Amusing Ourselves to Death

I just finished reading Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves to Death.

It’s a terrific and quick read. (Its brevity is actually quite ironic given the book is about how television has cheapened and maniplated public discourse – resulting in the political soundbite and the paper USA Today)

The book is over twenty years old but its theme is even more relevant today; basically, that we’re becoming a culture of individuals, molded by television’s mode of communication, that expect our Education, Religion, and Politics to be delivered quick and entertainingly, bite-sized and easily digestible; and without any need for exposition or context, causing a harmful deterioration in our modern public discourse.

It confirms many of my suspicions about the role television plays in how we process our lives.

And I couldn’t put it into words but I knew that T.V took away something deeply human in us.

Especially the news.

I’ve always found it odd that following a horrific report full of mayhem, murder, and death, the newscaster can seamlessly switch over to sports, or the weather, or a fuzzy piece about a cat stuck in a tree. This kind of juxtaposition of serious/alarming and trivial/amusing has to have some kind of consequence on the viewing public. It must lead to some kind of a desensitized populace, an audience that doesn’t ever truly grasp the images they are seeing — that’s the reason people are so fucked up.

Along comes Neil Postman to break it down.

We have become so accustomed to its discontinuities that we are no longer struck dumb, as any sane person would be, by a newscaster who having just reported that a nuclear war is inevitable goes on to say that he will be right back after this word from Burger King.

This kind of emotional pinball was really getting to me during Hurricane Katrina. I remember vividly the rage I felt when they went to a commercial for Brawny — seeing a housewife crying over a spilled cup of coffee, how her paper towels dissolved before her eyes trying to clean it up, then the Brawny man showing up to rescue her — meanwhile the residents of New Orleans were waiting out the commercial break on their rooftops with signs that said ‘help us’, as toxic, inflamed floodwater crept higher and higher.

Where the hell is the Brawny man when you really need him?

(By the way, I prefer 1970’s Brawny man to his modern day incarnation)

The news returned and the anchorman continued to a lighter story, with the same stolid countenance on his plastic, powdered face. I never did find out what happen to the people on the roof. I remember wondering at the time, does this guy ever have nightmares?

It is also of considerable help in maintaining a high level of unreality that the newscasters do not pause to grimace or shiver when they speak their prefaces or epilogs to their film clips. Indeed, many newscasters do not appear to grasp the meaning of what they are saying, and some hold to a fixed and ingratiating enthusiasm as they report on earthquakes, mass killings, and other disasters.

Is it even biologically possible for a newscaster to cry? Or were they born without tear ducts and thus fell into that line of work?

I ask these questions — knowing that the answer is irrelevant, that even should a newscaster be moved emotionally by a story, it’s his or her job to remain detachedly calm when delivering the details of said news story. My only point is to point out that the ‘news’ is not about supplying the populace with information, but with entertainment.

Think of the opening music to ABC’s Nightly News.

That dramatic score is meant to prepare you for the “seriousness” of what is to follow, however nothing is too serious to not take time out to sell paper towels.

When the half hour is over, we move on to Jeopardy, where information and knowledge as entertainment is never more obvious. The transition is subtle, but when you think about it Jeopardy proves that what you have just seen is rather unimportant to you, unless you happen to be one of the few unfortunate souls the news was about that night, otherwise, it’s merely the answer to a question in a game show one day.

There is no final essay, or oral exam, at the end of Jeopardy. No back and forth discussion of knowledge. It is knowledge merely for the sake of entertainment. No offense to Ken Jennings, who is brilliant and a fine writer, but Jeopardy is not a sign of genius, but of having a brain that’s a vessel for facts and trivia and the ability to recall them quickly.

But that’s fine, you might say, people are learning trivia and enjoying themselves at the end of the long day, what’s wrong with that?

Well, I would reply, it’s not Jeopardy that is the problem so much as it’s Jeopardy combined with the News and Sesame Street and Televangelism and the way our political campaigns are run that has a detrimental effect on us as a populace. It’s the whole chain of events that happens, starting with Saturday morning cartoons when we’re four and continuing on with each September sweeps. We’ve lost the ability to truly analyze the issues, to research policy differences, to spend more than two minutes on a subject before getting bored and moving on.

Neil Postman wrote this eye-opening book long before the emergence of ADD, but I wonder if he wouldn’t suppose that its correlation to the rise of television is no coincidence.

Television has certainly changed our behavior and our habits, perhaps it’s literaly changing our DNA too.

