Happy Mr. Rogers' Day

I originally published this way back in 2008, but I think it's worth reconsidering today. Why today? Well, today is the Spring Equinox, a time of possibility and hope. It's also Fred Roger's birthday.

Mr. Roger's was a staple of my childhood and, in all likelihood, yours. He was that constant force that told me, no matter how weird I was, someone out there liked me. I believed him. Kids have unerring bullshit detectors and Mr. Rogers knew that, so he was this sincere and had this much respect for everyone.

What's more, he answered every letter he got from a kid, was kind to just about everyone and with dignity and respect more than once told congress a thing or two about living and governing humanely. Mr. Rogers is my hero.

What follows is a lightly edited piece I wrote some time ago about Why Mr. Rogers is worth remembering, celebrating and emulating. For today, at least, let's all try to be a bit more like him. Have a great day, neighbor. I like you just the way you are.

*     *     *

This morning on NPR I heard a brief piece about Mr. Rogers. You know, Fred Rogers from Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. I listened to it and got teary, remembering just how much I loved him, how good I felt while spending time with him, how I knew he was talking just to me, not any other kid. They played this clip, recorded shortly after the 9/11 attacks and near the end of his life, directed at all of us who are now grown-ups but still need someone to like us, just the way we are.

Watch A Message of Hope on PBS. See more from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood.

I don’t think we should have to win an Academy Award to realize that “You like me! You really, really like me!” It stinks, really, that we need that level of affirmation and, let’s face, it, we all have days where we could use an Oscar to feel better about ourselves. Our culture isn’t set up to help us believe the best about ourselves. We’re too tallshortfatthinoldyoungblackwhiteasianlatinoetc
smartdumbrichpooroutgoingshymalefemalestraightgayidon'tknowetcetcetc too human to be good enough to stand up to the ideals and false standards we’re presented with and hold ourselves too.

Inside none of us measure up.

So let’s hear it for someone who told us, over and over again, that he likes us, just the way we are. I’ll ignore my inner critic who is suggesting that this post is just a bit too maudlin. You can ignore something else. Go ahead, like yourself.

Happy Fred Roger’s Day.

(c) 2008 and 2013 Laura S Packer

Some thoughts on manipulation

As a storyteller, part of my job is figuring out where my audience will feel emotional resonance with my subject. How can I thrill them, make them ache or laugh or yearn? I am in the business of creating empathy and connection. Some might call this manipulation, but I think it's more complex than that.  There is an implied contract in any art experience; the audience goes into it knowing they may experience emotional manipulation and, by agreeing to be in the audience, to some degree they are complicit with the manipulation.

As storytellers, we are ethically bound to not abuse this trust. There have certainly been those who have; Hitler, Pol Pot and McCarthy are a few I can think of offhand. But as artists and creators, we need to recognize that our audiences have given us permission to move them, within a certain set of boundaries. They want to be moved by the story, perhaps moved to reflect on their own lives and actions, maybe even moved to create change. But it isn't our job or right to deceive them with our stories into believing things they might otherwise find reprehensible.

We aren't the only ones who use manipulation in our daily work. Almost everyone does. Doctors, lawyers, graphic designer, marketers, architects, salespeople, landscapers, anyone who is passionate about what they do will use some form of emotional manipulation to persuade their audience or clients that what they offer is the best choice.

This is where it gets hazy. To what degree is it ethical to manipulate someone who hasn't agreed to the implied contract we have with our audiences as storytellers? What happens when this manipulation is the basis of the job? What are the societal implications?

I was spurred into this line of thought by a video released by Dove. This company does a great job of manipulating me. Their Real Beauty campaign argues that presenting artificial images of beauty is harmful and that they support a wider range of what can be beautiful, be it size or skin or ability. All of this, of course, is in the hope that you’ll buy their products. While I don’t use Dove products, I do love the message, that when we alter images artificially it creates impossible expectations of beauty that are harmful.

The video they released is below, give it a look. I like its subversive nature and, obviously, it got me thinking on the boundaries of acceptable manipulation. Modern advertising, pop culture, couture and more are built in these manipulated images, so it’s not going to change any time soon, but what would happen if it changed a little? And what are the boundaries of acceptable manipulation? In advertising, in art, and in our own lives.

