Ah, well.

At any rate, I am both dreading and looking forward to being home again. Dreading just because things are uncertain, and in my current state of mind “uncertain” is worse than a death sentence. But I’m looking forward to pretty much everything else, so things even out.

The packing is progressing. I’m in a state of mild panic because it’s three weeks to go and I’ve “got nothing done,” but if I remain consistent and get a little done every day things will work out nicely now that the library is finally packed up. I’ve got some hardcore OCD crap going on that is insisting things be packed “in order,” meaning all like kinds of things have to be in sequential order -all the art supplies have to be packed together and at the same time. All the toys and knickknacks have to be packed together and at the same time. And so forth.

No. Just no.

It’s taking a little effort to break out of that mindset, but it’s happening little by little – mostly because it has to.

So these are my final three weeks in Los Angeles, and I couldn’t be happier. There are some things I will miss, but nowhere near badly enough to remain. I am going home to my city, my state, to be with my friends who, for some reason I am unable to understand, love me enough to want me back.

It’s finally time to say New York, here I come. At long last, I’m going home.

I wonder how long that terrible, fierce, angry joy at seeing a black First Family in the White House will continue to sneak up on me?

Some folks continue to cry “BUZZKILL!” and “KILLJOY!” when they are reminded of what this day really represents. I dont care. What this day really represents is lies, thievery, rape, enslavement, and, finally, the widespread genocide of the peoples who called this country home for centuries before we ever got here. To this day they are outcasts on their own land, suffering more than any other people have suffered on this soil. This is the meaning of this day.

The settlers who came to Plymouth plotted against them on this day all those many years ago, to get the Indians out of their way so they could have the bounty of this land for themselves. They took all the Indians had to offer – gifts and hospitality without which they never would have survived – and in return for this kindness and generosity they butchered the Indians, men, women, and children, and enslaved the ones they did not slaughter. The Indians were rounded up and forcibly removed from the lands they had inhabited for generation upon generation and corralled into tiny areas which we, the usurpers, generously told them they could have as long as we didnt change our minds about wanting it. This land was often land that nobody else wanted or could use; useless for agriculture, often without water and with very poor hunting.

Today is the National Day of Mourning for the native peoples of this land, and while I hope that those of you who will be gathering with your family enjoy your day, I entreat you to spare a thought to the real meaning of this day. As you say your grace of thanks over your tables, remind those who are gathered of the people who have nothing to be thankful for, and at whose expense this day comes, and has come for nearly half a thousand years. They paid for your food and your football games and your gatherings and special shopping deals with their lands, their families, their blood, and their lives.

They still walk among us, these people. And they watch us on this day, and on Columbus Day, and they know that they will never be understood by the majority of people who grow impatient and frustrated and hostile when confronted by reminders such as these. I have chosen to stand with them and risk the annoyance of my fellow citizens, because I cannot do otherwise and still live with myself. I cannot partake of the celebratory meal without the stories and the history reverberating through my mind, causing the bile to rise and the food to stick in my throat.

Give thanks for what you have, and give thanks too that you have never had to pay for anything in your life the way they have had to pay for everything in your life.

So, happy Thanksgiving, folks. Enjoy your meals, your gatherings, and your holiday – and it is yours alone. It’s certainly not theirs, and it’s not mine, either.

Text of Wampsutta’s 1970 speech:

“I speak to you as a man — a Wampanoag Man. I am a proud man, proud of my ancestry, my accomplishments won by a strict parental direction (“You must succeed – your face is a different color in this small Cape Cod community!”). I am a product of poverty and discrimination from these two social and economic diseases. I, and my brothers and sisters, have painfully overcome, and to some extent we have earned the respect of our community. We are Indians first – but we are termed “good citizens.” Sometimes we are arrogant but only because society has pressured us to be so.

“It is with mixed emotion that I stand here to share my thoughts. This is a time of celebration for you – celebrating an anniversary of a beginning for the white man in America. A time of looking back, of reflection. It is with a heavy heart that I look back upon what happened to my People.

“Even before the Pilgrims landed it was common practice for explorers to capture Indians, take them to Europe and sell them as slaves for 220 shillings apiece. The Pilgrims had hardly explored the shores of Cape Cod for four days before they had robbed the graves of my ancestors and stolen their corn and beans. Mourt’s Relation describes a searching party of sixteen men. Mourt goes on to say that this party took as much of the Indians’ winter provisions as they were able to carry.

