself a Progressive, once called myself a Liberal but now prefer to say I'm Radical, because I am beginning to perceive the fundamental ways in which the Left is getting it so wrong.
Loads of articles have appeared, from both sides of the aisle, about the reasons the Left failed in the last election. We are being force-fed the years-old Red State/Blue State argument, the "values" chimera, but nothing is being said about the fundamental reason the Leftist coalition fell apart over twenty years ago: the failure of its initial policy initiatives and its unwillingness to face a lack of ideas that would challenge the Poverty Pimps and other poseurs within its own ranks. This stance will be controversial but it resonates because even members of the old coalition have been whispering about its truth for years.
The take I wish to present in this series, the first installment of which is about Louisiana ACORN, is that we on the Left fail to mention != or, worse, make excuses for -- those who claim to be concerned about "social justice" but are little more than Poverty Pimps -- as the Right justifiably calls them != who siphon off public money and prey on the very people they claim they are helping. ACORN, a thirty-five year old national organization, whose major players just happen to live here in New Orleans -- one of the poorest and most illiterate cities in America != is just one, but my first example.
11 March, 2005: TODAY IS THE OFFICIAL ANNIVERSARY of Your World's Magazine. My day of post-partem depression after launching a hard-won edition yesterday, the anniversary of my father's birth. Everyone called him "Syl," another diminutive for Sylvester, his actual middle name. We shall celebrate the ninth Web anniversary of your World's Magazine on my fifty-third birthday. Everyone calls me "Rod," a diminutive of my father's name and my own.I shall go into the ground wondering why my father chose to give me a name that he did not use and despised, knowing that I would not use and despise it, as well.
And then there is the issue of my last name, which literally translates to "Friends" in French. IF I had ever published a book, I would be last on the bookshelf, after Kingsley and Martin Amis. We are not related, as far as I know, but there must be some special writer's curse in having our common surname. Each of us has attempted to be satirical, droll and erudite. In my view, only one of us succeeded. (No, Luv, not me! I meant Martin. The batard is too clever by half.)
AND THEN there is the problem of my marginal heritage! It's bad enough being among the marginalized simply by the fact of being Black -- so why did I have to have a British mother and an American father? Give me a damned break!
My mother, r.i.p., until the day she died insisted on calling Bermuda "Home" to me in every conversation we had. (And I had to keep insisting, "It's not my home, Mom.") She lived here in States for the 30-plus years she was married to my father and never naturalized. She had NO desire to become a citizen of this country.
Tupac said it, "Walk a mile in my shoes and you'd be crazy, too."
One thing I've learned (sussed out) is that my writers (like Ami, like Mpush) are now asking me to step up.
A small, independent and outspoken magazine like this one can't reach you every week without the support and patronage of its readership. As our way of thanking those who have committed to keep your World's Magazine here on your desktop through their generous donations, we feature their names and cities here in our Roll of Honor.
SUSTAINING PATRONS
CHERYL HILL NATION,
West Fairlee, VT, USADARHL STULTZ,
Largo, FL, USADRAGAN & DRAGANA VICANOVIC,
Belgrade, SERBIAMATT STOWELL,
New Orleans, LA, USATERRY TERRIAN,
Sebastopol, CA, USATIMOTHY MEADOWS,
Anaheim, CA, USA
Supporting PatronsBARBARA ATWELL,
Berkeley, CA, USA
BECKY ALTEMUS,
Houston, TX, USA
IAN CRYSTAL, Ph. D,
New Orleans, LA, USA
LARS KEFFERSTAN,
New York, NY, USA
MEREDITH TUPPER,
Tampa, FL, USA
NICK ALLEN,
New Orleans, LA, USA
RIC WILLIAMS,
Austin, TX, USA
STEVE VIVIAN,
New York, NY, USA
STUART ALTMAN, ESQ.,
New York, NY, USAWe encourage you to add your name to this Roll of Honor. GENERATOR 21 cannot continue and thrive without your support. Thanks in advance.
To support G21, please send checks or money orders to:
G21: The World's Magazine
Attn: Rod Amis
c/o Matt Stowell
1310 Barracks
New Orleans, LA 70116
USATo donate by credit or debit card, please go to the Western Union website by following the highlighted link. Should you donate via Western Union, please notify us via e-mail.
Please make all remittances payable to Rod Amis. Again, thanks.
