Thursday, August 17, 2017

The Pollyanna States of America

There was a time when I really believed in grassroots movements. But as I got older, (and wiser), there's nothing grassroots about grassroots.

On the surface, this recent movement to remove all signs and symbols of the Confederate States of America appears to be an altruistic push to give black people a "friendlier" place to co-exist. But the truth is that you can remove all the statues you want, and you will still have racists.

But what it does do is make Americans forget about our past.

It actually does hurt me as a Japanese-American that my fellow citizens have largely forgotten about Japanese concentration camps here in the United States. Kids today are no longer taught about it in history classes.

But do Japanese-Americans feel more comfortable living in the United States, now that we removed all the evidence? No. Japanese-Americans are still being called, "Japs", "Gooks", and "Orientals". Americans still refer to Hondas and Yamahas as "rice burners" and "jap bikes". It's still not a comfortable place.

If anything, the fact that we've taken down all remnants of Japanese-hatred somehow has caused the opposite effect. Blacks and hispanics don't consider Japanese-Americans to be minorities anymore. Somehow, we are now maligned as being part of the "privileged".

Let's also remind ourselves that it was a Democratic President who gave the order to round up all Japanese Americans, seize their property and bank accounts, and imprison them in camps, for the simple belief that Japanese-Americans could not be trusted.

Yes, a Democrat, a liberal, a "champion of human rights", did this.

Do we really think that by removing all tangible evidence of the Confederacy we will create a friendlier America for Blacks?

Apparently, people are believing it.

I was responded to by someone who argued that the reason why such a movement is happening right now is simply because it is needed, and it is the right thing to do.

Nice.

Keep in mind that liberals could have removed these symbols decades ago if they wanted to. But they chose not to. And why is that?

The Democratic Party chose not to do it under the Obama Administration because they needed Southern votes to get Hillary Clinton elected in 2016. They chose not to do it in previous administrations because the South was divided over their support for Democrats and Republicans. And well before that, the South had always been strong supporters of the Democratic Party. But things have changed so much recently in the Democratic Party that southerners have felt under-served and have since migrated to the Republican Party.

In addition, more blacks voted for Trump in 2016 than they did for Romney in 2012.

This is alarming to the Democratic Party.

The movement to remove symbols of the Confederacy is about the Democratic Party trying to reclaim the Black vote in 2018.

And yet, Americans actually believe it's some kind of grassroots movement that happened on its own, like some kind of magical, universal, love that grew out of the goodness of humanity.

And that's another thing.

It's not that these whites want to make blacks feel more comfortable with the country they live in, but because they want to make themselves feel better.

But again, it hurts me to think that Americans want to forget about history.

I don't want anyone to forget about what happened to Japanese-Americans in World War II. I don't want anyone to forget about what America did to native tribes across the the continent, and I don't want anyone to forget that Blacks were enslaved in this country. I don't want the truth to be forgotten.

Grassroots movements don't just happen by themselves. They are orchestrated by very powerful political parties, who have alliances with media outlets. And this is both on the left and the right.

And everything is this way.

I majored in music when I attended college. I learned that songs reach the Top 40 charts because of the influence of the record labels, not because people actually like the songs. Products that reach nationwide distribution get there because of the influence of big brands, not because consumers actually want them.

Do we actually believe the Patriot Act was about protecting Americans, or about giving the federal government more power to monitor us? Was Obamacare about extending health insurance to more Americans, or about giving insurance companies more subscribers? Was the outlawing of marijuana about protecting Americans from drug abuse, or about protecting Big Pharma from competition?

People, don't be so stupid!

We are still a nation of Pollyannas.

Of course racism is wrong. But signs and symbols are not racist. They are just signs and symbols. They are merely reminders of where we came from, and why we shouldn't go back.

If you want to remove racism, then do what Germany is doing now, and imprison people for simply having a belief.

1 comment | Post a Comment


Sunday, April 30, 2017

When People Are Too Self-Minded to Care

My pickup truck and new trailer at Love's in Gary, Indiana
Customer Service seems nearly absent here in the greater Chicago area. As Sash and I pulled into Gary, Indiana, the childhood home of the Jackson Five and reportedly the "murder capital of the United States", we learned quickly how people here don't give a shit about other people.

The Love's Truck Stop was the one of the few places we could find that sold propane. So not really aware of how bad the neighborhood is in Gary, we pointed our truck and trailer towards that direction. The phone by the propane tank was not working, forcing Sash to walk into the Love's store building to request service.

"I'll have a guy come out to you", the clerk barked at Sash, sounding almost like Queen Latifah getting snubbed on Peoples Choice Awards. Sash was shaken, but thus far, unconcerned.

I stood out there waiting for the guy to come out. About 20 minutes later, I walked back in to ask again.

"I sent him out there, where were you!" the clerk spewed and stared at me.

"I was out there waiting", I answered defensively.

She called the guy up on the phone, talked to him, and then put the phone down.

"He said he went out there and you weren't there!"

What could I say?

