Motorcade to Miranda

Posted on by J. Nelson

I don’t know any Secret Service agents, do you? So I wonder: Are Trump’s protectors scratching their heads here, or are they constipated by commitment, courage, and back-up plans? 

On the drive over from Trump Tower, were any lost in the mind-expansion of checking corners for blind spots vs. bail bondsmen?

During the arraignment itself, in that crowded corridor and beyond, was a kaleidoscope of Law & Order characters among the jailers, journalists, U.S. Marshals, FBI, Trump staffers, lawyers, indicted officeholders, real estate groupies, and celebrity gossipers. So many doors, so many suits and ties! How were they able to tell the cops from the crooks or the Bozo’s from the Serpicos? 

What did their earpieces confirm, that Agent Larry had just cracked, stripping off his suit like a Chippendale to sing atop one of the bulletproof Escalades?

And all that standing around time! Were agents eavesdropping on slouchy beat cops, lipreading for lunch ideas? Did Hernandez show up sportin’ floods again? Best thousand-yard stare anyone? Was Trump’s close knit group of operatives ostracized by ordinary officers?

Between the badges, body armor, and batons, who coveted whose utility belts? Was there insecurity among the tactically secure? How were female personnel able to withstand this gravity crushing, time-bending black hole of mansplaining?

What sabotaged the straightfaced? In this patriotastic vortex of professional protectors, how did the jokers keep from messing with their workmates? Who elbowed their neighbor when the Lieutenant gave in and scratched his balls? Who sneezed when the former President walked by? Who wondered if their, a-hem, secret “service” smelled as badly as they feared?

Were there convos on contradictions among Trump’s bullet-catchers? Would any admit to being curious about consequences for the rich and well-connected?

As each who swore an oath to “protect and defend” stood by their professional honor and obligations, how many feared an impending end to what inspired their pledge?

Finally, with all that heavyweight allegiance to law and order, what were their excuses for any lack of curiosity?


All images:


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2022 Excuse of the Year: Doubling Down

Posted on by J. Nelson

Putting out fire with fire –mentally mitigating a bad choice with bad choices 2, 3, and 4– is Where Excuses Go to Die’s “Excuse of 2022.”

Our new Counter-Enlightenment American Moral Culture confuses foot-stomping with tenacity and self-congratulatory ethics with fairness. Personally, I see an inhospitable ocean of tangled and misled self-interest. Here are but a few examples that exclude Kanye, Elon, Putin, and Maggie Haberman.

• LA City Council member Kevin DeLeon ––scandalized, despised, and stigmatized–– refuses to relinquish his seat despite leaked audio of his racist views, calls for his resignation, recall attempts, walk-outs by fellow council members upon his arrival at meetings, and now physical altercations with constituents protesting his occupancy. Me, I see a double down that reveals a man-child in need of attention, mistaking that attention for position and position for integrity.  

• Referring to Maricopa County’s election system, Arizona Republican gubernatorial candidate Kari Lake recently told a Turning Point USA gathering, “I’m not going to just knock that house of cards over. We’re going to burn it to the ground.” Me, I see a person mistaking craven for inspiring and populist for decent. 

• Like someone in sneakers on an ice rink, newly minted Republican Congressman-elect George Santos seems to be slipping all over career freezing contradictions regarding his claims of Jewish-Ukrainian lineage, his alleged descent from Holocaust survivors, his education, his employment history (is anything this guy claims true??). Backed into a corner, his accounts and renditions are all over the explanatory map. Here, I see a double down on par with a prison snitch or at minimum a proud citizen of the The United States Of Until You Get Caught.

• Tanner Horner, a FedEx driver with no previous criminal history, recently backed his delivery van into 7-year-old Athena Strand on or near the driveway of her family’s home. Reportedly, she was not seriously injured, but Horner later admitted to authorities that he’d “panicked” and pulled the girl into his van, killing her to keep her from telling her dad. And as if choosing to cover up vehicular negligence with murder isn’t bad enough, Horner is now also facing three unrelated charges of sexual assault of a minor. So I think we all see the double down of extraordinarily poor decision making happening here.

