Hue and Cry

As an extremely white-looking biracial person who was raised by my biological white mother and black father to “think of myself as” Colored, Negro and Black (the words changed over the years but the idea was the same), color me bemused and fascinated by the “racial scandal” surrounding Rachel Dolezal. She’s the woman who until a couple of days ago was a highly effective NAACP chapter president and is now a subject of curiosity and scorn, because she’s white (according to her white biological parents) but self-identifies as black. We might consider her transracial: a black woman who believes she was mistakenly born in a white woman’s body.

Ms. Dolezal is accused of doing some odd, even duplicitous things, including attending then suing Howard University (one of the country’s most famous black colleges) for racial discrimination because she’s white; assuming guardianship of one of several unquestionably black children adopted by her white parents; ticking several racial categories on official documents; marrying a black man (to whom she’s no longer married, but I don’t know why); and giving birth to a biracial child (biracial if indeed she’s white) who apparently looks unquestionably like a person of color.

Ms. Dolezal looks like a white woman with a tan and a ‘fro who says with no clear explanation that she identifies as black. Some black people resent this because they feel she has no personal knowledge/understanding of the black experience. But what is the totality of the black experience? American blacks come in a variety of hues because of the long history of the rape of black women by white men from Slavery until now, because there’s still a racial component to some rape.

Low self esteem still exists within the black community – less now, since some measure of civil rights success. But most people (black, white and “other”) know about the old paper bag test (if you’re darker than a brown paper bag you’re too dark); if you’re very light-skinned you’re “high yaller” (yellow); and there is still a measure of antipathy between dark and light skinned blacks, although with an interesting twist. Up until the 60s, light skinned blacks felt superior to their darker kin. Since civil rights that’s somewhat reversed. And now that there are an increasing number of biracial people there’s just a whole lot of racial confusion.

Race and racism are about color. It’s ironic but true that in many parts of Africa, American blacks aren’t considered black, because our historic coffee has been diluted with so much cream. “Pure” African blacks are black, what’s still called here “he’s so black he’s blue.” Whereas here, the economic construct of Slavery came up with the notion of the One Drop Rule (“one little drop of niggra blood and you’re a niggra too”). This made it easier and cheaper for Slave owners to acquire, even breed, more Slaves, rather than buy them fresh off the boat. It’s also true that there are millions of “white” Americans who have “black blood” in their family histories and don’t even know it!

But to get back to the beleaguered Ms. Dolezal: I personally feel a great sense of sympathy for her, as well as a kind of reverse empathy. Sympathy, because there’s obviously been a considerable amount of racial weirdness and confusion in her life and I think she does have a sense of the black experience. She grew up with a number of adopted black siblings, went to a black college where she majored in black studies, married a black man, has a “colored” child, and apparently did considerably beneficial work for the NAACP. If we accept (even if we don’t quite understand) that people can be transgender, is it really so hard to accept the concept of transracial?

My sense of “reverse empathy” comes from being told to view myself as black but my mirror told me I was not. It seemed insane that I had two parents of different colors and was told to identify with the one I didn’t look like. I had no problem seeing myself as  racially blended, but in my youth we didn’t have the terms “mixed race” or “biracial.” And when I gleefully discovered the word mulatto, which is a Spanish word for exactly what I am, I was told it was a derogatory term. I was basically told that my very being was an insult! I’m 63 goddamn years old and I still haven’t truly come to terms with my racial identity. And I think that says more about American society than it does about me.

The moral of the Rachel Dolezal story – like the moral of the Caitlyn Jenner story – is that identity is a personal and complex thing. Neither science nor sociology have a true, full understanding of human sexuality, or an explanation for the need for strong racial distinctions in a racially mixed society. What we have in both areas is ignorance, fear, polarization, habit, meanness, exploitation, and plain old stupidity. I doubt I’ll live long enough to see this stuff straightened out – and, for the record, it’s made much of my life miserable.

A Plea To Public Television

I love public television – commonly known as PBS. I’ve been a viewer (and inconsistent member, I’m ashamed to say) since the 70s and The Great American Dream Machine. I worked on staff at 13/WNET New York for a year and when I later went into business full time as a freelance writer, WNET was my client for ten years. My cable system offers three PBS stations and they are the channels I watch most. All that said, they are driving me insane with their Pledge (fund raising) periods, which have become longer and more tedious with every passing year. And because I care so much about the importance of public TV, I fear their fund raising tactic may be their undoing rather than their salvation. I find that a disturbing prospect indeed.

Perhaps for your edification (not everybody knows this), PBS is not a television network in the way that CBS, NBC and ABC are networks. They are still The Big Three networks on broadcast TV (vs. cable or anything else) and their “local” stations – the ones that begin with “W” in the east and “K” in the west – are affiliates directly responsible to and controlled by the primary network powers that be.

In direct and critical contrast, public TV stations are independent, self-supporting, local channels. PBS – the Public Broadcasting Service – produces and/or acquires many of the programs seen on public TV nationwide. But there are several other significant program services, and, a number of the larger stations – such as those in New York City, Boston, Washington DC, Los Angeles and San Francisco – also produce major programs with and without an assortment of production partners, that are also seen nationally.

There are around 300 independent public TV stations and the organization that to some extent unites them is APTS (the Association of Public Television Stations), which functions as a kind of union capable of standing up to PBS, which has been known to be a little grandiose and overbearing, however well-intentioned they mean to be. At least this is how things worked in the 90s, which is when I was last privy to the inner workings of public television; some important things may have changed that I’m unaware of.

But there are two changes of which I’m very cognizant. The first is that public stations now refer to themselves as PBS stations. I can’t tell you how vigorously this used to be fought against. Stations were passionate about trying to make the public understand that they were independent and their independence was critical to how they were funded, as well as their very reason for being: stations that produced/acquired numerous programs that specifically served local and regional communities in ways the Big Three affiliates never did and still don’t. But the “We’re not PBS message” was too difficult to explain and never got through, so it looks like the effort was finally abandoned.

The second change is how much they Pledge. There used to be three (and only three) key Pledge months: March, August and December. And pledge periods lasted for only one week in each of these months. Now, these three months are virtually consumed with Pledge, and in addition, other Pledge periods of varying lengths pop up throughout the year. This is no doubt happening because government funding, philanthropic funding and corporate funding have been in perilous decline since the 90s. So has individual viewer membership, which for most stations is where the bulk of their funding comes. As a result, some stations have folded. Some have joined forces. But all of them are hurting. Fiscal crisis is a constant in public TV.

