Why U2 is the shizzle

Eight years ago today the unthinkable happened.

I remember most of that day very clearly - the phone call from the lovely woman who would one day become my wife, standing in front of the television and watching one horror after another, or later trying to interact with guests when I pulled a double behind the bar.

That was a long, long twelve hours, I might add. Right up until I wiped off the last tap and handed in my drawer, each of my guests had sat quietly, watching one of the televisions that hung suspended from the ceiling, nursed their drinks, and spoke almost not at all. And for me, things seemed to stay like that for almost a month and a half.

And then U2 came to town.

The concert was , in a word, awesome. They did their new stuff, which was great, but about an hour in to the show the red Joshua Tree backdrop lit up across the back of the stage and Bono and the rest of the crew  started pouring through the music most of us there had fallen in love with in the first place; from albums going all the way back to Boy. We were dancing, singing, laughing, and really letting go.  

The weight that had settled onto my chest and into my spirit, the one that I hadn’t even realized was there until the moment it lessened, seemed to slowly shrink and fade, and without warning I found I could suddenly breath again. All of us could.

But they weren’t done.  

Near the end of the concert the band went silent and two large screens slowly descended from above.  Most of us were still smiling and swaying a bit from the previous tune and we looked at the screens and then at each other? What’s this? No idea, but it’s going to be cool. And to be certain, we were right, but not in any way we imagined. 

As we stood, growing more still and silent, names began streaming down each screen, one after another after another, and Bono finally stepped up to the mic, paused a moment, and said, “For all of those lost in September.”  And as the first quiet notes from Edge’s guitar reached us we realized that we were seeing a list of everyone who had died on 9/11.  And it seemed to go on forever.

But during those moments a wonderful thing happened. We stood there, quietly watching and listening, lighters or cell phones winking in and out, and people began to truly let go. There were sighs and coughs. Then there were sniffles. And finally sobs. People held one another tightly, and all around me there were tears and grief and strangers again connected by what had happened. But when the lists finally came to an end there were actually smiles and hugs, and as the last notes faded away we realized that a first essential and powerful step to healing had just happened, and man, we went absolutely fucking crazy. Cheers, claps, shouts, even roars. Joyous, lovely roars as Larry started pounding away at his drum kit.

Thank you, U2.

Readers – what’s your story?

Image by Sister72

The land of the free, unless you’re gay

Lt. Dan Choi

The last week or so I’ve seen quite a bit of activity on Twitter about him; most being requests to electronically sign either a petition to the Army or a letter addressed to Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi, on Choi’s behalf.

If you’re unfamiliar with the name, check out this link for Courage Campaign. In essence, the story is this: Lt. Choi, a West Point graduate and decorated Army veteran, is being discharged for violating the “Don’t ask, Don’t Tell” Policy.

You see, Choi, during an interview on the Rachel Maddow show March 19^th, admitted to being gay and a few weeks later received a letter informing him he would be dismissed from the Army in accordance with DADT. Both the letter and petition circulating on Twitter and the Web urge the repeal of that policy as well as a request to allow Lt. Choi to continue his service.

I agree with half of it.

Repeal Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

For those of you that don’t know, once upon a time I served in the Marine Corps. Four years of active duty, stationed from California to Japan, and during my tour I received quite a few commendations, medals, and other nice bits of this and that that let me know I didn’t suck when it came to being a Marine.

So there’s that.

And during that time, I can tell you with absolute certainty I served with quite a few gay men and women. They were, all of them, good people who served their country proudly and passionately and in my experience their sexuality hindered their ability to serve, perform, or lead not in the slightest.

That the guy to my left had a boyfriend mattered absolutely zip in his ability to set a perimeter, navigate through unfamiliar territory, or apply the three or so pounds of pressure it takes to fire an M-16, is what I’m saying.   

So there’s also that.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell” was crap from inception – an olive branch to Gay America that the Right could live with – but it really didn’t change much in regard to how the military operated from day to day. Before the policy, gay men and women would simply lie if they were asked. Now they just weren’t asked.

But either period would see a discharge if the truth came to light, and in addition to the immediate aftermath of frustration, humiliation, or depression, your discharge status is something that follows you the rest of your life.

In short, DADT isn’t just, doesn’t work, and ignores the fundamental problems with DOD policy. But it was, I think, a first step in the right direction. And in my humble opinion, it’s time to take the next. 

