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Showing posts from January, 2009

Lifted Higher

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We've been in the fog for the last few days. Reminds me of my years by the Bay. The Portland fog can be equally as cold at the San Francisco fog. Only difference is that in S.F. it continues throughout the summer. The fog reminds me of how some folk seem to be continually lost in it. Not the Rush Limbaughs, who would spout their vile vomit regardless of who was in the Oval Office. Contraries need to be contrary or they don't exist. No, I'm thinking more about those that know something's wrong with the economy and just seem to be waiting around for it to get better. Not gonna happen for a good while. When it does it'll only happen when we figure out how to be a nation of consumers AND producers, again. We no longer produce much. Ironic that the Steelers are in, and probably will win, tomorrow's Super Bowl. It's an accurate comment on how much we've come undone. Most of the steel we use is consumed, not produced here any more. The baseballs a

Take Me To Your Leader

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We've got ourselves one hell of a moral dilemma up here in Portland. Our very popular young mayor, Sam Adams, was caught in a lie and refuses to step down. It's complicated. As a gay man, politician, and mentor, he's in deep yogurt, over his relationship with a 17 year old "intern" by the name of (are you sitting down?) Beau Breedlove. For most folks in this town, it's understandable that he chose to keep their brief kissing, and then (after Beau turned 18) their brief dalliance private. It's just that when asked about it before his election, he got indignant, accused his accusers of the most heinous kind of attack on a gay, male, politician. Call it Hubris, call it fear, call it pragmatic, call it arrogant, any way you slice it...big mistake. "It's not about the sex," some say. "He represents us, therefore he's held to a higher standard," say others. It's about his credibility, it's about his fear of homophob

Private Property

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I wonder all the time about people's perceptions of public schools. There is still a strong belief in the myth of private schools being "better" than public schools. That, and the fact that public schools are in decline...always in decline. I suppose if one perceives a school as a tidy place where kids sit in tight little rows, rarely speak, and take multiple choice tests, or live, play, move, run, hide, eat, sleep, and learn in a world where everyone looks the same, then many private schools will do just fine. Maybe I'm just bitter when people give up on public schools. I know a few folks who recently decided to send their non-Catholic kids to Catholic schools. They believe the schools are safer, more orderly, probably better places to educate their kids. These decisions don't always involve, nor can they involve the kids themselves. They often don't take into consideration the curriculum each school offers. Sadly, many folks are turning their backs o

All Hail

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I wish I could say that today marks Dr. King's dream realized. I keep hearing that said, but it's hardly the case. I sure don't want to minimize Obama's election, but the fact is that, as a nation, we have so much more to do. Like many, I wasn't quite sure I would see a black president in my lifetime. When Barack gave his Demo keynote address it was clear that he could go all the way. Of course, it did help that the country has endured what surely must be one of the worst administrations ever. I can't speak about Harding, Grant, Coolidge, or even Milliard Fillmore, but my sense of history tells me W wins the prize. I love that people are energized, that many now get that community service is about much more than volunteering time, and that a sense of hope is beginning to replace the cynicism and despair we've endured for the last eight years. When we stop congratulating ourselves, and realize that MLK's dream is about much more than a black presi

Listen Children

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Yesterday, while skimming through Parade magazine I noticed something fascinating. Parade, I would remind you is the insert in most Sunday papers not particularly noted for it's literary prowess. I have developed a new respect for Parade e magazine after reading Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortensen. After Parade ran an article about his institute in Bozeman, Montana, they got more contributions in one week than in the previous five years. It's still Parade with the tabloid look and content, but I give them credit for running some articles that reach millions of people. That's why I wanted to read Barack Obama's letter to his kids in the magazine. With a stunning family picture on the cover, the magazine asked Obama to write to his daughters and let that letter go public. A very thoughtful letter it was, but in my view nowhere near the real letter he has probably written them. But no matter, people, many people will read his thoughts. Given that half the coun

Your's, Mine, or Our's?

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This morning as I watched a bit of Barak Obama's historical train ride to the Capital, and listened to the pundits filling time, exchanging observations and generally jaw-jackin,'I was struck by two conflicting notions. The prevailing thought they presented was that for the first time in almost 40 years, many people feel the call to service. Further, they feel part of something bigger, much like young people in the late 60s and early 70s. Even this year's celebration of Martin Luther King's birthday is a call to community service with organizations actually doing everything from physical labor to providing workshops for undocumented workers to learn job resume skills or other valuable information. One of the CNN pundits, an African American man who is about to turn 40, was very excited to see his generation finally stop complaining and start to actually move their asses and volunteer or, dare I say follow direction and be willing participants. I was reminded of a con

