Big City Nights

Early Friday morning, two youths were apprehended after neighbors called police to tell them that a burglary was in progress. The eyewitnesses said they saw the pair tossing garbage bags full of something from an outdoor second floor landing. It might have been laundry, though 12:45 AM seems a little late to get get one last load in. As it turns out, the bags were full of marijuana and had come from the basement where there was enough pot to, well, fill garbage bags. Thanks to the keen observation skills of the neighbors, as well as the waist-high bags, police were able to make fairly short work of this one, including the six hundred plants being grown in the basement.
Except this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Two years ago, police arrested a burglar at the same address carting out the same ill-gotten booty. Much has been made of the fact that Oakland's police department has just had to lay off eighty officers, but not two years ago. Six hundred pot plants didn't just spring up overnight at this same location. I know that only Baretta or T.J. Hooker have the kind of moxie and resources it would take to take down the bad guys and keep them down, but in this case, I guess you have to thank the two knuckleheads who decided to break into the same location two years later for moving the investigation along. Nothing says "probable cause" like a Hefty bag full of hydroponic weed. Then, of course, there's the irony factor: It was only a week and a half ago that Oakland's city council authorized large-scale pot farming for the purposes of selling, and taxing, bushels of medicinal herb to the populace. The "street value" of the nabbed doobage was estimated at a quarter of a million dollars. Pump that back into the city budget and maybe we could get a couple cops back on the job. Wow. I must be stoned.

La Familia

I don't know. Maybe they were worried that if California allowed gay people to get married there would be a whole stream of homosexuals pouring over the border to get hitched and adopt anchor babies. The good news is that won't be as big a concern now, since the Mexican Supreme Court has just turned back an appeal by prosecutors that said that same-sex marriage was legal in Mexico City. They still have to decide whether or not this applies to states outside the capital, and if it gay couples would be allowed to adopt children.
"It does not appear to me to be unconstitutional," Justice Jose Gudino said during Thursday's session. "The concept of the family established in the constitution ... is an open concept." The concept of the family is open. What a marvelous notion. It puts me in mind of the extended families Kurt Vonnegut used to write about. In "Slapstick" he wrote, "[H]uman beings need all the relatives they can get–as possible donors or receivers not necessarily of love, but of common decency." It also bears the subtitle "Lonesome No More," a sentiment that echoes throughout much of his work. The main character runs for president and upon assuming the office, gives everyone middle names like "Raspberry-19" in hopes that they can connect with other Raspberries or 19's, providing relatives at an exponential rate. Lonesome no more.
The American Heritage Dictionary, a much less amusing read, defines "family" as:
1. (a) A fundamental social group in society typically consisting of one or two parents and their children.
(b) Two or more people who share goals and values, have long-term commitments to one another, and reside usually in the same dwelling place.
2. All the members of a household under one roof.
3. A group of persons sharing common ancestry.
The definition of "marriage" starts out by suggesting that it needs to be a man and a woman, but quickly moves to less gender-specific terms: "the state of being married; wedlock." And so we're left to wonder about those big documents: The Constitution and The Bible. How do we interpret them and whose interpretation is best? Or should it matter at all? Who gets to decide? At the end of the day, I return to more words from Mister Vonnegut: "If you can do no good, at least do no harm." I'm not sure what that is in Spanish, but I'm guessing the Supreme Court of Mexico already knows it.

The Citizen Ship

If you're like me, and who isn't these days, you probably wonder about those articles that start with the phrase, "Republicans want to," followed by some sideways or confounding political agenda. That's how I reacted when the mainstream media tossed me the headline: "Republicans want review of birthright citizenship." Of course they do, but before I read the entire article, my mind was already racing ahead with all the reasons why.
It seemed to me like the perfect way to get that 2008 election back. If there was a chance to prove, once and for all, that Barack Hussein Obama was not a citizen of these United States then the last year and a half would only be a bad dream, a bump in the road. If he's not a citizen, he can't be President, though he could still be governor of California.
Then I read the article, and found that all "those Republicans" really want to do is revise the Constitution of the United States. It certainly won't be the second amendment, since that one is perfectly fine and keeps the guns right where they belong. The one they're after is the fourteenth amendment. It's not the equal protection clause, or the part about due process, though they may get around to messing with that soon enough. The part that seems to be causing all the stir is the section about citizenship. The one that reads: "All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws." That's a pretty good idea, considering how we're a nation of immigrants and all.
"I'm not sure exactly what the drafters of the amendment had in mind, but I doubt it was that somebody could fly in from Brazil and have a child and fly back home with that child, and that child is forever an American citizen," said Senator Jeff Sessions from Alabama. That would be pretty amazing if the framers of our constitution had also invented air travel. And in-flight snacks. And long lines at security checkpoints. And fees for carry-on bags.
Maybe I have strayed from the point: A number of Republicans, including Senator John McCain from Arizona, would like us all to consider just what this tired old amendment, passed way back in 1867, means to us today. Aside from those jet-setters who are flying in to have their children here on U.S. soil just to give them citizenship, they seem to have some concerns about immigrants coming across our borders illegally and having the unfortunately named "anchor children." These hunks of iron are then used to hold those immigrants in place against the metaphorical tides of the naturalization process. Did I mention that John McCain is from Arizona, where the strictest law for detaining and deporting illegal aliens has recently been under fire? Did I mention that this is the same John McCain who, as a presidential candidate in 2008 began to quietly distance himself from the immigration reform he championed only a few years earlier. Oh, and did I mention that John McCain is a Republican?
And that several of Senator McCain's ancestors were not born in this country? They just hopped on a boat and had a baby, hoping that all their children would be somehow granted citizenship in this "New World." And even though some of his relatives fought with those treasonous Confederates way back when, the congress has been pretty forgiving about letting them have their citizenship back. I guess you never really notice how nice it is to have some things until they're gone. Like Republicans.