The problem with Pledge as it’s currently conducted is that special “Pledge Programming” is broadcast, much of it provided by PBS. New programs are presented here and there, but most of it is very old, and it’s re-run countless times. How much of the same New Age self-help, music from the 60s, financial advice, and classical tenors is a person supposed to sit through – Pledge month after Pledge month, year after year? I watch little or no public TV during Pledge because my favorite programs have been replaced with the same Pledge shows that have been on for a decade or more! (They’re still showing Motown 25 and Motown is now over 60!). 

I’m not angry with public television for the volume of its Pledging; I know they need the money. I’m irritated with their lack of creativity – and very possibly financial effectiveness – in how they’re doing it. I urge public TV to abandon Pledge months and tired Pledge programming altogether. Instead, fund raising should be constant. Some short, some longer breaks between every program for a start. And, since the non-commercials are looking more like commercials anyway, have real commercials, just don’t interrupt programs and don’t have them between every show and don’t run more than one or two in a row. I could also live with a short crawl at the bottom of the screen once during a program, but not necessarily every program. Thinking outside the box might help you dig yourself out of your financial hole and stop torturing those of us who love you.

Goodbye and Thank You, William Zinsser

There are people who like to look up and those who don't – which is to say, those who take pleasure in admiring/respecting/appreciating truly special people, and those who relish looking down on everybody.

My dear mother, who taught me to love language, also taught me to look up. I rant on this blog so much you might not think of me as someone with heroes, but I have quite a few. I like to look up. There are many writers I look up to. But above them all, my favorite teacher of writing was writer and teacher William Zinsser, who just died at age 92.

I’m not sad; he had a long, productive, and apparently rewarding, happy life. He also helped countless writers and teachers of writing with his great book, On Writing Well. I’ve read it through several times over the years and still refer to it often. If you are a reader, a writer, or just a lover of language used splendidly and you’ve never read On Writing Well, I heartily encourage you to pick up this slim, fulsome paperback.

And for your reference, here’s Zinsser's New York Times obituary. Doesn’t he sound like someone you’d like to know? I’m sorry I never got to meet him. But I got to learn from him, and for that I’m grateful.

More Than Just a Number

When it comes to aging, many people like to say “Age is just a number,” by which they mean they’ve reached a certain number – say 60, 65, 70 – and they’re still healthy, fit, and strong and don’t want to be written off as old. I get that. Old is a dirty word in our youth-obsessed, youth-oriented culture.

If you’re 60 or older, have you noticed that most of what’s on TV (shows and commercials) and in movie theaters isn’t directed at you? Are you finding it difficult to find clothing that (a) fits and (b) doesn’t look ridiculous on you? Do you find yourself not understanding the social references made by young comedians? Is it harder to find music on the radio that you like? And if you’re not super-tech-savvy (or inclined to be) do you feel out of place in the new high-tech normal? Aging isn’t about numbers. It’s about how you feel in society – and how society feels about you.

In other cultures – not many – the aging and the old are revered: for their knowledge and wisdom; for the roles they’ve long played in society and their families; and because they represent the value of the past. That’s not how it works here, or in Western countries in general.

In the marketplace, you’re over-the-hill in your 40s. In your 50s and 60s you’re viewed as essentially worthless, and unless you have your own business you’re virtually unemployable. In your 70s and beyond, you’re resented because you get government “entitlements,” or are just regarded as a drain if you’re ill, at which point your loved ones (if you have any left) might warehouse and largely forget about you.

“Age is just a number,” both as an idea and as language, makes as much sense as “Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.” Age is an important factor in our lives throughout our lives. As kids and teens we can’t wait to get older, because older means grown up and freedom. You can legally drive, vote, drink, have sex, and ignore your parents at assorted youthful milestone ages.

During our 20s, 30s & 40s, we feel we’re in our prime. After that, whether we’re in good shape or not, things begin to change. We reflect on our lives, careers, personal choices, finances, in a way we may never have before, because we know we likely have less time ahead of us than we do behind us, and there’s no way of knowing what condition we’ll be in as time marches on.

Circumstances and relationships change. People (family, friends, colleagues) relocate or die. There are friends we get rid of or who get rid of us. For lots of folks – especially women who were beautiful in their younger years – appearance becomes an issue. Teeth become troublesome, hair turns gray or falls out, gravity takes its toll on your whole body, joints hurt, your body may not tolerate the same foods.

The machine begins to show its wear and tear. And to lesser or greater extents, so does the mind. You remember less. You’re confused more often. Things just change – more for some, less for others, but change is a universal reality and that’s not about numbers, it’s how life works.

At the end of March I had a bad fall and I’m still more debilitated by it than I already was. Now I have one of those “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” medical alert devices – sensible, necessary, and I don’t really mind. But it doesn’t exactly represent vitality.

More importantly, one of my dearest, longtime friends, a man I knew for over 40 years, died last week at age 66. Too soon, too soon. He knew he was sick and was willing to fight. He never got to wage that battle. And I have a sad void within where a bright light used to be, the light of someone who loved me, who remembered my parents and my youth, who shared many of my values and opinions, who was generous and supportive. 

When we lose such people, we lose the witnesses to our lives. I don’t have that many witnesses left. No, age is not just a number, especially as we get older. Among other vital things, it’s time to assess/reassess who and what is important in our lives. Maybe there is some “human deadwood” we should shed. But it’s time to treasure everyone and everything we care about. Because it can all slip away in a New York minute.

The SONY Situation

“Behind the phony tinsel of Hollywood

lies the real tinsel.”  Oscar Levant, (1906 - 1972) 

As someone who strongly believes in the importance of free speech and uncensored creative expression, I have of course been extremely interested in and concerned about the “SONY Situation.” This is extremely important because it’s about a whole lot more than a controversial movie. It is a seminal 21^st Century dilemma: the first major confluence of new technology, violent and cyber terrorism, the traditional American definition of Democracy, culture clash, Capitalism, electronic news media, and human behavior in the still-developing “new normal.” This is a big subject but I’ll tackle what I can in this post.

I started writing this post at least a week ago, and there have been new developments in the past couple of days. So to summarize the incident that provoked an international mess: SONY, a giant American entertainment company, was grievously cyber attacked by North Korean extremists (and possibly the NK government itself) because it produced a satirical comedy film about the assassination of the real-life, sitting, North Korean president, Kim Jong-un. The news media ill-advisedly but not surprisingly focused on the celebrity gossip revealed by the hack-attack instead of the depth and implications of the attack itself.