It’s something to think about, long and hard and quietly.

I notice its effect all the time when writing this blog. When I complete a lengthy paragraph, that should be one whole paragraph, I often try to find a way to break it up into two smaller paragraphs because I know a reader might take one look at it and flip to the next blog – perhaps Perez’s.

So yes, I’m a child of the 80’s and have the attention span of a rat; and I also know that my readers are children of the 80’s and 90’s and some have the attention span of a gnat, so I keep it reaaaal short. I’m sure many readers have already bailed on me by this point, so to those that have made it this far, I thank you and salute you.

It’s tough. There is always some distraction from reality, so much so that reality, now, is a distraction. It’s easier to go online and search for images of a mountain stream than to go camping. Techonology has replaced experience. We are a nation where the dad or the mom IMs the children to come to dinner, and where the children text their friends while watching Idol during it, and afterwards they all go to seperate rooms to watch their seperate LCD TVs.

We are our own jail keepers and get to chose the layout and furniture of our cages so we don’t really notice the bars.

What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy.

Amusing Ourselves to Death argues that our fascist state more closely mirrors A Brave New World than 1984. It’s hard to refute that premise.

Look around and all you see are Americans indulging in their ignorance, unable to pay attention to any one thing for any great period of time. (and yes, I’m speaking in the general, not for everybody)

Techonology is the soma in this story, as long as we have our fix we’re too busy using it to address any of the problems in Washington. We’re not going to cause any trouble when there’s the Web to surf, Wiis to play. We’re a culture that is so fast paced that we’re already on a different news cycle than when I started this essay an hour ago, how could any one ever expect us to address the more complex issues of the day? It’s much easier, and more entertaining, to show a car chase on the local news than which corporation is dumping what into the creek.

What is the solution?

I don’t know.

You can’t take the cheese out of a grilled cheese sandwich.

Kill your T.V?

Then you still have Youtube to deal with, which might even be worse than Television. Youtube doesn’t try to sell you paper towels; but on the other hand, Youtube is even more frivolous than T.V, and dangerously more immediate. And if you really wanted to, you could go and find a commercial for Brawny. In fact, here is a really creepy one.

What happens to us when we feel that amusement is always at our fingertips, only a click away? The Internet is an endless string of ‘what should we do next?’. The half hour sitcom is now just a 4 minute clip of Filipino prisoners dancing to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. There’s always something else to look up, look at, or read.

If Neil Postman was around today, he would probably say something like: what we have to fear is not the rule of a Big Brother type government, but the corrosive, internal effect of the television show Big Brother.

Ironically, a show named after the book 1984 (although denied in the disclaimer) has more to do with A Brave New World than 1984.

We choose a form of mental self-imprisonment — preferring passive entertainment over deep, critical thought — so the government needn’t bother with any sinister mind control.

There are no minds left to control.

We need a giant awakening in this country, a splash of cold water thrown in the face of every American.

We can’t avoid the problems of the day just by turning the channel, in many ways that is the problem of the day. We need to turn off the T.V, the Internet, this blog… and go outside, read a book, sit and talk with a friend. We need to learn what it means to be human again, without the aid of simple distractions, flashing doo-hickeys. We must slow down and open our eyes more.

The world is going on around us and you don’t need HD to see it.

Now, carry on…

McCain and Castro: Can’t Get Enough Of That Good-Old Cold War

It’s looking more and more like Barack Obama vs. John McCain. A choice between a fresh approach to solving our problems and a stubborn, static view of the world.

Idealism vs. Curmudgeonism.

Not to beat a dead meme, but Barack is the future; whereas McCain is an actual living relic and, politically, doesn’t offer anything new.

Not surprisingly, since Fidel Castro resigned as President of Cuba, the politics of dealing with Havana has emerged as the tropical topic of the presidential campaign. Supposedly Barack Obama lost some Cuban-Americans when he stated in last Thursday’s debate that he would talk to the next leader of Cuba.

From The Kansas City Star:

Asked at Thursday’s debate in Texas whether he’d meet with Raul Castro, his brother’s likely successor, Obama said he would. “I do think that it’s important for the United States not just to talk to its friends, but also to talk to its enemies,” he said. “That’s where diplomacy makes the biggest difference.”

This is one of those moments where my admiration for Obama grows, and I’m even more steadfastly determined to work towards his victory in November. The pundits say talking to Raul Castro is naive. Pfft! I say it’s wise, shows he holds a humane view on a tired situation, a silly stalemate that has gone on too long, to no ones gain but Fidel who usurped the tension and embargo for power.

