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Voices: Of Delusion and Crusades

2005-10-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

Pastafarianism is barely four months old but you’ve probably already heard of the Flying Spaghetti Monster even if you haven’t personally been touched by “his noodly appendage.” In perhaps the sanest response yet to the nation’s intelligent design debate, Bobby Henderson demanded that if ID is allowed into the classroom, FSM must get equal time (see venganza.org).

As a Pennsylvanian, and perhaps more importantly as an agnostic, I’ve been holding my breath in anticipation of the results of the ongoing “Dover Panda Trial.” The case should easily be won by the plaintiffs — parents who insist the Dover School Board’s required alternative to evolution statement is a violation of the separation of church and state. The statement specifically and solely recommends the intelligent design resource Of Pandas and People to those students interested in alternative theories.

Book publisher The Foundation for Thought and Ethics has removed overt religious references from its organizational mission and its ID textbook — the second edition literally replaced “creationism” with “intelligent design”— for fear book sales might suffer. Translation: the better to brainwash you with, my dear. The FTE’s articles of incorporation state the organization’s primary purpose as one of religious education — specifically “making known the Christian gospel and understanding of the Bible and the light it sheds on the academic and social issues of our day.”

The case should be easily won by the plaintiffs. Referring students to an article of religious propaganda is an obvious violation. But the Dover Panda Trial decision will not be made by a jury. It will be made by one man — Judge John E. Jones III, appointed in 2002 by President George W. Bush a.k.a. the man appointed by the intelligent designer himself to lead the Christian crusade.

The Dover school district’s star witness of the week, biochemistry professor Michael Behe, pointed to students’ misconception of evolution as fact. Last I knew scientists were pretty open about Darwin’s THEORY of Evolution being a THEORY. Students who get to ninth grade without understanding what does and does not constitute a theory are evidence of a lousy educational system. They don’t need to be referred to Of Pandas and People; they need to take a few courses in critical thinking.

The primary purpose of science is the acquisition of knowledge. There’s no hidden agenda. Science never claimed to have all the answers. The whole idea has been to acquaint students with the knowledge we’ve amassed and to present them with the current prevailing theories so they can grow up to fill in the blanks. Science — unlike most religions — doesn’t hesitate to admit when it’s wrong. Astronomers weren’t embarrassed by the recent discovery that stars were born inside a black hole, previously thought only to consume. They were excited and couldn’t wait to tell everyone.

But then the Dover Panda Trial isn’t about education. Nor is it about training our children to think. It’s about politics and that’s not a theory, it’s a fact as plain as the eyeliner on Harriet Miers’ face. It’s about the Dover School Board trying to push its shared personal agenda in the backdoor. It’s about the crusade to save the children of the morally weak. The leaders of the FTE not only believe that the scientific curriculum is “hostile” to Christianity but also that public education undermines moral values. Two of them wrote in 1983, that “the current deplorable condition of our schools results in large part from denying the dignity of man created in God’s image.”

Conversely, for all the debate about Darwin’s theory, he can’t be accused of pushing a personal or political agenda. A self-proclaimed agnostic, the scientist personally believed that “the mystery of the beginning of all things is insoluble by us.”

We may never know if the panda’s sixth finger (sometimes called a thumb though it’s not opposable like ours) was put in place by a Christian god or by evolution and natural selection or by the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Our lack of knowledge is less important than what we do know — that the “thumb” just so happens to be the perfect tool for processing bamboo which just so happens to be the surprising sole source of food for these unlikely vegetarians. Our schools need to focus on passing that knowledge on to kids and inspiring them to learn more.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 20 October 2005.

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Free to Be You and Me

2005-08-25T00:15:00.000-07:00

There's no price too high for freedom, so be careful where you tread. - Clint Black's "I Raq and Roll."

It's been two weeks since Secretary Donald H. Rumsfeld announced that the Department of Defense would organize the first ever "America Supports You Freedom Walk."

Yet, other than the bewildered response of a handful of journalists and bloggers, very little has been said about the government's foray into a realm previously inhabited only by nonprofit fundraisers and protesting activists.

The purpose of the September 11 event is confusingly threefold. One - it aims to honor the victims of the 9/11 attacks. Two - it is a tribute to America's military personnel. Third - it is a celebration of freedom. The 2-mile walk will begin at the Pentagon, traverse Arlington Cemetery and the Potomac River and end at the National Mall where country star Clint Black will give a free concert.

Most seem to agree that the Pentagon has every right to commemorate 9/11 - it was one of the attacked sites, after all. But even families of the victims have accused the administration of shamelessly exploiting the day's horror and loss to bolster support for its increasingly unpopular war in Iraq. Rumsfeld's Freedom Walk announcement came only three days after Cindy Sheehan showed up in Crawford, TX and the mainstream media decided that perhaps the tide had changed. Supposedly realizing too late that the Freedom Walk was to be a support the troops rally as well as a memorial, The Washington Post yanked its sponsorship of the event (other sponsors include Lockheed Martin and Subway) and cited potential political controversy because it appeared the Bush administration was again trying to link 9/11 and Iraq. Other critics pointed with revulsion to Clint Black's jingoistic "I Raq and Roll," and the fact that AmericaSupportsYou.com violated civil liberties by requiring walkers to register their personal information via an online form no later than two days before the so-called Freedom Walk.

Personally, I'm just sick and tired of the administration's abuse of the word "freedom."

It's become the quack cure-all of political rhetoric and perhaps the most abused word of the 21st Century. Operation Enduring Freedom was followed by Operation Iraqi Freedom. In his second inaugural address, Bush used the words "free," "freedom" and "liberty" almost 50 times in 20 minutes. And it's not just the Bush administration anymore - I've recently heard two different local news anchors segue into a story about the region's active military personnel using the phrase "the fight for freedom." As in, "the soldiers are taking a short break in the "fight for freedom." Thanks guys - I hadn't realized that's how journalists were supposed to refer to the war now.

The best guess I can make for why the speechwriters haven't been sent to fetch a thesaurus is that the charm of the word freedom is conveniently open to interpretation. It means something different to everyone and yet remains unthreatening. Freeing the people of Iraq while simultaneously protecting the freedom of Americans -- that's the kind of double entendre dreams are made of. Do you think Bush has pondered the irony that "free" is a synonym for "liberal" as in his liberal enemies, who ironically are his enemies because they'd like more restrictions placed on corporate rights and would prefer fewer restrictions placed on individual freedoms? Yeah, he probably counts "freedoms" jumping the fence in order to fall asleep at night.

Because of the freedom that our soldiers are sacrificing their lives to protect, Bush implied earlier this week, it's Cindy Sheehan's right to protest. Not that having the right makes her right. In fact, according to Bush, she couldn't be more wrong. Ignoring the finding of the latest Gallup poll that 54 percent of the country thinks the war in Iraq was a mistake, he's taken the liberty of conducting his own research. The families of military personnel he's spoken to (everywhere, we can suppose, but at a funeral for one of the fallen) don't agree with Sheehan. OK, sure. Let's just hope the Defense Department's Freedom Walk doesn't become a freedom of speech exercise between mourning military families as pissed off as Sheehan about the freedom the Bush administration has taken in justifying the war, and those who plan to walk the two miles chanting the lyrics to "I Raq and Roll" in unison.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 25 August 2005

Send email to:apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Half-Full of It

2005-07-28T00:12:00.000-07:00

(D)icky Santorum thinks devaluing working moms is going to get him reelected. Sen. Sherwood's fan club doesn't get how misrepresenting himself (a.k.a. hypocrisy) should subtract from the public's trust. Dove's recent ad campaign featuring normal-sized women's bodies has caused uproar of controversy.

Yes, the latest news has been bleak. The freedoms of the fairer sex are in greater danger than we ever imagined possible. The only sane reaction is to retreat into fantasy.

But wait - could the conservative vibes possibly infiltrate Hollywood's liberal propaganda machine? I decided to analyze the box office smash Wedding Crashers for signs.

OK, so maybe it did start as a desperate ploy to escape from the office last Thursday. It's not like Gene Padden is going to deconstruct the movie from a feminist perspective. Someone's got to be the watchdog. And if ec/dc doesn't wave a good pop culture analysis in front of your nose once in a while, well let's face it - you just might forget what it smells like.

Turns out the movie boasts an impressive and obviously calculated checklist of redeeming qualities that easily win over the most defensive female audience members.

* The movie's trite and outdated assumption that women are turned on by the mere notion of marriage is corrected when Claire Cleary (Rachel McAdams) breaks into giggles at her sister's ridiculously hokey wedding vows. Oh, how that moment melted the icy shield surrounding my cold feminist heart!

* And then, she gets to play football. Not that she's any good at it. John (Owen Wilson) has to fix the game so she can score, but hey... we haven't come that long a way, baby.

* It's no wonder that as divorce attorneys, John and Jeremy (Vince Vaughn) might be a little disillusioned with conventional romance. Your grandparent's dating structure doesn't make much sense in today's world. Gee, give me a nervously calculated tier with ever-changing rules of etiquette or the breathtaking romance of spontaneity.

* Plus, these guys put some serious time and effort into the art of wooing a woman and showing her a magical time. I'll give them points for that. Hint: aloof equals boring.

* If you're not a size zero with implants, you have no right to be offended because there's no chance either one of these guys would try to pick you up anyway.

* The movie's definition of soul mate - "your soul's recognition of its counterpoint in another" - implies equality. That's all we ever asked for.

* I may have started out asking, "why is the redhead always the crazy one?" but I ended up fascinated that Jeremy turned the tables on tradition by not falling for Claire (Isla Fisher) until he finds out she's got a more promiscuous past than she initially let on.

* Champagne is the boys' drink of choice.

* Karma punishes the guy who has no conscience. As Jeremy is put through hell, the female audience is spoon-fed revenge against every womanizer who made her feel just as insignificantly anonymous as every other belt notch.

* The movie's most erotic line is "I'm going to tell her the truth."

* But in the 21st Century we would hope that women have come far enough a long to establish themselves as special without the endorsement of a man's commitment.

* The greatest love in this movie is between these two friends - Jeremy and John. The triumph isn't really that they get the girls; it's that they restore their friendship and evolve to the next level together. Because people can and do change and sometimes it's a scary thing, but it's not a bad thing. That's cool - men shouldn't be too macho to love each other.

* Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn may have looked old enough to be the fathers of their romantic interests, but on closer inspection it turns out that both Fisher and McAdams were born in '76, making them less than a decade younger than their co-stars. So they just look like teenagers.

* You couldn't blame McAdams or Fisher anyway. What actress in her right mind would turn down the opportunity to flesh out such a promising shell of a character? And both ladies really held up against their significantly better paid male co-stars.

Feminists relax. You can go see the movie and laugh just as loudly as everyone else.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 28 July 2005

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Veruca's Fault?

2005-06-30T00:01:00.000-07:00

I've had Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on the brain since seeing the preview this weekend (prior to a movie I won't admit in print to having seen).

It will be weeks before critics decide if Tim Burton's remake has improved on the original, but the film's gluttonous storyline is surely more appropriate than ever.

An Associated Press story published in papers across the country this week defined American's twenty-somethings as the "entitlement generation." While I was at first tempted to agree, I've since decided that the kids are just a scapegoat - one symptom among many of a greater social illness.

If Veruca Salt's temper tantrums hadn't been entertained time and time again, would she still demand instant satisfaction of her every desire?

Of course not. Not unless she saw her parents acting that way. It's like the classic anti-drug commercial tried to tell us it would be. They learned if from watching you, OK.

The 21st Century is the age of medical malpractice lawsuits, prescription pills to cure every real and imagined ill, and people becoming famous for no good reason whatsoever.

ABC's latest reality smash hit Dancing with the Stars was teased with scandal last week when a telephone answering service complained it received votes for Seinfeld's J. Peterman (a.k.a. John O'Hurley). No one's been able to prove that ABC printed the wrong number, so it's understood that a whole bunch of excited viewers must have made the same dialing error. Accidents happen, right? Not according to Klein's Mount Pleasant Answering Service. The company's owner continues to complain, either actually expecting to be reimbursed for the $500 it lost because of the calls or just trying to maximize the free publicity.

Sometimes bad things happen. And sometimes they even happen to good people. And - I know this is shocking, but - sometimes there isn't anyone to blame. Suck it up and deal.Like parents used to say generations ago, "Nobody likes a crybaby."

If today's twenty-somethings believe getting something for nothing really is possible it's only because their elders forgot to include a course in reality among their lesson plans. Scranton has been plagued by an epic battle between pseudo-populists who insist free swimming is an inalienable right and those who say a small fee will instill swimmers with a sense of respect and responsibility. I won't pretend I don't have an opinion on the issue. I've decided to teach my kids that nothing is free and if they aren't willing to work, save and sacrfice to get it, they must not really want it that bad.

What? You have to study to get an "A?" Come on, since when?

Wanna lose weight and shape up? There's only one way to do it. No matter how many miracle fad diets and pills and machines they put on the market, there will always only be one real solution. And it's the same thing physicians have been telling us for decades - eat right and exercise. Yeah, it's hard work and it requires disicipline. How bad do you want it?

Last I checked, it wasn't the twenty-somethings among us supporting the $40 billion dollar a year diet industry.

My kids have already learned that if they buy it at the dollar store, it's probably going to break. They'd rather own a couple of quality items than a shopping cart full illusions.

In a world where wealth and status symbols have become more desirable than accomplishment and experience, we need to start choosing our priorities and battles a little more carefully. Is free swimming really the most crucial issue facing Scranton right now?

The reason people are making fun of Paula Abdul's manicure crusade is not because her sudden passion for sterile nail salons is the only one she's ever shared with us. It's because the severity of infection she claimed to get is so rare there's hardly a problem.

I want to have my cake and eat it too, daddy!

Who told Paula vanity was risk-free?

-- alicia grega-pikul, 30 June 2005

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Play Dates

2005-06-02T00:01:00.000-07:00

Summer is traditionally thought of as an approved time to be lazy.

Take a summer job if you have to, but even better if you can kick back under the shade of a tree along a riverbank with no more ambition than to watch the waves roll by.

As a recovering workaholic, I've never had much use for laziness. I've come to accept that perfection is not the ideal, but I still swell with contempt at the thought of wasting time. I can't fathom why people would rather complain about a mess for longer than it takes to just clean it up and get rid of it. Because laziness is not a lack of energy. Being lazy isn't the same thing as being tired or being depressed or being bored - yet, it's somehow a combination of all three. Laziness is a lack of will. It's a lack of inspiration.

The comment used to be uttered so often in response to frolicking children it was cliché - "Boy, if you could bottle that energy, you'd make a fortune!"

These days children don't frolic. Well, they do until about age 9 or so when being cool becomes more important having fun. Not so coincidently, it's about the same time they start groaning when you ask them for a favor. When they start sleeping in on Saturday instead of waking you up at 7 a.m. When they start to see their younger siblings as embarrassments instead of playmates. When they stop going outside to play and start going out to "hang out."

You could blame technology for bringing on this premature discard of childhood joy. Or the shamefully small sums budgeted to school arts programs. Or the media's deification of pre-teen plastic pop idols. Blame corporations for brainwashing us into insatiable consumers if it makes you feel better. Because no matter who you pin the disease on, laziness is still just a symptom. Thankfully, the disease - let's call it "insufficient recreation syndrome" until someone comes up with a snazzier title - is completely manageable.

When all is said and done, laziness is the inevitable result of poor recreation habits. That's why it starts to display itself at the same time we stop playing. If you don't consciously replenish yourself with exciting and enriching experiences, you're eventually going to become discouraged and disillusioned.

An artist friend of mine recently lamented about what he considered a "gentrification of the art community."

"They feel like they have to act sophisticated instead of silly," he sadly observed.

When we start to devalue some experiences in pursuit of only hipper, trendier ones, we close our minds to a huge realm of unclassified experience. We stifle the instinct to explore the world around us and start asking questions like "Well, what is it?" "I don't get it?" and "Why should I?" We start looking over our shoulder to see if anyone's looking. We spend the evening "relaxing in front of the TV" and then wonder why it's so hard to get out of bed in the morning. Wait, why are we relaxing? You know where all those people who are always exercising all the time get all that energy? It's from exercising all the time! Their hearts still pound with adrenaline on a regular basis and they therefore feel invigorated.

But exercise alone is not play. Play demands that we unleash our inhibitions. It asks us to turn off our inner censor and bravely conceive of new and creative ways to interact with our environment. It insists that we sing loud even as we're still making up the words. In order to play we must succumb to silliness.

By all means lay back and work on your tan this summer, but this time, instead of just sticking your big toe in the water, think about how it would feel to spontaneously jump in and splash and scream like you used to do when you were eight years old. Before that older, cooler kid rolled his eyes, made fun of you for holding your nose and told you to grow up.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 2 june 2005

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Oh, Give Me A Home

2005-04-24T00:05:00.000-07:00

It is in the shelter of each other that the people live. - Irish proverb

Artists are known to float around with their heads in one proverbial cloud or another. Their eyes may focus more keenly on the future than the ground in front of them but it doesn't mean their feet aren't on the ground.

Believe me, I've been known to trip over shadows.

After more than four years working at electric city, it's been brought to my attention that I live in a different Scranton than most people. The Scranton I live in is an energetic, creative city pulsing with curiosity and desire. It is a community is disproportionately composed of artists, activists and visionaries. And it not a figment of any of our imaginations. Consider that a decade ago it was commonplace to gripe about life in NEPA. Today, it's a major faux pas.

You can chalk it up to economic growth, a restoration of the pride or simply the inevitable upswing of the social pendulum. But at the end of the day, Scranton would still be a boring place to live were it not for the creative soul radiating excitement through the city.

Such creative contributions were taken for granted for decades in cities thought to be more sophisticated than Scranton. That's why I skipped out of last fall's Artspace presentation on a shock wave of affirmation, a huge grin hanging from my dropped jaw.

The Minneapolis-based nonprofit's compelling Chris Velasco spoke to Scranton Tomorrow's visionary leaders about the municipal contributions proven to result from a building constructed or renovated expressly for artists' housing. The premise has been proven time and again -- after making a formerly washed up district desirable to live in, artists have to move out because the real estate values have increased so much they can no longer afford to live there. (That and once something becomes trendy it's just not that hip any more. Real artists would rather move on and create something new. Spread the love, as it were.) This is why Manhattan's cutting edge of cool is always moving - from Greenwich Village to SoHo to the East Village to Williamsburg to Astoria to the South Bronx or Fort Greene or Greenpoint or where ever the hell the hot spot is these days.

Meanwhile, back in Scranton, it seems the movers and shakers actually believe in the value artists bring to the community. They want artists to be part of a thriving downtown scene so much so that they're committed to making affordable housing available to artists - housing that will remain affordable no matter how high property values may skyrocket.

Last week, Velasco gave a second presentation revealing the heartening results of a feasibility study. Apparently our local market really can support such a project -25 to 35 apartments with high ceilings and lots of windows and high speed Internet access connected by a common multipurpose gallery/performance/community meeting space and maybe a retail storefront. Not surprisingly, Artspace's online survey of artists currently residing within 150 miles of Scranton found more than three hopeful tenants willing to committ to moving into the proposed building.

It's not just the prospect of a work/live space with fixed, affordable rent that's got painters, sculptors, writers, actors, dancers, musicians, photographers, etc., waiting in line. Being embraced as an important and valuable sector of society is awfully nice, too. And most enticing, I suspect, is the opportunity to live within a synergistic colony of other creative, imaginative art-producing people in an environment of limitless inspiration.

The Artspace housing project is a beautiful dream that won't necessarily come true. For as promising as the feasiblity study results are, a suitable site has yet to be pinpointed before construction/renovation challenges can fully be fathomed. If and when the project does come to fruition, cons will arise. Naysayers will write disparaging letters to the editor and complain wherever local feedback is allowed. Some artists will be upset when they aren't accepted to move in. Those that do move in will face high stress levels. Results will be expected and they'll be held up to the light of scrutiny. The prospect of so much excitement in the art community is awesome. But the project would essentially be a microcosm. Because Scranton is already a city ehanced by its community of artists.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 24 March 2005

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Absurd Recreation

2005-03-10T00:31:00.000-08:00

I thought the world could not possibly put forth anything more ridiculous than Debbie — excuse me, Deborah — Gibson’s assertion that her Playboy photos were better than those of ‘80s rival Tiffany. Then I discovered extreme ironing. You really have to see it to believe it, but the ‘sport’ is exactly what it sounds like. Participants iron their laundry while engaged in the extreme outdoor activity of their choice.

I’ve learned to accept the reality that many things in life do not make sense. For instance, it boggles my mind that United States officials could waste a week’s worth of the world’s time at this year’s Global Women’s Conference while waiting for the U.N. to amend its declaration to better reflect the view of a conservative anti-choice American minority. Yet I’ve come to expect such grandstanding from the Bush Administration.

Yes, some absurdities piss us off: others make us laugh. And it’s the latter kind we turn to with gratitude when the other kind pile up and poison our perspective. I guess that’s why I spent longer than necessary browsing the photo gallery at www.extremeironing.com this week. I was hooked from the moment I glimpsed one young man standing knee-deep in ocean water with his torso bent over an ironing board. I laughed out loud and to the dismay of my co-workers (well, Gene Padden) I continued to giggle for almost an hour. It was happy imagining people ironing while whitewater rafting or rock climbing or while attempting gymnastic feats. Move over AFV (like KFC, America’s Funniest Videos went out with the 20th Century); nothing’s funnier than the sight of a man bungee-ironing in his backyard.

It was a sight that made the recent New York Times story that ‘$200,000 is the new $100,000’ easier to digest. Apparently an income of $100,000 is no longer enough to fund the mythical American Dream. There’s not even enough money left to put the kids through college and take a vacation, one interview subject groaned. Granted, I’d rather pay rent in Scranton than New York City or San Francisco any day. But I’m thinking the redefinition of luxuries as staples and of fringe benefits as entitlements is an even greater factor here than inflation of expenses. Yet, with a national deficit so large, it would be absurd to expect our individual citizens (at least those who count, meaning those above the poverty line) to restrain themselves. OK. Stop. Breathe. Extreme ironing take me away.

Wait a minute — how is ironing on railroad tracks extreme? Even I could do that. It sure looks funny though. That’s it. I don’t care if it’s already March, I’m ordering the Extreme Ironing 2005 calendar. Bear with me a moment; I think I’m on to something. What if extreme ironists mean to put forth a deeper message? Retreat from the everyday demands of life is no longer possible for many of us. In this new century, we are expected to answer our cell phones 24-7 and answer our email daily without fail. Have the drudgeries of every day life — exemplified here by ironing — become inescapable? Is recreation but a fleeting illusion? Yes, you can climb Mt. Everest but not without a metaphorical ironing board on your back and wrinkled shirt on the itinerary. Hmmm...

Some things strike us as odd because we lack sufficient information to properly characterize them. Take last week’s trial of accused child molester Doug Lane. One witness reportedly came all the way from Missouri to testify on behalf of Lane’s reputation in the Balloon Federation of America. Out of context, it sounds random. Was there no one closer who could speak for the man? Had he no weightier affiliations? But maybe when the BFA’s got your back, that’s all you need. I mean, who am I to knock extreme ironing until I’ve tried it? Maybe I would find it exhilarating.

It may shock you as much as the bad reviews of Kirstie Alley’s “Fat Actress,” but I’m not real big on cleaning house. A 1940s-retro Anne Taintor postcard of a reclining, smiling woman sits on my desk. It reads “I dreamed my whole house was clean.” Some days, that’s about as grand as my daydreams get. In fact, the first luxury I decide to make a staple might be someone to do that dirty work for me.

I sit here and laugh at extreme iron enthusiasts as a means by which to avoid my frustration with all that’s ugly in the world. But the greatest absurdity might be that they, not I, have stumbled onto something. They’ve found a way to transform a tedious household chore into a pleasurable pastime. In what way is that ridiculous?

-- alicia grega-pikul, 10 March 2005

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Surprising Allure

2005-02-24T00:27:00.000-08:00

Hands up. How many of you thought actor Woody Harrelson was just a balding pothead endowed with boyish charm and a sh*t-eating grin?

Nothing to be embarrassed about. That's what I thought before reading the March/April edition of Breathe Magazine.

Turns out Harrelson is a serious eco-conscious activist. He maintains a disciplined organic raw food vegan diet and drives a biodiesel VW bug around the completely solar powered Maui community where he lives. He believes so powerfully in individual action that he and his wife started VoiceYourself.com with the goal of illustrating how easy it can be to walk the walk. Surely it's easier when you're filthy rich and live in an organic farming community in Hawaii, but most of us do have room for improvement. The interview reads sincere and notably humble. Even more surprising than Harrelson's born-again sense of responsibility is the fact that he credits his epiphany to Ted Danson. Uh-huh. I don't want to talk about it. Read the article if you really want to know.

It's refreshing when someone surprises us. But the dark side is that we first must have underestimated him. The morning after I read the Harrelson article I almost gagged on my coffee when I read that Hunter S. Thompson killed himself. Given the little I really knew of the "gonzo journalist," I had no right to be surprised. Yet, I had apparently come to the conclusion that Thompson was more likely to put a bullet in a complete stranger or his best friend or maybe even his wife before he would turn the gun on himself. He must have been sick, I concluded. Didn't want to make everyone suffer a long, agonizing death or worse yet, wind up like poor food-tube tied Terry Shiavo. Wait a minute - where was I getting these ideas?

I had read a great anti-Bush essay back in November but I hadn't read a single novel. I remember a feature story on Johnny Depp when he was studying Thompson for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. And of course, there was the movie itself.

I think I hated it. Don't get me wrong; I thought the acting was fantastic. The art direction was commendable. But I was appalled by Thompson's excesses and by the selfishness that justified it. I remember walking out the movie theater exit into a blinding Tucson heat. I felt nauseated, disoriented and vaguely afraid. I didn't speak for hours.

Based on that knowledge alone, a self-destructive death would seem to be the obvious choice. So why was I surprised? Maybe it was because of the respect that he garnered despite the outlandish behavior. I've read recently that he used to submit pages of upon pages of complete crap and his editors willingly sifted through it to find the gem they hoped was buried there. Celebrity alone could not inspire such tolerance. He must have been a legitimate genius journalist.

When people surprise us, it means they've stepped out of character or we've expanded our thinking. For example, when Bill O'Reilly says something genuinely compassionate, surprise is a logical response. Most intriguing is that we tend to be impressed, even when the surprising behavior disturbs us.

"I wouldn't have thought him capable of that," we might say. Clearly there was more to so-and-so than we had imagined and we therefore give him some kind credit for it.

We say it's wrong to judge people or to make assumptions about their character, but the truth, is we do it every day. We have to because there's just not enough time in the day to not apply some kind of filter. There's just no time for legitimate research. We screen people with hearsay and instinct. We subconsciously interpret nuances we don't even know we've detected. It's the body language we glimpse out of the corner of our eye. The tone of his voice on the phone. The stylishness of her outfit. The people on the fringes of our life become "the one who spits when she talks" and "the hot delivery guy." We chase down facts on those who intrigue us and the rest, like Britney Spears, are necessarily cursed to remain defined by a limited scope of knowledge.

Thanks to Breathe, Woody Harrelson has attracted more of my attention. I'll notice next time I see his name on a list or hear his voice on TV. While it's too late for Hunter S. Thompson on one hand, he's definitely attracted our attention. When someone dies, it's kind of like last call. You pay your respects which means pausing to think beyond the filters. You pick up the book you never had time to read. You open the door to surprise.

-- Alicia Grega-Pikul, 24 February 2005

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Valentine's Day Massacre

2005-02-10T00:25:00.000-08:00

"Of course, personally, I think it would be tacky to wear diamonds before I'm forty." - Holly Golightly, Breakfast at Tiffany's

All my hopes to rise above cynicism appear to be in vain.
I'm seeing red again this Valentine's Day.
Literally.

There are at least six houses on my seven-minute drive home from work decorated with red and white lights for, I assume, Valentine's Day. True, my memory is marred by little black holes here and there, but I don't recall people expressing love this way five years ago.

It's a lifestyle development that can probably be credited to an increase in lighting options. In the '70s and '80s you could buy lights in Christmas tree multicolor or white and that's about it - unless you were a nightclub owner or happened to be filthy rich. This new millennia has presented us with hundreds of low-cost options to consume kilowatts like we've got an energy surplus.

Surely, there are better things to bitch about. Like the reported rising number of Iraq and Afghanistan war veterans who are unemployed and/or homeless. I should probably just leave these romantic suckers and their lights alone. I could, but where some see strands of festivity, I see a glaring example of America's plummet into shameless excess and bad taste.

Since glimpsing the advertising inserts in Sunday's paper, I've been afraid to go to the drug store. I just know I'll be attacked by one of those singing rhinoceroses clad in a "You make me horny" t-shirt. If this column sucks it's because of the nightmares I've had about those dancing, singing hamsters. Someone tell Condi that even if Europeans do forgive us for invading Iraq, they're still going to hate us because of all the cultural crap we've created.

Is a man in heart-covered boxer shorts really more attractive?

Maybe I'm missing the point? Should I hire a private eye to find my missing sense of humor? Could there possibly be a good reason to go see Debra Messing and Dermot Mulroney in The Wedding Date?

Celebration is good for our karma: I'm certain of that. And nothing is more worth celebrating than love. But what exactly is the point of elementary school students exchanging mass-produced paper valentines?

The era of the loser kid who doesn't get any valentines is over, by the way. Twenty-first century grade school students are expected to acknowledge everybody, not just their classroom favorites. I imagine the valentine exchange is technically a lesson in cultural tradition; some rite of passage. But we all know what it really is - a contest to see which kid brings in the coolest valentines. Prove your social prowess by convincing mom to buy the ones with the coolest cartoon, movie or video game characters on them. Add candy for extra popularity points.

Participation may not be mandatory, but who wants to be the party-pooper that didn't give out any valentines? Or the weirdo Martha Stewart wannabe who made all of her cards by hand.

Yes, I have succumbed to cynicism. Still, I'll be damned before I let it sour my romantic Valentine's Day dinner.

