affirmative actions

I often feel as though I'm living in a backward state. Missour-uh is about as middle America as you can get.

But then...

Every once in a while, someone here does something really cool.

The latest Missouri hero is Secretary of State Robin Carnahan, who is beating Ward Connerly at his own game. Recently, the geechy anti-affirmative-action crusader descended on our state to introduce a bill that would make affirmative action basically illegal here. His modus operandi is to word the ballot language is such a way as to make folks think they're voting against discrimination.

Here's how he wanted to word the bill in the Show-me State:

Shall the Missouri Constitution be amended to prohibit any form of discrimination as an act of the state by declaring:

The state shall not discriminate against, or grant preferential treatment to, any individual or group on the basis of race, sex, color, ethnicity or national origin in the operation of public employment, public education or public contracting?

Carnahan, in turn, offered more accurate and less desceptive ballot language:

Shall the Missouri Constitution be amended to:

Ban affirmative action programs designed to eliminate discrimination against, and improve opportunities for, women and minorities in public contracting, employment and education; and

Allow preferential treatment based on race, sex, color, ethnicity, or national origin to meet federal program funds eligibility standards as well as preferential treatment for bona fide qualifications based on sex?

Of course Connerly is loathe to swallow his own medicine. He's going to sue.

kafe kiskeya

On Saturday morning we were out of coffee, so we headed off for Midtown to grab a couple cups and a pound or two. But on our way we spotted a sign on 12th Street, just a block away from Ebony's aunt's house, for coffee. So I stomped on the brakes and we stopped in to check it out.

Kafe Kiskeya. I'd heard about the place and had been meaning drop in, I just hadn't had the chance yet. I'm so glad we did.

For one, they have good fair-trade coffee by the pound, in our neighborhood, so we don't have to keep driving to Midtown every other week. Second, the place is cool as hell.

It's not so much a coffee shop as an art gallery that serves coffee. Sarah, the owner, can't really sell coffee because the City slapped all these requirements on her before she could get a license to do so. She couldn't afford it. So she accepts dollar donations.

Most of the art is from Haiti, and it's pretty cool -- expecially the stuff stamped out of flattened oil drums. The best part is they have open mic nights on Fridays. I'm looking forward to checking that out.

But the gallery is part of a sort of campus for social justice right there in Ebony's old stomping grounds. Sarah's part of a group that bought pretty much the whole block -- a house, a few apartments and a couple of storefronts -- where they offer housing for refugees, English lessons, garden space, and even showers for the homeless.

All good news. That particular stretch of 12th Street could use a little art and cafeine boost.

new york minute

My last two visits to New York have been for business, and on both occasions I found myself at the cusp of hating the place, when I walked into a bar and saw something amazing enough to make me love it.

As a tourist, New York is awesome. You plan a whole day around one or two sights and then you eat whicked good food and see a show. When I'm in New York on business, though, running back and forth across town from meeting to meeting, I feel as though I'm in one of the most inhospitable environments on earth. It's just mile after mile of concrete, steel and glass where the only escape is to buy something, and even that's not an escape because there's always someone jostling against you.

But then, it's New York. And you never know what's around the corner.

Last fall, I ducked into the KGB Bar after full day of hoofing across Manhattan, just to check it out, because I'd heard about it. They just happened to be hosting a nonfiction reading, and this woman told an incredible story about the time she'd gotten a clove of garlic stuck in her vagina. It was mesmerizing and transcendent in the way that good stories are.

This past week I went with my sister-in-law and her roommate to a bar around the corner from their place in Brooklyn, after a long day of pounding the pavement. We showed up and no one had claimed the couch, so we sat down, and not a minute later two guys took the stage and started playing the most amazing music. One played a cello, the other drums. It was a small bar, and I wasn't more than a yard away from the cello player. It was beautiful watching the bow dance across the strings, the way it blurred in the red and blue stage lights. He was so into it. He closed his eyes and cocked his head back as he sang.

Turns out it was a sort of open-mic night for bands. Next up was a group called Lowry, and they were amazing, too. Their lead singer was funny looking, with a short beard and greasy hair combed forward and a snappy thrift-store suit. They had a woman who sang back-up and played tambourine. But I especially liked the piano player, who looked like one of Warren Zevon's buddies in the 70s, with his bushy blonde hair and aviator shades. Every once in a while he stood up from his piano bench and pumped his fist and contorted as if he were in ecstacy.

I bought CDs from both bands. Lowry's was a bit of a let-down (even though the band's lead singer and namesake is from the Kansas City area). But Takénobu's held up. I've been listening to it in my car as I drive around in the rain.

doggie

We took in another stray on Friday night.

