no country for old men

pam came down yesterday afternoon and we started working on plans for the trip this summer. then we went out to eat at panera and headed to virginia center commons to go see THE BUCKET LIST. we got started late and got there to a mob, complete with tons of police all over the place. the line was so long that you didn't know where the end was, and everyone was pushing and shoving and talking and it was very overwhelming to me. my immediate reaction was to leave. we weren't going to make THE BUCKET LIST and i didn't want to see 27 DRESSES. i sort of wanted to see JUNO, but pam didn't seem to want to, so we ended up going to see NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN.

i had read the book a long time ago, it is by cormac mccarthy. but i didn't remember what it was about. there was a lot of gore, but it was a thinking type of film, much like most of the books mccarthy writes. pam wondered after it was over with what the significance was of the title, and i surmised that in this movie/book, the old lawmen more or less have to be resigned to a different kind of law keeper of the future. the crimes are worse, the lack of remorse almost standard, but more than that, the types of crimes were hard to wrap your head around. the old sheriff in the movie (tommy lee jones) is following a killer who has no feelings what so ever, but he isn't crazy behaving. he is a cold, calculated killer, and feels no pain it appears. he was sort of like the terminator character from the movies, only one who could be philosophical. when he talks, he has these philosophy discussions with people who have no clue, because they are simple. he is simple to the point of knowing that killing for him is not complicated. it is calculated, clean, cut to the chase, get it done. however, he does toy with some of his victims before he kills them, even giving 2 of them a chance to flip a coin to live or die. the last one refuses to flip the coin and giving him the psychological advantage that he seems to enjoy...and she dies.

the title i think can be interpreted a couple of ways. at the end of the movie/book the old sheriff retires and in the last scene he is discussing a dream he had with his wife in which his own father rides past him on a horse in the night with a bucket of fire. he says his father is going ahead to light a fire, and his father has a blanket pulled up over his head as he goes by. the son (the sheriff) isn't moving as fast, but knows what his father is doing and where he is headed. the screen goes black, movie over, and people puzzled, except for me. i see the symbolism of the fire (knowledge, a new beginning, the truth, birth, all of the classic light symbols). the father could be showing his son that he has to move on in the "night" (reality of the world) and his father is leading him there, to a place where there will be fire and he will see the world as it is, yet be comforted. it could also be the "knowledge" that the world has changed. in the dream both he and his father are on horses, and in the movie in the opening scene he and the deputy are going to the crime scene on horseback, and outmoded way of transportation, and very much a throwback to the days of when his father was a boy and horses were the way lawmen got to where they were going. the father is covered in a blanket, yet the son knows it is him. that could be interpreted as the son not knowing his father, not being able to see him, yet having faith in who he was and his guidance. nothing is sure...it is night, father with a blanket over him, a desolate landscape, but there is "light" in the wilderness.

the landscape of the picture is simple, desolate, hot, forbidden, and alluring. people die out there, yet somehow the landscape is comforting and inviting. an old man runs a general store/gas station in the middle of nowhere and the killer toys with him, asking him a lot of questions that the simple old man doesn't know how to answer. he was the one who did flip the coin, but he doesn't know why...he just does it. the implication is that when he wins, the killer is benevolent and lets him live. the old man never knows or understands this for his existence is so basic as to not be able to comprehend that level of sadistic behavior. another scene has the sheriff talking to an even older retired lawman and he tells the sheriff basically that the world changes, and you can't fight it. you have to accept what is and continue with what you think is right. but the sheriff retires anyway.

all through the book/film the old sheriff is pondering the way this criminal thinks and what he is doing. his character is compassionate and old school, concerned about the welfare of the llewellyn character who is on the run. the sheriff follows the criminal, but he might have gotten on to things sooner had he been able to adjust his thinking sooner to that of the killer. once he has done this, what he sees is shocking and demoralizing. this is why he quits. he knows that now the "country" that he lives in (society) is no place for old men like himself. they are lost in the old world and they can't adjust. they are dinosaurs, a dying breed.