True. I don't believe the Hollywood hype - we're not all just around the corner from finding eternal love with our one true soul mate - but it's not because I'm a cold-hearted bitch. It's because I believe love is more abundant than that. Some romantic fires were only meant to burn for a couple of weeks - why should that brevity make your passion moments any less euphoric? By all means, celebrate romance. Celebrate flirtation. Celebrate the knowing look. Celebrate feeling understood. Celebrate simultaneous orgasm.Celebrate the lack of fear that allowed intimacy to bloom. Celebrate first kisses and five thousandth kisses.

Celebrate love because unlike tacky merchandise, it can't be bought. But it can be every bit as prevalent as over-priced bouquets of roses will be this week. Do you see the irony?

We insist love is precious and rare. We are afraid of its power over us. Some of us will shun love any less pure than that they imagine sharing with a soul mate. And then... we'll buy stuffed sheep bearing hearts that read "I love ewe," to show how deeply we care.

-- Alicia Grega-Pikul, 10 February 2005

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Fringe Benefits

2005-01-27T01:01:00.000-08:00

The question proved inevitable. When you tell people you’re going to a presidential inauguration the first words to cross their lips tend to be, “Are you going to see HIM?”

Even those who know me well were temporarily blinded by the royal glitter and celebrity power associated with America’s inaugural weekend. But true to form, I approached last Thursday, like I do most days — from the fringes. It’s only on the outskirts of the action that a curious mind can really see the full context surrounding an event.

Sure enough, the most mind-blowing experience of my day came when I least expected it — while sitting at the bar at John Harvard’s Brew House at 13th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue with a couple of Australians.

The groups of regional protesters I had accompanied had remained down by the parade route.After waiting in line at the security checkpoint for an hour and then being frisked, the diehard activists were determined to complain directly to the man himself. But I simply couldn't anticipate the benefit of standing elbow to elbow with booing strangers, seeing nothing but the backs of heads for two hours. It was cold. A disembodied Mr. Movie Phone-esque announcer recited interactive presidential trivia to humor the waiting crowd. It was beyond lame. I remembered listening to bad rock music while standing in a hot, unhappy crowd of Scrantonians waiting for the KerryEdwards/Affleck campaign caravan to arrive. I chose to escape and the brew house proved the perfect sanctuary.

There, the inaugural parade was in progress on CNN. “You can actually see it from here,” I marveled. When the closed captioning proved too much for my conflicted right contact lens, I asked the closest Aussie what the announcers had to say about “the demonstrators.” Nothing much, as it turned out, but he continued the conversation with the question that’s been puzzling political analysts for months.

How did George W. Bush win the election?

Before 2000, I was told, Australians had come to know our President Bush as John Newcombe’s drinking buddy from the ‘70s. Americans do not know that, I laughed, almost spitting my Panax Wheat. Newcombe is an Australian Tennis Player with several Wimbledon wins under his racket. He sported a trademark handle bar mustache and was along for the ride when Bush got arrested for drunk driving in 1976. Newcombe was a champion, the Aussies said, but at the end of the day he was still just an “ocker.”

“A what?” I laughed even harder. Their description of “ocker” reminded me of America’s “redneck.” In retrospect, I’ve since come to appreciate ex-pat poet Peter Porter’s 1974 definition of “ockerism“: The new Australian boorishness… from a slob-like character called “Ocker” in a television series - the embodiment of oafish, blinkered self satisfaction. Hmmm... what’s that they say about the company a man keeps?

The reason Bush won the election, I told the Australians, is because in spite of record voter turnout, an estimated 78 million eligible voters didn’t voice an opinion. And that’s when my new acquaintances dropped the bomb on me.

In Australia, it’s compulsory to vote — if you don’t vote, they fine you.

I was both shocked and awed. Why don’t we do that in the United States? I guess it would contradict that whole “freedom” thing. But then we are required by law to do things like register for Selective Service and buy car insurance and pay taxes to fund expenditures in diametric opposition to our values.

My attention returned periodically to the parade broadcast. I saw Secret Service agents walk casually along side Bush’s limo. I saw them quicken their pace as steam escaped through a manhole. But I didn’t see any protesters. I had predicted this, however, and it was by no means as alarming as the other group of people I failed to see that day — the middle class.

The social division was so ridiculous at one metro station, it looked staged. On one side of the tracks, men stood in bow ties and cumberbunds next to women in fur coats and high heels. On the other side, bohemian protesters shivered in mismatched coats, hats, and scarves. It was a disturbing sight. But it, not the president, was what I went to Washington to see. Like the Aussies’ surprising stories, that visual characterized the bizarre truths you can only find on the fringe.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 27 January 2005

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

UPDATE!

2005-01-14T08:50:00.000-08:00

Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti comes out of hiding long enough to defend her contraversal play to The Guardian's Vikram Dodd.

Voices: Savor the Silver Lining

2005-01-13T01:01:00.000-08:00

As if I needed another reason to denounce the Wal-Mart way of life, the mega market has banned the Jon Stewart and company’s best-selling “America (The Book): A Citizen's Guide to Democracy Inaction.” Not that it matters to anyone except Wal-Mart devotees — as of Sunday, the book continued to hold the title of best-selling nonfiction book in the nation.

Few things turn me off faster than censorship, but I’ve come to expect distasteful behavior like book banning from Wal-Mart. It makes me nervous, however, when a public library takes the same prohibitive stance. “America (The Book)” was banned in eight Mississippi libraries in because of the book’s naked Supreme Court photo. Obviously doctored for comedy’s sake, the photo was cited as the only reason the book was kept out of circulation.

“We’re not an adult bookstore,” library director Robert Willits told an Associated Press reporter. But could a few old-fashioned birthday suits really be the only factor? Disrespectful? Perhaps. Pornographic? Please.

Thankfully, it doesn’t matter. Critics of the ban spoke up and convinced the board to reverse its decision. Censors don’t always win.

December saw Sikh playwright Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti retreat into hiding when her life was threatened by Sikh community members who condemned her latest play as disrespectful of their shared religion. The Birmingham Repertory Theatre (England) had to close its production of “Dishonor” after a violent protest erupted and police refused to offer protection to either the artists or their audiences. If the playwright herself had not, in fear, pleaded with other theatres not to produce the play, the play would still be in production and looking forward to producers eager to capitalize on the controversy.

I delight in watching attempted repression backfire. No matter how hard the intolerant may try to shape the world in its own sheltered image, freedom will find a way to color outside the lines. Bhatti’s life may be in danger today, but tomorrow, her voice will be louder and stronger than it’s ever been. Those who tried to silence her will only have themselves to blame.

December also saw a painting by 23-year-old artist Christopher Savido bring down an entire art show at Chelsea Market (New York City). Titled “Bush Monkeys,” an image of President Bush appears out of a grassy wetland surrounded by a multitude of tiny monkeys. Shocked by the gallery’s censorship, anonymous donors have made it possible for exhibit organizer Animal Magazine to post the work on the Holland Tunnel Jumbotron facing Manhattan. In late December, it was estimated more than 400,000 drivers a day for a month would see the image and others from the exhibit. Savido’s received ridiculous amounts of attention from the press and auctioned the controversial painting on eBay for than four times its original list price. Proceeds were promised to charity.

Like Bhatti, his life was ironically threatened by those citing conservative values as justification for violence. But Savido has never really been in danger and he has already reaped the rewards of censorship backfire. If only the silver lining was always so thick.

I have absolutely no doubt that dissenters will be effectively hidden from popular sight this coming Inauguration Day. Protesters will fight for the right to share sightlines along the inauguration route with Bush supporters and donors through the13th hour; the reality is none are likely to make it far from the pen at 4th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. Unprecedented levels of security are being employed to counter any potential terrorist acts -- those of us who have learned to read between the lines know that “terrorist acts” include any behavior that might embarrass the president or hurt his feelings.

It’s enough to depress any egalitarian. Yet it’s sustaining to know, thanks in part to the threat of censorship backlash, the protesters cannot and will not be altogether silenced. I know carpools of NEPA residents headed to Washington D.C. on the 20th and none of them give a snot what Laura Bush’s ball gown looks like. In the Capitol, they will join more like-minded individuals than were thought to exist since Election Day’s attempted mass extinction of spirit. Maybe only one of those will get close enough to throw an egg. But that’s all Michael Moore needs to get on camera for his next movie they’ll try to keep out of theatres, but will end up winning all the best awards.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 13 January 2005

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Lifestyle Recipe 2005

2004-12-30T01:01:00.000-08:00

The last week of any given year has got to be the most desperately uninspiring week on the calendar. No one schedules anything significant to intentionally occur in the midst of holiday purgatory. Almost everything we're given to read, hear and watch is a summary of what's been. Frankly, it bores me.

Goodbye 2004 and good riddance: I've been ready for 2005 since Election Day.

To celebrate this blank slate and fresh start, I'd like to raise my champagne glass in a toast to all that's yet to come. Here are a few of the emerging lifestyle trends that have recently risen to surface of my crystal ball.

Dinner Parties - Home entertaining is so old school it's retro cool. Young hipster singles and couples can go all out when the invites are exclusive to six or eight random friends and acquaintances. The guest list is as important as the menu -- cocktails (Pomegranate Cosmo anyone?) and elaborate hors d'oeuvres followed by an almost shockingly simple main course and decadent dessert. Close the evening with a series of intimate, but innocent games or your favorite obscure entertainment.
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Downtown Living - Locally and in cities across the country that are on a similar path as Scranton, it's time to stop talking about moving downtown it and actually start doing it. The shops and restaurants have been opening at a rapid pace and building owners have been upgrading and converting spaces into apartments in good faith. In 2005, we will see the hip ones who asked for it, carry the momentum forward and follow through.

Ethnic Everything - Perhaps in response to the globalization ideology bound and determined to turn the rest of the world into a carbon copy of the United States, the fashionable here in America will respond by celebrating the international flavors of the world in everything from food and fabrics to design and music.

Extreme Weather - OK this one is a long shot, but not exactly unlikely. As certain powers that be continue to deny the existence of global warming, proof of its danger will continue to hit people around the world over the head.

Freak Folk - Heard of Devendra Banhar yet? If not, you will. The 23-year-old musician is like the spiritual leader of this ecstatic, yet slightly absurd movement that's energizing entire sections of New York City and young people across the country. Music critics are eating out of his hand and entertainments journalists are writing about him and his peers like everyone else has ceased to exist. Check out younggodrecords.com to hear music samples for more information.

Cate Blanchett - A random choice perhaps, but the actress did have a kick-ass year. Everyone's already talking about her performance as Katharine Hepburn in The Aviator, but she won't really be able to reap the rewards until 2005.

Homemade - Arts and crafts aren't just for Martha Stewart anymore, though the fun thing is, you don't even have to make the stuff yourself. Thousands of artisans are selling cool and quirky creations -- accessories in particular -- on their own Web sites or those that sell the products of multiple artists. Clothing designers (www.beqiclothing.com, www.modemerr.com) are posting prototypes of their unique and relatively inexpensive creations and then make requested garments to order. Look out -- DIY is going mainstream.

Natural Remedies - People are pissed at the pharmaceutical companies for so many reasons now that change is inevitable. To fight back, we'll try to punish the abusive entities any we can. Can that prescription possibly be replaced with a cheaper, earth-produced alternative? Then it will be. Say farewell to the anti-depressant fad.

Wal-Mart Backlash - The superstore's reign is over. So many people have begun to complain about the labor practices and community closeouts of the world's largest company that it's going to have an effect. All but the diehards will soon think twice about where they want their dollar to be counted.

Whole Grains - The low-carb fad may be waning, but I'm guessing bleached, processed wheat products have suffered a potentially irreversible blow. Nutritionists have long urged us to stop consuming them - it's time obesity-stricken America to answer the call. Tip: Try Quinoa if you haven't already. It's a bit odd, but the Aztec supergrain is all the rage for a reason.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 30 december 2004

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Generation Gratitude

2004-12-16T08:35:00.000-08:00

The point at which the sticky, stretching mass
Of ingredients in your hands
Magically transforms into a smooth ball of dough
Is a cooking orgasm.
The natural point to stop and take a cigarette break.
It’s December but no coat is needed
Better to absorb the life-affirming sunshine.
I am surprised by a vision as I sit smoking
On the front porch in my apron.
I imagine making pierogies at Christmastime
Every year from now on
And every year coming outside after the dough suddenly gels
To smoke a cigarette.
Even after I’ve quit. It will be just that one a year.
So now I could be 60 years old
Living this same moment in the future — deja when
But I can’t imagine living that long.

This is the poem I wrote last weekend as my sister, my best friend and I took a Saturday out of our busy holiday schedules to make pierogies from scratch.

Yeah, the poem needs some work, but it helped me find the soul of my column this week. And why not shake things up with a little free verse?

Guided by Grandma Grega’s recipe and instruction, Stacy, Maureen and I worked together for six hours (breaks included) to prepare 250 pierogies — some potato and cheese, some cabbage. We were grateful to have each other’s company because the monotony of our chore quickly became apparent. Our great-grandmothers — Hungarian, Lithuanian, and Slovak — used to do this weekly, I figured. Standing in their simple coal-miner’s homes, stretching every penny as far it would go. Maureen’s great-grandmothers were Irish, but in joining Stacy and I in this resurrection of our culinary tradition, she was revisiting the same heritage we were.

The pierogie making knowledge has not been passed down naturally. As far as I know, my mother has never made a single pierogie from scratch. Stacy had to ask for instruction in order to later teach us. And when she asked, my grandmother didn’t understand why she would want to bother.

Weren’t we modern women? Hadn’t we “decided” to work outside the home? Hadn’t we made a conscious decision to limit the number of children we would bear so we might afford luxuries like store-bought pierogies?

Before Saturday, I had never thought of store-bought pierogies as a luxury. In my mind, they had always been a substitute for the real thing. No offense Mrs. T, but you were all we could get out in Tucson, Arizona. Just another processed item I was forced to accept because the luxury I lived without was time.

The difference between generations loomed over our heads as we stood in Stacy’s kitchen, hoping some genetic residue would submerge and help our pierogies take the expected shape more readily. Looking at Maureen, I sensed she, like me, couldn’t imagine living the life of our great-grandmothers. One defined so precisely by repetition and predictability. One not so abundant with art and entertainment and spontaneous possibility and a mind-numbing spectrum of choices.

And I think that’s the underlying reason we gave ourselves the assignment to write a poem about our day of pierogie making. We didn’t have to do this every week. No one expected it from us. It was our choice, in fact, whether to make pierogies from scratch ever again. In drawing attention to the luxury we enjoyed beyond all others — the ability to live artistically fulfilling lives — we were celebrating the progress women had made in society. What our foremothers knew to be a fact of every day life, we were able to experience as a kind of adventure! Our intention was to explore the past and continue a tradition; to make something with our hands so authentic its value could not possibly be questioned — as if we had questioned the value of our independent, freedom-rich lives. No wonder my grandmother didn’t understand.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 16 december 2004

Send email to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Selfish Generosity

2004-12-02T00:01:00.000-08:00

After a mind-draining scriptwriting session Sunday night, I dozed off watching a horribly cheesey made for TV holiday movie.

One glimpse of a transparent Colombo (aka Peter Falk) in a tux and I should have had the good judgment to change the channel. But I was just tired enough to get sucked into the ridiculously predictable heart-wringer.

In a key plot point, an assistant store manager winterized an old homeless lady with the wool coat, Italian leather boots and cashmere scarf she had impulsively removed from a window mannequin. The convenient crowd of onlookers was so moved by her generosity that a phenomenon erupted. The news media arrived to document the piling donations and give the female protagonist a full three or more interrupted minutes of airtime.

Realistic it wasn't, but the movie served to remind me of a very interesting reality. The satisfaction of personal connection will be lacking from most of our holiday generosity this season. And the people who fail to share their good fortune with others will most likely do so because of this missing human element. Because they have not been touched, they have not been moved to give.

Those of you serving at soup kitchens and in other ways delivering the goods - congratulations! You are in an enviable position. You have been given a gift. The opportunity to witness the immediate benefits of your contribution is precious. You will no doubt line up to make a difference again and again, in part, because it felt so darn good the last time. It's OK, there's nothing to be ashamed of. Giving and sharing were designed to feel good, so people would want to do it. Like sex. Why do you think babies and toddlers are so adorable? So we'll want to take care of them, even when they're driving us crazy.

The cynical might call it the dark side of philanthropy. Much of human generosity has historically been about buying our way into heaven or correcting our karma. But that's cool. Charities don't mind, really. Show me a social service organization above capitalizing on your guilt.

In the bad holiday movie, the woman's random act of kindness was written off as a marketing stunt, conducted with full awareness, to increase business. It wasn't until her little brother ran away scenes later that her heart actually began to beat. It's the Scrooge syndrome, in a sense. Life or society has demanded we be aggressive and tough-skinned, but thanks to the holidays, we're allowed to soften up for a couple of weeks. It's a spiritual detox. Time to repair some of the psychological damage before resolving with the New Year to give ourselves an external overhaul.

So by all means, drop off your Toys for Tots, put your perishable foods in the barrel, adopt an angel or a whole family, and send care packages to the troops over seas. But don't forget to get a little something out of it for yourself. The full power of holiday spirit can't be witnessed in a one-sided act. A flow between two people is the only way to walk away with something deeper. You may not be able to feel the full force of the coins you've tossed in the Salvation Army bucket, but with one simple generous act you can give and receive in one stroke. Allow me to suggest a random act of listening.

Everybody has a story and most are waiting for a chance to share it. The best stories almost always come from the most unexpected sources. The last time I couldn't put down a book, I was reading the just-released memoirs of JoJo The Clown.

It's not a person's job that makes him interesting. It's his perspective of the world that has the potential to fascinate. It's the difficult decisions a person has made that might inspire you. It's what he does when he's not at work that you can trust. Ask about the things that have made him laugh and cry and swear and share.

Sure, it's scary - you never know what a stranger might say! But, do it anyway. Start with a smile and a "hello" to a passerby as you walk down the street. Connect with someone in your community who lives in a different world. Most of us live in such narrow circles these days we can knock on a neighbor's door and introduce ourselves to a stranger. I know I could.

Give your donation, give as many as you can, but don't neglect to give yourself the gift of a personal connection.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 2 december 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

MAIL!!!

2004-11-23T13:57:00.000-08:00

In response to "If It Ain't Broke" one reader writes:

"Hi Alicia.

Great article - entertaining yet sobering and sadly, too real.

(followed by a bunch of stuff that's irrelevant to this blog.)

Too lengthy to share is the four and a half hand-written letter from a financial advisor/entertainment industry entrepreneur and certified math teacher who has had bad luck with women in Northeast PA and is interested in receiving my advice on the matter, given the details he's provided.

These articles of related interest to that post were discovered since publication.

This one from Wired.
And River Hudson.

Voices: If It Ain't Broke

2004-11-18T00:01:00.000-08:00

I lost my appetite on Election Day. It hasn't come back yet but I haven't been concerned.

Far from fret, I've sort of celebrated losing a few pounds I didn't really need anyway. Then in The New York Times I saw an article ("The Season of Weighty Dramas") describing Eve Ensler's new play "The Good Body" and our entire cultural preoccupation with fat vs. beauty. The article quotes a finding from Naomi Wolf's 1991 book "The Beauty Myth" that gobs of women would rather lose ten to 15 pounds than achieve any other goal.

Ouch. Why bring that up? Isn't 1991 a long time ago? I remember it well - I was in college and everyone was reading that book.

A lot of good it did us. Pulling out a quote like that now implies nothing has changed. At least not for the better. Have we become even more shallow? It it possible we've been encouraged to be?

Author of "The Vagina Monologues," Eve is now questioning our misunderstandings and misgivings about the rest of the female anatomy. "The Good Body" opened just this week on Broadway. So it was kind of ironic that the first thing to nauseate me this morning was an article from womensenews.org about the rising trend of labiaplasty. Eve may have moved on from the vagina but a lot of women, it seems, are adding it on to their list of plastic surgery must haves.

Don't worry; I'm not going to go into the medical details of vaginal plastic surgery - isn't it coming up next week on "The Swan" anyway? But, the article is by far the most depressing of all the depressing news stories I've read since Nov. 3. Women seem to be accepting a loss of ground and I find that more depressing than the general conservative cultural shift they keep talking about. Don't believe the hype, by the way. This is America. One of these days we'll all be smoking pot at gay weddings.

The majority of women, purports the article, are having this surgery - at a risk of pain and lost sensation - because they feel pressured to more closely resemble the pornographic ideal of beauty. One of the characters in Ensler's play is a model whose plastic surgeon husband is, piece by piece, reconstructing her entire body. Her body, she explains, is like a small business. Maybe the increase in labiaplasty is because with all that other work they're having done, they just want everything to match up.

No. I have to draw the line. It just can't be comparable to the "buy one new piece of furniture and everything else pales in comparison" syndrome.

Recent libidinal drug news announced a female enhancement that uses testosterone to make women horny. It seems so obvious, doesn't it? If we can just make them more like men, then they'll want to have sex. Men inside, porn stars outside. OK.

Apparently there is actually a natural flow of testosterone in women that can fade with age, and being replenished, turns back the hormonal clock. Or something like that. But my alarm's going off anyway. Yes, I'm in my prime right now so maybe I just don't get it yet, but whatever happened to communication? I know it's a dirty word, but why not find out what really makes a woman feel sexy? Does it just take too long?

Maybe it does. Maybe we've given so much credence to the cultural myths that the social fortress of self-loathing we're trapped in, is too strong to break.

In TV sitcom land husbands are getting fatter while wives are getting hotter, but does it translate to reality? True, I'm hopelessly optimistic and I know a disproportionate number of great guys, but humor me for a moment because it's not adding up.

Men are supposedly more visual, I'll buy that, but they don't honestly expect their wives or girlfriends to look like porn models. They do, however, want their women to feel confident and comfortable with their sexuality. They don't want you looking in the mirror every five minutes or getting jealous over every other woman that walks by.

"Love your body and stop fixing it. It was never broken," Eve says in "The Good Body."

With attention comes criticism. Eve's been accused of silly metaphors and for boarding a bandwagon of sorts. Get over it. Ensler has a proven track record of empowering women. She helped millions of women buck up and say the V word out loud. Let her lend a hand. If ladies can learn to love their bodies without affirmation from pop culture, maybe they won't need to fix things that aren't broke in order to feel sexy. They'll just feel that way, naturally.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 11/18/04

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: 21st Century Ice Age

2004-11-04T00:01:00.000-08:00

It takes about 15 minutes for an average ice cube to melt in the warmth between two clasped hands. I discovered this on Election Day eve as I sat between two poets in a circle of about 40 of those who had gathered to celebrate artistic freedom of expression.

We were invited to Scranton’s Test Pattern gallery the night before “the most important election in our lifetime” by America Coming Together or ACT. In return for an evening of free, fabulous performances, they hoped we might help get out the vote in Lackawanna and Luzerne County. Even now that Kerry has conceded, more questions face the country than ever . Whether ACT achieved its goal is not one of them.

Forced to accept a decision certain to please only half of the country, America remains suspended in limbo. The Nation’s David Corn has suggested this division is a good thing. A notorious critic of President Bush, Corn is admittedly disappointed. Yet, he claims to find solace in the fact that “Nearly half (of the U.S. electorate and voting public) saw the emperor buck naked and butt ugly. Nearly half said no to his rash actions and dishonest justifications… Nearly half knew that Bush has led the country astray.”

I, too, would like to find solace in this. But I can’t. Not yet. I’m still too freaked out by the huge number of voters who prioritized the issue of “moral values.” I am haunted by a vision of “cultural conservatives” poised to mandate their religious beliefs in legislation. I see before us an even more deaf and arrogant W. He stands legitimized as a hallucination of God smiles down on his crusade. He will proudly appease the evangelical populace that Karl Rove summoned to the polls to prohibit gay rights.

No. I find no solace in this. Because while I don’t care how the cultural conservatives choose to live their lives, they are threatened by any choice to live differently.

Presently, I can only find solace in the positive energy that illuminated Test Pattern on Monday night. One spirited, smart and soulful performer after another shared his and her stunning talents for more than two hours. We laughed and vented and marveled and imagined together until, finally, artist John Bromberg asked us to sit facing each other in a circle and join hands. We were given ice cubes to hold between our hands and told to wait for all of them to melt before attempting an arabic woman’s shrill sound of joy.

I pushed away my initial skepticism hoping to understand why we had been asked to do such an odd thing. Ice is cold. It is uncomfortable to hold it. Why continue to do so?

In my mind, I reviewed Bromberg’s words preceding the ceremony. Great work would be required of us no matter the outcome of the election, he warned. I looked around at the others, like me, who weren’t sure they understood what was happening. Some of us giggled silently as we grasped our neighbors’ hands strategically, to make the ice melt more quickly.
You discover while holding an ice cube in your palm that the cold doesn’t numb so much as it does burn. Remember that ache of your cold, wet jeans after playing in the snow for hours? And when you peeled off your pants to reveal bright red legs and climbed into the hot bath, the stinging was unbearable. That’s what holding the ice cube felt like to me. Suddenly, I felt like I had been transported back to Kindergarten. It was wonderful! The weight of thinking I had any control was gone. The overwhelming sense of responsibility I carried seemed to be melting with the ice. We could try to create friction, increase the heat between our hands, but otherwise, all we could do was wait.

Social change, too, is gradual. The more lasting the change, the longer it takes to materialize. Longer than it does an ice cube does to melt in the palm of your hand. We have to be patient and steadfast in our hope that circumstances will improve, I realized.

Bush doesn’t care that nearly half of the country would have dethroned him in the middle of the war — an action unprecedented in America. I have no hope that he will come to care. But his predecessor will have to care. American can’t get any more divided than it is now — right down the middle. We can reach out to the stranger next to us or insist upon an idealistic distance. Either way, the ice between us will still melt. It’s not a question of whether change will happen, but how much positive energy we can generate while we wait.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 04 November 2004

Send e-mail to apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: If You Can’t Stand the Heat...

2004-10-21T01:00:00.000-07:00

In the early ‘90s, some TV news producer out in Tucson, Arizona thought it would be a good idea to air a series called “Hot Jobs.” “Yeah, it’s unbearably hot this summer,” I remember a reporter implying as he stood with a crew of roofers, “But it could be worse – you could have this guy’s job.”

I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be cathartic. Viewers were expected to praise corporate America for air-conditioned cubicles. But how many of those roofers, I thought, would rather die than sit behind a desk all day. Every job’s got a downside. If it didn’t, they wouldn’t have to pay people to do the work.

Thankfully, some of us are better suited than others to cope with certain drawbacks. If you can’t handle the proverbial heat, don’t even bother going in the kitchen. There’s plenty of work to be done in the rest of the house, too.

If Amaani Lyle knew how steamy it could get in the writers’ room, maybe she wouldn’t have accepted a job as a writer’s assistant on NBC’s Friends. Fired after four months for typing too slowly, Lyle now works on an Air Force base in Germany. It’s probably for the best. It’s just too bad she couldn’t leave the kitchen without suing the cooks.

Her charge of sexual harassment against writers Adam Chase and Gregory Malins and producer Andrew Reich has been rejected, but her allegation that they created a hostile workplace has held up in a California appeals court. Lyle herself was never directly a target, but she happened to be in the room when the show’s writers fantasized about the sexual experience of the show’s female cast members or discussed their own sexual preferences or drew crude cartoons in their margins or pantomimed male masturbation. She had to be there. It was her job to write down everything the writers said because any of it could potentially turn into a scripted joke.

In defense, the writers’ lawyers have tried to explain the creative process, insisting that lewd conversation is a necessary side effect of writing story lines that often relied on sexual subject matter. Final judgment is still pending and in the meantime, creative folks have their fingers crossed. I have a tendency to side with the underdog, but in this case, I’m with the writers all the way. Creative freedom in our collaborative writing rooms is essential, no matter how immature a few dorks might choose to behave.

More than a few people have chuckled at the thought of staff writer Gene Padden and I working in the same office. “I’d like to be in on that,” they say, imagining some kind of crossfire. Truth is, it’s just not that juicy. Oh sure, zingers fly and political passion frequently gurgles. People — not you dear reader, never you — get picked on. But we don’t get paid to pout. We get paid to share ideas without fear of judgment and to create. There’s no room for resentment in our work pod. Shake it off, move on and make something good. Yes it is unfortunate that writers’ rooms are predominately male, but no woman will even the playing field by crying to a courtroom that her delicate constitution has been bruised. Women need not only to handle the twisted dark side of creativity but also to dish it out themselves. It’s possible — just ask Saturday Night Live head writer Tina Fey.

Ratings made it perfectly clear that America loved Friends. They still love it in syndication. Like it or not, most Americans think about sex most of the time. It was the job of those writers to talk about that, to straddle the fine line of the familiar and find the jokes that would surprise viewers into laughter yet not shock them into changing the channel. Taking the sexual tension out of Friends is like taking Rude Rube out of electric city.

Comfortable working conditions do lead to greater productivity. Happy, healthy employees tend to get work more effectively. But comfort isn’t a right you can demand. Some jobs expose you to the elements. Some are necessarily dangerous. Some may give you carpal tunnel syndrome. Work is work and not all workplaces are intended for all people. If you don’t have a sense of humor you don’t belong in a comedy writing room. Lyle’s case can’t be compared to Bill O’Reilly allegedly demeaning a colleague directly and intentionally after being asked to stop or to air force academy cadets being assaulted by their classmates.

In other words, it’s not sexual harassment. It’s a lack of common sense, on Lyle’s part. If you don’t want to see people f**king, you don’t apply to work on a porn shoot.

-- alicia grega-pikul, October 21 2004.

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Faithfully Independent

2004-10-07T01:00:00.000-07:00

The most intriguing moment of Tuesday's Vice Presidential debate had to be the rivals' tender exchange about Dick Cheney's gay daughter, Mary. The political haze cleared and there sat two real men, both loving dads, thinking and feeling before Gwen Ifill, a chunk of Cleveland and all of tuned-in America.

Cheney's suddenly subdued air indicated a very real internal conflict. He clarified his belief that states, not the federal government, should decide gay rights policy. Then after noting the President's difference of opinion, he cited his support of Bush policy.

Some activists accused Cheney of flip-flopping, but the vice president's other daughter, Liz, seemed to understand.

"He's the vice president, and it's his job to support the president," she told The Grand Rapids Press after the debate. Mary obviously gets it too. That's why she's campaigned for her father and works as his aide.