"Fine, I'll send him out there again."

About 10 minutes later, the slowest walking, fattest belly blubbering, indifferent shoulder shrugging, 20-something year old guy with a Chicago White Sox cap worn backwards, comes out and fills both of my tanks.

"I'll see you inside", was all he said afterwards.

I followed him into the Love's store. I paid the receipt and walked back to the truck.

"I bet he never even came out", I said to Sash. "He just looked out the store window and gave it one glance, and didn't see me, so he gave up."

That was the first of our experience with horrible customer service in the larger Windy City area.

Hammond, Indiana, I hit the Wal-Mart to pick up a couple of camping chairs so we had something to sit on inside our new toy hauler. None of the chairs I wanted had price tags on them, When I got to the check out line, and raised up the chairs so that the clerk could scan them, she mentioned not finding any tags.

"Yeah, I didn't see any" I said.

She got on the phone to call someone in Home & Garden. About 5 minutes, she asked me if I knew the price.

"I think it said $14.88, but I'm not sure".

Another few minutes later, she gave up waiting, and started looking around. She finally saw one guy she recognized from Home & Garden.

"Ladarius!" she yelled out. When he looked her way, she waved him to come over.

"Do you know the price of these chairs?" she asked him.

Ladarius made a strange face, looking up and down over these chairs.

"Do you think these are $14.88 each?" she asked again.

Ladarius finally smiled and spoke with a deep voice like Shaquille O'Neal, "Yeah, that's the price!"

"Are you sure?" she asked him.

"Of course I'm sure, I work in Home & Garden."

So I got them for $14.88 a piece. Honestly, I'm sure that was the price, but looking back, I guess I could have said they were "$9.99" and still got them.

At a Popeye's Chicken in Joliet, Illinois, the girl taking drive-thru orders spoke with such an Ebonics accent that only Barbara Billingsley from "Airplane" could have understood. Sash wanted a "Number 4 combo", so I just said that. When the girl asked about a drink, I said "iced tea, unsweetened." Then she asked about sides. Sash wasn't expecting to be asked about sides, but blurted out "biscuits". The girl said, "No, what sides!". That's when noticed that biscuits wasn't an option on this combo. "French fries" I yelled out, just trying to say something.

I then heard her ask if that was all. "No", I continued. "I want a 5-piece chicken strips, no combo". She asked me what sides I wanted. "No sides, just the strips." She raised her voice and asked rather slowly, as I was stupid. "Do you want a number 6 or number 7".

I said, "I want a number 7, but without the sides or drink".

I could hear a faint voice in the speaker saying, "He doesn't want a combo, just the strips."

"Oh, you want just the strips?" she asked me.

"Yes,  just the strips."

"OK" she answered. "Take a look at the screen and tell me if that's right".

(In San Diego, she'd have been fired for saying that. She's supposed to read it off to me, politely, to verify.)

After pulling up to the window, this girl reached her hand and muttered a price without even looking at me. I handed her a credit card. "Here you go", she handed me the credit card back, along with the food, all without looking at me, and showing no interest in me as a customer.

And it turned out she gave Sash sweet tea.

Similar thing happened at the RV Park we've been staying at. Hollywood Casino in Joliet has an RV park which yielded good reviews on Google Maps. But the woman at the check-in desk seemed completely uninterested in us. When Sash asked for her attention, the woman blurted out, "Excuse me I get to you in a moment!" (Picture Aunt Esther from "Sanford & Son" about to comdemn Fred to Hell.)

At another Wal-Mart in Joliet, the black cashier guy bagged the groceries for the black lady in front of us. But when he finished ringing up our groceries, Sash and I stood for a moment looking at him, thinking he would bag up our groceries too. But he didn't. He just turned his attention to the next person in line. It seems that racism is alive and well here.

My take on all this is that the people in the greater Chicago region have become too self-minded to be concerned about other people. It's not that they are "selfish", but more concerned about themselves than their community or fellow man. Service employees don't seem to view customers as important, but as a commodity with which their jobs are built upon. We're more like cattle to them, move 'em in, move 'em out, while paying more attention to their smartphones and workplace gossip.

Taking a few steps back, what I see is that both Trump voters and Hillary voters in this region are actually the same people. They are both equally indifferent to each other, and both frustrated with the world they live in. They both have their idea of freedom and equality and think the other side deserves to have their tubes tied and balls snipped. The only difference is that Trump voters want guns and God while Hillary voters want entitlements.

Both are just means to fuck the other side.

Sash and I really don't like it here, and won't be coming back.

And it's not just here. I've been to other areas of Chicago, including downtown Chicago, Waukegan, Lisle, Naperville. And Sash has seen her fill of downtown too.

Otherwise for me, it's further proof that the Mississippi River is a surreal boundary between two very different Americas. Even the Rocky Mountain range is yet another similar boundary. Having grown up on the west side of the river and the west side of the Rockies, I just have a very different view of humanity and society. The term "commie pinko bastard" is often used to describe people from where I come from. But the truth is that there are very few commies, and far fewer bastards on my side of the river.

