Liberty, and Part of the Pursuit, Too

Pardon me, for I had to wait a day to digest and not allow this post to be polluted by premature epitaphs, vitriolic profanity, and haughty commentary. However, that is not a caveat to prevent any of the aforementioned. For it will, perhaps, be more stinging and not so hysterical. Or, maybe even more hysterical.

The military’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy is blatantly discriminatory. Barbara Boxer, the junior Senator from California, rightly compared this country’s bigotry with Iran, Pakistan, Venezuela, and North Korea. What an atrocity. While the Bronx and Boston happily takes free oil from Venezuela and for years our government has propped up a corrupt Pakistani regime, to pair our great nation with such a demonized group really carries heft.

More than 13,000 of our bravest and boldest have been discharged under the policy. Many of whom were specialists in their fields, including fluency in Arabic. This policy was on the verge of being overturned, and President Obama has made clear that this policy is a mistake of the past.

That mission failed, and did so in a disgustingly anti-climatic, modernly typical fashion.

The greatest, most deliberative chamber in the world is an embarrassment. The United States Senate has failed to achieve its most basic of tasks, and while doing so, has driven the very people it represents into an unyielding abyss of discrimination, immaturity, and recklessness. This should come as no surprise to those who have followed the chamber’s spineless actions for the past decade or so.

Though it has been two long years since the horrific and ignorant George W. Bush departed from the great House that is White, and seventeen years since the triangular William Jefferson Clinton signed the law we protest today, their actions and personas continue to wreck havoc on the institution that is supposed to be a check in their balance. As expected, their policies continue to help and indeed strain a nation that is itching to stretch and grow. One enacted, the other proudly executed, even while at war.

For the US Senate to fail this bill on a procedural vote is insolent. A single senator (John McCain, R-AZ) in the minority filibustered the Defense Spending bill, thus preventing it from even coming to the floor. The bill included pay raises for our troops, benefits for veterans, a repeal of the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy, and give legal residency to young immigrants who serve two years in the military or spend two years in college (the DREAM Act). This was clearly no small bill, both in dollar and in action. The vote was 56-43—and it failed. Odd, I agree. But debate could not commence because 60 votes are required to enact cloture, the quick end to debate (but not one about the bill being prevented from debate); one of the many marvelously arcane rules of the Senate. Today’s Senators don’t even have to actually filibuster: that is, to hijack debate and prevent discussion on the topic at hand by speaking for hours on end. They just invoke, and boom—the body is stalled.

This piece, “A Filibuster Fix,” by Norman Ornsten, explains the history of the tool and what needs to happen to it for the Senate to continue existing in a productive manner. A must read for Senate enthusiasts.

Now if I may: the sole 1 of 100 undeniably responsible for this sordid and absurdly childish act was the GOP’s former front man: the once great John McCain. Oh, what a Maverick! A man who once defended principle over party and logic over idealism is now pussy-whipped by Sarah Palin and seduced by Glenn Beck (ignoring of course, the litany of decorated generals who support repealing the law). There once was a Senator from Arizona who could have been president. Now, the senior Senator from Arizona has embraced extremism, cuddled up to the American fundamentalists, and sucks the cock of the Ronald Regan he envisions. To see someone formerly valiant and respected pivot so vividly is appalling. Gays can flip-flop; for elected officials, it’s not good business.

I’m angry. Can you tell?

Then of course, there is Democrat Blanche Lincoln and her fellow AK partner in crime, Mark Pryor, also a supposed Democrat. Both cowards. I wonder if it’s coincidence that the very President who signed this bigoted law into action is from the same state. I guess there must be something in the water, or maybe the corn.

But then again, the president of the successful, peaceful, and surplus-filled 90’s now stands for marriage equality and regrets DADT.

