Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Not The U.S. I Remember

When I was growing up in America, I honestly believed we were the good guys in the world. 

I thought we were a shining example to the world with our system of democracy and freedoms. 

Since I lived in the Bible belt I also thought that God had blessed us, every one and was on our side no matter what. 

Because my parents voted for Republican, I thought that must be the party who did things the right way.

What an insufferable little asshole I must have been.

As I grew into adulthood, I realized how bigoted and sexist my religion was. It sought to make young people ashamed of their sexuality, judge anyone who was outside the faith and force women into a role where their sole purpose was to bear children and wait on their husbands.

This was a hetero-normative idea that presupposed a nobleness of male character and an infallibility of masculine judgment. 

Becoming a single mother at age 19 and having to deal with heavy discrimination in the workforce did a lot to convince me that I needed to get out of the South.

I eventual moved to California where life seemed a little better. 

From there I went to live in Mexico for a while and I became a witness to the consequences of my country's exploitation of Mexican migrants.

My country has passed through what I call, "A Series of Unfortunate Events." 

I naively thought they began with the Bush administration after 9-11 but after two years in grad school and a visit to Chile I learned to look further back than that. 

I now wonder if we have ever done anything truly decent in our entire history and I'm struggling to find an example that isn't white-washed or greatly exaggerated. 

In Santiago, I visited the houses of detention that Pinochet had used to torture and murder individuals who were seen as leftist threats. 

I saw the government building known as La Moneda where CIA-backed forces led by Pinochet had overthrown the Democratically elected Socialist president, Salvador Allende. 

America helped cause all this suffering and Henry Kissinger later got a Nobel Peace Prize.

WTF, indeed.

The Supreme Court has recently annulled sections of the Voting Rights Act. They have given the police wide-sweeping authority to strip search anyone detained for any reason and they have declared that corporations are people and that money is equal to free speech.

The "War on Terror" has allowed the country to sink to new lows by whittling away Americans Constitutionally-guaranteed civil rights. 

Who is a terrorist and what are the risks? 

That's for the government to decide in secretly convened, top-security proceedings, thank you very much. 

When the Geneva Convention became an inconvenience, a genius named Donald Rumsfeld invented the term "unlawful combatant" which allowed our great nation to detain "terrorist suspects" for an unlimited amount of time while denying them a trial or legal representation. 

Guantanamo Bay provided the perfect "neither here nor there" location for such a travesty and hundreds of prisoners who had been sold out by their enemies for a handsome sum in their home countries (where poverty was common) were locked up. 

In America, to this day, confessing to being a Muslim is all one needs to be regarded with suspicion and contempt. After all, those who don't accept Jesus as their savior, must be in the service of Satan. Everyone knows this.

In 2011, the U.S. government authorized a drone strike to take out a suspected terrorist in Yemen. This might have been unremarkable had the suspect not been a U.S. citizen who was guaranteed due process by the Constitution. 

President Bush II  Obama allowed the CIA to kill Anwar al-Awlaki because; war, terror, extraordinary circumstances, gas pains, headache, etc. 

Even though this should have sparked mass outrage, there were only minor rumblings.

This was where it became apparent to me how groggy-eyed and complacent the American electorate had become. 

"Just leave us alone!," they said, "A few of us went to the polls a few years ago and voted...what more do you want?!"

It's okay though, because everyone knows he was guilty and a terrorist so his rights don't matter.

The same is true for Osama Bin Laden which is why it was totally okay for us to send in a covert SEAL team to violate Pakistan's territorial sovereignty in order to assassinate him.

In case y'all hadn't noticed, we're sort of a "big deal" in the global scheme of things so we can do stuff like this.

But what happens when certain citizens become alarmed that the government has overstepped its bounds and lied to the public it claims to serve?

I'm glad you asked! 

Please see the case of Bradley Manning, Julian Assange (who is a total asshat, even though I support his cause) and Edward Snowden. 

It was kind of funny back when Sarah Palin accused anyone who didn't agree with her ignorant viewpoints as "not being a true patriot" or a "real American." 

It's less amusing when the U.S. government does it and then uses all of their incredible powers and international connections to gang up on their own citizens.

The following are excerpts from a New York Times article about Laura Poitras who has made several documentary films criticizing U.S. policies and who aided Snowden in leaking his intelligence about the NSA's domestic spying program:

-When she landed at J.F.K., she was met at the gate by two armed law-enforcement agents and taken to a room for questioning. It is a routine that has happened so many times since then — on more than 40 occasions — that she has lost precise count. Initially, she said, the authorities were interested in the paper she carried, copying her receipts and, once, her notebook. After she stopped carrying her notes, they focused on her electronics instead, telling her that if she didn’t answer their questions, they would confiscate her gear and get their answers that way. On one occasion, Poitras says, they did seize her computers and cellphones and kept them for weeks. She was also told that her refusal to answer questions was itself a suspicious act. Because the interrogations took place at international boarding crossings, where the government contends that ordinary constitutional rights do not apply, she was not permitted to have a lawyer present.