Near Miss

I understand disappointment. I comprehend regret. I grok despair. That's why my empathy gland swelled when I read the story of one man's search for Bruce, and the crushing loss he felt when he was turned away at the last possible moment. A long time ago, I reconciled myself to a Bruce-less existence. I lived in Colorado, after all and it was possible back then to count the times that the Boss had visited the Centennial State on one hand. I had heard the apocryphal tale of a fan who hung around after a show and was eventually rewarded with the appearance of Mister Springsteen himself, who accepted this fan's invitation to dinner and a movie. A dream date with the Boss. They went to see "Annie Hall." They had dinner this guy's parents. And it all took place in Denver.
Or so they say. Growing up in Boulder, most everyone in that town had a Dan Fogleberg story. This guy sold Dan some hiking boots. This girl who brought him frozen yogurt. He was everywhere, but I never met him. Even if it had been my wish. That's kind of what I imagined would happen if I decided to hang around the Jersey Shore. I probably would trip over Snookie or "The Situation," or even Dan Fogleberg before I had a chance encounter with Springsteen. I could sit at the door of the Stone Pony for weeks at a time, and the moment that I moved left or right, that would be the time that Bruce Springsteen would amble on in and play a three hour set. With me on the outside. Just like the guy in the story.
I know that there are plenty of people, the couple hundred who watched Alejandro Escovedo and Bruce tear through "Beast of Burden." I know it wasn't me, and I suppose I'm happy to know that it wasn't a lot of other people too.

Promises, Promises

The President of the United States, who is currently Barack Obama, announced on Monday that the Iraq war was nearing an end "as promised and on schedule." This comes as some welcome relief for a number of us who were unaware that there was a schedule or an end. Back when we had a Pinhead for a president, we had been told that the war was over, or rather that it would be over abruptly, but I guess it would have helped to understand the timeline that the government was working with.
Back when the war was first getting finished, in April 2003, it was comforting to think of all those American GI's coming home in time for summer in the states. Even though "major combat operations" had ended, there was still a little clean up to do. Another seven years or so. What we who are not "in the loop" fail to grasp is just how hard it is to end a war. It's not like we're running out of bullets or anything. On the contrary, the war in Iraq has been good business for arms manufacturers here in the United States, what with all the guns and bombs that our soldiers need as well as those we are selling to the Iraqis in hopes that when there aren't any more U.S. soldiers left to shoot them they can get back to shooting one another. Our current president tells us that we are still expecting to get all our troops out of Iraq by the end of next year. If you're looking at a calendar presently, you've probably pieced together that we still have a little over a year and a half to pack our bags and go. "But make no mistake, our commitment in Iraq is changing — from a military effort led by our troops to a civilian effort led by our diplomats."
No word yet on how the diplomats will be armed.

Sabbath Bloody Sabbath

Sitting in my pew in the temple I felt welcome, as I often do in places of worship. This sense of well-being was followed somewhat abruptly with an urge to flee. Well, "flee" might be a little strong, but I can't say that I have ever been completely comfortable in church, or synagogue in this case. Maybe it was because most of my childhood memories about what I experienced on those Sunday mornings was getting up early and waiting for the services to conclude so that our regularly scheduled weekend could reconvene. The sounds and words of the Bar Mitzvah that we attended this weekend made me remember all those Sundays before my father decided to retire us from the Methodist church.
Don't get me wrong. I took it seriously enough to earn my Bible in Sunday school: a Young Reader's version that had some pretty interesting modern illustrations, but it was the real deal from Genesis to Revelations. I read the whole thing. But before I had my shot at my first communion, my family had parted ways with the First Methodist Church. My father asserted that he didn't need a building to find God, and he was closer to Him when he was in the mountains chopping wood anyway. And we, as a family, bought this. I admit that I missed the after church trips to the donut shop, but didn't feel any loss for not having to put on our Buster Browns and school clothes one more time that week. I knew enough to know that the Sabbath was a day of rest, and why in the name of All That Is Holy would I imagine anything restful happening in one of those creaky wooden pews?
Since then I've been back, from time to time. My wife insisted that our son be baptized at the church she went to as a child. There has been a funeral or two. I've been to a bris and a christening. I've been to weddings in the woods and indoors. Whatever god was needed in each of these instances seemed to be available for the asking, not necessarily because of the location. The temple I sat in on Saturday listening to readings from the Torah had previously been a church for Christian folks just a few years ago. It made me wonder if you had to call Yaweh or the Flying Spaghetti Monster each time you set up shop, or if the cardboard Stars of David taped on the stained glass windows would be enough to get the transmission straightened out or if you had to climb up on the steeple and adjust some sort of holy beacon or other.
So apparently, after all those years, I am still far too distractable to sit in church. Or temple. Heaven help me.

The Rest

Hey, toss me that piano!
Please, hit me in the face with that rake!
Let's spend the rest of our lives together!
There are a lot of phrases
that I never thought I would say
Or to be more precise
That I ever thought I would mean
Sometimes it makes me nervous
When I stop to think about how little
I really know about "forever"
Waiting for the bell to ring
Watching "Gone With The Wind"
That's what it used to feel like
Forever used to be something endured
Now it's something I look forward to
But come to think of it
We've already known each other
Forever and a day or two
Could it be this is only Act Two?
And it all began with those two words:
Why not?
So toss me another piano,
while I duck the swing of the rake
and I'll be seeing you
for the rest of our lives