It also shows that Obama has, not only beliefs informed by reason and logic, but the will and brass balls to put those beliefs out on the table.

He might risk losing some votes in South Florida with a comment like this, but I believe he wins the hearts and minds of those Americans that are sick of the arrogance and superiority complex of Republican administrations. Americans who aren’t obsessed with the Cold War, and bitter that our exploding cigars couldn’t pull off what Mother Nature is now taking care of… as she will with us all.

Barack wrote an essay not long ago endorsing the idea of allowing families to visit the island and send money back home.

Seems like a no-brainer to me.

From CNN:

The debate was stirred Tuesday by an op-ed essay Sen. Barack Obama wrote for the Miami Herald. In it, he called for the lifting of two Bush administration restrictions on Cuban-Americans. Obama wrote that he would grant Cuban-Americans “unrestricted rights to visit family and send remittances to the island.”

It’s not to the levels I would endorse but it’s a start. Why, in the year 2008, are we still Cold War partying like it’s 1958?

There is no way we should let China make all our Barbies and Mardi Gras beads, shipping them lead-filled from Beijing to the Wal-Marts in Springfield, Missouri and exploiting their huge population for dirt cheap labor while production has all but evaporated in the heartland; and meanwhile, ignore and demonize the small island country swaying in the Caribbean breeze to our south.

Are the Chinese any less free? Any more Democratic?

I’m of the opinion we should normalize relations at least to the point of China, not necessarily sending the Olympics to Havana, (which China’s hosting it completely tarnishes everything they stand for, Human Rights, International Cooperation, the value of Individual pursuits) but at least allowing tourism, trade, and shared technologies to raise the standard of living in both our countries by ending the embargo.

I mean, isn’t that the purpose of this whole Globalization thing?

Meanwhile, on the other side of the aisle, we get more Alpha Male posturing and wannabe Reaganism, McCain trying to out-chest thump Chuck Norris by wishing death on Castro. I guess the old man just wants to prove how tough he still is.

From the AFP:

“Fidel Castro announced that he would not remain as president — whatever that means,” McCain said in Indianapolis.

“And I hope that he has the opportunity to meet Karl Marx very soon.”

Imagine the fury, the absolute Nationalist pride that would spew forth should Hugo Chavez, or big, bad Fidel himself make such a comment about our Commander in Chief, cheering for his or her demise.

Not very presidential at all, not very Episcopalian, or Baptist — or whatever you are — of you, John “I’m a man of integrity” McCain. I’ve always associated Integrity with Class, but I guess not in the “Maverick’s” case.

Now you know why the rest of the world is just a wee bit tired of us.

McCain really went off the deep end, in my eyes, and caused me to “air quote” whenever I speak of him, when he said he would accept the political advice of a turd blossom, even after that turd blossom fouled up his campaign in 00′ with the ugliest kind of of turd blossom smear, playing to people’s racism like Mark Richards doing stand up at the Laugh Factory.

From your friends at Fox News:

Seattle, WA – Maintaining that he does not hold any grudges from the 2000 GOP nomination fight, John McCain says that Karl Rove’s help and advice is welcome aboard the Straight Talk Express.

One day after Rove, a former senior aide to President Bush and architect of the 2000 and 2004 victories, donated $2,300 to McCain’s campaign, the presumptive nominee said Friday aboard his campaign plane that he is open Rove’s support in this year’s election.

“Nobody denies that he is one of the smartest political minds in America. I’d be glad to have him give us advice,” McCain said, joking that “saw the moths fly out” of Rove’s wallet upon receiving the donation.

Ha. Ha. Isn’t John hilarious?

I close my eyes and can picture this commercial in the Fall.

[Mumble-y Speak] “My friends, I offer you more of the same crude rhetoric, a continuation of George Bush’s pebble-brained policies, and – if I live long enough – four more years of a President who has admitted to not knowing squat about the economy.

Vote for me, because you hate Democrats.”

Of course, John McCain wouldn’t be saying that exactly, (Republicans have a hard time telling the truth) but honking his bugle about terrorists and big government/small government, (which side are the Republicans on again?) and tax cuts hooray!

The same-old, same old shit.

I can’t wait to get this debate on.

We stand at a fork, the road heading in two opposite directions, the way forward or the way we came. How often do we get such a clear opportunity to chose the right path?