“I assume that there are National Security Letters on my e-mails,” she told me, referring to one of the secretive surveillance tools used by the Department of Justice. A National Security Letter requires its recipients — in most cases, Internet service providers and phone companies — to provide customer data without notifying the customers or any other parties. Poitras suspected (but could not confirm, because her phone company and I.S.P. would be prohibited from telling her) that the F.B.I. had issued National Security Letters for her electronic communications.

William Binney, a former top N.S.A. official who publicly accused the agency of illegal surveillance, was at home one morning in 2007 when F.B.I. agents burst in and aimed their weapons at his wife, his son and himself. Binney was, at the moment the agent entered his bathroom and pointed a gun at his head, naked in the shower. His computers, disks and personal records were confiscated and have not yet been returned. Binney has not been charged with any crime.

While being interrogated at Newark after a flight from Britain, she was told she could not take notes. On the advice of lawyers, Poitras always recorded the names of border agents and the questions they asked and the material they copied or seized. But at Newark, an agent threatened to handcuff her if she continued writing. She was told that she was being barred from writing anything down because she might use her pen as a weapon. - Peter Maass, New York Times

This article came out right before the partner of Glen Greenwald was detained at an airport in London under one of their anti terrorism statutes and questioned for nine hours. His electronic equipment was also confiscated although he was never charged with anything. 

Great Britain admitted to calling the White House before detaining Greenwald's partner although, the White House claimed that Britain acted on its own and was not doing the bidding of the U.S. 

Of course they weren't. 

Somebody is a liar, lair and should check their pants for fire. 

While many have been forthcoming in their condemnation of this abuse of power, others still take the line that this man is aiding and abetting a traitor to the U.S. government and deserves what he gets.

I'll just leave you with this poem by Martin Niemoller:

“First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a communist;
Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a socialist;
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a trade unionist;
Then they came for me—
and there was no one left to speak out for me.”

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Saturday Night (Very) Live



Last Saturday's DJ gig was an epic six hours long.

We had a shoving match in the street, boys dancing on the pool tables and some wee fella sprayed his drink (accidentally) on my mixer and laptop which left a sticky residue.

I have just gotten used to the bus groups which will come in for 30 minutes, dance like mad and then depart but on this night we had a 21st, a rugby club and some locals who decided to stay and get down with their bad selves.

The night got off to a tense start as there was a final game going on between the Chiefs (NZ rugby team) and the Brumbies (Australian rugby team).

We had an early bus group and I actually had to play music while "The Rugby" was going!

Somehow I got away with it although, once that first group of party bus people had moved on, one of the guys watching the game got really angry and yelled at the television. At one point I thought he might head butt it.

It is so weird to start out playing dance anthems and end up with people asking you to play "something by Shania Twain."

"Sweet Home Alabama" is also a local favorite (I cringe internally every time) and I have never seen Americans as emotionally worked up as the Kiwis over the chorus of "Born in the U.S.A." It's weird!

I subscribe to a DJ service that lets me pull up almost any song from a genre as long as there is an internet connection. However, once you lose the connection, the only way to get it back is to restart the program.

After two particularly irritating girls kept asking for songs I didn't have and rolling their eyes and saying, "Well, what do you have!?" I got the pub owner to turn on his system so I could reload mine.

They turn on you so quickly, these kids.

By hour four I was getting pretty put out with a few of them.

It's a fickle business.

One minute you're "the bist dj ivah!" and the next minute their eyes are rolling and you can hear them drunkenly exclaiming "Wot is this?!"

One young lady was particularly obnoxious.She had cleverly taken two small black washcloths and sewn them together to make a dress which she spilled out of at the top and was barely contained in at the bottom.

At one point I put on a song and she rolled her eyes and looked quite foolish because all her friends liked it and started jumping around.

Eventually she disappeared.

Then came the shoving match in the street which emptied the whole pub as a crowd formed around the shovers.

After they had been pulled apart and banished from the premises, people returned to the dance floor and the blood lust gradually dimmed from their eyes.

Now I need to talk about these young boys that come up to me when I'm playing.

They are equal parts irritating and endearing.

I spend part of the night tweaking their noses and the other part feeling like my mom told me to take my kid brothers to work with me.

They like to come up on the stage where I'm playing and ask, "So, how does this work?"

Because the music is so loud I have to lean in to hear what they are saying and they will usually take that opportunity to lay their cheek next to mine or drape an arm around me casually. One put his head on my shoulder and another insisted that I let him put on my headphones.

Three young partners in crime discovered the button to make the fog machine work and they took great pleasure in sneaking up to the table and pushing the button while I was busy.

I tried to hide the controller behind my mixer case but it wasn't long before they found it and proceeded to smoke out the dance floor.

I popped two of them on the hand several time and finally got the controller out of their reach.

"Aw, please! Can I just have a wee touch?" one of them said.

"No you may not have a wee touch," said the crotchety DJ who was beginning to feel she was too old for this sort of thing.