Then, SONY and America were threatened with 9/11-scale attacks against movie theaters if the film was released. All of the country’s theater chains united in their refusal to show the film; Sony announced it would not release the film (like they had a choice, once the theaters decided not to show it); and much of the film industry and some politicians, including President Obama, criticized SONY for giving in to threats, because nobody can tell us what kind of movies we can and cannot make, and, America shouldn’t surrender its core freedoms out of fear.

The irony is we already have surrendered some of our core freedoms out of fear. America was rattled to its previously complacent bones by the 9/11 attacks, though we were determined not to let it show. President John Wayne Bush stood on the World Trade Center rubble and literally told the terrorists to “bring it on,” to prove that our national balls, pride, and courage were undefeatably enormous.

But a few weeks later, Congress and the Senate passed the Patriot Act with whiplash speed. It is still in place, giving the government’s numerous intelligence and security agencies unprecedented permission to spy, bug, physically gather, and in other ways obtain private information about individuals, to basically do whatever they deem necessary to whomever they regard as  suspicious in the name of national security.

Some Americans and some organizations objected. In the minority quarters that value privacy and civil rights for individuals, Ben Franklin’s sage quotation: They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety was dusted off and given new exposure. But it didn’t change anything because it turns out that most Americans are willing to exchange “essential liberty” (privacy, free speech, creative expression, etc.) for whatever sense of safety they can secure.

In the last few days, the country and the companies (SONY and the theaters) seem to have decided to macho-man-up again. President Obama asked China to do what they can to keep North Korea in check. It was suggested that North Korea be added to our official “watch” list of nations/organizations most likely to attempt a terrorist attack, though at this moment I don’t know if that’s been done. Some theaters decided to change their corporate minds about showing the film, and SONY, it appears, has changed its mind about releasing it, even if it will be a more limited release than originally planned. For a Christmas Day debut. Merry Christmas. 

Now we come to our national love affair with technology – which is really just our most recent infatuation with a big, shiny, major new toy, a love that knows no bounds and sees no downside until the initial glow wears off, and that process can take quite a while. We embraced the Information Age with the same passion we lavished on the Industrial Revolution.

I’m not saying America or the world would all be better off living like the Amish. I’m just pointing out that we have a history of plunging into the seductive technically new in the present, without regard for its impact on what we value from the past, or anticipating the potential disadvantages of the presently new in the future. This is especially concerning now as we further explore artificial intelligence and robotics in a spirit of childlike wonder.

Through technology, what used to be a great big world has, from the 19^th Century on, become a much smaller one. Throw differing religions, cultures, economics and politics into the mix and it becomes quite a muddle. Add poor education, increased poverty, huge gaps in human rights and civil rights, terrorism, war and other forms of armed conflict, environmental change, and population growth, and you have the complex quagmire we call Now.

So, in regard to the “Sony Situation,” I believe that our 18^th Century ideas of what Freedom and Democracy allow for were and are rightly challenged, not just by outside anger and danger, but also by a certain measure of contemporary common sense as well. In every discussion of free speech, it is pointed out that while people should have an unfettered right to express their ideas and opinions, they don’t have the right to be irresponsible – such as shouting Fire! Fire! in a crowded movie theater when there is no fire.

I am of the opinion that in this day and age, producing a major motion picture about the assassination of any named, real-life, sitting president of any country – even a bizarre little despot like Kim Jong-un – is the creative equivalent of Fire! Fire!, especially when you consider that totalitarian dictators and the populations they rule have no working concept of humor, let alone satire. And just because one has the right and freedom to do something doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to do it.

What would the American response be if a foreign country – say France, England or Australia, all of which have thriving film industries, unlike our chief national enemies – made a satirical comedy about the assassination of the named, specific, actual Barack Obama? The President himself, who has a great sense of humor and understands the concept of satire, would probably just roll with the punches as he has with everything that’s been thrown at him. But I doubt Mrs. Obama would appreciate it, nor would the Democratic Party, nor would many Americans who support, even love, the President. We wouldn’t be hearing about free speech and creative freedom in that scenario.

The “SONY Situation” puts the company, the film industry, and the government in the satirically comic position of having to defend a film that shouldn’t have been made in the first place, in the name of free speech, creative freedom, and not allowing other countries to push us around. Why? In no small part because of Capitalism. America’s leading export is entertainment: film, television, music, video games and increasingly stand-up comedy. And for many years now, Hollywood product in all categories has been built on a foundation of graphic violence, drugs and sex.

So when our government tells us that terrorists hate us for our freedom, that is only part of the truth. They also hate us for the nature and content of our popular culture, our military intervention in their countries, and our constant efforts at regime change (what we like to call nation building). We are determined to spread Democracy and Capitalism, two different things that many Americans think are the same.

I know there are critical human rights issues at stake, but it’s not a simple matter to resolve and we tend to make our efforts to fix and change things in a manner that other countries find decidedly objectionable. They think we’re crazy, just as we think they’re crazy. I do think they’re much crazier than we are. However, we have little with which to defend ourselves. Because our other top export is Consumerism – in concept and action. Ours is a youth-&-beauty-obsessed, celebrity-worshiping, materialistic culture. We value money, power, prestige and things more than people. We are the least developed nation among all developed nations when it comes to economic equality, education, health care, and our regard for the poor and elderly.

I think the current defense of The Interview, filled with Constitutional dismay about SONY’s initial response, is misplaced: the right defense for the wrong thing. Where was a similar torrent of outrage when NewSouth Books put a fig leaf on Huckleberry Finn by changing the use of “nigger” to “slave,” even though this is a classic work of fiction that reflects the accurate, actual use of language in its historical place in time? 

Hasn’t the rigidity of political correctness also mindlessly and uncreatively undermined free speech and creative expression? Comedian Lenny Bruce, poet Allen Ginsberg, and photographer Robert Mapplethorpe were never given the succor of the First Amendment in their time, even though they richly deserved it. The "SONY Situation" requires a lot of thought and deserves much intelligent discussion – but The Interview is a regrettable launch pad for it.

Working For Tips

There is presently a lot of heated social conversation about people who traditionally receive tips as part of their pay for work – namely those in the restaurant-bar, hotel, taxi-limousine, beauty service and travel service industries. They legally receive what’s known as a sub-minimum wage (apx. $5.00/hour) from their employers, because their tips, supposedly, bring them up to a living wage. That wasn’t true 30 or 40 years ago and it’s even worse now. That’s because more and more Americans, either out of ignorance or cheapness, are leaving smaller and fewer tips. So the question is: should the sub-minimum wage be increased? Would it surprise you to know that many Americans are saying no?

