What's on your mind tonight?

I didn’t buy it—no one really did—but the city could at least point to the $130,000 worth of damage that happened as a result of a 2003 Dave Matthews concert as some sort of object lesson. Concert crowds were bad for the lawn, protest crowds were bad for the lawn, crowds were just bad for the lawn, or so the story went. . .

. . . until Monday:

The rock band Bon Jovi will give a free concert on July 12 to as many as 60,000 people on the Great Lawn of Central Park in honor of Major League Baseball’s 79th All-Star Game, Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg announced at a news conference on Monday afternoon. . . .

At a City Hall news conference, the mayor, who has been trying to drum up excitement around the July 15 All-Star Game in the last season at the current Yankee Stadium, pointed out that it will coincide with a baseball convention at the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center and a July 15 parade on the Avenue of the Americas, with Hall of Famers like Yogi Berra and Willie Mays. Mr. Bloomberg said that Bon Jovi would be “following in the footsteps of Simon & Garfinkel, Barbra Streisand, Garth Brooks and the Metropolitan Opera.” (Actually, Mr. Brooks performed on the North Meadow, not the Great Lawn, in 1997.)

Garfinkel, Garfunkel, whatevs. . . . What Bloomberg was really saying is that the lawn can be used for private commercial ventures dressed up to look like public events, but real public gatherings—the kind that this country was built on—are strictly verboten.

“Getting together to shout and hold up signs about some politicians you don’t like,” remarked the mayor, “what’s the point in that? How does the city benefit? I mean financially benefit.”

OK, Mike Bloomberg didn’t really say that, but if he had, it would have been wholly consistent with the way he has governed the city so far. So, instead, we will have tens of thousands from Bon Jovi’s mostly white, mostly suburban fan base getting together on the Great Lawn to shout and hold up signs declaring their love for a band that is two decades removed from its heyday.

It is mostly irrelevant, totally whitebread, and blatantly commercial—much like the mayor himself.

I don’t want to cast aspersions on John Bon Jovi—he may be a perfectly nice guy, with progressive politics maybe even (I don’t really know)—and I don’t want to dismiss his importance as a cultural icon (well, OK, maybe I do), but the issues at hand are: Who has a right to Central Park, what constitutes a gathering worthy of the damage and clean up costs, and since when does a mayor get to mete out the people’s First Amendment right to free assembly based on his idea of what’s good for his image?

Of course, the NYC Law Department sees it some other way. There is a convoluted paragraph in the NYT piece I link to above that supposedly spells out a policy. The Bloomberg Administration calls it a set of formal rules designed to protect the park’s grass, but I think we all know it’s just a pile of fertilizer.

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(cross-posted on guy2k and Daily Kos)

Carlin and the also late and also great Bill Hicks have been profound influences on my social and political thinking, as much as any scholar I studied in school.  I was introduced to Carlin's topical brand of humor by my college roommate.  We would sit in our room, drink beer, and listen to his routines over and over again - they never got old, and they never got outdated.

Carlin's most famous routine was "The Seven Words You Can Never Say On TV" - a hilariously raunchy commentary on censorship.  The opening sentence of this piece are the words that just might be on his tombstone: "I love words." 

In my opinion, however, Carlin's best work can be found in "Parental Advisory Explicit Lyrics."  In this set, he moves beyond just thumbing his nose at our taboos over language.  He produces a manifesto as to why words are the most powerful tools that human beings possess.

As only a Carlin routine could do, "Parental Advisory" weaves together crude middle school fart jokes and biting social commentary into a 45-minute comedy experience that can literally have you pissing in your pants.  Here are some of the best parts:

There's a different group to get pissed off at you in this country for everything you're not supposed to say. Can't say Nigger, Boogie, Jig, Jigaboo, Skinhead, Moolimoolinyon, Schvatzit, Junglebunny. Greaser, Greaseball, Dago, Guinea, Whop, Ginzo, Kike, Zebe, Heed, Yid, Mocky, Himie, Mick, Donkey, Turkey, Limey, Frog. Zip, Zipperhead, Squarehead, Crout, Hiney, Jerry, Hun, Slope, Slopehead, Chink, Gook. There is absolutely nothing wrong with any of those words in and of themselves. They're only words. It's the context that counts. It's the user. It's the intention behind the words that makes them good or bad. The words are completely neutral. The words are innocent.

I get tired of people talking about bad words and bad language. Bullshit! It's the context that makes them good or bad. The context. For instance, you take the word "Nigger." There is absolutely nothing wrong with the word "Nigger" in and of itself. It's the racist asshole who's using it that you ought to be concerned about. We don't mind when Richard Pryer or Eddie Murphy say it. Why? Because we know they're not racist. They're Niggers! Context. Context. We don't mind their context because we know they're black. Hey, I know I'm whitey, the blue-eyed devil, paddy-o, fay gray boy, honkey, mother-fucker myself. Don't bother my ass. They're only words. You can't be afraid of words that speak the truth, even if it's an unpleasant truth, like the fact that there's a bigot and a racist in every living room on every street corner in this country.

