Sterling stood upon the edge of the very last flat wall surrounding the top of the Empire State Building, thinking the wind might blow him off before he had a chance to decide whether to jump. It was all a dream. A pertinent dream. Sterling worked in that building in a small ad agency. Lucky to have the job at all. But feeling as caught as if he had been one of the yo-yos in Mad Men, had there been a Mad Men then.
He turned in the bed and felt Christy there. She was three chapters away from completing her graduate thesis in philosophy. Sterling fancied Christy's education, having himself taken the standard advice to do science and math. He got into the ad agency by sheer luck. A classmate worked there and was sympathetic to Sterling's lack of interest in the professions for which he was qualified. It helped that some of the firm's business came from the precincts of math and science. Sadly, Sterling was no happier with this choice than with most others he had made. Save Christy.
He lay in bed thinking of her. He pictured Christy. slim, willowy, intelligent, in some bucolic college town teaching pragmatism and logic. While he held down a dismal job in the college's development office. The words fucked up rolled across the screen of Sterling's addled mind.
Christy did end up in in a college town, husband-less. The unfortunate Sterling was simultaneously subsisting in an eighty dollar a week motel in Boulder City, Nevada, two thousand miles from the best decision he ever walked away from.
Sterling's reaction to his descent was hardly encouraging. He had lately taken walks in the desert and found himself in situations from which extrication was almost impossible. In the desert south of Boulder City, he was almost thrown down a steep v-shaped valley of sand and rock and lost amid the detritus of the 20th century, countless decaying fragments of cars that had ruled the world. Wreckage peered peremptorily from the hard sand all around him. How did it get there? He finally got out. Scared.
The one bright spot in Sterling's existence was the little computer he bought with income earned from some free-lance science writing. It was an Epson HX 20. The first laptop. The year was 1982. Sterling printed out his literary efforts on cash register paper and viewed his prose in progress on a screen smaller than a playing card.
Evenings Sterling drove down to the Gold Strike Casino. There were times when the sheer beauty of things around these parts overwhelmed him. He looked out over the lake, tasted the wind and exulted somewhere deep inside.
Frangoulis and Theodorakis are joined by musicians, including two bouzouki players, and a very large audience that is completely familiar with the words. The audience joins in at Frangoulis' prompt.
This is my very favorite Theodorakis melody. Those who know Theodorakis only for his "Zorba" music are in for a treat. When I was in Athens in 1966, for a short period of study with Constantinos Doxiadis, I knew nothing of Theodorakis. But about five years later, my friend Irene Vassos sang "Sto perigiali" to us. I have never gotten the tune out of my mind.
Later, when Irene joined our group to form a travelling company performing "New Rain", I learned to pick out a …
To counter the invidious efforts of Karl Rove and the Brothers Koch, simple videos of everyday people expressing gratitude for specific results from specific things that the President has achieved will create a signature response that will turn the tables on the Super PACs.
There could be an intro that flags lies distortions and anonymous attacks as unreal and even criminal and a cut to what is real, recognizable and not anonymous I am (name). I have lived here in (name) for (time). Thanks to (President Obama's (name) Act ... and so forth for ten seconds. Close with a continuation of the story narrated over evocative images and simple acoustic music.
This would be a fantastic way to counter the attacks on the President. For every specific attack, a video that shows the truth. And grass roots people who intend to vote for the President.