Beautiful Bookstores: El Ateneo

If there is one thing we share here in Kang World it’s our love of books.  We are all bibliophiles in the truest sense of the word.  In fact if we could live in the Library of Congress we probably would.

I love books so much that when I go on vacation I would rather visit bookstores and libraries than scenic sites.  If I ever make it to Buenos Aires, Argentina, I want to visit the famous El Ateneo bookstore.  El Ateneo was built in 1919 and was converted from a theater into a book store in the early 2000s.  They say that a picture is worth a thousand words and all I can say is, “Wow!”

 

longhorndave via flickr

longhorndave via flickr

Only J. via flickr

violinha via flickr

kweezy mcG via flickr

…political metamorphosis

Growing up on the periphery of affluence, I was keenly interested and slightly bewitched by the intoxicating words of conservative icon William F Buckley.  Like any good steward of the Republican Party (I was a donor at the age of 15), I would eagerly await the arrival of The Dartmouth Review.  I read Ayn Rand.   When Bush the Elder was installed in office, I was so upset by the end of Reagan-era politics that my mother let me take the day off from school so I would be free to weep and mourn. I knew no one could ever be the steward of the American dream the way Reagan was.

This makes sense.  Really.  Everyone in Montgomery County is a Republican.  Never mind that a Montgomery County Republican is basically like a Dixiecrat in the sense that neither are completely true to the party platform.  If you lived in Montgomery County, were a business owner, had any hope to network or had a burning desire to have speeding tickets fixed, you registered Republican.  Even my father, a latent Marxist, was a registered Republican as he owned his own business.

Being among the haves in a world of have-nots, it’s very easy to look around at your piles of stuff and bags of money and say, “I worked for this.  It should be mine.  I should not have to share.”  It’s also very easy to think that the government serves no role in helping people since you are not naturally exposed to those who need help.  They are the people by the train tracks; the side show.  The cautionary tale of what can happen if you dare not work yourself to the bone.  Industry is key.  What’s mine is mine and what’s yours…I will eventually take because my money can buy more than your money.

Furthermore, I was hell bent on not falling victim to higher academia.  There was no possible way I would allow myself to shift left in college.  I would dig my heels in and buck the trend.  Come 1996, I was still raging against the machine.  I found Clinton to be a loathsome, suspicious creature even though he was a complete Centrist and more of a big business-dick sucking conservative than his successor, Bush the Lesser (which, when you consider the no-bid contracting of the War on Terror™, says a great deal about Clinton’s hard-on for Corporate America).

Shortly after my move to North Carolina, my father and I were having a heated discussion about politics, as is our wont.  Before I could counter any of my father’s arguments, the frying pan of reality knocked me upside my head.  There would be no possible way that I would ever amass the wealth that it takes to really benefit from the conservative ideal that is American politics.  Without knocking over a string of liquor stores or winning the lottery, I will have to rely on the government at some point in my life.  Further scrambling my brains and leaving me at a loss for an ideology to keep me warm at night was coming to terms with the concept that government, as a whole, isn’t inherently evil. Government wasn’t going to sneak into my room in the middle of the night and steal my long-gone virtue.  Government had no designs for any potential Kang scion.  Financially, I would never be in that teeny segment of society that would amass so much wealth that taxation would be a significant issue.  The odious threat of an estate tax is utterly laughable to most of us, myself included.

In the latter part of 1999, I plucked the voter registration card from my wallet, noted the change of my legal name and switched parties.  Silly as it may seem, it was a pretty significant event.  With the tick of a box, I flushed my former ideology, my former value set, down the toilet and became the unthinkable – a Democrat.  A fence-sitting, right leaning Democrat, but a Democrat none-the-less.  If only my deranged but liberal mother could see me now.

Alas, the transition had only begun.  As years wore on, I found myself leaning further and further to the left until I became the scourge of modern American society – a Social Democrat.  The death knell for any conservative leanings sounded the moment I stepped foot in the door of a public hospital as an employee.  Surrounded by critically ill, hard working people who did not have access to care on account of being a member of the working poor, I recoiled in horror.  On a far too frequent basis, I saw amputees who lost a limb due to unmanaged diabetes.  I saw brain tumors of mind-boggling size because we treated the worst of the infirmed and under-insured.  One manager summed it up perfectly:  “When I worked in private health care our (MR) scans were boring.  People who have the resources to take care of themselves are far less remarkable than those who cannot.”