the physical country also is demanding and stark, another reason why it is no place for old men. the landscape is changing and the demands of the world changing as well. old here could also mean older thinking, the type of thinking formed in a kinder, gentler society. the foundation of that society is much like the shifting west texas winds...ruthless, constant, reliable. yet old mesquite trees and scrub and thistle and brush hang on. little roots in the old world. they are just as easily crushed by 4 wheel drive trucks that venture to the desert with drug dealers driving them, killers who kill each other. the irony is that the "new" desert inhabitants don't survive, and their bodies are left to rot in the sun and become nothing. the significance of them as nothing is shown when a truck driver is stopped by the sheriff because his load is not tied down with a tarp properly. his load: the bloated bodies of the dead drug dealers who had died in the desert.

all sorts of symbolism in the opening scene: the desert setting, which is constant. it is invaded by the modern (drug dealers, 4 wheel drive trucks, dealers with vicious pit bull dogs) and discovered by the past (old time sheriff on horseback.) llewellyn is old school, shooting antelopes/deer in the desert and stumbles upon the death spot. he has been tracking a deer he shot but didn't kill (old school idea of making sure you put the animal out of its misery) when he tracks right into the murder scene. then he tracks down the missing drug money and takes it, starting the whole chain of events. he has old school hunting and survival skills which he uses (hiding the money in the heating vent), but he doesn't have the modern savvy that the killer does(the killer has a tracking device in the suitcase where the money is). llewellyn is a thinker and a planner just like the killer, but the killer has no remorse, no feelings, no emotions and doesn't think like a human. he is a killing machine.

all of the characters are simplistic in their own ways, even the killer. while he appears to be psychologically complicated, he isn't. the detective that is sent to find him knows how he thinks, but not enough to prevent the killer from finding and killing him. the only human quality the killer seems to have is the occasional need to play with his victims before he kills them, sort of like a cat with a mouse: it chews off it's ears and tail, slaps it around and plays with it and when it gets bored, it kills it quickly and leaves it for something else.

i didn't want to see the movie, but i am glad i did. it made me think, it made me write and that is all good...