Tipping is a uniquely American custom, something Americans traveling abroad are delighted to discover and foreigners visiting here often learn to their embarrassment the first time they stiff a waiter or cab driver. There’s an irony here, since it appears that tipping began in the 1600s in England when men drinking in taverns gave money to servers “to insure promptitude” or T.I.P for short.

When the practice started to make its way into American bars and restaurants in the late 1890s, a movement against it rose up. Many Americans felt it was in opposition to the country’s ideals of class equality and would lead to the development of a “servile class” that would be rendered financially dependent on the rich. But the custom persisted – and grew – here, nonetheless.

Over time, tipping somehow went out of favor (in some instances out of legality) in Europe, and indeed created that “servile class” in America – which has never been a classless society, despite our delusions to the contrary. This explains why many Americans resent tipping and/or look down on people who work for tips and/or are ashamed to work in jobs that receive tips.

I was the daughter of a man who spent most of his working life first as a waiter and then as a skycap. He worked for tips. He worked very hard and put up with an assortment of indignities, but still never made enough to support a family, which is why my mother worked in the 1950s when most women were still housewives.

She worked until the 1980s, pouring her considerable intelligence into the bottomless, low-paying well of the pink ghetto, first as a bookkeeper, then as a comptroller, and finally as the manager of the subscription department of an elite specialty business newspaper – where she signed her letters “L. Browne,” lest the high-powered male subscribers suspect she was a woman. And meanwhile, my black father smiled as he allowed white people to rub his head for luck in the hope it would earn him a larger tip.

Since Ronald Reagan (whom I still blame for everything), America has been creating an economy and social mindset guided by millionaire Republican belief that the population is made up of Makers and Takers, an idea that middle class and working class Republicans buy into. That’s why so many people still think that teenagers are the ones working minimum-wage jobs, when the truth is, most teens can’t find jobs because the jobs they used to have are now held by adults trying to make a living and support their families. People working for tips are also doing the same thing.

In case you haven’t noticed, unless you (or you and your partner/spouse, if you have one) are bringing in a six-figure salary, nothing in America is affordable, anywhere – not housing, utilities, food, gas, a night at the movies, nothing – except clothing, house wares, and the smart electronic devices everyone loves so much, all of which are sold cheap because they’re made by indentured and child labor through the American “job creators” who are actually outsourcing those jobs to Third World countries. Welcome to the 21^st century. 

It’s time to raise the minimum wage and the sub-minimum wage, federally. And it’s time for Americans who eat in American restaurants, stay in American hotels, ride in American taxis – etc. – to ante up and leave a decent 15-20% tip.  You’re not tipping for extraordinarily wonderful service, you’re tipping because that’s what we do here. It’s the American way.

Big Changes in Medicare

If you have health care coverage through Medicare, don’t forget that between October 15^th and December 7^th Medicare folks have to decide if we’re going to keep our current plan (different versions of straight Medicare or a Medicare Advantage plan, which operates like an HMO or PPO) or opt for a different one. If you decide to keep your plan, you don’t have to do anything. But if you want to change your plan, it has to be done by December 7th - a day that now lives in infamy for this additional reason (in addition to Pearl Harbor, young people).

This year, it’s worth noting that in many instances, what is covered and to what extent it’s covered, has changed more substantially than in previous years. That’s because very extensive budget cuts were made that we’re really going to feel in 2015 and beyond. I have the Blue Cross/Blue Shield Advantage Plan and my co-pays will increase; it seems that some of the medications I take are no longer covered; and there is now a deductible for medications as well as higher prescription costs. I’ve learned this by just quickly glancing at the phone-book-sized package of information I received from BC/BS. I haven’t even had a chance to look at the government’s phone book, “Medicare and You,” but I’m going to have to review them both very carefully and probably make a few phone calls, too.

However, I did come across two articles that nicely summarize what’s going on and can help us plow through this frustrating process: one from Fiscal Times and one in The New York Times, both of which are more than worth a click, so I urge you to click on these links and help yourself understand what’s new, ‘cause it ain’t good news. Note that both articles suggest you also visit the official Medicare site, which is a good idea, as is contacting your current plan (the stuff they send you includes a phone number). And by the way, if you haven’t yet received your “phone book” (you should have gotten it by September 30^th), call your plan and request it. Ditto for the government tome.

I supported the Affordable Care Act and I still do. It’s apparently doing some good for millions of Americans who had no health coverage or really bad or quite unaffordable coverage. But I haven’t forgotten that it was constructed from a very big, very sloppy law with far too much input from insurance and pharmaceutical companies. And the hateful, dysfunctional GOP forced Medicare cuts to help pay for it. After all, what else could possibly have been cut and the idea of tax reform that forces rich individuals and corporations to pay more is out of the question!

The plain fact is, all health care coverage in America is bad, primarily because health care in this country is a profit-making business. If you’re on Medicare (or anything else) and are sick or get sick or need major surgery, you’re screwed. Even if you have a Medicare Supplement Plan, you’re screwed. If you don’t have plenty of your own money to supplement your health care plan – whatever it is, including Medicare – you’re screwed. Indeed, having enormous medical bills they can’t possibly pay is now the primary reason that people go bankrupt – by the millions – and that situation is only going to get worse.

So, after you spend a cozy night by the fire with your latest Medicare information materials – and try to resist throwing them into the fire – I strongly suggest you phone or email the offices of your Senators and Congressional Representative and let them know that the Medicare budget cuts are doing you harm. I promise you that a deluge of such communications will not go unnoticed by them. You might want to do this both before and after the November election – in which I urgently hope you plan to participate. 

Wake up and smell the calendar. It’s not the 20^th century anymore.

Good News!

For those of you who feel I never have anything positive to say, I’m pleased to announce that I have GOOD NEWS! There is an organization – you may have already heard of it – called Debt Collective (DC). It was started by and for young Americans whose lives are colored straight out of the college gate by crippling levels of student loan debt.

Collectively (as it were), the amount of student debt in America is $1.2 trillion, according to the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. An appalling figure. And as DC explains, “If you owe the bank thousands of dollars, then the bank owns you. But if you owe the bank millions, then you own the bank.” 

Which is to say, if you try to lessen the burden of your student loan as an individual, one person vs. a massive, uncaring, money-grubbing institution – a balance of power that suits the banks just fine – you’re not likely to get anywhere better than where you are right now: screwed. But if you get together with lots of other folks in the same situation, then you radically change the status quo and ergo the balance of power.

