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Americans are big consumers of clothing. So much so, that there are 80,000 factories world wide that in some way contribute to our consumption. Love of stuff doesn't have to mean a love affair with sweatshop labor--but it's awful hard to get around it.

The issue of garment sweatshops isn't new. It's been a publicized issue since 1900, when garment workers formed the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union to protest low pay, fifteen-hour workdays, no benefits, and unsafe working conditions. After protests and tragedies, on June 25th of 1938 President Franklin Roosevelt signed the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA), guaranteeing a minimum wage of 25 cents an hour. The law continues to be enforced by the Department of Labor's Wage and Hour Division, which, among other things, sets the federal minimum wage, prohibits child labor, and requires employers to keep payroll records.

According to the National Labor Committee, things took a turn for the worse in the 1980s, when many manufacturers and retailers began outsourcing their production to subcontractors in Central American and Asian countries who provided "free-trade zones" and laborers for 9 cents an hour. Due to competition from these subcontractors, sweatshops reemerged in the United States in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

Behind the Label, a nonprofit activist group, states that it's almost impossible to determine how many well-hidden sweatshops there are. Existing both overseas and within the United States (in particular in New York and LA), they usually aren't discovered until a worker comes forward with complaints about wages. In addition, according to a May 2002 International Labor Organization, 8% of child labor is from garment work.

Pressure from activist and labor groups has produced some progress. A significant change occurred recently when two major cities, New York and Cleveland, refused to buy any city uniforms or clothing made in sweatshops. Cleveland then took the refusal one step further, and has made it a rule that the city will never buy any clothing that isn't made by a union.

In addition, students throughout the country have mobilized to get tough on universities who sell sweatshop booster clothing, and action groups have successfully urged citizens to boycott companies such as Nike who have bad reputations for sweatshop abuse. The boycotts can be quite effective, both towards mobilizing activists and companies. The boycott against Nike inspired two film-maker activists to explore the company's Indonesian factories. The result of their labor is the up and coming documentary "Sweat" which details the pair's findings. Major clothing outlet the Gap is one company to respond to the pressure of activists, first by releasing the locations of factories, and then by establishing a Code of Conduct in an attempt to ensure fair labor. Though the Gap is still considered a major offender, they're one of the few major companies to make even such basic initiatives.

Though progress has been made, there's still no comprehensive list detailing the labor conditions workers are exposed to when making the clothing items a consumer buys at the average retail outlet. Because of this, it's no easy task to find clothing that hasn't been made in sweatshops.
Athens shoppers are frequently catalogue shoppers. Ask any local mail carrier and they'll tell you the two catalogues they deliver most are Delia's and J. Crew-two clothing companies with less than stellar reputations. Though Delia's found its way onto "Shop for Change" websites, they also have found their way into headlines in the past year when they lost celebrity endorsements for buying sweaters from a New York sweater maker caught in the midst of a labor dispute for unpaid and low wages, and illegal firing practices. J. Crew, on the other hand, doesn't have a single instance tarnishing their image but rather a long string of them, as they're among the long list of American companies with contracts in sweatshop-happy Saipan (which, since its part of a US

Commonwealth, allows companies to get a "Made in the USA" label). Though J. Crew offers puny wages to both workers overseas and in California, their annual sales regularly top $826 million.
Other Athens shoppers are chomping at the bit over the impending arrival of Wal-Mart; and anyone who wants to avoid sweatshop labor should run screaming from Wal-Mart's aisles. Wal-Mart gets supplies from 20,000 companies world wide, and in spite of bragging to the contrary, only 17% of their clothing is made within the United States. With a team of lawyers no layperson wants to mess with backing them up, Wal-Mart refuses to disclose where clothes are made and how workers are treated. When pressed about the issue by the National Labor Committee, Jay Allen, Wal-Mart's vice president said, "As with many aspects of the apparel business, the factories used to produce merchandise provide a competitive advantage to retail suppliers. The industry standard and practice is not to reveal the factories or their locations, just as businesses do not talk about all of their sources. Wal-Mart and our vendors adhere to these industry standards and practices."

So what industry standards and practices does Mr. Allen speak of, exactly? Clearly ones that make recent headlining companies like Enron and WorldCom look like cuddly puppies. According to the National Labor Committee, Wal-Mart's Bangladesh workers labor from 7:30 AM to 8 PM seven days a week and are paid between 9 and 20 cents an hour. They are denied health care and maternity leave, and though the average worker clocks 87 hours a week, only 80 of those hours are paid. In December of 1998, 20 workers were fired for refusing to work 24 hours straight.
A common argument when dollar figures are cited is that they cannot be compared to the American wage, which adheres to different standards and dollar value. Wal-Mart's wage, however, doesn't even adhere to the standards of the Bangladesh living wage, which under EPZ regulations is $69.28 a month for a 48 hour work week. Wal-Mart's 87 hour-a-week workers earn $41.24 a month.
To add icing to the cake, Wal-Mart pays no taxes in Bangladesh, the 5th largest exporter of sales to the US-and a country whose total government revenues in 1998 were $3.8 billion for 125 million people. Meanwhile, Wal-Mart makes $7.6 billion in annual operating profits from Bangladesh.
Like J. Crew, Wal-Mart has its sleeves in Saipan, which produces $88 million worth of garments for Wal-Mart a year. The National Labor Committee reports that women in Saipan are fired for reasons such as pregnancy, refusing to work over time, not working the required "volunteer" hours, organizing unions, and getting involved in politics or religion. Workers are also expected to work 10-12 hour shifts 7 days a week for $3 an hour. That's "Made in the USA" for 2.15 below our all ready minimal minimum wage.

The women working in the Saipan factories are from China, and are told that they're being recruited for American jobs--and all they have to do is pay a $2,000-$7,000 "recruitment fee" to get there. Once in Saipan, workers have to pay $400 a month out of their checks for food, dorm fees, and general fees. To add to the misery of the women, factory temperatures often top 100 degrees, water is turned on only fifteen minutes a day, and Visas and Passports are confiscated.
All this, so American consumers can get a cheap T-shirt and the Wal-Mart folks can get even richer.
And just how much does Wal-Mart rake in? Wal-Mart's sales in 1998 were $137.6 billion. For the first quarter of 2002 (Jan-April) the total sales were $54.96 billion-- their biggest first quarter ever.
Numerous efforts have been made to stop this Goliath. A major step was taken in April of 1996, when Charles Kernaghan, executive director of the National Labor Committee, exposed the sweatshop and child labor violations of Wal-Mart's Kathie Lee Gifford clothing line. Kernaghan revealed that the clothes were being made in El Salvador by people in their early teens for 30 cents an hour. Kathie Lee responded with suitable outrage and cried on National television that she had no idea such practices were taking place. Later, when the factories were revisited, it was found that the labor conditions had not improved. This prompted Frank Gifford to show up at the factories with envelopes full of cash (he was later reimbursed by Wal-Mart) in an effort to polish his wife's greatly tarnished image. To this day, outside of the pseudo-bonus offered from Frank Gifford's lily white hand, conditions in the factory remain terrible.

One could argue that working at Wal-Mart at all is potentially subjecting oneself to sweatshop labor. Wal-Mart has over three thousand stores, opens a new store every two days, and is the second largest employer in the United States. One third of its employees work part time or 28 hours with no benefits or job security, and no promise of promotion if you happen to be a woman. Wal-Mart is also notorious for preferring to close a store rather than let it unionize, as it recently did with three Canadian stores, and which is the same labor practice their clothing factories employ.
Though Wal-Mart will continue to get tax breaks, make political friends, and sucker the American public, that doesn't mean shopping requires you to check your conscience at the door. While buying clothes second hand or making your own are always options, for those who must buy, you can buy sweatshop-free locally.

Artifacts Clothing, located on the corner of West State Street and Court, sells a number of small brand name labels; and according to store manager Amy Mangano, how the clothing is produced is not something considered prior to stocking the shelves. What Artifact's looks for when selecting merchandise is, "What's going to sell the quickest, which is usually to college students. We look at what's hip, but also unique so it's not in every mall." While most of the brands Artifacts sells (such as Survival, Funky People, and Fashion Fuse) are so small that it's impossible to even find a web site that sells their clothing, let alone an expose detailing their corporate misconduct, some of the brands they sell have sound reputations for producing fairly made quality clothing. One such company is American Apparel.