I admit these example are blousy, media-driven, and bat-shit. But when’s the last time you doubled-down, say, while driving? Maybe you made a lane change with a little less room than you thought you had, and you got honked at in return. I’m sure a bunch of you Ghandis out there just ignored that honk, but those of us who aren’t so evolved may have middle-fingered our way into some version of payback.

Who among us hasn’t, at some point, admitted to ourselves or others, “I don’t know what I was thinking”? Who hasn’t heard themselves trying to justify a solution that was worse than the problem? Who hasn’t doubled down? For that matter, who hasn’t experienced dismay over a double-down that’s backfired? The darker side of doubling down can be quite humbling.

I’m certainly guilty of going too far in the name of saving face. When it came back to haunt me, my guilt, ego, principles, good intentions, and a bunch of other things all collided to cause an embarrassing end result, one in which my credibility drained at my feet. With nothing I could do to stop it and no wealth to throw at it, only anger remained –which guaranteed a bad end.

We’ve all put ourselves through this sawmill. And while individual results clearly vary, doubling down is the Excuse of the Year because of how far we’ve taken it, or where, in this entitled age of poor coping skills, it has taken us.

 

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The Supreme Court: Operationalized

Posted on by J. Nelson

“Follow the money” applies to everything, most of all to Supreme Court Justices.

CAR GUY 101: knowing the parts in the machine –any machine– is essential to comprehending how it can be affected by the elements.

I just took in this excellent piece by the award-winning publisher of “The Hightower Lowdown,” Jim Hightower. The guy is funny, and I wish I could say it made me laugh. It didn’t. But it did offer me insight that went beyond what I already knew about SCOTUS, and it reminds me to take less pleasure in the disintegration of norms and barometers (which laughs tend to abet).

The notorious “Powell Memo” (a.k.a. “Attack on the American Free Enterprise System”) was drafted in 1971 by Lewis F. Powell, Jr., and it’s a good example of something about which I knew previously zilch. Yet from it, Hightower notes, SCOTUS’ current conservative majority has drawn, uh, major inspiration.

In keeping with the period, corporate attorney Powell was not unlike Robert Duvall’s Godfather character, Tom Hagen, head lawyer for the Corleone family. As a Phillip Morris board member, Powell’s own “family” was Big Tobacco. In fact he represented the Tobacco Institute, the notorious research arm of the tobacco industry. This is important background info.

Powell’s so-called “memorandum” was a confidential letter to the Chairman of the Education Committee at the U.S. Chamber of Commerce. In it, he discussed what he termed the “Neglected Opportunity in the Courts” and proposed that corporate cash could and should lead to more corporate-friendly rulings by SCOTUS.

The heading itself is scary enough, given how little room it leaves for misinterpretation, but the memo actively urges “weaponiz[ing] the courts to serve business interests.” Powell wanted to use the courts as a tool to save capitalism. By rewarding Powell with a Supreme Court nomination just two months after writing his memo, Richard Nixon showed he was a man who also knew how to use a tool.

And so began the “operationalization” of the Court that brings us to the present day. From the 12+ year old Citizens United v. FEC ruling that allows unlimited corporate funding of campaigns and elections to Burwell v. Hobby Lobby, in which corporations were portrayed as rights bearers for “the humans who own and control [them]” and beyond, Powell’s dream of a pro-business court was coming true even in opinions by presumably “liberal” justices (though hardly to the same extent as those on the other side of the political aisle).

So now, with a super solid and uber conservative majority, why limit judicial activism to just pro-business decisions? As they lingered over the wording of their destruction of a woman’s right to privacy around her so-called private parts, SCOTUS made it virtually impossible for inmates to win release as a result of ineffective lawyering (see Shinn v. Ramirez), it effectively removed all prohibitions against the use of excessive force by federal law enforcement in violation of the 4th Amendment (see Egbert v. Boule), and with Carson v. Makin it achieved a trifecta of rulings that support the union of religious schools and federal money.

