[Vision2020] The Auntie Establishment and Brother Carl Show (March 5, 2006)

[Joan Opyr]

On 5 Mar 2006, at 17:20, Tom Hansen wrote:

> Greetings Visionaires -
>
> This afternoon's show, although not likely to be mentioned on this 
> evening's
> Academy Awards Show, was definitely not worth missing.
>
> After a trio of songs dedicated to Phil Nisbet, a recently silenced 
> voice of
> Moscow's Vision 2020, Auntie and Bro "C" commenced to lampoon 
> President Bush
> and Dick Cheney, while generously flavoring the show with an excellent
> selection of music.
>
> Those of you who failed to tune in, possibly due to a post-Mardi Gras
> hangover, may download the show from:
>
> http://www.tomandrodna.com/Auntie_Establishment_and_Brother_Carl
>
> Aside from this afternoon's show I would like to make a couple 
> dedications
> myself:
>
> 1)  Posthumously to Phil:  Your opinions, although criticized by many
> (including myself), have served to provide backbone and strength to the
> Vision 2020 "soap box".  This is only Sunday and already your voice is
> missed.  Although I am not Jewish, this one's for you, Phil:
>
> http://www.tomandrodna.com/Sounds/Shalom_Aleikhem.mp3
>

Thanks, as always, to Tom for recording the AE & BC Show and making it 
available online.  For those who are interested, Carl and I played a 
trio of songs for Phil:

"Hallelujah" by k. d. lang (the live version she performed at the Juno 
Awards)
"Never Saw Blue" by Hayley Westenra
"Cowboy Take Me Away" by Dixie Chicks

All are beautiful songs.  lang's "Hallelujah" is, in my opinion, one of 
the most beautiful songs on record, along with Jane Siberry's "Calling 
All Angels" (recorded with lang on harmony) and Eva Cassidy's cover of 
"Danny Boy."  In addition to books and poetry, Phil and I exchanged 
music.  What a surprise -- our tastes were very different.  The first 
time we ever met in person (about a week after we'd buried the hatchet, 
thanks to his incredible willingness to sincerely apologize and to take 
that awful, heart-stopping risk of rejection) he brought me a great 
book about Jewish women and some truly awful klezmer music.  I thought 
about playing the klezmer music tonight, but then I thought, no, I hate 
that stuff.  And I told Phil that I hated that stuff.  Instead, I'm 
going to go my own way and play some songs that reflect how Carl and I 
felt about Phil.  It seemed to me that that might be more personal . . 
. and more annoying to Phil.

I'm not a superstitious woman, but a strange thing happened when I got 
home this evening.   I opened up my email to find that my most recent 
computer disaster -- I tripped over my Apple's power cord and broke the 
copper charger off in the machine -- meant that once power was restored 
and the battery recharged, at the top of my email was a message from 
Phil.  It was a week or two old, and I'd drafted a response but I 
hadn't sent it yet.  Phil wanted me to know that he'd been plugging my 
book on a poets/screenwriters' chat group he belonged to called 
zoetrope.  The zoetrope chat group is serious business, and Phil was a 
serious poet.  (Phil said that Francis Ford Coppolla had been known to 
hang out there.)  Anyhow, having read the first chapter of my book on 
my website, Phil said he had high hopes for me and that he was going to 
contact some screenwriter friends and send them copies of the book.  
What a damned generous guy.  He also sent me some more of his poetry to 
read and to comment upon.  Jeez.  I had some preliminary comments for 
him, both praise and criticism, and now it's . . . well, hell.  Just 
for the record, I feel like a complete shit-bird.  Phil called here on 
Tuesday night, and he talked for a long time to Rose because I was 
doing something or another and couldn't -- or rather didn't -- come to 
the phone.  And you know, it's funny -- if you've ever had a phone 
conversation with Phil, then you'll know that when you talked with him, 
you had to hold the receiver about four inches away from your ear 
because he wasn't just passionate, he was loud!