I don't like words that hide the truth. I don't like words that conceal reality. I don't like euphemisms, or euphemistic language. And American English is loaded with euphemisms. Cause Americans have a lot of trouble dealing with reality. Americans have trouble facing the truth, so they invent the kind of a soft language to protect themselves from it, and it gets worse with every generation. For some reason, it just keeps getting worse.

Sometime during my life, toilet paper became bathroom tissue. I wasn't notified of this. No one asked me if I agreed with it. It just happened. Toilet paper became bathroom tissue. Sneakers became running shoes. False teeth became dental appliances. Medicine became medication. Information became directory assistance. The dump became the landfill. Car crashes became automobile accidents. Partly cloudy bacame partly sunny. Motels became motor lodges. House trailers became mobile homes. Used cars became previously owned transportation. Room service became guest-room dining. And constipation became occasional irregularity.

When I was a little kid, if I got sick they wanted me to go to the hospital and see a doctor. Now they want me to go to a health maintenance organization…or a wellness center to consult a healthcare delivery professional. Poor people used to live in slums. Now the economically disadvantaged occupy substandard housing in the inner cities. And they're broke! They're broke! They don't have a negative cash-flow position. They're fucking broke! Cause a lot of them were fired. You know, fired. Management wanted to curtail redundancies in the human resources area, so many people are no longer viable members of the workforce.

Smug, greedy, well-fed white people have invented a language to conceal their sins. It's as simple as that.

Rest in peace, George.  We'll miss you.  After eight years of the Bush administration, we sorely need to hear your message again. 

The short, Kick Like a Girl, is about a girls' soccer team (The Mighty Cheetahs) in Utah whose coach decides that with their female opponents not offering up enough of a challenge, she needs to ask if they can play against boys' teams. With game-by-game narration by one of the nine-year old team members (Lizzie, the Coach/Director's daughter) and interviews of parents, team members, boys they played against and opposing parents, the story of the team's season and their impact on all around them is deftly told.  Besides the fact that the girls' team is a very good team, in that they pass the ball and help each other out on and off the field, they are also pretty skilled for their age.  in the game clips we can see in their opponents,  the boys all try to score, while the girls set plays up.  But what is most interesting is the view of the boys who are interviewed in the film.  After they play the girls they admit that they are just as good if not better — a change from how they felt before.  Kick Like a Girl is an excellent short in both the subject matter and in film-making.

Football Under Cover is somewhat subversive in that while it is a film about trying to set up a soccer match between teams from two very different countries, we also see the frustration that many women in Iran have with their second-class status in the country. Much of the story surrounds the attempts of Marlene Assmann, a member of the Berlin club, and Ayat Najafi, one of the directors, in setting up the game.  It becomes clear that the Iranian authorities are reluctant to pledge their full support, as the "revolutionary" guard still focuses on the role of women in society and is concerned about women playing the game in a public stadium.  There are open observations from the Iranian women who explain that while men can wear what they want, they can be harassed for simply wearing makeup or not wearing their headscarves properly.  When the match is finally played, it is in  a second-rate stadium on a watery pitch with only women in the audience.  No posters or any other real publicity were allowed, and not even the male club president was allowed to observe.  But with a few women "manning" the cameras, the match is shown on screen not just for the glee with which its participants on both sides played, but with the sheer joy of the women in the stands who finally get to attend a soccer game and express themselves.  The scenes of the female spectators, and their chants of protest of their secondary status, illuminate signs of what the populace of Iran really thinks about their government and living conditions.

But the documentary works because of the personalities on both teams that shine through.  Marlene's optimism goes along with her teammate Susu's talent, confidence and irreverence (her skill is so good that even the Iranian women in watching the match create a cheer for her). On the Iranian team the focus is on Narmila, whose skills were coached by her mother, who had been playing soccer before her daughter was born, but could not continue once she was married. Niloofar is such a tomboy that she will dress as a boy when she goes out so she won't be harassed by the Islamic guard.  She has dreams of David Beckham speaking Persian to her. Following these personalities we see their joy in both being able to play, and in the camaraderie that their teams offer.

Football Under Cover is not perfect — it takes too long to get to the match, some events occur that are not explained, and some scenes seem more forced and for the benefit of the camera, rather than occurring naturally. But the personalities and the insight to the lives of young women in Iran make this documentary both thoughtful and valuable. Along with Kick Like a Girl, these films show both the exuberance of girls when they can play too, as well as the lessons that these players can teach the rest of us.