Did I mention that all of the above came down during June alone?

Now that Roe is dead, it’s easy to envision many people feeling both empowered and powerless. I fear modern day adherents to the Powell doctrine. I fear we’ll use our rapidly changing nation as a continued excuse to take our anxieties out on each other. If any part of you agrees that Americans are being pushed into an every-man-for-himself/herself society, then no moving part is more critical than your informed vote.  

Do not give into despair.
Find out where your excuses go to die.
Learn the machine.
Arm yourself with yourself.

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Further Reading:

The Powell Memo: A call to Arms for Corporations by Bill Moyers

Dark Money and the Courts
The Right-Wing Takeover of the Judiciary

Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Grace Muscles

Posted on by J. Nelson

Once a laughable Hollywood nobody turned Ambassador of Masculinity, The Terminator now pep-talks whole nations…

The cloying earnestness Schwarzenegger’s personal message to everyday Russians made me feel: 

  • Clumsy, because he’s so sincere it’s hard to watch.
  • Charmed, because his self-worship is infuriatingly courteous.
  • Silly, because his accent has gone from Rubik’s Cube to heart-shaped box of chocolates.
  • Stupefied, because he’s made some of the world’s dumbest movies, yet here we are…

We could’ve lost two minutes here, but that’s montage fatigue – and forgetting I’m not the one being addressed. He begins by referencing bodybuilding because of course he does! From there however, I could neither look away or roll my eyes. This clip is a solid example of what one can do with a platform big or small: be real, and be of some use to others.

If we are to be remembered not for what we say, but for how we make others feel, this video reminded me of what personal grace looks like.

…all the better coming from Governor Barbarian McRobot 

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Haunted House USA

Posted on by J. Nelson

Word of the day: PALIMPSEST
pal·imp·sest
noun
noun: palimpsest; plural noun: palimpsests
• something reused or altered still bearing visible traces of its earlier form.
• a manuscript or piece of writing material on which the original writing has been effaced to make room for later writing but of which traces remain.

“Whites Only” and other racist palimpsests endure throughout America.

Rich Frishman’s photography can be both meditative and empowering. Meditative, because it inspires self-examination, and empowering, because it’s created to show and tell.

Frishman’s Ghosts of Segregation project offers us a contemplative and quiet study of America’s racist past, a practical exhibition of photographic evidence in which images are captioned most poignantly by their place in history. It’s also an incredibly useful, “when they go low, you go high” answer for when you’ve taken the bait of that family bigot or folks activated by the politics of ethno-nationalism (formerly known as “old friends”).

Personally, I want Ghosts of Segregation open on my laptop whenever I’m rejecting “woke” as an insult, explaining equity vs. equality, and discussing the difference between canceled and accountability. Not as some sort of a mic drop though; more like finding a common emotional truth. These powerful palimpsests can’t help but force a needed pause in such an exchange ––and could even offer an escalator up.

See what you think:

Ghosts of Segregation

SLAVE EXCHANGE – NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA – PHOTOGRAPHED: 2019
The enigmatic inscription “change,” floating above Chartres Street in New Orleans’ French Quarter, largely goes unnoticed. It is the vestige of the sign over the St. Louis Hotel Slave Exchange. The luxurious hotel included a bank, ballroom, shopping arcade and trading exchange. Six days each week from 1838-1862, under the hotel’s domed rotunda, auctioneers sold off land and goods as well as thousands of enslaved people.
REDLINING WALL – DETROIT, MICHIGAN – PHOTOGRAPHED: 2018
When the Federal Housing Administration (FHA) was founded in 1934, the process of “redlining,” the act of denying loans and financial services to black neighborhoods while granting them for white neighborhoods, was codified. The Detroit neighborhood of Wyoming was a redlined black neighborhood for nearly a decade until the early 1940s, when developers wanted to build a white development in the area. They were denied by the FHA because their plan placed the white neighborhood “too close” to the black neighborhood. Thinking quickly, the developers responded by building a half-mile long wall directly between Mendota Street and Birwood Avenue for a full three blocks. This was enough to be given the nod of approval from the U.S. government. The wall, now known as 8 Mile Wall, was the official racial divider for over 20 years, until the Fair Housing Act supposedly abolished such racist policies in 1968.
NEGRO LEAGUE STADIUM – HAMTRAMCK, MICHIGAN – PHOTOGRAPHED: 2019
Built in 1930, Hamtramck Stadium was home to the Negro National League Detroit Stars in 1930-1931 and again in 1933. The field was also home to the Detroit Wolves of the Negro East-West League in 1932, and to the Negro American League Detroit Stars in 1937.

