==================================================================== Stuck In Traffic "Current Events, Cultural Phenomena, True Stories" Issue #33 - May, 2000 Contents: Gas Crisis 2000: What can be done about the current "Gas Crisis" The Killing Zone: The dark side of Sprin exposed. On Elian Gonzales: Now that the Elian Gonzales case is essentially over, we can take a minute to look at the issues it has raised. Review: The Ninth Gate Pretty darn hip for a horror flick. ======================================= Current Events Gas Crisis: 2000 A friend recently asked me what I thought about the current Gas Crisis and I somewhat flippantly replied, "This, too, shall pass." It's not that I'm unaware of the very real angst it's causing, but I just don't see that anything much can be done about it. At least, not much can be done about it in the short term. The fact of the matter is, we're somewhat addicted to gasoline. It's not that we have a physical addiction to carbon monoxide fumes. We don't have any particular love affair with the internal combustion engine. But we are addicted to gasoline in the sense that it's painful to us to be without it. We'd rather pay higher prices than experience the pain. Which of course doesn't stop us one bit for grumbling about it. And like all addicts, it's everyone's fault but our own. It's the fault of those evil gas producing countries and the menacing cabal of OPEC. Or let's blame the nasty oil companies who care for nothing but a fast buck. Or perhaps you'd prefer to heap the blame on your favorite whipping-boy branch of federal, state, or local government for not Doing Something About It. But whatever we do, we can't possibly be to blame for making ourselves dependent on consuming gasoline. It seems like such a good thing, for example, to carve up our cities into nice neat zoning districts. It seems so neat and orderly. Like little children playing house we say, "Let's put our neighborhoods over here, and let's put all the nice office buildings over there, and those smelly factories go way over there." And next thing you know we're all facing 30 and 45 minute commutes every day, and buying a gallon of milk requires at least 10 minutes of driving. Please note, I'm not playing holier than thou. I personally burn at least a gallon of gasoline every day just traveling back and forth to work. I chose to live in a neighborhood far away from where I work. The inconvenience of traveling that far to and from my place of business had nothing but a dim consideration when I chose a place to live. I like my house, I like my neighborhood, I like my suburban community. (Well, mostly). And guess what, so do most of the people that live here. It seems like such a good thing, to create car-centered transportation systems. Since we like to spread out our cities with zoning laws, we never have the population density to be able to afford anything remotely resembling public transportation. It's just too expensive. And besides, we like the comfort, convenience, and security of our individual automobiles. We can come and go at whatever hour of the day we feel like it without having to plan around other people's schedules (same reason car-pools never quite seem to work). We can listen to whatever music we please in our own cars and don't have to put up with others' music, smells, or unpleasant personal grooming habits. And frankly, we feel more secure when we don't have to mix and mingle with quite so many strangers. Again, I claim no moral superiority here. I've often said, only half jokingly, that I can't wait for the government to put in a light rail system in our area so the roads will be less crowded for me. It's time we realized that there is no one to blame but ourselves for whatever Gas Crisis, real or imagined, we're currently facing. We value neat, orderly planned zoning so our local governments create it for us. We value the comfort, convenience, and security of our cars, so automobile companies deliver them to us and oil companies sell us the oil. Pushers creating addicts so they addicts can be milked for every last dime. Or at least that's the metaphor people like to use. But I think there's another view of the situation. The "Gas Crisis" isn't a crisis over the price of oil directly. Honestly, does anyone really care how much an Egyptian makes when he sells a barrel of oil to Exxon? Does anyone really care how much money Exxon makes? Not really. What we really complain about is the challenge to the direct and immediate values we hold. All of a sudden it costs more to drive back and forth to work. All of a sudden it's more inconvenient to go buy that gallon of milk. And unfortunately it hurts those who have the least margin for error in their budgets. Families of modest means are impacted far more by the unexpected expense of price increases than the Country Club set for example. Or, as my friend pointed out to me, the budget processes for a typical city government are designed to encourage the most optimistic contingency plans possible. In the long run, there's not much of anything we can do to affect the price of oil. Neither price controls nor rationing have ever proven to work or be politically tolerable. On the other hand, historically at least, cartels such as OPEC don't tend to be effective either. We seem to forget that our recent price spike is starting from oil prices that are the lowest, relatively speaking, that they have been in years, So what do we do? The angst is real. The pain is real. The cost is real. The trick is to not worry about the price of oil. Instead, we need to study closely the values we've held on to that helped create the situation and ask ourselves two sets of questions. 