Total Mass & The Green Divide

What is the endless fascination we have with giving over our own personal power to others? Why do we choose not to hook up with others in ways beyond commercial and manufactured interests? And what is the price for this collective choice?

Some think that the recent activity around global warming is the wake up call we've been waiting for, that as the cause of causes, we are now mobilizing to action. But if it's true that power concedes nothing without a fight, then this will be the super bowl of fights. How can it not, when Exxon-Mobil posted record profits for any corporation in history?

So if it's the "green movement" being led by celebrities, politicians and pundits, that's one thing. But all of the hoopla around the tech revolution hasn't filtered down to the vast majority of mud peeps in the world, creating the digital divide.

And so to the green divide.

I'm pretty dialed in to the so-called "green movement," and none of the celebrities, politicians, academicians, and least of all, the so-called "experts" address the green divide in any way. At most we have pockets of movement (1), and one notable exception.(2)

It's not a critical mass issue, and there are no shades of grey here. Here's a major point; none of this green activity means anything without total mass.

Don't believe me? Think of it this way; what good does it do if there's critical mass but the Exxon Valdez's of the world are running amok? (Yes, over ten years later, Prince William Sound is still jacked up)

60,000 plastic bags, by Chris Jordan


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1. Frisco Mayor Gavin Newsom is a good guy. The city recently banned plastic bags. If you think that's too tree huggerish, run the numbers: 60k bags are deployed every five seconds in America; about 2% (or less) of those bags are recycled.

Then there's Majora Carter, a bad sista who returned to the South Bronx to create Sustainable South Bronx. With great common sense she's linking the green struggle to poverty and addressing both in the process. With Van Jones they've further created Green for All which takes the themes of inequality and jobs by advocating for green collar jobs. Talk about good vision meeting great strategy.

2. Australia mandated all light bulbs be CFLs by, I believe, 2010, sparing the expulsion of millions of tons of C02, helping wean off of the insanity of oil and/or coal while easing pressure on their grid. Not to mention saving money.

One More Tourney Win

A small table today cuz I didn't have the energy to sit through 2+ hours of grinding.

Given that, the head's up with "penske5" was unlike any other I'd personally been involved in. The lead changed at least half a dozen times, and there were several river suckouts by both of us. In the end, your boy won, but honestly I was glad to finish.

But I guess Sunday's my day. Catholics have their high mass, I guess my low mass is as an ultra low stakes gambling fool.

Tourney Win Today

I've been getting back into it, chump change little sit 'n gos, but it's still good to know I can make my way through a field. Anyway, soon as I can devote more time, I'll definitely increase the stakes.

Ossesione: Henri Langlois and the Cinematheque Francaise

Noel Burch, the greatest of film theoreticians, says that the way a filmmaker approaches filmmaking is influenced by his language. Thus, the term "editing" in English has a distinctly different meaning - and practice - from the French term, "decoupage." It helps explain (particularly in the early work of Godard and Bresson) the wide gulf in filmmaking strategies between French and American filmmakers.

I say this because all of this would be mere conjecture were it not for the monumental effort of Henri Langlois and his - and Georges Franju's - staggering creation, Le Cinematheque Francaise. Beyond Hollywood, it is the cathedral of movies.

To say Langlois was a mere archivist is to trivialize his story; and what a story it is. And his love for movies, if "love" is an adequate term, is not provincial. The dude was a maniac, saving anything, particularly his love of loves, nitrate. He helped create the great Pacific Film Archive, up the street from me, in Berkeley.

...but for his titanic efforts, the history of the cinema would have remained what it was for Bardeche and Brasillach [writers of the first French film history, Histoire du Cinema, in 1935, later translated into English by Iris Barry]--souvenir postcards brought back by a pair of amiable but not very serious students from the land of darkened auditoriums.
--Godard

One fascinating part of the story I'll mention is during the Vichy period:

Co-Founder, Georges Franju:
When the Germans came, there were about three hundred films; when they left, there were three thousand. Voila!

Where did those 2,700 additional films come from? Without taking any credit from Langlois (or Franju), the truth is that they were able to save so many prints thanks to a German. And not only a German, but Frank Hensel--army officer, Nazi, president of FIAF. [Federation Internationale des Archives du Film]

For this and so much more, get Richard Roud's excellent, A Passion for Films: Henri Langlois and the Cinematheque Francaise.