An LA based company, American Apparel claims to employ 800 workers for whom they provide health care benefits, training, education programs, and day care. They have no subcontracts, and according to the magazine "The Counselor" they pay their employees $8 an hour--1.25 above California's minimum wage. Employees also get the kind of perks most of us will never see: free therapeutic massages, and free yoga and English classes. The company has gone so far as to more or less make their anti-sweatshop stance a marketing ploy-but since they're putting their money where their mouth is, the consumer can't complain.

For catalogue shopping, consumers can turn to the Green Pages, a grand list of stores with conscience that sell items that are not harmful to the environment, people, or animals. Produced by Co-op America, consumers can obtain a copy of the catalogue over the internet or for free through the mail.

If you're looking to shop sweatshop-free, a good thing to look for is a company's Code of Conduct, which outlines what they consider to be acceptable labor practices. If one doesn't exist, you can pretty much bank on an ugly situation. You can also ask retailers where their clothing comes from, and whether or not they're aware of the work conditions. If they can't tell you, check out the internet--and never believe website promises if there's no investigation to back it up. Wal-Mart and its trail of weeping celebrities, after all, adheres to "industry standards and practices."
It's up to us as consumers to make sure that the standards they reach for are higher.

Check out: http://www.nlcnet.org
http://www.sweatshopfreeabq.org/Action.htm

I'm Sorry Mr. Jackson, you can't be for real
"Let Them Eat Cake" July 26, 2002
By Amanda Sledz

Let's talk about the major media's recent pair of Jacksons.

Do you remember when Michael Jackson was cool? Neither do I, but for weeks prior to the release of his "Invincible" album we were ordered by major networks and magazines to wax nostalgic about the self-proclaimed King of Pop and his many so-called contributions to society. These contributions include the moonwalk, light-up sidewalk blocks, the popularity of the Jeri curl, half-hour music videos, and drawing our attention to the dangers of excessive plastic surgery.

As his music got worse his delusions of grandeur grew in leaps and bounds, from anointing himself the King of Pop, to dressing like a military dictator, to releasing desperate sounding album titles such as "Invincible." After the networks concluded exhausting themselves with coverage of the Michael Jackson crap-a-thon, and MTV finally got the hint that viewers just didn't want to see his videos, this Jackson had a complete and total flop to contend with-and by flop, I mean that only two million copies of his most recent album sold. A popular artist can pull that off in a weekend, but Jackson is definitely no longer that, as the public whispered, "HINT. It's over."

Rather than accept that while his old albums are considered classic by some, his new ones are considered crap, he sought out a scapegoat for his decline. Enter the images of poor Michael Jackson sharing a stage with Al Sharpton and getting all teary-eyed while saying that he's been a victim of record company moguls who under-promoted his album and that Sony head Tommy Mottola was "mean, he's a racist, and he's very, very, very devilish."

Sony had a good ball in it's court to lob back at the "bad" one-not only did the company spend over $25 million promoting the album, but Jackson also borrowed $200 million from Sony, and used his share of AVG/Sony as collateral. If he can't pay it back, that's just fine and dandy with them, they'll just help themselves to the billion-dollar collection containing copyrights that have pissed off, among others, Paul McCartney, as it includes the copyrights for the entire Beatles collection.

Meanwhile, Sharpton had to have been looking at his own man in the mirror hours after he was done sharing a stage with a man who once wore a single silver glove and now wears a surgical mask, and must have asked himself the question, "how the hell did I get here?" It's no surprise that the recording industry exploits artists, and that someone makes hundreds of millions for every one million an artist makes, but is Michael Jackson really who Sharpton wants as a poster boy? A man who has made a record-breaking amount of money and who has done absolutely nothing for the black community other than bleach his skin repeatedly and undergo various forms of plastic surgery in order to separate himself from it?

Since Jackson's statements, Sharpton has dedicated much of his time not to the suit he's working out with Johnny Cochrane against the recording industry, but towards damage control to distance himself from the statements Jackson made about Sony. Even Jackson's own publicist backed out and dumped the load fully on Sharpton with a hearty pat and a wink and a "you're on your own pal."
Everyone knows that Jackson has been weird for a good long time, and has never been known to break his back for others unless he directly benefits from it. This is the man who paid twenty million dollars to get a child molestation suit off his back, married Lisa Marie Presley in order to feel closer to the king of something, had a monkey named Bubbles as his best friend for years, and who lives in the "Neverland Valley" ranch. Can you say yikes?

He can sing, "Leave me alone" all he wants-I wish he'd do the rest of us the same courtesy.
Meanwhile, at the exact same time that Michael Jackson is riding around on the top of a double decker bus and spouting nothing more interesting than that Tommy Mottola is "very very evil" (does he have the same speech writer as Bush?) another Jackson, a sixteen-year-old kid named Donovan, is being beaten down in Inglewood by Jeremy Morse and (off camera) his partner Bijan Darvish, who also stands accused of writing a false report.

Though the initial report said that Donovan Jackson was resisting arrest (though they never said why he was being arrested, seeing as though his father had been pulled over for nothing more than an expired license plate), this later morphed into a bizarre accusation of testicle grabbing on behalf of Morse's lawyer John Barnett. Testicle grabbing apparently makes it okay to slam someone's head into the roof of a police car and then, minutes after the individual has been completely subdued, jacking them in the face again. Donovan Jackson and his father, Coby Chavis, who says he was also beat by the officers before the tape began rolling, are both being represented by notorious attorney Johnny Cochrane-who apparently decided it was a good idea to take a break from his case with the other Jackson and focus on this one.

This Jackson has a lot of physical evidence in his favor, including head to toe bruises, the videotape, and a false police report that was submitted by Darvish before he knew a tape that would counter his report existed. Darvish also stated in the report that he himself had punched Jackson twice prior to the filming of the scene, reportedly because he was "afraid" Jackson would hit him. He was afraid? Anyone who has seen this tape has witnessed what looks like a twelve-year-old kid being tossed around like a rag doll, and being choked and beaten by a team of four officers. Unless this kid had retractable claws like Wolverine from X-Men and we just happened to not see that on tape, I'm real curious as to at what point (and for what reason) these officers felt afraid.

So the tape hits the media and Inglewood goes bonkers, people start saying its like Rodney King all over again. So where's Al Sharpton? He makes his way to Inglewood, but he gets there a day late and a dollar short because he was too busy with the other Jackson.

The plot thickens as Mitchell Crooks, the man who videotaped the entirety of the encounter and who is said to have feared for his life after he released the tape, is lead away in handcuffs right in front of the cameras of CNN. He had an outstanding warrant for a hit and run, and for stealing a VCR from his mother, and was taken to the hospital for injuries after his arrest. His attorney reported that he had not been given permission to speak to Crooks immediately after his arrest, but he was allowed to see Crooks in the hospital to see whether or not he was "okay." Crooks is now serving a seven-month sentence. Meanwhile, the officers he videotaped are both on paid suspension.

I suppose the lesson here is that if you videotape cops, you get arrested, and if you are the cops being videotaped, you get a paid vacation. Apparently it's okay to break the law if it's done so under the guise of enforcing it.

Racism? Hell yeah. I don't think it takes a genius to figure out that a white banker being pulled over would not be treated the same. Or, come to think of it, a bleach-skinned billionaire who has twenty million to pay off a kid who has accused him of molesting him.

If Michael Jackson wanted to speak about a type of racism that Americans who just lost their 401K to the evils of major corporations might care about, this would have been a helluva time. Instead, while Sharpton hopped a plane to contend with Jackson #2 and the protests launched demanding justice, Jackson #1 had the nerve to stand at a rally and say, "If you fight for me, you're fighting for all black people, dead and alive."

Assisting MJ in securing his steadily growing fortune is helping "all black people"? Screw Michael Jackson and his billions of dollars; the thrill is gone. Let's instead focus our attention on the case of the other Jackson and hope that through his search for justice citizens wake up to the reality of racism while the headlines of the King of Slop moonwalk away.