1) Are these really the values we hold near and dear to our heart? Do they need to perhaps be rethought or refined? And 2) Assuming that, yes, these really are the values that mean the most to us, how can we keep and protect these values while at the same time reducing our dependence on oil? I doubt we'll see much change in the answers to the first set of questions. We've pretty much settled in on those over the centuries. The second set of questions leads to discussions on all the usual sorts of topics that have been integral to our public debate for years. What zoning laws are really needed and which do more harm than good? When all factors are considered, which is cheaper, public transport or private? And these same questions put pressure on the business sector as well, When, oh when, will electric cars become economically viable? Is there a cheaper way to get goods delivered to us? Which is better, electricity generated by oil burning plants, coal burning plants, or nuclear reactors. On and on and on. All these sorts of questions are worthy of discussion and debate and are, I think, constructive and healthy. Fretting about the price of oil, isn't. The key to getting through this year's Oil Crisis is recognizing the difference between the two. ======================================= True Story The Killing Zone Ahhhh Spring. Thank goodness it's here. I love the bright sunny days. I love to watch the flowers break out in bloom. In our neck of the woods we get to see Bradford Pear trees, Redbud trees, Forsythia, many many types of azaleas, and my personal favorite, the Dogwood trees all burst into bloom. And the weather turns warm, the sweaters get stuffed to the back of the closet and the T-shirts are rotated to the front. But there are a few bad things about Spring too. Bugs, for instance. I have an irrational and irrepressible fear of spiders. But the insects that I truly hate and despise are crickets. To most people, crickets are those charming insects that you hear on a warm summer night. If you leave your bedroom window open at night, you can drift off to the soothing sounds of crickets chirping in the distance. It's a very pleasant sort of white noise that makes the rest of the world seem far away and hazy. And I would share these warm fuzzy feelings toward crickets and their "music" if it weren't for the fact that sometimes they get into the house. And then they become my worst nightmare. Because when you bring that beautiful night time summer music in from the yard and into your kitchen, for example, everything changes. The crickets, I'm sure, are well aware of this. My house is routinely invaded by evil rogue crickets. I have no idea how they do it. I have tried to make my house as air tight as possible, and yet every now and then one will find a way. It's a particularly determined and hardy cricket that can make it's way past both the physical and chemical barriers I've used to fortify my homestead. So once one gets in, I know I'm gonna have a good fight on my hands. The typical rogue cricket is not even a good citizen of the cricket community. No classical, Brahms inspired music form these examples of the species. We're talking about the punk rockers of cricket society. We're talking about the Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious of the cricket community. They typically set up shop in a corner of the house where the acoustics are well suited for echoing their particular brand of chirping. A favorite auditorium of theirs is under the refrigerator. It's dark and the spaces between the refrigerator and the wall make a good amplifier. The rogue punk rock cricket has no sense of style or grace. No delightful chirp chirp chirp. Their chirps are as loud and long as they can possibly sustain. We're talking 30 and 40 second long CHIRRRRRRRPs without a break. We're talking wall of noise here folks. If the crickets that invade my home were even attempting to make beautiful music, I might find in my heart some room for tolerance. But no, they are deliberately trying to irritate me. They are deliberately trying to deprive me of sleep. They don't care about what their music sounds like as long as it's as loud and as irritating as possible. Like any cool band, they don't really get warmed up until after all the other respectable folks, like me have gone to bed. It's a good tactical move on their part, since I have taken my contacts out for the night and am therefore at a disadvantage. And since I've usually been asleep for an hour or so when they crank up the volume, I'm often a little fuzzy headed and sleepy. But these tactical advantages don't make up for the fact that Cricket chirping unlocks a rage from deep inside of me that totally transforms me into a one man Holy Jihad against any and all crickets that have ever roamed the earth. If the punks have foolishly chosen the corner of a hall way or a room to set u their stage, well, my job is pretty easy. If they are going to sacrifice safety for acoustics, it's their own fault. I have a variety of weapons for attacking crickets in open spaces. The shoes I reserve for mowing the lawn make pretty good missiles to launch at them. Even bleary eyed and sleepy I'm a pretty good aim. Sometimes I'll use a rolled up bath towel to pop them into oblivion, but that's only for times when I have the time to take delight in their demise. Most nights I want to be over and done with the eradication of the cricket population and get back to sleep. This calls for a trip to the broom closet. When I walk by the crickets will usually shut up for a few seconds, assessing the situation, then they resume their noise. Little do they know that I'm in the process of retrieving Spider Killer, my legendary, almost magical, broom that has led me to victory against countless evil spiders. The brush end of Spider Killer is riddled with the body parts and gore of long dead and defeated Spiders that have dared invade my home. What could a cricket possibly do to defend itself against Spider Killer. Nothing. That is the point. Which doesn't stop the crickets from thumbing their noses at me until the very last instant. Sometimes their chirping doesn't even stop until that broom squashes them all over the floor. Sometimes they have the good sense to try to run and hide, but if they are out in the open it's easy enough to keep them out in the open. I suppose that I could show a little mercy on them. It would be fairly simple to catch them in my hand or an empty cup or something and escort them outside. But revenge is sweet. When the rogue cricket has planted itself under the refrigerator or other suitably heavy appliance or piece of furniture, then I have to change tactics. These cases call for the economy sized can of Raid insect "Repellent" Sometimes I skimp and buy the cheap non-name