I’ll admit there are a few Republicans I still respect, though that number continues to dwindle. And I even have to give traitor Joe Lieberman a nob for his stance on this issue. There are Susan Collins and Olymipa Snowe of Maine, at times Judd Gregg of NH, and even Scott Brown has taken the typical Northeastern Republican route of socially liberal while being fiscally inconsiderate. But no more. Susan Collins, who spoke in favor of repealing DADT, voted against this bill because she wanted more amendments from Republicans to be entertained. Well guess what: Republicans are in the minority for a reason. A decade ago, Republican leadership squandered a surplus and ignored the need for infrastructure investment. Considering the destruction they’ve created in the past several decades—detrimental trickle down economic policies that spoon feed the rich with exorbitant tax cuts, fueling corporations while raping the middle class and small businesses (yes, I said raping), and running this nation to war without a means to pay for it—time has come for them to be ignored and be told to STAND DOWN. Especially when it comes to policies that involve civil rights. Why I bet if gays loved guns, there would be no problem with their rights at all.

We are living in a time where borders barely matter. Visibility is a curse for bigotry and we see that all over the world, east to west: from stonings in Iran to indoctrinated homophobia in America. Right now in New York, the world has descended on the UN and you can see firsthand the protest of counties that have ignorant and discriminatory policies. It’s sad when we’re one of them, too.

During the Holocaust, gays were burned alongside Jews and gypsies in countries like Germany and Poland. The United States, while driven into war because of attack on her homeland, stood up against genocide and discrimination. Now, counties that were ruled by one of the world’s most ghastly leaders, countries where homosexuals were discriminated against in the streets and in constitutions, allow gays to serve openly in their military. But here, where our force is voluntary, we say “go away.”

History is our most brilliant judge. As frustrating as it may be to wait and fight for equality on all fronts—gays, women, immigration—we must never forget the very simple premise of our Country’s existence: not just that all are created equal, but that we, the people of this utterly fabulous nation, have the right to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit to Happiness.

Nowhere else in the world can such words be so used and so abused. What are they waiting for?

We're Fine

Dear Non-New York City Resident:

We’re fine. Stop asking how things are in the City. Our resilience is far stronger than the typical American. If it weren’t, this country would have floundered long, long ago. While I recognize that the failed bombing in Times Square may have shaken a few, why would that change how we live each day after? As only the BBC seems to point out, “The Show Must Go On.”

I wildly disagree with the first woman quoted in the BBC article who was afraid to leave her apartment and is avoiding Times Square. How childish and ignorant. To be so afraid as to not leave your apartment is a bit extreme. Maybe she’s willing to fast and stall the micro-economy that revolves around her. If that’s the case, leave the City and enjoy the suburbs. Buy a nice little SUV and drive to work each day, alone, along with the rest of the gas-guzzling greedy whores that clog our highways, pollute our earth, and take what this city is and does for granted.

If New Yorkers were too afraid to leave their apartments, the country would be paralyzed, as it was shortly after 9/11. Granted, that was a far different situation (though isn’t it funny: We know the name of the man who took down the Twin Towers but haven’t caught him in 9 years; and here, in only two days, we’ve arrested three people—two of them in Pakistan). Perhaps I’m being a bit extreme. Or am I?

We make a choice to live in this bustling concrete wonder, just like my friends in San Francisco choose to live in a city that could crumble into the Pacific at any time. And let’s not forget the Big Easy: that sultry southern spotlight below sea level that is again being threatened because of human ineptitude. It is seemingly more and more the American way. Stay selfishly safe, clean, and green, but feel free to fuck everything else around you up. And as long as you check in and ask how everything is, it’ll be just fine. Thing is, it really doesn’t work that way when you’re stacked atop each other.

Frankly, I’m more concerned about rising sea levels and drastic changes in weather affecting New York. (I’m not sure what I’d do if the subway tunnels turned into rivers!) We long ago destroyed our first line of defense, just like the oil companies did in Louisiana: wetlands. Long Island and its thousands of miles of impermeable surfaces and energy hungry mansions obliterated nature’s wall. So really, I guess I’m happy to live where I live in the city. Though it’s in the Harlem valley, at least I’ve got mighty heighty Morningside to the west. Ha!

If we spent each day worrying sick about when the next attack would happen, the city would be silenced.

My god how boring that would be.

All the best,
Jeffrey

Dinner on the Hudson

[Writer's note: I just spent the day in Chicago and will be boarding the City of New Orleans train in about an hour to head south for the weekend. This post is from about 24 hours ago; phone was giving issues with posting, hence the tardiness.]