Allie spotted him roaming the street after dark. We wooed him in with little chunks of fajita meat. I spent the night with him on the futon in the basement. He kind of spooned me around my shins. He's a cute little bugger. At first I wanted to call him Shrimpy. But then I thought Julio was better.

Rather than care for him ourselves, we decided to take him to animal control. We're going to keep tabs on him. If they can't adopt him out, and he appears to be headed toward the gas chamber, we'll go back and adopt him ourselves and then try to find a loving owner. But we sense he's cute enough that he'll find a nice home.

If you, or anyone you know, wants a cute, skinny little mutt, call 816-513-9800 and ask for animal number A104275.

(Click the image above for a slidewhow of him.)

garden update/great weekend

What an incredible weekend! Spent about eight hours yesterday working in the yard, and another six today. That's been the toughest part of my new job; not being able to garden every afternoon. Nowadays I get home at 5:30 or 6 most nights (though there's always at least one late night per week). I walk the dogs with Allie. We eat. I do some chore type stuff. And most nights there's no time by the end for the hobby I love most. And when I can squeeze in an hour or two, I feel stressed because I'm behind on weeding, deadheading, etc.

So to have weekend like this -- with hours anbd hours of gardening -- is better than gold.

I love to garden while listening to podcasts or audiobooks on my iPod. Yesterday I listened to a bunch of C-SPAN programs, including a particularly fascinating one about China. And today I listened to about half of Buzz Bissinger's Three Nights in August. Brilliant work.

Oppression in China. Tony La Russa's oppressive obsession. Beautiful, beautiful plants and dirt and sunshine. Really put things into persepctive for me. Drained all the stress of City Hall right out of me. Made it seem insignificant, silly.

And, as if that weren't enough, Allie and I saw Knocked Up at the drive-in last night, and it was a real winner. We laughed like crazy at a few parts that really reminded us of us. And, of course, we were at the drive-in, so it was all the more summery and relaxing and delightful.

I think I'm ready for Monday now. Or at least for next weekend.

(click the picture above for a slideshow documentary of my garden as it is today.)

meet the neighbors

Allie and were sitting on the porch eating delicious fajitas when we heard a hellicopter fly by so low that it sounded like a lawnmower on the roof. And the sound of sirens was welling on the horizon, drawing nearer by the second.

We stepped out onto the lawn and craned our necks skyward. It was a police copter circling the next block over.

"Come on," I said to Allie, "let's go check it out."

As we rounded the block, we saw other neighbors on their front porches, standing on their tippy toes, trying to get a glimpse of the scene. Some followed us on our march to the action.

"What if we get shot?" Allie asked.

"We won't get shot," I said. But then, remembering how irked she gets when I tell her something won't happen only see it to happen shortly thereafter, I said, "Well, maybe we will. But it'll be worth it."

We turned the corner and saw the flashing lights, a woman waving her arms in the air, cussing, restrained by the cops. We saw a man in cuffs and some kind of weird face-masked helmet that the cops put on to keep him from spitting, I guess. They kept pouring water in his face.

We asked a skinny man with no shirt and a pair of baggy shorts what was going on. He didn't know much, only that the man in the helmet had received a face full of pepper spray. Thus the periodic water dowsing. He apparently knew the man. "That's Adrian," he said.

We stood and watched for a while as they cuffed Adrian's mom and dad. We noticed a film crew recording the whole thing.

"Wow!" I said. "Cops is shooting this!"

There were a few people gathered in clusters around the scene, gawking like us, hoping, I have to admit, to see something really outrageous. One man sat in an idling Corolla across the street. After a while he drove off, flashing a thumbs up as he left, yelling, "Let's keep our neighborhood clean!"

The skinny man in shorts looked at the cops and scoffed, "I'd like to ask them how many people they've beaten today." Earlier he'd said, "This is a police state." Allie asked his name. He said it is Rick. He and his wife and two daughters live directly behind us. They've lived there for 20 years. He said my garden is "beautiful."

The action had slowed to a procedural hault. We had a brief rush when an ambulance pulled up, but it was short lived. Just then our tall lesbian neighbor four houses to the north showed up. I'd never had a chance to ask her name, so I took the opportunity. It's Jennifer.

As we were walking home I turned to Allie and said, "What a great way to meet our neighbors." We agreed to invite them all over for a barbecue soon.

screenwriter

(Wow. It's been almost two weeks since the last post. Been very busy.)