“Massasoit, the great Sachem of the Wampanoag, knew these facts, yet he and his People welcomed and befriended the settlers of the Plymouth Plantation. Perhaps he did this because his Tribe had been depleted by an epidemic. Or his knowledge of the harsh oncoming winter was the reason for his peaceful acceptance of these acts. This action by Massasoit was perhaps our biggest mistake. We, the Wampanoag, welcomed you, the white man, with open arms, little knowing that it was the beginning of the end; that before 50 years were to pass, the Wampanoag would no longer be a free people.

What happened in those short 50 years? What has happened in the last 300 years? History gives us facts and there were atrocities; there were broken promises – and most of these centered around land ownership. Among ourselves we understood that there were boundaries, but never before had we had to deal with fences and stone walls. But the white man had a need to prove his worth by the amount of land that he owned. Only ten years later, when the Puritans came, they treated the Wampanoag with even less kindness in converting the souls of the so-called “savages.” Although the Puritans were harsh to members of their own society, the Indian was pressed between stone slabs and hanged as quickly as any other “witch.”

“And so down through the years there is record after record of Indian lands taken and, in token, reservations set up for him upon which to live. The Indian, having been stripped of his power, could only stand by and watch while the white man took his land and used it for his personal gain. This the Indian could not understand; for to him, land was survival, to farm, to hunt, to be enjoyed. It was not to be abused. We see incident after incident, where the white man sought to tame the “savage” and convert him to the Christian ways of life. The early Pilgrim settlers led the Indian to believe that if he did not behave, they would dig up the ground and unleash the great epidemic again.

“The white man used the Indian’s nautical skills and abilities. They let him be only a seaman — but never a captain. Time and time again, in the white man’s society, we Indians have been termed “low man on the totem pole.”

“Has the Wampanoag really disappeared? There is still an aura of mystery. We know there was an epidemic that took many Indian lives – some Wampanoags moved west and joined the Cherokee and Cheyenne. They were forced to move. Some even went north to Canada! Many Wampanoag put aside their Indian heritage and accepted the white man’s way for their own survival. There are some Wampanoag who do not wish it known they are Indian for social or economic reasons.

“What happened to those Wampanoags who chose to remain and live among the early settlers? What kind of existence did they live as “civilized” people? True, living was not as complex as life today, but they dealt with the confusion and the change. Honesty, trust, concern, pride, and politics wove themselves in and out of their [the Wampanoags'] daily living. Hence, he was termed crafty, cunning, rapacious, and dirty.

“History wants us to believe that the Indian was a savage, illiterate, uncivilized animal. A history that was written by an organized, disciplined people, to expose us as an unorganized and undisciplined entity. Two distinctly different cultures met. One thought they must control life; the other believed life was to be enjoyed, because nature decreed it. Let us remember, the Indian is and was just as human as the white man. The Indian feels pain, gets hurt, and becomes defensive, has dreams, bears tragedy and failure, suffers from loneliness, needs to cry as well as laugh. He, too, is often misunderstood.

“The white man in the presence of the Indian is still mystified by his uncanny ability to make him feel uncomfortable. This may be the image the white man has created of the Indian; his “savageness” has boomeranged and isn’t a mystery; it is fear; fear of the Indian’s temperament!

“High on a hill, overlooking the famed Plymouth Rock, stands the statue of our great Sachem, Massasoit. Massasoit has stood there many years in silence. We the descendants of this great Sachem have been a silent people. The necessity of making a living in this materialistic society of the white man caused us to be silent. Today, I and many of my people are choosing to face the truth. We ARE Indians!

“Although time has drained our culture, and our language is almost extinct, we the Wampanoags still walk the lands of Massachusetts. We may be fragmented, we may be confused. Many years have passed since we have been a people together. Our lands were invaded. We fought as hard to keep our land as you the whites did to take our land away from us. We were conquered, we became the American prisoners of war in many cases, and wards of the United States Government, until only recently.

“Our spirit refuses to die. Yesterday we walked the woodland paths and sandy trails. Today we must walk the macadam highways and roads. We are uniting We’re standing not in our wigwams but in your concrete tent. We stand tall and proud, and before too many moons pass we’ll right the wrongs we have allowed to happen to us.

