“Black” Friday…

How like an addict we all appear, promoting “Black Friday” like some sick joke; it is transparent, a desperate plea, a junkie strung out on the thing he thinks will take the pain away. It is sold to us as inevitable.

It is not.

Do not let them fool you. You were born naked and perfect. You do not need stuff. And stuff does not speak love for you to those you hold dear. This consumption is our common affliction, and the larger issues — the wars, the sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, poverty, and oppression — will not go away until we grapple with this disease, this mythology that selling stuff to one another, that using profit and capitol as the gatekeeper of justice somehow makes this a great nation.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It is a dark time; a bad economy dominated by power mongering elite; federal and state legislatures held hostage by ideologues who want to wrap us in their fear and roll us back to the 1950’s (or earlier); a planetary eco system reeling from millennia of exploitation and neglect.

But give thanks. Give thanks for living, and breathing, and loved ones around you (and those that are no longer with us). Give thanks for the here and the now – they are all we truly have, and they are transitory.

And then, on Friday, remember that it is international Buy Nothing Day.

You will not help the economy by spending vociferously. You will not help yourself. You will not be “missing out” on anything special if you fail to show up. You will not be failing to show your loved ones you care because you do not buy them the best that money can buy at bargain prices.

This is the frenzy that big corporations want, not only because it keeps them “in the black” financially, but because it reifies their world view; it institutionalizes greed and justifies their actions (“we’re just giving people what they want”).

So instead, take the day to breathe. Keep the wallet in your back pocket, or purse. Take a walk outside. Call or write a friend. Contemplate your time on the planet and what impact (positive? negative?) you want to have on it and those that will come after you.

Let’s make this the year that common folk will find their way into the black. Financially. Spiritually.

pilgrimage

[Warning: this will not be a fun post. Sorry.]

It’s hard to believe that it’s been five years.

Today, I will make my annual pilgrimage down county highway M to lay flowers on the very spot where we lost Sam, age eighteen, in a senseless car accident, on March 15, 2005.

When I was there last year, pieces of the automobile could still be seen lying in the grass.

Sam was the only son of my supervisor, coworker, and good friend. She was singlehandedly raising him – never an easy thing to do. When we first started working together, in 1997, her ex-husband had just filed for divorce and Sam was ten. The ex seemed to never get into the spirit of being a father; my coworker turned often to me, asking for advice on how to help her guide this pre-adolescent, then adolescent, son into adulthood.

To say that I was his surrogate dad, or he was like my son, would be over-stating things, a bit. Yet there are aspects of both of those statements that hold true; by coaching and advising his Mom, I had a hand in helping to shape his growth; Sam loved the theatre, was a budding actor, and we went to see each other’s shows; I became a de-facto member of the family, sharing Thanksgiving dinners with Sam and his Mom year after year.

As with any child who comes from a divorced home, High School was difficult for Sam (and, one should add that in addition to the divorce, Sam had to cope with his Dad taking his own life). Nevertheless, he persevered, and was on track to graduate that June. He turned eighteen in January; late in February, he was accepted to Beloit College in their Art program. I started saving up money to buy him an iPod as a graduation present – something that I thought was the sort of gift a Dad would give a son. But then, of course, all of that never came to pass…

After a few moments of reflection at the crash site, it will be on to Forrest Hill Cemetery, where I will lay some more flowers where Sam’s remains are buried.

I recall, last year, as I drove there, a particular Suzanne Vega song – Widow’s Walk – came on the old iPod playing through the car stereo; one part of the lyric seemed to repeat itself over and over again in my head:

“Though I saw it splinter, I keep looking out to sea.
Like a dog with little sense, I keep returning,
To the very area where I did see the thing go down,
As if there’s something at the site I should be learning.”

What is it, I wonder, that I’m supposed to be learning from this tragedy that I haven’t already learned? That life is precious, fragile, and all too short? I was sure I’d learned that lesson long ago. But perhaps some part of it still evades me.