Email Amanda at amanda@1madgirl.com

Two years down, two to go
"Let Them Eat Cake" August 7,2002
By Amanda Sledz

Ah yes. Another day, another Bushism. Like many Americans, I can no longer read the newspaper without a cocktail of antacids and anti-depressants. Shall we review the events of the past week?
Day one, nine coal miners survive days trapped in a Quecreek mineshaft (coincidentally, near where one of the September 11th planes crashed). This event has brilliance potential written all over it-in particular to draw attention to safety conditions and workers rights at Black Wolf Coal Company, and to give hero-hungry Americans a dose of some much needed good news.

What a prime opportunity for our tough-talking Texan George W. Bush to wax poetic about the plight of the working man and how brave Americans are in the face of danger, "God Bless America" soundtrack playing in the background. Instead, the miners are offered a single line issued through a representative of the Bush "team." Though we're continually assured that Bush cares about the people who work in major corporations and not just their wealthy CEOs, he certainly didn't take this opportunity to establish himself as a "people president." Bush might be easier to choke on (he's impossible to swallow) if when nine miners were rescued and the entire nation sat transfixed, Bush was doing something other than jogging on his treadmill.

To add insult to injury, breaking news reveals that soon we'll have a heavily distorted Disney movie about the tale, which will probably come to include hallucinated visions of a Native American guide, an animated blonde-haired blue-eyed angel, and talking bear-like puppets teaching lessons. For their story, each miner will receive $150,000 while Disney laughs all the way to the bank.
Skip to day two, where dispersed between JCPenny advertisements and articles about children left in hot cars by neglectful parents is an outraged editorial by Arianna Huffington, who had the bad fortune of spotting Kenneth Lay casually jogging through Colorado recently, calm and relaxed at one of his many vacation homes. I guess when Bush spoke of getting tough on corporate crooks, he meant those other oh-so-rare bad apples. Doesn't it make you feel good to know your 401K is in shambles and Kenneth Lay is de-stressing with seaweed wraps? Meanwhile, his other partners in crime are learning a lesson in the American way: no matter what happens, you can always pose nude for Playboy.

Then there's day three, featuring more explosions and death and destruction in Israel/Palestine, including the death of several students after the bombing of the Hebrew University's Frank Sinatra cafeteria. Did Bush respond by extending sympathy to the families who have suffered? Nope, he responded by continuing his big talk about "bad" countries with "Even though I'm mad, peace is still possible." It's good to know that Bush is finally a big enough boy to rise above the four-year-old balled-up fist Kmart parking lot temper tantrum that concludes with him soiling his Pull-Ups. Next stop, enlightenment!

Remember when presidents used to offer words of comfort and wisdom? Yeah, it's fading for me too.

Meanwhile, the Senate Foreign Relations Committee (aka the group of people hanging around and crossing their fingers that they actually have influence) say that if the United States removes Saddam Hussein, they could end up spending billions of dollars trying to establish a new government in a culture inclined to resist it. Bush doesn't seem to be too worried about this, as I imagine he anticipates plucking the funds from the same bottomless piggy bank from where he pulls every other cent he's been endlessly allocating to different funds. He's got a one track mind towards vengeance for his one-term daddy, so when Iraq responds by agreeing to let UN arm inspectors in (something that the United States won't even do) Bush gives them a bored shrugging of shoulders and says "our position has not changed" while Congress scrambles to be recognized as something that exists.
Day 4, a good day to wake up in a cold sweat over TIPS (Terrorist Information Prevention System, or perhaps Turn In your Parents and Siblings or Topple Individuals Potentially Smirking), part of the whole "paranoia for life" campaign in which Bush hopes to recruit one million volunteers to spy on their neighbors. Top recruits include letter carriers, utility workers, and cable installers-in other words, people with access to your home. This program not only allows neighbor to turn in neighbor, but it allows your home to be searched without probable cause or warrants. Basically this could mean that if you get a Muslim newsletter in the mail your FBI file will increase three pages and soon you mysteriously won't be able to get on airplanes.

Yes folks, this is similar to the playground pep talks we got from clever government agents with nicknames like Officer Friendly who wanted us to turn our parents in if we had the good American citizenship to bust them doing an illegal drug of some sort (though getting drunk was okay). Funny, I don't remember having a phone number to turn in parents who were abusing their kids, or if they didn't show up for six weeks on end-I guess Officer Friendly didn't find that a domestic threat. Not like marijuana, at least! Thanks for nothing, Officer Friendly!

While Bush trash talks like a drunken "I'll rip 'em limb from limb!" cowboy, American newspapers respond to the potential threat the way they always have for the Bush administration-by focusing on whether or not the Olympics were rigged by a member of the Russian mafia. We should thank our lucky stars that the break-up of Billy Bob Thornton and Angelina Jolie isn't breaking headlines. Maybe they're saving that for an actual war.

So how can one maintain a sense of hope and stave off the impending prescription to Zoloft with so much depressing news around us?
Well, you could join the masses of people pretending he's a good president, since it's a time of war, and therefore there should be no discussion of whether or not the person with his finger on the button is competent.

Or you could protest the next of his many visits to the state of Ohio, whether or not Ohio State University thinks it's polite, and boo his poorly written speeches focusing on next to nothing. You could demand a higher standard for politicians the next time you vote, demand your political party nominate someone with an ounce of integrity, and throw your support whole heartedly behind that candidate so we don't have to stare at this babbling monkey for another year.

You could write your congressman and let him or her know that you in no way support TIPS or any of the other idiotic programs poised to be put in place, and that you want them to get a backbone and start standing up and demanding to be recognized before legislative action is taken to remove a president so determined to overthrow the constitution. The ACLU has a generic letter on their website that can easily be forwarded or faxed.
What really staves off the anti-depressants when there's always going to be another week of bad news? Simply this: like his dear old dad, this cowboy can only conquer the old west once.

