Queen Anne Hill - Seattle, Washington
September 20, 2010

WAVE

A movement up and down or back and forth.
A disturbance that travels through time and space by transference of energy.
A dimension of daily life and the daily news.
Waves in water, light waves, sound waves, microwaves, seismic waves.
There are heat waves, tidal waves, the air waves and on and on . . .

And there’s a much smaller-but-visible wave that strikes me sometimes.
I don’t have a name for it. But you will recognize it if I tell you about it.

Just this morning I was driving down a two-way street that’s so narrowed by cars parked on both sides that cars cannot pass. In reality it’s a one-way-at-a-time street. And there’s no clarity as to who has the right of way.

If you and the driver of the car coming toward you are not alert you soon will find yourselves bumper to bumper. Then somebody has to back up or it’s a stalemate. And backing up gets weird because there’s always a car or two behind you driven by sheep that have blindly followed your lead.

I’ve been there - done my part to make it happen, too. Been there for the angry honking of horns, the clinching of fists, and the upraised finger in greeting. And, after the mess was unscrambled, gone away with my day made toxic by the insensitivity of the human race - which would include me.

Being familiar with my neighborhood streets, I keep an eye peeled a block or two ahead when driving in these narrowed passages. This morning the car ahead of me drove on through because the oncoming driver had been alert and thoughtfully pulled over into a wide spot and waited.

As the first car passed the waiting car, both drivers waved.
The gentle wave of common courtesy acknowledged.
Following the good example, I pulled over into a wide spot and waited, while the oncoming car took its turn coming through the bottleneck.
As the driver passed me, she waved and I waved back.
This is a brief wave - a small sign of the kindness of strangers who take some responsibility for the world outside their own car.
More than a wave, it feels like a gesture of mutual blessing.

No big deal, you might say.
But I say it is.
Especially in a cultural climate when anger and rage are in fashion.

It’s a powerful wave - sufficient to shape the rest of one’s day - to remind one that the human race remains capable of small kindness - even me.
It cost me about 20 seconds travel time but paid me a dividend in the form of good feelings about my fellow travelers and myself. And I arrived home in high good spirits, ready and eager to tell you about this.
Why?
This is the way I want the world to be. And sometimes it is.
I’ve never been sorry for being kind and generous - even in small ways - and I’ve always regretted when I wasn’t.
For at least a few moments this morning, no regrets . . . 

Queen Anne Hill - Seattle, Washington
Mid-September, 2010

A VIEW A DISTANCES OR TWO

It’s hard to keep the daily headline news out of this journal. But I try.
Not for lack of interest or caring, but because current events and the commentators thereon are a waterfall the size of Niagara. And I tend to think and write about the less dramatic aspects of daily life. However. From time to time I run across something said so well that it might be passed on as pertinent to the headlines, especially in light of the shrill voices making the news, both here and in modern Greece.

Democracy destroys itself because it abuses its right to freedom and equality. Because it teaches its citizens to consider audacity as a right, lawlessness as a freedom, abrasive speech as equality, and anarchy as progress.

An observation made by Isocrates, the Greek rhetorician, 436-338 B.C.
About democracy practiced in Athens - in the 5th Century B.C. when it was at the height of its fame and fortunes.
_________________________

As an exercise in perspective on American politics, I chose 1910 and consulted Wikipedia.

A hundred years ago, the Bull Moose Party was in formation.
The people were angry with congressional stagnation and corruption. Led by Teddy Roosevelt against the conservative Presidency of William Howard Taft, it was officially called the Progressive Party, and its platform was called “A Contract With The People.” (Sound familiar?)

The Bull Moosers had some pretty radical demands.
They included:
A National Health Service.
Social Insurance to provide for the elderly, the unemployed and disabled.
Farm Relief.
Workers compensation for work-related injuries.
An inheritance tax.
A Constitutional amendment to allow a Federal income tax.
Women’s suffrage - allowing women to vote.
Primary elections.
Citizen recall, referendum, and initiative as political instruments.
Limits and disclosure on political campaign contributions.
Registration of lobbyists.
Anti-trust legislation - against the abuses of Standard Oil and U.S. Steel.

The platform was an attack on the domination of politics by business, summarized in this statement:

“To destroy this invisible Government, to dissolve the unholy alliance between corrupt business and corrupt politics is the first task of statesmanship of the day.”

After the fall election of 1910, the country was divided between the Republican west - the red states, and the Democratic south - the blues states.
More than fifty seats changed from blue to red.(Now, it’s the opposite.)