"Can I have a big touch then?" he said.

"No!" said the exhausted mother hen.

In retrospect, I don't think he was talking about the controller.

If this sort of thing continues I might just hunt down these kids parents and insist on babysitting money.


DJ Payday

God bless New Zealand.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Don't Forget to Thank Jesus...


This is one way to thank Jesus, another would be for U.S. lawmakers to pull their heads out of their collective bums and take a moment to familiarize themselves with the horrible conditions "guest workers" are exposed to.

Size Doesn't Matter

My wee mixer 

Monday, July 22, 2013

The Legend of DJ Red

As you know, I'm here in New Zealand to pursue a PhD, but as that wise philosopher Cindy Lauper once noted, "Girls just want to have fun."

When my working day is done (usually around 4-ish) I want to have fun by playing music that will make people dance.

I've missed Dj-ing at Indian Summer and the MIIS Social Hour in Monterey.

My one night out in Christchurch lead me to believe there was a musical niche for me here somewhere and I made plans to speak to one of the club owners at some point in the future.

Instead, I stopped in to a rather large Irish pub on the way home from Christchurch one night and casually mentioned to the owner that I was a DJ.

It quickly became apparent that he was interested in having me play at the pub.

I wish all job interviews could be that easy!

We met a few nights later and I brought in my laptop so I could show him the DJ program I used and the type of music I had on hand. He liked it and we agreed that I would start on Saturday.

"What's your DJ name?" he asked.

I had been thinking about this for a while and still didn't have a good answer.

"How about DJ Red?" I said finally.

I wear a lot of black and red when I go out and this was just an abbreviation of the "Little Red Riding Hood" nickname some of An's mates had given me.

"You could say I'm direct from the U.S.," I told him, "It makes me seem like a mysterious import."

He next asked me if I drank while I DJ-ed and if I had some colorful past I was running away from.

"Alas, no," I said. "I had to go through a pretty rigorous health and background check to get my student visa."

I told him of my honorable discharge from the military and my pursuit of a PhD at Lincoln.

He seemed slightly dismayed that the legend of DJ Red wouldn't contain any undertones of scandal or criminal misdeeds but he was still cheerful about my upcoming debut.

He asked if I had any requirements while I Dj-ed and I said I wanted all the free tap water I could drink.

"Seems fair," he said.

I left the pub feelings a little nervous and hoped I hadn't gotten into anything I couldn't handle.

I went to a music shop that sold Dj equipment and bought a teeny tiny little mixer made by Pioneer. It was so small that the guy selling it to me applied the word "wee" to it.

In New Zealand the term "wee" brands an object with an adorableness that strips away any chance the object might have had of being taken seriously.

I bought a "wee" tool kit from the local hardware store not long ago. It contains a wee tape measure, a wee hammer, and an assortment of wee nails. Due to its wee-ness I will never be able to take it to a construction sight without being laughed at. Luckily, I don't foresee getting any invitation to work at a construction site any time soon.

The wee Pioneer mixer wasn't my first choice- there was a Numark which I took a shine to but for some reason they had switched to another type of Dj software that I was unfamiliar with.

I didn't want to lose my membership and remix cache with Virtual DJ and since the Pioneer came with it, I bought it.

I decided not to hook up the mixer for my first gig because I knew I would need to familiarize myself with it at home first.

Saturday night wasn't bad but it was a bit of a learning experience as far as what sort of music to play for whom and when.

I spent most of the night shyly stooped over my laptop trying not to draw any attention to myself.

There is a phenomenon here where bus groups come through and disgorge a bunch of (often costumed) young people who drink and dance for about 30-minutes before moving on to the next venue. I had never seen anything like it but the groups do fill up the dance floor quite nicely.

I also learned the term "bogan" that night. It's what they call rednecks here (and would be an apt description of some of my cousins back home).

21st birthday celebrations are also a big deal which surprised me since the legal drinking age is 18. I was told this wasn't always the case and that it used to be 21 so the date is still special.

A group of friends will all go out to drink and dance and at some point they will stop the music and make speeches for the birthday girl or guy.

It was really sweet to watch people take a microphone and recall their fond memories from the celebrant's past. After that concluded, the birthday person drank a bunch of shots and then her entourage hit the dance floor with a vengeance.

I had a very interesting experience with one party-goer that evening but I think I'll keep that story to myself for now.

Last Saturday I returned to DJ with my new mixer and the carrying case.

I got a small thrill when I saw a poster the pub owner had made for "DJ Red, Direct from the U.S.A."

We had two bus groups, one 21st and one rugby team who stopped by that night.

I got several compliments on my musical choices as well as being told I was "gorgeous" by a ridiculously good looking Maori guy.

At some point, a drunk rugby player wandered over and said, "Can you turn up the music sweet-aht?" and I almost said, "Sure thing, sweet cheeks," but decided against provocation at the last minute.

I had a good night and stayed hydrated with lots of free water ( I know my worth dang it!)

I'm looking forward to growing the "Legend of DJ Red" in the coming weeks.