Sunday, May 31, 2015

MAY - EPISODE FIVE: SPRING 2015


WISDOM OF THE SAGES
EPISODE FIVE – SPRING 2015

Hello People of the World;

Here we are in the new thrush of spring’s bloom. Once again we find ourselves caught off-guard because the warm weather has cooled and it rains. Can you imagine? Raining, in springtime! Scandal! Oh well. It is the weather. What are you going to do about it? Besides bitch about how it does not meet with your exact specifications.

Here we are with another web log entry on your very favoritest web log page. So, take a break from yelling at a cloud and check out what I have to say, yo.

Let’s get this month’s edition started, shall we:


1 :[ The Seven Hypocrisies of Native America: Bureau of Indian Education:

It has always been accepted in the general view of Native American interaction with the US Government that, the US Government is corrupt and a willing cheater in the affairs of Native peoples and tribes. It is the primary protest argument made whenever tribes, or members of a tribe, tries to assert its treaty rights.

Yet, we never look at the corrupted nature of tribal people themselves. Sure, we can say that we as Natives have been subjugated for so long that we take on the traits of our oppressors. Which could be used to explain how the Native-led Bureau of Indian Education found itself in a bit of a corruption controversy a few months back when it was found that many of the leadership were giving out uncontested contracts for Government funds to organizations they had ties to or to people they know. Somehow, I suddenly cannot find the links to those news stories. But once I do, I will put them here.

So here we are crying about the corruption of the US Government. Yet, making these contracts to line your own pockets. Just another reason they do not take Natives serious… that, and that we wear headdresses all the time….


2 :[ The Thought Forgotten: How to get it back?

I found myself standing on south Commercial Avenue in South Chicago, as part of my duties as a Media Mentor. I was waiting outside of an eatery called the Taco Hut, or so one of the students called it, which is located just a block south of the school I was visiting that day and whose students I was waiting for were gathered inside awaiting their food orders. We had been out in the near neighborhood gathering b-roll for the video they were producing about the perception of South Chicago created by the media. So, there I was, standing outside this tiny brick building, since it was blazing hot inside, looking northward up Commercial Avenue, thinking about just setting up the camera and getting some vox populi interviews about the students’ topic: how do you think the media portrays South Chicago?

It was then that I began to think about the media in general and that opened up to a bunch of other things that connected to the topic, which then led to a stream of consciousness, rational thoughts, and something worthy of inclusion on this, the vaunted web log you are reading now. I felt I made as strong point on the topic and had something unique to add. I even hoped for that I would remember the topic more specifically, points made, and final arguments as I stood there looking northward as I had no paper to write anything on. Then, waiting for the students went on longer than anticipated and I was distracted by a couple of people with remarks to a man standing in the street with a camera on a stand. The second of which, wanted me to capture some littering that occurred as he saw two people dump a bag of empty bottles out of their car when they got into it.

Sufficed to say, I had completely forgotten the topic I came up with to write about. In fact, my writing about the scenario in which I first thought of it now, is simply an attempt at a mnemonic exercise to try and recover that topic, the points made, and final arguments, so I could post it here. But alas, it is lost to the ether. Recreating the circumstance has not allowed me to recall anything of that missing topic. The thought is lost, and the attempted regain failed. Such is life….


3 :[ Media as the Metaphor

Lately, I have been reading Neil Postman’s seminal work “Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Television”. In it, Postman makes the argument that television has dramatically altered the way we discuss, view, and analyze all of our public affairs and information. It distills our discourse into visually entertaining, bite-sized chunks, which can be purposefully overlooked without deeper dissection. That this has affected everything from politics to education, stunting reasoning and intellectual debate and turning them into loud, flashy, sound bytes in loud, flashy “news” programs that really accomplish nothing but to make news a visual thing rather than a textual fact to be examined. He does this by pointing out that certain eras of communication where dominated by the media technology of the time, and how the media of the times reflected the epistemologies of public discourse, and that, that media became the metaphor of discourse of those eras.