When it comes to War and Health Care and the Environment, not only in Iraq and possibly Iran, but in Cuba too, even here at home, in Los Angeles and Youngstown and New Orleans; there are mothers and fathers and children counting on us to make the right call this November, their health and their lives on the line, to them Hope is very well more than a word.

And the deal is, and Obama says this all the time; it’s not only about him, for true change to happen it has to be about us.

Barack Obama’s Website.

The Moon Disappeared and I Forgot to Care

I’m starting a new trend, I’m going to call all lakes lochs, just for fuck’s sake. “I’m going to Spaceland in Silverloch to check out the band Young Teens Dance In A Grease Fire.” That’s not a real band, but you wouldn’t be too surprised if it was I bet.

• You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead
• Dogs Die In Hot Cars
• This Bike Is A Pipe Bomb

These are, sadly enough, all real names of bands.

Anyway, I like old Scottish terms and want to use them in everyday speech. Mind you, I don’t have any desire to speak with a Scottish accent, I just want to drop certain words into conversation every now and then, like “I’m really craving a wee heavy (strong beer) right now.”

Since about the time I was in high school it was my mission to create the slang term “yaz” for a piss. “I’ve got to yaz, I’ll be right back.” “Oh man, I took a huge yaz just now.” It hasn’t worked. And now there’s a birth control with that name so I’m guessing it will never reach the public lexicon.  E-40 I’m not.

Moving on.

There was a lunar eclipse tonight.

The big, round, disk in the sky briefly disappeared, and then slowly returned about an hour later. Thrilling. Wake me up when it’s a solar eclipse — that’s the type of shit that used to throw ancient peoples into mass panic, or the type of shit that could end wars — when the sun is blocked out and the Earth goes dark at noon, then I’ll be impressed.

A lunar eclipse, the way I see it, happens anytime a large cloud passes in front of it and obscures our faithful, little reflecting orb in the sky.

But then again, I missed most of the eclipse due to the fact that I didn’t realize the time online was Eastern time and not Pacific. There’s a chance I may be a little bitter about that.

It was on my birthday, too, so I’m guessing that means something…

I just have to figure out if it’s a blessing or a curse. Depends on which side of the cosmic fence you’re on, I suppose.

Carry on, laddies.

Moment Of Rehab: Jeff Conway’s Truth

I’ve been watching some T.V lately and I’m pretty deflated by what I’ve seen.

It makes me feel that — despite what Obama says — hope is futile. I want to give up. I feel like a sunbird trapped on the shadowside of the moon.

Maybe it’s the writer’s strike that got me in this prime time malaise.

Or maybe I’m an elitist snob, but it seems like our culture has slid from the crapper, further into a deep, underground sceptic abyss. We are spiralling downwards with flashy, quick MTV-style editing, becoming a culture of pop entertainment and segmented information — where your reality and interaction with the world can be tailored to fit your viewpoints and mind state. Fox News, anyone? Paradoxically, the more knowledge there is in the world and the easier it is to attain; the less of it we seem to seek, preferring a mode of ignorance that is uniquely American.

We use our brains only as a last resort, only at work. At home, we sit back on our Swedish couches and watch Bear Grills tear into a cold, raw trout with his teeth. Laugh at how disgusting it looks and hope to hell we never have to eat fish like that.

It might be possible that we’re getting dumber by the minute.

Anyone else think that The Moment of Truth is a cross between Maury Povich’s paternity test episodes and Deal or No Deal? The moral equivalent of mixing dog poo and leprosy, and about as entertaining and appealing. Maybe I’m overdoing it and the show is not as pestiferous as I paint it, but it is some kind of a sign that our culture is completely off its rocker.

America, in 2008, is in a weird state… at least T.V is.

We applaud people that destroy their families for money.

We pay the audience 65 dollars to sit and clap.

We watch at home because we’re too lazy to turn the channel.

You see, it follows American Idol, a juggernaut watched by millions of Americans that tune in for the inspirational journeys, those lovable contestants and their Hollywood dreams; but also for the sick, voyeuristic insight we plow from their tears — when they fail — that initial look of complete rejection when Simon tells them “I’m sorry, you’re just plain awful.” It teaches us a little something about the human spirit, the strength of dreams, and the will to persevere. Blah. Blah. Blah.

It makes me sick. So…

I change the channel. Because dammit! someone has to watch something besides Idol.