I have to admit that my children, who I have nurtured and encouraged, are now not finding the Old Man as Olympian as they once did.
That is a sign of progress.
It's not a competition. It's how to be the best at this game and Write LIke God.
That puts a special burden on the Old Philosopher.
ROD AT MIDNIGHT
By the time you read this journal entry, Luv, if I succeed in getting your World's Magazine out on schedule -- for a change -- I shall have celebrated the anniversary of my own birth, as well as that of Harry Houdini, Steve McQueen, Anabella Sciorra, Patti LaBelle, Wilhelm Reich, Laura Flynn Boyle, Lawrence Ferlinghetti and (approx.) 1/365th of the people who have ever lived on planet Earth.
Nonetheless, it is comforting to one's vanity to believe that other people born on the same day as oneself have also been distinctive. As part of that vain pursuit, it is important to ignore the suicides, cads, total failures, base villains and unknowns who also share one's birth date.
For the day at least, one must enforce the notion that 24 March is especially blessed by saints and gods alike and produces the calibre of person Ken Kesey would have called a "world shaker."
At the very least, cherubim cavort every 24 March.
24 March is also the day the Clinton administration of the United States government began its bombing campaign in Kosovo in 1999. That my friend in Belgrade, who also works as a lowly editor, was almost killed by an American bomb on his way home to his wife will always be a source of regret and anger and shame for me ... [I have not betrayed a confidence, my brother. I found out years ago that she already knew.
Besides, if old habits die hard, as they do, you'll go on pretending not to comprehend English and she'll be the only person of the two of you to read this passage.]
One of my little sisters insists that this shall be the year I emerge from under the dark cloud which seems to have attached itself to me since the dot.com implosion. I wish to accept her hope but the evidence of my daily life would suggest otherwise.
I know you love this because, like Matt, you seem to have a special fascination for observing my suffering. It's actually much worse than schaadenfreude when I allow myself to consider it ... I suspect that if I found love again, lived somewhere that suited my Muse and my clothes, and became a "celebrated" writer, you'd not come to this page any longer.
MY OWN HETERODOXY is documented and taken for granted in my administration of this Cathedral of Words. I've published the works of devout Catholics, Muslims, Buddhists, atheists, agnostics, Jews, Evangelical Christians -- well, the entire gamut of belief and/or superstitions, especially my own uncompleted spiritual quest. Thus, it was with some distress that I received a message from one of the writers here, which had a PowerPoint attachment that was clearly a message of faith, in which she stated that she was not certain she even believed any longer.You might think, considering the often-asserted agnosticism of mine, that I would support such skepticism. To the contrary, I take any crisis of belief very seriously and, yes, with distress. I let the writer in question know as much and tried to express my sympathy for the circumstance as best I could.
(It dawned on me during this exchange that, as I grow older, the results of my upbringing are evidenced more than I would prefer or expected in my youth. Rather than behaving less British, I have begun to behave more so. I have become more reserved and circumspect. I have begun to be frightfully concerned about embarrassment.)
The issue is that, though I do question the acceptance of the doctrinal dictates of the various confessions that my writers have exhibited, I support their genuine and open adherence to their confessions, their faiths. Truth be known, I envy people who can have such certainty about the nature of life.
I even look at my life-long friend Ric Williams' certainty about the mythology-based structure he has poetically designed to define existence with envy. He is so sure about his idea that we all respond to a "Shadow" that it is breath-taking.
That his beliefs and those of the other great minds I have mentioned in this entry have not made a dent in my own, hidebound skepticism is a source of constant lament. I am dogged by my intellectualism,
So I, perforce, encourage people I know and love against their own doubts.
I don't want them out here on the Grail-Quest, this unending search, with me. My Hejira is a form of Hell.
"WOOLY MAMMOTH" indeed.I suspect only a few of you can understand how difficult it is being a Web publisher when you are almost NEVER actually on the Web. Let's just say that if and when you see this edition, it shall have taken a real soldier's effort to get it out to you.
Vickie is still down, for all intents and purposes, and only God know when I'll be able to afford bringing her back one more time. Light candles.
When I finally started mapping out how many articles I'd promised to publish this edition I fell off my chair. Actually, I don't really have a chair, per se. I work sitting on an upturned five gallon paint bucket, just so you know. (I have to get that damned BRAD BALFOUR off my back! He's submitted a grand total of nine interviews! I can't publish them all at once and keep my freakin' eyesight. Oh wait, I could change the name of your magazine to Brad's Celebrity Spotlight ... on a cold day in Hell.) I'm not superhuman. I like to do things like eat and sleep.
