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Jim Jones and the Sandinistas

19 Apr

April 19, 2010

No, “Jim Jones and the Sandinistas” is not the name of my new punk band but feel free to mock up an album cover and send it to me.

No, it is the title of another blog where I get all cranky, crusty, and curmudgeonly about the sorry state of the English language. (See that cool alliteration? That’s why I can beef about other people’s grammar; I know my shit.)

Anywho (way, whatever,) the first thing that flies up my nostril lately is the term “drinking the Kool-Aid,” as in “Wow, you must have really been drinking Omar Minaya’s Kool-Aid if you thought that John Maine could be a number two starter.” It does not, however, refer to Jimmie “J.J.” Walker from Good Times.

Generally, “drinking the Kool-Aid” means to fall for someone’s line of bullshit. It has become a fairly prevalent phrase, to the point that you can’t listen to an episode of Mike Francessa on WFAN without hearing him say it a couple of times an hour. The show is unlistenable in many other ways too, and the irony here is that the listeners have fallen for his line of bullshit, but that’s beside the point.

So why does it bug me? It bugs me because it casually trivializes the deaths of over 900 people.

From Wikipedia, also a pet peeve of mine, but let’s skip that for now:

James WarrenJimJones (May 13, 1931 – November 18, 1978) was the founder and leader of the Peoples Temple, which is best known for the November 18, 1978 death of more than 900 Temple members in Jonestown, Guyana along with the deaths of nine other people at a nearby airstrip and in Georgetown, Guyana.

Jones was a well-connected paranoid communist, who formed a commune to live in “pure socialism and communism.” He had some very kooky theories and managed to form a devoted cult around his strong personality. There were many allegations of vilolence and abuse within, leading to the shooting of a U.S. Congressman. More from Wikipedia:

Later that same day, 909 inhabitants of Jonestown,, 276 of them children, died of apparent cyanide poisoning, mostly in and around a pavilion. No video was taken during the mass suicide, though the FBI did recover a 45 minute audio recording of the suicide in progress.

On that tape, Jones tells Temple members that the Soviet Union, with whom the Temple had been negotiating a potential exodus for months, would not take them after the Temple had murdered Ryan and four others at a nearby airstrip.  The reason given by Jones to commit suicide was consistent with his previously stated conspiracy theories of intelligence organizations allegedly conspiring against the Temple, that men would “parachute in here on us,” “shoot some of our innocent babies” and “they’ll torture our children, they’ll torture some of our people here, they’ll torture our seniors.”

Given that reasoning, Jones and several members argued that the group should commit “revolutionary suicide” by drinking cyanide-laced grape flavored Flavor Aid (often misidentified as Kool-Aid) along with a sedative.

Over 900 people died. Granted, they were over 900 wacky cult people with bizarre beliefs, but they were people nonetheless, and nearly one third of them were children. I don’t see the point in trivializing their deaths.

I’m just sorry that the good people at Kool-Aid were dragged into the whole mess.

The second thing that bugs me (in terms of grammar. There are a ton of other things that bug me.) is the term “fashionista,” as in a “soldier in the fashion war,” or “one who shops for fashion strongly and mercilessly.”

We’re talking about fashion here folks, so calm down. Ever see Fashion Week in NYC? Skinny models who look like they could use a good steak strutting down the runway, eyes glazed straight ahead, wearing coats that looks like they are made out of tin foil and straw, with what appears to be a stuffed kangaroo folded into a hat on their heads.

Yeah, we need that. Speaking as a guy, finding a clean sweatshirt somewhere in the closet is fashion enough.

None of that, however, is my real problem with the term fashionista. The suffix “-ista” means “one who works in the area of or represents or participates in.” Unlike the suffix “-ist,” it has a negative connotation. It usually refers to those with a “fanatical devotion.” Though it derives from Latin, it came into general usage with the word “Sandinista” in the 1980’s.

More from Wiki:

The Sandinista National Liberation Front (Spanish: Frente Sandinista de Liberación Nacional, or FSLN) is a socialist socialist political party in Nicaragua. Its members are called Sandinistas in both English and Spanish.

In March 1982 the Sandinistas declared an official State of Emergency. They argued that this was a response to attacks by counter-revolutionary forces.  

Under the new “Law for the Maintenance of Order and Public Security” the “Tribunales Populares Anti-Somozistas” allowed for the indefinite holding of suspected counter-revolutionaries without trial. The State of Emergency, however, most notably affected rights and guarantees contained in the “Statute on Rights and Guarantees of Nicaraguans.  Many civil liberties were curtailed or canceled such as the freedom to organize demonstrations, the inviolability of the home, freedom of the press, freedom of speech and, the freedom to strike.

All independent news program broadcasts were suspended.

The State of Emergency was not lifted during the 1984 elections. There were many instances where rallies of opposition parties were physically broken up by Sandinsta youth or pro-Sandinista mobs.

On October 5, 1985 the Sandinistas broadened the 1982 State of Emergency and suspended many more civil rights.

Time magazine in 1983 published reports of human rights violations in an article which stated that “According to Nicaragua’s Permanent Commission on Human Rights, the regime detains several hundred people a month; about half of them are eventually released, but the rest simply disappear.”