Email Amanda at amanda@1madgirl.com

"Let Them Eat Cake"
Headline: A Letter to Michael Moore
by Amanda Sledz

I stuck around till 1:30 in the morning in order to ask Mr. Moore the following: "You said you would help us with Wal-Mart and other local issues in your visit with us today. Did you mean that? Are you really willing to help us beat this?" He said yes, and we should email him.
You heard it people.
I don't think we should let this opportunity pass us by--so I intend to email the following letter to Mr. Moore, and I encourage all of you to do the same.
Dear Mr. Moore,
I am writing this letter to you on behalf of the concerned citizens of Athens county; you know them as Mike's Militia, Athens Ohio Division. Remember us? We helped pick your cartoon voice. Anyway, Mr. Moore, we are a frequently let-down group of people. We can stay in trees for days, but they still get chopped down; we can plant gardens at the Wal-Mart site, and they just get bulldozed. And for some strange reason, no matter how many times Jesse Jackson rolls in to offer photo opportunities for Appalachian youth, we still have trashed schools and no jobs, and those jobs that do exist are usually of the minimum wage variety. Needless to say, we need your help.
We live in a university town where the university promotes the hocking of cheap plastic crap to students slowly growing deeper in debt with their First USA credit cards emblazoned with the OU logo. OU Inc. pops up new buildings (and buys businesses that were formerly locally owned) at the speed of sound, and hires people from all over the country (not to mention those ever-popular illegal Mexican workers and their kids that never got paid), to construct them--as opposed to people who suffer from the highest unemployment rate in Ohio. We are told to fret not--after all, Wal-Mart is coming, and that creates new jobs, right? Too bad it's the minimum wage kind, where you can only make manager if you check the right sex box on the job application, and if you make any attempts to form a union you'll be out on your ass in an hour.
Wal-Mart, constructed on a flood plain and designed to make our beautiful small town look more like the cookie-cutter cities that Glidden would prefer, so that perhaps he can find some reason to leave his house and spend some of that massive salary the University pays him to be invisible to the student body.
OU Inc. also competes with local business, most recently by developing their own version of the wireless Internet service that the only surviving locally-operated dot-com has recently offered to the public. Now, one would think that untaxed entities would have something better to do with their time and money that foster such competition, but nope, not OU Inc, where business is the name of the game.
This very same University also doesn't find it necessary to give professors more than a 3% raise, though they are perfectly comfortable upping tuition six hundred dollars to pay for a student center that students didn't ask for. And the purpose of this student center? To bring OU up to date with other universities. The funny thing is, adding a Women's Studies major, a Women's Center, and a Queer studies program (not to mention a Men's Sexual Assault Prevention Class) would also bring OU more up to date--at least up to date with rival school, Miami. Thing is, it doesn't seem OU has money for such programs--despite the fact that students have been holding protests and marches for them for years.
If you have some more time after you're done having tea and crumpets with Glidden, we've got a couple other problems too. Recently, a certain swift idea narrowly eeked it's way through an obviously intoxicated city council, who decided that it was a perfectly grand idea to build a golf course on our well-head. Do you like drinking pesticides, Mr. Moore? Athens city council members do!
Here's another one: Ohio Valley Coal Company bought the mineral rights directly underneath one of the last virgin forests in the state of Ohio, Dysart Woods. They think it would be a swell idea to mine underneath these trees, destroying them from the root, instead of going for the modern-day stump look which is so popular with folks like King George. The University owns the forest and is actually trying to fight them, along with a number of activist groups, but we could use some help here as well, if you've got some time.
Mr. Moore, I call upon you to demand that OU return to it's former focus-education-and leave all these worthless shenanigans behind. The students have a better chance of learning something from a good professor teaching than from having their education served with fries and supersized.
We humbly request your return to Athens in order to assist us in the engagement of acts of poetic terrorism and art sabotage.
Let's have a big yard sale on Glidden's front lawn, featuring the most useless items from our attics and garages. Let's overprice them and post what sweatshop they were constructed in on little cards, while I chop down trees in his backyard in order to make room for our colossal yard sale megaplex. This way, Glidden can get an up close and personal look at what having a Wal-Mart in Athens is going to be like. We can also sell degrees there for 29.95--if OU is going to compete with local businesses, local yard sales might as well compete with OU.
Let's hoist a big sign in front of Wal-Mart that says "Welcome Pilgrims, to your shopping Ka'ba!" so that Wal-Mart shoppers can be reminded that they come to worship, and we can all run around and around it, just as frantically as the shoppers within Wal-Mart run to find the best bargains.
We can steal a pricing machine and say that we're not leaving the store until we get the VCR for ninety-nine cents, just like the price tag says. As an added bonus, we can alter all the signs, so Downy Paper Towels are suddenly two hundred dollars, and a new car battery is a dollar twenty-nine.
Maybe you could show up at the owner of Ohio Valley Coal Company's house with a bulldozer and a note that says that you've bought the mineral rights directly under his property, and you intend to begin digging their immediately.
Then, grab all the city council members, and have them do a nice water taste test called "guess which water is golf-course water!" It could be the Pepsi challenge of Athens, though with far more interesting results.
As you can see, the possibilities here are endless. With your help, we could really mobilize for change. Without your help, well, we may still yet mobilize for change, but not with the numbers you can draw, and not with your cameras to protect us (and you know how important that is). If you come to Athens, we'll give you a fat home cooked meal, a place to stay for both you and your Corporate Crimefighting Chicken, and I'll show you to secret way to beat someone in thumb-wrestling in four seconds flat.
So what do you say Mr. Moore? As Dubya would say, "You're either with us, or you're against us." Snicker. We hope you have the time.

Thanks,
Amanda Sledz, on behalf of Mike's Militia, Athens Ohio Division

email Michael Moore at mmflint@aol.com or at stupidwhiteman@aol.com
email Amanda at amanda@1madgirl.com

"Let them Eat Cake"
Jane Magazine Sucks
by Amanda Sledz


For years, innumerable magazines have popped up in the market targeting a "female audience" with tips on how to apply make-up, keep up with the latest fashion trends, and convince your crush that you're the girl of his (emphasis on the his) dreams.

Many among us have chosen to reject such magazines and focus our attention on more interesting publications instead. Boy did this butter the buns of advertisers everywhere, who suddenly had to deal with the fact that there was a segment of the female population that didn't know that maybe they're born with it, maybe it's Maybelline. Surely there must be something that can be done to let feminist chicks know that they too, should try the new summer-sunset lip gloss! There must be some way to let them know that using products tested on animals and buying clothes made by sweat-shop workers in countries the WTO chuckles at are good things! What to do?
Enter Jane magazines.

Gunning for an audience that would much rather read Bust or Bitch than take a quiz about whether or not their nipples are normal, Jane Magazine worked it's way into the market a couple of years ago, boasting that it wasn't going to be fluff-chick-lite like Cosmo or Glamour, and that it would appeal to the "real, independent you." Jane started out strong, with interesting interviews and acknowledgment of the feminist old-guard; with stories neglected by the mainstream media taking front and center, like the Woodstock rape cases. But just like Jane Pratt's previous project, Sassy, Jane came out like gangbusters and then rapidly morphed into it's current, unfortunate incarnation--an utter waste of trees.

One of Jane's biggest problems is her namesake, Jane Pratt, who appears to use the magazine solely as a candidacy for Prom Queen. When Jane's not shamelessly boasting about her many fabulous celebrity friendships (just how many times do we get to hear about how tight she is with Michael Stipe?), she's letting us in on the many shallow, meaningless activities that occupy her dubious free-time, as she obviously spends none of it attempting to produce a quality publication. According to Jane magazine, we're supposed to care about Jane's exercise routines, her boyfriend, what she does to keep her skin shiny, who her preferred make-up artist is (what, in case we want to call her up?), and what kind of advice she needs, with the uber-pathetic addition of an utterly-vacant advice column called "Jane Needs Help." And what does Jane need help with, exactly? While I would vote for the psychiatric variety in order to deal with that narcissistic personality disorder, Jane would rather ask her readers burning questions such as "Can you recommend a new CD to play over and over again like I did with Jay-Z Unplugged?" With utterly useless questions such as this, Jane can kill two birds with one stone: she can talk about herself, and kiss celebrity ass!

But the promotional material for Jane (which will inevitably flood your mailbox the moment you subscribe to any magazine on the planet) doesn't read, "This magazine is Jane's cut-and-paste zine about her uneventful life. Please read it if you give a fat crap about her diet for the coming month." What it says is that they know that "above all else, you're a strong, independent woman who doesn't need a magazine to tell her how to live her life! You just might want to read about the stuff that makes up your world."

Since when does Uma Thurman's poreless complexion and relationship with her baby make up "your world"? Since when does "your world" consist of giving friends "make-unders" where Goth chicks, rock chicks, and bad-ass glam chicks are transformed into preppy, sappy, "fresh-faced" chicks which, as Bitch magazine so eloquently points out, just happen to all look like Jane? Since when are all of us heroin-chick skinny, white, and flat-chested? And for God's sake, if we wanted to view an agonizing, ill-matched blind date, complete with ratings designed to slaughter the self-esteem of low-ranking parties, we'd watch one of the ten-thousand dating shows presently on the air where folks auction themselves off like cattle and have the same three conversations between hair tosses and muscle flexing. That, at least, is funny.

Jane also boasts that they're not about diet pills and burning fat and all that jive, but "women who rock, women who rule." In fairness to them, they're definitely light on the diet pill ads--but that didn't stop them from trying out "Thinz Metabostix" that tell you whether or not your body is burning fat. Which of course, poses the question: is Jane burning fat? I'll never sleep tonight if I don't know!
The biggest lie of all is that Jane doesn't want to tell you how to live your life, that they recognize that "women are individuals and might not want to wear what everyone else in the world is wearing." This, from a magazine that listed among their "pet peeves" in their April issue, "when designer outfits are shown next to their knock-offs." Why is this a peeve at all, let alone a pet one? Because us peasants might be able to afford what is stylish? Well, excuse us, you elitist freak. Perhaps they should consider renaming it "Rich Bitch" in order to reach their preferred audience.

And while it's crammed down your throats that "Every issue of Jane is written and designed with you in mind," what Jane really tells you in the pages of their rag is that you're a loser if you live in the Midwest and don't have the privilege of purchasing every over-priced garment in Soho, because apparently all you ever need to do in order to be "sophisticated" and "wordly" is move to New York. In the just-hit-the stands May issue, they reference a Midwest-sold lamp that "would never be sold in New York, because people here have taste." Hopefully they also have taste in magazines, and therefore symbolically burn Jane on a pyre every month before it contaminates the eyes of their children.

They also press to their readers that it's cool to booze it up but all drugs are evil; that the make-up products, vitamins, and fake-tanning solutions they use are better than the rest; that more expensive always equals better; and that Jane is the best magazine among all the vapid fashion magazines. They're crappy to their readers (like responding to a reader that was appalled that they focused on the beauty products of a woman journalist in Afghanistan by telling her that she's a snob), and more so than anything, there's ads, ads, ADS haunting you around every turn, telling you exactly what to wear, do, think, smell like, etc. They're hypocrites without even acknowledging their hypocrisy, without even having the ovaries to say, "just like every other magazine, we must cater to our advertisers, and since we don't seek out alternative advertisers, we're gonna cram Target down your throat."

