Thursday, January 24, 2008

Quotable: State of the Union

“Keeping America competitive requires affordable energy. And here we have a serious problem: America is addicted to oil, which is often imported from unstable parts of the world.”
– George W. Bush, State of the Union address, Jan 31, 2006

* * *
“Not only is the world addicted to cheap oil, but the largest liquor store is in a very dangerous neighborhood.”

“Scientists have concluded that stabilizing the climate will ultimately require reducing global carbon dioxide emissions by 60 to 80 percent [from 1990 levels].”
– Christopher Flavin and Nicholas Lenssen, “Beyond the Petroleum Age: Designing a Solar Economy,” Worldwatch Paper 100, December 1990

* * *
More GWB . . .

Oct 11, 2000, 2nd Gore/Bush presidential debate – Your take on global warming?
“It is an issue that we need to take very seriously.”

2001 – Bush pulls the U.S. out of Kyoto Protocol, a 1997 worldwide agreement to address climate change. (Since 1988, scientists and national leaders across the globe have been seriously discussing energy policy focused on reducing carbon emissions, and the Kyoto treaty set forth concrete guidelines for doing so. Australia was the only other 1st-world nation to reject the treaty.)
“I felt the Kyoto protocol was not realistic. It was not based upon science. The stated mandates in the Kyoto treaty would affect our economy in a negative way.”

(2001 results of Bush’s requested independent investigation into climate change: Does global warming exist? Are humans to blame? Yes! The [American] National Academy of Sciences: “Greenhouse gasses are accumulating in Earth’s atmosphere as a result of human activities.”)

GWB quotations from an NPR audio clip Feb 1, 2007.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Quotable: Tellin' it Like it Is

“The train came apart. We have to put it back together.”
– the conductor, 3:30 am
True story. 2 am, somewhere west of Buffalo, NY . . .

Several loud clanks. Grinding and hissing noises from what one presumes to be the emergency brake. The Amtrak Lake Shore Limited 49 jerks quickly to a halt. Lights out (except for a few small ones in the ceiling, enough to see the walkway, shapes, and almost colors). Fans (meaning heat) go off. Less than five seconds from full speed ahead to dead stop and dead silence.

People sit up sleepily and begin to look around. No one speaks for a minute or two. Unlike all other scheduled and unscheduled stops, there is no announcement. Murmurs of speculation start. “A red light? Maybe it’s a single track. Maybe we’re waiting for another train.” “The engine’s broke. That’s why we lost power. It’ll be hours before they can bring a new engine.”

A baby is crying. A few people stand up and move slowly towards the exits. Somebody declares, “Don’t go out that door. It’s gonna get cold. Don’t you open that door.” One man doesn’t listen, and stalks off nervously towards the neighboring car. A minute or two later, another does the same in the opposite direction. Grumbling gets louder. People start to shift anxiously. A pleasant, level-headed, middle aged gentleman walks down the aisle gently telling people to pull the curtains shut to keep the heat in, sometimes leaning over sleeping people to close the curtains himself. Agitation increases. Several tempers are lost at whomever happens to be in the vicinity.

It gets cold. 3 am, still no lights, no heat, no announcements, and no sign of the crew anywhere in the coach cars despite several passengers’ forays in search of them. All we can see through the windows is snow and faint outlines of scrubby woodland lining the tracks. I’m curled up in fetal position across my two seats and huddling under my coat, thermal headband covering my ears and eyes, very glad that I thought to wear leggings under my jeans. Audible protests get harsher but less frequent. Twilight Zone eeriness has long since set in.

Shortly after 3 I call my mom in Chicago to see if she would contact Amtrak to see if they knew we were stranded and why, figuring that some news would be better than none and I could help calm several of the people near me who were pacing or muttering unhappily. Just then the lights and heat came on. “Never mind, sorry to wake you up.” But the hopeful sign lasts maybe a minute. Just kidding. Darkness and silence again. A man in the next car has apparently called Amtrak and is shouting his displeasure for the whole county to hear. He irately echoes everything the operator says. It takes about five minutes for the customer service person to determine that the 49 is delayed, stalled west of Buffalo. We had determined that ourselves, thank you very much.