A Long Overdue Toast: Glen Ford & BAR

This is too long overdue, but brotha Glen Ford and his Black Agenda Report hold it down on the real.

If you don't know then don't ask somebody, just check it out.

Coming up in East Los, we were subject to the usual stigma of intellectual thought as anathema. You were either a thug, an athlete, a dopehead, whatever. But an intellectual? No way. Chris Rock talks about the anti-intellectual stance in the ghetto in his famous "books are Kryptonite to Niggas" riff.

I was lucky. Moms had a big library and I could pick and choose. Whenever I wanted to go to the bookstore, she'd drop every thing and we'd go, usually to the Alhambra Bookstore. Like me, she'd be content to just browse for hours.

My survival in the jungle is marked by what I can only conclude was a decent ability at athletics, I had a mouth on me, and wasn't a complete jerkoff.

This is what makes the four great stories of the American urban landscape - Piri Thomas' Down These Mean Streets, Claude Brown's Manchild in the Promised Land, Malcolm's Autobiography..., and Luis Rodriguez's Always Running - so fascinating; each were street urchins, and each found the keys to their freedom when they discovered the wonders of intellectual thought through reading, and just as importantly if not more, writing. I still remember Malcolm saying, so poetically: "Never was I so free as in prison [while reading]." (To these I would also add Dr. Huey P. Newton, Jimmy Santiago Baca, David Hilliard, Elaine Brown, and much underrated and little known, Anne Moody, her story not strictly urban and in fact rural in the early stages. But what a story, what a great writer.)

Their stories are more than an escape from poverty, crime, etc. They are great stories of human triumph against tremendous odds, of spirits meeting their time. Transcendence.

And as such they are truly inspiring, in the best sense of that word.

My world has been tremendously influenced by them all, and I owe them a debt of gratitude.

Glen Ford (and BAR) are carrying the torch today, but in a different mode than autobiography. His gig is journalism, and this brotha is fiercely independent. This is the kind of journalism that is sorely needed, and how I long for an Asian-American counterpart.

BAR brings the fire, people. As the late great Tony Williams said back in the day; "Believe it."

Upset City: Superbowl 42, Glendale, Arizona: Giants 17, Patriots 14

What a game. Renee and I were yelling and rooting for the Giants big time.

I normally don't diary my blog [sic], because it's fucking boring to read about the minutiae of peoples' lives; "Oh, today I had to go car shopping..." Fuck that. But this game was just incredible to watch.

My thoughts.

1. The Giants defense was the MVP (Not Eli, who got the award and the Caddy). Five sacks on Brady, plus untold hurried passes. This on a QB that had been sacked only 21 times in the season. Even more incredibly, the Giants D held the Pats to 82 - eighty two - TOTAL yards for the first half. This offense, praised to the skies, running like a finely tuned machine and record setting.

So here's to the TRUE MVPs: The NY Giants defensive front four: Michael Strahan, Jay Alford, Justin Tuck, and Osi Umenyiora.

2. David Tyree's catch was one of the most clutch plays I've ever seen in sports; it literally was pinned to his helmet. This is perhaps "The Catch 2."

3. Perhaps even more, Eli got away from seeming doom, somehow escaping the clutches of Pats who had his jersey stretched, to make the miracle throw to Tyree. And although theirs was not for a game winning TD like "The Catch," this was a do-or-die play on the last drive of the game, trailing by 4, they had to have a first down.

4. On 3rd and 11 during the Giants' last drive, I think after "The Catch 2," Manning connects with Steve Smith (a Trojan) on an 11 yard gain for a first down. Context: It's the last drive, THIRD down and I think only 1 time out. But here's where the subtlety of sports kicks in. When Smith caught the ball, he was off the first down marker by at least a couple of yards. He quickly spun and caught the marker and did two critical things: (A) He advanced the ball beyond the marker, and (B) he went out of bounds, stopping the clock. THAT's a pro. And it's those kinds of "little things" that champions do.

And further, it was Smith earlier in the game who missed a crucial catch he bobbled and should have caught, and was intercepted.

5. The Pats' Wes Welker was unstoppable; 11 catches for 100+ yards, sustaining drives and keeping momentum. The dude's only 5'9", and a buck eighty five. He is really great to watch, kinda reminds me of Utah's Dick Stockton. In fairness, it helps to have a stud all-star like Randy Moss deflecting defensive attention. But watch Welker on iso, there's no denying he knows what he's doing, and he's good.