Not since the wholesome, effective, beginning of the American Labor Movement, which fought to get working people the 5-day week, the 8-hour day, improvements in workplace conditions, and the right to bargain collectively (through unions) for better wages and benefits, has such a bold, creative, non-violent yet we-ain’t-playin’ initiative been undertaken in the age-old war between The Little Guy and The System. Yes, this is a big step in the much-needed contemporary Class War I’ve written about previously – but if I had said so at the start, you probably wouldn’t still be reading this.

After its inception, DC broadened its fight against debt to include medical, housing, and credit card debt – debt that threatens millions of Americans in numerous, onerous ways, from losing their homes to having their wages garnished to not having enough money left for basic/essential living expenses (like food and utilities) once they’ve made their monthly debt payments. And as the photo above illustrates (getting back to the horrors of education debt), former students face special punishments even if they’ve been faithfully paying off their debt for years, because, thanks to usury-level interest rates, their debt never ends!

DC describes its mission this way: “What can a Debt Collective Do? – The goal of the Debt Collective is to create a platform by debtors and for debtors for organization, advocacy, and resistance. Organizing collectively offers many possibilities for building power against creditors: As we build membership, we can organize debtors into groups based on region, type of debt, or institution. These groups can bargain with creditors or even develop the power to threaten a debt strike. A debt collective can help create a positive vision for a sustainable economy in which credit would be used to benefit everyone and not to line the pockets of a few.” 

So, if you’re currently carrying more debt than you can handle, whether it be an underwater mortgage, a strangle-hold of credit cards, or a student loan that’s preventing you from creating your future, I strongly encourage you to click on this Debt Collective link and join Debt Collective. I did and I’m glad I did. I feel better and I’m looking forward to hearing from them about what the next steps will be.

To those who have little or no debt and sniff judgmentally at those who do, thinking (or outright saying), “Well, you knowingly incurred these debts, why are you crabbing about having to pay them back?,” let me say the following.

I started to write a detailed explanation about why so much of contemporary indebtedness can’t be dismissed as irresponsible and I had written a lot of it; it was running way too long. I also realized the main thought running through my head was “Fuck you, you don’t get it, go read another blog.” So I’m not going to “justify” anything I’ve written above to those who don’t understand this situation. Fuck you, you don’t get it, go read another blog.

Coming Out of the Pain Closet

I add my voice to the chorus of millions worldwide who mourn the loss of Robin Williams, a bright genius light we loved who, unbeknownst to us, spent much of his private time in an overwhelming darkness, a despair so strong that it trumped fame, fortune, and the true love of family and friends. He suffered – oh, man did he suffer – from severe, chronic, clinical Depression.

So it’s unfair and downright ignorant to think he was insane or selfish because he killed himself. He was neither of those things. He also wasn’t “taking the easy way out” of something we don’t know about. His death is a tragedy – not just because he was who he was: a greatly multi-talented man of only 63 – but because he died of a disease that we as a society don’t understand, don’t talk about, and for which there are a variety of often inadequate treatments and no cure.

Which is why I believe that the best way to honor Robin Williams is not with mourning or tributes or film festivals or posthumous awards. Our greatest tribute would be creating greater awareness and understanding of Depression, in the same way that Rock Hudson’s death set America on a path of greater awareness and understanding of AIDS. 

And that must begin with the millions of Americans who cope with this disease Coming Out of the Pain Closet, risking and fighting the stupid stigma attached to it, and talking about it. So here and now I’m going to walk my talk and Come Out. I have Depression. I’ve had it at least since I was a teenager. I’ve been taking different anti-depressants (with varying degrees of success) for decades.

My mother and my maternal grandfather had it. Other relatives on both sides of my family had it. Some of them, like me, spent some time on the psych wards of general hospitals. Some of them attempted suicide. Others, like me, just thought about it. A lot. It destroyed some of their lives.

It sure has fucked up mine. It led to a nervous breakdown in 2003 and my not functioning very well ( ! ) for the past ten years. I wasn’t functioning very well before the nervous breakdown. I had a thriving business as a freelance writer that I ran into the ground because, increasingly, I couldn’t meet deadlines or make it to meetings.

I became a compulsive TV shopper and was one day short of eviction from my apartment because I was shopping away the rent money. Addictive behavior is a common component of Depression. My privacy and independence were imposed upon by a NYC agency called APS – Adult Protective Services. That was how I avoided eviction.

After my breakdown I became a virtual hermit. I didn’t leave the house for months at a time. I didn’t bathe or dress for months at a time. (These two are also common components of Depression.) Thanks to a legal aid-type lawyer I ended up on permanent Social Security Disability in my early 50s – but I was on Welfare for a couple of months waiting for the Disability to kick in. That in itself was a shameful nightmare. Shame is a big element in Depression.

I had a home health care aide for eight years. I became agoraphobic (fear of going outdoors) and only made it to doctor visits because of the aide. I also developed an anxiety disorder, as well as a condition called “hyper vigilance,” which means I’m unhinged by loud, dangerous noises. To this day, if a fire engine screams down the avenue outside my window and at the same time the phone and the intercom from the lobby ring, I cover my head and duck.

I’m much better now than I used to be. But it’s not “over.” Depression still colors and limits my life. Mine became acute in 1995 when my mother died. I held on for my father’s sake (although I was starting to screw up). When he died in 1999, I really began to fall apart. When my aunt, my last surviving blood relative, died in 2001, my tether shortened and tightened. By the end of 2003 I was gone. I got to a point, pretty soon, where I could sort of function at home, but not a lot and not very well.

For a couple of years, I cooked dinner nearly every night for a frail, very elderly friend/neighbor. It helped her and it helped me. I could put on a good face for the occasional others who came here, largely thanks to my aide, but I couldn’t go down to the lobby to get my mail. I spent most of my time sleeping and watching TV. I became concerned about the state of the nation and started this blog. But I did very little else. The occasional writing assignment, however small, stressed me out. Why did all of this happen?

Because Depression is a brain disease – just as Alzheimer’s, autism, and dyslexia are brain diseases. Depression is also a mental illness. It’s not in the same class as schizophrenia, but it is a mental illness. That’s why people who have it are ashamed, and those who don’t, stigmatize it. And they don’t get it. There are different kinds of Depression and different levels of it. Mine was fairly serious and not everything is detailed in what I’ve just described. But I know it was less than Williams' nightmare because I'm still here. Can you imagine the intensity of what he went through?!

My depression was exacerbated by long-term grief and it stays with me, in part, because I’m pretty broke (financially), in debt, and very lonely. All but one of my local friends relocated, died or dumped me. And even some of those who hung in with me didn’t really get what was wrong with me. They thought I had gone from being an active, well-kempt, successful businesswoman to being a sad, lazy, slob because I was giving in to myself and just not trying.