Even I get it. Cheney's deference to the president despite his personal convictions is absolutely consistent with the "if you're not with us, you're against us" mentality that has dominated America since 9/11.

The division that faces our country today is less blue vs. red than it is a '50s era father-knows-best-and-is-king-of-the-castle reverence vs. a '70s-style demand for self-actualization.

While Bush supporters have welcomed the president's assumption of this patriarchal role, the delinquent "kids" who have spoken out against the father figure's distasteful decrees have been cast as disrespectful, and unpatriotic.

W's demand for obedience descends not only from his deference to his father George HW Bush, but from his notorious veneration of OUR father. You know, the Christ that changed his heart and saved his life. The God he believes wants him to be president.

I took a moment before Tuesday's debate to watch some of George W. Bush: Faith in the White House. It's not my usual fare, but I was consumed by curiosity after reading it would be released that day to purposefully counter the release of Fahrenheit 911.

It took mere seconds to be sure the movie was not intended for the likes of me. It looked no further than recruiting church members in good standing to join the choir.

I'd love to critique the film. Robotic evangelicals read stiffly from the monitor. A ridiculous number of comparisons are made to George Washington. Richard Gere, yes the actor, is quoted as one of the president's critics. An insanely smiling host turns questions into statements as the movie makes no move to answer them. Faith's reenactments, of scenes like the 7-year-old W's consolation of his mother after his sister was lost to leukemia, are just sad.

But there's really no point to critiquing Faith. The film was created solely to reassure the devout that W's claims of religiosity are genuine and he is therefore uniquely qualified to lead the country. The film's proposition that Bush is returning America to the Christian principals of its founding fathers really began to irk me. I remembered the first George Bush's much repeated words in 1987 - "I don't know that atheists should be considered as citizens, nor should they be considered patriots. This is one nation under God." That's when I turned the movie off and turned on the debate.

I have no problem with religious faith. We've all got beliefs. Even atheists. It's when the powerful knowingly exploit the beliefs of the faithful to strengthen their privledged footholds that I get peeved.

How many Democrats will vote for Bush because "Kerry is Wrong for Catholics." Some bishop says Kerry cannot be Catholic and respect a woman's right to choose, so they'll vote for Bush even though the Pope has vociferously opposed the war in Iraq. Yet Rudi Giuliani has made no bones about his pro-choice, pro-gay rights beliefs and Bush hasn't hesitated to use the former New York City mayor's post-911 popularity to increase his own.

Cheney reminded America that it's OK to respectfully disagree with dad. He hasn't quit his job because he disagrees with the president on one issue. Neither should any of us feel inclined to cast our vote because of one issue. Groupthink is unnatural. No candidate or church or employer will ever represent you 100 percent. People must first and foremost have faith in themselves. They must never be afraid to question the father's decrees. It's the foundation of democracy.

--alicia grega-pikul, 7 October 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Earthly Concerns

2004-09-23T01:00:00.000-07:00
Like most Scrantonians, I've spent hours in Nay Aug Park these past few years. Yet it wasn't until this very month that I finally gazed on its infamous gorge with my own two eyes.

It was a gorgeous September 12 and my daughters and I were still on a kind of good vibe high from the meditative hours we spent at Everything Natural's "Creating Peace Open House" the day before. The wholesome, whole-earth event proved to be a thankfully reassuring way to deal with that lingering September 11 unease.

In wanting to maintain that comfortably connected feeling, we explored every nook and cranny of the Davis Trail we could find -- wandering off the proper path so we could see the rushing water from another angle, giggling about the unusual mushrooms lining one section of a trail, taking time to poke at patches of moss to see how cushy they felt. We were delighted when the trail came out at the new community-built playground. And having come across the trail at some point in the middle, it felt like genuine discovery when we came out under the trail's actual entrance arch.

"So that's where the greenhouse is," I sighed with exasperation at my former ignorance. "And those must be the earth boxes."

What I hadn't hear about these so-called earth boxes from people I admire, I had sort of read about in news articles. With the exception of a few culinary herbs, I've killed more plants than I've been able to grow, let alone harvest. And though these little nurturing habitats could potentially end world hunger, they just aren't much to look at, even after you see them in action.

The greenhouse, however, is something to look at. It's not glamourous or anything; it's actually rather weathered and unkempt in spots. But I had never seen a real greenhouse before, not one with history and character that wasn't affiliated with Home Depot or some florist. When a boy no more than 12-years-old appeared out of nowhere to offer us a tour, we jumped on it. He knew everything about the plants growing within and without its glass walls, I assume, from training he's received via Scranton School District's BEST program. Annual trips to the pumpkin patch and some goofy children's book about vegetables I forget the name of aside, it was the first time my little city kids got to see how food grows from the earth.

As we rounded the front of the greenhouse I saw a crumbling sign from past that reads, "Community Garden." I imagined Nay Aug in the early '70s sprinkled with happy hippies trying to make sense of life on their own terms.

Funny, isn't it, how they added that the "dippy" connotation to hippie and then it never went away. If you care about things like where your food comes today they'll call you new-agey or granola-head or some such nonsense instead. In feeling nostalgic about the self-sufficiency with which our ancestors lived off the land, we're inadvertently denying progress. The family farm is a dying breed. We treasure it as part of Americana on one hand but continue to commodify on a corporate scale every aspect of life on the other. We can't even catch and eat our own fish anymore - unless we want mercury poisoning, that is. No, now it's only safe to eat to good processed and tested freshwater fish (and seafood, too, I suppose) the grocery store provides.

Yes, that picture of State Rep. Jim Wansacz and the Lackawanna River Corridor Association's Bernie McGurl standing in front of a big inflated fish at a recent press conference did make me giggle. But there was nothing amusing about the accompanying cutline. They and others supposedly concerned about the environment had invited the press to Courthouse Square to draw more attention to the issue of mercury pollution. What use is the Clear Air Act, they implied, if it's not being enforced? Why allow companies to release even more mercury into the air when our world is already so poisoned we can't eat the product of our own backyard?

But fewer of us fish for food. Hunting is more often a sport than a survival skill. And while more of us may invest in landscaping, fewer will tend a garden to put vegetables on the dinner table. What's dippier -- using the earth or losing the earth because we've forgotten that it's there?

--alicia grega-pikul, 23 September 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Creating a Ruckus

2004-09-09T01:00:00.000-07:00
I had the pleasure of revisiting the 1996 film Citizen Ruth this weekend. The biting satire depicts passionate activists on both sides of the choice/abortion issue as unstable zealots. It’s a darkly comic depiction, but by no means a rare one. Surely, it’s one the Bush/Cheney 2004 campaign would prefer you believe.

Republicans — except the anti-choice kind — don’t protest. They’ll “boo” immaturely before the world while simplifying reality into a mantra of distorted truth at their national convention, but they’d rather save the image of street rousing for the rabble.

Anyone willing to take a stand is going to stand out. They’re asking to be criticized — though not necessarily cursed at, as was the case during Bush’s recent visit to the Lackawanna County Stadium. You might think the handful of protesters that bothered to show their faces and signs couldn’t possibly pose a threat to the 10,000 to 12,000 that either support Bush or successfully disguised their ulterior motive for attending the rally. But the Republicans’ defensive actions speak louder than bombs.

Was there really a need to establish a temporary courtroom at the stadium to process arrested protestors? We know after the fact there wasn’t. While one side may say it was a safety precaution, another may cite the move as a propagandist reminder that our constitutional right to dissent is up for interpretation.

The New York Times conservatively counted only 100,000 protesters in Manhattan on the eve of the Republican convention (The Village Voice and independent media, e.g. Alternet, cited 500,000); yet more than 1700 were arrested during the convention. Nearly 500 were held for some 36 to 66 hours before a fed up State Supreme Court Justice John Cataldo ordered the release of 470 people just hours before Bush’s speech. And when the city couldn’t bring itself to comply, he charged it $1000 for each and every protestor held past deadline.

Republicans may mock protestors and feign superiority over them, but they’re clearly afraid. I believe Secretary of State Colin Powell cancelled his plan to attend the closing ceremony of the Olympics because he didn’t want anti-American protests to detract focus from the event and its athletes. I also know it just wouldn’t look good for Bush to get that kind of negative international attention at that time.

Whereas the secret to Conservative success is draining the color from life until issues become simply black and white, the biggest thing the anti-Bush camp has going for it is creativity. The Bush campaign can hand out white medical coats for supporters to wear while holding “Doctors for Bush” signs, but they can’t compete with the satirical theatrics of Billionaires for Bush. And then you’ve got the street smart appeal of Cabbies Against Bush and the Hip Hop Action Network, the sexual appeal of Babes Against Bush and Axis of Eve, the class of Librarians Against Bush and Bach Against Bush, the reality of Future Voters Against Bush and Mothers Against Bush, the sheer desperation of Bushes Against Bush and Texas Artists Against Bush, etc.

While the Bush Campaign fears this uprising, it insists the actions of these networks won’t make a difference at the polls. Just like Michael Moore hasn’t changed anyone’s mind. Hundred of thousands of Americans have already agreed to vote for Kerry only because they hate Bush enough to vote for a candidate they don’t particularly like.

So why bother campaigning? Why bother spending all that money on ads and signs and cross-country appearances — money we could use to create jobs or support the troops or rebuild Iraq and Afghanistan? Because it’s the votes of those who haven’t planned to vote that both Bush and Kerry are after. They’re fighting over the busy and complacent and disenfranchised who might not make it to the polls on November 2.

And that’s why the Republicans are scared. They know that if every single woman in this country casts a vote (the assumption here is that that every vote really does count), Bush wouldn’t stand a chance because no matter how many times they tell us otherwise, we know the “W” doesn’t stand for women. Now add the vote of 18-25-year-olds who in the past developed a reputation for not exercising the right.

November 2 is election day, but the date that’s infinitely most important right now is October 6. That’s the last day to REGISTER to vote in Pennsylvania before the November election. Even if you don’t plan to vote now, don’t sacrifice your right to change your mind a month from now.

The party’s just getting started.

--alicia grega-pikul, 9 September 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Developing Consciousness

2004-08-26T01:00:00.000-07:00
Until helping a friend shop for a party last week, I had never been to a Wegmans grocery store. Not inside, not even in the parking lot. And it was no accident.

Descriptions of the store's bountiful and eclectic inventory had intimidated me. I knew the temptation would be too great, leading me swiftly down the path to a bank account busting grocery bill.

I had already conducted several unscientific comparison studies - each time I strayed from the more humble offerings of my family-owned neighborhood grocery store, I splurged. How could I possibly resist? As my mom used to say, I had "champagne taste on a beer budget." Which is all well and good until someone waves a bottle of Dom Perignon in front of your face.

My watering mouth proved my theory right within less than one lap around Wegmans. Thank the gods I wasn't doing the shopping. And it wasn't just me I was concerned about. There was no way I could take my six-year-old daughter past that candy section without her head spinning round and very possibly exploding.

The pate and fresh herbs and huge health food health section and how many different kinds of cheeses? And then the international sections and the sushi-to-go and aisle after aisle of fun calorie exploration waiting to happen. It was every bit as overwhelming as I knew it would be. It was everything people in developing (formerly third world) countries thought of when they pictured "America." It was exactly why some of those people hated us.

"But it's not because of our access to such a staggering display of choices that they hate us," I thought as we pushed out cart up to the check out belt. It was because we took this wealth for granted and because we looked upon it with such blind entitlement. I was sure of it. And then I watched my friend explain as she handed the environmentally friendly reusable cloth bags she had brought with her to the cashier. It wasn't embarrassment she presented herself with, but it was something too close for comfort. I suspect that being an undeniably nice person, she just didn't want to cause any problems for this 17-year-old Wegmans employee.

But the cashier shocked the righteous sorrow right out of me. Turns out the handsome young lad had lived in Sweden with his grandparents for some time. In Sweden, we learned, everyone is required to bring their own bags to the grocery store. The American way of accumulating and disposing of cheap plastic shopping sacks with barely a flicker of consciousness had become a pet peeve of his since returning to the U.S.

And he didn't just let it nag at him as he bagged one customer's order after another either. He actually sat down and wrote a letter to the Wegmans powers that be explaining how things were in Europe and how the store might set an example here in the U.S. and start asking its customers to bring their own bags.

No kidding.

I saved every bag I brought home from the store with intentions of recycling but I hadn't felt enough faith in their strength to take them back to the grocery store with me. Eternally on a budget, I had admired the designed for reuse bags like my friend had brought but never seriously considered actually splurging for a collection. Nope. I took home as many paper bags as I could recycle my newspapers in and stuffed the plastic bags into other plastic bags which I stuffed into a cabinet until it became stuffed so full of plastic bags that I had to take some down into the basement under the recycling pretense of future protective packing cushioning.

The bags were only one symptom of a greater laziness and avoidance of responsibility, I realized. I let the faucet run while I brushed my teeth, poured household chemicals down the drain, and bought disposable batteries instead of recharging. And it had been made all too apparent by a 17-year-old grocery store cashier. It wasn't the lesson I had anticipated learning at Wegmans at all. But that wasn't nearly as important as whether or not I might learn to live by his example.

--alicia grega-pikul, 26 August 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Freeing Culture

2004-08-12T01:00:00.000-07:00
"The true aim of culture is to make people as unselfish as possible." - P.T. Barnum

Ever hear a song by the Carter Family called "When the World's on Fire?" Me either. It was recorded in the 1930s. But if I had heard it, I'm sure I'd recognize it. It's apparently got the same melody, almost note for note, as a song you've definately heard before - Woody Guthrie's "This Land Is Your Land."

It's highly probable you most recently heard the strains of Guthrie's widely misunderstood American anthem while watching Jib Jab's free Flash-animated political parody "This Land.

In what might be the most ironic development in the increasingly ugly copyright versus "fair use" wars, Ludlow Music (owner of the rights to Guthrie's song) threatened to sue Jib Jab for copyright infringement. Ludlow Music's lawyers have argued that the Jib Jab's interpretation isn't a parody of "This Land is Your Land" because the song isn't actually about national unity. The song was originally meant as a call to the disenfranchised to stake their rightful claim. The politically-charged tune has unfortunately come to be sung without its two most subversive verses.

Hands down, the most poignant moment of "This Land" is the 30 seconds in which a Native American Indian is pushed aside by symbols of Corporate America. If Jib Jab's animators are making the same statement as Guthrie, how is the animated short a parody of the song? It could be a valid argument, but it's a ridiculous one to pose. It's too bad we just can't ask Woody Guthrie what he thinks about "This Land." But then again, should we have to?

Arlo Guthrie told National Public Radio that while he respects the fact that his father placed a number of his songs under protection, he's pretty sure old Dad would have "absolutely loved the humor" of "This Land."

Guthrie would no doubt be outraged by a world where you can get sued for joking with phrases like "fair and balanced" or "for dummies," and no one except McDonalds (who owns more than 130 trademarks) has the commercial right to say, "We love to see you smile," or "You deserve a break today." Still pending are requests by the Todd M. Beamer Foundation to trademark "Let's roll," and Donald Trump's application for ownership of "You're fired!"

What's most amusing about the "This Land" example is that The Carter Family may have actually stole the melody that Guthrie stole from them. According to BlogJazz.com, Carter Family biographers Mark Zwonitzer and Charles Hirshberg wrote that "When the World's on Fire?" was the Carters' take on a song performed by Mississippi gospel singer Blind Willie Davis. It was one of several "African-American sacred songs" the family of musicians recorded in the '30s.

Once upon a time, that's what artists did. They didn't care to stop you from creating a new interpretation of a song or a story. The sharing of ideas was not considered stealing the food off another's table - especially by the populist Guthrie who paid tribute the Robin Hood-like Pretty Boy Floyd with lines like "Some will rob you with a six-gun, and some with a fountain pen."

Stanford Law School professor Lawrence Lessig has argued vociferously against the control of our literary and musical cultures by corporate interests at the expense of the public interest. In his book "Free Culture: How big media uses technology and the law to lock down culture and control creativity" (available for free download at http://lessig.org) he describes the incredibly shrinking public domain as a "poisoning (of) the ecosystem that fosters innovation." Ideas must be free.

Parody invites us to think critically. It encourages us to change our lens of perspective and see something new in what has already been seen. Perhaps it is a crime that Jib Jab appropriated use of "This Land Is Your Land" without permission. But I'm guessing Guthrie would be far more offended that American's elementary school music teachers taught us a version of his song stripped of the meaning he intended.

--alicia grega-pikul, 12 August 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Blessed Obama

2004-07-29T11:53:00.000-07:00
I've felt the excitement of political rally in New York City while protesting Bush Administration policies on the first anniversary of the war on Iraq.

To a lesser extent, I felt the buzz while creating a Rape Free Zone here in Scranton hours before performing in "The Vagina Monologues." But until this week, I had no idea that political conventions could be as captivating and as exciting as championship-sporting events or as subject to critical interpretation as professional theatre.

My struggling, single mother never looked to the government to take care of her or her children. She didn't give a darn what anyone willing to label himself "politican" had to say. They fell into the large pool of people she indiscriminately referred to as "hypocrites." It wasn't until my first women's studies course in college explained exactly how the personal really was political, that I began to see myself as occupying a legitimate place in this undeniably political society.

I fell asleep during the democrats' first night of speeches on Monday. Sometime after Al Gore righteously bitched, I dreamt of Jimmy Carter speaking on a wooden platform in the middle of a cornfield under a too-blue sky, cliché with puffy white clouds. In the morning, I knew I had missed Clinton spin a masterful web, but doubted the possibility of any real loss. I had seen political speeches before. I haven't missed one State of the Union address since 1991. Yet until Barack Obama addressed the nation on Tuesday night, I had no idea magic - the white kind, anyway - could occur in American politics.

I was intrigued the moment I heard his name - how interesting of the democrats to give the keynote slot to a virtual unknown. Then, the young Illinois senator spoke of his Kenyan-born father who left goat herding to study on American scholarship and his Kansas-born mother's ambitious parents. I was captivated. His pride was inspirational, his presence was stirring and his words were deceptively simple. I was astonished at how poignantly his phrases seized on classic and irrefutable truths. And how they did so with an ancient, familiar rhythm.

"It's that fundamental belief - I am my brother's keeper, I am my sister's keeper - that makes this country work. It's what allows us to pursue our individual dreams, yet still come together as a single American family. 'E pluribus unbum.' Out of many, one," he enforced before warning us against the "spin masters" that conspired to divide us.

If I had TiVo, I would have watched Obama deliver that speech again and again, entirely missing the fact that PBS's political commentators and guest historians had just gotten as excited as I had.

One of the first journalists to open his mouth gushed that such speeches were exactly why he had gone into the business. Others claimed to have witnessed "a bit of history." One actually said, "A star is being born." And yet another got so excited he gloated that the "networks" had missed it.

"That was like watching Tiger Woods perform in his first tournament," it was said of Barack Obama. This 42-year-old former editor of The Harvard Law Review had transcended all labels and clichés and was possible destined to be the first black president of the United States of America. Jim Lehrer was so excited he sent a thankfully-informed Gwen Ifill running over to get a post-speech interview at the podium so the commentators could hungrily gobble that up in analysis, too.

If this wasn't an election year, none of us would have witnessed Obama's star-quality. It would be at least another year (even longer for those without C-Span) before Obama could distinguish himself on the national radar.

The democrats are united in cheering for Kerry right now, and I'm happy for them. But at this time last year, I remember desperately wanting to believe that a real leader was out there. Someone who could inspire even those who hadn't yet dared to believe that America had a place for them, too. If all our options for office were as honestly exciting as Obama, maybe speeches and debates would be as popular an American pastime as football. In the meantime, it's nice to know there might be something worth staying awake for every four years.

--alicia grega-pikul, 29 July 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Wearier Than Willie

2004-07-15T01:00:00.000-07:00
Enter the archetypal hobo, looking like Emmett Kelly with his sad, black-rimmed eyes, weathered hat and thread-bare suit. The stick slung lazily over his shoulder is tied at the tip with a sack of cloth that carries every belonging he has in the world.

Everyone has a concept of the historic railroad-hitching vagabond, but unless you've lived among his ranks you're bound to underestimate him. I'm willing to bet there's even a lesson to be learned from these free spirits that, believe it or not, still exist.

Not to be confused with your randomly dispersed bums, beggars or vagrants, hobos are, for lack of a better word, organized. They hold annual conventions and live by a code. I'm not kidding - read it at hobo.com. The rules are simple but admirable: always try to find work and when there is none, create your own work by making crafts, be a gentleman and don't be a "stupid drunk," respect local laws and enforcement officers, respect nature, don't take advantage of vulnerable people, stay as clean as possible, don't cause problems, help runaways return home and always, always help other hobos.

You may find it hard to imagine why anyone would prefer to be homeless but consider the most essential tenant of the hobo code - "Decide your own life. Don't let another person run or rule you." Hobos don't understand why you might prefer to work a job you don't like for a boss that doesn't like you, just so you can own a big car and a big house filled with big piles of trendy stuff. Need I mention taxes, licenses, insurance, or utility and repair bills?

When a person gives up the illusion of security and sets out to live the hobo way, he also gives up abstract stress. The voluntary simplicity movement (see www.simpleliving.net or www.simpleliving.com) proposes we get as close as possible to the spiritual freedoms embodied by the hobo without cutting our formal ties. Mainstream society has been indulging itself in the fleeting pleasure of reckless consumption for long enough now that even those advocating such compromise are taken for extremists.

At the recent open house for the proposed passenger train between Scranton and Hoboken, I spoke with a New Jersey Transit representative who remembered riding on the old Phoebe Snow line. The most startling information he shared was despite New Jersey's hope of eliminating traffic congestion on Route 80, the situation would probably get worse and worse until fossil fuels become so expensive and air pollution reaches such toxic levels that private automobile travel will finally be scandalous if not outright prohibited.

That's right commuters (and yes, I'm one, too) - it's more likely that not that one day you will have to use public transportation. Enjoy your own private bubble while you can, but you may as well give up the delusion that only pitiful pariahs ride the bus. Tomorrow you too will be in line for an economy pass. Go ahead and start slow with a trendier option (like the electric city shuttle) if that helps to ease the pain, but why waste time? The hobos are already way ahead of all of us.

Why not start to redefine your standards of comfort today according to your own values instead of waiting for the law to force you, frowning, into sacrifice? Not easing yourself into a sustainable standard of living now is like eating whatever you want, whenever you want until you get so obesely unhealthy that the doctor makes you go on an extreme diet.

It's a little cliche, but I like to imagine that somewhere a hobo is bouncing along the rails in a freight car. He's gazing out at a pristine landscape remembering a time when he couldn't call in sick one day without the whole laborious tower of cards he'd erected collapsing in a pile of failure on his cubicle desk.

And then he says a prayer for all of the wage slaves who spend their days with eyes affixed to the computer screen, ears glued to the telephone and hands stuck on the steering wheel. Hoping that they, too,will one day be brave enough to wake up and smell the smokestack.

--alicia grega-pikul, 17 July 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Emotional Physics

2004-06-17T01:00:00.000-07:00
We've known for a week it would happen, but it's finally official.

Princess Britney has joined the caravan of cancelled acts that have detoured instead of coasting in to Montage Mountain's Ford Pavilion on schedule.

As e.c.'s Gene Padden pointed out as soon the knee surgery news broke, simulated sex acts lose something when the dancer is plodding about in a leg brace. That's just not the plastic ticket buyers are paying to see bounce around.

Disappointment has surely hit her preteen fans the hardest, however, as they realize their idol isn't talented enough to pull off a gyration-free performance.

Whether you care about Britney Spears or not, some turn of events has surely let you down lately.

It's inescapable.

Disappointment is the great equalizer. Rich or poor, young or old, communist or capitalist, gay or straight, Caucasian or colorful - no one is exempt. Even those who aim low and set their expectations even lower can't hide from disappointment.

Boyle Roche called it "the nurse of wisdom." I'm still thinking about that one.

No matter how many times we're disappointed in life, it doesn't get easier. There are no calluses. Like stubbing a toe - it's going to hurt every time no matter how many times you do it. Tears may not flow like they did in kindergarten when you dropped your first double scoop of ice cream on the scorched summer sidewalk, but didn't you feel just as bad that time you got bad service and an even worse meal at your favorite restaurant? Say a friend stands you up and you forgive him. Aren't you even more disappointed then when he repeats the performance?

I suppose there's wisdom in being able to put any particular disappointment in scale with the big picture.

Britney Schmitney. I'm far more disappointed, for example, that the man entrusted to lead our country has alienated so many of his fellow countrymen that perfectly sane political minds will scolding anyone who's dared admit thinking about voting for a third party.

Yet it's even worse that the world's shining example of democracy has been mired for decades in a two-party rut that demands everyone fall into one specific category or the other.

But let's go out on a limb. Here's a theory entirely improvable yet absolutely accurate. Think along the lines of karmic justice, the yin and yang of the cosmos, and Newton's 3rd law - every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

It's perfectly logical to assume balance will be the ultimate result, that each and every disappointment results in an equal and opposite -

Uh-oh... what's the opposite of disappointment?

My thesaurus says "satisfaction," "fulfillment," and "happiness," are appropriate antonyms but all three leave something to be desired, don't they?

Disappointment contains an element of surprise. There's a jolt because you just didn't expect such results. That's half the problem, right? When you prepare for the worst, you aren't as disappointed when things do go wrong because it didn't sneak up and pinch your behind.

"Poetic justice" might do the trick. For example: Mary J. Blige's disgusting rendering of "What I Did for Love" at this year's Tony Award show was somehow balanced by the alternatively quirky "Avenue Q" winning "Best Musical" over the mainstream "Wicked." Or how about Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 9/11" winning Best Picture at the Cannes Film Festival and getting released next week in spite of the roadblocks put up by corporate and conservative censors. Ha! Anytime the worthy, but disadvantaged dog gets the bone that's the opposite of disappointment.

It's not likely that Clear Channel will book (insert that really cool act you've been dying to see here) any time soon. But somewhere out there the balance is being restored.Besides, David Bowie rocked hard enough to replace Britney threefold. The wisdom lies in leaving the spilled milk where it lies and going out with a friend for cocktails.

-- Alicia Grega-Pikul, June 17, 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

A Few Phobia Letters

2004-06-11T12:43:00.000-07:00
I enjoyed your last column. It's brave of you to admit to your phobias. I won't call you on the phone unless it's an emergency! I'm
scared to death of heights, but in a weird way. I can't climb up 3 rungs on a stepladder or look over a balcony 2 floors up without feeling dizzy or panicky, but I'm okay on a chairlift. Go figure. I also have a problem with grates in the sidewalk. I don't like to walk on them. So I guess it's a fear of falling thing on both counts.

-- marylou

Thanks for the recommendation to check out "Unusual Phobias". That site
is a riot. Fear of being drowned by peacocks? Fear of exploding
toilets???

Keep up the good work.

Sincerely,

Vince Morabito

My favorite, however, has got to be this one from Jesse.

"I wanted to commend your column this week. I know all about fears. I have a rather unusual one, which I found out that I share with an old high school friend: we are both afraid of condiments. Everything from ketchup to mayo to relish, but none worse than mustard!! They are certainly creepy spreads."

Voices: Dream and Conquer

2004-06-03T12:00:00.000-07:00
We all pass the occasional joke about "being allergic" to the workplace environment, but cartoonist Scott Adams wasn't kidding this week when he diagnosed one of "Dilbert" characters with "ergophobia."

Still, I had to laugh out loud when I saw the nerdy looking bald dude complain of his "abnormal and persistent fear of work." I laughed in part from recognition and in part from relief. Recognition because ergophobia-induced anxiety was what I imagined myself to be suffering from as Tuesday once again began evolving into Wednesday and this column still hadn't coalesced in my mind.

The relief was because I had suddenly realized exactly what I was going to write about.

The irony was just too tempting.

Call them fears or phobias, we all have them no matter how cool we'd like to play it. Billy Bob Thornton is afraid of antiques. Fonzie was afraid of liver. My otherwise fearless six-year-old daughter is afraid of ants.

While killing time on a road trip recently, some friends and I were talking about our irrational fears. All people are strange in some way, right? Sure we are, but somehow by the end of the confessional session - surprise - I ended up being the super-weirdo.

The claustrophobia was swallowed like sugar and they surprisingly understood as I admitted my fear of disembodied voices. I use a telephone when I have to, or am really burning to talk to someone, but basically cord or cordless, the whole experience freaks me out. I'm talking legitimate anxiety. It sometimes takes me 20 minutes to work up the nerve to order a pizza

But when I brought up my fear of holes, they were perplexed.

You can stop your Freudian notions right now. I'm not talking about troglophobia, which has been defined as "a fear of holes, caves, and other similarly deep, dark objects." I guess it would be suffocating at the bottom of a well, but I'm talking about lots of holes. Lots and lots of little holes all lined up next to each other in a somewhat consistent pattern. Think facial pores, for example. I'll never forget physically gagging the day I looked off a third floor dormitory patio and saw all these little holes punched into the ground where they had planted grass. Honeycombs can do it for me. Even textures sometimes - especially when placed under a magnifying glass and the bumps and crevices are blown to immense proportion.

OK, so maybe it's not the most notorious phobia, but is it really that crazy? I've since discovered a whole blog full of people at www.unusualphobias.com that suffer from the same affliction. Yes, that one guy also wears aluminum foil hats because he's afraid of having his mind read, but not all of us hole-leery are wacked to that extent.

No one wants to be afraid, especially when there's no logical rhyme or reason. The consolation comes from managing your fears. I'm proud to say I keep my phobias under control. Pores or not - I can look in the mirror as calmly as anyone. Bring on that toasted, butter-sopped English muffin. I can handle it. It's mind over phobia.

I'm more confident of this fear controlling ability than ever since a dream I conquered last night. As I sat on the couch and let my mind wander aimlessly in hopes that this week's column concept would suddenly come to me, I fell asleep. Oops.

But that's when the reoccurring nightmare overcame my REM-desperate brain. It's that one where I'm ice skating out of a seemingly endless cave for fear of being captured by these anonymous bulky hockey players. Naturally, they skate much better than me. As I was replaying the dream over and over in my mind, like a video game, I somehow figured out how to stop. Not how to stop, I suppose, but that coming to stop, even though the creepy hockey guys were chasing me, was actually in my best interest.