Or, perhaps, there is no lesson to be learned. Maybe this is just the duty that we take on when we love and care about people; when they leave us, we have an obligation to keep the memory of them alive, and to mark their passing. There are, of course, many ways to do this; but for some reason I choose this one. I wonder some times if I will always mark the day this way; will there come a time when my mourning transforms and takes a different shape? I suppose it’s possible.

Until then, I have this; and so tomorrow I will take my annual pilgrimage. I will trace the route, I will stand watch at the graveside, and I will feel the pain of him no longer being in the world and having been taken all too soon.

Dial it up…

O.k., so it’s happened. Scott Brown handily defeated Martha Coakley and will soon be sworn in as the next Senator from Massachusetts. Let the pundit games begin (and they have).

But let us also remain a bit sober about this; I’m reminded of an episode in the 2nd season of The West Wing (those who know me well know that my affection for The West Wing, seasons 1-4, knows no bounds) – “The War at Home”. In it, two of my favorite characters – pollster Joey Lucas (played by Marlee Matlin) and Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman (played by Bradley Whitford) have a little exchange about poll numbers; see, Josh is trying to measure response to President Bartlett’s 3rd State of the Union speech in which he laid out a gun control strategy that included a five-day waiting period. Josh wants the numbers from five key districts because he sees the gun issue as a measure of how those states will vote in the upcoming presidential election — in other words, it’s a litmus test (much like the Coakley defeat is already being used to write obits for the Obama Presidency).

Josh insists that the high numbers against mean that he needs to advise the President to dial down the rhetoric on gun control if he wants to win re-election. Joey insists the opposite is true; he says “Numbers don’t lie.”, to which she replies “Numbers lie all the time…  You say that these numbers mean dial it down; I say they mean dial it up. You haven’t gotten through. There are people you haven’t persuaded yet.”

Dial it up, people. The work is hard, but the prize – social justice, fairer government, and a better healthcare system – is too important to let it slip by. There are people we haven’t reached yet. Dial it up.

Ch-ch-changes…

Well, I’m at it again.

If you came here expecting to find StephenMontagna.com, you’re not that far off; I’ve re-located my blog from WordPress.com to my server space here on Dreamhost. In the coming weeks, I’ll be restoring (and building upon) my StephenMontagna.com pages, but I’ll be integrating them with this here blog. It’s my excuse to finally push myself to learn WordPress and all its ins and outs.

Once again, I must therefore say “please pardon my dust.”

Figure 8’s, Donuts – Dec 2008



Figure 8’s, Donuts – Dec 2008

Originally uploaded by sdmonty

Well, Mad Town is getting hit with some substantial snowfall; on the way home from Aikido tonight, I couldn’t resist taking advantage of the empty parking lot at the old Fyfe’s Corner Bistro to do some hazard driving practice; figure eights, donuts, fishtails…

I drove home, grabbed my camera and walked back to snap some shots; these really don’t do it justice – it’s that fun you experience as a kid when you turn a flat, white surface covered with new-fallen snow as a canvas and “paint” something on it.

I wish the weather allowed for some better shots, but I already thought I was risking my Canon PowerShot keeping it out in the cold, wet air. Also, the snow is falling so fast, I suspect the tire marks I etched there will be long gone by the time morning brings better lighting…

Monty w/ pumpkin – Oct. 2008



Monty w/ pumpkin – Oct. 2008

Originally uploaded by sdmonty

Perhaps it’s nostalgia, what with having woken up this morning to find the whole ground blanketed with snow, suddenly the crisp days of Fall (my fav season) seem very far away. P. dropped off this shot of our trip to a WI farm a couple of weeks ago. Yep, that’s me with a pumpkin that I freed from the earth just moments before.

American roulette

Congressman Jim Marshall (D-GA), in a commentary on CNN today, says:

“Deep down, we all know that a financial rescue is necessary. I voted for the plan that was defeated today because, to paraphrase Rep. Spencer Bachus, I’m unwilling to play Russian roulette with the financial lives of my children and grandchildren. Although the bill was imperfect and wildly unpopular, I believed that those of us in Congress needed to suck it up, vote for it and let the chips fall where they may.”