Well, I’m trying now. And it’s a daily bitch. There are still things I can’t do, in part because I also have physical ailments. I still think about suicide a lot. But I don’t want to die, really, I want to get better, I want treatment for this disease that still impacts my life. Maybe now that sweet, sick Robin Williams has paved the way, my hopes will be realized.

Should you be Coming Out of the Pain Closet? Do you now realize that someone you know is in it? Do you understand a little better that it’s not just self-indulgent “feeling sorry for yourself”?

Do you appreciate that people with Depression who can function at all are brave warriors? Did you know that Depression is at epidemic levels in America? Do you realize that 22 returned US service people commit suicide each day – 22 a day! That’s largely because of PTSD, which is a complex brain disease that includes Depression and a whole lot more.

I sure hope you know more, and better, now – or I’ve just spilled my guts to you and all over the Internet for nothing. But no, not for nothing. For Robin. And for the too many like him. May awareness, understanding, and brain science increase really quickly. There are too many suffering in the closet.

“There’s Somethin’ Happenin’ Here…

…And what it is ain’t exactly clear,” but it’s getting less fuzzy with each passing day. I haven’t written a post in quite a while (sorry about that), partly because I’ve been busy with other things, but mostly because the events of the past three weeks or so have left me uncharacter-istically speechless. I’m angry, confused, sad, and feeling rather hopeless – more so than usual. And as one who chooses not to keep up with today’s exceedingly mediocre pop culture (particularly during the Stupid Summer Film season), it wasn’t until Thursday night’s Sharknado attack that I realized much of the country must feel the same way. A critical level of Mass Ennui, a sense that everything is coming apart at the seams. America is having a nervous breakdown.

For sure, there have been hints coming from my circle (more of a long extended zig-zag line, really) of friends. One is coming undone, losing her sense of personal identity due to the injuries of a super-concussion and a host of huge related stresses. Another is feeling totally empty, pointless, worthless, also no clear sense of self because of PTSD, aging, and depression. Yet another is at the end of her rope from a job she loathes and a year’s worth of aggressive but fruitless job-hunting. Others are feeling generally desperate; still others are keeping frantically busy; most are burdened with pressing responsibilities and an obstacle course of additional problems. We’re all dumbfounded by the state of the nation, world events, and a hazy, unpredictable future. We’re all soldiering on, but most of us are ready to plotz.

Here’s a list (in essentially random order) of the things about which I’ve felt I have nothing new or important to contribute in the ongoing social and media conversations:

1) The inexplicable behavior of a fantastically do-nothing, primarily absent Congress led by a man totally lacking in courage or conviction about anything.

2) The increasing power of a wildly extreme right-wing minority fringe that is swallowing the already-unrealistic, heartless, GOP.

3) The frantic, disjointed, disheartened Democrats who are spread thin across a vast spectrum of urgent issues about which they can do essentially nothing.

4) A smart, even-tempered, President who is being attacked, disrespected, and disregarded at every turn, while he cheerfully attempts to cope with an unprecedented number of domestic and foreign crises with zero cooperation.

5) The plight of traumatized foreign refugee children, as well as the uncertain fate of the “dreamers” – American adults who were brought here illegally as children and may well be expelled from the only country they have ever called home.

6) The global anti-Israel (in many cases anti-Semitic) response to admittedly horrific violence against a rogue government whose stated goal is the utter destruction/obliteration of the Jewish State.

7) Vladimir Putin’s apparent belief that he can re-create the Soviet Union and establish a perception of himself as a great and mighty world leader.

8) Numerous planes falling out of the sky – some by accident, some by attack, all to the mortal detriment of ordinary civilians just trying to get from point A to B.

9) The increasing general madness and particular mayhem against women by Islamic extremists in the Arab world and Africa.

10) The deliberate marginalization of numerous Americans through racism, poverty, misogyny, unwarranted imprisonment, and both corporate and political greed and chicanery.

11) The dangerous consolidation of media, among both delivery systems and content providers/creators.

12) Inflation, Frankenfood, gentrification, unaffordable housing, old-school police brutality, and extreme weather.

All of which is why a cultural phenomenon like Sharknado could grab the country’s attention. It also explains film’s and television’s solid diet of zombies, vampires, werewolves, suddenly powerless super-powered saviors, and an inordinate number of movies by Tyler Perry. When the horrors of reality surpass the terrors of imagination, we’re left with the poorly crafted ridiculous.

And I don’t know what to say about any of this.

Fat in the Land of Oz

Pictured above is singer Kelly Clarkson, recently described by someone on You Tube as “a big fat pig.” This is what’s considered fat in America, a country that not too long ago managed to come up with a size 0 for women. I regard this as more of a political slam than a fashion statement, an anti-feminist backlash intended to intimidate women who may have forgotten to obsess about their body size for a minute and think about reproductive rights and equal pay and voter suppression and the economy instead. But our fat-loathing culture asks: “Who do these broads think they are, waddling around, offending everyone’s sensibilities instead of focusing on becoming a size 0” – (a literal nothing!). And of course, if your size is a two-digit number you’re obese and shouldn’t even leave the house (for shame!).

There are other things I could write about today: Team America in the World Cup; Dick Cheney everywhere on TV as if he were releasing a new album; how we shouldn’t even dip our military toe into that sectarian quagmire in Iraq; or the Supreme Court striking down a law that said people protesting outside abortion clinics had to keep a 35-foot distance away from patients entering the clinic (because those ignorant, heartless, slut-baby-killers deserve to be harassed up close before they do one of the most difficult things in their lives).

But no, I prefer to revisit last week’s chastisement of Dr. Oz by the U.S. Senate, which has nothing better to do than lambast the host of an afternoon health information talk show for describing two dietary supplements in what Oz admitted was “flowery language.” He hailed them as magical and miraculous – two words that any adult would take literally. The Senate was worried that the now-famous “Dr. Oz Effect” would encourage millions of fat-obsessed women to run out and buy this shit without knowing what the dangers might be! 

Now, it’s true that dietary supplements, from vitamins to magic weight loss elixirs, are greatly under-regulated, but so are numerous prescription medications that have so many horrific side effects you can’t imagine what medical condition would warrant taking them. Yet doctors can freely prescribe them as they see fit. What doctors are stringently regulated in prescribing are “controlled substances,” also known as serious meds that stop pain, ease anxiety, help you sleep, or just make you feel good. Which is why, after an agonizing major surgery, you’re offered Tylenol.