Otherwise upstanding citizens with whom any of us would break bread are not only fighting for their lives – they are being victimized by a society that places little value on the living.  We live in a world where willingly assisting your neighbor can only occur via charitable contributions to bloated non-profits/not-for profits or religious organizations. We live in a society that places a value on the unborn but has neither the interest nor the inclination to care for the child once it is born.  To save the almighty dollar, we take food from the mouths of children, care from the infirmed, and as if that wasn’t indignity enough, we point and call them “welfare queens” or “entitlement mongers” in the process.  We assassinate their characters because that’s what we do best when we don’t want to accept the fact that we are one traumatic event removed from a similar fate.

There are parallels to greater woes in this moral.  We ardently refuse to take care of our infrastructure, in the physical sense (roads, bridges, electrical grid, etc) or in the human form.  As a society, we neglect everything until the worst case scenario occurs and then spend more time pointing fingers than proactively engaging in methodologies that would prevent the draconian.  We are a society that lives on borrowed money, borrowed time and unfounded hope.  Rather than confronting the painful, rather than assuming responsibility and understanding that objectivism and libertarianism are merely ways to validate our inner, selfish beast, we cast the poor as our much needed bogeyman. It seems Americans cannot live without having to fight some form of lecherous evil.

One needs look no further than the current budget quagmire and the potential shuttering of the Federal government to see how dysfunctional and lacking in compassion we are.  Rather than investing in the future, we steal from it.  Rather than protecting our most precious resource, the human being, we discard that concept in favor of protecting a commodity.  Rather than understanding that the human being is a critical component in society, that education and intelligence is the most important commodity we have, we slip in global standings in science and mathematics at an incomprehensibly alarming pace.  And we do this why?  Because what’s mine is mine and what’s yours can potentially be mine.

There are so many levels of wrong in this world, so many things humans should be ashamed of.  None is more horrifying than being a willing participant in the downward spiral of our society, though.  None is more damaging than enabling the process.  And yet, if you do point this out, you’re dismissed as the elite, mystical intelligentsia.  That’s right – we live in a place where being informed is considered bad, and “smart” is used as an epithet.

I may very well go to an early grave as our health care system is cannibalized to allow for the re-allocation of funding to interests that aren’t really our best, at the hands of scientists who care more about revenue and patents than the people they purport to care for.  At least I will shuffle off this mortal coil knowing that I tried to change things for the better.  And I will do so as a liberal.

New Rules: Using French in everyday conversation

Since we are a cultured lot here on Project Mayhem we like to use French words occasionally in everyday conversation.  Not only does it demonstrate that we appreciate the finer things in life, like wine, culture and cheese, but it impresses the hell out of the natives and soothes our bruised egos.  Here is an approved list of Project Mayhem French:

  • OUI – even if you’ve never taken high school French, you know that oui means “Yes.”
  • NON – same thing here except it’s the opposite of oui, and that means “No.”
  • MON DIEU – “my God!” as used in this sentence, “Mon Dieu, this TPS report is kicking my ass!”
  • N’EST-CE PAS? – means “isn’t it so,” or “right,” as in “You’re a real jerk, n’est-ce pas?”
  • MERDE – “shit.” Great word to use when you are getting exasperated.  “Merde! I just stubbed my foot on this stupid armoire!”
  • C’EST LA VIE – “such is life.”  As in, “My best friend ran off with my wife, my truck, and my fucking dog.  C’est la vie!”
  • AU NATUREL – “undressed” or in “the natural state.”  Bob:  “Hey, that new intern, I wouldn’t mind seeing her au naturel, non?”  Marge: “You’re a real jerk, n’est-ce pas?”
  • QUELLE HORREUR – “what a horrible thing,” or “how awful!”  Seen in Paris, “Quelle horreur!  Is that American putting ketchup on my quiche?”

Ripping flesh…

Nine months ago I hadn’t eaten meat for twenty years,
Then something shifted deep inside I suddenly changed gears.
Perhaps back then, in fluffy times, being veg was well and good,
When saving earth was in theory something that you should,
But “should” is gone, it’s out the door, replaced by “shall” and “must”,
No more time to “have a dream”, it’s do or die or bust,
When theory shifts to pratice, keep your both feet on the ground,
Cuz only them that walks the walk will still be standing round,
Times are harder, meaner, with no button to “refresh”,
So me I’m changing stances, and gone back to ripping flesh.