“We forfeited our country. Our lands have fallen into the hands of the aggressor. We have allowed the white man to keep us on our knees. What has happened cannot be changed, but today we must work towards a more humane America, a more Indian America, where men and nature once again are important; where the Indian values of honor, truth, and brotherhood prevail.

“You the white man are celebrating an anniversary. We the Wampanoags will help you celebrate in the concept of a beginning. It was the beginning of a new life for the Pilgrims. Now, 350 years later it is a beginning of a new determination for the original American: the American Indian.

“There are some factors concerning the Wampanoags and other Indians across this vast nation. We now have 350 years of experience living amongst the white man. We can now speak his language. We can now think as a white man thinks. We can now compete with him for the top jobs. We’re being heard; we are now being listened to. The important point is that along with these necessities of everyday living, we still have the spirit, we still have the unique culture, we still have the will and, most important of all, the determination to remain as Indians. We are determined, and our presence here this evening is living testimony that this is only the beginning of the American Indian, particularly the Wampanoag, to regain the position in this country that is rightfully ours.”

http://www.nativevillage.org/Inspiration-/Thanksgiving%20The%20National%20Day%20of%20Mourning.htm

I’m not sure if the Congressional Gold Medal is even worth anything at all when this president is the one awarding it; furthermore, the Dalai Lama is so far and above the token that it’s like he has to stoop to accept it.

But being the gracious man that he is – he’s certainly a better human being than I could ever hope to be even in my wildest fantasies – the Dalai Lama will accept it with that incredible smile that lights up the world and that giggle that sounds like the stars themselves are laughing, so it’ll be okay, because he’s really not above or below anything, really; that’s the whole point, I suppose.

Still, though, it rankles me that this president, of all presidents, is the one to do the honours. I should let the Dalai Lama be my inspiration and rise above that kind of feeling – he of all people understands what having to deal with a corrupt and abusive government is all about, especially when you put it into perspective – but being the base, grubby dirtbag that I am, it’s just too close and the emotions are too raw for me to do it.

I’d say congratulations, but I just wouldn’t mean it. The “honour” is worthless to me, and the gesture is mystifying. My first thought was “hmm, I wonder what Shrub is up to now behind the cover of this gesture?” I just dont believe he’d do anything at all without a despicable ulterior motive. I wish the Dalai Lama would refuse it, to be honest. I really do. But he won’t, because he’s just not that kind of guy. That’s why he’s the Dalai Lama and I’m just some fat schmuck in LA.

Oh, and fuck China.

Dalai Lama brushes off China’s ire – CNN.com

Oh, and I was totally right about Snape. Woot!

Thanks, Coach Z!!!! <3<3<3

The BBC has a pretty good review with no spoilers. A little sappy but hey, theyre justifiably biased, aren’t they?

And then there’s this article, from whence cometh the following:

“I think it’s a little chutzpah of them to open the stores just to make money,” Associated Press news agency quoted Israeli member of parliament Avraham Ravitz as saying.

Well, you might say that, Mr. Ravitz; and others might say they think it’s a little chutzpah of YOU to force your religious beliefs on an entire nation. Live and let live, nu? From one fairy tale to another.

Forgive me, but I think Rowling’s tale is far more interesting anyway…and I dont have to beat my breast, rip my clothes, ostracize my friends, suspend my intellect, murder anyone, wage global war, perform acts of terrorism, discriminate against anyone, or otherwise suppress anyone’s human right to live and be free in peace and equality in any way to read it. Can’t say that about your preferred tale of choice, now can you? Laws based on religion are stupid, intolerant, and backwards.

Now be quiet and go read something. I recommend “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.” Or, if you want something more challenging, give “Lord of the Rings” a try.

You might actually enjoy yourself for a change!

This happens to me a lot whenever something strikes a deep chord within me, and what usually happens is that time slides by and I never say anything relevant.

That may well happen this time, too. But before that time slides by too quickly, there is one person I had to write about: Professor Liviu Librescu.

Thirty-two people were killed on Monday by one desperately troubled man named Cho Seung-Hui, who at the end took his own life even as police were bursting into the building on the floor below. For most of those who were murdered, we will never know the immense potential that could have been realized: what might they have been capable of, had they been allowed to flourish in this world? What would their discoveries have been?