And this hypocrisy makes it easy for the reader to miss the magazines few redeeming qualities, like their articles about rape and abortion rights, and their promotions for products like Proofies. This hypocrisy makes them ten-times worse than the at-least-honest Cosmo.
Overall, it's pretty safe to say that this magazine appears to be created so that women who won't buy Cosmo still see the ads that run in Cosmo. But if you ask me, should I ever be hit with the urge to be programmed into believing that my body looks creepy naked and that I must apply make-up with a putty knife to be attractive, I'll go all out and read Cosmo. But when I want my feminist pop-culture fix, I'll stick with Bust and Bitch.

email Amanda at amanda@1madgirl.com

"Let Them Eat Cake" March 27, 2002
Ancient tree cut down for allergies


Before I launch into my standard highly-peppered rant-a-thon, let's get our facts straight, shall we?

Almost two weeks ago now, a sycamore tree over a hundred-years old, five-feet- around at the base, and in perfect physical health was cut down by Athens city workers. The area from which it was removed is known as Highland Heights, or Sycamore Heights. Upon investigation, citizens of the neighborhood learned that the tree in front of 292 Highland was being cut due to John and Mary Forbes, who had waged a two-year campaign to have the tree removed. The couple claims that due to the pollen the tree produces, as well as a fungus they claim grows on the underside of the leaves, the tree came to jeopardize their health.
Neighbors Gerald and Ingrid Chorba were especially incensed by the decision. Gerald Chorba describes the tree as "the most spectacular one in the neighborhood." He expressed concern that the removal of the tree would not only damage the neighborhood aesthetically, but would cause a dip in the property value of the surrounding houses.
Though one might expect the Athens Tree Commission, which approves or disapproves of such decisions, to therefore be in opposition to Chorba's views, the reality is quite the opposite. "He's right to be upset that something so magnificent has been taken down," said Alvi McWilliams, Athens Tree Commission chair.

Alvi McWilliams described Highland Heights as "the densest grove of sycamores in the area." She said that every member of the tree commission had gone to see the tree, as had the urban forester, and they had all concluded that it was a perfectly healthy, beautiful tree. However, Wayne Key, city service/safety director, decided to over-rule the decision of the tree commission, and declared that the tree would be cut down. In a letter to McWilliams, he listed his reasons as the strength of the doctors' statements, as well as the fact that the couple had lived there for forty years.

Now, if Key had chosen to examine the situation from another perspective, he could have perceived this evidence as providing equally-relevant reasons for leaving the tree alone. The fact that the couple had built a house in Sycamore Heights seems to be a pretty solid indication that not only did they know what they were getting into, but that at some point they were not allergic to the tree. Since I'm told it's possible for allergies to develop later in life, this isn't impossible. But the couple wanted one specific tree removed--and they live in a grove of the exact same sort of tree. Now, let's look again at the fact that the couple has lived there for forty years and this was taken into consideration. If time of residence is taken into consideration, then one would think that the tree had sixty-years seniority over the couple. Smell the logic in the air? Only the sort I'm allergic to.

Then we have the testimony of the doctors. While both agree that John and Mary Forbes were, in fact, allergic to the tree, according to McWilliams neither note officially recommended that the tree be cut down. As to the fungus, which was believed to have been what separated this tree from the others in the area, the argument also fell short. According to McWilliams, "All of the trees in the area may or may not have a fungus. When we looked at it, some among us supposed that it was more likely to be a pubescent growth on the underside of the leaves. The urban forester saw no particular problem."

Let's review: Wayne Key gave the order for a tree over a hundred years old to be cut down because pollen that is produced only for a certain period of the year, and a fungus that may or may not exist, caused an allergic reaction in a couple that live in an area chocked-full with the exact same tree. Yes folks, these are your tax dollars at work.
Not that I'm without sympathy for the couple. As someone who has had severe allergies and asthma since the age of nine, has no sense of smell and cannot breathe through my nose, I definitely know what it feels like to pop allergy pills like a speed-freak and wake up every morning feeling like someone hit you in the nose with a shovel. And sycamores have been known to produce severe allergic reactions. According to the Ogren Plant Allergy Scale (OPALS), sycamores rate among the worst plants for allergies. To treat such allergies, Asthma and Allergy Prevention Institute recommends that people use dryers instead of hanging their clothes outside, use air-conditioning, and save outdoor activities for after eight am, when pollen counts are lower. For those with severe allergies (one in nine sufferers) for which standard medications don't apply, a series of injections has been known to work. In addition, Tom Ogren, who has written several books and who designed OPALS, recommends "pruning a tree hard" which he claims will result in "fewer blooms and less pollen."

According to Alvi McWilliams, such a strategy had been attempted, but the couple still suffered.

But what of those who haven't been mentioned thus far, the other residents of the area? While an action was taken which clearly affects every resident, none of the neighbors had been alerted. When asked about this, McWilliams explained that there's not really a mechanism in place for such information distribution, as the tree commission runs on a small staff of volunteers. However, McWilliams believes that "Contiguous property owners should be alerted."

Gerald Chorba also expressed concern about the fact that some of the city workers had indicated to him that plans had been made to remove all the trees from the area. Logically (which is something that hasn't been introduced in this case up until now, so I don't know why I'm starting) this outcome seems plausible, since if one tree were being cut down for the benefit of a couple, surely all would be removed--since all the trees are of the offending variety. However, McWilliams was firm that this would not be happening. McWilliams stressed that she does not agree with the cutting, or how it was executed. "We as a tree commission don't think it should have been done at the city's expense," she stated.
Whether or not city officials had intended to set a precedent, they clearly have. Such actions have sent a booming message to the citizens of Athens that the presence of an allergy is reason enough to remove what's considered offensive from city property. Because of this, I feel it's my responsibility, as a citizen, to take advantage of this new, ground-breaking policy in order to get myself some allergy relief.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am allergic to Wal-Mart.
Since this allergy has always been active in me (the Wal-Mart pin-prick allergy test swelled up to the size of a grapefruit. Woo-doggy, you should have seen that doctor's face!), I moved to Athens, where the community has thrived comfortably for years, sans Wal-Mart. I also dutifully avoided shopping places where garden hoses and bacon were sold in the same department, and only looked at ads stuffed in my mailbox until my eyes glazed-over and I started hungering for artificial flavoring and plastic storage bins.
When I first heard word that the Inter-Galactic-Wal-Mart-Megatron was moving its way into the flood plains, I thought I would be a safe enough distance away to avoid suffering an allergic reaction. But low and behold, by the time the first wall had been blown down my entire body was covered with hives.

As a tax payer and resident of the near-East Side neighborhood, I feel the Wal-Mart is being built far too close to my home, and my allergic reactions are threatening to reach disastrous proportions. By the time Wal-Mart-Mega-Google-Plex has spread like a virus over the river and through the woods, I could be catatonic. At this stage, "pruning it hard" probably would also be a waste. I feel it should be constructed in a more appropriate location, like at the bottom of the Dead Sea, or stacked on top of another Wal-Mart like a Lego in Logan.

I urge the citizens of Athens not to see this as yet another instance of a city worker not acting on behalf of citizens as a whole, or the terrible removal of a beautiful tree without a single shred of logic. Consider this an opportunity to inform the city of your allergic reactions, and accuse them of playing favorites if they don't meet your needs. Yes, my friends, this is the ultimate opportunity for a solid round of art-sabotage; the prime opportunity for a new twist on the old, cherished phrase, "if you can't beat them, join them."

November 2, 2001

            It’s Halloween time in Athens, which, by the way, has nothing to do with Saints, ghosts, things that are scary, or Pagan holidays, and everything to do with drunken revelry in an uptown location.  It also has a whole helluva lot to do with half of the freshman populations’ first drunken arrest (which they can reminisce about at a future homecoming weekend), and preoccupation with safety measures which, in the long run, won’t change much from the past year, where nothing happened either.