brand from Wal-Mart. But Raid has this particularly inspiring fog that issues forth from the can. You start spraying that stuff under the refrigerator and I can just imagine it's like some haunted fog from a Stephen King novel. Crickets will try to ignore the killer fog as long as they can. But their wall of noise chirps start sounding a little shaky after a while, a little shrill, a little nervous. Then cricket panic sets in and they chirp a series of emergency chirps that get weaker and weaker until they eventually fade away to total silence. The carnage is easily sucked up by a vacuum cleaner with one of those upholstery attachments. ======================================= Current Events On Elian Gonzales Poor Elian Gonzales. The kid has truly been in a no win situation. No matter what happens to him now, he will be watched and followed the rest of his life by journalists and anyone who has an interest in Cuban-American relations. As he enters his teenager years, every mistake he makes, every failing he has, no matter how typical of an adolescent, will become the center of spin- control wars between various sides of the Cuban-American relations debate. The first time he stays out past curfew (whether it be Castro imposed or father imposed) will be portrayed either as a subconscious attempt to fulfill his mother's wishes to escape or as an desperate attempt to withdraw from the media crazed attention he endured while in America, depending of course on the viewpoints of the particular spin master. One of the things I fail to understand about the media circus surrounding the Elian Gonzales case is, why are we only talking about Elian's father? Why are we only talking about the father's right to be reunited with his son? What of his mother? Is no consideration to be given to the mother who risked and sacrificed her life so that Elian might have better prospects in the United States. Does his mother's sacrifice get no respect at all? Do we just say, "Who cares what the mother wanted for her son? Ship him back!" There's no doubt in my mind that the letter of the law would dictate that Elian should be sent back to his father. And at some level, I guess I can understand the government's taking Elian by force. That does not make it right. There are countless examples throughout history where we have applauded the efforts of dedicated people who have helped others escape to freedom even when it meant breaking the law. Does no one remember The Underground Railroad? Does no one remember the brave souls living in both the Confederate States and the Union who defied the law to help men, women, and children escape to slavery? Does no one remember the story of Anne Frank and her family hiding in the attic of friends to escape Nazi persecution? Suppose it had been just Anne in that attic? Suppose her mother had sacrificed her life to get Anne to that hiding place? Would we deem it morally necessary to return Anne to her father in Nazi Germany? Even if he appeared on television and asked to be reunited with his daughter? Now that Elian has been reunited with his father, this particular story is essentially over. Yes, it will drag out in the courts for a while, but there's no way he's not going back to Cuba. But I hope the incident will serve as a reminder that sometimes the law does not line up with what is right. Maybe the Elian Gonzales case was one of these times, and maybe it wasn't. But it at least raises the issue. Should the people who tried to save Elian from be applauded or condemned? How bad would the Cuban government have to be before most people would support keeping Elian in the United States? ======================================= Cultural Phenomena Review: The Ninth Gate Johnny Depp plays a rare book dealer who's hired to verify the authenticity of a rare book, which is reputed to be a book about how to bring the devil back to earth. You might reasonably comment that nothing good can come from this. And it would mostly be true. But there are two interesting things about the movie that make it worth the while. The first remarkable aspects of the storyis that there isn't anyone particularly "good" in this film. Not a single one. We never actually see anyone express concern over the notion of raising the Devil. In fact, we get this distinct impression that everyone is maneuvering to make themselves rich/powerful/.sexy from the Devil's return. Certainly the protagoinist, as is made abundantly clear in the first scene, is at best moraaly ambivalent. And while the movie is filled with both beautiful and hip people, it's not at all clear if any of them are actually good . Despite the presence of any clear hero-like person, the movie is surprisingly engaging. The second remarkable thing about the movie is the cinematography. It's done so stylishly and beautifully you almost forget that you're watching a pretty run of the mill horror flick. ======================================= About Stuck In Traffic Stuck In Traffic is a monthly magazine dedicated to evaluating current events, examining cultural phenomena, and sharing true stories. Why "Stuck In Traffic"? Because getting stuck in traffic is good for you. It's an opportunity to think, ponder, and reflect on all things, from the personal to the global. As Robert Pirsig wrote in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, "Let's consider a reevaluation of the situation in which we assume that the stuckness now occurring, the zero of consciousness, isn't the worst of all possible situations, but the best possible situation you could be in. After all, it's exactly this stuckness that Zen Buddhists go to so much trouble to induce...." Contact Information All queries, submissions, subscription requests, comments, and hate-mail should be sent to Calvin Stacy Powers via E-mail (powers@ibm.net) or by mail (2012 Talloway Drive, Cary, NC USA 27511). Copyright Notice Stuck In Traffic is published and copyrighted by Calvin Stacy Powers who reserves all rights. Individual articles are copyrighted by their respective authors. Unsigned articles are authored by Calvin Stacy Powers. Print Subscriptions Subscriptions to the printed edition of Stuck In Traffic are available for $10/year. 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