Despite the following two years of political turmoil stirred up by the rhetoric of Teddy Roosevelt, the Bull Moosers lost big - dividing the Republicans - and electing Woodrow Wilson.

What does this suggest? That the American political pot gets fiercely stirred from time to time, and the centrifugal force throws out both destructive and creative ideas. And, somehow, some things do change for the better, though the provocations for change often do not.
In the seeds of protest often lie the fruit of the future.

Compare then with now.

What we do politically is often so messy and chaotic and even ugly.
Still, despite our perennial fears, and Isocrates’ judgment as a warning, democracy hasn’t destroyed itself. Not yet.
It still works better than all the alternatives.

Rave on, Sarah and Rush, we’re used to it. 

Queen Anne Hill - Seattle, Washington
Early September, 2010

What you’re about to read has been tumbling around in my mind all summer. It’s time to put it down and move on.
If you and I were to go on a long walk this afternoon, I’d share this with you . . . and then you’d have to figure out what to do with it . . .

MYSTERIES

Ask anybody to spell camouflage. Give them three tries.
Watch what they do with their eyes and hands while they struggle.
Funny.
Not that you or I could have done any better.
That’s why we just settle for camo - as I will as this essay continues.

Notice the foot traffic in your neighborhood. Camo is fashionable.
Cargo shorts, baseball caps, T-shirts, and backpacks are most notable.
Ask anyone wearing camo why they choose to wear it.
Watch what they do with their eyes and hands while they struggle.
Funny.
Despite what they say, mostly they are uncertain. They don’t really know.

In nature camouflage is a universal way of avoiding being seen and/or eaten.
It’s a method of crypsis or disambiguation - an anti-predator adaption.

In the late 18th century European military experts discovered camo.
Armies noticed that when soldiers were wearing bright red white and blue uniforms, with shiny brass accessories and ostrich plumes waving from a high hat made out of bearskin - they could be seen - and shot en masse.
Less visible would be better.
Camo became standard for military purposes.

Now the notion has evolved through stages to an absurd conclusion. Consider the photographs you’ve seen of an American infantryman in full combat gear on patrol in Afghanistan.
What’s this? A space invader just dropped in from Venus?
Can you see him? How can you not?
On the other hand, consider his enemy - bearded Taliban fighters in baggy shirts and pants, wearing sandals and a felt hat. Can you pick one out of a crowd? No, they look like everybody else. Afghani camouflage.

In Utah, where I live in the fall, hunters wear camo so that deer and turkeys, can’t see them. But I’ve hit deer and turkeys on the highway while going 50 miles an hour in my red car with my horn blowing. Who needs camo?
I could see them.
Surely they could see me.

In contemporary urban social fashion, camo has become an enantiodrome.
A word that refers to the opposite of its standard meaning.
One wears camo so that one will be seen and noticed.
Why? Is it because camo identifies one with hunting or warfare - an image involving death and violence? Is it because camo is the uniform of those who are dangerous and combat-ready? Do the young wear it as a way to annoy and confuse the old? Is it short-hand for macho? And what are women telling me when they wear camo?

I have questions, but not good answers.
And when I ask the camo wearers, their replies are pretty vague.
On thing they always say: It’s just . . . cool.

Camo is ubiquitous. Besides cargo pants, one can buy boxer shorts, bras and panties and thongs, bathing suits, night gowns, sheets and blankets, wall paper, table linen, and full baby gear - diaper covers, booties, caps, pajamas, and baby bottles. That’s just a small part of the list - check an on-line source to be surprised and amazed. And . . . camo comes in pink - for girls!
Urban camo is meant to send at least this message: Look at me! Notice me!

Hold that thought.
While I tell you about leopards and snakes and alligators.

A leopard is a meat-eating feline predator, weighing up to 200 pounds. It can run 35 miles an hour, hunts mostly at night, and is known for its stealth and opportunistic hunting. It has a massive skull and powerful jaw muscles. The leopard silently stalks its prey, pounces and strangles it with a bite to the throat. The leopard, a skilled climber, carries the prey up into a tree and eats it. This cat is capable of carrying and eating an animal three times its own weight. Its usual diet consists of antelope and monkeys, but it will eat just about anything - dung beetles, rodents, snakes, birds, and fish.

A leopard’s coat is spotted brown, orange, black and white. Beautiful.
A melanistic morph produces the all-black panther version of the leopard.
Leopards mate all year around, but in between mating, they are solitary.
A leopard will attack and kill its own species, including its young.