Visit:

Ghosts of Segregation

The L.A.County Men’s Central Jail: Day Zero

Posted on by J. Nelson

The on again, off again initiative toward bulldozing this municipal black site might finally be realized.

In 2014, when the LA County Board of Supervisors turned their attention back to the city’s contemptible Men’s Central Jail (MCJ), demolishing it was a given. A civic corner had been turned, taking all plans to update and expand the existing structure off the table. There could be no escaping the curse of a bloodthirsty culture of deputy-on-inmate violence that lived deep in the building’s bones: the miserable concrete labyrinth had to come down.

Yawn.
The lockup built in 1962, and often referred to as “the old side,” continues to rot in place. Former Sheriff Lee Baca has since been convicted, but the facility itself is still overseen by the Custody Operations Division as atrociously as ever. Equally troubled Alex Villanueva likely runs it with as much “Us vs. Them” spite than during my own 10-month stay as a pre-trial prisoner under then-Sheriff Sherman Block (at the time America’s highest paid public official).

But as Americans rethink their positions on criminal justice, LA’s Men’s Central Jail should be seen as both worst-case and day zero.

First, the worst.
Secrecy has long permeated the ranks of LA Sheriff’s Brass and enshrouds MCJ. It’s such an organizationally controlled fortress, only touring an aircraft carrier can compare. Murals, tributes, trophy cases, banners, badges, and memorials force feed visitors law enforcement martyrdom to the point where one can’t sense how much it’s all spinning until reunited with fresh air and sunlight. 

The Department has managed for decades a kind of denial sleight-of-hand involving its budgets, bad apples, excessive force settlements, corruption scandals, secret deputy gangs, and a conveyor belt of civil rights violations and allegations of misconduct. There’s always an excuse as to why it’s “not the right time” to close MCJ’s old side, hold the LASD accountable, or discuss ways to reduce corruption, even as 539 of 606 lawsuits against the city in fiscal year 2018-19 were filed against the Sheriff’s Department alone. (And to the tune of $81.5 million). In the end, this shell game of postures and pushback has prolonged the life of their beloved Men’s Central Fight Club.

• Department Leaders had a lax attitude towards deputy aggression and discouraged deputy discipline
• Department was aware of deputy cliques present at MCJ and known to high level management as far back as 2004
• The Sheriff allowed his Undersheriff and Assistant Sheriff to run the Custody Division without effective oversight
• Deputies Have Enabled Inmates to Use Force Against Other Inmates
• Witnesses have told the Commission that deputies enabled inmates to attack other rival inmates by opening the doors to several cells at once, which inmates refer to as “racking the gates.”
• The Commission also heard about deputies who have intentionally placed inmates in dangerous situations, such as placing high-security inmates in the general population and announcing their crimes to the other inmates.

In the current climate, the future for reform looks a bit brighter. Still, it’s unclear what will actually become of MCJ. Zócalo’s Joe Matthews makes a case for keeping the old dungeon around, perhaps as a museum of mass incarceration or a center for democratic principles in action. “To tear down Men’s Central Jail would be to risk forgetting what the place has meant, and to miss a historic opportunity to turn this torture chamber into a vital center for California’s future,” he writes. Conversely, there is an optimistic view among many Angelenos that the very act of destroying MCJ could usher in a new era of transparency for the historically corrupt Sheriff’s Department. Perhaps by reclaiming the vital downtown real estate MCJ occupies, the thinking goes, the LASD can be shaken of its worst impulses and elements, allowing its more reform-hungry and youthful professionals to elbow their way to the fore.