This is what’s wrong with Congress at the moment, both Democrat and Republican; they say they don’t want to “play Russian roulette” and yet they’re willing to “vote for it and let the chips fall where they may?!”For goodness’ sake, show some leadership; sit down, roll up your sleeves, figure out a viable solution that doesn’t give tax breaks to the very people who have derided taxation and gov’t intervention for the last thirty years. Do your #$^&ing job in other words.

We are in this process of American roulette these days. We are victims of our own greed and lack of participation in the process of the very democracy that runs our lives. This is a real mess, it deserves a real solution, not just throwing money at the problem. 

How do you fix an engine while it’s still running? Do you fix a flat with the car still in motion? No, you pull over to the side of the road, turn off the engine, and go to work. This is what we need to do as a Nation. It means that some people will not reap tremendous profits for a few days, weeks, months. So be it; we always talk about sacrifice for our country in terms of losing one’s life in a war; it’s time to think of lower level (but still honorable) sacrifice to the tune of putting the needs of the Nation above those of ones individual financial or corporate profit.

It’s done!



Bascom Hall – OED display case – closer

Originally uploaded by sdmonty

Yes, it took nearly twelve months, nearly a dozen meetings, conflicting opinions, and at times “design by committee”, but it is done, and more than $100 under budget, and it raises the visibility of the Office for Equity & Diversity about 100%.

I am not one to gloat… but I must admit I’ve earned the right to pat myself on the back on this occasion.

If you live in, or are visiting Madison, and you happen to make the hike up Bascom Hill, come take a look.

prove it…

I spent another afternoon at yet another temp agency doing tests. I’m thirty-eight years old, and I am in the position of having to sit down and take inane (and might I add, badly designed) computer based tests to show that I can:

 

A) type

B) use a number pad

C) navigate MS Office app’s (because all businesses know that the only way to get something done is to do it in an MS application… not like there aren’t more elegant/efficient word processors or, say, layout programs)

D) can fill out fifteen forms; by hand

[this includes a work history form, despite having brought a much more thorough, beautifully laid out resume with me]

 

As I made my way back home, three hours later (no joke), I thought about the time that had elapsed; I thought about how, in general, so much of my life these days is spent… proving myself.

 

I think it’s something my partnered, happily employed friends can’t possibly understand; between job hunting and online personals an enormous amount of time and energy every day goes towards continually proving myself — proving myself worthy of being hired and worthy of being loved.

 

This is energy my peers who have already found their dream job (or at least something stable and in the field of study they spent their college years pursuing), and a mate, do not have to spend. And no wonder, then, that they seem more well-rested, buoyant, and productive. They simply don’t have to prove themselves every day.

 

Now, I understand – jobs of every stripe can be challenging; and relationships, even well-balanced, loving ones, take work. But that’s different; having to take time to talk something through with a spouse is different than having to earn their initial trust, affection and support.

 

I can’t help but wonder what I could be accomplishing in my life if I didn’t have to expend so much energy every day constantly trying to prove my worth as a human being.

the gig …



monty moonlights as a rock star…

Originally uploaded by sdmonty

Wow, what an experience! Friends of mine formed an ad-hoc band to play a fundraiser for Alliance for Animals at a local coffee shop, and they roped me into doing some vocals and adding harmonica to some ’80’s covers.

Yes, as an actor I’ve been on stage hundreds of times, but nothing prepared me for this; first off, the “band” had barely rehearsed at all; it’s composed of two fellows from a legitimate band (The German Art Students… they rock – check ‘em out), but who were playing instruments they usually don’t play; plus my friend Pat, plus me. Also, it’s difficult to explain what it’s like to try to speak/sing/play an instrument when you’re literally surrounded by sound; I could barely discern the notes that were emitting from my harp (the sound set up at the coffee shop, though decent, did not allow for monitors – speakers facing us, the players, so we had no way of directly guageing the performance other than the roar of the crowd, which only added to the din).

I had a splitting headache when it was all done, and I thought of my good friend, Bryan, a former music critic who can no longer go to concerts because he developed tenitis (sp?). I can see now how easy that must be…

All in all, I had a blast (though I wish there had been more groupies… I was really counting on a lot of groupie action…). Glad I did it. Don’t know if there will ever be an occasion like it again.