Tuesday, June 15, 2010

If A Woman Were President

If a woman were President, she would slap the "Drill, Baby, Drill" Bitches and send them to their room. Sorry Mr. Obama, you were my choice, and I respect you immensely, but if a woman were in the White House, the oil spill would be cleaned up by now or BP’s assets would have been seized. Do you think putting 10,000 boats in the water to clean up the spill is unreasonable? I think the spill lasting for 59 days is unreasonable. What do you mean you don’t have the technology? Then why were you drilling that deep in the first place?

If a woman were President, the oil would never have made it to shore. She would have collected it before it ever got close. Let’s talk about low ball, flow rate, educated opinion guestimates. Expert, who? She would have called Joe The Plumber! Everyone knows that a good plumber is worth his weight in gold. In this case, it’s liquid gold in the form of black, ugly crude fowling our shores, beaches, and waterways, and killing our beloved sea creatures. She would have had compassion for the hard working men and women crying on camera over the loss of their heritage and livelihoods. She would have massively fined BP for every second past 48 hours that the leak continued making it economically prohibitive to allow the oil to continue to spew into the ocean. She would have never allowed them to use a chemical dispersant that hangs like large gobs of snot at the bottom of the ocean again killing all the bottom feeding creatures (especially since that chemical makeup is a mystery to everyone except BP.) I’ve heard the story before, proprietary blend in the natural gas drilling industry with the fluid used for fracing. Many women in my neighborhood came down with never before seen forms of Adrenal Cancer.

The spokespeople for BP are liars, and yes, they do have an English accent. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, you get the inference. If a woman were President, she would have the nerve to tell them we don’t want you here befouling our shoreline. Her rallying cry would be "America for the Americans." She would usher in a new period of isolationism and self-reliance on renewable energy.

A Woman President wouldn’t have gone to bed with the oil companies in the first place. She would have been held accountable to a higher standard for a lot less money. No, I am not referring to that “Drill, Baby, Drill” trailer bitch from Alaska who is rumored to have spent her publishing windfall on new boobs for Trailer Hubby Todd, I’m referring to a real woman President.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Are You Willing To Do Whatever It Takes?

The answer is a resounding yes! It wasn’t always that way for me where writing is concerned. I expected success without being willing to contribute the time or effort. I had many mentors when I was a ski bum. The world’s greatest mentors, I boast. I have always related skiing to writing. There is a similar flow to both when you are performing well. Dropping into a deep powder run is treacherous. There is always the possibility that the mountainside will slide. I stood atop many a knarly Utah ski run with my good friend, Touloose, a ski patrolman. I learned how to probe the snow with my pole, or make a long traverse across the run to test the consistency and stability of the run. Many times, after climbing for hours into the back country of the Wasatch National Forest, we would each take a turn skiing a steep and deep slope and critique the others skiing ability. We would say, “You have got to commit to the mountain, stay forward, stop sitting back, gravity is your friend.”

Perhaps the most applicable lesson that skiing taught me where writing is concerned, is that often we would ski up to a particularly challenging ski run and stop. Big mistake, never stop at the top, it gives you time to look down in to the face of certain death. You freeze. You stop, sometimes your knees knock together and your body involuntarily shakes. I mean, we arrived at places where if you missed the first turn as you dropped in, you would likely die. It generally included big ugly rock faces and narrow chutes, steep mountain sides, deep powder snow. There always seemed to be a giant tree right in the middle of the chute. It was always at your second turn, so the entire time you are trying to concentrate on your first turn you are preoccupied with that damn tree and the second turn. It taught you to live in the second, and not to get ahead of yourself. Unless you made the first turn, there would be no second. So when you would stop, it would give you all the time in the world to think about how you were going to miss that first turn and crash into the tree and hit your head and careen down the hill bouncing off the rocks of the steep chute until you were history. It is where having a companion skier was the key. I remember vividly looking at Touloose at those difficult moments and he would smile from under his Sherpa hat. In his all too familiar cackle he would say, “The Lord hates a coward!” He would smile, and drop in. I, of course, had no choice but to follow.

The point is where writing is concerned, I have always written up to the lip of the steep, and stopped. I have never been willing to let myself go. I have never been willing to pull the writing trigger, to drop over the edge and noodle up the writing run.

Some people read the end of a book first- so this is for those who like a happy ending.

Scene III

Setting: University of Oregon, Eugene, Oregon, evening poetry writing workshop.

Enter: Writer with backpack. He sets the backpack next to desk at the front of the classroom. He takes out several books and sets them on top of the desk. He turns and writes his name on the blackboard. Turning, he faces the class and smiles as he unbuttons his sports jacket.

The Teacher (ME) says: “Good evening class. Before I begin, I would like to invite you all to the McKenzie River Lodge this weekend. We are having a get together to celebrate my new book contract. I have been fortunate enough to have received a contract for my Historical Novel, the corresponding film, and the music score! There will horseback riding along the Pacific Northwest Trail, and a vegetarian picnic with our own organic vegetables.”

A loud crash is heard as the classroom door hits the wall. A dazed student with dread locks and a rainbow colored knit hat stands in the entrance.

“Wow, sorry for being late man. I spaced out and didn’t realize the time,” he says turning to the teacher.

“Good evening Brian, how good of you to join us,” the teacher smiles. He looks sideways knowingly at the young man. He reminds him a lot of himself as a youth. He was inappropriate, loud, and abrasive. Brian doesn’t quite seem to fit in. Perhaps he never will. There is wisdom in knowing that he gave up fitting in many years ago. Some of the best writers are those that are the outriders of society.

“As I was saying, you’re invited to join us for a celebration of our WRITEMYFIRE contract.”

He turns and walks to the front of the classroom.

“Let’s have some writing fun.”

--- Albert Bianchine