Stop talking; start doing

The saying goes that “talk is cheap.” That probably depends on whether or not the talker is a government official. If so, his/her talk might cost you a stack of bills.

During this campaign season, we’ve all had to wade through a logjam of candidates, both local, and national, all talking about the things they’re going to do. No politician is ever going to say he opposes education. Yet, when they say that they’re for educational attainment, how do we know that the candidate is going to push through a program to teach soft skills, for instance, preparing students for the real world, versus supporting much of what’s wrong with No Child Left Behind?

My current position that pays my bills requires me to go to more meetings than I’ve ever attended in my life. Many of these meetings are with people that have been in the public sector for a much longer time than I have. While many of these colleagues are good people, I think, there seems to more talk, and not a lot of action.

My grandfather was a doer. I don’t know if he ever went to any meetings, other than church on Sunday. He was a woodsman, farmer, and in his earlier days, worked at the Worumbo Mill, in Lisbon Falls in the dye room. Days where he regularly worked 16 to 18 hours were the norm. In the agrarian days of the 19th and 20th century, men, and women knew the value of work. Life was about doing, not talking.

Raised up in a culture where doing was valued, I got away from doing during my 20s, and early 30s. I forgot how to move things forward. It’s only been the last five, or six years that I’ve rediscovered the joy that comes from setting a goal, and seeing it realized. With that comes a sense of empowerment.

One of the reasons why having a garden is good, besides the wonderfully fresh produce that results, is that it is a way to stay connected to an agrarian past when getting something done was a way of life, and a rite of survival. No garden, no food. No food, no life; simple, but basic.

Several years ago, when I was writing for the late, great Portland Pigeon, a free monthly, one of my first essays was on being DIY (Do It Yourself). I have looked for that essay in some of my old files, and on floppies collecting dust, but I can’t find it. Basically, my premise was that people needed to stop talking, and start doing. At the time, I was doing activist work, and too much of my time was spent in meetings, with people interested in talking, rather than doing.

Do you want to change the world? Find one small thing that needs changing, and get it done. Think you have something to say, but lack a platform to get the word out—start a blog, or write a book. Tired of paying high food prices, for over-processed food, then find a corner of grass and plant a small garden.

It all sounds simple, but profundity can be found in the simplest of acts.

Moxietown at the printer

The new book is at the printer, and my website has been updated. It appears that we're on track to have copies of the book available by the first of July, just prior to the Moxie Festival, in Lisbon Falls.

Because Moxietown will have a limited-run pressing (meaning that we are only printing a small number of copies for the festival, and will only reprint once), copies of the book may be hard to come by, after the festival.

To ensure that you receive a copy, RiverVision Press is urging that you pre-order your book today. That way, you'll be guaranteed a copy of Moxietown.

The American Idol Party

The Maine Democrat Party (aka, The American Idol Party) Convention is apparently running in typically f*cked up Democrat fashion, as the Obama delegates caused a major traffic jam with their late arrival at the Augusta Civic Center.

While check-in was to be completed by 9:00 am, the Millennial Kool-Aid Kids (affectionately known as Obama delegates) had trouble getting out of bed at such an early hour. Hence, check-in was extended to enable America's future leaders the chance to roll at their leisure.

Then, Michelle Obama's limo caused another major traffic snarl, further pushing back the essentials of the convention, namely, the caucusing.

[Michelle Obama whipping her husband's supporters into a frenzy]

America's future first diva made an unexpected, surprise appearance. The mercurial wife of Democrat front-runner, Barack "Barry" Obama, gave a spirited performance, ripping off Obama campaign standards, "Hillary Don't Sho' No Respect," "Back to the USSR," and the show-stopping, "Barack Is Just Alright Wit' Me." Several Obama delegates reportedly had to be taken out on stretchers, after they were slain in the spirit.

My wife texts that "the Androscoggin County delegates suck," so she's been adopted by the York County contingent.

It appears our Saturday evening dinner date is in jeopardy, a victim of Democratic politics.

Ad hominem radio

My wife is off to Augusta, waging battle with her fellow Democrats at their state convention. She'll have her hands full, as she is supporting Hillary, and the Obama-rama crowd will do all they can to push forward their American Idol candidate.

I've cooled on the presidential race, as all three candidates have become more and more disappointing, as the race has progressed. If the presidential election occurred today, I'd probably sit it out for the very first time in my life.