For example, the printing press of the sixteenth century dominated the world and knowledge was passed down in books, that knowledge had to be studied and analyzed by taking the time to read it and digest it, also, that because of this, literacy was necessary to all classes of people. The printed word lent to the analyzing and abstracting of ideas, which required organized and rational thinking.

When photography and telegraphy entered the public discourse in the late eighteenth century, information was broken down in size and space in between was no longer an issue meaning that what was considered to be the important information of a region, found itself suddenly drowned out in a sea of irrelevant information, cut up and categorized into the “news of the day” which lead to the distracting nature of television. Through the proliferation of television, “news” and information is packaged smaller still and made to fit a tone of easily dismissible noise, so as to not take away form our entertainment. We are confusing Media entertainment with the overall power of communication of ideas

It is overall a very interesting read, I will add more of it as I continue reading, and I would consider it important to those of us interested in Media Literacy and how it affects young people today. As I read it I make some many connections to the Internet Age we are now in and see that we indeed, truly are amusing ourselves to death….


4 :[ A 9-Year-old writes a “The Avengers 2” review and “grown-ups” hate it. Going into what I was talking about in the last item. It seems that Vanity Fair or someone, Esquire, I think, sent a 9-year-old towatch and write a review of “The Avengers: Age of Ultron”. When he wrote a negative review, the so-called grown-up commented that the boy did not understand the subtleties of the comic book-based movie and that he should be killed. Yep, grown-ups threatened him. This is what the public discourse in America has devolved into when you can hide behind anonymity and never have to take any responsibility for their actions or words, you know, like a grown up would….


5 :[ Coffee Shop: Different Types of Baristas

In all my times in a coffee shop I have noticed varying types of baristas behind the counter. Most tend to be the 20-year-olds that are too interesting to do the job. They have all kinds of degrees and take part in some many social issues, or like such and such artist or band, that you really should stop everything and listen to them yak all fucking day about themselves.

Then, there are those other types: Look, I know it’s a shitty job. But complaining will only make it worse for you so do as good a job as possible. Also, if you really hate being a barista, fucking quit. Just quit. You could end you misery with a phone call. All right, stop spreading your misery onto the patrons you serve.

Then, there are the awesome ones that work really hard at it and seem to enjoy it. They put up with the shithead patrons that complain or make stupid demands. Look, it’s a noisy place, they cannot hear your name right, so speak the fuck up and say your goddamned name loud enough that they get it right and you won’t have to post a picture of your misspelled name on a stupid coffee cup in righteous indignation on Instagram. See? They take your order, use your name like you’re a human being, get the easy pours to you right there, and always do it with a smile. I see them, in that quiet moment in between customers, lifting their caps and brushing sweat or hair out of their eyes, the persona dropped, then, BAM, right back at it with a smile on their face, “Hello, what can I get you?”

There are so many different types of baristas. Which type are you…?


6 :[ Mayweather Versus Pacquiao

During the time the unrest in Baltimore was happening, all I ever heard of was the lead up to the greatest boxing match in the history of anything and all my facebook friends were commenting on how it was going to be so great and where asking who was buying the fight and where they could go to watch it. It seems two men I never heard of where going to get in a ring and beat the shit out of each other for exorbitant payouts. And, everyone should watch it.

All I could think of while Baltimore burned was “Bread and Circuses”. We always feel we deserve or are owed distraction from “our troubles”. What entitled, privileged bullshit. Then, after the fight, all I heard about is how they danced away from each other and they could not land any blows. Fucking babies. Isn’t that what boxing is about? Trying to avoid getting hit? Jesus, what really drove home the hypocrisy of it all was the fact that two minority men did not beat each other to shit to our satisfaction. Which is really telling. What it tells me is this:  We simply are the Right Kind of Monsters. We glorify violence of minority men when it entertains us, like jacking off about how tough our football sons are, yet, are silent when that violence points to systemic problems in our shared society….


7 :[ Think about it: How much of our civilization do we owe to traffic lanes

What kind of anarchy would exist if we did not have those painted, dashed lines letting us know where to aim the two-ton death machines we call cars. Bonnie called it “Enlightened Self-Interest”, that we stick to our lanes mainly because we do not want to get hurt ourselves. That we obey lines painted on a tarmac is exceedingly interesting, either on the expressway or at the airports. How much of our civilization to we owe to traffic lanes? Think about it….


