Third World Bail Bonds

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I was watching some YouTube videos about the housing crisis in Detroit and I noticed a recurring theme among commentators that the situation there resembled that of a third world country. I have spent some time in third world countries, and I think that the comparison could not be further off. While third world countries are poor and people there often appear to be living in squalor, their villages and neighborhoods tend to be vital and teeming with activity. In my Uzbek village where I first stayed, other than the main street, the rest of the roads were dirt. Chicken and cows were more or less everywhere, and many of the homes were quite crude. Nevertheless, there was a feeling that the little village was a place where people lived and transacted the business of daily life. The images out of Detroit (which are strikingly similar to many areas of New Orleans,) lack this vitality of place.

Americans’ bandying of the term “third world” is most often done so from a place of ignorance. My issue is primarily semantic; though the term may no longer be politically correct, I am particularly bothered by the meaning that it is meant to convey. Third world is shorthand for: abandonment, neglect, blight, danger and decay. While each of these conditions may apply to certain third world communities, they by no means define the totality of circumstances of life in such places. Third world communities are often developing, and more often than not, the people who live there take great pride in their communities; one doesn’t need a green lawn in front of a McMansion to convey pride of place.

While the third world is developing, Detroit, and many other areas in this country, are regressing. This regression is painful and shocking; formerly middle class neighborhoods reduced to blighted ghettos does not make a pretty picture. But let’s quit with the presumptuous fiction that our society’s failures resemble those of the third world. The conditions that we have created are distinct and must be analyzed in context. Racial tensions, economics, education, drugs, cultural values… these are our fault lines. Let’s be outraged at what’s happened and let’s be motivated to do something about it. But let’s also be honest about that fact that our problem is distinctly American, and as one video ominously noted in closing, “coming to a city near you!”

BREAKING

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Cable news will be the downfall of civilization. As I was working out today, the day after MJ died, programming on CNN and FOX was captioned, “BREAKING NEWS: MJ something or other…” Sorry, but this sad event was breaking news yesterday. Camera shots of crowds waiting for a statement from police or old stock footage of MJ throughout the years does not constitute breaking news. Pearl Harbor, the assassination of JFK, and 9/11 were breaking news; developments in a day old story do not constitute breaking news. I have no problem with captioning the unfolding of further details here as “Ongoing Developments.” However, the misuse of the “Breaking News” tag is a cynical ploy by corporate media to capture our attention in an age where that very media has been instrumental in shortening our collective attention spans and fostering a culture of ahistoric sensationalism.

Do somethin’ crazy!

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I had a good conversation with a friend before he left recently for a summer internship in Africa. The theme of our discussion was the need for some fundamental changes in our culture.

I’ve also had this dream twice in the last few days. I am on a charter bus coming from northern Vermont heading to Boston. The landscape begins with a drive down a typcial New England town’s Main Street, with shops and apartments on either side of the bus. As we exit the town the terrain becomes more hilly, and soon the bus is climbing a large hill. As busses are wont to do, it slows and the engine is working hard. Though the hill is steep, there is never a feeling of danger, like we aren’t going to make it. The first time the bus was at this hill it was daytime, the second time, it was night as a full moon hovered in the primal and mountainous distance. On the right side of the road, the hill sloped down revealing a college campus. On the upward incline one could see the academic buildings, a recreation center and a chapel. Before the bus reached the apex, it had to make a sharp left turn. Then as we began to glide down, the buildings clearly became dorms, each with a small balcony and double rocker swing. During this whole trip, there is a feeling of great calm and wonder among those of us on the bus. The college is a magical place to which we would all like to return.

Until my membership expired a few days ago, I’d been a regular at the Reily student recreation center here at Tulane. Though certainly not a facility to rave about (as is the case with pretty much everything at Tulane,) it had a fairly nice weight room in which I had become a regular. The music in the weight room, which I presume came from a cable music channel, was usually of the pop culture variety and was the same feed that was piped throughout the building. Though I was there to work out, I enjoyed the fact that there was music; indeed, the right music can really enhance a workout.

However, the music started getting a little stupid. The first song that raised my hackles was 3oh!3’s “Don’t Trust Me”. In this song, the protagonist talks about his feelings for women. The song’s most notable refrain reads:

shush girl,
shut your lips,
do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips.