But I digress. The real issue here is that after 40 years of empowering, self-affirming, feminist philosophy, women young and old still view being “fat” as the worst thing that can happen to them. I’ll never forget the late Gilda Radner saying she would rather have cancer than be fat – and that sweet, brilliant comedian died young and  slim – and riddled with cancer.

I haven’t watched Dr. Oz’s show over the past couple of years, but I previously saw it often. I also once met with him privately, back in the 90s before he was a star, because the then-wife of a friend of mine was a friend of his and he saw me as a courtesy to her. I honestly don’t remember what he advised, but I do recall that in person, as on his show, he was kind, non-judgmental, gentle, and seemed genuinely concerned about my health.

Since then as now I was truly fat, not cosmetically chubby or a perfectly normal weight but fat in my fearful imagination, one could say concern was warranted. I was in my 40s then and still dieted frequently. People who are really fat know that any diet (combined with even minor exercise) will take weight off. What no one has figured out is how to keep it off without dieting for life, because what science and medicine understand about real obesity can fit on the head of the proverbial pin. But Dr. Oz is no charlatan and he didn’t deserve a scolding by the Senate. He tells people to eat healthfully and exercise – and when he finds a product he thinks will help, he talks about it. 

My mother used to say that if anyone ever came up with the real magic pill – the one that would take weight off, keep it off, and still let you eat at least somewhat for pleasure, it would be news on the front page of The New York Times. I know Americans can be stupid about lots of things, so just keep her sensible observation in mind. Until that article appears, really fat people will have to really struggle, if they’re willing. The rest of you should just get a grip. You don’t have to be a 0. You’re not a big fat pig. Stop letting the haters manipulate you. Here: have a cookie.

The Good Stuff

I like to search Google Images for photos, paintings, posters, cartoons, etc., that I use to illustrate this blog (FYI, if a blog is free to view and has no advertising, you can legally use copyrighted images), as well as decorate my computer desktop (or, as we say in English, screen). The painting above is currently on my desktop; I picked it up in a search for images of summer because it really spoke to me. The blue-gray, the iced tea, the fan. I’m not a summer person, but in summer I like iced tea and fans. I also like my desktop to reflect the seasons and holidays and special occasions or just my mood.

Thinking about what I like reminded me of a thread of emails I recently had with a friend I’ve known since high school. He said he reads my posts with his morning coffee and he couldn’t remember the last time I wrote something positive, that it’s all “complaints” – a choice of words I found odd for what I regard as political analysis and commentary on contemporary culture and major social issues, which is what this blog is about. “I know there’s a lot of woe out there, but there’s a lot of good stuff, too,” he said.

That got me thinking. In my reply, I told him that the difference in our lives might explain the difference in our perceptions. He’s a healthy, busy man with a wife about 15 years his junior and two young children, all of whom he adores, as well as quite a few friends, a dog he loves; and he revels in nature and pretty much ignores politics – so I can see how he perceives lots of good stuff.

But cranky, curmudgeon me, I’m broke, alone, my handful of good friends are scattered across the country, I have no affinity with children/animals/nature and I’m a political junkie. So I don’t see a lot of good stuff. I see the nation, the world and the planet going to hell in a hand basket. I told him I didn’t see any good stuff. “Sunshine and flowers don’t make up for all that,” I said.

But I’ve continued to think about the idea of good stuff, and to ask myself why I don’t see any – or, more significantly, discount the good stuff I do encounter as not being sufficient. I’m mature enough to understand that happiness isn’t a constant state of jubilation, it’s the ability to take conscious pleasure in the many little things we do enjoy, to find at least temporary contentment in the blue-gray and iced tea and fan, to not be so quick to dismiss sunshine and flowers.

Last Saturday, I went out on my mobility scooter (I love my scooter and I’m lucky to have it). It was a hot day, but I was wearing cool clothes and it was better in the shade. The air felt lovely on my face as I scooted along beneath a bright blue sky punctuated with big cotton-ball clouds. That was good stuff. I went for a much-needed haircut to the same nice hairdresser I’ve been going to for 25 years and the shampoo she gave me reminded me of when I was a little girl and my mother washed my hair and how nice that felt. Good stuff.

Later I bought fresh fruit from a sidewalk vendor because those guys have fine produce that’s much cheaper than the supermarket, then treated myself to a multi-fruit smoothie from a food truck and lastly found a windowless building wall, parked against it and smoked a couple of cigarettes as the breeze blew through my blessedly-much-shorter hair (portable ashtray in hand, of course) and that was good stuff too.

And throughout the week, I felt the comfort of good stuff. Early morning with strong iced coffee and a toasted bagel, a slice of cheese flattened down on each half; other food I like; movies I enjoyed on TV; phone calls with girlfriends; the bliss of turning on the air conditioner on humid afternoons; and watching The 2014 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony and listening to so much good music (I miss good music).

I also spent considerable quality time with my many Tarot card decks (which I haven’t done for ages), cleansing them with the sound waves of a strand of Tibetan bells I bought on Eighth Street back in the ‘60s, touching & gazing at & shuffling them and talking to them, getting reacquainted with these special old friends. I did some chores and accomplished a few things long left unattended. I looked for things I hadn’t been able to find and I found them, and found some other wonderful things I forgot I had. It was all very good stuff.

Sure, there was some bad stuff, too: lots of worldly woe and personal woe too. Still, I didn’t ignore the good stuff, I felt it and was thankful for it. That was an important thing and I’m going to remember to do that from now on. But I’ll still bemoan the misery of our politics and the horrendous state of the nation/world and the decay of contemporary culture – and write about it here. It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it and I’ve appointed me. I can’t just lounge in the good stuff all the time. We are who we are.

Celebrating Maya Angelou

As I’m sure you already know, the magnificent Maya Angelou died this morning in her North Carolina home at the age of 86. While I certainly extend my sympathies to her family, friends, and the many members of the worldwide public who felt a strong even daily connection with her (she was on Facebook and was a frequent tweeter), I don’t feel a sense of loss as much as I feel a sense of celebration of and for her spirit. As a writer, she leaves behind a strong and sensitive body of work; and as a human being, teacher, and leader, she leaves behind such a courageous, proactive, and never-ending legacy, that I feel Dr. Angelou has a kind of immortality.

If Rosa Parks was the Mother of the Civil Rights Movement, Maya Angelou was it’s brave, bold daughter. After Bayard Rustin died, she took his place as the SCLC’s (Southern Christian Leadership Conference) New York Office Coordinator; that was the organization that Rustin and others had founded with Martin Luther King, Jr. She later worked with Malcolm X, helping him put together the Organization of Afro-American Unity in 1964. When Dr. King was assassinated on April 4, 1968 – the date of her 40^th birthday – she stopped celebrating her birthday for many years after. But before, during and after these significant events, hers was a booming voice and substantial presence in the movements for civil rights, women’s rights, and human rights. For the rest of her life, she lived and worked around the world as an organizer, administrator, teacher, speaker, writer, and the human embodiment of inspiration for millions of people, but most especially women.