The Good Lieutenant

Lt. Choi is a different matter entirely. While his discharge is a tragedy – this is a guy who’s an Iraq War Vet, a West Point graduate, and an Arabic translator (which we clearly need all we can get) – I have to say I think he must still be discharged.

You see, Lt. Choi is a man who accepted his commission, honorably served his country, and then publically came-out on television – but did each well aware of the military’s policy regarding gay men and women in uniform as well as the ramifications of breaking that policy.

In other words, he knew the rules, broke them, and is now crying foul. And while I appreciate and respect his desire to serve, a well-ordered military doesn’t operate that way. A well-ordered anything doesn’t work that way.

A far better approach, I think, is for Lt. Choi to work diligently to repeal DADT and then petition for reinstatement if and when the policy has changed. He, and the countless other Marines, soldiers, Airman, and Sailors who have been discharged under the policy, could then have the opportunity to serve again when they’re most needed.

And needed they are. As of this week, 4,308 United States military personnel have died in Iraq and 710 have died in Afghanistan. And I’d bet all the money in my pockets against all the money in yours that there’s more than a few gay men and women in those two lists.

Thoughts?

Great advice, no matter what the decade

A wonderful, sassy designer I work with here at Hoover’s named Sarah (you can find her site by clicking on the “What’s on my mind” link in the Blogroll to the right) sent me a link to an ad she thought I might like a while back. I certainly did, and thought about it over the weekend. Given the constant, mind-numbing bad news we hear every time we turn the dial or watch the news, I thought you might enjoy the following:

 

You can find the actual ad here or the overall site, Ads of the World, here. There’s some really funny stuff if you have the time.

Patriotism dies (just a little)

As  superheroes go, I was always a bit luke-warm with Captain America.  I was an X-Men disciple from the jump, and the broad range of personalities and cool powers (combined with the struggle to find their place in a society that misunderstood or rejected them completely)  felt far closer to my reality as an early teen than fighting evil in the name of country ever did.

Nor did Cap have traits I liked in other heroes: the brooding conflict of the Dark Knight, the isolation of Dare Devil, or even the snappy banter of Spiderman. Instead, he was just a man: tall, broad, and muscled, and unquestionably tough. He also sported an indestructible, absolutely righteous shield. And while that combination pretty much did the trick in the days of single-fire weapons or a good-old knife fight, they didn’t really reach out and grab me the way a furry blue teleporter nicknamed ”Elf,” or a crazy-hot southern lass who couldn’t be touched, or a soulful Russian artist who transformed into organic steel and put himself in front of harm’s way, did every time I cracked open the cover of my newest issue of X-Men.   

Of all Captain America’s assets, however, I think his most endearing was a steadfast moral compass that most of us share only a marginal acquaintance. He didn’t have three razor-sharp adamantium claws popping out of both clenched fists (Snikt!), but this was a hero who always knew right from wrong and fought for the former - even when it cost him to do so. And I think I’ve come to appreciate his kind of heroism more and more as the years have passed.

Which is why I was surprised and actually saddened when I saw the “Where were you when Captain America died?” link on Twitter not long ago. It led to a page on the Marvel Website where industry players (writers, artists, execs, and on) wrote about their reaction to hearing the news that Captain America had died.  The page also had the issue’s cover art you see below.  

But killing off heroes for weeks, months, or even years and then bringing them back is hardly uncommon in comics – DC even did it to Superman in the early 90s. However, fairly quickly after Superman’s death a handful of limited series (one of which introduced the character “Steel” and later made it to the big screen in a fairly awful movie starring Shaq) were released that developed the plot for the Man in Blue’s return.

Unfortunately, I don’t think this one’s going to play that way.

Sure, there are a million things far more important than the death of a fictional character in a comic book. I get it. But I’m also not too old to remember just how important those stories were to me when I was young. He wasn’t my favorite good guy, nor was  he flashy, conflicted, or edgy, but the lack of those things didn’t stop me from collecting a stack of his comics right next to his mutant cousins on my bedroom bookshelf. 

All of which makes me think. I’ve written about this before, but comics seem to be far, far darker than they were when I was a kid. Hell, entertainment seems darker and scarier before.  Movies, television, music, and yes, comics, all seem a bit more real than they once did.  And while conflict and dark, brooding anger are great for a boy – as boys we were often mired in it - I’m left wondering. What comic is going to give my nephew what Steve Rogers gave to us? What hero will teach him doing the right thing even when it hurts is still the right thing?