I already love the train. Granted we’re almost two hours behind schedule, but where else can you drink vodka, be served surprisingly good food, laugh with fellow passengers, and come back to your room to take a dump if you need to—all while moving to your destination? Certainly no fucking hotel. And then there are the vistas; and we’re still riding the Hudson. But then again, one could consider this a hotel on wheels, or some sort of transient bedroom. Oh, that sounds sexy, transient bedroom.

Anywho, I digress. I had a lovely dinner. I was supposed to have one of the later reservations, but 6:30 rolled around, I was a few deep whilst enjoying some cheese and crackers and I decided maybe I should eat. I thought we weren’t far from Albany, where we’d loose power for a while, so why not. Well, I was wrong. We were still over an hour from Albany. But that made dinner all the better. I was sitting at a four-top booth, alone. I was on the western side of the train, the riverside, if you will. (Note that my roomette is on the eastern side of the train (we’re traveling north), so I was forced to look at suburban riverfront sprawl—condos and mass-produced blueprinted homes—hence the reason I opted for the riverside of the car.)

The waiter was fabulous. Attentive yet not overbearing, savvy and funny, it was the type you’d expect to see on a cruise ship. I don’t mean that degradingly; he’s been doing Amtrak service for quite some time—he wouldn’t give me an exact date. Anywho. I ordered the only thing a veg could: fucking pasta. But I was pleasantly surprised. It was fresh, tasty, and flavorful. After some time, the woman, of the couple sitting next to me said, “Did you get the pasta? How is it?” I said, “Oh, it’s really quite nice.” They were both on their second Scotch from the time I sat down, and she was glad I helped her make up her mind. That was our launch pad. Suddenly, we were off, off into obscure yet delightfully personal conversation about our respective lives.

Me and my job, studies and travels, them and their marriage, travels, and previous fields of work (both in medicine: he an orthopedist, she a nurse.) I learned that his name was Frank. Not because he told me, but because she kept saying it. They had opted to take the train over the plane because of how annoying airports are. They live in Minnesota. They went from MN to Boston, then to the City to visit their daughter who lives in New Jersey. Like me, they are loving their first long distance train trip. Though they are on the return of their voyage, so they’ve sat through one way already.

We continued chatting. A few more people sat down around us, including the conductor. You could tell he was a bit tense. We were on our third engine and an hour and a half behind. He ate amongst his passengers and answered all the questions I had while sharing personal stories about his life, too.

There is something about the train and the stories that are shared. Intimate, almost inordinate stories that just get thrown up all over. Last year, a travel writer for the Times did a piece about his cross-country train voyage; it was a great piece. Also last year, yet only read this week, was a piece about why train travelers are train travelers. We talk to eat other and welcome the conversation. When you are sitting next to someone on an airplane and you ask a question, most times, they pull the paper they’re reading higher over their face. It’s quite the contrary on trains. People embrace questions and look forward to the discourse. Christ, even healthcare came up!

Well, we left Albany about an hour ago. The train from Boston attached to us, so we’re five longer than we were before, and one of them is the lounge/snack car. Cards, anyone?

Or maybe just some more stories. Cheerio

Goodbye NY, hello Train Ride

Hello from train 49, Amtrak’s "Lake Shore Limited" train, connecting New York and Chicago, and a split in Albany allowing those from Boston to make their way to the windy city.

It’s a beautiful day for traveling, even more so on the train. I will be making my way to the Crescent City, New Orleans, Louisiana, via Chicago on a two-day train tour of 8 states, making 37 stops. I have about an 11-hour layover in Chicago and I’m most excited about it. I’ve been talking for some time about never having been to Chicago. Sure enough when I started looking into the various ways of getting to New Orleans, the route through Chicago killed two birds with one stone. It helps that I’m not paying for my train or plane ticket: I’ve accumulated quite a few points for my travels between New York and New London, with random trips to DC in-between, allowing me to redeem a one-way ticket, all the way to NOLA, with Roomette accommodations; for the flight back I used some frequent flier miles. And because of it, I finally get to stay in a hotel—not a hostel while traveling alone. VERY exciting!