The next annoying song was “Take Me On The Floor” by The Veronicas. The female vocalist, who appears to be in a heat of passion, sings:

I want to kiss a girl
I want to kiss a girl
I want to kiss a boy
I wanna…
…
Take me on the floor
I can’t take it any more
I want you I want you I want you to show me love
Just take me on the floor

The third, and most annoying is a more recent entry to the vapid lineup, Asher Roth’s “I Love College”. In a celebratory style, he recounts a great party he attended the previous night and his plans to repeat the debauchery again the next day. First the refrain:

{Redacted}
I danced my ass off and had this one girl completely naked
{Redacted}
{Redacted}

The stanzas are not much better. Among my “favorites”:

{Redacted}
…
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{Redacted}
{Redacted}
{Redacted}
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{Redacted}
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…
{Redacted}
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{Redacted}

Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!
Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!
Freshmen! Freshmen!
Freshmen! Freshmen!

Do something’ crazy! Do somethin’ crazy!
Do something’ crazy! Do somethin’ crazy!
Keg stand! Keg stand!
Keg stand! Keg stand!

I mentioned my college on a Vermont hill dream because I think it has something to do with my frustration over the idiotic nature of American pop-culture, as demonstrated by the above popular songs. What’s really irked me was the fact that as these moronic lyrics were blaring away in the weight room, nobody really seemed to mind or be paying attention anyway. This, I think, is our problem. What now passes for popular entertainment is crude, base, and ignorant (none of these songs even remotely classify as satire). These songs glorify quick cheap sex, gimmicky sexuality, misogyny and seriously misplaced priorities.

As we look around and see our once giant corporations declaring bankruptcy, a woefully poorly educated student body, and the ongoing degradation of our infrastructure and environment, perhaps we should, as our former chief executive was so fond of saying, attempt to connect the dots. Maybe kids growing up listening to the “I Love College” song will get the wrong idea about what it means to go to college. Maybe kids listening to “Don’t Trust Me” will feel somewhat less inclined to behave respectfully towards women.

Like I said before, music has a powerful impact on us. When I was in high school, my swim team coach would put on a meditation tape (with ELO’s Fire on High in the background) to get us mentally prepared for a coming meet. When I sought to teach my students about the 1960’s counterculture, I used a lot of music, and they listened. It’s a fact that we take in things that we see and hear; with televisions and music constantly blaring everywhere these days, we are inundated with messaging. Most of this messaging comes from corporate channels, such as cable television, advertisements and popular music.

This music, even if we don’t actively seek it out, seeps into our collective psyche like a poison slowly growing in potency from repeat exposure. Radioactivity is inevitable. It’s hard to know where this will lead, but I think we are seeing its effects already: selfishness, insecurity, decreased civility, increased violence. In short, we have been collectively dumbing ourselves down and teaching ourselves not to pay attention.

Looking back at my dream, though, I think that it is hopeful. After all, the bus made it up the hill both times and the college was still there. While sometimes I get depressed about our cultural waywardness, I still hope that we might once again be able to aspire to greater things. My current vision of the cool beckoning stone of the college on a hill reminds me that the great promise of mankind is still out there, even if illuminated only by our dreams.

In Too Deep

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I had a vivid dream cycle last night, and though I can’t remember it all, one part of it is still with me.

I was in a movie theater waiting for the show to begin. Behind me was a man and a woman. I thought I did not know them but when I turned to look, the man greeted me by name and I remembered that he had been to the law school for the environmental conference. This person was real, not just a dream character; his visage had oddly and inexplicably transfixed me during the conference.

Between two previews there was a sound from the projection booth, and it appeared that something had gone wrong. The movie began but it did not start at the beginning. After the first reel ended the screen went dark. Angered, I stood up and looked into the projection booth to see a curly haired man with thick glasses attempting to repair the projector. I shouted at him loudly, startling the other theater patrons.

When the movie continued, it was very small, filling up only a tiny portion of the screen. Though nobody else seemed to mind, I got up to leave, only to find myself in a hallway between the theater from which I had come and the open door of another. A uniformed usher asked me what was wrong and I screamed, “It looks like Quicktime!”

Rushing down the dark red stairwell it was too late by the time I realized that I had gone down one flight too many and found myself in the basement lair of the broken down film palace. A black woman rushed from a doorway and I asked here where the box office was. She pointed cursorily and hurried on, but I could no longer find my way back.

National Train Day

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Saturday was National Train Day and there were some festivities at Union Passenger Terminal in New Orleans. New Orleans is a very strategic rail hub. Not only do all of the major freight railroads converge here (at the port,) but there are also three long distance Amtrak trains that depart daily from the Crescent City (The Crescent to Washington, DC, the City of New Orleans to Chicago and the Sunset Limited to Los Angeles. The train day festivities had lots of quality promotional material (Amtrak has a great ad agency,) some vintage railcars and current Amtrak rolling stock on display. I was pleased with the amount of interested participants and hope that the day’s festivities will raise awareness of the necessity of improving our national rail service.