The ice sprayed upward from my feet and I noticed this one guy who seemed to be in charge. The next time I had the dream everything was different. I actually chose to go into the the cave from the outside. I wasn't being chased anymore. I skated right up to the guy in charge and the cave walls disappeared. All I had to do to stop being afraid was stop and change my perspective.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 3 June 2004

Send e-mail to:apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: The Meek Inherit Celebrity

2004-05-20T12:00:00.000-07:00
You've got to believe me.

I had absolutely no intention of watching reality TV's latest sorry excuse for programming, "WB Superstar USA."

That's the anti-American Idol where "only the bad survive." Of course, the finalists don't realize they're bad because the judges keep praising them until the end when the hoax is revealed.

Premise aside, the promotional hype would have scared me away. But later that evening, there I was bouncing back and forth between "WB Superstar USA" and the all-time strangest reality TV show, PBS's "Colonial House." There ain't nothing more bizarre than historical accuracy. Move over, "Survivor."

Admittedly, I am one of those people who skip around during the commercials and then get caught up in a new program and never see anything in its entirety. But there aren't any "commercials" on WVIA. I really would have preferred to watch the colony of 21st Century people attempt to live the lives of 17th Century American settlers.

But I couldn't get the scathing commentary of Berkeley Daily Planet managing editor J. Douglas Allen-Taylor out of my head. In his May 11 column, "The America We Know," he addressed Bush's response to the abuse of Iraqi prisoners at Abu Ghraib. Specifically, he wrote:

"The humiliation of individuals has become an American obsession; it is, in fact, the growing American pastime, surpassing football and baseball as our national sport... Now, voyeurs of despair, it is the agony of the losers on which we dwell." He cited the pop culture thrill of watching Donald Trump ax failed apprentices or seeing unappealing singles "elimidated." I guess his deadline came before he caught wind of "WB's Superstar USA."

Allen-Taylor's supposition chipped away at my distaste for witnessing William Hung cloned like a strip of paper dolls and hung up for dishonor. I was still high on the fumes of the columnist's moralizing when I bid the neo-colonists "good day" and tuned in to "The Frog." My thoughts evolved rapidly.

But why do people wallow in the misfortune of others? Are they just high school bullies all grown up wanting to feel superior?"

The justification for humiliating these no-talented freaks is, of course, that they don't realize they suck. The crime is that no one has told them the truth yet. Surely, they're better off knowing. Aren't they? Don't they have any friends?

What we want is permission to be vain. Distorted self-perception isn't a nightmare if you don't care what other people think. It's inescapable - we can't see ourselves the way other people do. If as Anais Nin wrote, "we see the world not as it is, but as we are," that person in the mirror exists in 6,369,267,200 potential different versions.

That's about when my brain caught on fire and I began to suspect "WB Superstar USA" really wasn't about humiliation. This show wasn't interested in the conforming-to-the-norm, practically perfect, pretty people. They were the boring filler that stood between the judges's next discovery of a genuine, one-of-a-kind phenomenon. I saw the glimmer in chick judge Vitamin C's eye as one of the worst singers unfurled his full fan of freakishness.

The producers will eventually say, "Oh, by the way, we were just kidding about all those nice things we said." But it will be too late. America will embrace their favorite losers and cheer them on and learn that anyone can look like a winner given money and a little attention from the right stylists.

No one is supposed to like the three intentionally obnoxious judges. I mean, that one guy's named "Briggs." That's it. One name. Just Briggs. Tell me that's not pretentious on purpose. In the end it won't matter that it's all a hoax because the biggest loser of all is going to walk away with a $ 100,000 advance on a recording contract and he'll be a celebrity and people will love him and imitate him and want to be around him and want to interview him and some will even want to be him. It won't matter how he got on the show. When all is said and done, the people America will hopefully be making fun of are those conformists so trend-addicted that they will buy and listen to an album of really bad singing.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 20 May 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Maternal Toast

2004-05-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

I've got issues.

Go ahead and laugh. My best friends are the first to poke

fun.

I'm a single working mother with a big mind and an even bigger mouth and I don't have the patience to wait around for someone else to change the world.

I could have written 10 columns this mother's day. In my mind, I did. Here's a highlight from each one.

*If every CEO had to drop what he was doing every work day at 2:30 p.m. to go pick up his kids from school, the world would be a much different place

*When you look at the mother of your children, do you still see the woman you fell in love with? Don't just say it; show it. Treat her the way you did before she said yes. Hold her like you did on that day you were scared she might get away.

*The Breeders saw it on the wall in "No Aloha" (Last Splash) - "Motherhood means mental freeze." This lyric haunted me through my first pregnancy. I was terrified it might be true. It's not. Respect your mother's intelligence with a subscription to a woman's magazine with substance. Bust is my favorite, but I also recommend Brain, Child: The Magazine for Thinking Mothers, The Philosophical Mother, Hip Mama, and (on-line only) The Imperfect Parentand The Mother's Movement.

* My kids are awesome so it's no wonder people keep making the offer. "If you get stuck sometime let me know. I'd love to hang out with your kids." Rarely, however, do they, or I, follow through. It's really too bad because the kids could probably use the positive attention as much as mom could use some time alone. The redeemable certificate may sound like a cheesy idea, but it works. Give her that afternoon or evening of babysitting in writing .

*Save the Children's 's "State of the World's Mothers 2004" report ranks the United States 10th on a list of 119 countries for the status of our mothers well being. Coming out ahead are Sweden, Denmark, Finland, Austria, Netherlands, Norway, Australia, Canada, and the United Kingdom. Bring this information to the attention of all your political representatives. Ask them why the United States has the highest adolescent birth rate in the industrialized world. Remind them that teen pregnancy costs taxpayers about $7 billion a year .

*When I was a kid I prided myself on being able to make my mom cry - the right kind of tears - with a card. Not one from a store, but that real handmade kind. Dig as deep as you have to strike the oil of unrequited love and genuine appreciation and put it on paper with your own hand. Save that jar of pennies, kids - the best things in life really are free.

*On the other hand, you might be better off forking over a little dough. Breakfast in bed is sweet - not having to get out of bed all day might be just what the doctor ordered - but that doesn't mean she wants to eat burnt toast and salmonella-spiced eggs. Don't make her feel like she'd be better off if she just did it herself. If you can't make something super yummy, let a professional do it or switch to plan B.

*Mature women are sexier than pre-teens and she looks even better now than she did before she had the kids. If that sentence isn't true it's time to make it so. Arousal starts in the mind and works its way down. Pump up the confidence and communication before turning to Avenavin and Therafem. You can't feel sexy until you stop feeling shame. Watch some '50s Burlesque films together (e.g. Something Weird Video's "Best of Burlesque") - retro strip tease is hardly threatening, potentially empowering, and actually very hip right now. Or order a catalog from a woman-centered sex shop like Toys in Babeland and page through it together. Point and laugh and talk about all the things you would or wouldn't try. Finally, don't be too proud to give her what she really wants. If it's oral reading that turns her on, crack a book and learn to love the sound of your own voice. She is more important than your ego, isn't she?

*The gift mom really needs is permission to be selfish. Sure, she may break down and buy those new shoes or a pampering beauty cream, but when was the last time she did it without feeling guilty? Don't even let her start to justify herself. Cut her off and insist she love herself as much as she loves you.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 6 May 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com

Voices: Springtime Stargazing

2004-04-22T00:00:00.000-07:00
It's officially Spring. The sun is playing peek-a-boo, green things and blossoms are blooming so quickly the progress is measurable, and no one can concentrate.

If the number of empty parking spaces downtown is any indication, an usually high number of people are playing hooky while I'm writing this column.

The rest are no less innocent. We may physically remain at our desks, but we're preoccupied. It's OK - for the next couple of moments, you don't have to pretend. I'm not going to tell. I just chased away one evocative daydream about being lathered with sunscreen only to imagine I'm opening a bottle of champagne during a shaded picnic on a lazy afternoon by the river.

Yes, even the most serious of us tend to get distracted at this time of the year. So, I figure why waste a perfectly good column? You're not going to blame me for stressing you out ruining your spring fever-induced passing fantasies.

Nope. This week I've got one completely unimportant and inconsequential question to pose.

Why does my horoscope keep sucking so much?

This "quickie" from about a week ago on yahoo.com takes the cake.

"Hostages sympathize with captors. Ignore all the judgments. Survival can be fun."

Excuse me? Survival can be a lot of things, but "fun?" I'm living it, honey; I don't want to hear that. It's not like I'm going to sigh with relief, "Oh thank heavens someone understands." Uh-uh.

Perhaps you're of the camp that swallows your horoscope as the word of the new age gods. I'll admit it; I've dabbled. I've freaked over the accuracy of my birth chart and at the familiarity of the stars' description of my romantic compatibility. But I know where to draw the line.

Since when are the horoscopes they print on your Internet homepage or in the daily newspaper supposed to be anything other than entertainment? Give us a little ego boost. Something to make us feel better about having overcome exhaustion and risen from bed that morning. Something to look forward to while we cross out the lines on our never ending to-do lists.

Today's horoscope told me that if I absolutely had to get out of bed before noon today that I should complete my work as soon as possible and go straight home to crash on the couch under a comforter with a pizza.

Are these astrologers even trying anymore? Where's the false sense of optimism and hope? Of course, I had to get out of bed this morning. I had kids to drop off at school and a column to write! Don't you dare remind me that some people have the luxury of lounging around in bed all mornng! What ever happened to the fix that I'm going to turn to day after day without fail? The deceptively insightful ass-kissing paragraph readers can't help but get addicted to digesting?

Sony Pictures' horoscope on the "13 Going on 30" website says I should ignore the advice of my friends and buy the bikini anyway. Now, I don't know the precise percentage of women in this country who look good in a bikini, but I'm guessing they're in the minority. Let's use a little common sense people. You shouldn't need a calculator to figure that blurb is going to chase a lot of ladies away. Sorry, men, but you apparently weren't considered for a moment. Let's cut our potential box office in half (maybe a quarter), too.

The majority doesn't believe its destiny is mapped out in the distant universe or that various forces of celestial gravity are pulling them this way and pushing them that way. They don't want to hear about making sacrifices or that "it's going to be tough today, but it will all pay off in the long run." America gave up on the long run years ago.

When I read my horoscope I want a starlight embrace. Give me some poetry that says everything's going to be OK. Stroke my cheek with empty promises. Tell me what a good girl I've been and how proud you are that I've managed to stay afloat in the quicksand of reality.

Surely that's not too much to ask of someone who can read the heavens.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 22 April 2004

Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: The Eyes Have It

2004-04-08T09:24:00.000-07:00
Someone is watching you read this column.

OK, that may or may not be true. If it is, you probably won't be scratching any intimate places during the next five minutes. It's nice to have the house to yourself to reign in your inner freakdom without the (immediate) threat of scrutiny. Yet, the world would probably be a more beautiful place if someone were always watching.

The ultimate goal, of course, is that people be trusted to police themselves. If you don't feel confident enough to defend your actions to others, you probably shouldn't do it. But society's found the fear of some god and the threat of law enforcement necessary ingredients in keeping the peace. I'd better not speed down the turnpike because a cop might be hiding around the bend.

During the height of last summer's revelations of possible ethical and human rights violations at the Lackawanna County Prison, a number of citizens committed to seeing justice carried out joined forces. They named their network Justice Watch and invited anyone with a story to step forward and share their concerns.

With the reports of arrests these past couple of weeks, I recalled the formation of the group and wondered what had become of it. The grand jury's conclusion disturbed me and I didn't like the feeling of helplessness that accompanied my concerns. Yet what could I do? True, taxpayers and voters did hold the former county commissioners responsible for their inaction and misjudgments when they failed to reelect them to office.

But could we possibly prevent the spillage next time? You know, so that it doesn't have to come down to cleaning up a mess?

If anyone knew how a common citizen like myself could positively channel her frustrations, I figured, it would be Dr. Everlena Holmes of Justice Watch.

A recently retired academic dean of health sciences with post-doctorate certification from Harvard, Dr. Holmes is my hero of the month (if not the year) and I haven't even met her yet. When I contacted her via e-mail last week with a desire to learn more about Justice Watch, she promptly sent me pages of statistics, a local case study, materials to catch me up on the past eight months, insights and a report from her work at the state level.

Most effectively, she shared her personal story. Her attention to Scranton is partly the result of her son's journey through our local justice system. He is currently incarcerated for a offense she is certain he did not commit.

I haven't had the chance to verify the material I've read. But if only a fraction of the alarms rung by Dr. Holmes's personal essay "Unfair Practices in Scranton's Criminal Justice System" can, in fact, be supported, we're in need of reform that won't happen with a few firings and arrests. The work ahead will realistically require decades to evolve.

Justice Watch can raise the bar of accountability solely by paying attention. In a program initially titled "Adopt-a-Prisoner," now known as "Prisoner Watch," the activists visit inmates and acquire first-hand knowledge of how the prison is operating. The group has already held public hearings, offering those afraid of and disillusioned by the system someone to talk to and someone to trust.

Prisoners deserve access to the same basic human rights as you and I -- especially considering that sometimes innocent people really are convicted. It may not happen as often as convicts say it does, but it's not a myth. Just like racial profiling -- it's ugly to admit, but,unfortunately it is not a myth.

When I was a poor freshman on scholarship, my college roommate accused me of stealing quarters from her vase of laundry money. I had the obvious motive and opportunity and she didn't care about evidence. She had decided I was guilty and treated me cruely. Later, two jocks from down the hall confessed and she apologized profusely. But it was too late. She had already punished me for this crime I did not commit. People make errors in judgments on both sides of the law. Sometimes the stakes are higher than others.

Like an emergency room doctor, the justice system holds lives in its hands. Prisoners can't file for malpractice, but their lives deserve the degree of care guaranteed to patients.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 8 April 2004

Send mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Missionary Mail

2004-03-31T07:17:00.000-08:00

Dear Ms. Alicia Grega-Pikul:

I read your column in the Electric City dated March 25-31.

In your second to the last paragraph you said "That's not the point of this column," and I didn't have to read between the lines to see that you were the topic of choice, portraying your hurts and anger from childhood to adulthood. I too was once disillusioned at the same young age, because those who conveyed to me the message did not have the real power of God in their lives. That really makes the difference I found out later.
It was not until the age of 30, in a different place, that I received the Holy Spirit, who tangibly changed my life. I found out that the true message of Christ's life always conveys and releases to a receptive heart healing and wholeness. "The healthy don't need a physician," Jesus said. Christ came to heal the broken hearted and He still does today. A person who is not whole cannot make their children whole, no matter how much love you pour in. Talk to any psychologist. Hanging on to your comfortable dogma may be a detriment to you and your children.
-- (unsigned)

I replied to unsigned as follows:

I appreciate your kind sentiments, but I'm afraid your analysis of me is mistaken.

I've suffered my share of hurts, certainly. Who hasn't? But I'm without doubt in assuring you that my heart has healed. More than healed, it has expanded and become stronger with age and experience. My soul is not broken and I am not without spiritual guidance.

I have come to embrace the lessons of several religions -- not just one. Although you may see this as weak, I believe that your Jesus Christ was only one of many wise teachers who have walked this earth. I prefer to keep an open mind and place my faith in an instinctual conviction that any higher power worth trusting is one that I do not need to question or attempt to define.

You're even more mistaken about my children. They are wonderfully bright and happy little beings full of love who shine light wherever they go. They are confident with their place in the world, notably generous and very aware of the feelings and interests of those around them.

I'm sure your words were well-intended, but perhaps what you've seen between the lines is more a reflection of self than it is an accurate reading of me.

Respectfully,
alicia grega-pikul

Voices: Two Words, Under Democracy

2004-03-25T12:00:00.000-08:00
Until Wednesday morning, I had only skimmed reports about the historic Supreme Court fight against Dr. Michael Newdow's victory to have the words "under god" removed from the pledge.

That's when I heard National Public Radio report that before the trial even began, the Bush Administration (yes, it was Ashcroft who directed the case to the Supreme Court when the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals refused to reconsider) will argue that Newdow had no right to sue on behalf of his daughter, a nine-year-old student in the Elk Grove school district outside Sacramento. They've posed that the child's mother, a born-again Christian, currently has sole legal guardianship.

Ignore Newdow's other court case - a lengthy and expensive battle to win shared (50-50) custody of the girl - if you must. But can you deny the irony of the supposedly pro-family Bush administration discouraging Newdow's involvement in his daughter's life?

Mildly concerned about Newdow's intentions after hearing a cut from his folk music CD, I was relieved to discover a general consensus. He may be taking advantage of the attention, but the impassioned doctor appears as genuinely earnest about his daughter as he is about standing up for his rights as an American. He's spent more time working in the courtroom than the emergency room that employs him and is perilously close to bankruptcy; yet Newdow hasn't asked for damages.

He's asked only that two words be removed from this daily patriotic ritual. A government endorsement of monotheism, Newdow claims, not only violates the constitution, but also communicates the message to his daughter that his conviction in atheism is improper, perhaps immoral, and decidedly anti-American.

I was cynical upon first hearing Newdow's position that the pledge's disapproval of atheism had personally injured him. How easy it must have been for Bush to dismiss the 9th Circuit Court's ruling as ridiculous!

Then I recalled the day when, perhaps 11-years-old, I begged my mother to believe in God for the sake of her soul.

I had learned of the danger from my day care teacher. She was kind to me during those awful and awkward years when I was ostracized for being geekishly smart, mature beyond my years and poor to boot. I adored her. A minister's daughter, she gave me a copy of the New Testament when she took me under her wing. Then, she invited me to church. I was grateful for the attention (unlike Newdow, my father was not in a position to fight so vehemently for involvement in my life) and desperate for solace. I swallowed the Christian dogma like sweet elixir. But in the eighteen months or so that followed, I became distraught. I had grown preoccupied with concern that my mother, a self-proclaimed atheist, was going to hell.

I can't imagine what mom must have made of my tearful pleading. But I'm grateful that, rather than prohibit me from this religious exploration, she allowed me to see the fad out. Eventually I reached a conclusion that continues to influence my spiritual stance today. My mother was a good and moral person. A single, working mother, she had sacrificed many of her most personal desires in order to independently care for my sister and me. Any god worth worshipping, I decided, would not condemn her for her disillusionment.

I've already gone on record in support of removing "under god" from the pledge. That's not the point of this column. Nine out of ten Americans supposedly disagree with me on the matter. Congress voted 99-0 to retain the phrasing. The words were added by Congress in 1954, as a cold war strategy to deter America's youth away from communism, and that's all I need to know to remain confident in my conviction. But then, I've learned to be comfortable with being in the minority. Just like I'm learning to be comfortable with the fact that my ex-husband will inevitably influence my children toward values at odds with my own.

The reality of life in a democratic state is that your children will be exposed to a full spectrum of diverse beliefs (or one should only hope). They will reach their own conclusions. All you can do is teach them to think critically and give them the tools to make wise decisions in their own best interests. And fight -- if you have to -- to make sure they know how much you love them.

--alicia grega-pikul, 25 March 2004

HATE MAIL

2004-03-12T08:32:00.000-08:00
In response to this week's VOICES column (on-line @
www.ecweekend.com):

Brian writes...

"It seems to me that you are a raving, ranting, liberal who is in denile! You have been blinded by the major media example abc, cbs, nbc,and there blantant skewing of the news to their leftist leanings. You really should do some rsearch before just spouting out all this nonsense. You sound just like that nut James Carville. Why dont you read a real newspaper like the Washington Times or watch a real news program like FOX NEWS. If you do" The TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE".

Voices: Kulturkampf U.S.A.

2004-03-11T12:00:00.000-08:00
What is the greatest threat facing America today?

According to a poll illustrated by cartoonist Tim Kreider, Gay Marriage is first with 31 percent of respondents' votes, followed by Saddam (24 percent), "Near-Simultaneous End of 'Sex and the City' and 'Friends' (19 percent), Carbs (17 percent), Aliens (8 percent), and finally with .003 percent of the votes, "This secret pentagon report warning that global warming will cause catastrophic floods, drought, famine, riots, and nuclear wars by 2020."

Yes, it's a joke. Kreider publishes the subversive strip The Pain - When Will it End?" But the very insight that makes the cartoon funny also scares the hell out of me.

Americans are easily distracted. We watch the news or skim the paper, but how many of us honestly want to know what's really going on? We don't want to think about the bills we can't pay or whether the threat in Iraq was great enough to justify so many deaths, disfigurements, depressions, etc. So, we allow ourselves to be distracted from the issues. Most anything will do - celebrity scandal, keeping up with the Joneses, religion, or even the weather.

The GOP knows this and the Bush White House is counting on it. The War On Terror alone is not enough to secure a Bush reelection. If it were, America wouldn't be spiraling out of control into a culture war that could dangerously change the way we are sanctioned to live.

Think the gay marriage debate is just about changing definitions or amending the constitution or a legal right to claim benefits? That's what the radical right wants you to think. The cultural war is not just a campaign reelection strategy.

Not all gay people even want to get married and not all gay people are political activists. But suddenly, just as they began to attain a respectable level of acceptance, they've found themselves under a backlash microscope of ignorant judgment. In Tennessee a divorced, gay father was prohibited from "exposing (his son) to his gay lover(s) and/or his gay lifestyle" until the ACLU intervened.

Pennsylvania legislators are currently stewing over bipartisan legislation supporting the adoption of special needs children that's been soured by the inclusion of amendments banning adoptions not only by same sex couples but also by single persons. The reality of homosexuality has entered the public discourse and our conservative leaders have no intention of stopping with the "protection" of marriage.

Reproductive rights have been attacked with equal aggression. Be it access to emergency contraception or the struggle of a woman to see her life valued as much as the life of her fetus - we've never faced a bigger threat to essential freedoms in my lifetime. Bush has no shame and a messianic complex bigger than Mel Gibson's. And frankly I've become pessimistic. Is an America where justice and tolerance reign just wishful thinking?

It is because of the war that Bush Inc., has declared on its own country, even more so than the one it has declared on the international harbors of terrorism that I will walk the streets in opposition on March 20. People all across the globe will take to the streets on this one-year anniversary of the U.S. bombing and invasion of Iraq to protest America's colonial ideology and to collectively pray for peace. We are not rallying because we lack respect for freedom or military sacrifice or merely because we have some idealistic and unrealistic notion that peace is the answer. The decision to rally is as personal as it is political.

I will march because it's time I reinforced my words with equally powerful action. Because I am outraged that Bush Inc. thinks America is dumb enough to swallow its consistent release of doublespeak propaganda that sugar coats the issues. I will march against intolerance and against blind fundamentalism. Because consistency in how we regard the value of life is not too much to ask.

And because cultural wars should only be fought to open minds and enlighten people, not to punish those with alternative convictions who, by choice or not, are following a less popular spiritual path.

--alicia grega-pikul, 11 March 2004

Voices: Shades of Gray

2004-02-26T12:17:00.000-08:00
This weekend's production of "Peter Pan" at Marywood University was not the first I had seen, but it was the first time I thought about Mrs. Darling as the mother of missing children.

In a scene just before Wendy, Michael and John returned from Neverland, Mrs. Darling looked at the nursery dog Nana with resignation. "They're never coming back," she said in a shockingly matter of fact tone.

Her character could get away with saying that, I supposed, because everyone in the audience knows very well the kids are going to fly through the window any minute. And besides, we had all just made it perfectly clear that we did believe in fairies, so nothing bad could really happen. I thought that maybe Mrs. Darling believed, too. That somewhere inside she was desperately thinking they'd return. There just wasn't enough room for both her and Mr. Darling to hide in the doghouse, so she chose to carry on.

Ever-tempted to connect the seemingly disparate things that distract me, the missing Darling children brought Spalding Gray to mind. His disappearance was announced in mid-January and I've been obsessed since.

The autobiographical monologist -- sometimes considered performance artist -- better known by the general public for his roles in such films as "Beaches" and "Kate & Leopold," has long inspired me. In the late '90s, I heard him speak at the University of Arizona after a screening of his film "Monster in Box." I'm not one to be star struck, but I forced myself to put fear aside and ask a question during the Q&A just to have a moment of connection. I felt like an idiot when he seemed unsure what to say about the future of live theatre, but still pleased I has asked.

Only a handful of people I've spoken to have heard of Spalding Gray, so I won't bore you with my fixation.

You're probably more concerned with the disappearance of Phylicia Thomas, the 22-year-old Lake Township woman who's been missing since February 11.

Or the fact that within six weeks, four women have been found strangled near Philadelphia's Kensington Avenue corridor.

I felt guilty when I read about those women this week. Chances are Gray killed himself. Almost everyone thinks so - he's been suicidal for years and obsessed with death since childhood. We'll either hear about his body being dragged from New York Harbor or, some time next year, he'll annouce a new production and we'll realize he must have come home. But it's absolutely terrifying to contemplate what might have happened to Thomas.

Worse yet is that my distraction with these missing people isn't even about the actual people. It's about the idea of people disappearing. Just suddenly being gone. Not dead, necessarily, but mysteriously without certain status.

It wasn't Gray or Thomas haunting me. They were jusy symbols put forth by my subconscious. It was the people I've loved now absent from my life that were haunting me. Friends from college busy living in New York City. My grandparents in Tucson, Arizona. My father and my brothers in Alabama. These people are missing from my life and therefore I miss them. One of the few New Year's resolutions I made was to be more communicative with these people, but it's been hard. In order to pick up the pen or the telephone, I have to accept the fact that they might never walk literally back into my physical world again.

Simultaneously, I'm often overwhelmed by the friendships I've formed during the past four years in Scranton with so many amazingly talented and beautifully-souled people. I exhaust myself some weeks running around to see as many of them as possible. But in retrospect, I'm always pleased I'vemade the effort. Just like I was glad I asked Spalding Gray that question years ago.

We can't control when people will enter or exit our lives. Our choice is only whether we will gather the guts to ask that question; to connect, if only for one potentially awkward moment, before they disappear from our lives.

--alicia grega-pikul, 26 February 2004

Voices: When Is My Love?

2004-02-12T12:00:00.000-08:00
I remember countless collegiate nights spent alone pushing the boundaries of wakefulness until dawn. Sometime I wrote and I usually listened to music, but I always daydreamed.

I imagined scenario after ridiculously romantic scenario. The phone would ring or a knock would sound on my dorm room door and there would be someone who understood and would free me from my loneliness. I could have actively sought companionship. I did on other occasions. I had no shortage of friends. But the charm of what I longed for lay in the very fact that it did not exist. I refused to settle for the real. I embraced fatigue and bathed night after night in the romantic melancholia of an Anais Nin-inspired dream life.

I never thought this degree of neurotic deprivation could be common, even among the most idealistic of young men and women. But the way I see it now, my past indulgences were merely a symptom of a most classic malady. It is common in America to constantly strive for more and more. Only the lazy and un-ambitious are content to be happy with less than the greatest possible yield. What kind of capitalist stops at good enough?

It's a philosophy that may have made our economy strong, but it's no model for human relationships. And as you may have already suspected, mental obsession is not just an American phenomenon. European-educated author Eckhart Tolle (The Power of Now, Practicing the Power of Now, and Stillness Speaks) recently described this familiar mindset in an interview with Steven Donoso in "The Sun."

"In ordinary life there is a continuous moving away from the moment to an imagined future that is unconsciously regarded as more important. Our striving toward the future, our inner compulsion to deny the present moment, manifests itself as a continuous sense of unease and latent dissatisfaction with what is."

Freud, too, acknowledged our "normal state of consciousness" as one of "countinuous unease." Dissatisfaction is apparently the norm. I've already seen such restless hunger haunting my daughters. Like most children, they are always wanting more.

As symbols of romance once again flood our cultural landscape this St. Valentine's season, many of us will struggle against disappointment. Even the happiest newlyweds, the freshest loves, and even those absolutely certain they've found their soul mate, are destined to stress over the ultimately perfect romantic encounter. Who doesn't want to blush at that evening of sheer magic as they reminisce on their deathbed?

Do I look sexy enough in my new dress? Will dinner taste right? Will we be on time? No, I can't get my period TONIGHT! How does an emotional perfectionist create romance in spite of the expectation anxiety? If Tolle is to be trusted, it's a matter of forgetting the past and refusing to think about the future.

The magic is made when we stare deep into each other's eyes here and now in the present and allow ourselves to forget where we are, where we've been and where life might bring us tomorrow. The only way to put our minds at rest, Tolle implies, is to force ourselves to experience the bliss of being in the moment.

This week, I received a magnetic postcard urging me to "save the date" for my tenth college reunion this June. The epiphany that startled me as I considered rewinding the clock was instant. I wouldn't have necessarily have thought of myself as satisfied - in high school a friend brought me a joke key chain that read, "All I want is a little more than I'll ever get" - but if I had the chance to go back and begin again, fresh out of college, I'd turn it down. I didn't even have to think about it.

Sure, there are things I might do differently. There are things I wanted out of life that I still don't have. But going back would mean giving up what I have right now. And I like when I am.

--alicia grega-pikul, 12 February 2004

Voices: Passing the Torch

2004-01-29T00:00:00.000-08:00
It may not be as difficult as watching your children grow up, but handing over the reins of a project you've steered since its conception is by no means easy.

When Wendy Butler (then Maopolski), editor of electric city, and I read Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues three years ago, we instantly shared the same dream. We didn't even have to speak the words aloud to know what the other was thinking.

Someone had to produce this astonishing and empowering piece of theatre in Scranton, Pennsylvania.

But who?

It didn't take long for us to realize that if we didn't do it ourselves we might be waiting forever. I shouldn't speak for Wendy, but I'll admit I was scared. This was a big endeavor. But the idea of living in a city where this liberating and educational piece of theatre COULDN'T be staged was ultimately more frightening. We learned that V-Day was a worldwide grassroots effort through which we could direct ninety percent of our proceeds to organizations in our own community working to stop violence against women and girls. We thought about the future awaiting our elementary aged daughters.

We decided we had no choice but to risk public criticism and artistic failure and devote ourselves to a lot of work that neither of us really had the time to do. We got an encouraging thumbs-up from the late Jason Miller and secured the support of Diva Theater's Paige Balitski and began recruiting any and every inspiring woman we could find.

I was as elated as I was frightened. I had been a theatre major with a minor in women's studies and the project promised to combine my greatest passions in one endeavor. This was feminist political theatre of a scale I had imagined for a decade. And the further we ventured into the project, the more fulfilling the work seemed to become. The audience would be deeply affected by our production of The Vagina Monologues. We would raise significant awareness of the issues of domestic violence and homicide right here in Northeast Pennsylvania.