Beng a political junkie, it's very tough for me to ignore politics entirely, however. As I was out and about, running Saturday morning errands, I managed to listen to much of John McDonald's show, on WGAN-560. I even managed to place a call and shamelessly work in a plug for Moxietown. John's a gentleman, and a storyteller supreme. Most of the time, he manages to promote some reasonable debate, and respects his listeners.

The follow-up program, Inside Maine, with Phil Harriman (who is always absent, requiring a weekly guest host) and Barbara Merrill followed. This week's fill-in was Mike Violette, who is part of the left-right morning team of Ken (Altshuler) and Mike.

[Violette (R), plays Mutt, to Ken Altshuler's (L) Jeff]

Weekdays, Violette plays Altshuler's right-wing foil, regularly resorting to personal attacks, and ideological blathering on issues that more times than not, would benefit from a more nuanced approach. That's not part of WGAN's programming, as nuanced would be at the bottom of a list of characterisations befitting a lineup the likes of Glen Beck, Rush Limbaugh (who at least has some entertainment value), and Bill O'Reilly, with few exceptions.

This morning, Violette took shots at credible Second District Congressman, Mike Michaud (calling him a "moonbat"), as well as 1st District Senate candidate, Laurie Dobson (can't remember the term used for another personal attack), and besmirched 75-year old psychologist, Dr. Herbert J. Hoffman, also running against the status quo candidates, Susan Collins, and Tom Allen. Hoffman's crime? He dared support Dennis Kucinich, which in Violette's book, is the equivalent of a political scarlet letter. Sadly, Kucinich was a candidate with integrity, and someone still in touch with his less than stellar origins, and people facing the economic challenges that he's managed to conquer.

WGAN is free to staff their programming with anyone they want. The market obviously supports their choice of hosts, like Violette, who cling desperately to ideology, rather than offering the kind of pragmatic solutions that Maine, and beyond, require. But then again, all he has to do is talk, and spew his attacks. He doesn't have to actually contribute something tangible towards making Maine a better place to live.

The arc of history

In today’s sound bite-obsessed culture, no one pays much attention to the ebb and flow of history. Last week is ancient history to most, and historical literacy is knowing what last night’s sports scores were.

I find myself listening to more right-wing talk radio lately than I ever thought I possible; certainly more than I care to admit to. Given the state of the FM dial, one can only take the same five songs in rotation for so long, however, and I’m sick of my CD collection, and I continue to resist the marketing hype of Apple, and its iPod (I miss my tape player, in my old car, and its mix tape possibilities). In the strange landscape that is presidential politics in America, it is one of the only places where you catch occasional glimpses of lucidity. For many who’ve drunk the Kool-Aid offered by those on the left that statement probably causes you to think I’ve taken leave of my senses. As they say, politics makes for strange bedfellows. Hell, Rush Limbaugh, as well as Michael Savage are making more sense than the Obama’s minions on the left, the likes of Chris Matthews, Keith Olbermann, and all the rest of the Obama-rama sycophants.

Speaking of right-wing talk show hosts, one of that pantheon’s chattering heads was commenting on McLellan’s shilling of his new book, What Happened (an amazingly lame title of a book that is bound to sell far too many copies than it deserves to), and mentioned how history will ultimately contextualize the presidency of George Bush.

Let me first say that I always thought Scotty McLellan was a lying weasel. Everytime I’d see that sack of shit up at the mike, taking questions, I knew this administration’s HR people had burned through their stack of resumes of qualified candidates. The less said about McLellan, the better, in my opinion. I’ll just say that regardless of how you feel about Mr. Bush, McLellan is turncoat personified. I can’t say I’m surprised, however, given the state of manhood in America. Turn on your friends, your pastor, your family, and even your fucking dog. That’s what loyalty’s become in our time. As Harry Truman once said, “You want a friend in Washington? Get a dog.” Just have the good sense not to turn him out for political purposes.

Back to my right-wing talk show host. He was making the point that Harry Truman, who is lionized today, by both the right, and the left, when he left office in 1953, with an approval rating of 23 percent, was forced (along with Bess) to pack up his things into his car, and make the long drive back to Missouri, alone, without any secret service entourage. Making that trek, back before the advent of the interstate highway system, was probably a long, painful sojourn. I can see the Trumans, stopping off at one of the many roadside cabins common in the 50s, built for America’s first wave of car travelers.

This host’s point, and I think, mine, is that history provides a much better lens for adjudicating a president’s legacy, than our current stick a wet finger in the air, and decide who you’re for today, way of doing things.