And there’s poor Jeff Conway. Rolling around rehab hollering at anyone who comes near him. I’m not sure if I feel bad for the guy or not — he’s obviously suffering — but there’s lots of drug addicts out there… not all of them act like complete dicks. Which brings up the question: is it an act? He seems to be getting some serious mileage out of the angry, unpredictable routine. First Celebrity Fit Club and now Celebrity Rehab. If Dr. Drew can’t work his Loveline magic, is he going to be the first corpse contestant on Celebrity Afterlife?

“This week on Celebrity Afterlife: We follow Jeff Conway to the third rung of hell where he bathes in an acid bath for one thousand years all the while bees sting his eyeball for every lie he ever told and his skin is ripped off in little strands for each time he yelled at the woman he loved. Don’t miss it!”

I don’t mean to step on the guy when he’s down but some things need to be said, plus, I’m sure he could care less what I write. But Jeff Conway is not a tragedy, it’s the millions of other addicts out there who aren’t getting paid for their misery. The ones that don’t have the cameras and the fame there with them, glorifying it. The ones that aren’t receiving royalties at the end of the struggle. The ones that aren’t putting on a show.

But forget T.V for a second.

I was at a party on Saturday and we were sharing stories, just silly stories, the kind you tell at parties, and I couldn’t help but notice that everyone had a lot of stories to tell. Tons. And they were all interesting. All of them better than 95% percent of the plots on sitcoms or dramas or anything on T.V. The absolute trick, and miracle, is getting people to share them.

We’ve lost the ability to tell our own stories — that’s why we watch Jeff’s.

Or perhaps, it was the other way around, who knows?

I’ve heard social commentators say that one day everyone will have a reality show about them.

We may be missing the cameras and editors and commercial breaks; but I say, if you really think about it… we already do.

Globo

I bring you: Globo

This is his visit to Earth.

Globo will be back  to ArtofStarving, every now and then, as he visits interesting places in the universe and shares his discoveries with kids.

(Don’t ask – it might make sense someday)

The 101

My apartment is less than a mile from the 101.

With the windows open I can hear its low roar like the constant murmur of an ocean. Hundreds of thousands of commuters travel on that strip of cement every day. Stray vegetation grows in the cracks.

The 101 is known as the Hollywood Freeway, but where it passes my house it’s called the Ventura Freeway. You could take it all the way to San Francisco, passing Hearst Castle and the elephant seals that hang out on the beach near there. It’s a beautiful drive.

It’s Friday night and drivers are headed to Hollywood and the clubs, coming down from Santa Clarita or Calabasas or Oxnard. It’s a proverbial stream of libation and celebration, and, after 2 am, a literal torrent of drunks.

Freeways define the Los Angeles landscape and you can’t live here very long without eventually getting stuck on one, with no hope of going anywhere. When that happens freeways elicit all the emotions of a bee trapped in a glass jar.

When it rains at night the landscape changes to a pointillist painting of red brake lights and squiggly lines in the road. Cars crawl along like snails, everyone hiding inside their shells.

One day I drove next to a couple in their car fighting. The woman was really yelling at her man, letting him have it. She glanced over suddenly and caught me staring, then flipped me the bird.

There’s a morale there somewhere but there’s no time to think about it when the exits are flying by and the traffic is weaving in and out and you have to get to work or wherever. And really, I’m not looking for morale, this is more the literary equivalent of a dog sticking his head out the window for air.

It’s the freeways that get you places in L.A.

They criss-cross the urban sprawl, delivering people to their destinations. We travel in metal boxes at fatal speeds, singing along and picking our nose. We live and die by them in the City of Angels. Soon after the freeways came fast food joints, smog, and strip malls — all the joys of modern America.

I heard somewhere that 95% of dust is human cells, and the rest is tire particle.

The average commute in Los Angeles is 30 minutes.

You see, as much as we despise them, freeways shape us, they’re a big part of our lives.

I have memories of good times on freeways too.

Driving on the Santa Monica Freeway the night it reopened after being damaged in the Northridge Earthquake. There was still dust on the road and bright construction lights and all the cars slowed down driving through it. I just happened to hear the announcement on the radio, and, being young with nothing else to do, thought it would be an interesting experience.

And the same for the O.J verdict.

I caught wind of it on the radio, grabbed a friend, and headed downtown. There was a guy walking around in an Uncle Fester costume for some reason, and the phrase ‘circus-like’ would be an understatement to describe the surreal scene. Reporters outnumbered onlookers two to one. There was a nervous tension in the air that was as real as the bright noon sun shinning down until shouts of ‘not guilty’ rippled through the crowd. People began cheering. Looking back, I can’t remember if I was one of them.