squirrels and chickadees

one of the words i have learned while playing freerice.com is the word "eremite" which translates into hermit. right now i am feeling that eremite would perfectly describe what i would like to be after my moment at walmart this morning.
saturday. mechanicsville. the middle of the month=crowds. you know it, you expect it, and you plan for it. my plan was to check myself out in lawn and garden where the lines were reasonable. i am not sure reasonable is how i would describe the two ingrates in line in front of me.
scenario: young black woman checking out people. two sloppy fat white rednecks checking out in front of me. he in his carhart hat and flannel shirt. the checkout girl wasn't moving overly fast and didn't exactly look enthused to be where she was, but that is a given i suppose under the circumstances. i don't know how enthused i would have been either. in any case, they questioned the price on some foam wire covers and of course, we are no where near where they picked them up from. checkout girl walked down to a supervisor and got someone to go and do a price check. as she walks away, the couple begin to discuss her "attitude" which he says "is mean as a rattlesnake." i wasn't getting this, but none the less, checkout girl was continuing checking out and some dialogue began concerning her saying "thank you" and "you're welcome." before this exchange, the frustrated couple decide not purchase the things that the other person is getting the price check on.
the white couple seemed to be intent on getting something from this girl, but she wasn't giving it up. i suspect they wanted to see her cow-tow down a bit, and she didn't do it. when she refused to say "you're welcome" they started haranguing her and asked her name. she wouldn't give it. then they insisted she call for a manager. they were intent on embarrassing her and refused to move until a manager showed up and i guess they could complain in front of everyone and "put her in her place."
this really pissed me off and made me embarrassed to be white. i tried smiling at checkout girl and fumbled to find something to say that might make it right. the fatsos were behind me, so when i caught her eye, i rolled mine and leaned over and whispered "not all of us think that way."
lame i guess, but it was the best i could do. then in a loud voice in front of all of the other people in the line behind me i said "so, do you think we're gonna get some snow?"
she smiled and said, "i hope so! then i won't have to work!"
i said, "hey! i thought walmart stayed open 24 hours a day! they don't close for snow do they?"
she finished processing me and i looked at her and smiled and said "have a good one" and i smiled at her as best i could and strode away with my basket.
on my way out, i stopped two different people, both of them black, who were at the end of a long struggling line at checkout in the store. i told each of them to skip where they were and go to lawn and garden: shorter line. i did the same outside in the parking lot as i passed a black man headed in. it was the best i could think of to do to repair the damage.
i got home and watched the birds at the bird feeders on my back porch. there were just a few of them, a finch or too, a chickadee, no beautiful birds, just the nondescript ones. but along side them where the nasty squirrels, eating the food out from under the birds. the squirrels, bigger, larger, got access to the best sunflower seeds. the little birds get what is leftover. no matter how much i yell at the squirrels or bang on the glass door, they pretty much arrogantly ignore me, shuffle off slowly, only to leisurely come back to gorge themselves because i guess they think it is their right and privilege.
people in this community can sometimes be too much like those squirrels and birds. some of them are big and ugly, equally nondescript and useless, yet they somehow seem to rule in a superior manner. what use is a squirrel? what pleasure do they bring to the world? and then, there are some that might say that the less than beautiful birds, the little titmouses and dull sparrows and chickadees, why feed them? let's just feed the cardinals and the orioles and the red winged blackbirds...you know, the showy, fun birds.
the squirrels eat their fill, they flit away. the little birds bid their time, they return. they eat what they can, they don't fight much, but sometimes they hold their ground. they stay. they endure the crowding of the ugly squirrels. and i watch them, cheer for them.
i should have chased off the squirrels this morning, but i realized that the juice wasn't worth the squeeze. as my grandmother used to say, you can dress up a monkey, but you can't hide it's tail. those people were going to be racist, ignorant, ugly squirrels, and nothing i could say or do would change that. in a practical sense, speaking up would have only made the situation more volatile.
it didn't make me feel good, and i wish i had done more.
later on, i did. i called the walmart, asked for the manager. i got the one who ended up with the confrontation. i told her that for what it was worth, the kid didn't do anything wrong. i told her that the people accusing her had been provoking. i also told the manager to tell the kid that the white lady next in line had called to defend her.
the manager sounded tired and hurried. i could tell she didn't care, and the message was never going to make it back to that girl in lawn and garden. i also imagine checkout girl will likely be more resigned, more angry tonight. for her, i suspect this isn't the first time she has had some sort of encounter like this. maybe she is used to it. maybe not. in my case, i don't think i will ever get used to it...and maybe that is a good thing.

we're fighting the civil war...again

as a person living in the south, it is hard to forget the civil war. i have lived here in richmond for years, literally in the places where people died, marched, slept, dreamed. my old house was situated right where a confederate encampment was and i was only yards from the main road where stonewall jackson marched. years ago i did research on my ancestors, finding out that 3 of the 4 great-great grandfathers were in the civil war. do i feel a huge affinity for the war, my confederate granddaddies? not that much. it was, as they say, history.



it's funny that as a descendant of confederate soldiers i don't feel some sort of pride/heritage thing, but the truth is, i didn't know them. they could have been wonderful, great people, or they could have been ignorant, cruel people. i didn't know them. my only connection to them is purely genetic. it is DNA. not stories, not things passed down like diaries, old rifles, watches, quilts. it's just tiny DNA samples, little cells. and that doesn't add up to much in the long run.



their civil war experience is no more impacting on me than the gene for allergy to cats or the tendency to have cholesterol. their contributions to who i am are not deep or far ranging. i don't know where these people are buried or the first thing about who they were in their own worlds. they are names from an archive, dates on a tombstone somewhere...and i don't know where some of them are.