Anyway, I've been meaning to post about my visit with the screenwriter. His name is Andy Callahan and he flew in from LA on June 7 to interview me, Jane Rinehart, Marcus Leach and Day Brown (he'd been in Louisville the day before, interviewing Ebony). After a day at Central with Jane and the kids he swung by City Hall to pick me up and we went to Arthur Bryants. Later we wound up on my front porch talking with Allie.

Honestly, I think she and interviewed him more than he did me. It was fascinating to hear about life as a screenwriter.

Andy is working his way up in the world of screenwriting. This will be his second project for Lifetime. It's kind of a break for him, really, because his first film was kind of a first-level Lifetime film, which means it's lower budget and it isn't marketed anywhere but on Lifetime. The movie based on my book would have a larger budget, and it would be advertised on other cable networks.

The way he broke in was to write several screenplays that were never sold, much less made into movies. But based on these works, he was able to get an agent who matches him up with projects. These projects are conceived of by producers, who make a whole lot of money just to come up with ideas and to manage the shaping of the story and the film. For his first completed project, his meeting with the producer went something like this:

Producer: Have you seen Single White Female?

Andy: Yes.

Producer: Have you seen Pacific Heights?

Andy: No.

Producer: Well rent it, because I want Single White Female meets Pacific Heights.

Andy told me the story of his first screenplay, which never sold, and it is a hell of a story. A true story! But Hollywood people are so conformist they couldn't buy it, mostly because it was based on rowing. But, I'll tell you, it was a wicked cool story, and I suggested he think about making it into a book.

All and all it was a fun informative evening. Strangest thing of all, I think, is that he's going to wrote my character into the movie, which I thought was kind of a dumb idea, but I warmed up to it after he explained.

At any rate, he seemed to think the movie was going to get made. The network people are apparently quite motivated.

another award

Cross-X won the 2006 Harry Chapin Media Award for books.

suckling porcupine

Sorry I haven't been updating. I have a couple of posts in mind, but I've been short on time. Meanwhile, enjoy this adorable creature.

pretty colors

Allie has gotten majorly creative lately. Her first order of business: Bring color to our porch.






(When finished, that window will hang on one end of the porch, blocking out the neighbors we don't like.)

Looks pretty cool, doncha think?

memorial day weekend

In honor of our fallen dead, I worked my ass off in the yard this weekend.

I planted flowers:











Even in some unusual places:





I planted veggies:







I mowed the lawn:



Oh yeah. And I made retaining walls and planting beds out of chunks of pavement I busted up with a jack hammer:





I'm going to be sore for a week.

failure

I had dream. I wanted to get on Cute Overload, and I thought my hedge hogs with tubes on their heads would do the trick. But no. Someone else had to do the head-tube thing and add a cute soundtrack and shots of the little hog flailing in his back.



I think the only thing left to do is torture Gobo again with coffee.

let me see your grill

On Saturday, I was presented with the 2007 William Rockhill Nelson Award for nonfiction. I was also presented with a $500 check, so the next day I headed off to Home Depot to buy one of those gigantic gas grills.

So I marched into the big orange box on Metcalf, in the strip-mall heart of Johnson County, ready to bag my capitalist prey: a Weber Genesis E-320. I'd been eyeing that green-and-chrome bastard for the better part of a month. Now it was finally mine.

As luck would have it, they had an assembled model all ready to go. All I had to do was wheel it through check out and load it into the hatchback.

Then something amazing happened.

As I pushed that grill through the store, every man I passed stopped in his tracks and watched me go by.

One man said, "That's a mighty nice looking grill." Another: "I'm coming to your place for dinner tonight." They all smiled at me, small smiles that seemed to say

God, I wish I had a grill like that!

or

Reminds me of when I got my grill... what a day that was!

or

Isn't it great to be a man?!

It was touching. I actually got a little verklempt.

I think it's going to be a good summer.

cousin

My cousin Jake is going to be a big star.

hedgehogs

One of my goals in life is to get something on Cute Overload. I've been turned down once, so here's my second attempt... Hedgehogs with tubes on their heads:







(These were filmed at the KC Pet Expo earlier this month.)

second thoughts

A funny thing happened when I rode my bike to work. I lost my car keys.

And I didn't have a spare set. And my car was parked behind Allie's, so neither of us could drive anywhere until I got a key, which didn't happen until late this afternoon.

So I took the bus to work today, and it was more than a little fun, so now Allie and I are thinking about getting rid of my car and just sharing hers.

The financial benefits are obvious. In total, I probably spend more than $500 a month on transportation. That's almost double my paert of the mortgage.

Plus, busing and biking is pretty fun, at least from my neighborhood. For $40 a month, I can go door-to-door home to work and back again in a little more than 30 minutes a day. And, when it's nice out, I get to bike on Cliff Drive.