How many people can say they found out O.J was acquitted firsthand, right outside the courthouse doors? Like driving on the repaired 10, it’s something I’m strangely proud of.

Next time you’re stuck in traffic on the freeway, take a look around, you have a lot of interesting company out there.

Here’s my exit.

Sometimes…

Sometimes I pick up a pen to take notes before writing, but then I realize that the pen I’ve chosen won’t do, so I put it back and select another one. But I never throw the pens I don’t like away. And the ones I do like always get lost. So I remain with tons of pens that I never use, and a few that I do.

It’s just the way it is in the pen cup.

And sometimes when I enter my room late at night, when my wife is asleep, I keep the lights off so not to wake her. I rummage through the dark, taking off my clothes and putting on my pajamas, all the time pretending to be blind, imagining what it would be like. It helps me navigate better in the dark, more confidently.

But sometimes I still manage to stub my toe on the dresser pretty hard.

There are four markets all within walking distance of my apartment. Three liquor stores and a 7-11. I divvy up the amount I shop at all of them, choosing 7-11 one day, a liquor store the next. Why? Variety. And because I get bored easily.

But also, so no one learns how much milk I go through in a week. The truth is shocking. (I love Honey Nut Cheerios!)

There’s an intersection near my friend’s house in Highland Park that always makes me flinch behind the wheel. It’s an intersection like any other. One street has a stop sign, the other one doesn’t. Every time I drive through it, though, I picture a car running the stop sign and slamming into me.

It causes me to think about the scene in LaBamba where Richie Valens dreams about a plane crash, and then how later in the movie, with Buddy Holly and the Big Bopper, his plane tragically goes down in a snowstorm, just as his career was taking off.

So, because of this, interestingly enough, I tend to think about the movie LaBamba once or twice a week.

Every now and then a song comes on the Ipod, the radio, or whatever, that makes me wish my life was different, was actually someone else’s. My life isn’t worth singing about. Or at least it would make a pretty boring rock song.

I’m not sure who it is I picture. This other me that is worthy of song and poetry? Definitely a guy with a better haircut than myself.

I’m a strange bird that’s fascinated by weird things. Hugh Howser. Soviet Propaganda Art. Poultry hanging in butchers’ windows. I’m the guy sitting quietly staring into his beer, rather than shouting with the crowd. I love the L.A River and freeway overpasses and abandoned furniture.

One day there was a discarded, ratty, 1970’s couch by the L.A River.

It was an awesome day!

My point is that you just have to be you, no matter how silly you feel doing it, no matter how tough it seems sometimes. There is no one else to do that job.

The world needs you.

Yes We Can

Get your vote on.

STARTING FRESH: Barack Obama

If you haven’t made up your mind about who you’re going to vote for in tomorrow’s Primary — what the hell is taking you so long?

No worries though, it’s been a wild election so far and it’s your right to take your time. This decision isn’t easy. Polls have the undecided vote at 16%, so there’s a lot of you last minute shoppers out there.

Hillary Clinton is a good candidate too, that’s what makes this election so heated and volatile and exciting to watch. The reason I’m supporting Barack over Hillary is that Barack Obama is a great candidate.

I don’t believe in the false dichotomy of Change vs. Experience. I think, to varying degrees, they both have experience and they both would bring about change. What we should focus on is who is the right leader for these difficult and contentious times.

Barack Obama doesn’t just represent the American Dream, he is an inspiration to the entire world. At a time when we need to come together with the global community to solve our most important problems, Barack Obama can do just that.

Barack Obama was born in Hawaii on August 4th, 1961. His father, Barack Obama Sr., was born and raised in a small village in Kenya, where he grew up herding goats with his own father, who was a domestic servant to the British.

Barack’s mother, Ann Dunham, grew up in small-town Kansas. Her father worked on oil rigs during the Depression, and then signed up for World War II after Pearl Harbor, where he marched across Europe in Patton’s army. Her mother went to work on a bomber assembly line, and after the war, they studied on the G.I. Bill, bought a house through the Federal Housing Program, and moved west to Hawaii.

It was there, at the University of Hawaii, where Barack’s parents met. His mother was a student there, and his father had won a scholarship that allowed him to leave Kenya and pursue his dreams in America.

His personal story is inspiring but it’s what he did with his life that will earn him the Presidency.