8 :[ So, last Friday, I was flirted with, very hard, when I was downtown in the Loop. I was walking out of the Thompson Center when this lady approached me. What I learned from this was: I have absolutely no “game”, no “game” what so ever.

“Hi” “thanks” “uh-huh” “uh-huh” “uh-huh” “oh yeah?” “uh-huh” “uh-huh” “Oh really?” “My name’s Ernest” “yeah” “uh-huh” “uh-huh” “well, it was good to meet you too. Bye.”

Oh yeah, Mister Smooth….


9 :[ The “Feminism (?) of Mad Max Fury Road”…

Some time back, I finally got to the movie theater to see my most anticipated movie of the year: Mad Max Fury Road. I must say: I like it very much! It was a return to form for George Miller and the character of Max Rockatansky. Tom Hardy is a great Max, so everyone can shut up about that. It was a fun, silly, cool, action-pack movie that was very concise in story and all-out on stunts. The movie is simple; Max finds himself a captive, specifically a blood donor under the thumb of the Immortan Joe, a vicious shogunate of the Wastelands, keeping his dynasty in thrall using water and the promise of a good death. Believe me, it makes sense. When the Imperator Furiosa runs away with Joe’s breading stock, a bevy of beautiful ladies used to brood his “war boys”, Max finds himself along for the ride, when the war boy he is donating blood to, Knuk, is desperate to win glory in the pursuit.

After Knuk wrecks during the chase, Max finds himself trying to escape into the wastelands once more, or so he would if the problems of Furiosa and the ladies did not keep him from leaving the chase. Max needs to help them to only get himself free from Immortan Joe, who is hot pursuit. What follows is a long, very exciting, very story driven chase across the sands, where Max once again finds himself having to selflessly help others in order to help him self.

Now, as the film opened, Internet commentors were all bent out of shape by the perceived “feminist propaganda” of having the character Furiosa saving the women from the evil man. While, women, a surprising audience for this type of movie, found the switch refreshing, men found it a horrifying affront to their manly cores. Really. Fuck off.

Looking at it, I found nothing overly feminist about it, but I found the strong female lead, played by Chalize Theron to be a cool change up. Many fans of Mad Max, especially, “The Road Warrior” found it greatly in character that Max took a backseat to the main story. Feminists that I knew still picked it apart: Why did the women, who needed saving in the first place, have to be supermodel beautiful while the big, fat Milk Mothers were left behind?

I could answer that easily. It is in the story: The Wives (Supermodels) ASKED to be rescued. It should also be noted, that they DID NOT ask Max to save them, but Furiosa. It is all a part of what, we in the film bid’ness, call visual short hand. To the mostly male audience, you have to visually showed the Wives as beautiful, or as supermodel pretty, to quickly get across the point, without resorting to dialogue, which would slow the film down, that they had some worth to Immortan Joe, namely, their beauty. Also, in the story, the big, fat Milk Mothers were pretty well off and probably did not want to be rescued.

In light of that, I did not see how Mad Max Fury Road was some sort of feminist tract. It had a very strong female character that showed up Max more than once, but in the end, still had to dress in a manly fashion with war paint, body armor, and a buzz cut hairdo, and still had to do a manly thing: driving a truck, so that a male audience would not feel threatened that she was indeed a woman kicking ass and shooting sharper. Hell, the most telling sign of her femininity was gone, cut right off her: her left hand, her marriage hand. She still cried in emotion and still wanted Max to tag along, and, in the end, she still accepted Max’s plan for safety.

But do not let this detract you from seeing and enjoying one hell of an entertaining chase film! I just did not see this as the feminist propaganda film that so many dudes feel threatened by….


So that is it for this month. Keeping it short and sweet these days. I really have not been sharing these or making them public. If you are reading this after looking for it, or you came upon it by chance, thank you! Feel free to comment, correct, or contradict anything you read here. I am a grown up, I can take it….


Until next month, remember “I try to show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control everything really are.”



2015 Ernest M Whiteman III