6. Here's something no one mentioned, or I think even noticed; when New England got the ball with I think under a minute left, Tom Brady got rocked on first or second down by Jay Alford for a loss. Flat on his back, his hands immediately went up and signaled a "T." Like him or not, that truly is a consummate pro, to get hammered for a crushing loss when you have to get something going, but you have the presence of mind to do the right thing.

7. The line: O/U = 55. I said under, so did Renee. The Pats were giving 11.5 or 12, depending on the site – I took the Giants.

Terry Bradshaw, he of four rings and the HoF, himself said in the post-game show that this was the greatest Super Bowl he'd ever seen. I'd have to agree; Renee and I felt like we'd been through the ringer. Artie's head must have exploded in excitement; I can't wait to hear what he says on the Stern Show tomorrow.

Man, what an upset. But was it really? Earlier in the season when they met, the Pats won, but that game could have gone either way. Very easily.

Whatever the case, Super Bowl 42 was definitely one for the ages, not only for the upset, but just as entertainment. It was really fun to watch.

As a kid, I remember the first time I saw that classic pic of Giants legend Y.A. Tittle, (who played only two years for them but throwing a then record 36 TDs in his second to last season.), I was riveted. He's sitting on the field, helmet off, head slightly bowed, blood trickling down his balding head.

Well, somewhere in Mudville, now they can add ole Y.A. smiling at the G-Men.

Tourney Win Yesterday

I GARONTEE !!!!!!!

I slam my country so much for being shitheads, that it's about time I said something positive about America. And one of them is indeed its multi-racial/cultural heritage.

But not in that populist, jingoistic way.

Moms came from a big family; they were farmers in the San Joaquin Valley, home to the famous Lindsay olives. My mom's generation, the Nisei (second gen Japanese Americans), were generally not that well off; many were hard laborers, gardners and, like in the case of my family, farmers. To the rest of the world, California is the land of Hollywood and liberal kooks, but little do they know that you don't have to go far here to get to the country. That's Lindsay. Think "Hooterville" and "Green Acres" and "Bugtussle" and "Hee Haw." Well, maybe it's not that hardcore, but you get the picture.

Moms was the second to the youngest of nine, my Auntie F was number 6 I believe. I mention Auntie F here because she happened to marry a black man and she herself, in taking after her mother, raise 8 kids. They're all terrificly talented, educated and just plain good peeps. My cousin Joey, who's close to me in age, is one of the funniest muthaphukas.

So the story goes like this; The W's - Auntie F's family - were in town from Chi, where she and Uncle J met at the University of Chicago. Some years earlier, their good neighbors from Chi moved out to LA, so, we had a huge pow wow at the Jones' house. They too were black.

This all leads to "Papa Joe", my uncle's father, who also was in attendance. I only met him a handful of times, but I remember him being very slender, tall, and sort of regal, not in a haughty way, but down-home, if that makes any sense. And, as I recall, he made the gumbo for our pow wow.

The picture of the bowl in front of me is one of very dark soup, like a gun-metal grey, with a lot of stuff in it. I taste it - endorphin rush!!! I asked Papa Joe what is this? And he tells me it's gumbo.

And then the line that sticks in my memory; "That's dirty water gumbo." I look back at the bowl; yup, it looks like dirty water. Perfect. Man, that shit tasted gooooood. Like Little Richard says: "It makes ma big toe shoot up in ma boot!"

But being in LA, there's no Louisiana style cooking here, and specifically Cajun. I've been lucky enough to have been in "Nawlins," and tasted some good stuff.

Which brings the trip to gumbo as a multi-cultural signifier, being from Cajun, French, Native American, and black/African (the name itself is African derived) influences, and Justin Wilson. He had a show on PBS many moons ago, and although I am a city-slicker, I loved watching but more, listening to him. The play in language is something else, and his accent is the freeze. There's plenty of his stuff on Google Video, although the quality's uneven at best, and although he's gone, he has a site. Anyway, ole' JW, that dude made some down home shit and was really entertaining.

Gumbo is one of the great things about America and although it's simplistic to say, really is a melting pot. Fish's family every other year makes gumbo, and man we pig out like crazy - like this past holiday. While I prefer crab in mine, fire up the J-Dub video below and listen to him brew up some chicken gumbo. But not before a story treat, of course.

I think Renee and I are getting fired up to make some.

And that's what ahm gonna did. That's for true.