• Graduated from Columbia University and Harvard Law School.
• Worked with community groups in Chicago and taught Law until he entered the State Senate in Illinois.
• Only the third African-American elected to the Senate since Reconstruction.

Barack Obama first stoked the country’s imagination at the 2004 Democratic Convention, before he was even elected to the Senate, urging Americans to come together, in Kennedyesque fashion, to give of themselves for the greater good of the country. Something about the way he said “The United States” reminded us that it’s more than just a name.

“The pundits like to slice-and-dice our country into Red States and Blue States; Red States for Republicans, Blue States for Democrats. But I’ve got news for them, too. We worship an awesome God in the Blue States, and we don’t like federal agents poking around our libraries in the Red States. We coach Little League in the Blue States and have gay friends in the Red States. There are patriots who opposed the war in Iraq and patriots who supported it. We are one people, all of us pledging allegiance to the stars and stripes, all of us defending the United States of America.”

Barack Obama grew up in the Seventies. He plays basketball. Up until recently he smoked cigarettes. Obama is not God, but he’s a fine example of the America we’re trying to reclaim: Where hard work gets you to the top; Where we roll up our sleeves to fix our problems without seeking to score political points first; A politician who appeals to our best instincts rather than our worst fears.

Additionally, electing Barack Obama over Hillary Clinton would once and for all put the wounds of the impeachment battles and the anger over Bush’s election behind us, and thus he is better equipped to rally the nation’s attention to the causes that need to be confronted: Iraq, Health Care, the Environment.

We can start fresh.

Nominating Hillary would just stir up the same old, tired and bitter, partisan passions.

Republicans are already frothing at the mouth to vote against her and this will cause Democrats lower on the ticket in red states to suffer. Issues that should be forgotten, or are otherwise a distraction, (Lewinsky, Bill Clinton’s Pardons, her original Iraq vote) will dominate the dialogue instead of the important discussion of who can best lead us out of our current malaise.

That man is Barack Obama and, I firmly believe, he is ready to lead today.

All the needless bickering. The grudges. The tabloid-drama over Bill being the First Husband. Four years of Rush Limbaugh ranting and raving and increasing his ratings. There’s a way to avoid all that distraction, and that’s to have the guts to send this country in a new direction.

America needs to move forward.

Many Hillary Clinton supporters start off defending their candidate by stating: “I think Barack Obama will make a great president some day but…”

I’m asking California to chose the president of Tomorrow… today. Let’s not be fooled into thinking that it’s Hillary’s “turn” and Barack should wait, that we should wait.

I’m going in the voting booth and I’m punching the hole for Barack Obama, and in the process, sending a message that I’m ready for change.

“I’m asking you to believe. Not just in my ability to bring about real change in Washington… I’m asking you to believe in yours.” — Barack Obama

CALIFORNIA DREAMING: Barack Obama

California votes next Tuesday. Super-Duper-Whatever Tuesday.

The Golden State has a golden opportunity. We can finally have a major impact in chosing our party’s nominee. Let’s not let it go to waste.

We could be the difference between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. Not only are the Democrats going to make history this year, it could be California that decides what kind of history.

The choice before us is not between the first African-American male or the first white female. It’s whether we’ll go with a youth-driven message of hope, or the entrenched politics of the status quo.

The battle is not black and white, despite Bill’s and the media’s best intentions.

The battle is generational.

On one side we have Barack, who, in his powerful book Dreams From My Father, wrote eloquently and directly about his experience with drugs.

“I had learned not to care,” he wrote. “I blew a few smoke rings, remembering those years. Pot had helped, and booze; maybe a little blow when you could afford it. Not smack, though. …”

[...]

“Junkie. Pothead. That’s where I’d been headed: the final, fatal role of the young would-be black man,” Obama wrote. “Except the highs hadn’t been about that, me trying to prove what a down brother I was. Not by then, anyway. I got high for just the opposite effect, something that could push questions of who I was out of my mind, something that could flatten out the landscape of my heart, blur the edges of my memory. I had discovered that it didn’t make any difference whether you smoked reefer in the white classmate’s sparkling new van, or in the dorm room of some brother you’d met down at the gym, or on the beach with a couple of Hawaiian kids who had dropped out of school and now spent most of their time looking for an excuse to brawl. … You might just be bored, or alone. Everybody was welcome into the club of disaffection.”

On the other side we have the politics of ‘I didn’t inhale’.

We have the Clinton campaign using Bob Johnson, Founder of BET, which has faced heavy criticism for their content, to take a swipe at Obama’s past.