For me personally, she entered my life with her first book, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, in the years after I’d been awakened and inspired by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Kurt Vonnegut, and Allen Ginsberg, and, irritated by Nikki Giovanni and Ntozake Shange (I appreciated the politics of those women but their personalities and language left me cold). Maya Angelou’s prose was clean and had the imagery of poetry; her poetry was visionary and had the clarity of good, clean prose. She spoke like she wrote and wrote like she spoke, which to me is the totality of a born writer. Her spirit, her essence, was always with me, even when I didn’t know it. Which may be why I don’t feel a sense of loss now so much as a sense of celebration.

The other reason is that I’m a natural intuitive (clairsentient meaning clear knowing, as opposed to clairvoyant, meaning clear seeing), and for five years I also took psychic development classes with an amazing medium, the late Gene Sterling. A few weeks before Maya Angelou recited her great poem, On the Pulse of Morning, at Bill Clinton’s first Inaugural, I channeled an energy that gave me the first real sense of being a channel, because the following words certainly weren’t coming out of my consciousness (or attitude towards nature) as they fell out of my mouth: “The rocks have feet, the trees have feet, the rivers have feet.” I don’t remember the rest of the message, but I’ve never forgotten that line and the whole stunning experience.

So can you imagine how I felt on that January day when Maya Angelou began to recite On the Pulse of Morning and I heard her say: “A Rock, A River, A Tree.” I later bought the recording of that poem, for which she won a Grammy, and I still have it. Listening to her, and listening to that poem, convinced me like nothing else could, that ideas, messages, language, energy, are all around us all the time, and we can pick them up if we’re able to put our egos aside and listen. That’s why, in a way, I’ve long felt that Maya Angelou and I have been tuned into the same otherly frequency. She did much more and a whole lot better with it than I have. But it is in that spirit that I say to her this evening, “Thank you for everything, Dr. Angelou, for all you endured, all you did, all you said, and for just being here. Rest in peace and live well in spirit. I’m still listening.”

Mind Games (no class warfare involved)

Let me give us all a break from the subject of class warfare and write about something more mundane that simply annoys (and I think damages!) us in the course of our everyday lives – namely wildly intrusive advertising on TV and online. 

I watch a lot of TV – both for news and entertainment. And I go online a lot – primarily for email, news, research, shopping, pictures for this blog and to decorate my computer desktop, and to play mind-improving brain games. I’m not into social media and I don’t find the Internet entertaining, but I do find it useful. 

However, no matter which online site I go to, even The New York Times, I am barraged with ads: ads that jiggle on the sides of my screen, ads that pop up when I click on something I want to read, ads that pop up in the middle of something I’m already reading, ads I have to endure before the video I’ve selected plays. I don’t keep my speakers on as a rule, but I suspect that if I did, I’d be equally barraged by audio ads. This crap is unavoidable and I find it very intrusive. It really pisses me off. And it feels relatively new. It seems I wasn’t being slapped in the face with an ad with every click of my mouse as recently as a year ago. What the hell is going on? 

Television is even worse. I stopped watching regular commercial TV long ago, particularly major networks. I can’t focus on a program when, literally, I get to see five to seven minutes of a show, then it’s interrupted with five to seven minutes of fast-paced ten and 15 second ads. By the time the commercials are over, I’ve often forgotten what show I’m watching and a dizzying headache begins. I’d like to watch more cable channels than I do, but they’re chock full of ads, too.

I particularly can’t watch movies that are constantly interrupted because I'm totally robbed of the mood and continuity of the film. In years past, I watched a lot of Sundance, Independent Film Channel and AMC when it was American Movie Classics (I don’t know what it is now), but even they have been overtaken with the 5-7/5-7 ad-to-program ratio. And what’s worse, Sundance is editing films (Sundance!) “for content and to fit the time allotted for this program.” Are you kidding me?

For escape, I watch a lot of free On Demand channels, where there were often no ads or you used to be able to fast-forward through them. But increasingly, the fast-forward function is being disabled just for the ads, so I’m in the same position as when I watch things in regular time. But at least I have the option of stopping programs for bathroom, kitchen and phone breaks, so they’re still worthwhile.

And of course there’s TCM, thank God, which is still commercial free and since I’m an old movie fan, I watch that a lot. But it both amuses and distresses me that “old” movies now include the 60s, 70s and 80s. They still have the 30s through 50s, which is what I consider old, but that’s because I’m old. For viewers in their teens, 20s and 30s, my old movies are ancient and young viewers don’t like them because they move more slowly and are in black & white; ‘nuff said.

As a result, I watch a lot of public television, which I love, and so far their commercials (they have them now) are at the start, end, and between programs. I don’t know how long that’s going to last, since public television is now so desperately underfunded, they may have to resort to intrusive ads; indeed, they started experimenting with them in selected markets in 2011. (I also enjoy the uninterrupted panel discussions and Book TV on C-Span.)

And then there are the pay-extra-for-them premium channels, a commercial-free panacea, but a pricey treat. Years back I had them all, then for a very long time I cut back to just HBO. Recently, I added on Starz and Epix – after a lot of negotiating for lower rates, but it still bumps up the cable bill. I justify this because I rarely go anywhere and do anything, especially go out to a $15 movie in a theater, and at home I hardly ever rent newer on-demand fare, so I think it’s a reasonable indulgence.

But it’s not really an indulgence at all, it’s a necessity. At my age, 62, I’m increasingly concerned with brain health and not falling prey to Alzheimer’s or other forms of dementia. I genuinely believe watching heavily commercial-laden programming is harmful for me and just as bad – perhaps more so – for younger viewers, because it truly lessens attention span and, I believe, increases ADD (or ADHD, but I never remember what the “H” stands for).

I recognize that advertisers, who pay a lot of money for TV airtime and Internet space, are desperately trying to get their sales agenda across and audiences are now so dispersed, they’re trying to capture eyeballs when- and however they can. I think what they don’t recognize is that most of us view them as an unwelcome interruption and I for one make a deliberate effort to ignore them and not even notice what they’re for. I don’t really have any sympathy for their marketing crisis because much of what they’re trying to sell us is crap and most of us are already buying more crap than we need anyway. But like insects, they’re determined to work their way in – and I shudder to think what they’ll try to do next.