After the fact I realized that those most affected by V-Day were those who got involved. When the shock gave way, it appeared that no one, perhaps, has been more changed than those who in organizing the project, had been thrust into a position of leadership. If only for a few months, I would stood before the women and men of my community as an example that female leadership was not just possible, it was pretty darn desirable, too.

I'm sure there are several good reasons that the V-Day mother organization (as I like to refer to it) places a two-year cap on any given volunteers serving as organizers of the V-Day Worldwide campaign in their community. But the one that has come to make the most sense to me is that new women deserve that transforming experience that I've had the honor to relish.

Wendy and I are not steering this year's V-Day Scranton benefit production of The Vagina Monologues, but we continue to stand by the multiple messages of the project. The local headlines still shock us with tragedy - domestic murder/suicides, women so desperate for love and support that they're willing to harbor drug dealers from out of town, even infant abuse. I genuinely hope that V-Day Scranton 2004 raises twice the money we were able to collect in our first two years.

V-Day Scranton 2004 will present this year's benefit production of The Vagina Monologues in the ideally red and cozy splendor of the Scranton Cultural Center's Shopland Hall on Friday, Feb. 21. I'm free this year from the elevated stress levels you might detect emanating from this year's admirable co-chairs Linda Eisen and Phoebe Sharpe.

Is it difficult to take a step back from a phenomenon you've birthed? Absolutely. But it's also rewarding to watch your children become strong enough to carry on with out you. I'll be sitting in the audience this year, applauding each and every "vagina warrior," of our past, present, and future.

--alicia grega-pikul, 29 January 2004

Voices: Protecting Our Cultural Greenspaces

2004-01-15T00:00:00.000-08:00
This week's announcement that a bust of Scranton's own playwright/actor Jason Miller would soon be erected on Courthouse Square recalled an intense dream I had a few months ago after watching the Exorcist III.

Miller's ghost descended at great speed through the ceiling into my home in West Scranton. He urged me to round up the playwrights. "They ARE out there," he spoke, almost chidingly. "Bring them together. Help them tell our stories before the people arrive on the train from New York to do it for us." His voice was controlled with a tone simultaneously sad yet optimistic. He seemed to take this anticipated threat of invasion very seriously. "They will replace our memories with theirs, if we let them," he warned.

It was an extremely disconcerting vision, particularly because I can rarely recall my dreams. If we were living in biblical times you might have convinced me that the dream was prophetic. But once the surprise wore off, it became clear that the dream was merely a montage of thoughts that have been stewing in my brain for years.

Since moving back to Northeast Pennsylvania four years ago, I've been continually astounded by the pride held in our local guys and gals done good in the big bad arts and entertainment industry. Be it television, the movies, theatre, literature, what have you - if he's from Scranton and he's made a national name for himself, no one cheers louder than the folks here at home.

It's as if these celebrities are our spokespeople out there in the "real world" and we are counting on them to make us look good. To somehow elevate the status of what it means to be from Scranton. Does our worth really increase with each mention of "Scranton" Chris Barnes squeezes into "Life with Bonnie?" Maybe it does. Or maybe it's just that thrill of hearing our name in a song.

While witnessing this fanfare, I've been privileged by my work here at electric city to meet an endless armada of talented artists and entertainers who have selected to live and work in NEPA despite the terrible odds of achieving fame and fortune. In many cases, this detail has only added to my esteem. The fascinating Jim Warner, for example, who Gene Padden has interviewed in this week's issue is no less a great poet for choosing to live in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania instead of the Big Apple or the City of Angels.

The gratitude these regional artists have expressed for e.c.'s taking them and their work seriously has made a sometimes frustrating, often stressful and always challenging occupation more rewarding than I could have ever imagined. For the most part, they've managed not to be bitter. Sure, they feel neglected for no better reason than their choice not to flee the region to practice their craft. But they shrug their shoulders, joke it off and continue contributing to the quality of life in NEPA.

Yes, the ghost of Jason Miller confronted me only with my own hopes and fears.

I've been as excited about the renaissance of Scranton as the next person. Growth is good and certainly due. It's already made life in NEPA notably more exciting and we've barely hit the gas. My fears, however, recall the stories of San Francisco and SoHo -- places that became so desirable that those who made them such fascinating and fabulous places to live could no longer afford to live there.

Will we save room on the stage for those who have stood by us?

As a theatre artist myself, I find it immensely satisfying that the figure of a great playwright will stand on the square next to the political, military and social leaders who improved life in Northeast Pennsylvania. Miller's choice to live in Scranton and his dedication to further the artistic life of NEPA is one that deserves countless curtain calls. But I'm also inclined to agree with my friend who while happy about the tribute also questioned, "Wouldn't the bust look better in the lobby of the new Jason Miller Playwright's Theatre?"

--alicia grega-pikul, 15 January 2004

Voices: Vacation Proclamation

2003-09-11T00:00:00.000-07:00
Blame the proximity of Labor Day if you must, but stories lamenting America's vocational challenges are dripping from every news orifice.

Congress is still trying to pass a piece of doublespeak-laden legislation called the Family Time Flexibility Act. It ironically would create a new category of middle managers exempt from overtime. Step right up for an empty promotion with the potential for mandatory overtime. But wait, there's more - instead of being paid you can get "comp time" to be used at your employer's discretion.

Even if the time were to be used at the employee's own discretion, he probably wouldn't use a fraction of it. Americans aren't taking vacations like they used to. It's just too hard to get away, so they're shortcutting much needed rest and relaxation just to keep up.

We're working to showcase our resiliency as much as do our jobs. Time management is an art. We must become more efficient. Sick days are for sissies. I'll play with the kids tomorrow. I'm too tired to cook tonight; fast food O.K.? Let's just stay home and watch TV.

Has the American dream become an American nightmare? Someone pinch me.

The situation has apparently gotten so bad that a network of activists has declared October 24, Take Back Your Time Day and organized a movement. What a cool idea! Who couldn't use a little more of their time back?

But did you ever notice how the founders of these movements just happen to have a corresponding book that you can buy?

In the case of "Take Back Your Time" handbook, editor John de Graaf (producer of the Affluenza series) just happens to be on the "steering committee" of The Simplicity Forum , the organization responsible for TBYTD. Who else heads up this "alliance of simplicity leaders committed to achieving and honoring simple, just and sustainable ways of life?" Let's just say that out of the 12 of them, half are published in the 250-page paperback TBYTD handbook.

The movement's list of "50 plus pretty quick things you can do for take back your time day," reads like the ultimate grassroots-marketing plan. The top ten might as well read - give us free advertising, buy our book and get other people to buy it, too and then buy and wear our merchandise so we can make even more money and you can give us even more free advertising. TBYTD's September newsletter thoughtfully suggests, "Remember your group can sell the handbook to raise funds for local Time Day activities."

Let's not make any assumptions here, but "order materials" is the top link on The Simplicity Forum's website rail. This movement may want to simplify things, but at the end of the day, they're still capitalists.
Still, it's not exactly a scam. The organization is also selling social change, doing advocacy work and encouraging people to take action. And that's positive, right?

I only wish Senate Resolution 210 was a little more inspiring. What good would it really do to declare October "National Work and Family Month?" Passing such a resolution is the perfect smokescreen for our legislative body - half of those newly elected to Congress last year, according to the Public Interest Research Group, are millionaires.

We're talking about the same senators and representatives who have given themselves four, $5,000 pay raises in the last five years without raising minimum wage a dime - It's been a steady $5.15/hour since September 1997.

Asking for National Work and Family Month is an empty gesture. It's the opposite of consciousness raising. Let President Bush sign a proclamation encouraging thematic ceremonies and activities. Let's all take the day off. I have no doubt that America would be a much happier, healthier, probably even more productive place if we all got that entire month of vacation like they get in Europe.

But I bet the 30 million Americans who earn poverty-level wages at full-time jobs would settle for a "livable wage."

There's another nine million that would be happy just to have a job.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 11 September 2003

Send e-mail to:apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Kicking This Habit

2003-08-28T09:45:00.000-07:00
It's easy to be discouraged by the on-going acts of vandalism that have afflicted the miles of mules project. Yet, it is these very same acts that have illustrated - more effectively than had the sculptures remained
untouched - how crucial the project has been.

Whether or not it is inevitable, we are rarely surprised by vandalism. The anticipation, however, never seems to lessen the hurt and the shock when such shared works of art are damaged. And that's how we know the work has successfully served its purpose.

My daughters have been enthusiastic for the painted mules since they first went on display in our region this spring. But it wasn't until my five-year-old saw images of Planetary Mule's broken legs, that I fully grasped the immensity of the mules' contribution. She insisted, in a sort of panic, that we get in the car and drive around to make sure all the other mules were okay. Someone might as well have tampered with her toys or injured a pet. These mules were her friends and she very purely and genuinely cared about their welfare.

This same concern has come forth in adults, though perhaps with less obvious passion. It's precisely why the expense of a public art instillation is embraced by even the most stoic of community planners. Yes, it is more likely than not that the work will be the target of vandalism, but here's the irony. Once the novelty has worn off, the presence of artwork in any given community space actually serves to deter vandalism. People, even those brandishing spray paint, hammers, permanent makers and other tricks of the destructive trade, subconsciously become invested. They feel a sense of pride in the art-enhanced space and they develop a sense of ownership.

It's natural to doubt the Northeast Pennsylvania's readiness for culture - but to suppose that the region isn't ready for public art would be a mistake. The vandalism that has afflicted our mule herd is not solely a regional or even American phenomenon.

Stationed in Quakertown, Hope Museum was one of many mules damaged in the Lehigh Valley's herd in what appeared to be a theft attempt. A sculpture titled "Foreign Friends" was given to Palo Alto, Calif., by Sweden only to fall victim to a dual-headed decapitation. Adding insult to injury, the heads were later stolen. Poetry-engraved glass panels placed in a park in Vancouver, B. C., had to be moved after a series of attacks and a recent radio report from Brussels specifically cited damage to the city's "Art on Cows" project as one instance of this summer's increase in vandalism.

What kind of sense, if any, do these random acts of destruction make? In eliminating most community-specific theories, the universality of vandalism only further obscures our attackers' motivations. Often times, vandals strike in a statement of protest, but it's doubtful that those responsible for the recent mule attacks were acting according to political consciousness. I'm guessing, rather, that ignorance has been the rule. It's just painful to believe that those who attacked Planetary Mule, for example, would have done so if they were aware they were destroying the creative expression of secondary school students.

The joke has been made that such tampering proves public engagement with the art, but the reality is vandalism only emphasizes our estrangement from art. It cries out that we need not less exposure, but more.

Like the wry PSA by Americans for the Arts suggests, "It's no wonder people think Martha Graham is a snack cracker... There's not enough art in our schools."

Too many people fail to see the relevance that artistic creation might possibly have to their daily lives. One might see the work as a trivial distraction contradictory to the challenges of survival. Art, in general, is perceived as something belonging not to the common man, but only to those privileged enough to have no real concerns.

It is only by standing vulnerably in the stewardship of an entire community that public art can change such misconception.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 28 August 2003

Send e-mail to:apikul@timesshamrock.com.

Voices: Unwedded Bliss

2003-08-14T00:00:00.000-07:00
It's one of the most frequently asked questions of the fresh divorcee: "Would you ever get married again?"

A couple weeks ago, there were too many factors to consider before answering such a question. But now, thanks to Bush and the Pope, the issue has become considerably clearer. I still don't know what political and religious conservatives fear they will lose if homosexual couples earn the right to legally marry (though I suspect it's a form of power).

But I do know that I want absolutely nothing to do with their exclusive little social club. The idea sickens me as much as our president's disregard for the supposed separation between church and state. Thanks for the choice, but until you give it to everyone regardless of sexual preference, no thanks. I'll find an alternative just like they have to do.

Hey, if enough of us opt for the alternative, we can have our own little social club. It could happen. Consider the case of the metrosexual. You thought it was confusing to be gay these days - this poor guy woke a few months ago to find a big fat label on his forehead and advertising campaigns tightly focused on his wallet. If you somehow missed the discovery of this honorary social club, relax. It took me awhile to catch on, too - there's just not a whole lot of the species running around Northeast Pennsylvania.

Mark Simpson, the British author credited with coining term in 1994, has described a metrosexual as "a young man with money to spend, living in or within easy reach of a metropolis - because that's where all the best shops, clubs, gyms, and hairdressers are. He might be officially gay, straight or bisexual, but this is utterly immaterial because he has taken himself as his own love object and pleasure as his sexual preference."

Just in time - the metrosexual cover has risen to protect men who want to express a traditionally feminine vanity without making an issue of their sexual preference. The Supreme Court has made it perfectly clear that what goes on in the bedroom is none of anyone's business (nah na nah na nah na). Now, no one needs to assume that just because you look gay that you are, in fact, actually gay.

The so-called gay television revolution is supposed to be helping straight America become comfortable with and perhaps even find value in homosexuals. But anyone who actually knows gay people understands that what America is really becoming comfortable with is a market-friendly stereotype.

Honestly, I worry a little about NASCAR dad (another honorary social club). He's bound to be disappointed when he meets a less than stylish and not particularly witty or entertaining, real, gay man. Imagine his confusion when he then turns to shake hands with a womanizing metrosexual. Oh, well. He'll get over it. Maybe even learn that it's O.K. (as in socially acceptable) to embrace his feminine side.

It's really a trend long overdue to return. Men have been stifled since the decay of "the dandy." Let the metrosexuals of the world conspire to set them free. And anything that allows people the right to remain ambiguous is a good thing in my book. Screw Mars and Venus already. You can be from Jupiter or Saturn or Neptune or even Uranus if you want. It's your choice.

Bush and Co. may accept your appearance while denying your reality. They may try to create new laws establishing their rigid belief systems as our current social paradigm. But it won't last long. America may be learning to appreciate differences via target markets, honorary social clubs and stereotypes, but she is genuinely learning. And the more comfortable we are with those who are consciously choosing to exercise their personal freedoms, they more we become comfortable with making the choice to exercise our own.

Imagine it. An America full of people thinking and feeling and expressing themselves without fear of persecution. Maybe that is something Bush should fear.

--alicia grega-pikul, 14 August 2003

Voices: InNEPTAtude? Not Anymore

2003-07-31T00:00:00.000-07:00

No one wants to fail.

We've arrived at such a convoluted view of what could or should be considered "failure," that the very word has become a dirty one, rank with dishonor and accompanied by shame.
In the scientific laboratory, there is no such thing as a "failed experiment." In eliminating one possible solution we have narrowed the field. We are one step closer to discovering a workable solution. So while one's efforts of the moment may not have produced the ultimate desired results, his work has been successful because knowledge has been collected.

Despite many well-wishing clichés grounded in this very concept, we are rarely able to take such a forward attitude in life. In a cloak of embarrassment, we proceed with trepidation. We allow our fear of failure to prevent us from taking future risks. And without taking such risks, we deny ourselves the possibility of ever succeeding.

Fortunately, this does not appear to be the case with the awkwardly defunct Northeastern Pennsylvania Theatrical Alliance.

The Harris brothers founded NEPTA in 1995 with a goal of promoting awareness of the region's many community theatre groups and assisting the growth of those companies. An annual award ceremony was established with the admirable objective of giving the hard working members of regional theatre an opportunity to sit in the audience for a change. A gala event, it was hoped that everyone in attendance would feel like a million bucks because their artistic contributions had unfortunately gone unpaid. It was hoped that community members would become excited by the hoopla and attend the ceremony in order to root for their favorites.

This September will be the first fall in seven years in which an awards ceremony will not take place.

Despite many good ideas and good intentions, the purpose of NEPTA had somehow become this one evening of awards. Most managed to have a smashing good time and the theatres were always happy to see their volunteers rewarded, but the event did more to discourage cooperative relationships among competing theatrical egos than it did to increase anyone's ticket sales. The fostering of such supportive relationships was, ironically, one of NEPTA's original and primary goals.

The alliance begun by the Harris brothers no longer exists. After almost a year of being held hostage by an inactive executive board, individual members have stepped forward to announce the organization defunct due to violation of its by-laws.

Exactly how and why NEPTA failed to serve its membership may never be known. Because of the numerous perspectives involved there are far too many truths for a simplistic answer. But the attitude of determination and good will with which the regional theatres are continuing forward demonstrates that there really has been no failure at all. There has only been the elimination of one possible model of a regional theatrical alliance. If anything, the Harris brothers' goal of building cooperative relationships between companies has undeniably been reached. It is together that these theatre companies have come to the conclusion that the organization designed to serve them could not do so in its present state or according to its original design. It is together that they have decided to reorganize.

A steering committee is currently being formed that will guide our region's theatres through an evaluation and restructuring phase on which they have not placed a deadline. It will take time to hear every theatre's ideas, hopes and fears before they can proceed with a new alliance that might better help them to achieve their common goals. The style of each company may vary, but each group is motivated by a hope for the future in which theatre is an essential part of the communities in which they create.

Bruce Weber of "The New York Times" recently characterized theatre artists as "the cockroaches of the entertainment business." I giggled when I first read this statement, but in light of recent events I have genuinely come to appreciate it.

"You can't kill them off," Weber surmised. "They endure. And happily they even thrive."

--alicia grega-pikul, 31 July 2003

Voices: Independent Thought Day

2003-07-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

I can march but only off to war / no marching in front of department stores

I can hang only the red white and blue / blue white and red and they'll hang you

I can accept what's been termed classified / or spend my days smelling like formaldehyde
I can beat my chest with monkey pride / or be wiretapped from the inside.

- "I'm Sure Ben Franklin Wanted it This Way" by Tom Flannery at www.songaweek.com.

This weekend people across the country will celebrate Independence Day with hot dogs, sparklers, and beer in their backyards. Some will take economy-bolstering trips out of town. What could be more American?

How about a hike through Philadelphia? You know, the city in which the Continental Congress agreed on the document that demanded America's sovereignty back in 1776. On Friday, thousands will arrive in the city of Brotherly Love to exercise the very rights that make us so proud to be American. Joining them from NEPA will be a bus load of affiliates from Wayne Peace and Rally of One . Their plan is to protest the Bush Administration for what they see as violations of the constitution.

I can't imagine a more patriotic way to celebrate the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence.

"This country's founders started a revolution against a tyrant named George; the least we can do is exercise our First Amendment right to protest his policies," reads a statement by protest organizers Justice in July

The trigger for Friday's rally and march is the grand opening of the National Constitution Center . Located on Philadelphia's Independence Mall, the center is "the first museum in the world dedicated to honoring and explaining the U.S. Constitution through more than 100 interactive and multimedia exhibits, photographs, film, sculpture, text and artifacts." It was widely anticipated that President Bush would attend the grand opening, but he chosen to address U.S. soldiers on a military base rather than acknowledge their grievances, Justice in July suggests.

Much like the pre-Revolutionary Americans who cried "Taxation without Representation," demonstrators do not feel represented. They're further afraid of losing the liberties guaranteed to them by the Bill of Rights. The post 9-11 panic legislation known as the USA PATRIOT is threatening our freedoms they warn. Passed in October 2001, the "Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism" was almost augmented earlier this year by the Domestic Security Enhancement Act a.k.a Patriot II. Word about the latter bill disappeared in late March or so, but civil rights watchers expect a revival.

The truly patriotic thing to do, the suspicious remind, is not to blindly accept and agree with every propaganda-packed word put out by the White House, the State Department, the Justice Department, etc. We have a responsibility, rather, to prime ourselves with the requisite knowledge in order to participate in a government that's supposed to be of the people, by the people and for the people - not of the wealthiest, by the privileged and for the corporate interests.

In order to help people wade through the details of the USA PATRIOT act, Rally of One will host an educational community forum at Lackawanna College on July 10 at 7:30 p.m. Two experts on the legislation will present facts - not opinions, organizer Lita Dunn Grossman, promised - and answer questions about the implications of the bill. The act has pissed off the American Library Association - that detail alone is worth looking into.

On the fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson proposed that the fourth of July "forever refresh our recollections" of human rights including "the unbounded exercise of reason and freedom of opinion." Our devotion to those rights, he insisted, must remain "undiminished."

Let's hope the fireworks aren't so bright that we fail to see the warning signs of a diminished America.

--alicia grega-pikul, 3 July 2003

Voices: Heroin Heroine

2003-06-19T00:00:00.000-07:00
It was less than two weeks ago that Plains Township zoning officials unanimously denied an appeal of their decision to not allow a methadone clinic to open in the Parsons section of Wilkes-Barre.

Zoning officer Richard Piekutowski was confident in the board's decision. The reason for the denial has nothing to do with the protesting testimony presented by Parsons residents, he said, but everything to do with one simple technical detail - the Choices clinic proposed by the Wyoming Valley Health Care System was found not to fit the definition of a medical clinic.

The battle for and against the methadone clinic is being waged in Luzerne County, but the issue is nonetheless a regional one. The borough of Old Forge vehemently opposed a methadone clinic in the late 1990s and when Dickson City proactively zoned for one late last year per state mandate, Mayor Frank Wiercinski was reported to have said, "Hell would freeze over first before a methadone clinic opens in Dickson City." As a result of this anti-methadone mentality which treats addiction as a crime rather than a health issue, the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre area is the only region of the Commonwealth that has managed to refuse methadone treatment to its citizens.

It's not an issue on which people have been silent. Unfortunately, the loudest mouths, seem to be attached to people who haven't done their homework.

Yet numerous editorials in favor of methadone treatment have been published. Local television news reporters have found that neighborhoods elsewhere in the state where methadone is dispensed are not besieged by crime. Letters to editors from those who have seen methadone help their addicted loved ones have continuously appeared. But none of this has helped break the haze of the anti-methadone mentality gripping Northeast Pennsylvania. Clearly, it's an issue on which not enough can be said.

It is common knowledge that NEPA has seen an increase in heroin abuse in recent years but unless it's in your face or in your family, it's a reality that's too easy to ignore. We hear more about the victims of drug-related crime than we hear about the victims of addiction. Families of those who overdose traditionally like to underplay the reasons behind the death of their loved one. The silence is understandable. Drug addiction carries a shame and death comes with enough pain. No one wants such stigma souring the reputation of their dearly departed.

And that's not just a regional issue, it's a national one. Drug use is highly criminalized by our society and the example is set by those on top. Federal drug war spending on enforcement is considerably higher than that on treatment. The growth of the prison system in the U.S. is mind-boggling and the most common reason given for the expansion is increased penalties for drug-related crimes. It costs significantly more to incarcerate violators of drug laws than it does to provide drug treatment. Yet tax payers, it would seem, remain content footing the higher bill.

On what level does this make sense?

Alcoholism, most will concede, is a disease. But heroin use, proven to alter brain chemistry, is attributed to "degenerates" and categorized without sympathy. As long as we treat addiction as a bad choice and a crime rather than the medical condition, those in need of help (all those but the wealthiest and most resourceful that is) have no chance of receiving it. Crime will continue to rage and people will continue to suffer and die.

Many have come around to agree that their should be a clinic somewhere, but fear, supported by lack of information, continues to prevent anywhere from being identified. Because of a "curative amendment" adopted earlier this year, Plains Township has said it is obligated to provide an alternate location for the clinic and will do so within six months. Choices has stated that they will not give up on the Wyoming Valley and may again appeal the zoning board's decision. Let's hope they maintain this conviction. Where to place a methadone clinic may be a choice, but heroin addiction is not.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 19 June 2003

Voices: Neo World Order

2003-05-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

"Neo" words are the latest linguistic rage.

I'm not talking about "Neo" as in the Matrix. I'm referring to "neo" the prefix. As in "neoconservative" or "neofascist."

"Neo" means new and the new world order we're living under in post 9-11 America is obvious. What's not so obvious is that the majority of informed Americans are getting nervous and are losing patience. Many of those who had the faith to sit back and trust their appointed officials to represent them are wisely suspicious that their interests were never being represented at all.

The political chasm between schools of thought in this country is not new. The United States of America has always been ironically divided. What is new, or at least deju vu, is the rate at which that chasm is growing. Right-wing, die-hards and corporate kings are feeling more empowered than ever and those leaning to the left have been demonized for simply speaking their minds. Those who were once afraid to rock the boat are growing more afraid of the consequences they might face for not taking sides.

People are scared and the majority have good reason to be. The best gauge of one's power in the U.S. is the size of his wallet, so let's make the example a financial one. As the gap between the rich and the poor widens, the number of rich grows smaller and the number of poor increases. Chances are that if you're not a wealthy, white Republican male, you're feeling threatened. For a while it was looking pretty good. Too good. With every step that America has taken toward egalitarianism, those that held more than their fair share of power have had to give some of it up. How far did you expect them to let the underdogs rise?

Fear has always been a favored tool of those in society's penthouses and those in command of neo-America love the classics. One of the reasons fear is such an effective a tool of repression is because it serves to paralyze. People feel afraid because they feel helpless, unable to help themselves. Together, they can perhaps help each other -- those without power are often able to find it in numbers -- but far too many people haven't yet seen a potential for numbers. They feel alone, because unless they are Internet savvy or have access to international or alternative media, they aren't hearing others echo their suspicions and concerns.

In recent weeks, I've received an increased amount of feedback from readers thanking me for columns that have "voiced" their own, so-called alternative thoughts, opinions and concerns. These readers have been relieved and in some instances even comforted, because they say, they aren't seeing or hearing such viewpoints elsewhere.

In the near future, at least, it could be even more difficult to find alternative voices in the media. The Federal Communications Commission (FCC) is expected to relax what some would already call too-lenient restrictions on media ownership. Media giants will be sanctioned to grow even larger and smaller, non-corporate media outlets will face a greater struggle to survive. Dissension, already noticeably rare in mainstream media, may appear to disappear altogether.

I've warned you, now let me attempt to reassure you. Alternative voices have always existed and no matter how silent they might become in this neo-journalistic era we appear to have entered, there will always be an underground in which they are free to whisper if not scream.

As the aforementioned political chasm widens, there will be less and less middle ground on which to stand. And with fewer people in the middle, there's a greater chance for both the left as well as the right side to be heard.

So no matter what the mega channel-esque corporations that walk hand-in-hand with the Bush administration try to tell you, you will not be the only one having nightmares. I can't promise that the scary neofascist boogeymen aren't going to get us, but I remain optimistic. Because for every lazy, troubled Jayson Blair or sensationalist Bill O'Reilly, there are 100 idealistic journalists committed to telling both sides of story and they won't sell out to the might of the right.

Because that would be wrong.

--alicia grega-pikul, 22 May 2003

Voices: The Real Boob Tube

2003-04-24T00:00:00.000-07:00

When I read about an "un-TV experiment" in which one is to watch any show for 15 minutes without sound, I didn't intend to try it out. A week later, however, I found myself face-to-screen with FOX network's news magazine program The Pulse as I dined on a hummus platter at Scranton watering hole The Bog.

My friends and I hadn't given more than a second's glance to the screen until the Miller Lite Catfight commercial aired. And aired again. And again almost immediate after that. Apparently the never-ending ratings game had resulted in someone's brilliant idea to do a story on the controversial commercial in which two curvier and bustier than thou women rip each other's clothes off during a "Less Filling/Tastes Great" argument before mauling each other first in a pool and later in cement.

I had never seen the commercial before and I still haven't seen the spot with sound. I think if I had seen the commercial in context, I more than likely would have rolled my eyes and quietly moved on to more pleasant thoughts. But the unique experience of viewing the infamous Catfight over and over, sans soundtrack, within the supposed journalist context of The Pulse, led to an oddly impassioned barside debate. As I downed my lager and ordered another, I thanked the goddess that I had minored in women's studies and attempted to form a impenetrable argument with which to disarm my helplessly drooling male companions. Okay, so maybe they weren't drooling exactly, but they were quick to pose the defensive sentiments I later read coming from the mouths of Miller.

The Catfight ad is funny because it "pokes fun at men's sexist views," stated company spokesperson Mollie Reilly to FOX news. Or as Miller Lite brand manager posed to USA Today in January, the Catfight commercial is "a hysterical insight into guys' mentality," a "lighthearted spoof of guys' fantasies."

Sorry, but it's just not funny that even the most empowered women will struggle to feel attractive after facing inadvertent comparison to this exaggerated ideal of feminine beauty. I further resent the task I face ahead in trying to convince my daughters (aged seven and five) that they don't have to look like Kitana Baker (less filling) or Tonya Ballinger (tastes great) to look good.

But my real problem with the commercial is that these women are celebrities now. They're no doubt bringing home truckloads of money for no better reason than their Playboy-grade physiques. And please don't tell me that they aren't respected - it's a bad argument because a woman deserves respect no matter how sexy she is - in this country anyone who has money is respected. It's the capitalist American way and those Catfighting boobs remind me of how sad that is with every bounce and jiggle.

It seems "boobs" (I hate the term, but it's the one they're using these days) are en vogue these days. The Baywatch babes are reportedly the preferred viewing material of our soldiers fighting in Iraq. And talk about male-friendly skies... Hooters Air made its debut in March. The Hooters girls aren't certified flight attendants and can therefore only assist the real thing (all puns intended), but in this age during which too many airlines are facing bankruptcy, Hooters Air plans to sell tickets at twice the going rate.

Despite broadcast primarily on late night TV and during NFL playoff games, Miller Lite's Catfight ad has faced censorship. In an early version produced by advertisers Ogilvy and Mather, Kitana and Tonya sealed the commercial with a kiss. The morale of the story would appear to be that it's O.K. to portray women as sexual beings, as long as their sexual promise is intended for male pleasure only. Yet television history was made on Tuesday when a pair of teenagers on the soap opera All My Children presented daytime viewers with the first ever on-screen lesbian kiss.

It's sad that poor Bianca, who came out in 2000, had to wait until 2003 to make out like her hetero friends, but it is poetic justice that men will just have to watch the soaps instead of the game (I know, they can always rent porn) if they want their fantasy to climax.

--alicia grega-pikul, 24 April 2003

VOICES: Defending Dixie

2003-04-10T12:00:00.000-07:00

I never really liked the Dixie Chicks. I grew up on Country music and I've consciously sought the inspiration of women artists, but the truth is that this trio has always irritated me.