Many prominent media critics, including Public Enemy rapper Chuck D^, journalist George Curry^, writer Keith Boykin, comic book writer/artist/editor Christopher Priest, filmmaker Spike Lee and writer/cartoonist Aaron McGruder, have protested BET’s programming and actions. [...]

The channel has been criticized by members of the African-American community who feel that the channel perpetuates harmful black stereotypes by primarily airing hip-hop videos that often have misogynistic, materialistic, and/or violent themes.

Bob Johnson made billions (literally) airing programming that exploit women, the drug culture, and crime. In Bob Johnson’s moral universe it’s better to become incredibly wealthy encouraging and seducing young people to smoke and party their woes away than to have toked a little in high school.

Talk about the kettle calling the pot, er, black.

Talk about hypocrisy.

Talk about Rovian tactics… in South Carolina no less.

Democrats, and even some Republicans, are fed up with just those kind of tactics. Every time the Clinton campaign went dirty Obama’s numbers went up. It’s no coincidence.

The public doesn’t care that Obama smoked pot in high school. Most of America lit up sometime in their late teens/early twenties. They care that the person leading our country at a time of historic uncertainty is honest and frank with us.

Clinton can’t have it both ways. She tries to claim to be an agent of change, but then utilizes the dirty politics of 2000 and 2004, says going negative is “the fun part” of campaigning.

She pads her resume with White House experience, (although I don’t think the country is looking for someone to organize an Easter egg hunt right now) but asks to be taken on her own merits when troubling issues of the Clinton years come up.

For these reasons and more, Hillary Clinton can not bring about the change we so desperately need.

If she is nominated we will have a divisive, caustic election, with the other side fueled by their unadulterated loathing of Hillary, unfair and psychotic as it may be. If she is elected, it will be the third decade of the Bush/Clinton regime.

When George Bush ran in 2000, I resented Republicans for being so small-minded to be swayed by his last name. I will be embarrassed of my party if we do the same now.

I’m only 32, I’m not even old enough to be president.

But I’m certainly young enough to still be around when Peak Oil hits, when Global Warming starts changing the face of the Earth, when dozens of countries, not all of them friendly to the U.S., will have nuclear weapons.

This thing matters to me. A lot.

Yes, the 90’s were great, but there’s too much at stake to continue this Clinton/Republican wrestling matter, no matter how sweet revenge would taste, no matter how pleasing it would be to rub their faces in it after 8 years of Freedom Fries and Canadian patches on our backpacks.

The youth want to feel good about America again, we want to be inspired, we crave reassurance that America is fair and virtuous and anyone can work their way to the top — that you don’t have to be a relative of the president to sit in the Oval Office. As someone who works in the entertainment industry, this issue is dear to my heart; please, no more sequels!

California prides itself on being a forward thinking state. A land that attracts dreamers. I’m asking us to do something bold, to reach for our highest potential instead of taking the safe bet with another political dynasty. We have three days to make history. To break the cycle. And we can do it if we show up to the polls like it’s Coachella.

Just today, insurgents used two mentally retarded women to kill 91 people in Iraq. The situation is a mess, despite how Republicans would like to spin the surge. No matter what analogies he uses, Americans do not want to be there for 100 years.

Imagine: 48 year-old, quick-witted, gracefully eloquent, impeccably anti-war Barack Obama versus the wooden, wax figurine that is the 71 year-old hug master John McCain.

If you haven’t made up your minds, I’m asking you to do something that seems ancient and quaint in this age of Swift Boats and Bob Johnsons, I’m asking you to believe in a politician. To vote for the “fairy tale”. We could play it safe — and Hillary WOULD BE a great improvement over Bush — or we could double down, and truly go for something special.

Barack Obama:

“If you choose change, you will have a nominee who doesn’t take a dime from Washington lobbyists and PACs. We don’t need a candidate who agrees with Republicans that lobbyists are part of the system in Washington. They’re part of the problem. And when I’m President, their days of setting the agenda in Washington will be over.

If you choose change, you will have a nominee who doesn’t just tell people what they want to hear. Poll-tested positions and calculated answers might be how Washington confronts challenges, but it’s not how you overcome them; it’s not how you inspire our nation to come together behind a common purpose; and it’s not what America needs right now.

If you choose change, you will have a nominee who isn’t just playing on the same electoral map where half the country starts out against us, because you will have a nominee who has already brought in more Independents and Republicans; young people and new voters; than we have seen in a generation.”