Ice Cube was right – today was a good day

It was an odd morning. Thanks to a 21mg nicotine patch worn around the clock sleep has been, well, interesting. More than two weeks of active dreams, fitful sleep, and lots of staring at the ceiling in the wee hours of the night have left me feeling more than a little washed-out and punchy.

But the dreams have been cool, too. Last nights’ starred my old boss (now happily chugging away at a new gig) who gave me my end of year review using riddles and a rather odd mind-map. Knowing the man, I’m certain that if it was actually his company that kind of review wouldn’t be entirely out of the question.

He then invited me to watch then President-elect Obama’s inaugural ceremony and we stepped out of an office into a basketball gym and then into a pretty day. Not sure what that last bit was about – I can’t dribble to save my life – but I woke up singing/whispering, “Yes. We. Can.”

I was pretty excited about today, is what I’m saying.

Throughout my shower, lacing up my shoes, and over and around spoonfuls of cereal, I was humming along with that lovely tune in my head. In fact, I was singing along…And a King that led us to a mountaintop… right up to the point I was rear-ended on the way to work.

So now I have a dented car, a throbbing headache (coupled with the thinness from little sleep and it feels a little like Codine to me, and I enjoy Codine about as much as I do mucking out a latrine in the desert) but I’m still smiling. Wide and happy, I’m still smiling, and haven’t really stopped since I arrived this morning.

I’m glad you’re here, Mr. President.

Why I don’t understand some Republicans, part two

I went through my day yesterday, writing and reading, organizing and checking off my to-dos, and just couldn’t get the ridiculous bumper sticker mentioned in my last post out of my mind. Those eight words would randomly float to the surface of my mind, coming into focus like the title sequence of “Lost,” and I think I ended the day with a permanent crease between my brows from grimacing.

Thinking about it last night, I remembered a video my brother-in-law turned me on to during one of our marathon drinks, music, and endless stars sessions on just about the best patio ever. So once my two favorite ladies were warm and asleep I sat down in our office, tapped this and that on the keyboard, and then leaned back and watched it a few times. Wouldn’t you know, that little crease just about disappeared.

You may have seen this before, but if you haven’t, take the four minutes and watch it. If you’re anit-Obama, I ask that you really watch it and instead focus on the message. Chances are I’ll never meet that knuckle-head in the SUV, but if ever I do, I’d like to tell him I believe hope has the power to do everything.

Another reason I just don’t understand some Republicans

Okay, so the election is over, my guys won, and I’m floating in a sea of political bliss. But.

We’ve now arrived at the time when I, you, and anyone else even marginally invested in the process need to become ardent critics of the Obama administration. I say “critic” and mean not that it’s time to moan, complain, and ridiculously pick and jab. Rather, it’s time to rationally and intelligently question decisions, search for verification and truth, and to hold our President accountable for promises made over the course of this insanely long campaign. In  other words, all the things President Bush calls us unpatriotic for doing.

I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to doing so. Mostly because I think, I hope, that he’ll do the right thing. That he won’t be dishonest. He won’t consider might the keystone of leadership. He’ll hold true to the beliefs and ideals that inspired so many of us. In a word, that he, through policy, leadership, and thoughtfulness, continues to give the country hope.

Which brings me to the title of today’s post. Driving home yesterday, on the back window of a large SUV directly in front of me, I saw the following sticker:

Fair enough - nothing weird or out of the ordinary wanting to support your candidate. But in large bold letters directly below it, another sticker read the following:

“HOPE” DOESN’T HAVE THE POWER TO DO ANYTHING

So I ask this (Republicans, please chime in and help me here): political ideology aside, just what the hell kind of person actually believes that?

The apathetic security detail

or, Waiting for the other shoe to drop

Okay, so it was only a shoe. Or a pair of shoes, actually. I get it. But.

Could there have been something in them? Yes. Could there have been something sticking out from one of them? Yes. Could there have been something, anything, dangerous about those shoes? Absolutely.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I’m not a fan of our President. But folks, he’s still our President, and some nutjob cameraman from Baghdad had the time to throw a shoe, pause, then throw another at him. And call him a “Dog.” It was degrading. It was disrespectful. But that’s not the scariest thing.

Where the hell was the Secret Service?

photo by Daveybot