Praise to thee, our Alma Mater

4 02 2015

I loathe Scott Walker.

That his politics are not my own should not, of course, surprise you, but that’s not what’s loathe-inducing about him.

No, what I hate about him is not so much that he’s conservative (whatever the hell that means, these days), but that he’s successful: he wants to wreck shit, and he does.

He wanted to destroy public unions in the state, and has pretty much done so.

He wanted to open up the great north woods of Wisconsin to mining interests, and has pretty much done so.

He wanted to slash Planned Parenthood’s presence in the state, and has done so.

He wanted to make a point about Obamacare, and has thus deprived poor Wisconsinites access to the expanded Medicaid program within the ACA.

And now he’s aiming for the University of Wisconsin system, seeking to further the process of privatization (which began decades ago) not just by further cutting state aid—$300 million in his latest budget—but by attacking the very collegiality of university governance itself.

Oh, and the swipe that professors don’t work hard enough? That’s a freebie.

The University of Wisconsin system, which has existed in various forms for almost 170 years. Compared to the University of Bologna or the University of Paris, each established in the Middle Ages, that’s nothing, but it is as old as the state itself (both were established in 1848), and has arguable played a key role in the growth of that state.

Not just in terms of economics and industry, but in terms of an ideal and a promise, a public institution in the best sense of the term.

And now Walker wants to cut it down to size, to cut it loose from both the citizens of the state and the citizens of the university, to turn it into a giant work-training facility.

And I loathe him because he might just succeed in bringing my beloved alma mater to its knees.

There is one bright spot: an early draft of a bill had deleted the phrase that “the search for truth” is “basic to the purpose of the sytem”, but apparently that was “a drafting error”, and the search for truth remains.

I doubt very much that it was a drafting error, and has only been re-inserted after its deletion was publicized. Perhaps this means that this terrible idea can be stopped.

But I had thought all of those previous terrible ideas would be stopped, and they weren’t. In fact, they were either popular enough to get him/not-unpopular enough to prevent him from being re-elected.

So, yes, I admit it: I loathe him because he’s effective. He’s good at wrecking what I believe makes Wisconsin a decent place to live, to work, to learn, and to wonder, to think that there could be something more, something better.

~~~

At least he’s given me a theme to use for his presidential campaign: Walker—Wrecking Ball 2016.





Monday, Monday

2 02 2015

It’s a Monday in February, so how about some beached cats?

001

Her seal pose

This does not look comfortable to me.

This does not look comfortable to me.

Washed up by the pink sea on a teal beach.

Washed up by the pink sea on a teal beach.

All appendages accounted for.

All appendages accounted for.

That pink blanket, by the way, should probably be relegated to the closet, but I am a damned sentimentalist stubborn about some things: that’s the blanket that was on my bed as kid.

Anyway, Jasper seems to like it.





So pick up that shovel

2 02 2015

As someone who used to live in the Boston metro area—Somerville, to be exact—this story surprises me not at all:

park snow shot

Except for my one year in Albuquerque (and, arguably, my time in Brooklyn), I have lived in snow-infested areas, and in all of these areas EXCEPT ONE, they knew how to deal with snow.

First, you plow the main streets (“snow emergency” streets in Minneapolis, e.g.), then one side of the street (even, say), then the other (yes, odd). This meant that you needed to move your car off those to-be-plowed streets, on which, after they had been plowed, you could then park your car.

There was also the general sense that, after you shoveled out your car and drove away, your slot was fair game. As someone who almost always cleared the hell out of her space, I tended to think I hope someone appreciates what a great fucking job I did clearing that spot—I didn’t want all that work going to waste.

But not in the Boston metro area, no. There, you cleaned out your spot and then you marked it: with a traffic cone, a trash barrel, a lawn chair, perhaps an old appliance (really!), and if someone took that spot, well, you were within your rights to do some damage.

And by damage I mean damage: if you only packed snow all over and around the interlopers car, that’s nothing. A broken headlight, a flat tire, a keyed side panel, and, if you were caught in person, a fistfight, yeah, these wouldn’t surprise anyone.

I should note that this utterly-fucking-nuts sensibility likely had something to do with the fact that, with the exception of the snow emergency routes, only one side of a street would be plowed (and then only eventually)*; given the difficulty of finding parking in good weather, you didn’t want to lose your claim to a spot in bad.

*I once asked why this was, and was told something about having nowhere to put all the snow. Uh huh. Montréal is a fucking island but they somehow managed to figure it out. And Fall River ain’t no Montréal—or Boston.

Still, a gun is going a bit too far; perhaps had he merely punched out a windshield, nobody woulda said nothin’ but wicked righteous.

h/t Raw Story