At minimum, the County Supervisors voted last year to cancel a $1.7 billion expansion of the facility into a Supermax on steroids. That little project–– now thankfully also off the table–– was being referred to as the “mental health jail” (talk about a jinx). Sights are now set on a sprawling campus of support housing, drug diversion and reentry programing, and the critical mental health and addiction recovery services that would comprise a true Restorative Justice Village.

Phase One was approved in September and includes the Vignes Project, aka “Hope Village,” a predominantly CARES Act-funded $48-million bridge housing facility artfully made of shipping containers. Planned for rapid construction in MCJ’s industrial backyard, the idea is to begin diverting the city’s growing homeless population away from incarceration, where it’s 60-100% more expensive to detain those with mental health or substance use disorders. A second Chinatown property once intended for MCJ parking is also slated for an affordable or supportive housing development. As part of the LA Board of Supervisors’ new “care first, jail last” policy, Hope Village may someday swallow the LASD complex altogether.

So could MCJ, the “The Abu Ghraib of Los Angeles,” home of the heroin burrito, be swapped out for a recovery university and support shelter?

Ha! It’s better than the idea I had back in 2014, when I proposed that the whole karmic Superfund site be turned into a mall. Hey, I’m optimistic too, but with how little we thought of criminal justice reform, disenfranchised and forgotten citizens, immigrants, and any further legwork to achieve racial justice, a custody-themed Cellblock Shopping Town is what I thought we deserved.

It still will be if we ––and the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors–– let this chance to turn a corner pass us by.

For a historical perspective on the LASD’s excessive use-of-force in its jails and failure to discipline rogue officers, check out: L.A. County Sheriff’s Department: A Report by Special Counsel James G. Kolts & staff, 1992 –– and this Los Angeles Times Story Gallery

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Nursing Covid-19 in Prison

Posted on by J. Nelson

Couldn’t care less about “criminal scum”? Then how about one of your heroes – of the frontline healthcare variety?

Among the key findings in a September 2020 report from The Council on Criminal Justice is that COVID-19 infection rates for inmates are four times higher than for the general public. Mortality rates are double. As of last summer, prisons in America accounted for 19 of the top 20 clusters of confirmed Coronavirus cases in the United States.

For real time California numbers, check out the Los Angeles Times’ Coronavirus tracker, currently providing updates of cumulative cases, new cases, and deaths by day.

As one who envisions the redirection of adult offenders rather than the mere recycling of them, I urge you to absorb the statistics, detention hotspots, and death counts while imagining the heart and hope that is suspended amidst the ongoing disqualification of those in custody.

The world is a place where nothing is guaranteed, clearly. But since prison is a smaller, simpler microcosm of society, the loss of goal-oriented trajectories, guidance, and rewards in custody is intensified. For many prisoners and detainees with hampered coping skills and emotional and self-management challenges, there are little or no real diversions as exist elsewhere. Coronavirus kills these aspirational programs even quicker than people as infection safeguards are enacted.

Adding insult to injury is what I call bonus justice, by which the incarcerated are treated as eligible for additional hardship and dismay just because, “You’re here, aren’t you?”

But maybe you see the incarcerated as “criminal scum,” and these things don’t offend your humanity. Fine. How ’bout healthcare workers? You like frontline heroes? Think they’re worth something? Then let’s talk about a prison nurse, one who’s been a friend of mine for years.

This particular nurse earned her credentials with the tenacity and dedication of an astronaut in training. I remember her long hours and that pain-in-the-ass car in which her commute was endured. I was surprised when she announced just over a year ago that she’d accepted a nursing position in a men’s prison, and I admire her for putting need above judgment.