Now that impassioned warmongers - beyond simply opting to personally forgo the band's music - are destroying mass quantities of CDs with tractors, crying for radio boycotts and organizing competing concerts starring the likes of the Marshall Tucker Band, I'm somewhat less apathetic. The Dixie Chicks may irritate me, but I find those who are symbolically lynching the band as a warning to other potential naysayers grotesquely nauseating.

Natalie Maines' offending phrase - "Just so you know, we're ashamed the president of the United States is from Texas" - was given way too much attention by the mainstream and right wing media. Any sheep so angry about this comment that he's willing to trade in his Dixie Chicks concert ticket to see the Marshall Tucker Band, deserves to see the Marshall Tucker Band.

The baby-faced blonde from Lubbock, Texas, made a big mistake when she said she was "ashamed." Not because it's a mistake to disapprove of our president during wartime or any of that nonsense, but because it's not what she meant.

In a clarification issued on March 12 and in her apology issued on March 14, Maines mentioned the "astounding" and "huge" anti-American sentiments the band had witnessed while in Europe. Not all U.S. citizens fall into the rogue cowboy stereotype often used to denigrate her fellow Texan President Bush and Maines felt a need to differentiate herself. She wanted her London audience to believe that she and many other Texans are not the provincial Christian Right Republicans the world perceives.

It's too bad she didn't find a better way to say it. It's too bad she didn't spend more time reading poetry.

In Wen Fu: The Art of Writing, Lu Chi give emphasis to the Confucian tenant of calling things by their right name. The book was translated into English by poet Sam Hamill who recently mobilized Poets Against the War.

"Poetry teaches us things that cannot be learned in prose, such as certain kinds of irony or the importance of the unsaid," Hamill states in the April 2003 of The Progressive. It's a brief, but powerful lesson and one that could have saved Natalie Maines from months of embarrassment. Almost a retraction, her apology alienated many of those who initially sprang to her defense, yet failed to appease those who found her remark treasonous.

Hamill says many brilliant things in his poetry as well as in interviews and I would have loved to have used this entire column to promote the Poets Against the War anthology that's being published this month - April, by the way, is National Poetry Month. But while people may give poets more intellectual credit than they give to musicians or actors, they don't admire them enough to lift them to any significant level of popularity or celebrity. Very few Americans care that Hamill's initiative collected over 13,000 poems of protest in two months and led Laura Bush to cancel a poetry symposium at the White House in fear of drawing attention to this notable opposition.

Most people would rather debate one sentence uttered by one Dixie Chick.

The Dixie Chicks have sold a ton of copies of their triple Grammy Award-winning release Home. Their latest hit was number one on Billboard country charts for over four months. They've sold out plenty of performances on their upcoming Home tour, including the one facing competition from the Marshall Tucker Band / Rally For the Troops benefit concert being organized by conservative radio talk show host Mike Gallagher.

If you want to buy the Home album or buy concert tickets (the tour plays in Philadelphia on June 16 and June 17) to counteract right wing protests, go for it. But I'd much rather see you buy a copy of the Poets Against the War anthology. Buy two copies while you're at it. You can send the other to Natalie Maines.

--alicia grega-pikul, 10 April 2003

VOICES: Once Upon a Wartime .....

2003-03-27T12:00:00.000-08:00

"Don't report that there was a split decision in the hall because five loud people booed," award-winning filmmaker Michael Moore prophetically urged one reporter following his controversial anti-Bush Oscar acceptance speech.

Most bizarre and very discomforting is that the very same articles which cited these words, beyond fulfilling Moore's prophecy, otherwise failed to acknowledge any reaction but outrage.

"(Documentary filmmakers) like nonfiction," said Moore as he stood on-stage, united in dissension with his fellow nominees. "We live in fictitious times, and we have fictitious election results that elect a fictitious president that sends us to war for fictitious reasons," he continued.

The subdued pleas for peace uttered by actors Adrien Brody and Chris Cooper and the silent dove pins wore by a slew of others were better-received statements and therefore more obviously effective. But Moore raised what just might be one of the most important issues we are currently facing - the far too fuzzy line between reality and invention as we witness this war at the peak of reality TV.

It generally goes without saying that the only "real" to be found in "reality" TV is in the lack of a script. The programs are blatantly contrived but they entertain us so we put up with them. One week into "Operation Iraqi Freedom," I can't help but ponder a similar acceptance of the showing put forth by our network news media and also our government. We are being bombarded with reports and propaganda and speculation at such a relentless pace - perhaps we, the American news digesting public, are the real target of the "shock and awe" campaign. Got Bismol?

Every time the leader of Iraq makes an appearance the discussion begins again - Is it Saddam or is Memorex? The American taste for conspiracy theories is being exploited. Footage of surrendering Iraqis was staged by the US, Iraqi officials claim. Those were American actors, they cry.

Actors or not, personalities dot the airwaves. I've got a favorite war correspondent already. Do you? ABC's Richard Engel is in Baghdad and he's absolutely adorable. He's right in the hot seat but he checks in with Peter Jennings faithfully. A skillful journalist, he quickly communicates exciting messages in common language. And did I mention he's cute as a red, white and blue button? And when the media work together with the government, the results are dazzling. It only took one business day to establish the rugged, Simple Simon persona of General Tommy Franks!

The propaganda is so transparent it's beyond insulting. The blatant disrespect we've seen for the word "freedom" has permanently killed my desire to use the word. I'm still trying to figure out exactly what the phrase "human shield" implies, but I'm pretty sure it's the US military's way of proactively pinning the bulk of civilian casualties on Saddam.

Thanks to super fast internet connections we can now relegate the war to a minimal window in the little corner of our computer screens, periodically glancing over as we work to make sure we don't miss anything. This is a psychological war, as you've likely heard them say, and we're all its victims. The casualties will include not so many lives as souls wounded and minds confused.

Reality is difficult to discern but it's out there. The reality of this war hit me when my brother-in-law explained that before his honorable discharge in 1997, he was in the same battalion at Ft. Bliss in El Paso, Texas, as the soldiers from the 507th maintenance now enduring Allah-only-knows-what as POWs.

What's real is the inevitable depression many will feel but few will admit. The reality is the loss of productivity in the workplace now that we're all watching the war, reading about the war, and talking about the war when not too busy being preoccupied with fears of economic recession and retaliatory homeland attacks.

I accept the cliche - truth really is the first casualty of war. Now what do you suppose the second, third and fourth might be?

-- alicia grega-pikul, 27 March 2003

VOICES: Tragically Hip

2003-03-13T12:00:00.000-08:00

Are you deck or fin?

Do you really care?

If you understood the first question, you've either read Robert Lanham's The Hipster Handbook , or you're deck whether you like it or not.

If you can honestly answer "no" to the second question, then you just might be an authentic non-conformist. I want to answer "no" to the second question, but I have to first admit that there's a part of me that is, if nothing else, curious. It's the part of me that took Lanham's on-line "Are You a Hipster" quiz in spite of myself.

Yeah, I could probably get away with labeling it curiosity. The truth is, however, that I am being influenced by this material, even if only on a subconscious level. I've shopped at thrift stores for the past 15 years, but my selections often inspired by what I had glimpsed in fashion magazines. "Underneath their apparent individualism, Hipsters conform just like everyone else," proclaims Robert Lantham.

Also the editor and creator of the "cutting edge" on-line publication FreeWilliamsburg , Lantham defines a hipster as "one who possesses tastes, social attitudes, and opinions deemed cool by the cool." Except that hipsters don't say "cool" anymore than they say "groady" or "groovy." The word is "deck," people. Got it?

Perhaps because I share the hipster's inclination toward irony worship, I found it incredibly amusing that Lantham describes his on-going publication as "cutting edge." I declared that term fin months ago after interviewing a hairstylist who told me he gave "cutting edge haircuts." I laughed and then I realized this term used to describe the newest, groundbreaking trends was, ironically, stuck in the '80s.

Yeah, "cutting edge" was almost as amusing as the Non-Hipster Handbook glossary which led me to Latham's work in the first place.

Created by Jack Szewgold, the artist responsible for the inspired The Royal Journal of Found Art , this parody of The Hipster Handbook can be found at www.100dogs.com. It's a much funnier read than its source material, perhaps because it's purpose is clear. While I hope that The Hipster Handbook is at least partially ridiculing the subculture it appears to take so seriously, I'm just not sure. I prefer to think such handbooks are being read solely for their entertainment value, but let's be realistic. A majority of Americans has proven itself incapable of independent thought. A good portion of these people were probably seeking a foolproof social plan to guide them through life.

I wondered what other handbooks were available to the identity-impaired consumer.

According to Amazon, people who bought The Hipster Handbook also bought The Official Preppy Handbook. Opting not to barf, I quickly passed by this passé option. There was Swell: A Girl's Guide to the Good Life by Cynthia Rowley, but doesn't she have a product line at Target now? That can't possibly be cool (Oops. I mean, deck.) One glance at Rowley's book cover confirmed that suspicion - it's as colorfully striped as the designer sheets.

Cameron Tuttle's The Bad Girl's Guides seem spirited enough, but the accessories line (a journal, engagement calendar, little pink address book, postcard collection, and faux-purse photo album) was just taking things too far. Empowering women is a good thing, but "badness" cannot be learned. That compulsion to break the rules and to not give a damn about your bad reputation is simply innate. You've either got it or you don't.

Kiss My Tiara: How to Rule the World As a Smartmouth Goddess by Susan Jane Gilman sounded promising, but this gender segregation was bothersome. At least hipsters came in both genders. Finally I discovered Pagan Kennedy's Living: A Handbook for Maturing Hipsters. Geared toward Gen X'ers like myself, the zine publisher's guide might be my only option.

But it's not. There are many things to legitimately fear in this life. Being one's honest self -deck or fin - should not be one of them. Only you can prevent "hip"ocrasy.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 13 March 2003

VOICES: The French Connection

2003-02-27T00:00:00.000-08:00

The jokes are everywhere - you've more than likely heard worse than this.

How many Frenchmen does it take to defend Paris?

No one knows. It has never happened.

Ouch!

A community forum was sponsored by e.c. last week in response to the outrage raised by my co-worker Gene Padden's "Protesting Protesters" column. The over 100 people estimated in attendance represented a wide spectrum of public opinion. It's far too simplistic to divide them into only two categories - pro-war and anti-war.

The room pulsed with passion - apathy was nowhere to be found. And yet, in spite of such conviction, it was a fantastically civil affair.

For the most part.

The second to last attendee to speak at the microphone cracked a joke about how maybe we ought to bomb the French while we're out bombing people.

"I'm from France," the next and final speaker expressed through his thickly authentic accent.

Oh, how I have drooled over images of that moment. The Frenchman (my apologies for not having catching his name) got a big laugh before closing the evening with sentiments that reportedly pleased both Padden and the peaceniks. The incident fortified my annoyance with the French-bashing trend that's ripped through the United States, leaving me sadly embarrassed for my fellow, but angrier, Americans.

I have two young daughters who I work daily to teach a number of values. For example: generosity does not demand a favor in return. In other words, you don't do something nice for someone just so that you can hold it in their face weeks, months, or years later when you want something. But my countrymen are trying to prove me wrong.

We've consistently fought for and protected the French in the past, disgruntled citizens accuse in letters to the editor. They then demand that France support the United States now in a war that a lot of people of many assorted nationalities (including American) don't feel is justified or at least the wisest course of action.

What kind of arrogance does it take to demand that everyone agree with you? It's an arrogance that many have come to associate with the United States. And our behavior of late illustrates why. Any war we've ever entered has been entirely for selfish, self-serving reasons - maybe we did help France in World War II, but it is by no means the reason why America chose to fight that war any more than a war against Iraq will be about liberating the Iraqi people. President George W. Bush doesn't give a hoot about the oppressed women of the Middle East and the attempt to justify war with such ridiculous propaganda is downright shameful. If we're going to kill millions of innocent people, let's at least be honest about why so many people lives ought to be sacrificed.

The thing that really gets me, however, is not the self-righteous insults heaved at an entire nation. It's the boycotting.

Who is going to suffer from a boycott of French wine and foods? Not President Jacques Chirac or Foreign Minister Dominique de Villepin or any of the politicians responsible for French foreign policy. The farmers will suffer and their vineyards and barnyards. As far as you and I know, French farmers are as opposed to France's opposition of war with Iraq as our peaceniks are against our country's fighting one.

There's a lot I don't know about French foreign policy, but I don't have to know those things in order to respect any country's right to stand up against our big bully of a country. Maybe you don't think the United States is a bully, but there's more than one reason that much of the world perceives us that way.

The Frenchman who closed last week's community forum told us that he loves America - even though he doesn't agree with every choice our country makes. It's exactly how he feels about his own country.

That's the way I want to feel about mine. But it's awfully hard to love those people who spew nonsense like "Cheese-Eating Surrender Monkeys!"

-- alicia grega-pikul, 27 February 2003

VOICES: Big Fat Inc. No Big Fat Deal

2003-02-16T12:00:00.000-08:00

If you've spent any time in Philadelphia, New York City or Baltimore within the past couple of years, you may be a Big Fat victim and not even know it.

Big Fat Inc. is a radical marketing firm that utilizes techniques such as real-life product placement and guerrilla street theatre to increase the sales of its client's products.

You're at an area hot spot and notice a group of hip, young people enjoying an interesting new cocktail - say a flavored water or herbal energy drink with vodka. "It tastes great and prevents you from getting a hangover," one of the pretty people tells you as she places her order for another round. Before you know it you're telling the bartender, "I'll have one of the same."

It's an idea that I read about a few months ago in a "science fiction" novel. The protagonist was on to the ineffectual teenager who had pitched him a Marlboro marijuana cigarette, however, and the whole scene just made me giggle. Now that I've been turned on to the clear and present reality of Big Fat's "stealth marketing" techniques, I think I might have to upgrade that giggle to a full-blown laugh.

Critics have labeled Big Fat's invisible marketing "unethical," asserting that people have the right to know when they are in an advertising zone. Are Big Fat's "secret agents of capitalism" being deceitful by not revealing source of their praise for product X is a Big Fat paycheck? Sure, they are. Is it fraud? No. Not according to the legal system, anyway.

There are marketing trends out there I find far more annoying than stealth marketing. My sister has recently exposed me to the one that has resulted in products labeled "Non-Ultra" Palmolive and "Original Classic" International Delight non-dairy creamer. You can be afraid of being duped by Big Fat, but I'm far more disturbed by the idiotic language brandishing the front of these products.

The power of word-of-mouth endorsement has long been acknowledged and grassroots campaigns are not an overnight revelation. What is new is that big time advertisers are now shooting small - the same old tricks just aren't working anymore. Discouraged by viewers that subtract commercials while recording programs, some advertisers are reverting to the program sponsorship of years past which boasts a pitch before and after programming but not during. That's an improvement, in my estimation. However, don't be surprised to see the program's talent performing in front of an obviously logo-branded curtain. Hey, I loved that movie The Truman Show, maybe it will come out on FOX this fall. Do you think they can get Ed Harris?

What's most reassuring is that it's not only in America that the advertising industry is getting desperate. In Europe, they're supposedly painting ads on the side of live cows.

"There is nothing that's not about marketing. Look, the government is running a marketing campaign on the war. Every minute of your day is about marketing," Big Fat CEO Jonathan Ressler insisted to Promo Magazine in February.

I'll admit it, I've found the 300 lb. CEO of Big Fat, Jonathan Ressler, rather appealing. The man knows how to make a point and he's very savvy in print. No matter how forceful and invasive advertising tactics may get, I can't help but delight in their creativity. From the posters of Toulouse Lautrec and his contemporaries to the outrageous obviousness with which '50s era ad men conspired to create the American Dream, I've always admired the artistic results of advertising.

Furthermore, I'm compelled to be fair. I've cheered on the anti-marketing guerrilla performances of Reverend Billy and the Church of Stop Shopping . His Starbucks Invasion plan is beautiful. And I love the fact that people push empty shopping carts around mega chain stores once a month during Whirl-Mart performance protests .

It would be hypocritical to deny equal opportunity to the dark side. Like it or not, they're going to try to sell us stuff anyway. We might as well insist on ingenuity, then sit back and enjoy the show.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 16 January 2003

VOICES: Is time on your side?

2003-02-13T00:00:00.000-08:00

It wasn't an unusual morning. I was short-cutting my way across Scranton, following the intricate path of least resistance I've charted in order to beat the clock that inevitably indicates I'm five minutes late.
About to enter another five days of uncomfortably tight scheduling, I mentally reviewed the list of things I had to do that day to stay on top of upcoming commitments and responsibilities. Suddenly an unusually pertinent Susan Stanberg interview on National Public Radio cut through my automatic pilot and shined an ironic light on my greatest anxiety - time (or more specifically, my perceived lack of it).
Stanberg was questioning author James Gleick about his 1999 book Faster: the Acceleration of Just About Everything. Even though I was running late, I almost pulled over in order to better concentrate on this matter which often obsesses me. Gleick explained his theory that we have a thrill for speed, that we long for it like children racing down hills on sleds or their bicycles.

Really? When was the last time you heard someone say, "What a rush! I've got way more to do today than I can possibly hope to do well. I wish it could always be this hectic."

While I think many of us do appreciate occasional rushes of stress-manufactured adrenaline, no one wants to feel as rushed as we do these days. Not every day. Over and over again, like we're trapped in a Sisyphus-styled social cage.

"We know something's happening, and we're beginning to sense what it is. We're speeding up; our technology is speeding up; our arts and entertainment and the pace of invention and change - it's all speeding up, Gleick writes on the website for Faster. "And we care. If we don't understand time, we become its victims."

So... how can we fight off victimhood? Let me guess- I've got to go buy the book that I don't have time to read in order to find out.

How we use our time dictates what we'll be able to achieve before we die and what goals will simply remain good ideas. It determines what memories we will have to comfort us when the very thought of speed makes our aged joints ache. To say time is money is a gross simplification... time is our very life's blood.

Time also defines one's identity. How you choose to use your time says more about you than any self-determined label. Do you spend a good deal of time in pursuit of pleasure - well you're a fun-loving person, aren't you. Do you procrastinate? Are you efficient? Use time well enough and you're automatically considered smart. Should we take time less seriously?

I thought so once. A recovering workaholic, I've had to teach myself to "waste time." I don't wear a watch anymore - it would be much too stressful to always know for sure how much time had passed and how much time remained. I learned to deconstruct the word re-creation and finally convinced myself that all work and no play might cause Alicia to suffer from burnout, or even worse, a meltdown. But recently, after attending two funerals in two weeks, I found many of my old anxieties refreshed. I thought about all the wonderful people that I don't spend as much time with as I wished I could. What could I do differently, I wondered?

Gleick refers to the belief that we possess too little time as "a myth." Mythological or not, my time anxiety is rooted in fear - the fear that one of these days I'll fail to keep up, that I'll drop the ball and disappoint myself and others for not being able to accomplish what they and I both think I should.

There are no easy solutions to achieve the balance between work, play and love, raison d'être and responsibility, family and friends. How can we maintain an awareness of time, of how precious it is, without allowing that same consciousness to drive us crazy?

"It may help to think of time as a continuous flow, rather than a series of segmented packages," suggested Gleick. "...time is not a thing you have lost. It is not a thing you ever had. It is what you live in. You can drift in its currents, or you can swim."

Okay, but will a doggie paddle suffice?

--alicia grega-pikul, 13 February 2003

VOICES: Panic Attacks

2003-02-02T12:00:00.000-08:00

I used to think the warnings were just a little too paranoid. The President would never go so far as to wage a vague "War on Terror" just to push his own secret agenda through the system. And even if he did, the media wouldn't fall for such a scam. They'd catch on to the really important news we were missing and they'd fill us in.

But maybe the paranoid people aren't so over the top. Maybe we should be paying closer attention to the domestic issues that are being quietly addressed behind our backs while the government veils our eyes and distracts the media with a repeating loop about Iraq's weapon inventory.

It was only a few weeks ago that I learned of National Sanctity of Human Life Day. What? You still haven't heard of it? Let me fill you in. Two days before the 29th anniversary of the landmark Roe vs. Wade decision that gives American women the right to safe, legal abortion, President George W. Bush issued a proclamation so mired in political double speak that George Orwell could have included in 1984. Bush quoted Thomas Jefferson's concern that the government prioritize the care for human life and happiness. He referred to the "elderly and unprotected, the weak and the infirm," before focusing in on his bulls-eye, the unborn child.

Not to carry on about this particular proclamation, because it's only one example, but immediately after stating that "unborn children should be welcomed in life and protected in law," Bush referred to September 11. On this day, he pointed, "we saw clearly that evil exists in this world, and that it does not value life." He devoted an entire one of five paragraphs of his pro-life argument to the horrible tragedy.

Why did I not hear about this bizarre proclamation when it was issued on January 20, 2002? Why did I not hear of it until Ms. Magazine cited it as "the low-point" of the year? Barely four months after 9-11, we were being fed news stories about the economic recession, the interim Afghan government, the unfruitful search for Osama Bin Laden, and increased appropriations for homeland security.

Speaking of Homeland Security, it took a $10,000 reward by website TomPaine.com for National Public Radio to report on "the Eli Lilly Bandit." The Homeland Security Bill got pushed through Congress that most weren't able to question its questionable inclusions until after it was passed. Two paragraphs of the bill protect pharmaceutical giant Eli Lilly & Company from lawsuits filed by parents who claim the company's vaccines caused their children's autism. What I find most interesting, however, is who reporter Alex Chadwick found the number one suspect to be - Senator Doctor Bill Frist, of course. You know, the one who assumed Senator Lott's position as Senate majority leader on December 23 (only four days after Chadwick's story aired on NPR).

Most recently it took the yanking of a pregnant Midge (Barbie's older, married friend) doll of the shelves of Wal-Mart for me to wonder if the Bush administration's insistence on abstinence might actually be effecting the country's perspective.

Early last month, Assistant Secretary of State Arthur E. Dewey announced at a United Nations population conference in Bangkok that the United States of America would "seek to block the passage of any international family planning policy that permits abortion or promotes contraception for adolescents (salon.com)." I just learned about Dewey's words this evening while researching this column. Delegates from the U.S. disapproved of phrases including "reproductive rights" and "consistent condom use," claiming them to be euphemisms for "abortion" and "underage sex." They also disapproved of the phrase "reproductive health."

You may agree with the Bush administration's mainstreaming the agenda of the religious right. If so, you probably haven't been this pleased with the American government since the '50s. I happen to be terrified. And every news story I find sticking out from underneath the camouflage of momentary hype frightens me even more. Can we afford to wait for the mainstream media to tell us what the squinting little monkey is up to? I'd rather be paranoid.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 2 January 2003

Voices: Presents from the Past

2002-12-19T00:00:00.000-08:00

I've had an aversion to holiday music since college.

When I had to throw the annual alumni holiday mixer in my role as theatre arts department assistant, I played The Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack. Other than a Leon Redbone CD from my dad and the Pogues' awesome "Fairytale in New York," I couldn't be caught dead listening to the stuff. I winced during my seven-year-old daughter's school holiday program last year. Not because the kids couldn't sing, but because I really, really hate that song "Must Be Santa."

The only time I could really ever get into holiday tunes was within the context of the Rankin/Bass holiday specials. Starting with Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer in 1964 and continuing through to 1985's The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus, the quirky stop-action animation of these made for TV movies defined the meaning of the holidays for Generation X. And somehow their intensely imaginative context has managed to make even the most annoying of holiday tunes bearable.

If you haven't seen the Meiser Brothers - Heat and Snow of 1974's The Year Without a Santa Claus - strut their stuff lately, you owe to yourself to rediscover what you've forgotten. There's something about these bizarre figures, each with their crew of trippy-looking mini-misers, that helps to cheer the most bitter of hearts. I can listen to "Blue Christmas," but only while watching this movie's little children figures draw blue Christmas trees for the exhausted and disillusioned Santa Claus. And how can you not love that part when the children sanction Santa's vacation and bring him gifts instead of demanding to receive?

Think that's just a silly ridiculous dream in 2002? That kids are too jaded, too materialistic and at younger and younger ages? Perhaps not. Before she presented a single item from her wish list, my five-year-old daughter told "Santa" that she was getting him a present. What she wanted became secondary - she wanted Father Christmas to know that at our house, along with the compulsory Christmas cookies and milk (and carrots for the reindeer, of course) that he could expect to find his very own gift. That's just like the kids in A Year Without a Santa Claus, I thought. Cool. Then I realized she hasn't seen the film.

She hasn't seen very much in her four-plus years of experience, yet somehow she seems to have picked up just about everything there is to know about the "Holiday Spirit." I'm not quite sure how she's become so inclined toward generosity (I can only hope that I had something to do with it), but I'm determined to reinforce the value.

Hectic rush of the holidays or not, we're going to sit down and watch as many of those crazy old Rankin/Bass productions as possible. Cable subscribers rejoice - ABC Family is playing them almost non-stop.

The only thing better than revisiting these holiday specials, is being able to share them with a generation so new that it still believes in Santa Claus. Of all the myths we've created, it is the famous Christmas Eve ride of Santa Claus that I most wish were true. No matter how poverty-stricken or otherwise circumstantially disadvantaged children may be, they are all rewarded by Kris Kringle according to his omniscient judgment of how good they've been. It's a beautiful dream in which the daily injustices of reality have been corrected. It's the essence of the "holiday spirit," and it's what lies at the core of all of these holiday specials.

Sure they're entertaining. I can't wait to see the little Fred Astaire-voiced narrator twirl his way through Santa Claus Is Comin' To Town and hear Roger Miller's singing narration for Nestor the Long-eared Christmas Donkey. But really, it is watching the kind-hearted underdogs save Christmas despite negative attitudes or evil villians that makes me wish it were always Christmas.

So long Burgermesiter Meisterburger - you're going down. Pinocchio might screw up, but he'll come out all right in the end. There will be no Year Without a Santa Claus because we know the truth - "Anyone Can Be Santa."

--alicia grega-pikul, 19 December 2002

Voices: Beauty - And Art - In the Eye of the Beholder

2002-11-21T00:00:00.000-08:00
An uncomfortably large portion of electric city readers (at least those that fill out readers poll ballots) proved with the 2002 Best of NEPA reader's poll that they have very little understanding of or concern for art.
In particular, they seem to lack any concept of public art. I decided that week as we struggled against the clock to write capsules for each of the winners that my next voices column would have to address the virtues of public art.

But it's hard to care about "trivialities" such as public art these days - isn't it? Isn't it more important to concern ourselves and our tax dollars with security? I hate to even bring up the Homeland Security Department legislation that's currently flying without debate through our newly Republican-dominant legislature, but I received three e-mails this morning, including one from the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), warning me about tenets of freedom that are about to be stripped away.

And while you may hate me for it, I feel I must make a connection. Because there is one. Because it's often in the effort to make us safe that the baby gets thrown out with the bathwater. The more secure and the more comfortable society demands to be, the more individual freedoms and individual expressions must be limited.

In effort to "clean up" its infamously sinful French Quarter, the New Orleans police began ticketing and banning street performers along with minor criminals such as panhandlers and con artists. It's an argument of censorship. Like it or not, there's a romantic appeal to the Quarter's darkly wanton image. So maybe it's not a place you want to take the kids... but aren't adults entitled to the realization of a few fantasies that aren't child appropriate?

While I've been sitting here complaining about Scranton's lack of corner musicians to color things up, New Orleans is saying "Sayonara" to child tap dancers and "Smell ya later" to street mimes. It's a loss as frightening to me as is the loss of civil rights to the ACLU.

Meanwhile in Paris where prostitution has long been legal - street walkers pay taxes and collect social security - a parade of prostitutes marched earlier this month to protest pending legislation that would criminalize "passive soliciting." According to a report from The New York Times, "any woman whose dress or attitude gives the impression that she is soliciting money for sex and can face a fine of $3,800 or six months in jail." Those targeted by law-and-order minister Nicolas Sarkozy's crime bill would also include gypsies, squatters and beggars.

These people don't actually have to bother anyone, they just have to look as if they have the potential. On one level we're allowing our governments to whitewash the color off our city streets, on another we're advocating intolerance. How can we find the balance between accommodating diversity - allowing us to be ourselves and to share in ownership of our public spaces - yet keep things bland enough so as not offend or threaten anyone?

Public art is a contradiction. Researchers have proven there is a certain symmetry to a face that makes it more or less pleasant for babies to behold. These findings are meant to support a common law of aesthetics, suggesting that beauty can be determined by scientific certainties. Yet for all practical purposes aesthetics remain subjective - "beauty is in the eye of the beholder." How can we beautify our shared spaces when we cannot agree on what is beautiful?

Last I looked, there was no minister of aesthetics installed in any government anywhere. I'm guessing that the majority feels our tax dollars should be attributed to more important issues than "making the city pretty," and they're not about to make "good taste in art" a job qualification of any government official. Yet, I maintain that public art serves the common good. It serves not only to beautify our world, but to encourage dialogue about it. We've got to put our different viewpoints out on the table for discussion. We've got to tolerate things that make us uncomfortable, attempt to understand them instead of pretending they don't exist.

Anything that helps us to do this is not a frivolity, it's a necessity.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 21 November 2002

Voices: Practical Magic

2002-10-24T00:00:00.000-07:00
Tell the average 21st Century American that you believe in magic and they'll probably advise you to seek psychiatric care. It's easy to brush off the existence of magic with a disrespectful sneer and a grumbling comment about "new age crap."

Yet before science forever altered our belief in miracles, we knew that they were not only possible, but common, everyday occurrences. Once upon a time, magic was taken seriously - revered by all those who didn't fear it.

Perhaps it's just the Halloween air getting to me, but I've been thinking about magic a lot lately. I've long envied the wonder with which my children experience the world and have finally come to the conclusion that the world can seem magical to me, too. If only I choose to let go and believe.

I'm not talking about abracadabra phenomenon or spells that will win you the love you've been lusting. The magic I've decided to embrace is the everyday magic we find so easy to ignore in our quest for sophistication. It is ignorance that breeds apathy: it is only after the world ceases to fascinate us that we cease to care about it. We race from the job that we hate, but that pays the bills, to the family that too-often either doesn't appreciate us or annoys us. We allow the starker realities of life to take the joy out of living.

