Showing posts with label Huffington. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Huffington. Show all posts

Thursday, February 1, 2007

A Noble Gathering in Old Milwaukee


There's a lot to love about Amnesty International: it is an organization that is so deeply dedicated to justice, human rights, and truth, that everything it does seems to support and define its mission—including the site selection for its annual meetings.

So while the political and economic kings and pundits of this world are lavishing themselves in the Swiss resort of Davos for the World Economic Forum, AI is planning its 2007 annual meeting in...Milwaukee. That's in Wisconsin. You know, where Hank Aaron used to hit his home runs; where the Green Bay Packers still play football. It's famous for beer, cheese, and very cold weather. Not your shi-shi convention destination, that's for damned sure. But I'm betting the selection of Milwaukee leaves a lot more cash for AI to put into what it does best—defending human rights all around the world. So do yourself and the world a favor: click that graphic and become a member.

Now this isn't to say that nothing interesting or uplifting is happening in Davos, mind you. When Ms. Huffington's in the chalet, you know things will get lively. Check out her fiery exchange with John McCain:

During his response, McCain equated those opposing his position with "the far left."

"Do you consider Sam Brownback part of the far left?" I jumped in.

The Senator flared and told me that if I'd only let him finish his answer instead of interrupting, we could have "a civil discussion."

He then continued on about why he supports the escalation (see his speech to the AIE if you need a refresher). Along the way, he denied that he had used the phrase "the far left."


Ah, fer fun. By the way, Ms. H: when you're done holding the piggies of the powerful to the fire, I hope you can have a look at my job application. You see, I'm sort of unemployed right now, and I might have something to contribute...All right, never mind, it was just a thought.

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Pass the Smucker's: our young friend Pepi in Ft. Lauderdale has turned 100 today. So the Philosopher's Stone was not destroyed after all: it appears Nicolas Flamel merely shipped it to the New World. Happy birthday, Pepi.
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Anyway, we have a leftover link from Geek Wednesday. C-Net has a journalist working for them—and I do mean a real journalist—named Declan McCullagh, who stands out amid Washington scribes for his willingness to perform the tasks of journalism: you know, scratching the surface, finding the truth, and laying it out clearly before his readers, plain and uncensored. Amazing. Anyway, Mr. McCullagh's feature piece for C-Net yesterday was about some new tactics adopted by the FBI in its data mining activities. Here's an excerpt; but I recommend you read the entire article, if only to restore your trust in how journalism might be (and sometimes is) practiced:

The FBI appears to have adopted an invasive Internet surveillance technique that collects far more data on innocent Americans than previously has been disclosed.

Instead of recording only what a particular suspect is doing, agents conducting investigations appear to be assembling the activities of thousands of Internet users at a time into massive databases, according to current and former officials. That database can subsequently be queried for names, e-mail addresses or keywords.

Such a technique is broader and potentially more intrusive than the FBI's Carnivore surveillance system, later renamed DCS1000. It raises concerns similar to those stirred by widespread Internet monitoring that the National Security Agency is said to have done, according to documents that have surfaced in one federal lawsuit, and may stretch the bounds of what's legally permissible.


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Finally, something that I just saw in the Times as I was about to upload this post. America has lost one of its sanest, clearest, funniest, and most challenging voices: Molly Ivins is dead at age 62. If you've read any of her stuff, you'll never forget her. There's a memorial piece about her at Alternet, with links to her marvelous writing. Molly Ivins was speaking truth to power in the most clarion tones back when most of us were sitting in our shit. Everyone in the blogosphere in particular (yeah, you guys on the right, too) owes her a debt of gratitude, for she brought much of the feistiness, much of the cut-the-crap sanity, the mayhem of democracy, as I call it, to the world of Internet journalism. We'll all miss you, Molly, and we won't forget what you gave us.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Going To The POTY


I was playing some music here on the iMac over the weekend, and my daughter asked me a question: "what's your favorite song of all time?"

Instead of telling her I didn't have an all-time favorite, I asked her another question: "what's your favorite ear?" She stared at me a moment, and then, knowing me as she does, she answered, "my left."

But I think she got the point, which I'll now expand upon a little for this audience. Which ventricle of your heart makes the beat happen? Which of your lungs is better at breathing? What's your favorite testicle, men? And ladies, which of your ovaries do you favor? Do you have a favorite finger, or a toe that seems to outshine the other nine?

Whence comes this obsession with the best song, the greatest performer, the all-time undisputed world's champion; the beauty queen or the political king--the Lord of Hosts? Why do we live like moss on the rock of celebrity? Why do we lust for the smallest identification with fame, to the point where there is an entire industry of publications, television shows, radio programs, and websites devoted to the cult of celebrity, the quest to isolate a few wonders of humanity, and freeze them onto a narrow pedestal of adoration?

This occurs on every point of the political and cultural spectrum. Arianna Huffington has been obsessing over her role (with none other than Tom DeLay) on Time Magazine's Person of the Year deliberations, as if it is significant to humanity as a whole who the POTY happens to be, when all the pundits have cast their votes.

Well, do you care? Will singling out the POTY clean up the shit on this earth? Will knowing at last who Time/Warner/AOL/God so designates for cover stardom settle anything having to do with global warming, the genocide in Darfur, the continuing tragedy in Iraq, the round of murder and misery on the Gaza Strip and Lebanon?

If we are going to obsess over a POTY, then we will, most likely, fall recurrently into the trap of worship; and we will repeatedly fight the same wars, killing new generations of innocents, over whose God is the universe's favorite, over which belief system most accurately and meaningfully tells God's history and paints the right color on his beard.

The old Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu, who has made occasional appearances here at Daily Rev, has some advice for us in this respect: if you want reality, look past the images cast by others, and disperse the ones within you. Here is Chapter 50 of the Tao Te Ching, in my own translation:


Into life they arise,
Through death they return.

A third of them seem bound up with their lives;
A third of them seem attached to death;
Another third appear ambivalent--
Passively shifting their allegiance
From each to each.

Why is this so?
Perhaps from an obsessive attachment
To life’s mere appearance?

But I have heard of people
Who could live long and travel far--
Ever free of harm or mortal wound
From wild beasts or deadly weapons.

A rhinoceros would find no place to pierce them;
There would be no meat for a tiger’s claws,
And no place where a sword could enter.

And why is this so?
Because they have shed the illusion
That marks off life
From the realm of death.