At present, my friend is facing the risk of COVID-19 transmission every single day, and she does so in an atmosphere of fiercely elevated environmental, personal, and psychological vigilance. The emotional and cognitive burden she carries would simply snap many of the rest of us — and that’s without Coronavirus-related fears. Prison is a minefield of rules to remember, and protocols are substituted as abruptly as security requires. Sure, my friend can leave each night, but she’s no less subjected to the righteousness of an amped-up military chain-of-command than are the badges and bad guys. How “at home” could she be with barbed wire, gate buzzers and barking men in her head?

Additionally, as citizens, we use our values and principles to judge each other, with courtesy and manners acting as referees. On the prison yard, philosophies and integrity just square off. In the aftermath, it’s up to whoever’s left standing to pester someone behind a fortified walk-up window for a band-aid. Meanwhile the dread and the aggressive energy of gang ideation never lets up. The cartoonish yet unfunny macho posturing is woven into her work-language, as are minute-to-minute suspicions and charity-killing levels of bureaucracy.

On an average day, this is just some of what my nurse friend has to shake off during her (long) drives home. Now she has the danger of bringing COVID home with her, too. How many of these tensions have morphed, I wonder, into corrosive strains of their own by the time she pulls into the driveway?

There have been 139 reported Coronavirus deaths among prison staff, but since testing information is sporadic and not all states release info on prison employees tested for COVID-19 – these critical frontline workers are forced to speculate, trade rumors, and hope they’re being given the straight story. In that way, at least, they’re just like inmates they serve.

“The nurses are so behind because there are soo many medical emergencies,”

UPDATE:

Los Angeles Times front page – January 13th, 2021:
“The nurses are so behind because there are soo many medical emergencies…”


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“Freedom” 2020 Excuse of the Year

Posted on by J. Nelson

Of all the con jobs we’ve witnessed this year, “freedom,” as both a behavioral exemption and grounds for radicalization, is by far the most repulsive.

From rationalizing hysterical self-centeredness to racism, betrayal, co-signing cowardice, gas-lighting, and willful ignorance, 2020 offered too many candidates for this decision to have come easily.

Oceans of petulant finger-pointers, neo-Nazis, and applauders of malice (on both sides) gave us a perfect storm; a Category 5 from which Americans sought moral shelter in those crude dwellings of justification. Welcome to the shantytown.

Which shack appeared the least structurally sound? Or so went my criteria, until the examples of our taking freedom for granted simply flooded the competition. Take this one, for instance:

The Uniformed Firefighters Association (UFA) survey of 2,000 members of the New York City Fire Department (FDNY) showed that 55% of participants said they would not bother to get inoculated.

ABC News – 12/7/2020

Call me crazy, but don’t NYC’s first responders have arguably the best health care options in the United States? Isn’t their not wanting “to be looked at as test subjects” just a tad spoiled? How is this not like Trump refusing to wear a mask with the assurance of top-notch medical treatment?

“As a union,” says Andrew Ansbro, president of the UFA, “we are defending the right to make that choice.” Defending it from what, suspicion? Responsibility? This is the heroism we’re constantly told to revere?

Elsewhere, California governor Gavin Newsom and other suits – whose failures to practice Coronavirus safety protocols seemingly put them above their own decrees – have the “freedom” to be two-faced while they kiss my ass.

Likewise, the “freedom” not to wear a mask despite their proven ability to help protect others from our personal respiratory exhaust is not self-government. It’s a selfish distortion of independence.

Refusing to refer to Joe Biden & Kamala Harris as “President and Vice President Elect” is the “freedom” to show disdain for leadership and professionalism. It’s choosing to exhibit bad sportsmanship before the eyes of young people. It leaves adherents in the self-righteous and phony position of telling others to respect them and their institutions rather than demonstrating why.

I myself am a fan of comedians Doug Stanhope and Dave Chappelle, but both could stand to realize that “freedom” from the boogeyman of political correctness isn’t found in belittling gender identity. Instead of re-purposing “faggot” as a comedic garnish could you maybe free your progressive audience from second guessing you?