Isn’t it cute that here in America we can take such horrible abuse of civil rights and turn it into a nice catchy phrase for T.J. Maxx?

The problem with the English language is not with the English language at all. It is with the lack of knowledge, or historical background, of the average person. When a society gets to the point that mass suicide and “disappearances” become fodder for television commercials for cheap blouses, something is very wrong.

I’m doing all I can. I haven’t used the term “hyperizin’ ill-dunkification!” since February first.

Sci-Fi Unconventional

1 Apr

April 1, 2010

Hold on to your hats!

I got an email today telling me that THE Sylvester McCoy will be making a rare appearance in NYC, and seating is limited to 100. GET YOUR TICKETS NOW!

WOOOO-HOOOOOOO! SYLVESTER MCCOY! YEAH!

What? No, he’s not the guy from Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. He’s Doctor Who!

No, he’s not the one with the scarf.

Hmm? Sorry, you’re thinking of Dr. McCoy, from Star Trek.

This is the guy who flies through time and space in a police box, sort of a British phone booth.

Well, kind of like what Clark Kent uses to change into Superman, but it’s blue and you can’t see in………….Yes, true, that would be handy for Clark Kent if no one could see him change.

Well, um, speaking of costumes, this is what he looked like back when he was playing The Doctor:

Who?

The question marks, yes, well, that was kind of the point. He was Doctor Who, get it? Like who is he?…………No, not what, who.

(Sigh.) I don’t know whose car that is.

Right, ha ha, “I don’t know Doctor Whose car that is.” I get it.

Anyway.

Sylvester McCoy is coming to town and a New York based group of Doctor Who fans have left their basement and organized a small meet and greet with a Q+A. (“Meet and greet.” “Q+A.” I feel dirty.) I’m not quite sure what to expect, as he had one of the shortest tenures as The Doctor (there have been about a dozen men playing that part) and fully three-quarters of his stories, er, were found lacking, let us say. On the other hand, HE WAS DOCTOR FREAKIN’ WHO!

I’ve been to conventions before, and thank God, this thing is not calling itself a convention. It is being held in some hipster lounge/trendy bar place I normally wouldn’t set foot in, but since I am, it is a good thing they serve alcohol. One of my favorite places, now closed, was a place in a bad neighborhood called Joe’s Cafeteria. It was what you’d expect- a hole in the wall place, with three cramped tables, and a surly guy not named Joe behind a couple of steamer trays. Damn his food was good. And not a hipster doofus/trendy “metro-sexual” in the place.

So this thing is not a convention (despite charging $20 for autographs) and its a good thing, because I have had my fill of conventions. Back in my teens I went to a couple of sci-fi conventions. I may have gone to two or two hundred, they all blur in my mind, which must be one of nature’s defense mechanisms.

Think of a Star Trek convention. You get mental images of nerds in Spock ears and fat guys dressed as Klingons speaking gibberish. That’s close. Sure, you find both kinds of life forms there, but if you can imagine a hybrid species, a fat Klingon with Spock ears, eating a sandwich and speaking only “Klingon,” you’re a little bit closer. I went to one of these shows and the guy who played Sulu, George “fuck Bill Shatner” Takei, was there. I got his autograph on a Star Trek quiz book and not ten minutes later one of those greasy Spock eared-Klingons in a tight “I grok Spock” t-shirt begged me to see it. I let him, and when I got my book back it was covered in his chocolate smeared fingerprints. I didn’t totally mind, as it turned that, up close and personal, Sulu was a bit of a jerk.

At either the same convention, or one just like it (it is all a merciful blur) Jonathan Frid made what was billed as “a rare appearance.” True, the guy did about a gazillion Dark Shadows and sci-fi conventions (he was Barnabas Collins) but this one was different, hence “rare.” He refused to talk about Dark Shadows. At all. He wouldn’t even take questions from the audience. No, we had pilled into a convention room for “An Evening With Jonathan Frid.” The lights were dim, there were candles on the stage, he was wearing a dark suit, it looked for all the world like he was recreating Collinwood on stage, but no.

He was there to recite his poetry at us. Awful, awful poetry, and once he started he would not stop. Old fashioned, archaic poetry like an English undergrad at community college wearing a beret with a paperback of Shelley in his back pocket, all aimed right at your face. I had heard that human brains have “pleasure centers,” but this performance fueled the discovery of the “displeasure center” and I felt appropriately nauseous. Plenty of people walked right out in the first ten minutes, me included. Frid didn’t sell many pictures that night, but I’m sure the three guys who stayed behind loved the poetery.

Another time a friend played a practical joke on me with a fake ticket. The less said about that the better (because it makes me look ridiculous, and a man in my position can’t afford to look ridiculous. [How well do you know your Godfather quotes, hmmm?]).

At one convention I badmouthed Peter David’s writing, totally unaware that the squat geek three seats away, in the ranger vest covered in Star Trek buttons and sporting a beard that made David Patterson’s look well-groomed was Peter David.

Against all odds, I’m going to venture to the Sylvester McCoy non-convention in the hopes, that at the very least, if it is a train wreck, at least it’ll make a good blog.

P.S. – Curse of Fenric was good, Survival is overrated, Silver Nemesis is disappointing, and Remembrance of the Daleks wasn’t bad. The rest? Ugh.