Hell, that alone is worth $500 a month.

more oligarchy

In the previous post I mentioned Political Parties, by Robert Michels. I only got about 30 pages into it before setting it aside, at least for now. I guess an early 20th Century tome on the doomed nature of democracy isn't quite the best literary compliment to spring.

So I picked up Robert Caro's The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the fall of New York. And wouldn't you know it? It's pretty much the same thing, only in story form.

In a nutshell, it's a 1,100-page book about a man who started out as an idealist and wound up a self-serving emperor. Caro, in characteristic genius, sums it up in the book's intro:

In the beginning -- and for decades of his career -- the power Robert Moses amassed was the servant of his dreams, amassed for their sake, so that his gigantic city-shaping visions could become reality. But power is not an instrument that its possessor can use with impunity. It is a drug that creates in the user a need for larger and larger dosages. And Moses was a user. At first, for a decade or more after his first sip of real power in 1924, he continued to seek it only for the sake of his own dreams. But little by little there came a change. Slowly but inexorably, he began to seek power for its own sake. More and more, the criterion by which Moses selected which city-shaping public works would be built came to be not the needs of the city's people, but the increment of power a project could give him. Increasingly, the projects became not ends but means -- the means of obtaining more and more power.

As the idealism faded and disappeared, its handmaidens drifted away. The principles of the Good Government reform movement had once espoused became principles to be ignored.

That seems to embody Michels' "Iron Law of Oligarchy," except it takes it further -- at least based on the little I read of Michels' book (the introduction, to be precise). The sense I got from the Michels book is that he was looking at an inherent flaw in a system. And here Caro is writing about human nature, he's breaking it down to its barest elements. He's telling a story that's been told since long before Genesis and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. An old story that is nonetheless always startling. It doesn't gibe with the reality most folks would prefer to create. Certainly not idealists like me.

oligarchy

On a bright, sunny day during the campaign, I caught a ride with the future mayor back to campaign headquarters, better known as The Doublewide. I said to him, "I've been thinking about these insiders we keep talking about" -- a big part of our campaign platform was against The Insiders -- "and it occurred to me that a lot of these people were reformists 30 years ago."

At this, Mark kind of laughed and nodded his head.

"So do you ever wonder if we'll wind up the same way?" I asked.

Mark immediately said no, claiming he's "too old" to fall into such pitfalls. "Besides, that's why I have you," he added. "To keep me from (messing) up."

But, he admitted, there is this thing known as "The Iron Law of Oligarchy." It's an old political science theory, advanced by a man named Robert Michels in the early 20thn Century. Michels studied labor movements in Europe in the 19th Century and he found that they invariably lost their democratic and populist spirits and were taken over by exclusive groups of insiders. They inevitably became oligarchies.

When I pressed Mark a little bit on his optimism and resolve, he admitted, "I'm as human as anyone." But, he said, "I have a lot of faith in democracy."

I went ahead and ordered Michels' Political Parties: A Sociological Study of the Oligarchical Tendencies of Modern Democracy. I cracked it a couple of weeks ago. It's kind of bleak. From the introduction, by Seymour Martin Lipset:

It is organization which gives birth to the domination of the elected over the electors, of the mandataries over the mandators, of the delgates over the delegators. Who says organization says oligarchy.

These words, first published in 1911, sum up Michels' famous "iron law of oligarchy." In Political Parties, Robert Michels, then a young German sociologist, laid down what has come to be the major argument against Rousseau's concept of direct popular democracy which underlay much of the traditional democratic and socialist theory. For Michels argued that the malfunctioning of existing democracy, in particular the domination by the leadership over the society and popular organizations, was not primarily a phenomenon which resulted from a low-level of social and economic development, inadequate education, or capitalist control of the opinion-forming media and other power resources, but rather was characteristic of any complex social system. Oligarchy, the control of a society or organization by those at the top, is an intrinsic part of bureaucracy or large-scale organization. Modern man, according to him, is faced with an unresolvable dilemma: he cannot have large institutions such as naton states, trade unions, political parties, or churches, without turning over effective power to the few who are at the summit of these institutions.

A pretty high hurdle.

But then, it'd also make for a wicked good debate card.

commute

This week is Bike to Work Week. So, guess what? I biked to work.

Not bad when the bulk of your commute is Cliff Drive.

I'll probably do it a few more times this week. Then, why not? I'll ride again this summer. Might do it once a week or something.

So this is how we save the world?

lion

A sure sign of summer: Haley get's a lion cut...


(click for slide show.)