With those facts in mind, look around. Notice any leopard skin?
Thumb through the fall women’s fashion magazines.
Leopard skin has been worn for a long time, but this year it’s hot stuff again.

I walked through the women’s shoe department of Nordstrom’s yesterday.
Leopard skin is truly back in fashion.
Especially as part of black leather high heels with buckles and studs.
The shoes resemble attire associated with sado-masochism and bondage.

(Should children be allowed to see this stuff - what if they ask about it? How will you explain why Mommy would really like a pair of these shoes?)

Almost as ubiquitous are clothes and underwear and shoes with patterns imitating the skins of snakes and reptiles - cobras, pythons, and alligators.
Most of us are scared to death of snakes and alligators.
For good reason.
But there it is - handbags with matching shoes - cowboy boots - belts.
The reptile thing is another example of an enantiodrome.

Ask any woman wearing leopard skin why they chose to wear it.
Ask: What’s the message you want to convey? How shall I think of you?
Watch what they do with their eyes and hands while they struggle.
Funny.
The most common response is that leopard skin is sexy . . .
(Go back and read the description of a leopard and its lifestyle.)
Really?

Now, lest you think I’m driving toward some smirky conclusions about the idiocy of the other members of the race, I shall confess.

Yesterday I ordered a camouflage bathrobe. The bushy tree design.
A jumbled pattern of brown bark, green leaves, grey and black shadows.
Why?
Not only can it bear the stains of coffee and breakfast but it will hide the ashes and burn marks of the fallout from my pipe. Nobody will notice.
And . . . it will look cool.

I already own a camo ghille suit - a net outfit with leaves and bushes sewn on - covers one’s whole body - head and hands and feet. I bought it for Halloween, but if I wear it out in the yard and lie down under a tree and take a nap nobody will know where I am.

Finally, my wife owns . . . lets just say several items of leopard skin print lingerie. When she wears it she rings my gong. And if she wants to bite me on the neck and drag me upstairs . . . well . . . nevermind.
It’s . . . just sexy . . . maybe even a little . . . slutty . . .
So? That’s the idea.
And I don’t care.
Even if I can’t explain it, I get the message, and I’m with the program.

Still, I do wonder.
Why, in our sophisticated, educated, evolved state - here in the beginning of
the 21st century - with cell phones and e-mail and energy drinks - why do we wear camo, leopard skin, and reptile hides?
What are we trying to tell each other? What’s the message?
Do we know what this is about, or is it one more example of the fact that we still don’t know entirely who we are or what the hell we’re doing?
It’s a mystery.

There.
You have what’s been tumbling around in my head all summer.
Well, at least you know how to spell camouflage now and know a few new polysyllabic words to impress your friends and family.

What do you think now? Do you have the answer?
Why do we - maybe even you - wear camo, leopard skin, and reptile hides?
If I watched what you do with your eyes and hands while you struggle with an answer, would I laugh? 

Queen Anne Hill - Seattle, Washington
The first Sunday in September 2010

MORE THAN DANCING

Eva Lucero and Patricio Touceda are part of Seattle’s tango community.
They came from Argentina to live here, but they are world-class.
That’s an understatement, but I’d rather show you what I mean than tell you.

Go online to youtube, and watch the “Eva and Patricio video promo.” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cd6EbWELhns
This is show tango at the top end, much of it being performed when the couple danced with Cirque du Soleil in Macau for the last two years. (There are some don’t-try-this-at-home moves that nobody else does.)

Next, view their video “Home water birth of Anuk” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBqMPq2Rxus
This is another remarkable performance on the part of Eva and Patricio, with the appearance of Anuk as the finale.

Finally, watch “Eva Lucero, Patricio Touceda, and Anuk - First tango.” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=StmzLrjp-K4 This footage was taken two weeks ago in Seattle, at La Garua, the regular Sunday afternoon milonga where the most traditional Argentinian tango protocols are observed. You will recognize the music.
Watch that.
And look beyond the featured dancers at the white-haired man in vest and bow-tie sitting in the front row of spectator seats. You can’t see it in the film, but he has tears in his eyes because what he is watching is enchanting.
Oh, and be sure to wait for the moment when the dancers are exiting - the way Patricio touches his wife is more than dancing . . .

When I told Eva how impressed I was that Anuk didn’t cry or throw up, Eva said, “Of course not. She was performing. Crying and throwing up have to wait until you are offstage.”

If you watch these three videos, you will know why I am honored to be part of the tango community for reasons beyond dancing. If you want to know more about Eva and Patricio there are many videos, bios, and all the rest of the usual stuff available at the usual places on the web.