Look, Up In The Sky

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No wonder it was unsettling. The sound was formidable. Yet I couldn't keep from looking up. What I thought was an unusually loud group of crows gathering in the trees at around 4:00 p.m. this afternoon turned out to be a rather large flock. First I saw two trees full then extended my gaze and took in three more trees, all topped with gathering crows. Hard not to think of Hitchcock's "The Birds" when earshot of large groups flying overhead. And do you know what the proper term is for an unusually large bunch of crows? No not a flock, or even a gaggle; it's a murder of crows. Apparently, in large groups, crows will turn on one of their own and kill it if need be. Very human-like aren't they? I tried counting these crows, but gave up because I didn't want to be underneath them for too long. You understand the danger there. I know it's supposed to be good luck to be shat upon, but I'll just leave the luck collection to my truck. All birds

New School

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I heard from one of the young teachers I mentored during my last year in the classroom. It's only been a few years, but suddenly he's in his 4th year and the brand new $120 million dollar high school that was built on the site of the torn down old school is ready to open. 3 1/2 years in a temporary campus of portables is enough. Nicknamed Guantanamo High School, it really felt like it the one year I thought there. But now the wait is over. A brand new school is a thing to behold. Imagine new school bathrooms. Imagine desks and walls with no graffiti, clean-well lighted rooms, heat, all windows present, supplies. Wow! I feel relief for the young teachers and all of their students who never had a real campus to call their own. It's bound to make a difference. Right? I hope we will be able to tell. What shall we look for? One place to start will be the mood of the campus. The vibe. Will the students take more pride in their environment? Who will draw the first g

Signs of the Times

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Russell Baze won the second race at Golden Gate Fields today. Just another one for the world's winningest jockey? Perhaps, but the guy is remarkable. He rides the cheap claiming horses just as hard as the stakes winners. And, if you know Russell, he wants to win the low level races just as bad. That was certainly the case when I saw him 24 hours earlier in my neck of the woods in a rare appearance at Portland Meadows. Baze, along with a group of other Bay Area riders was in town to compete in a brief Portland Meadows vs. Golden Gate Fields jockey challenge. Mostly a media creation, the day did give locals an opportunity to get an autograph from a living legend. If you can think of a jockey, any jockey, Bill Shoemaker, Lafitte Pincay, Pat day, Eddie Arcaro, Lester Piggott, anyone...Baze has more wins. Before he assumed his position signing promo pictures, Russell Baze was standing by the paddock visiting with some old friends he hadn't seen in years. I glided up

Incomplete

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I heard a piece of Terry Gross' interview with writer James Fallows today. The incisive, dependable Fallows, speaking from China at 2:45 a.m. to a thankful Gross was uncharacteristically emotional. It might have something to do with the fact that the Chinese turn off heat in all buildings at night and it was 10 degrees as he answered Terry's questions. More likely, it was because he was talking bout the recent loss of his father that made Fallows so pensive and non-political. Among other things, he noted that his father was not a world traveler like he has been. In fact, Fallow's dad never left the small town where he practiced medicine, served on the school board, and performed a host of other civic duties. Fallows then went on to explain that his dad was a World War II vet who was expedited through medical school never receiving his college degree because the need for doctors in the war was too great and they needed to get them through school and working as soo

Bring It On

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Most of the cars in my neighborhood have been covered with some combination of snow and ice lately. When it melts, it just comes back the next day. Can't remember the last time I washed my truck. I wonder if I get a coat of wax on before the rain starts if it will help protect the paint? Not that I care, just curious. Just this morning one of my neighbors took the cover off his car. He drives some old rust bucket, but also has another vehicle with one of those gray car covers draped over it that sits in his driveway like a giant boulder. Today, while sunlight broke through teasing Portlanders for half an hour, I found him sitting inside his coverless car. It's a shiny black Ford Mustang, with lots of chrome, impeccably cared for. We exchanged smiles. His grin was brighter than the diamond earring he sports. It's his little piece of the city. It's what he can control. Much more than a car, it probably keeps him sane in some way. Teacher's classrooms funct

Gatekeeper

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Here we are suddenly in a new year, just 12 months away from another census, and 24 months away from another decade. Has your sense of urgency gone up a notch? I'm wondering if mine has; too soon to tell. What follows is a piece originally written as a scene in my memoir. It hasn't made the first draft yet, but easily could. Perhaps my loyal writing group can suggest where it fits best, but for now, it goes here. Because we sense our life changing so rapidly to the many new forms of technology that ease into our routine, I thought it best to set this little piece down here. Consider it a short, short story, or an intelligent essay, or a scene from my book, or perhaps nothing more than a story that needed telling. Outside the Gates It felt like we were about to pull off a bank job. We were. Our favorite kind, the Dylan, surprise. Like any premeditated act of guerilla theater, preparation was the key to success. In Houston, the target was usually our local bra