given that thought, it isn't hard to see why i marvel at the ongoing tensions between what i refer to as the redneck right and the unforgiving blacks. in my school, there are 1500 kids. of those, maybe 100+ are black, and in our case, you are black if you are chinese, hispanic, native american or anything mixed in between. the rest of the student population is white with no distinguishing characteristics other than lighter skin color. the socio-economic level of most of the student population is middle class, including black and white. few of the students struggle from a financial standpoint, and few do without. we have very few taking advantage of any governmental supplements for lunch, and we have few who have had to live for any length of time in any poverty. they have so much more than any of our ancestors might have hoped for, so many advantages, so many more opportunities to live good, positive, happy lives. so what are they fighting over and so passionate about?



apparently, respect.



the problem is, how one side defines respect vs. the other leaves a lot to be misinterpreted. and neither side is willing to listen or even consider the other's complaints. we have apparently once again reached critical mass when it comes to lack of tolerance, and the war is on again.



someone somewhere must be laughing on the way to the bank over the sale of confederate flag bedecked t-shirts. there are more and more of them, cleverly disguised as "dixie outfitters" or things stereotypically redneck. they promote poker, hunting, mudbogging, souped up cars, rifles and any number of outdoor pursuits associated with the stereotype of a southern redneck. but somewhere on that shirt, small or large, will be that harbinger of controversy, the stars and bars. they have given to hiding or downsizing it in the montage of other things, but it is still there, sort of a little hidden heartbeat, and truth be known, that little flag is likely the most alluring part of the t-shirt, and a lot why the purchaser buys it. it means a lot of things to them, but mostly it is a defiant thing...



so what are you saying when you wear that shirt? according to my screaming, angry, camouflage dressed female student this morning, it isn't about racism, it is about HISTORY and black people need to get over it.



sure, it is history. yes, a war lost, and 20 years of brutal financial and political subservience to our northern brethren that history lightly refers to as RECONSTRUCTION. things were built back, but not what had been before, and that probably was not a bad thing. certainly, things needed to change. slavery is morally wrong. sometimes you have to burn down the structure and envision something new. the ideal would be to build that new vision on the ruins of the old one. you would think that we would be enthralled at the new thing we have built, but sometimes that is not what happens. too often there is a focus on the crumbling burned out foundations, the "what was" and the "why we lost it." that single minded focus it what prevents us from moving forward.

apparently one of the things reconstructed was a rooted hatred for all things yankee, and in many cases, black. not without some good reason. unfortunately, our northern liberators in many cases chose to punish southerners by reversing the roles of slaves and their former slaveholders. this was done mostly on an economic and political level, with heavy taxes levied against the landholders, taxes so high that many lost their lands. former confederate soldiers were not allowed in many cases to vote, and the only males left able to do so were either transplanted northerners or newly liberated and often vulnerable and gullible blacks. white people in some cases shamelessly used the newly liberated slave population as a weapon of punishment for the defeated southern whites. they got what they wanted, which was to punish, humiliate and belittle the loser. however, reconstruction could not last, and when the southern states finally were able to reclaim the running of their own dominion, blacks suffered. they were the ones left to take the brunt of the rebounded hatred. hence jim crow laws, segregation, the klu klux klan and the massive separation of the races.



and there it stayed, status quo, until the civil rights movement of the 1950's, which culminated in equality legally for blacks in the united states. note that i said LEGALLY. you can't legislate compassion or kindness or govern prejudice or hatred.


the war still rages on, just not on paper.



i am listening to a generation of young people whose minds are in my belief more confined and closed than those of people 50 years ago. i am perceiving that the attitude amongst whites then was not so much one of active dislike as it was more of a benevolent caretaker. blacks were considered inferior intellectually and every other way, and were to be pitied or felt sorry for. the attitude was one of superiority on all levels, a hard mindset to change.