            This year, Athens funtime Halloween safety concerns have reached a whole new plateau and are dabbling in goofy territory, as Mayor Ric Abel makes a few more interesting post-terrorist attack proposals.

            The fence idea seems to have served the single purpose of blasting the seasonal affective disorder out of a number of heads as they convulsed in laughter.  No city in it’s right mind...no, I take that back, no city except Columbus would ever consider anything so ridiculous as caging twenty-thousand people up like animals without expecting the party to move one street over.  It’s hard to imagine a positive outcome emerging from a set-up where people have to wait in line to enter and wait in line to exit, after being searched (hello, riot).  If this were still happening, they might as well hand out nightsticks at the door so that, if an actual emergency should arise, people can at least beat their way out. And you thought you would have to subject yourself to professional wrestling to see a cage match!

            The strobe light idea is equally entertaining.  Through this creative safety measure, every individual located in the uptown area will be rendered temporarily blind in order to ensure safety.   Either that, or if something big happens and a bomb explodes somewhere, the horror will be enhanced as we run in seeming slow-motion in directions we can’t focus on long enough to discern.  How’s that for dramatic effect?

            There’s only one other purpose I can see for the strobe lights, and...well, if Mr. Abel wants to have a rave, I wish he would just come out and say it.   

            But there must be a way to keep us young hooligans safe from ourselves, because until we change our decisions to those that Nancy Reagan would approve of, we are apparently not at an age to make our own decisions.  In addition, the terrorist attacks must be taken into consideration, since Athens hosts a lot of people that could move around and spread bio-stuff...that, and because thus far the reaction to the attacks has been to surrender all your rights and hide under your bed for the rest of your life. 

            Personally, I think what Mr. Abel came up with is simply not creative enough, so I have taken the liberty of coming up with a few rules of my own in that same vein in order to guarantee Halloween safety. 

            First of all, we could easily maximize safety by covering our entire bodies from head to toe with glow sticks.  Of course, then we would probably be arrested for possession of drug paraphernalia, but you’re not causing trouble if you’re in jail, now, are you?

            Advertise that the keg law has been changed to thirty kegs per person.  The first person that shows up wanting that many should be promptly arrested. 

            If anyone is wearing anything that indicates they might be a part of “cop watch,” they should be arrested and accused of terrorism.  Now that the Anti-Terrorist Act has been passed, they should face fifty years in prison and a public flogging.

            Anyone found carrying drugs should follow the old “eat a cigarette and they won’t smoke anymore” philosophy, and be forced to eat their drugs immediately.  That’ll teach ‘em. 

            Anyone found holding a suspicious amount of cash should immediately give it to me.  You look suspicious.  I don’t.  Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe...

            If there is a large problem, we should do something subtle to address it, like yell, “Holy Mother of God, we’re all going to crumble into piles of smoldering ash!  Head for the hills!”  This is the best way to avoid panic and assure people that nothing is really wrong, there’s just another random crazy guy losing his mind on the street.  If the intention is for people to actually disperse, the best way to accomplish this is to yell, “party on (fill in the blank)!  This is lame!” and convince one of the frats dressed as the Miami synchronized swimming team/bunnies/whatever lame crap they come up with this year to lead a conga line over there.

            Another option would be to light the pumpkin dropped every year on fire, and perhaps the wild ball of flames would send people scattering in different directions, in addition to helping all concerned individuals locate the folks that took the wrong drugs.

            Women who flash their boobs should be handed the opposite sentence of the men in Columbus, who were sentenced to walk down the street wearing women’s clothing for degrading a female driver.  These women will be forced to confront all the degradation men face: alleviation of all responsibility in regards to child rearing; higher paying jobs; and the ability to walk passed a construction site comfortably.  I bet they’ll think twice before flashing their mams again once they know what it’s like to have a penis!

            If terrorism is the issue, then I have trunkfulls of ideas.  I propose we prevent all white people from entering the uptown area, since Timothy McVeigh was white.  And why stop at Islam as the source of the problem when we can ban all three of the major Abrahamic religions from the uptown area.  That’ll make my pagan revelry more likely to go on without incident!

            In the tradition of Woodstock, I propose that all University officials neglect to eat the brown acid.  They may want to hold to that policy the next time they’re setting up an apartment complex.

            We should also offer a system of rewards for those that choose to comply with these new rules of safety.  If the cops behave themselves, they should get something shiny.  Everyone likes shiny things. 

            If students behave, they should get a three dollar discount on their tuition. Not that this will make a dramatic difference,  but at last, students will know where at least three dollars are going. 

            So these are my Halloween safety suggestions...now how bout a few real ones:

1.)stick with your pals

2.) don’t take anything from anyone you don’t know and ingest it (come on, you remember trick or treating)

3.)if you get arrested know your rights, what you’re being arrested for,  and for God’s sake don't hit the cop

4.) if somebody bumps into you on Court Street, it was probably due to the crowds and therefore just an accident and you shouldn’t take it personally--no matter how much you’ve had to drink.  Give him a hug instead. 

5.)don’t let any drunk friend go home with somebody she doesn’t know. 

6.) If your entire world has started spinning, it’s probably a good time to stop drinking.

If the basics work well this year, than maybe next year we’ll be spared rumors of the fence. 

. 

October 19, 2001

by Amanda Sledz

            I don’t think I’m alone in the feeling that we are in a whole world of poo right now. 

            In light of recent tragedies, not to mention this whole “war” thing, there has been a noticeable drop in shallow, self-centered behavior among American people.  We have come to ponder the meaning of life, and question whether all that time spent rotting away inside a cubicle was really worth it.  We’ve spent more time with our families--not because some bunged up Republican ordered us to do it, but because we wanted to.  We’ve sat on our porches and talked to our neighbors--and for a lot of people in cities, that was a first time thing.  But instead of celebrating this turn away from shallowness, many magazines, newspapers, politicians and fortune cookies are asking when we will finally return to “normal.”  Well, if you’re one of those folks ready to rush back into the toxic pool, I am here to provide the road map.

            First of all, heed the fabulous advice of one Mr. George W. Bush, and for God’s sake, go shopping!  Never mind that minimum wage hasn’t increased since 1997, never mind that your bank account is floating around negative digits--max out that Visa, trade in the old SUV for a new one, and stock up on all those little cherub ceramic figurines you’ve never wanted.  The shopping possibilities are endless.  Not only is this a perfect time to swaddle your person with American pride paraphernalia (not to mention your house, car, and telephone pole), it is a perfect time to buy Christmas gifts decades in advance-- preferable completely useless things that will at some point require doilies to be attractive.  Buy Tupper Ware, buy gas masks, and definitely buy teeny, tiny little sweaters and hats to torture your domestic animals.

            If you absolutely must follow this silly current events nonsense, then turn to a news source that relies on celebrities to feed you the information, like People and Entertainment Weekly.  Why listen to rapidly aging Peter Jennings, Dan Rather, and Tom Brokaw when you can gather information through the witty statements of such celebrities as Michael “weepy ballad on the way” Jackson, and Brittany “I am holding a press conference to tell you that now is not an appropriate time for a press conference” Spears? 

            And don’t forget to openly applaud every time you read that one of these celebrities that makes ten million dollars a movie has donated a thousand dollars to the Red Cross, stopped their car before running down a firefighter, or agreed to move a film to New York city in a show of pride. Forget the firefighters, God Bless the ever-giving celebrities!

            They also provide the best road map back to shallowness you can find.  Who cares about this war crap: are George Clooney and Renee Zellwegger dating, or what? 

            It’s also important to note that now that the sit-coms are back on, there is absolutely no reason why you should be spending so much time with your children when there’s wholesome, elitist, sexist humor to observe.  Remember: it doesn’t matter if these shows are actually good for your children.  What matters, is that you can now safely have another beer without junior catching on. 

            Besides, isn’t this what the so-called Reality TV was invented for, so we didn’t have to deal with a reality of our own?  Watch Survivor, play the Simms, and for God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t leave your house. 

            If you must talk about the war, talk about it exclusively in terms of racial jokes.  Try to punctuate such jokes with witty imitations of the Arabic language, references to 7-11 stores, and how Jesus would kick Osama’s Jihad-declaring ass if he were here.  Those jokes are the best.

            Turn a discussion of world leaders into a more long, drawn out game of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.  No matter what bin Laden does, allow it to remind you of something your cat did, and tell everyone.  If nothing works, you can always use the old high school stand-by of “Maybe I don’t wanna talk about politics, fatty!” which will send your former friend running from the water cooler in tears.   