…handicapped parking spaces

No…it’s not what you think it’s going to be.

Our dear finned friend, Shark, requested a rant as my first post.  Five minutes ago, I could have waxed moronic about how much I loathe WordPress, how CSS can fuck off and die until I re-read my handy-dandy manual and railed against fonts.  Alas, I wasn’t in touch with my inner hate so I have to draw on an experience from Monday.

Years ago, my father decided to arbitrarily launch his bad self through his dashboard window.  Six months of bed-ridden recovery later, he received his shiny, new hip. Bionic daddy – I has one!  He moves around very well with the exception of a drop foot that can hinder his mobility from time to time.  Even with this challenge, he has never filed for a handicap parking permit.

As I type this very post, my spine is deteriorating.  The days where I cannot walk are few and far between but they are, without a doubt, hell.  I will not file for a handicap parking permit.

You see…even those with mobility issues, be it intermittent or constant, reserve these precious spaces for those who truly need them.

The other day I had to loot the ATM.  Kang’s Coiffure House requests that all tips for hairdressers be remitted in cash.  I don’t carry cash.  Ever.  Not wanting to piss off the woman who could ruin my world for a very long time, I dragged myself to the ATM (or MAC machine for the Philadelphians).  Imagine my surprise when I notice a spry, 20-something pull into the *only* handicapped parking space as I was retrieving my cabbage.

Not one to bite her forked tongue, I turned around, looked the asshat directly in the eye and…

Kang:  Excuse me, sir.  Are you handicapped?  I didn’t see your placard.

Asshat:  No.  No I’m not.

Kang:  Would you like to be?

Asshat:  :stammers:  Ermmmm…

Kang:  :points at car:  Really.  So…you’re not handicapped and you’re parking where?  You’re parking in a spot for the handicapped when there is a standard parking space available – right next to you. That’s stupid.  Just stupid.

Asshat:  No.  You are.  (really – this is the level of discourse)

Kang:  No.  I’m not stupid.  I’m not the one wearing a Wal-Mart name tag.

If there is one thing that will drive me to the brink of causing a bar fight with a broken bottle, pissing on the meek is at the top of my list of things that enrage me.  Unless it is a matter of life or death, there is no reason to overlook common consideration for the sake of convenience.  None.  Ever.

For whatever reason, I find myself absolutely fearless when it comes to douchebaggery. I realize that I may very well be on the receiving end of a slap or worse, yet that critical filter that keeps people from confronting others simply does not exist in my world.

If you treat others poorly and I bear witness to it, I’m going to say something.  That’s just the way I roll.

and he’s back!

I woke up this morning feeling like last night’s 6 o’clock news:  Local and full of fail.  I don’t expect much, but does it really take over a minute to plug in an anchor’s microphone?  Didn’t you have an entire day to prepare for the news?  It’s okay, I forgive you, as I forgive myself for being so impatient.

Anyhow, as I dragged my sorry ass to work I pondered my mundane existence as a “soccer dad.”  Granted, my sons are not old enough to play soccer, but it’s just a matter of time.  Feeling like I was going nowhere, I wondered if anybody would miss me should my Yaris drive off a cliff?  Then I remembered that I live in Central Illinois and there isn’t a damned cliff around for miles.  Oh what could possibly save me from this so-called life?

Perhaps a message over Facebook from my good friend Kang, who was lamenting that nobody ever blogs like we used to.  For shame!  A few messages later we had our merry band of rogues, pirates and fly-by-night bloggers assembled: the few good men (and women!), the dream team, the forgotten, prideful, and borderline psychotic people who can think of nothing better to do than blog.  And blog we shall do…  The SHARK is back!

…and she’s back!

Do I spring into the room with a flourish to announce my return or should I simply lay in wait in see what develops?  Such critical decisions, yes?

Shortly before the Kanglet arrived, I decided to drive the knife through the heart of KangWorld.  I’m still a bit concerned about exposure since I’m all mom-like now and thus very protective of my real life persona but staying quiet is just.  killing.  me.  There is far too much noise in my noggin, far too many experiences that need to be catalogued and documented for all perpetuity, far too many words begging to be formed into the meatball that is one of my musings.

/me raises tiny fist and says “I wish I knew how to quit you!”

So, I’m back with a bucketful of new experiences to share, a passel of jumbled thoughts and the visceral need to scribble down everything.  Hopefully, I will be able to deliver more than intermittent profundity and random quirky observations.