but change it should. those arguments don't hold up anymore. and the reasons are complex and convoluted. the cultures have melded, yet divided. blacks have become more independent, more liberated from the status quo of whites, yet they still seem to be yearning to be part of a white world that simply will not let them join on equal footing. it is NOT equal, regardless of the what the law says. people are NOT more informed, despite the plethora of information sources. people are NOT more understanding, despite all outward attempts to bridge the gap and encourage tolerance for the differences in people.



we're back in the camps, deeply entrenched, guns at our sides to "defend" ourselves whenever there is a perceived threat to the "cause" we are defending. for the blacks, the "cause" is the right to be equal and the perception that they never will be. for this white minority of people, the "cause" is "history" or "heritage" and the knowledge that those clinging to that old chestnut are a shrinking minority. most americans are weary of the periodic resurrection of this old conflict and it's implications. but still there are those who are still unwilling, despite all of the information, to let go of this last vestige of ancestry. to them, to do so is just another defeat. so they celebrate a loss 140 years later, and revel it it. they wear the stars and bars like some mantel of honor and defy anyone to disagree. the world disagrees for the most part, but no one seems to feel the need to just let them go and wave their flags. consider this. if they get no audience and no one cares, wouldn't it seem logical that the continued pursuit of this outmoded way of thinking would just start to look ridiculous? consider what happens when the klu klux klan, in their small numbers, march and chant. who doesn't look at them and almost feel embarrassed for them? such displays of public ignorance ought to provoke a kind of pity instead of anger. anyone willing to display themselves in this way is way beyond being sensible or even smart. they are simply stupid and embarrassing.



but many black people aren't seeing that they could win by letting these ignoramuses flaunt how stupid they are. they still see these ingrates as being powerful. they get their power, my black friends, when you give it to them. my black students are sensitive to this confederate flag and N-word form of "disrespect" and will react on instinct at anything they perceive as a threat to their quest for equality. to them, the flag represents everything that has kept them "down" and unable to achieve. it is both a catalyst and an excuse for both action and inaction. action comes in the forms of fights, petitions, name calling, deliberate acts of pushiness and offensiveness that they know will irritate some whites. in a school situation, this type of passive/active behavior comes in the form of cutting in lunch lines, talking loudly, blocking stairwells or lanes of passages in the halls, things that many whites object to because they aren't socially correct in the white world. in a black world, this behavior isn't a problem. and, truth be known, if the shoe were on the other foot, a white person doing any of these things in a predominantly black school would not be tolerated. white kids are not going to provoke because they believe there will be an action, and it won't be one they will profit from. however, our black students know that many whites struggle with this combined sense of guilt and fear. they don't like what they see some black kids doing, but they are intimidated and just internally fester and let it happen. or not. the extreme redneck kid fights back with the biggest weapon...they call the blacks "niggers" and prepare to fight...and fight you get. the n-word is the heavy duty grenade guaranteed to injure still.



i have spent my last 24 hours talking in vain to kids that appear set on a course where no one wins. it tell them that the history of this conflict shows that every time this battle begins, it ends in an ugly draw. blacks are no more equal or liberated. whites are less likely to take off their confederate t-shirts; in fact, they are more likely to buy one just to pour salt in the wound. blacks are less likely to discontinue their demands or curtail some of the perceived provoking behavior. more likely, there will be more joining in the lunch line cutting, more standing shoulder to shoulder to block a travelled hall, more talking loudly and doing what they want to do with more abandon. and the war rages on...

and both sides breed the seeds of discontent, both physically and emotionally, and the little specs of DNA from those displaced slaves and dirt poor farmers become more diluted, generation by generation. but their nameless, faceless forms grow more in stature hundreds of years later. the fly specs of DNA become the concrete foundations of something growing beyond what they ever were or could have been in their own lifetimes or culture. what has arisen from those old ashes of history is another house, another statue, and it in many ways is not an improvement over what was lost. it just a more complex, convoluted house with no clear passageways, no open doors or windows. a place that is a fortress and uninviting, intimidating and ugly, solid and divisive.