            It probably would be better if you didn’t talk to people at all, but if you must, remember: kindness is for sissies.  How long did people expect you to keep that up anyway?  There’s a Kmart to get to around here somewhere, and if slow drivers don’t get off the road, you’re gonna rage. 

            If you start to feel any symptoms of depression (loss/increase of appetite, inability to sleep properly at night, sudden urge to lie face down on your living room carpet while periodically beating your fists on the ground and crying out to God), in no way should you consider such feelings a healthy way to deal with grief and fear.  Nope, just sign up at your local doctor’s office for the anti-depressant of the month club, and prepare for a world of repressed emotions to haunt you later in life after a year of smiling vacantly out the window at all the pretty, pretty trees.

            Statistics have shown that couples have grown (physically) closer since the terrorist attacks.  Well shoot, we’d better eliminate that fast.  Instead of partaking in the making of whoopee and the loving chats that sometimes follow, couples should return to their internet love affairs and respective experience-enhancing electronic gadgets instead. 

            Statistics have also shown that such events have lead to a rising interest in spirituality.  Don’t worry, there’s a way to make this shallow: just make your spiritual philosophy “you get what you pay for.”  Want to start meditating?  Well, that’s going to require at least ten to twelve books, CDs, videos, not to mention a special meditation matt, wrist bands, and headband.  Only turn to teachers that request you empty your bank account before you are allowed to bask in their holy-ass presence.

            And of course, who better of a spiritual leader than Jerry “blame the ACLU, pagans, and feminists” Falwell?  If ever there was a man dealin’ in the good feelin’, it’s him. 

            If you really want to return to (or start anew) an empty, shallow existence, just follow my advice and you’ll get there in no time.  Then all the magazines and politicians and important people with important bank accounts will breathe a huge sigh of relief that Americans have returned to their normal, miserable, anti-social lives.  The rest of us will still be broke, still be scared, and still be completely confused as to how we got here.  Seems like doing what we’re doing now is a way to get to something better (call me crazy).

            But if you absolutely must return to your shallow existence, and you are completely and totally out of ideas, I have just three words for you: Real World Marathon. 

Sept 27th 2001

By Amanda Sledz

           You know what happened. This needs no introduction.
Though some aspects of 9-11 are entitled to scathing commentary.
Topping the list is the recent need to sing the praises of America's favorite cowboy, Mr."wanted dead or alive" himself, George W. Bush-- the president who encourages Americans to turn their fear and confusion into thoughts of vengeance.

          Prior to this situation, a majority of Americans were convinced that this man was shaping up to be as incompetent as they come; but now that we're in crisis, he's a swell guy. Why? The only reason I can think of is that he appealed to a very emotional America with what they wanted to hear: we'll get 'em. Frankly, I want a little more from my president than what I can read in a Yahoo chat room.

          Bush has repeatedly asserted, starting with the name of the operation ("Operation Infinite Justice") that he sees this as a war that's going to last a good long time. My conspiracy theory cooker allows me to wager that his interest in dragging this out was fostered by a conference he had with his Pops; and no, I don't mean God, in spite of Bush's obsession with holy war-esque good and evil, launching the next "crusade" babble-speak. After all, Pops (as in Bush Sr.) had a glowing approval rating similar to the one that little Bush enjoys now (93%) when he was kicking ass and taking names in the Gulf. Unfortunately, that "war" ended quickly, and by election time everyone hated him again, and he lost to the more charismatic Clinton. I'm guessing that Bush thinks that the longer he drags this out, the better chance he has at re-election. No matter the crisis, he's still a politician, and therefore knows that a majority of flag-waving Americans are not going to want a sissy democrat in the house during wartime.

          But nothing made me writhe on my front lawn more than the speech he offered last Thursday in regards to possible motivations of the attackers. He announced to the American public that those responsible are haters of democracy who think the American way thoroughly sucks.
(Pause for the sound of my head hitting the table.)
An appeal to my readers: please don't believe that other countries hate us because they hate democracy. If that were the case, we certainly are not the only democratic country on this planet, and therefore our attackers would have their hands full. We are unloved for scores of instances of unwelcome interference, and disinterest when our presence is desired-too many instance for me to go into detail here. People don't hate us because we're the land of the free and the home of the brave, they couldn't care less about our land at all; they care about what we're where they live…which is something a majority of Americans just don't know about it.

          My favorite comment in regards to Bush's words of wisdom appeared in the Athens News, stating that it was the best speech since the Kennedy Inaugural address. This was my favorite, simply because it got me rolling around on the floor laughing after one pretty damn bad day. Let's be
honest people: no one is going to remember a single line from that speech ten, five, even three minutes after it's concluded, let alone years. It was chocked full of "let's go team"-isms and false statements about America doing justice while everyone else does murder. If you want to compare it to anything, compare it to Nixon's, "I am not a crook" speech, because at least that, too, was a
load of crap. If you want to talk about Kennedy in relation to this, talk about him flipping in his grave.

        I am also tired of the red, white, and blue colored glasses that a majority of Americans have put on after placing their absolute trust in the reporting accuracy of CNN. I too was heartbroken when I learned of this event, and was completely terrified as to what could happen next. But I am sick of the media and it's decision to take such a bias turn, utterly terrified to criticize folks in power and ask the tougher questions, choosing instead to serve as America's pacifier, chanting, "We're cool! Everything is okay! Go fill up your SUV, Big Brother 2 will be back on Tuesday!"

           Up until this point, I was able to believe that a majority of Americans knew that they should never fully trust a politician or the mainstream media. Has fear changed us back to people that will go running for
the hills after an especially skilled reading of "War of the Worlds"? For example, do folks honestly believe that the only people cheering our destruction were from countries where a majority of people claim a Muslim faith or are of Arab decent? I'm sure if cameras went just about anywhere in the world (including the United States) they could find a population of people that thought it was a pretty swell action. They chose to focus on these groups of individuals before sufficient evidence had even been produced. In an era of uni-bombers and Timothy McVeighs, it would not be unreasonable to assume that such things came even from the inside. Even before evidence of a guilty party had surfaced, the media announced their official decision for enemy of the American people; and then tried to make up for it by asking people not to get crazy and burn mosques, (like one fairly enthusiastic individual from Parma saw fit to do) after they were all ready in flames.

          Even after anti-Islamic sentiment gathered momentum, newspapers continued to run pictures that would lead the American people to believe that everyone in the Middle East has an ak-47 in one hand and a Qu'ran in the other. In one picture, featured on the cover of the Columbus Dispatch, two Muslim women were shown holding up plastic guns and a sign reading, "Crush America." In the background, another Muslim woman tried desperately to get into the shot, holding a sign reading "Muslims want peace." It's obvious what the photographer was interested in, and it wasn't the truth-- it was whatever would keep people pissed off and fired up.

          I'm also disappointed in the media, because they seem to fail to ask the important questions. For example, when information surfaces that supposedly points to a clear enemy, it usually is far different, if not in conflict with, another piece of evidence--like the flight manual, for example. If these folks learned to fly in flight school, why would they need an Idiot's guide in their backpack? And even if that is reasonable (along with the picture of Bin Laden chillin' in the front seat of a car) it's kind of strange that folks that managed to elude the authorities for years are suddenly so transparent. But no one asks why the paper trail being followed is reminiscent of a bad episode of Scooby Doo. It's so ridiculously obvious that either the U.S. government is setting Bin Laden up, or he set himself up because he wanted to get caught. Perhaps our thrilling conclusion will come when the feds roll up in the Mystery Machine with Bin Laden in the back, grumbling, "I would have got away with it if it wasn't for those meddling kids."

          We may be in trouble now, and many may feel that we need to respond, but please don't believe that America has been a perfect portrait of liberty and justice through the years, just because we happen to be the victim right now. We need to ask why, and we need to look a little further
than CNN and Dubya if we want to find the true answers. Just as we learned a little too late that the Vietnam War was not about protecting anyone from Communism, and the Gulf war was not about Kuwait, we will find someday soon
that this was not about attacking those that hate our freedom.
I just hope the war, should it begin, is not as infinite as the name.