At 3:30 am, the door opens and the conductor bustles breathlessly down the aisle, not acknowledging anyone. A passenger confronts him, “What’s going on?” “The train came apart. We have to put it back together.” “!? How long are we going to be here?” No response. The conductor disappears. A few minutes later there are clanks, the train shifts a few times, and the lights flicker, then stay on. By 4 am we are underway. We learn later that the joint (or whatever it’s called) between the two sleeping cars had come undone while we were rolling.

True story.

Monday, January 07, 2008

Afterthoughts (Not Dessert)

In response to a friend's good questions about the preceding poem:

"The Main Course is probably one of my least favorite postings... why is she comparing herself to food? Why are good real women waiting and being waited for? Why aren't they living like you do so that one day someone (presumably a man if I'm following you) who is also living like you do may be noticed or notice one who is living and ask to live alongside her? I'm probably reading too far into this post... but those are my thoughts."

I understand the objection. It does leave itself open to narrow interpretation. I really like how you expressed noticing how one another live and asking to live alongside. That is of course what I am waiting for, but you can't ignore the fact that bodies figure in a great deal to the marriage thing.

"Why are good real women waiting and being waited for?" Ain't that the million dollar question. This is a source of exasperation for more women than just me, as you well know. I imagine there are all sorts of cultural and circumstantial factors, some better than others. I'm convinced that it is partly due to a shortage of worthwhile gentlemen who know a good thing when they see one and have the courage and self-confidence to do something about it rather than aiming low and settling for someone who is easy on their ego. However, I don't like the bitter feminist rationale that there is just something wrong with men. Implied in my comment is the hope that there are some good men who are actually waiting for a good woman, and taking their time for reasons of their own.

By waiting I do not mean languishing in an ivory tower taking naps and primping oneself until the knight in shining armor arrives. I mean waiting as in just plain "not yet" and in the right-person-right-time sense, having the dignity and discernment not to throw yourself at the first guy who will have you. I also do not mean that women should never take initiative; if you're going to be a true egalitarian that means equal opportunity for putting yourself out there and risking awkwardness and rejection.

Further thoughts (and by the way, thank you for making me think through this; I just posted it because I liked it and it resonated with the mood I was in at the time): I read it in context with the rest of the book. It doesn't specify which year she wrote this particular poem, but at the time of publication she's actually a grandmother. She is profound and multifaceted. This is one of her sassier pieces. From her other poetry and narratives, it is clear that she does not think of herself as an object. (I hope that from the rest of my blog it is clear that the same is true of me. If most of my posts were about my dating life or lack thereof, that would be a whole different story.)

What I like about it is a Christian woman taking pride in her sexuality rather than acting like she needs to repent of it, confident in being someone who is precious rather than cheaply 'for sale' or for grabs just because she's there. She's also not wallowing in insecurity and self-deprecation because she's not taken and wondering what she needs to do differently to be lovable. I don't know about you, but I so often get the 'fix yourself' message from well-meaning friends, relatives, and a certain Midwest Ministry Exam counselor--the message that singleness is a disease and the way I do womanhood is defective. Since I got thin a few years back, the implication has become that "there's nothing wrong with how you look, so it must be your personality . . . just be sweet and more . . . normal? . . . and don't think so much. And you might want to doll yourself up a little too, just in case." As though I will be lucky to have someone find me desirable, rather than him being lucky to get me.

I also took this poem to be a jab at the inane, wasteful 'choice' culture that forms people to want everything, appreciate (let alone deeply love) nothing, and abuse their own bodies and others. Wendell Berry draws many parallels between cheapening of food and farming and cheapening of physicality and sexuality. In his thinking, food of the nourishing sort is a mystery and one of humanity's deepest connections to creation and thereby to God, and he denounces our culture for our desecration of eating. I think there is some of that implied here. If that's the case, 'the main course' could be an honorific rather than meaning only food.

Finally, Song of Solomon is full of food imagery for sexuality, so it's not that off. Come to think of it, Jesus compares himself to food as well. Hmm . . .