One of the professors who was murdered was Kevin Granata, who was considered one of the top five biomechanics researchers in this country. His research centered around muscle and reflex response and robotics, including computer simulation of walking and running. His work helped thousands of children with CP walk again. He was only 45 years old. He may have been the man who would have given all victims of cerebral palsy the chance to be free to walk and run. We will never know.

Another of the murdered professors – there were five in all who were murdered in addition to all the students – was G.V. Loganathan, a professor of civil engineering and environmental engineering so well loved by the students he taught that they gave him the award for faculty member of the year over and over again, despite the difficulty of his classes. In 2006, he was one of three recipients for the Wine Awards for Excellence in Teaching. He won the Dean’s Award for Excellence in Teaching. He was killed while leading a class in advanced hydrology.

And then there was Professor Liviu Librescu.

Professor Librescu was a Romanian Jew, an Israeli citizen, and a professor of engineering whose work has been cited more than a thousand times in the technical journals.

Student Jo Anne Meirovitch remembers him as a man with such polished, old world manners that he would kiss your hand when he greeted you. He was attentive and considerate, always reaching out to his students, as was the habit of many of his colleagues on the faculty at Virginia Tech. He was extremely highly regarded by his peers and by his students, and was very much involved in their lives, their education, and their research.

Librescu was a survivor of the Shoah, interred in a Soviet labour camp after his father was deported by the Nazis, and later lived in Romania under the dictatorship of Nicolae Ceausescu. Because Ceausescu did not permit collaboration of scientists and engineers outside Romania, Librescu requested and was granted permission to emigrate to Israel – but only after being fired from his position and prevented from leaving the country for a year because, he was told, he had knowledge the government considered top secret. Menachem Begin personally intervened on his behalf, and he was finally allowed to leave Romania for Israel with his wife. During a sabbatical visit to the United States, Professor Librescu finally moved to Virginia in 1986 and began teaching at Virginia Tech.

At just after 9:00 on the morning of 16 April 2007, this man who had survived the Nazis and a brutal communist dictatorship was teaching a class when gunfire and screaming erupted from the classroom next to his in Norris Hall. As Cho Seung-Hui tried to break in, Librescu barricaded the door with his own body, urging his students to flee. They escaped out the windows, and as the last student to leave the classroom, Alec Calhoun – who looked over his shoulder and saw his professor holding door shut as Cho tried to force his way in – leapt from the sill, Liviu Librescu was shot through the door and killed.

Monday was Israeli Holocaust Remembrance Day.

Many, many bright lights were extinguished on Monday morning, and the loss is almost unbearable. But out of all of them, this is the death that has stricken me most. Since I learned about Liviu Librescu, I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind.. At random moments during the day, regardless of what I’m doing, I think of him and I begin to cry. To be very honest – and I never want to be tested this way – I dont know if I could have left him there alone. I dont know if I have the ability to do something like that. I wouldn’t be able to stand it; someone would have had to drag me away. And I know that I would have found it almost impossible to live with myself afterward if I had simply fled without doing anything at all to help him.

It’s not out of any sense of courage on my own part; it’s just ingrained in me that I cannot leave while someone else is in need. An elderly man who is struggling single-handedly against an armed intruder is in need. I dont think anything could have made me leave him alone while I saved myself. I do not point the finger at any of the students who fled, and I dont blame them for being terrified in any way. We cannot help who we are, and we all act very differently in panic situations than we would if we were thinking clearly.

But all the same, I cannot help but wonder why not one single student – not one, out of all of them whose lives he saved that day – remained behind with him, or insisted that he save himself instead. That makes me sadder than anything.

I just wanted to post about this man’s life, his struggles, and his murder – before time got by me and I lost it all to the hopelessly jumbled thoughts and emotions. The word “hero” is used so often now; if you stub your toe and someone offers you a lollipop, theyre a hero.

In a world that is suddenly full of heroes who do nothing at all, here was a giant of a man who espoused every single noble attribute that word could ever hope to entail. He stands out as a shining beacon of humanity on one of the darkest days in our country’s history, and he should be forever remembered for his selfless deeds.

Thank you. For everythink.