He reminded me in many ways of my late grandfather.  Obstinate.  Funny. 
  Stubborn.  Difficult.  Complex.  Provoking.  Charming.  And, as I 
mentioned before, passionate and generous.  Quiet voices are silenced 
and they disappear, but a good, loud, strong voice . . . that you don't 
forget.  You don't forget a worthy opponent or a stirring debate.  
Moscow has lost one of the many strong characters that make this place 
so interesting, and we are the less for that.

Joan Opyr/Auntie Establishment
www.joanopyr.com

PS: In memory of Phil, I've decided to stick not just my hand but my 
head into the hornets' nest.  I have sound economic and ethical reasons 
for opposing Wal-Mart, but just to make things more interesting around 
here, let me offer up a confession.  I believe, as Donovan has so often 
accused, that it is wrong to shop at Wal-Mart.  It's wrong to shop at a 
company that relies on slave, child, or prison labor.  Don't talk to me 
about percentages -- if any company uses a single prisoner, a slave or 
a six-year old, that company is wrong, and you are wrong to buy from 
them.  It's wrong to shop at a predatory retailer that screws its 
workers and its suppliers.  Once you know exactly how Wal-Mart is able 
to sell you four water glasses for a dollar, it is morally 
reprehensible to choose to benefit from the misery of others.  When you 
shop at Wal-Mart, you and your dollar bills are saying "F**k those 
Chinese child workers" or "My American pocketbook is more important 
than your Honduran civil rights."  We are what we buy, and I don't buy 
abuse.  And here's a hot one for you, Donovan/Gary/Jeff/Dale Courtney 
-- I don't think you should have the unfettered right to buy abuse 
either.  Pat Kraut believe George Bush has the right to wiretap without 
a warrant; I believe that I have the right to trample on your stinkin' 
buying power.

Wal-Mart sells 60,000 products?  Hoo-ray.  What percentage of those are 
cheap-assed versions of better things available at better stores?  What 
percentage are things you could get for even less at Goodwill?  I'm not 
buying a toy for my kid that's made by a kid even younger than my kid.  
You catch my drift?  I'd rather buy less, shop less, and own less than 
consume on the backs of pennies-a-day foreign labor.  And, what's more, 
I'm willing to step out to the very edge of my swaying limb and say, 
"Not in my backyard, Donovan.  Go buy your cheap shit in Pullman, Gary. 
  Take the Wheatland Express, Jeff Harkins.  Ride your bike, Dale 
Courtney.  Hoof it, the lot of you."  I don't give a monkey's brasses 
if that inconveniences any or all of you.  Why?  Because the free 
market be damned; I don't want to look at a 200,000-square foot store 
squatting on a piece of ex-farm land adjacent to the Latah Trail, 
directly across from the Moscow Cemetery, and that will obstruct my 
view of Paradise Ridge.  Call me selfish.  I'll agree; I am.

I guess this polemic makes me the un-Bruce.  Oh, well.  Bruce is always 
reasonable; I'm often not.  I got a good look at a Wal-Mart Supercenter 
in that hideous collection of strip malls they call the Tri-Cities.  It 
was a giant carbuncle of a building, an ugly behemoth, a complete and 
utter bastard.  I don't want one of those beasts here in Moscow.  The 
contrast between that . . . thing . . . and downtown Portland, or our 
own beautiful and lively downtown, couldn't be more striking.  Let 
others make the reasonable arguments.  I've given up.  From now on, I'm 
going for the gut.  Keep that hell-hole out of my town.  Keep its crap 
products and its cheap prices and its tire and lube center away from 
the Troy Highway and way the hell away from me.  Go find somewhere else 
to wreck.  Moscow's too good for a Super Wal-Mart.  Way too good.

BTW, you can hop right on that last sentence, Jeff Harkins, because I 
mean it to be both absolutist and elitist.  That's what keeps me 
(unlike Donovan) off the Pepcid AC.  Hot dog!

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