Discuss this, see the full text, and a whole lot more at www.1madgirl.com

Sept 20th 2000 Gangs..

by Amanda Sledz

            There is simply no other way to phrase it: What the hell is happening to street gangs these days?

            For years, things were looking quite nice for them.  In the eighties, talk of street gangs was everywhere; movies like “Colors” came out talking about thug life, (not to mention the 200 versions of “Boys N’ the Hood”), talk shows brought in the real life outlaws so the audience had something to boo at, and multi-colored bandannas simply flew off the shelves.  Now we have Bloods and Crips, Folks and People taking their tales of thug life to the internet for virtual rumbles, flash animation dripping blood, and Photoshop-enhanced graffiti. 

            Not since Michael Jackson’s, “Beat It” has the rep of street gangs taken such a dorky turn.

            Part of the problem lies in the fact that when I think about the internet, I think of dirty old men looking for thirteen-year-old girls (and dirty old cops posing as thirteen-year-old girls), folks looking for that affair they’ve always wanted but don’t have the guts to begin, and pre-teens sending each other far more sophisticated versions of “do you like me? Check yes or no” through e-crush.com

            I definitely don’t think about the cats that used to rot on my street corner in Cleveland, (when they weren’t walking slowly down the middle of the street, inducing near-psychotic rage in drivers), throwing up signs more complicated than even the lengthiest round of hand jive.  Call me crazy, but I just can’t imagine a confrontation with a rival gang ending with the ever ominous, “I’ll see you in the chatroom, biotch!”

            One of the primary purposes of these “e-gang” sites is to recruit new members, who join ranks by filling out an application you can download off the net.  What happened to a good old-fashioned beating in?  Is it a virtual beat down now?  Who actually verifies this application?  Do they receive a membership card for their efforts?  Is what follows introduction to your virtual homies, and promises bound in blood to protect your internet turf from all the other rough-surfers?  Do they do drive-by spammings?  Do they deface a rival’s graffiti by hacking into their site?  Does the computer wear a bandanna?

            What happened to gang priorities?  How can they be certain that Floyd from East Boring, Idaho is as hard as he claims?  Is it safe to let Floyd start his own chapter?

            Assuming (probably inaccurately) that these sites are legitimate, the only way I can think of this benefiting people is if you happen to be gearing up for a rather lengthy prison term and don’t have much interest in joining the Nation of Islam or the white supremacists.  If the folks holding court can be alerted in some way (perhaps through email?) about your impending arrival, you might be able to relax a little.  Plus, at least then you can narrow down who’s going to make you the prison punk once you’re in, and won’t have to worry about inserting things in very private areas of the human body in order to make friends in low places. 

            I also seem to have a hard time with people announcing their guilt in regards to crime on the net.  We all know the only people immune to police prosecution are celebrities (save for Robert Downey Jr.) and white men from good families.  Everyone else is fair game.  Knowing this, why would the opening of your web page read, “Keep chillin’ and killing bloods”?

            Okay okay, but other than the application, what exactly does the eager internet explorer have to look forward to, should they choose to peruse these sites?

            When entering one site claiming to serve as a hotbed for all the big gangs, you find that in order to see any real information you have to click on the right sequence of icons; which are clever little pictures like skulls and medieval, sword-chucking warriors in the middle of a fight scene.  If you don’t, you get an ominous message (once again, decorated with skulls) saying that you’ve gone the wrong way, and have wrongly assumed that it’s easy to get into gang x.  Frankly, I refuse to believe that real life thugs would create something that so closely resembles “Magic the Gathering.”   

            On another site, you are reminded that you need to be a member to enter the site, and that “no porn, no drugs, and no talking up other gangs is permitted.” I was worried for a minute, but thankfully that still left bragging of personal conquests and discussion of “bitches.”         

            Another web page says that it was designed by a Blood and a Crip, working together to stop the violence.  They emphasize their point by saying that if you disagree with their efforts, you will “get popped.” I believe this site was either designed by bonafide gang members, or politicians. 

            I also found a spot where I could vote for my favorite gang: Bloods or Crips.  Apparently, the designers of this survey feel it’s important for a gang-would-be to conduct careful research before committing to a specific gang.  And to think before this they had to go all the way to the library!  Herm.

            In the flurry of sites flashing graffiti and little gun icons, (coupled with the  government-sponsored sites full of “warnings” and “what to do’s” that were laugh-out-loud funny) the most interesting site I found was done by a cat that was one of the two founding members of the Crips.  Stanley “Tookie” Williams from South Central LA. uses his site to advertise both his autobiography and the children’s books that he has written warning kids about the dangers of gangs.  He does this while working from death row, where he has been since 1979 for murdering four people. The latest piece of news on the site is that he’s been nominated for the 2001 Nobel Peace Prize for his work to discourage gang involvement. 

            Save for the rare stand-out,  it’s hard to believe these folks are anything other than imitators--in part because a number of them didn’t even get the colors right, and also because gangs are usually located in places where there isn’t a whole lot of money or access to technology to learn things like how to construct a web page.  I can’t speak for all inner-cities or everyone in them, but the people I knew that did find access to such things didn’t stay in the inner-city for very long...let alone in a gang.

            On the other hand, it could very well be gang members; but it could also be a bunch of middle-aged men, twelve-year-old kids, or that same cop that spends his days pretending to be a young girl.  The internet is not to be trusted, because many people use it as a source to reinvent themselves.  So even if the people that set it up are gangsters, the people that look at it probably won’t be; it’ll be suburban kids that have taken gangsta rap too seriously and nosey writers like me.  Doesn’t exactly make for a successful recruitment. 

            But if they are real, I take it all back.  The last thing I need is to get e-capped. 

Sept 5, 2001 Why I got Canned

            As some of you viewers might know, for the past four years I have written for the Athens News, and for the past three years I have written a column called “Shaken Not Stirred.”  While I don’t have everything I’ve written for them here yet (it takes a while to dig up the old disks), it’s a start.  Until they’re all here, you can check out the edited versions at www.athensnews.com.

            Some of you may have also noticed that my column no longer appears in the Athens News.  This is because, (for lack of desire to dress it up with a prettier word), I got canned.  I wish I could offer a solid reason for my unceremonious canning, but since it changed from the initial moment (“you can’t take criticism”) to the following day (“you graduated, and we hired you as a campus columnist”), it’s really hard for me to say—but I sure was removed from the credits section of the newspaper and the web page contents page in a flash.   Another option would be to follow the inside tip I received from another former Athens News employee:

“The maybe truth Amanda, from what he told me, was that he hated your column, especially the fact that you were supposed to write about campus stuff and would often muse about just about anything but. But who knows, terry is a major a-hole. Though he has wanted to dump you for a long time, he said, but was too chicken to do it before you were no longer a student.”

            How’s that for a bedtime story?

            On one hand, major bummer, the Athens News has a good audience.  On the other hand, good-bye unpleasable editor, hello creative freedom! 

In addition, there comes a time when one must ask oneself just how long they can keep doing the same damn thing.  I wrote for the Cleveland Plain Dealer for five years, and when I graduated high school and left Cleveland, I felt that I was done.  Now I feel that I am done with the Athens News, because there is nothing more I can contribute to their publication; so perhaps I should have thanked him.  I dragged my heels and slacked a lot in the past year, because I rarely felt motivated or inspired, and in times when I did feel passionate about an issue, it was never what my editor was looking for—though it was what my audience was begging for.  Constantly writing not what I’m thinking about, but what I think the editor might want to hear, is not the poetic terrorism I love and desire; it’s tap dancing to keep getting paid. 

Well I’ve gotten used to being broke, and I’ve lost the rhythm of the dance.

Though the newspaper I write for now is smaller still, I can at least work with the knowledge that I can write what I want, as much as I want, whenever I want—and I know that they want me.  I don’t have to search for a campus issue where there isn’t one, or spend hours picking through state, local, and national newspapers looking for something to catch my eye.  For the first time in my published writing, I can just be, and follow the beat of my own drum.

Hallelujah. 

Sept 4, 2001 for The RAVE

That’s right folks, it’s me again. 

            I’m back for another year of rambling and ranting on the same old tired-out PC, with the every faithful pot of dirt I like to call Heidi the Houseplant at my side to smack me upside the head when my prose becomes too garbled for the public eye.  Different newspaper, same name, same houseplant, same terrible attitude problem and affinity for cake. -complete column