Dramatic artists talk about "the magic of live theatre" all the time. I never took the phrase literally before, yet the exchange of emotion and energy that occurs between an audience and an effective performance is indeed a miraculous treasure. It alone frequently motivates artists toward the creation of masterpieces. The phenomenon of laughter is something that science can't adequately explain (if it can, please humor me and don't send the details to my attention). Smiles are contagious. One person's bad mood can rub off on another. It's all magic and it's all wonderful. Responsibility, habit and all other excuses aside, it's the possibility of magic (whether you choose to call it that or not) that gets most of us out of bed in the morning.

What 's most wonderful is that you don't have to sit passively and wait for magic to come and find you. You can create it and you don't need some 500 year old book of spells to do so. Magic is the gift you give by actively listening to another person instead of nodding along while listening instead to your own inner dialogue. It can be found whenever you look without fear into the eyes of the person standing before you. Magic is the inevitable bi-product of a song that moves someone to cry or to dance. It is magic that brings on a flood of memories from childhood when a specific fragrance provokes our sense of smell.

Magic is born when you realize the lesson you didn't expect to learn day but have been altered by nonetheless. It exists in the instincts that overcome us for no logical reason. It is the often-cursed phenomenon that attracts women and men to the lovers that will break their hearts instead of those who will strengthen them. It is the thrill of bringing another person pleasure without demands or expectations of receiving anything in return. It is the joy of having one's words remembered.

Magic lives in the flowers of kindness and generosity that refuse to be taken over by the weeds of cruelty and violence. Magic is about finding hope and joy in the darkest moments of struggle. It's about allowing oneself to plunge without fear into the unknown. Whenever we take the risk and wager that there's as much pleasure waiting to be discovered out there as there is discomfort, we allow ourselves to be touched by a new miracle.

Still don't believe in magic? What would you say is behind that moment when the words come together in just the right way and I am not only express my ideas clearly but with some sense of grace. Talent? Skill? You said it, not me. But I'd still rather savor the mystery, no matter how silly it seems.

Science is well on its way to solving every last mystery known to humankind. My guess is that after science uncovers the final truth, the last lesson left for us to learn will be that the truth is more mystifying than any myth ever crafted. You could simply call that irony, but I'm ready to credit a phenomenon just a little more supernatural.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 24 October 2002

Voices: Celluloid Chicks

2002-10-10T14:29:00.000-07:00
The funniest movie poster I've ever seen is for a film called The Birth of Feminism. It depicts the beach bunny personas of Pamela Anderson, Halle Berry and Catherine Zeta-Jones as Gloria Steinem, Flo Kennedy and Bella Abzug, respectively. The tagline reads "They made women's rights look good. Really good."

Yeah, it's a joke. A feisty, in-your-face organization of anonymous female artists called the Guerrilla Girls created the poster in 2001 to make the obvious point about Hollywood. Crediting Oliver Stone as director of the film, it also makes a point perhaps less obvious.

Even after the landmark 2002 Oscar Awards ceremony which saw wins for African American actors Halle Berry and Denzel Washington, no woman has ever won the Oscar for Best Director. Only two have ever been nominated.

The problem is, women are lucky to get hired in the first place - 96 percent of major films are directed by men. As the Guerrilla Girls have most effectively pointed, even the U.S. Senate (13 percent female in 2001-2002) and the interim Afghan government (6 percent female) are more progressive than Hollywood.

And it's not only the directorial statistics that are out of gender whack. Ninety-four percent of the writing awards have gone to men. Female actors only get 25 percent of starring roles. And it's those actresses who manage to prove themselves at the box office that are often responsible for financing the projects that employ themselves and other women.

Uma Thurman served one of the Executive Producer for the stunning Mira Nair-directed film Hysterical Blindness. Adapted by Laura Cahill from her play, the film premiered at Sundance and was aired on HBO this summer. Salma Hayek is the reason that next year we'll see a movie based on the life artist Frida Kahlo and directed by Julie Taymor. Barbra Streisand and Drew Barrymore have been putting their money to work behind the scenes for years.

In an article printed by Salon in August ("Where are the female directors?"), many of journalist Michelle Goldberg's interview subjects not surprisingly reached similar conclusions. Casually courting older white men for financing takes on entire different flirting entendre for aspiring women artists. If and when they do get the money, they're subject to the greenlight powers of studio executives in search of their own private fantasies.

While Hollywood will no doubt continue to lag behind, film festivals have been and will likely continue to be one of the rare venues in which female screenwriters and directors can prove that the gender discrepancy has nothing to do with a lack of talent. A successful showing of female filmmakers' work at this year's Sundance Film Festival has given many women a reason to be optimistic. Among other honors received, the Dramatic Grand Jury Prize went to the film Personal Velocity directed by Rebecca Miller. Lourdes Portillo received the Special Jury prize in the Documentary category for her film Senorita Extraviada.

A film that will be screened by the Pennsylvania Film Festival next week -- Real Women Have Curves -- received this year's Dramatic Audience Award at Sundance. Cast members America Ferrera and Lupe Ontiveros won the Special Jury Prize for Acting. The film's director, Patricia Cardozo, explained to CNN in January, that it took her ten years to make her first film. "Many times I was ready to give up and become a farmer, or something." she said.

Adapted from a play by Josephina Lopez and financed by HBO, Real Women Have Curves is the story of East L.A. resident Ana (Ferrera) who agrees to work with her mother, Carmen (Ontiveros), as seamstresses in an immigrant sweatshop over the summer while debating whether to accept the full scholarship she has received to attend Columbia University. Her family wants her to remain at home.

I haven't seen the film yet, but when I do, you can be sure to find me rooting for Ana to pursue her dreams despite all obstacles. I'll also be rooting for Cardozo, who thankfully did not resort to farming. Let's hope it doesn't take the director ten years to get her next film made.

-- alicia grega-pikul,10 October 2002

Voices: Confessions of a Dissenter

2002-09-19T00:00:00.000-07:00
This isn't a column about September 11, 2001. Whether you'll admit it or not, you're sick of hearing about 9-11 already - you've spent the requisite year in respectful mourning and want to move on. Fine. I don't want to talk about "The Day that Changed America" anyway. I want to talk about September 11, 2002 - the day I realized that America hadn't really changed at all.

Here in my own little world, I seemed to be the only one filled with dread at the thought of getting up and getting through the day last Wednesday. After receiving the second copy of chain e-mail message urging everyone to drive around all day with our lights on, I began to grow paranoid. Someone would notice my dim headlights and harass me for my lack of patriotism.

"Three thousand people died!!!," they would accuse. Don't you care?

I was afraid of the "one size fits all" commemoration services that were being planned for just about every city, town and village crossroads and for every other educational and corporate institution. Such a commemoration was planned here at work and the more I thought about standing in a sea of red, white and blue garments and singing patriotic songs, the more I dreaded participating.

Don't get me wrong - I think it's wonderful that so many people were able to find comfort in such gestures of patriotism and solidarity on the anniversary of one day so horrible that many people (such as Laura Bush) claimed to have thought about it on every day thereafter. But waving flags and singing songs that I didn't even know the lyrics to felt hollow for me and I couldn't bring myself to "fake it" in order to "fit in."

On 9-11-02, I witnessed an America lost. We claimed to be taking a moment to "reflect," yet the majority of American's didn't bother to stop and consider what might be an individually meaningful gesture of commemoration. They behaved according to the etiquette suggested by the powers-that-be and hoped that in doing so, they had played the role of "good, patriotic citizen." And I was afraid that my desire to find my own uniquely meaningful method of reflection would be misunderstood and misconstrued.

United We Stand means that we stand together despite our differences. That's what America is all about - the freedom to disagree, debate and dissent. These are the values that make me proud of my citizenship. But this is the age of George W. Bush. This is the Brave New post 9-11 World in which we have willingly handed over our freedoms in the hopes of receiving security in return. We are in a war against terrorism in order to defend our freedoms. Yet it seemed to me that the oft-cited change that had overtaken America that past year was the elimination of dissension.

I had spent many days since 9-11-01 searching for signs of dissension. Certainly there would be some sort of peace movement protest against the "war against terrorism." Occasionally a news article regarding a global economic forum protest or some similar happening would slip through the net of media censorship and find its way into my in-box. But such signs were few and far between.

On the evening of 9-11-02, I attended a candlelight vigil at the AFA Gallery in Scranton. A circle of people who seemed to have been as uncomfortable as I has been that day, gathered and prayed for peace. A trio of flag T-shirt clad people had been among the group, but left with pained expressions on their faces shortly after a man carrying a "War Is Not the Answer" sign entered.

Each one of us in the circle was allowed to express ourselves or not as we passed the lit taper candle. Specific feelings and frustrations and hopes and dreams and visions and fears and prayers poured forth as the candle passed from hand to hand.

Finally, a full year after the attacks of 9-11 in a small art gallery in Scranton, Pennsylvania, the real American woke up, rubbed the sleep from her sparkling eyes and smiled at me. Dissension wasn't dead, after all. It had merely been hiding patiently in the hearts of isolated followers who had found no leader to bring them together.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 19 September 2002

Voices: Please Don't Go ...

2002-08-29T00:00:00.000-07:00

Tired of the brain drain phenomenon that has witnessed young people fleeing Pennsylvania by the thousands, the state has launched an initiative called Stay and Invent the Future.
If this state has anything in abundance other than trees and water, it's colleges and universities. If we can keep students from leaving after they earn their degrees, we'll be able to attract relocating high tech businesses. And with better jobs in more lucrative industries, we'll boost the regional economy. Cool.

But can Pennsylvania do it?

On the surface it appears possible. Millions of tax dollars are being spent to link students with potential job opportunities. Marketing strategies have been proposed to freshen the image of regions (such as Northeastern Pennsylvania) that has suffered from a bad reputation. In the Internet age, a website is essential to image and one has been designed for Stay and Invent the Future. You can find it at http://stay.inventpa.com/intro.html.

It looks pretty sharp at first glance. There's a flashy intro page and a relatively hip-looking photo of assertively pouting twenty-somethings on the default page. A feature across the top allows one to change the color scheme of the site according to his or her mood. It's the text that has me worried. Content is broken into categories of work, live, play, learn, and internships per town or city. I looked up "play" in Scranton and had to sit on my hands so as not to dial Governor Schweiker right there and then.

The first paragraph boasts the Steamtown National Historic Site! the Steamtown Marathon! The Lackawanna Trolley Museum! And the Scranton Iron Furnaces! before finally advising a trip to Pottsville (what's that's an hour and a half away?) to tour the Yuengling Brewery.

Ooohh... that's gonna temp the twenty-somethings.

Next up - bed and breakfasts! followed by this most ill-thought sentence. "Honeymoon at a romantic getaway." What? Did I miss the new trend of college marriages? After a mention of "star-studded" resort entertainment, the description finally gets around to mentioning golf courses, fishing, whitewater rafting, the Pocono International Raceway and Pocono Downs. Ski resorts and concerts at Montage (held in the summer when the college students aren't around for the concerts that, in general, aren't designed to appeal to them anyway) are followed by a mention of baseball, and the philharmonic before the fourth paragraph concludes, "or dance the night away at one of the many clubs and hotspots."

The final paragraph is four complex sentences about the spectacular autumn leaves. Because we all know how college students are car-pooling in droves to the best fall foliage viewing spots.

I thought maybe someone just screwed up Scranton. It wouldn't be the first time. So I looked up "play" in Wilkes-Barre. It's notably better, but still not that all that fresh. The "play" description of Bloomsburg starts by noting the town's great "antiquing" opportunities. They even managed to make Philadelphia sound boring. The city's "play" description begins with tidbits about the American Revolution and is followed by three paragraphs noting historic landmarks. It gets a little better, but is not nearly saucy enough. How many tax-dollar paid employees did it take to decide that this copy would convince college students that Pennsylvania is an exciting place to live?

When college students surveyed for Stay and Invent the Future were asked how youth can be drawn to NEPA, 38 percent answered, "more entertainment opportunities." Only 25 percent answered "high paying jobs," while the surveyed "non-youth" felt attracting jobs and high tech firms was the way to go. It's a striking difference of opinion, but one that makes a point. Until senior year or so, college students aren't thinking all that concretely about their future. Even in the first few years after graduation, it doesn't matter how much one is stashing away in the 401K as long as (s)he's having a good time. By the time the desire to face reality sets in, college grads have already left the area because we couldn't keep them entertained.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 29 August 2002

Voices: Hold the Hairspray

2002-08-18T11:05:00.000-07:00
The hype is all about Hairspray. After a successful run in Seattle the musical theatre adaptation of the John Waters film will opening in New York on August 15.

Articles about the production have rekindled a debate on a regional e-mail discussion list to which I subscribe. Striving to be "socially enlightened and educated artists and activists" the other list members and I have been groaning for months about this self-destructive trend of reproducing movies for the stage. I call them mooplays. Sure it's a dumb word, but so is the concept it describes. I'm sure people will love "Hairspray "and it will make lots of money. But is this mooplay, or any other, good for the health of theatre in the long-term?

Theatre companies have struggled since the advent of motion pictures to create art that not only inspires but also sells tickets. The name recognition of classic musicals and works by Pulitzer-Prize-winning playwrights is no longer enough, though revivals are certainly still prevalent. Producers are turning television into movies and movies into theatre and while tickets are selling, artistic integrity has become a bi-product.

I've got no problem with artists stealing from pop culture to create new art that actually means something. I am opposed, however, to a loss of faith in creativity. Say my friend, the "adaptationalist" is right and there are no more new ideas to be had - does that mean we should be exposed to travesties such as "The Graduate?" Starring Jason Biggs, Alicia Silverstone and Kathleen Turner, the still-running Broadway production was described by a New York Times critic as carefully recreating specific film shots.

Shakespeare ripped everyone off and we are still producing his plays 400 years later. If you can tell the tale better, go for it. But the key word here is better. Mooplays may be a quick fix to solving the financial challenge of keeping theatre doors open, but they're not going to cultivate future generations of theatre goers. Theatrical productions must display the magic specific to collective live performance and make it irresistibly moving. If the unique charms of theatre are not utilized, audiences will inevitably prefer Hollywood and they will continue to stay at home, alone and isolated from one another, staring at two-dimensional screens.

I sold my soul to the theatrical arts a long time ago, so I like to prophesize that there will be a revolution. That people will wake up and smell the theatre. This revolution will not take place in New York City. It will not even happen in San Francisco or Chicago, I've said. It will happen on a smaller grassroots level, in cities like Scranton and in regions like Northeastern Pennsylvania where the commercial risks of production are less inhibiting.

I know - we've got a loooong way to go. For every complaint that musicians have placed about the region's "cover band mentality," theatre artists striving to create something new can justifiably place five more. New plays by local playwrights have been produced and some have been well-received, but they have been the rare exception.

A collaborative project between the Mulberry Poets and Writers Association and Actor's Circle just staged six "new" one act plays by regional playwrights. Mark Zdancewicz of WATE staged a wickedly funny original work titled "Cubes" last winter and has just finished a new script that's even better. Singer/songwriter and playwright Tom Flannery has had three of his plays produced in the last two years and will see the world premiere "God and the Ghost of Woody Guthie" at Tunkhannock's Dietrich Theater this winter. In October, K.K. Gordon's adaptation of Frankenstein will rock the Diva Theater.

Will these works incite a revolution? Probably not. But if we can't muster an interest in the artistic voices speaking out in own community then perhaps we deserve the mooplays. Perhaps we deserve the commute to the Philadelphia Fringe Festival (www.pafringe.org) and the New York International Fringe Festival (www.fringenyc.com) to see that new performance ideas not only exist, but emit enough energy to both entertain and change the world.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 18 August 2002

Voices: Drug Deals

2002-08-11T00:00:00.000-07:00

I put on the paper garments and waited. It had been three years since I planted my feet in the stirrups of the gynecological table and things had changed. These were not the cold stirrups I remembered, these were covered with a clever pharmaceutical company advertising gimmick.

The cushy purple pads were emblazoned with the white letters "Terazol," a prescription treatment for infections manufactured by Ortho-McNeil Pharmaceuticals.

The week before my visit to the midwife, I had a new patient appointment with my primary care physician. I had to stand in line behind a pharmaceutical company sales representative to sign in. She passed promotional travel coffee cups over the counter. The receptionist asked for more than the initial five or so that there would be enough for everyone in the office. "No problem," said the sales woman as she reached down into her endless pit of a duffel bag to produce the remainder of the cups. She then began unloading piles of drug samples on the counter. The doctor made a brief appearance and reported on the number of "patches" - I didn't catch the brand name - that he had just recently given away.

Later, in the examination room I noticed a Prozac dispenser containing orange antibacterial hand soap assured that the soap contained no fluoxetine hydrochloride and a colorful box of tissues displaying the funky retro-style logo of an osteoporosis drug, among several other items.

I wasn't entirely sure why at the time, but I was irked. Unless you're armed with your own pen, you've no choice but to sign in with a pen promoting one drug or another. On the surface such promotions seemed harmless, but were they?

Recent news articles have detailed the unsolicited receipt of Prozac samples via the U.S. Mail. The most notable recipient was perhaps a 16-year-old boy whose name was among others sent to a Florida southern Walgreen's by a local doctor's office. The boy's mother told The Washington Post that the drug sample was accompanied by a letter from a doctor associated with the family's primary care physician suggesting a switch to Prozac. The boy was not and never had been described an anti-depressant medication.

In light of this news, people are suddenly shaking their heads in concern. How dare pharmaceutical company Eli Lily stoop to such careless tactics! Yet the bland-by-comparison brand support promotions I had just witnessed have long been known to affect the prescription choices of physicians. The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services recognized this in the early '90s and organizations such as the American Medical Student Association have been speaking out for years. Even the smallest "gift" the latter insists, is influential and sight of what is in the best interests of a given patient's health can be lost.

The big drug companies continue to assure those concerned by the high cost of prescription drugs that the prices are needed to support research and development (R&D). A report released on July 17, 2002, by consumer advocacy organization Families USA presents data indicating that most of these companies spent more than two-and-a-half times on marketing, advertising and administration than they spent on R&D. Consider that in 2000, Merck spent more money advertising Vioxx ($160 million) than PepsiCo spent pushing Pepsi ($125 million) and Anheuser-Busch spent promoting Budweiser ($146 million).

After my appointment I waited in the lobby for a referral appointment and eavesdropped on three well-dressed, nice looking young men. The large bags they carried gave them away as members of the pharmaceutical sales army. "Do you have an appointment," one asked another. "No," he replied.

I wondered if the doctor would see them. I had to wait over two months for my appointment. Their presence, in such quantity, was an undeniable demonstration of pharmaceutical corporate power. Their unified front was intimidating. Even the most ethical doctor, I thought, must eventually be worn down by such a comprehensive marketing offensive.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 1 August 2002

Voices: A Cartoon's Character

2002-07-11T10:49:00.000-07:00

When my daughters told me about a superhero named "Hot Girl," shrieks of maternal guilt sounded through the blare of my internal feminist alarm.

"Hot Girl? Are you sure that's her name?"

It was, they insisted.

I should have been paying closer attention to their television viewing, but a cartoon is a cartoon, I thoughtlessly assumed.

"What does she look like? Does she shoot fire or something? The next time this Hot Girl is on, you come and get Mommy," I requested.

A few days later, Justice League was on. They excitedly called me into the living room and I caught my first glimpse of the Superhero in question. She was cute, sure, but what was it that made her a "girl" instead of a "woman." Perhaps it was her "B" cup as opposed to Wonder Woman's overflowing bustier.

While en route to debunk one dangerous criminal or another, a young male superhero asked her suggestively, "So is there a Hot Boy?"

I had heard it for myself. Her name must be "Hot Girl."

It shouldn't have surprised me. We've got 11-year-olds prancing around with "hottie" stretched across their pre-pubescent chests. Should a superhero called Hot Girl be so far behind?

O.K. it's time to let the comic and animation experts off the hook - right now they're reading this column and screaming with laughter - Her name is HAWKgirl you idiot - HAWKgirl and she used to be the lesser companion of Hawkman back in the good old days when you didn't have to be PC to get a gig. You see the creator of the Justice League cartoon, Bruce Timm, felt that there needed to be another female character besides Wonder Woman and so they allowed Hawkgirl to represent the Hawk family of superheroes. Hawkgirl isn't new at all. She's been in comic books for years.

I know this, now, because I went to the Justice League website to find out just what the people who created this "Hot Girl" had to say for themselves.

"And she's cooler," producer and animator Bruce Timm purportedly about the show's "second most controversial" character.

Hawkgirl a.k.a. Shayera Hol is pretty cool. She has the power of flight, lethal hand-to-hand combat skills and the ability to communicate with birds. According to Justice League literature: "her powers of observation impress even Batman."

What I had known all along, but hadn't thought to worry about is that the majority of comics and even most animation traditionally have been created by men. It is their images of women and girls are gobbled up by little girls like my own who love the Powerpuff Girls and act out their exploits in odd costumes in the backyard, imagining that they too have the power "to save the world before bedtime."

Hawkgirl may have been chosen over Hawkman, but it is Superman who has been designated the "natural leader" of the Justice League. Not Wonder Woman. And even Wonder Woman, who views all men as inferior beings, makes an exception for Superman.

I should have thought twice about the animated images shaping my daughters' perception when I experienced HIM. Billed as the ultimate evil, the Powerpuff Girls villain is a Satan-inspired transvestite who sports a pink tutu and thigh-high boots. HIM speaks in a decidedly unnerving falsetto growl and HIM scared me. I was simultaneously fascinated and freaked out. How could something this deliciously subversive exist without outrage? Why wasn't Falwell warning parents about the dangers of HIM? Maybe I'm not the only one who hasn't been paying enough attention to cartoons.

Despite my initial alarm, the final conclusion is reassuring. It is inevitable that questionable characters will be created, but the negative gender stereotypes of the animated world are nothing compared to those that exist in reality. Hawkgirl kicks ass on the TV screen, but in the real world, it is my example that has the greatest influence on my daughters. Read it and weep Superman - when it comes to role models, I am "the natural leader."

-- alicia grega pikul, 11 July 2002

Voices: You've Got to Have Art

2002-06-27T11:01:00.000-07:00

Around every other corner, it seems, there is a buzzing discussion about Scranton's cultural renaissance. And not only that it's happening, but that it will transform the city. It is the creative soul of our citizens, people are saying, that will lift us from our rut and raise us to a new level of prosperity.

For those who have been singing the praises of the region's resident talent for years, the reward of widespread appreciation is almost shocking. Suddenly everyone is on the same wavelength - the city's political, economic and artistic leaders are all basking in the same burst of positive energy. It is an energy that is contagious and spreading like a wildfire.

Such an energy is something author and economist Richard Florida says people can just feel in the air, in the atmosphere, of a city. It is something that instinctively tells residents and visitors whether a given place "gets it" or not. And it is cities that get it, he says, that will thrive in the new millennium.

Richard Florida is a Professor of Regional Economic Development at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh. The release of his new book The Rise of the Creative Class: and how it's transforming work, leisure, community and everyday life has attracted an enormous proportion of national attention even before its official release on June 15.

Florida proposes that there are three types of creativity - technological, economic, as well as cultural and artistic creativity. His description of the creative class embraces not just fine artists, but also those whose "job" it is to think creatively including teachers, scientists, lawyers, entrepreneurs, venture capitalists, etc.

It is this creative class, his book states, that are the most influential class of the new millennium - playing the role in the growth of our cities as factory workers did in 1880's and "the company man" did in the 1950s. According to Florida, nearly 40 million Americans - over 30 percent of America's work force - fall into the creative class. And, he stresses, the class is growing.

His hypotheses suggest that the cities best able to attract the creative class are those that will enjoy the most economic growth. Florida insists that focus groups and indices such as concentrations of bohemians and gays seem to better predict a metropolitan area's future success than conventional measures. One of Florida's cited focus groups looked at graduating college seniors and second-year MBA students in Pittsburgh who explained that they want to live and work in a city that is diverse, creative, exciting, with outdoor and extreme sports and a lively arts and music scene. They had no plans to actually utilize all of these amenities, but they did want to know that these things would exist in their chosen community.

Florida's work isn't the only work out there supporting the arts. A study recently released by the national non-profit advocacy organization Americans for the Arts addresses the economic impact of nonprofit arts organizations and their audiences. Researchers discovered that the county's nonprofit arts industry generates $134 billion in economic activity every year. Of this is $80.8 billion in revenue generated by local merchants (hotels, restaurants, parking garages, etc.) from spending related to the attendance of arts event.

It is inspiring for the creatively-inclined to have proof that the arts do in fact mean business. It is even more inspiring for those of us in Scranton, however, to see that our city is not lagging behind in such realization. Our awakening to the creative aptitudes of our region is triumphantly synchronized with many other metro areas much larger than the Greater Scranton area.

On Thursday, crowds will line the 300 block of Penn Avenue for Art and Jazz on the Ave., an event sponsored not only by the Everhart Museum, but also by the City of Scranton. If you haven't heard the buzz, if you haven't felt the energy, this is an event most likely to infect you. The arts are out there. Schedule your arts and culture exposure now or you might just find you've been left behind.

For more information on The Rise of the Creative Class visit www.creativeclass.org.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 27 June 2002

Voices: The Music Man's Travails

2002-06-13T13:38:00.000-07:00

I was going to write this column about road rage and the nuisance known as "aggressive drivers" plaguing Scranton these days.

But after speaking with Ronald Shager, proprietor of the used music store Mr. CD, about a car accident which occurred in front of his store on Main Avenue in West Scranton on Friday, May 31, I was compelled to narrow my focus.

This is an editorial, not a news story as such, so I can admit to you that I like Ronnie. I interviewed him a couple of months after he opened Mr. CD and I appreciated his determination to stock the recordings of our local musicians, his concern for the displaced teenagers of town and his charity in hosting free performances for "the kids," as he likes to call them.

On Friday, May 31, he welcomed a punk act and a flock of young people to his store for the usual two plus hours of entertainment. The trouble began when two 30-somethings Ronnie described as "bombed" began to harass some of the kids that were enjoying a cigarette in front of the store - Ronnie doesn't let them smoke inside. The passers-by apparently had a problem with blue hair or other such physical manifestations of alternative youth culture and decided it was their place to assert their imagined superiority. The kids defended their ground and the belligerent men grew even more belligerent. They climbed into their white Blazer, rear ended Ronnie's car, and attempted to run over the teenagers before speeding away and slamming into several more vehicles including a van carrying a man, a woman and a couple of children. The woman, at least, was very badly injured.

I live a block away from Mr. CD and heard the crash in my living room. After running instinctively out on to my back porch to ascertain what might have happened, I was shaken by the screams of a undeniably traumatized woman. I never would have related the incident to Mr. CD. I had just driven by the store on my way home that evening at about 9:50 p.m. I saw some kids hanging out and Ronnie chatting with a bike patrol cop. The scene appeared peaceful. I thought, "Oh Good, he's having another one of those shows for 'the kids.'"

Ronnie's been holding these shindigs almost every Friday for seven months without incident, but now the zoning board has prohibited him from holding any more shows. He was prohibited from opening his store the day after the accident and claims to have lost five days worth of business.

He's suddenly having problems with the landlord he previously praised to me. Several neighbors, once friendly and glad to see an empty storefront occupied, are now slandering his name. Ronnie says he's received three parking tickets in one week for parking in a spot he's been parking in for months. The asinine actions of two men that were not in any way connected to the show that evening has somehow been blamed on youth culture and a man who cared enough to cater to it. To punish these teenagers for the actions of irresponsible grown-ups is a justification of the alternative youth-profiling and hazardous aggression of the real perpetrators.

Why is it so easy for our society to blame the kids? Why are we so afraid of youth culture? As Ronnie noted, "These kids aren't bad, they're just bored." So maybe they're not interested in extra-curricular athletics, must they become pariahs? They're just not interested in practicing for a future stint in alcoholism by throwing keg parties in the woods. They just dig music and they want some place to go where they won't be treated like a social scourge. They're exploring, they're expressing themselves, they are trying on identity - it's called growing up and if those accident causing adults had tried it, maybe they would have been a little more understanding.

Our teenagers may be able to look after themselves for the most part - they no longer require baby-sitters. But why must we leave them to fend for themselves, without a culture of their own, and without compassion for the trying time that is adolescence?

Ronnie doesn't want to leave the neighborhood, but he has considered taking the hint. I wonder where "the kids" will hang if he does.

-- alicia grega-pikul, june 13, 2002

Voices: Until the Violence Stops ...

2002-05-16T00:00:00.000-07:00

The opening reception for the "Empty Place at the Table" exhibit at the Everhart Museum last Thursday was anything but empty.

I mean not only that the event was well attended, but also that it was full of emotion, of realization, of compassion and of something an inspirational conviction that more must be done to eradicate our society of the scourge of domestic violence.

A long dining table was set with the personalized place settings of those local women and children who had lost their lives in incidents of domestic violence. Place cards not only held the statistics of these victims' names and ages upon the date of their death, but key details about where their life energy had been spent before it was extinguished. These women had careers, families, hobbies, and passions. One women loved motorcycles. Another loved to take day drips. Another loved animals and often took in strays. These women loved and they were all killed by a person for whom they had once felt love.

One woman's place setting was marked with religious symbols, the place card referring to her strong faith. Could it have been this woman's faith which kept her in an abusive relationship? It wasn't an unlikely proposition. In another gallery, a triumphant photo of author Charlotte Fedders was contextualized with words that read, in part: "A devout Catholic, Charlotte had been convinced that bad things only came as a punishment for some fault in herself."

The profound black and white images of photographer Donna Ferrato also documented "best practices" programs that have proved themselves effective in decreasing the incidence of death and injury from domestic violence. It was a faith not unlike that which kept Fedders in an unhealthy situation, I realized, that led others to devise and implement and test these programs. The policemen who began to stalk the stalkers and those who had initiated manalive, a batterer intervention program, were convinced that there was something they could do at least decrease, if not altogether stop the horrors of domestic violence.

Ferrato's photographs and their accompanying text had also served to inspire faith in those of us who absorbed them - we cannot allow faith to leave us paralyzed, trusting that someone or something else will intervene and readjust the wrongs until all is right again.

In bringing their immense talents and their social activism to Scranton, photographer Donna Ferrato and filmmaker Nina Rosenblum had brought us a new awareness of the issue of domestic violence. But they had not brought domestic violence to Scranton - it had always been here. The empty places at the table testified to that fact as did the presence of the surviving family and friends of the victims memorialized by the exhibit.