Meanwhile, the results of our first Readership Poll for 2005 were so DISMAL (a big FOUR out of our hundreds of newsletter subscribers decided it was worth their time) that I was tempted not to publish the results at all.
Four people out of hundreds of you felt that the philosophical question was worthy of a response?
I know: from now on I should only ask who you like or dislike, who's the hottest new star on the Mexican soap operas and what Britney did today. Fine!
I need a new Day Job and I'm wondering how long it will be until Nick exiles me to Washington Square Park or I get Matt to help me buy a Jet Blue ticket to my next stop on this unending hejira ...
Sheesh! I wouldn't wish Life of Rod on a dog.
Forgive the digression.
As I type this, I have ELEVEN new articles to edit and prepare for your delectation. Pray. Light candles. I'm not sure even I can pull this one off ...
I went back and read RAHEEM's challenge to this and the rest of media again today.I must admit that I had forgotten how strong he came. I am chastened.
In the next edition of your World's Magazine, should we continue to exist, I have told the writers here that we must address the plight of the world's women.
Raheem, this is just the beginning. I have picked up the gauntlet.
ONE OF MY FAVORITE SONGS OF ALL TIME is entitled "The Last Balkan Tango" by Boris Kovac and the Labaada Orchest of Serbia. It is a wonderful piece that you, my Love, will probably never hear -- unless you visit the former Yugoslavia or get a CD from Serbia's Radio B92, as I did.You see, there are two Snezas in our mythology. The good Sneza who is Dragana's best friend and the bad Sneza, who I met while in Belgrade, and is now studying here in the States.
Sneza is another diminutive. It is the shortened version of the Cyrillic name "Snezana," which most closely translates into English as "Snow White."
The bad Sneza gave me the CD that I often listen to when I want to remember my time in Serbia.
That was an awful way of telling a good story, wasn't it?
Wait! This is one instance where my little sister, Dragana, was NOT right. She was sure, before my arrival, that the bad Sneza and I would hit it off. I think she believed that I was more of an intellectual than the dinosaur I actually am.
How wrong can one person be? As in "very."
I figured out that this particular Snezana was an awful bore even before little sis' did.
In the interim, we have exchanged letters about how the bad Sneza can wear on "your last nerve" as we Black Americans used to be prone to say.
One day, someone, somewhere, will find Sneza the most charming woman in the world. One day, somewhere.
18 March, 2005: LIKELY MY ONLY BIRTHDAY PRESENT THIS YEAR arrived in the mail today. It was from my dear Cheryl. It came in a carrot card and included two Hershey's milk chocolate bars. Cheryl, being Cheryl, apologized for not sending me homemade cookies. (Sigh.)How can you not love a woman like that?
Meanwhile, Yours Unruly was recovering from having (probably) the most beautiful woman in Nawlins let him know that he was a year too late at declaring himself and admitting that he would show her the world.
Too late? Again? My timing sucks.
Maybe that is why I've been celibate so long.
I have to get over this reticence thang of mine. Shy ain't working for me.
WOULDN'T IT BE LOVERLY, my little darlings, if for this Anniversary we could all win?You would get this mammoth edition of your World's Magazine, that would certainly take you weeks to read, with no typos -- including in this "Glass House" (a coup!) And I, meanwhile, would spend my birthday in the throes of lust with some hooker who wouldn't let me go until I was satiated.
Then, I would simply disappear into the sunset like some guy in a cowboy movie.
Yippie-oh, cai-ay!
THE 50% SOLUTION
22 March, 2005: "IF there is one thing you can depend upon about people who live in New Orleans, it is that you can't depend on them."I have sussed that 50% of the time The New Orleans Way works to your advantage and the other 50% toward your detriment.
CASES IN POINT: Nick was supposed to show up tonight to collect the rent I owe him. He pulled a no-show. Benefit.
Matt was supposed to drop off the e-mails I've been waiting to receive for days that he promised to download for me -- in the hundreds, as usual and that I wanted to review before completing this edition. Well, you know.
Matt was also supposed to tell me about a job offer that only he can follow up on, for reasons that remain inscrutable (other than his NOT wanting me to actually get the job,) too. Detriment.