We pulled out of Penn Station promptly at 3:45. Traveling north under Manhattan Island, as opposed to heading east towards Queens for the trip to CT, allows for a view of sky scrapers through the random rail cuts as the train snakes north in between 9th and 10th Avenues.

A few minutes into the ride, an older gentleman came to collect my ticket. I asked him a question and he said that was something my room attendant could answer for me. Fine. A few more minutes later, a chipper lady with a big smile in a bright red apron came to talk to me about dinner. I asked for the latest reservation—I’m a New Yorker and ate a late lunch—to which she advised was not a good idea. By 8:00pm, the last reservation, sometimes they can be wiped out of certain things. This made me nervous as a veg, so I settled for 7. She said that was a great idea.

A few more minutes later, my room attendant came by to introduce himself, do an overview, and answer questions. He also passed out today’s Times (idiot me bought a copy at the station), timetables, and route guides. His name is Ainsley.


Over the Harlem River crossing, continuing our climb up New York’s famous Hudson River (celebrating its 400th Anniversary this very year!), thick smoke blew past my big windows. I didn’t think much of it. A few minutes later, we were at a total fucking stand still; we still are and it has been nearly an hour. They just announced that we blew an engine. Yes! Not even 20 miles into my adventure, and we’re already delayed! This should not have come as too much of a shock:the "Lake Shore" is famous for its poor punctuality.

They said a new locomotive was being brought down from Croton-Harmon, 18 miles to the North. Once they take off the dead guy and put on the newbie, we should be rolling.

Oh well, such is life.

A minute ago, another uber polite gent just came to let me know I have the option of eating earlier. When we get to Albany, we loose power for 20-30 minutes when they hook up a lounge car and new locomotive car. (it’s 5:20 and we’re moving!). I said I have no problem waiting until after we leave Albany to eat. I came prepared: I brought my picnic cheese board and knives, a block of cheddar, crackers and peanut butter, Veggie Booty, health nut bars, and peanut M&Ms. And libation supplies: seltzer, lemons, and vodka.

Speaking of Vodka…it’s after 5. Time for a cocktail—bottom’s up.

Life

In six hours, Life happened.


It was sudden, shocking. Startling.

Quickly. Eyes open, jaw drops.

It’s simple really: I signed a new lease. Came home; ran back out.

The toilet flooded.



I’m moving.

Holy fucking shit.

Much as I’ve contemplated it, conjured or imagined, never did I ever expect to truly be moving. Unless of course, something foreign came up—but that’s neither here nor there.

I’m moving. Two floors down…and I’m freaking out.

As I stood from the hallway just outside the soggy bathroom, reality flashed before my eyes. Edge hit me.

The apartment is my personification, an utter depiction of existence. And I have to move it all?



[Holy shit.

The toilet flooded.

What?

Yes.

Don’t forget to drop of the dewy towels at the laundry mat.

You're signed to move. ]

President Obama

We have a new president and I need time to digest it.

Goodbye W, your service could not have been worse.

Hello to a new America.

More to come later.

In Position

After just about three hours in line, here we are. Not the prime spot we wanted as we weren't the first ones in line, but a breath taking view of the capital and staging area. We will be able to see Barack, but pics will be tough.

The San Francisco is serenading the masses as they heard their way into place. Aretha Franklin will warn the crowd with her pipes too.

Perhaps the most exciting thing about today is that Dick Cheney will be in a wheelchair!! He pulled a muscle in his back while moving boxes in his new home. Haha. Karma's a bitch and irony can really make something.

The sun is up now but the chill is deep.

The people that are here are continuously blowing my mind. Janette, the one doing interviews with her video cam, is a riot. She bring it out and ask someone where they're from, ask them what today means to them and then find someone else right next to them. People began screaming where they were from when they found out she was trying to do a 50-state interview. Her energy was amazing, screaming as she met someone from a state she had yet to find.

My aunt just called to let me know Barack is running 15 minuted late. Mass at the national cathedral ran late and so goes his day, fifteen minutes gone astray.