"This is the real world," Ferrato had announced to us regarding her work.

The images of the hospitalized woman with tire imprints across her stomach from when her boyfriend had run over her - they were real. And the huge gash in another hospitalized woman's thigh was just as real, even though she clung to the faith that her abuser didn't mean to do it.

"You have to believe that the person you love wouldn't intentionally do this kind of a thing," the caption read.

We prefer to think of it as their reality- theirs not ours. But one of the places at the table was set with dishes exactly the same as those which often sit in my own dining room. And as I walked through the museum's front doors at reception's end and walked down the steps toward my car, the lights of the Community Medical Center caught my eye. How many women in that hospital right now, I wondered, were, like the women in Ferrato's photographs, recovering from the blows of domestic violence?

The galleries of the Everhart Museum were not empty of faith that night, but neither were they full. What will it take before we find the faith it will take to remove to domestic violence from our community, as Ferrato compared, like a doctor would remove the cancer?

--alicia grega-pikul, 16 May 2002

Voices: Ridding Ourselves of the Boob Tube

2002-04-25T12:00:00.000-07:00

If you're an "average" viewer, TV Turnoff Week (through April 28) will give you 24 extra hours to live.

That's like having the one extra day a week we so often wish for in our Sisyphus-like attempts to attend to the demands of life.

I've never had the guts to measure how much TV my family watches because I'm sure that we, like most Americans, take in too much. But measure? I couldn't possibly. I've been in denial since college, since I read former advertising executive Jerry Mander's landmark book "The Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television."

"Television inhibits your ability to think," Mander wrote, "but it does not lead to freedom of mind, relaxation or renewal. It leads to a more exhausted mind. You may have time out from prior obsessive thought patterns, but that's as far as television goes. The mind is never empty, the mind is filled. What's worse, it is filled with someone else's obsessive thoughts and images."

Television programming, indeed! I was terrified. What was I letting them do to my mind. Here I was, studying theatre in order to become a playwright, an artist consciously creating new images. Dramatically, I decided that I had to give up television.

Ten years later, I still haven't found the strength to turn the set off permanently - networks such as Bravo, Oxygen, and Trio have challenged the order of trivial content and the brilliant Alan Ball created "Six Feet Under." I am a conscientious viewer now, I profess. The set may be on, I defend, but we don't really pay all that much attention.

It's been estimated by Adbusters, the organization which launched TV Turnoff Week in 1994, that millions of people in over 25 countries around the world have left their screens blank this week in consideration of who's been shaping the way they think. My family is attempting to be among them. It's going to be a long seven days without Pepper Ann in the morning and the Powerpuff Girls at night. I'm not certain that we're going to make it, but we've decided to try.

Experimenting, I've turned off the TV that no one was watching just to see if the children's voices booming from the next room would be quite so loud without the "background noise." The results were astonishing and immediate. Not only did their volume noticeably decrease, but their attitudes mellowed. There was less bickering and less whining. Now this is hardly a scientific study, I know, but I realized that further investigation was warranted. I now make an extra effort to turn off the TV when no one's watching. Even if it gets turned right back on, at least there's a chance that we'll break away long enough to find something more constructive to do. Something better for our minds and our souls.

It's not too late to join the experiment. Just try going through a weekend without the distraction of the tube. Take care of a few of those simple little things that you've been avoiding. Get some exercise. Read beyond the headlines or better yet, read a book. Experience real live culture. Throw a dinner party or catch up with friends. Write a letter. Paint a picture. Take a walk and see what's going on in your own zip code.

And once freed to think for itself again, perhaps your mind will wake to an epiphany. Isn't it worth finding out?

For every program as challenging and intelligent as HBO's quirky "Six Feet Unde"r there are far too many socially incriminating programs such as ABC's latest reality dating show, "The Bachelor." Even if you bring yourself to find 25 women competing to win a marriage proposal from a 31-year-old management consultant entertaining, it is still exploitative and degrading. Eight million people tuned in to the series premiere episode on March 25.

Collectively, that's eight million hours of time. Eight million hours of life that Americans could have used... oh I don't know volunteering, for example? People who don't volunteer frequently blame a lack of time. Is it just a coincidence that National Volunteer Week coincides with TV Turn off Week? Perhaps. But perhaps it's a coincidence worth thought.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 25 April 2002

Voices: Drug Warfare

2002-04-11T12:00:00.000-07:00
Will our government officials have to dance in the streets of the capital decorated only with semi-automatic rifles before we admit they've lost their minds?

With each new desperate attempt put forth by the "War on Drugs," it becomes more and more apparent that public health and safety are not the concerns by which decisions are made.

In March, the Supreme Court ruled that innocent residents of public housing can rightfully be evicted because of the drug use of any co-resident or guest on the property or blocks away. Grandma's innocent? It doesn't matter - if she can't control her family, she's a threat.

The Office of National Drug Control Policy (ONDCP) is spending millions on ineffective and suspect propaganda accusing teenage drug dabblers of funding terrorists. Meanwhile, Bush condones the Afghan poppy harvest so that the war torn country's economy might stabilize and better ward off terrorism. Wait a minute, what?

OxyCotin is one of the few drugs strong enough to reduces or even eliminate pain without also causing nausea or damage to vital organ. Yet because of its abuse by addicts (who will find a way to their fix with out with out the drug), OxyCotin is being kept out of the hands of thousands of legitimately needy patients. States like Vermont have banned it altogether while other states have scared doctors so badly that dosages have been slashed and patients have been refused treatment.

When 69 percent of voters in the District of Columbia approved a measure to legalize the medical use of marijuana in 1998, Congress quickly stepped forward with the Barr Amendment, successfully blocking the implementation and preventing any future law reducing criminal penalties for any Schedule I controlled substance. It wasn't until last week that the amendment was finally overturned as unconstitutional. Duh.

Why do our legislators think they know better than our doctors? "Marijuana is not medicine," our lawmakers insist. Then why are so many doctors willing to prescribe it? What would happen if sick people started smoking pot and actually began to feel better - suffering fewer side effects with little debilitation?

Humans have been using plants to cure sickness and ease suffering since before the term medicine was even coined. Western medicine has ridiculed the use of natural medicine over chemical and technological medicine ever since healing became a profitable industry. Now that natural and non-Western medicines are becoming profitable as well, we are seeing their gradual return to acceptance.

In defense of its latest ad campaign, the ONDCP asserts "Americans must set norms that reaffirm the values of responsibility and good citizenship while dismissing the notion that drug use is consistent with individual freedom."

Since when are my decisions on what to do or not to do with my body not a matter of freedom? This is the twisted logic with which they twist our minds - be responsible, be a good citizen, but be sure to pick up Whoppers for the whole family on your way home from Wal-Mart. Don't grow your drugs, be a good consumer and buy them from the pharmaceutical companies.

Two-thirds of the $20 billion we are spending annually in the war on drugs goes to interdiction, eradication and law enforcement. We need to re-route our limited tax dollars away from users and focus solely on addicts and abusers. We need to treat the underlying causes of addiction - the source of our collective and individual pain whether it be mental discomfort, domestic and sexual violence, or the countless other social ills that have led the insured to Prozac, Xanax, Zoloft and other trademarked anti-depressants.

Strict incarceration penalties of minor recreational users and hyperbolic advertisements are not only failing to bring an end to the drug problem, they are making a laughing stock of our country. Our citizens need better reasons to feel good about being alive than Capitalism has been able to provide.

If the United States can't win the war against its self-inflicted angst and suffering, how could it ever hope to win the war against the seemingly more foreign and elusive enemy of terrorism.

-- alicia grega-pikul, 11 April 2002

Voices: They Once Burned Books ...

2002-03-28T12:00:00.000-08:00

Libraries were created to provide to ensure one of our most basic, yet tragically unappreciated rights -- equal access to knowledge. In these days of thousand dollar pre-requisites to access information, the public institutions are the only thing connecting thousands of Americans to the Internet.

National Library Week will again be observed the second week April - this year's theme is "@ the library." Coinciding neatly is a trial on the constitutionality of The Children's Internet Protection Act, a federal law adopted in 2000 that requires libraries receiving certain types of federal technology funding to use Internet filtering technology. If the act is not overturned, libraries that do not comply by July 2002 will lose desperately need funds.

The American Library Association and the Multnomah County, Oregon, Public Library contend that the law puts unconstitutional restraints on free speech. The American Civil Liberties Union agrees and is arguing the case on behalf of the plaintiffs who feel that parents and children, rather than the federal government, should determine what content they find unacceptable.

Malachy McCourt, a great champion of libraries and free speech therein, reminded me recently, "the constitution was not written to support the majority, but rather the minority who might disagree with what's going on." I don't know the parent who wants to explain pornographic imagery to his or her children, but according to the ALA, there are actually more conducive ways to protect our children than an age-insensitive, generic censorship blanket that will block god-doesn't-even-know what.

Let's face it, librarians are smarter than most of us. They have degrees in library science - earning this degree in the 21st Century, as I understand it, means learning way more about accessing technological sources of information than library patrons are, unfortunately, ever likely to ask about. If knowledge is power, we should be lined up around the block waiting for tidbits on how to better use the Internet from these should-be gurus.

If the librarians think that filtering software provides a false sense of security, I'll take their word for it.

The government claims that web filtering technology has vastly improved, but far too often the programs not only prevents users from accessing perfectly valid and harmless websites, but also lets "inappropriate" material enter under the radar. One system I've been subjected to prevented me from visiting a silly cartoonist's website on the grounds that it was "tasteless," but had no problem inadvertently downloading a copy of a December 1966 Playboy centerfold.

The ALA's suggested alternative is simple. Parents are recommended "to teach children how to make good decisions about what they read and view, no matter where they are." It might require a more of a time commitment, but doing something the right way almost always does. In the end, we've usually saved ourselves countless hours and headaches for every corner not cut. How many technological innovations will it take before parents become obsolete in the rearing of their children?

What kind of porn freak is going to hang out at the library anyway? Libraries aren't a conducive atmosphere for the enjoyment of porn. I'm afraid to breathe in the library, forget about breathing heavily. Not surprisingly, very few libraries have reported problems with people looking at pornography.

During National Library Week 2002 the American Library Association will sponsor a program called "Rediscover America @ your library" will showcase the essential role of libraries and librarians to our democracy. It will attempt to convince policy makers as well as the public that libraries and librarians are needed now, more than ever. Librarians have become the guardians of our rights not only to speak freely, but to freely access what is written by others - on the page or on the screen. Grateful or not, your rights have been protected by the untiring advocacy of America's libraries and the angels that operate them.

--alicia grega-pikul, 28 March 2002

Voices: Artists in Peril?

2002-03-14T12:00:00.000-08:00

In 2001, Pennsylvania Governor Tom Ridge recommended a $1.4 million increase in state arts funding for the 2001-2002 fiscal year. The increase was approved.

But even a $15.4 million budget allocation was still not enough to bring Pennsylvania in line with the national average of $1.44 per capita arts spending or correct the fact that the Commonwealth continues to lag behind all its bordering states including West Virginia in per capita arts spending.

Yet as 2001 came to a close, the newly ascended Schweiker administration placed a freeze on this $1.4 million dollars, money that had already been promised to the Pennsylvania Council on the Arts (PCA) and that the PCA had already pledged to its grant applicants.

Further threatening the livelihoods of Pennsylvania artists and the very existence of the arts organizations that attempt to keep them from starving, the Governor has proposed a cut in arts funding for the 2002-2003 fiscal year. The Citizens for the Arts in Pennsylvania (CFA/PA) had requested a $17.5 million dollar appropriation to the PCA for the fiscal year 2002-2003. This amount would represent a $1.46 in per capita arts funding and "would move Pennsylvania closer to the per capita arts funding levels of all our bordering states." Closer, but not quite far enough.

Governor Schweiker has recommended only $14 million.

The governor's budget recommendations for next fiscal year also include more than $75 million to be coupled with federal funding for a total of more than $200 million to be spent on security and emergency response efforts across the commonwealth. It's an "unprecedented investment" a February 6, 2002, state press release proudly asserts.

$200 million.

The $1.4 million seized from the PCA is a mere seventh-tenths of one percent of the brand new homeland security budget, but it is nine percent of the PCA's $15.4 million budget. It is ten percent of the $14 million that Schweiker would see granted.

I'm not suggesting that increased spending on security is unreasonable. Our country is engaged in a war. I want to live as freely and as safely as you do. But we are engaged in a war, a war that in the past six months has repeatedly expanded in scope - how safe can we expect to be?

The Commonwealth has been a "national leader in anti-terrorism planning and emergency response." This is why Ridge got promoted. Pennsylvania is "one of the most prepared states in the nation," Schweiker's press releases boast. We are "a model for the nation," and the governor plans to keep us that way.

Yes, Pennsylvania is on the cutting edge. Yet, if we are doing as well as they claim, why will homeland security cost us an additional $200 million next year. How much will it cost the following year?

The real slap in the face to art organizations and individual artists is that Schweiker's proposed 2002-2003 budget also pledges to "allow Pennsylvanians to weather recession without tax increase for the first time since World War II." Wait, there's more. His budget, in fact, proposes the state's eight consecutive tax cut, a tax cut of $103 million to be precise.

But we don't have $1.4 measly million more dollars to give the PCA. We've got to have our strawberry shortcake with six cherries on top and we want it fed to us with a pristinely, silver spoon. And we want it now.

The arts are not frivolous. They are not expendable. They are absolutely essential to our quality of life, to our self esteem, to our ability to stay sane in a world that's making less and less sense more and more of the time.

Recent studies, including one by the National Governor's Association, have directly linked the role of the arts and cultural tourism to the economic development and health of a region. Schweiker's budget will keep Pennsylvania safer than New York, but as the big apple so festively points, there are reasons other than safety that make a place desirable.

Visit the Citizens for the Arts in Pennsylvania website at www.paarts.org to sign a petition in support of maintaining a $15.4 million appropriation for arts funding.

--alicia grega-pikul, 14 March, 2002

Voices: Getting in on the Peace Act

2002-03-02T12:00:00.000-08:00

With media coverage saturating Bush's war against Iraq - a war that hasn't even happened yet - I didn't want to add yet another column to the mix.

Yet with an issue this large looming above our collective consciousness, how can I write fluff about celebrities, for example. I mean after all, the reason everyone keeps talking about the war is because we can't see the forest through all these trees of propaganda.

So ... let's compromise.

On Monday, an antiwar advertisement featuring actress Susan Sarandon and former ambassador to Iraq, Edward Peck, debuted in Washington, D.C. and on New York television stations. Funded by the advocacy group True Majority, the 30-second spot presents Susan Sarandon pointing a sharp inquiry at Peck.

"Before our kids start coming home from Iraq in body bags and women and children start dying in Baghdad," she says, "I need to know, what did Iraq do to us?" Peck's reply - "Nothing." Iraq had nothing to do with the tragedy of September 11, 2001, he suggests, and nothing to do with Al Qaeda. He further opines that rather than reducing the threat of terrorism, an attack on Iraq will serve only to increase it.

Timed to counter Bush's anticipated State of the Union plug for military action, the ad will no doubt ruffle a few feathers. Many a threatened birds will likely object Sarandon's presence, slinging the old backlash that because someone is a famous actor she is necessarily uninformed and has no right to exploit her fame to affect public opinion.

If you don't remember the rumbling when Sean Penn went to Baghdad a month or so ago, perhaps you recall the shrieking when 100 "bloody Hollywood liberals" under the collective moniker "Artists United to Win Without War" signed a petition against Bush's war policy in December.

"Will someone tell Martin Sheen that he's not really the president," one young man wrote at mtv.com in response to the actor's comments at a press conference. Oh, ha ha ha. It's funny all right, but I think Martin Sheen knows the difference - I haven't actually compared their salaries, but I'm guessing Sheen gets paid more per episode of the West Wing than Bush gets paid in a year. While we've pulled out Martin Sheen as an example - he was politically active long before he became famous. Is he's just supposed to stop now because he's reached a unusually high status level?

It's so easy for those with differing political views to insult actors - What do they know about foreign policy? The only thing they really care about is their image, their career? What do you think politicians care about? Serving their constituents? Please. Some of the most well-read people I've met, happened to be actors. They are curious by nature, always watching and listening to the world around them, absorbing details about the people with whom they come into contact. The wealthier ones have traveled to countries I'll probably never have the opportunity to see. And they can see through the bad acting put forth by self-serving politicians just as readily as you and I.

Why should we listen to celebrities on issues of foreign policy? Maybe we shouldn't. Maybe we should be making up our own minds. But it's a personal decision and personally I'd trust Susan Sarandon over George W. any day. She's demonstrated a history of acting according to values that I can appreciate. What I've glimpsed of the president's values, I can't even begin to understand. And think what you may about that, but I'm certain it's not because his genius is so superior to mine.

We insist that our celebrities be role models, but then ask that they model our values rather than their own. These are real people, many of who never asked to be famous. Let's not take away their right to an opinion.

Did the petition of Dec. 10 did make a difference? Although I can't begin to think of anyone who really cares what Bonnie Franklin thinks, I think bringing visibility to dissent has made an impact. Maybe the alignment of the stars has had nothing to do with the change of tide, but one thing's for sure - a mere four and a-half months after the protest-free September 11 2002, signs of protests are everywhere.

--alicia grega-pikul, 30 January 2003

Voices: A Bushwhacked Media?

2002-02-28T12:00:00.000-08:00

Bill Maher almost lost his show for criticizing Bush. Now Aaron Sorkin, creator and writer of "The West Wing," is being villainized for his criticism not of Bush, but of the mass media's loss of objectivity in portraying Bush.

"The media is waving pom poms and our entire country is being too polite," Sorkin is credited as saying in the February 24 issue of The New Yorker.

Did Sorkin's criticism of the president go too far in this time of war, FOX News questions. The conservative argument, as posed by the network, has avoided the free speech of the matter - of course he has the right to say it - but was it appropriate for him to say it?

I know it's just FOX news, which isn't really news so much as a machine designed to trick people into screaming at their television sets, but what if the attack on Sorkin was misunderstood as the truth?

Bill O'Reilly of "The O'Reilley Factor" introduces Sorkin with only two labels:

1. Drug Abuser (because Sorkin was nabbed with possession of psychedelic mushrooms in April)

and 2. Anti-establishment. O'Reilly concludes that "The West Wing" is left wing propaganda.

Let me get this straight - Tom Brokaw and NBC use Sorkin's show, "The West Wing" as a virtual template for their post 9-11 special "The Bush White House: Inside the Real West Wing" and people are upset that Sorkin is criticizing their journalistic objectivity? At least Sorkin can tell the difference between fiction and reality.

A Sorkin advocate reminds O'Reilly that the producer/writer said first and foremost - "I'm behind the president 100 percent."

"You have to say that now," replies O'Reilly, seemingly unaware that his point validates Sorkin's.

"It is not unprecedented to criticize a president during a time of war," a defendant of Sorkin's states on later on "Hannity and Colmes."

Yet the precedent was made in September that we must stand united as a people, as a country, during this time of crisis. Bush continues to remind us that we are in this war against terror for the long haul. How long? No one knows. So when in this endless war on evil, will it be appropriate for the unsatisfied to speak their minds?

Remember before September 11, when more than half the population of the country didn't even want Bush to be president? Remember how they made fun of him - Sorkin used the phrase "bubblehead," but I've been recalling monkeys.

Who decides what is appropriate? Where are they holding classes and when can I sign up, because I just don't get it. Why can't we disagree with our country's engagement in this or any war? Because we were attacked? Was the pacifist activism of the Vietnam era really so effective that they're still scared? Cool.

I criticize theatre productions regularly for e.c., not to show how clever and sophisticated the paper is, but rather with the hope of encouraging and enhancing the quality of theatre for the people of NEPA - one of the productions I will be reviewing this month is, serendipitously enough, Aaron Sorkin's play "A Few Good Men," currently in pre-production at Diva Theater, scheduled to open the 15 of March.

Am I to criticize art but not criticize our government - the manner in which we are ruling ourselves as a people? Is this not a democracy? We are ruling ourselves, aren't we? Don't we want to do that better, too, if at all possible? Which do you find less pure and more in need of reform - artistic creation or the government?

Conservatives can criticize Colin Powell for telling an MTV audience that kids are going to have sex no matter how hard we preach abstinence, so at least let's encourage them to be safe, encourage condom use. He's not telling kids to have sex, but even if he was, they're not going to listen to him. They're going to listen to Britney Spears. But no - It was inappropriate for Powell to "send mixed messages" and to contradict Bush's cry of abstinence, they critique.

They are in denial of reality, belittling different view points instead of trying to understand them - now isn't that inappropriate?

--alicia grega-pikul, 28 February 2002

Voices: Modern Day Romance

2002-02-14T12:00:00.000-08:00

Ladies of the new generation, be sure to practice what you preach. As we advance farther and farther into the future and overcome the gender stereotypes of our foremothers, it is not only hypocritical to expect our men to wine and dine us while we sit back and look beautiful for them, pampering their egos - it is counterproductive to our quest.

Perhaps it's not your quest, but an increasing number of men and women are looking to build their heterosexual romantic relationships on the concept of partnership. And true equitable partnership means tossing the gender stereotypes of old into the trash where they belong and truly discovering for yourselves, as two individuals working together to tackle the obstacles of life, which one of you is, gender aside, actually better suited to handle which tasks.

Stepford wives move over. The majority of women are not spending their days waxing the floors and cleaning underneath furniture in between preparing a multi-course meal from scratch before donning enticing lingerie in which to greet their breadwinner at the door come 6 p.m. This is the 21st century and while vagina bearers may only make some eighty cents on the same dollar earned by our penis-carrying counterparts, most households now rely on two incomes. We all enjoy a good meal at the end of the day, but stomachs are just one of many signposts on the pathway to one's heart.

In spite of our ever-changing societal mores, Valentine's Day heralds a cultural slip backwards in time for even the most progressive of men and women. In the dating culture of years past, the man is expected to impresses the woman with a demonstration of his wealth - a.k.a. lots of quality merchandise and an expensive dinner at a fabulous restaurant. If the woman is satisfied with the demonstration, she is then expected to accommodate the sexual intercourse required for the evening to fully meet the criteria of "romantic." It's a barbaric demonstration of sexual politics that despite our resistance on most other days of the year, finds itself justified in the name of love on the lovers' holiday.

Gifts are an appreciated cherry on the top of any holiday and Valentine's Day is no exception, but isn't it time that we take a look at what we are giving and when and why and who it is that's doing the given. Flowers are a beautiful gesture of one's fondness for another at any time of the year and chocolate will always be divine, but clichés are not romantic. And receiving gifts in exchange for sexual favors is not romance, it's glorified prostitution.

It's not that I don't believe in romance or in love and I am just trying to make the whole thing ugly for everyone else. I'm actually very happily married and my husband is as proud of the partnership we have achieved. Proud we are. Perfect we are not. And re-defining romance has not been easy. We have struggled on Valentine's Days and anniversaries and birthdays of years past and while it has gotten easier, it may never become easy.

The first time my partner expressed his wish that I were more romantic I was beside myself. It was only fair, I realized after a few moments, but I didn't know where to begin. Lessons for women on how to be romantic are notorious for tips on how to look beautiful or how to please their man in bed. Men know that a deeper expression of emotion is desired, but they, too, are pioneers.

What does romance look like in the relationship of the future? The only way to discover what gestures will genuinely fulfill our partners is to live every day with open eyes and ears, an open heart and a brave lack of fear. There is no formula. Like the new relationship itself, the nature of romance in the 21st century is determined not by societal clichés or the lords of marketing, but by the specific needs and desires of our individual loved ones. The more creative, joyful, spontaneous, and tuned-in the gestures we make, the greater the pleasure we can bring our spouses and lovers and the better we can prove our respect and admiration. These gestures may include gifts and they may include physical love, but they will be uniquely ours.

They will be discovered together and they will be priceless.

--alicia grega-pikul, 14 February 2002

Voices: Do You Like to Watch?

2002-01-31T00:00:00.000-08:00

If you want to get someone's attention... just whisper.

When I was a little girl, I would eavesdrop on my mother as she made her Sunday phone calls to friends and family. I was fascinated and never felt guilty or even had a concept that what I was doing might be wrong. It was how I kept informed.

However, the further modern technology entrenches itself into our lives, the more tears we shed for the loss of our individual and collective privacy. Our employers spy on us via secret cameras while we work. They monitor our e-mail. Analyze our purchases. In defense of our rights, many are incensed.

Though I understand the threat to an extent, the louder voice in my head just doesn't care. Illegal purchases aren't generally recorded over traceable systems, so what is it that people are trying to hide? Has society become so perverted that being true to ourselves has become too much of a risk?

Don't tell me you're afraid of them marketing your own interests back at you - they are going to do it with or without accurate research. Eventually they'll understand that science will never crack the intricacies of the human mind and they'll leave us alone. Until then, let them examine my store receipts - maybe they'll learn that someone is actually buying the tomitillos and they'll teach the kid at the register what a tomitillo is and where to find the code on the produce list.

If you have secrets to keep from your boss, from your co-workers, you're obviously not in the right work environment. If it's going to get you fired, send it from home. I know it's not pleasant to consider that someone is watching us, collecting information to use against us, but people do it with or without technology. Ever hear of something called a rumor? They've been around for years and people aren't going to stop spreading them.

My mother isn't the only victim of my eavesdropping. I pay close attention to the conversations of strangers, too. I watch people, sometimes casually, sometimes intently, but never maliciously.

Call me rude. Accuse me of lacking manners. I think it's more respectable to be concerned with my neighbors, my surroundings. We've allowed our country to disintegrate through minding our own business. How much longer do we need to keep this up? If you don't want me listening to your conversation, shut the door, leave the room. I will not stop. I will not apologize.

Confessional websites have recently begun to attract widespread attention. At notproud.com one may either post his or her own confession or browse through those of others categorized into the alluring categories of: pride, envy, sloth, gluttony, greed, lust, anger or misc. The site contains over 7,000 archived confessions and no one feels guilty for reading them. The website's manifesto reads, "Confessions are as we see ourselves. It is not always pretty, but it is often illuminating."

Our fascination is justified because, in this case, we are supposed to be interested. Those who post their confessions are seeking to unburden themselves. It's as if they must reveal or bare themselves before us. Our attention is a requisite component of the confession. This is why reality TV has exploded across the airwaves and grown and adapted. People may find the programming annoying, but no one has cited the participants with sins of pride or accused those of us at home for being meddlesome voyeurs.

The manipulative minds behind certain programs have been faulted only with excessive commercialism or for attempting to pass off staged moments for reality. "You said it would be real," we cry. "Don't try to trick us."

And there, lies the truth of the debate. We trick each other every day. We mask our physical flaws, try to look cool, and sound intelligent. We lie when we don't want to do something or didn't do something we were supposed to. What's wrong? Are you afraid I won't like the real you?

Truth has a way of reaching the surface no matter what we do to hide it. Look at Enron. Confess your secrets. Embrace your voyeur.

--alicia grega-pikul, 31 January 2002

Voices: Gay TV

2002-01-17T00:00:00.000-08:00

Recent news stories from the Associated Press describe the process of two media giant Viacom divisions toward creating the first cable channel aimed specifically at gay viewers. Perhaps the greatest problem with the concept of gayTV lies in the closing quote of Bill Carter's article, headlined "MTV and Showtime Plan Cable Channel for Gay Viewers" (The New York Times, Jan. 10): "No one who doesn't want this will ever see this channel," quoted by Gene Falk, senior vice president for MTV digital media group.

Not only will the proposed channel include advertising, it would be offered to the public only via a paid subscription, like Showtime, but at a fraction of the fee - five to six dollars a month. Showtime claims that according to preliminary "tests," the reaction of gays is positive.
Showtime, by the way, already has a program, reputedly doing well, titled "Queer As Folk."
Why not just continue with the trend of increasing the number of gay characters on existing TV network programs? Rather than project mending images of inclusion and diversity, it is in the best interests of marketing executives to keep us closely cloistered in niche groups.

(Which one are you in? I'm sort of caught up in the Bravo / IFC thing myself.) It might benefit society to see richly unique individuals interacting, but it's just going to confuse the matter of who is the target audience. It's easier for the media to just segregate gay programming, making it inaccessible enough so that homophobes won't raise a stink, but not so inaccessible that the gay community would protest.

No one except gays who subscribe to get the channel are ever going to see the advertisements. Isn't that just a little too convenient?

On the other hand...

I don't know about you, but I'm curious about what gayTV might present. The prospect of additional film screening is welcome and some of us have already gotten a satisfied taste of "Queer As Folk." The real curiosity for me lies in the other proposed programming: Talk shows. Hmmm... Trashy or compassionate? Sandra Bernhardt's show already bombed, didn't it? Who might the Jerry Springer of gayTV be? The Howard Stern of gayTV?

Would everyone on gayTV even be gay? Sitcoms would likely include that crazy straight neighbor who tries real hard, but just doesn't seem to get it. Where would bi-sexuals fit in?
Travel shows. It's a cliche - not that the network would necessarily avoid them - but can't you just see the couple with the fussy gay guy and his "ready for anything" partner attempting to compromise about their trip to Brazil one week and to Iceland the next?

And the commercials... oh, the possibilities are endless. Imagine a Mentos commercial on gayTV: The gay twirler drops his baton and breaks away from the pride parade to pursue a long lost love?

What kind of hair removal products might a drag queen recommend?

What kind of cleaning secrets does gorgeously clean young man use to get his kitchen so shiny?

Where do lesbians buy those really comfortable looking, yet not-dumpy-clothes anyway?

Wouldn't this programming eventually begin to define "the gay lifestyle?" Could that be enlightening? Could misconceptions and presumptions really dissolve? I can't help but think that the same stereotypically homogenous images as MTV uses to brainwash our youth would surface on gayTV, too. Aside from sexual satisfaction, I've always understood an appeal of homosexuality to be that freedom from corporate-interest created gender stereotypes.

Are men really from Mars or did we just cram so much television testosterone down their throats that they've emigrated there?

Joan Garry, the executive director for the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation, feels the bottom line is that the network would provide visibility. Visibility being a good thing.
The new network could debut in a year's time... What do you think?

--alicia grega-pikul, 17 January 2002