I'm not suggesting that where I come from is better, it's just what I'm used to, and works for me. I suppose millions of people in the Chicago metropolitan statistical area are used to this, and it works for them too. We just see people differently, and view customer service far differently.

The good news is that I don't have to return, and won't be contributing to their local economy
anymore.

8 comments | Post a Comment


Monday, April 17, 2017

When Am I Going to Get a Real Motorcycle?

Daimler Reitwagen (1885)
generally accepted as the "real motorcycle"
You know, I've been thinking about that myself too, because many people have asked me the same question over the years. I mean, if it had been only one person asking me, I would have brushed it aside and not given it much thought. But, five, ten, fifteen, twenty people? I don't know, I've lost count since I first started riding in 1985.

The last I checked, my Honda ST1300, for lack of calling it a motorcycle, has two wheels, an engine, a seat that I straddle, handle bars that I steer, and a twist grip that I throttle. I had thought that counts as a "motorcycle".

In fact, the last I checked it seemed to be "real" too. That is, I could touch it and know that my brain responded to stimulus.

Do I have a real motorcycle or not?

The fact is that I hear a lot of people talking about "real this" and "real that", "authentic this" and "authentic that", and am left wondering what actual value is there in being "real"?

I suppose you can see this discussion leading into a tired, well-beaten, mule.

But to digress from lifeless philosophical discourse, I often see the words "Real Mayonnaise" printed on several different brands of white condiment-filled containers, and have been able compare them with other brands that don't use the word "Real". They both seem to taste similar, have similar properties, and have comparable ingredients. In that case, what is the value of Real?

I could imagine someone telling me "Oh, don't use that shit, get some real mayonnaise."

"Real mayonnaise is made from eggs". Actually, the original recipe didn't use eggs.

Though technically, the US Food & Drug Administration actually does have a regulation on what can be legally marketed as "mayonnaise" (Title 21, Chapter I, Subchapter B, Part §169.140), "Real", of course, is a subjective matter.

I remember in 1990 when Toyota advertised itself as the "official car of Southern California". Brilliant, because Southern California is not an administrative division, and there is no governing body to counter such claims. And even though "Southern California" is often described in American culture, Californians themselves can't even agree on where to draw border.

In addition, I often tell Sash what a joke "proper English" is because there is no such thing as proper English, or "standard English" for that matter. There is no law in the US Code defining how one should communicate, pontificate, or confabulate using the world's most spoken language, and there is no body of government-appointed custodians determining how it's letters and punctuation marks should be properly strung together.

Instead, all we have is a group of middle-managers at Merriam-Webster going around the table raising their hands on accepting a particular word into their Dictionary, and how it should be defined, classified, modified, and pronounced. Somewhere, somehow, this company was granted authority on what is a "real" English word.

A few years ago, Rachel Dolezal, a woman born to white parents, and who has zero African ancestry, claimed to be black. It caused black people to become angry, arguing that Dolezal is not a "real" African-American, and doesn't know what it's like to be discriminated against. Is being discriminated against a prerequisite for being African-American?

Then, there are kids who say that "Monopoly money is not real money". But what if you had an antique Monopoly game board with all the original pieces, cards, and money, except that it was missing its original $500 bills? Would you be willing purchase some antique $500 Monopoly money just to make your set complete? Could that be construed as having "real" value?

So then, what makes Harley-Davidson a "real motorcycle"?

Well technically, Indian was building motorcycles before Harley, as was Royal Enfield. Are Indians and Royal Enfields more real than Harley?

My Honda ST1300, Glacier National Park, MT
If chronology is a causal element of "real", then you'd have to go back to 1867 when Ernest Michaux, of Paris, France, fitted a steam engine to a bicycle that his father built, creating the first ever motorized bicycle. But if you want to get technical about the word "motorcycle", you'd have to go Phoenix, Arizona in 1881 when Lucius Copeland built a steam-powered three-wheeler that he named, "Phaeton Moto Cycle".

But the motorcycling world tends to rest only as far back as 1885 with the "Daimler Reitwagen", a two-wheeled, gasoline-powered vehicle that you sat on top of, steered with handlebars, and throttled with a twist-grip. It was invented by Gottlieb Daimler, whose company Daimler Motoren Gesellchaft eventually became Mercedes Benz.

So is a "real motorcycle" that patterned after the 1885 prototype developed by today's Mercedes Benz?

Where exactly, does that leave my Honda ST1300?

Well, people often tell me that it doesn't really matter if Santa Claus is real or not. What matters is that the one thing you really hoped for actually did find its way to you on Christmas morning, regardless of the who, what, where, when, and how. And if that's all that's needed to make Santa Claus real, then perhaps that says a lot about a brand of motorcycle.

2 comments | Post a Comment


About Steve

A vagabond who hauls a motorcycle around the country in a toy hauler, earning a living as a website developer. Can often be found where there's free Wi-Fi, craft beer, and/or public nudity. (Read more...)