[LATE UPDATE: WRONG! Matt actually did show up with the promised files -- just as I was sitting down to a late dinner. I was enforcing The 9:00 Rule: Nice people do not telephone or visit others after 9:00, with the exception of parties.
Another of one my "Nice Girl/Goody Two Shoes" thangs and -- yes, again -- velly British.)
Matt always says, to his credit, "You can depend on me to be there, man. It's just a matter of what time I arrive."]
BACK TO MY NOLA RANT: What I'm saying is that, out of two people in New Orleans, who have lived here for years and were supposed to make their appointments, I had a 100% stand-up rate. [Corrected Above to 50%] The New Orleans Way: 50% worked for me/50% didn't.
You'd love living in this town, Darling ...
Matt claimed, when I first moved here in 2001, that I should learn to make The New Orleans Way work for me. My rejoinder today: What sane person could? Sooner or later you'd expect someone to do what they said they'd do when they said they'd do it, no?
BRIEF ASIDE: As with the above example, a business women's network newsletter for a local realtor -- that was scheduled to go out when I arrived in New Orleans in January -- went out last week.
You figure it out, Luv. I give up.
What amazes me most is that people here in New Orleans think THERE'S NOTHING UNUSUAL about these circumstances!
Back in "The World," as my contemporaries serving in Vietnam used to say, these might have been considered actionable offenses.
Do you wonder why I have called this "the American Haiti" for the last four years?
OKAY. I'll stop being so agro.
It's part of my job here to always end on a grace note, isn't it? I'll try.
Despite being covered with mud, yes, I can still feel that impulse to flash the "Okay" sign to you.
Macho is alright but I have been known for being "cool." (The other word used is "aloof.") I still remember the women who used to call me "Mr. Valium."
Fact is, in person but not in print, I'm still a very shy and easy-going guy. I most often tend to take the shape of my container. You'd never know that there was a volcano inside ...
Looking back, I can only think of two people who have ever personally witnessed the v olcano. Both were frightened, confirmation that I should keep most of my rage to myself when not on the page.
On the other hand, you would be very disappointed with me -- as Fliss Ussher was back on my last trip to Europe -- to find how retiring and passionless I really am as a person. You would expect this man who rushed to embrace you and find, instead, Rod as he is, rather than The Writer. (I am not the first writer to share this kind of insight with you, either.)
I long for the man who appears on the page as much as you do. But he is not here. He is sitting in front of a computer monitor in a subterranean city, for now, doing His Work.
One day, perhaps, he will come back to us both, my little loves. That day I shall literally dance in the streets.
For now, I have to admit that when the Old Man puts out a fabulous edition like this one it feels better than whatever.
Thanks for coming back this week.
THINGS I WANT FOR MY BIRTHDAY
1 - She's between 5'6" and 5'9", between 47 and 52 years of age, actually still reads books on a regular basis that aren't only Romance novels, has a passport and is not afraid to use it; doesn't think that sex is "dirty."
2 - A plane ticket. It's not a good year unless you get on a plane.
3 - Vickie, my beloved Memory Machine, back to me for our last run.
"Work like you don't need the money,
"Love like you've never been hurt,
"Dance like no one is watching ... "
Love,
Rod
Rod was a columnist for the Andover News Network, where he wrote over two hundred articles on web design and development issues. He was 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 Internet 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. Sometimes 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 resuming his hejira. Having completed his training as a Community Organizer for ACORN, where he worked to make positive change for other poor people like himself, he left the staff as a union organizer, disillusioned and disgusted by the scam they've run for years. He went back to "honest" work -- meaning manual labor.
Now he needs to find an angel to hire him to do this magazine ...
In his spare time, he chases women in the manner that a fly pursues a spider. 
He continues to be committed to integrity, chastity and a dose of humility.
| HOME | THE PREVIOUS GLASS HOUSE | THE NEXT GLASS HOUSE |
CREDITS || AWARDS || SEARCH ENGINES || LINKS ||
VOX POPULI is YOUR PAGE to talk back to us. I'm glad you're not bashful. Keep those cards and e-mails comin', Kids!
Our Editor does listen!
© 2005, GENERATOR 21.
E-mail your comments. We always like to hear from you. Send your kudos, brickbats and suggestions to rod@g21.net.
writelikegod.com