Showing hatred toward those of different cultures or expressing immigrant xenophobia ––and calling it patriotism–– is “freedom” as well. So is beating your dog with a stick and calling it “correcting”.

Kyle Rittenhouse, the 17-year-old charged with shooting and killing two people during a civil disturbance in Wisconsin (itself the exercise of varying degrees of “freedom”), went looking for a fight, yet some call him a patriot for allegedly defending the “freedom” of entitled others. Either way, Rittenhouse’s own “freedom” will likely go as far as OJ Simpson’s, in that he’ll never be anything other than a murderer too young to legally purchase a gun, who traded a trigger for his own narrative.

As 2020 drags to a close, it’s high time we drop “freedom” from the all-time American short list of excuses for bad behavior. In too many ways, we’ve already lost the “freedom” of a last laugh.

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The Soft Spot of Exemption

Posted on by J. Nelson

A pathological adherence to: “It’s okay if I do it because I’m a good person” is America’s worst curse.

It’s hard to fathom the conscious human brain hemorrhaging the idiocy required to esentially set off fireworks on a 118° day in one of the few California forests not already engulfed in a sea of flame, but here we are.

And I say “we,” of course, because the assumption that we’re not, at times, idiots, criminals, or racists applies to everyone. It’s a delusion arising from the same soft spot in our psyches that produces the two things we deny the most: stubbornness and cowardice.

A “gender reveal” smoke bomb ignited the 8700+ acre El Dorado fire because some asshole simply assumed safety would accompany their self-congratulatory antics. The fire rages because a “good person” believed this “goodness” was the totality of their identity.

It’s a line of thinking reminiscent of:
Well, I’ve have NEVER been mean to a person of color, so…
Or
…but it’s a pipe bomb in honor of MY baby!
And now, of course,
Bikes are freedom! Nobody’s telling me to wear a mask at SturgiCon!

If you’ll pardon a little excuse theory, what’s hiding behind an excuse is often the most interesting part, because it says something about all of us. We spend our lives buying and selling justifications, training ourselves to accept various levels of self deception, leaning on more shades of gray than there are rain clouds. We cite mitigating circumstances before we can damn near walk. In every conceivable aspect of our behavior we allow ourselves to escape consequences whenever we can. When we take things too far and wind up pulling something illegal or stupid, we even feel betrayed by these  pillars of rationalization, because somehow they don’t save us.

And to think, gender reveal parties were lame as hell before this.

Whatever amount of restitution this family is expected to pay, they’ll never escape the fact that their monsterous entitlement resulted in the death of a career-skilled firefighter, the destruction of 20 homes, and 22,600+ burned acres of forest.

That’s a lot to own for such a frivolous gratification.

And then You Recognize that Homeless Person

Posted on by J. Nelson

Jogging around a neighborhood park, I realized the homeless woman sleeping under a tree is someone I’ve known most of my life. 

We were 15 once, and proud. She liked girls and I liked outcasts. Her Army buzzcut was black, blue, and brave, her sarcasm like a flamethrower. Pointed at you or not, it was dangerous to be near. She had an enviable wit I tried to emulate, and she could be as prickly and poker-faced as she was fast and funny. Being able to speak to her in ways others couldn’t was great.

All these years later and approaching the tree on my first lap, I saw only a female shape sleeping atop assorted backpacks and grocery bags. That particular bit of shade was usually occupied by sweethearts, fútbol hombres, or shadowboxing stroller-pushers, but I didn’t think much about it other than to mentally note the woman’s (relative) luck for claiming it first.

Staring straight ahead while I run helps me convey ultimate Kenyan focus, allowing me to mask the fact that I hate running and am actually dying inside. But the second time I passed the tree, I broke my gaze and glanced over. This woman was wearing Capri-style leggings, sunglasses, and a driver’s cap over her face. What I could see of it was weary.
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