I’d love to know what you think.



(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

Working class hero

Today is John Lennon's 70th birthday. Or it would have been, had he not been killed shortly after his 40th birthday. I am now older than John was when he died, which is an unsettling milestone.


If you know me for more than a little while, then you know I love The Beatles. I have a deep and personal relationship with each of them, just as millions do around the world. They kept me going during some of my darkest times, became a voice of reason when all the other voices I could imagine were urging me towards madness. They were and are among the loves of my life. If this seems silly to you, then I'm both sorry for you and envious; clearly you never loved fiercely what you knew was unattainable, clearly you never needed to.


While each Beatle holds meaning for me, John and George where my favorites. John gave me something to strive for. He helped me understand that it was okay to be smart. He showed me that a passion for social justice was nothing to hide. He helped me understand that speaking out was a worthwhile risk. Lennon certainly was no angel, any biography is full of his flaws, but his public persona was one that urged me to live better. To live larger. To be less afraid of standing up for what I knew was right even if it made me look foolish. He was willing to imagine a better, kinder world and to try to find a way to make it come true.


We need public figures who show this kind of fearlessness and willingness to risk. Lennon was among the first of many teachers in my life who urged me to be a fool for what I believe in. I will always be grateful. I still miss John, but hope that I have learned something from him. I know I'm not the only one.


Imagine


Imagine there's no Heaven 
It's easy if you try 
No hell below us 
Above us only sky 
Imagine all the people 
Living for today 

Imagine there's no countries 
It isn't hard to do 
Nothing to kill or die for 
And no religion too 
Imagine all the people 
Living life in peace 

You may say that I'm a dreamer 
But I'm not the only one 
I hope someday you'll join us 
And the world will be as one 

Imagine no possessions 
I wonder if you can 
No need for greed or hunger 
A brotherhood of man 
Imagine all the people 
Sharing all the world 

You may say that I'm a dreamer 
But I'm not the only one 
I hope someday you'll join us 
And the world will live as one 



(c)2010 Laura S. Packer
storyteller, writer, real-time dreamer

A modest proposal

This past weekend was the Pan Mass Challenge, a fund raising bike ride for the Dana Farber Cancer Center. I've done this ride several times in the past, riding 160 miles in two days. It changed my life, who I know myself to be and how I move through the world. I raised over $20,000 for cancer research. I realized that having cancer in my 20s was only a tiny piece of who I am. Over the course of those two days, I felt like a hero - the route is lined with supporters holding signs and cheering. It has been one of the peak moments of my life.


Last year, for various reasons mostly related to my back, I decided not to ride. It was the right decision. I didn't ride again this year and, while I still know it was the right decision, I miss it. But what is that I miss?


I still ride my bike, so that's not it. I am doing good in the world in other ways, though with less visibility, so it's not the impact I miss. I know who I am, as a survivor, fighter, athlete, human being, so that's not what I miss.


I miss feeling like a hero. I miss have a few moments in my life when I am part of the parade and I know they are cheering for me. And I miss knowing that this is in every way deserved. It's kind of a drug, that kind of support. And it's something we all should have a chance to experience a few times in our lives.


So here is my proposal:


We all do heroic things. We give money and time to a cause we believe in. We are kind unexpectedly. We go above and beyond the call of duty. We love our kids even when they're monsters. We love strangers' kids when they're monsters. We don't strike back at those who have hurt us. We keep going.


Why not have a few parades a year where we get to cheer for each other? One could be for parents, grandparents, step-parents, anyone involved in raising a child, even if that child is grown. Another could for people who are nice to their co-workers, a third for those who are nice to strangers. Whatever. We could make banners proclaiming our heroic acts and march proudly along, the local high school marching bands could strut their stuff (which I think is pretty heroic - come on, playing the tuba in high school?! How brave is that!?) while our friends and neighbors line the street and cheer for us. They can hold up signs that say things like You are an everyday hero! And when it's their turn to be in the parade we can hold up the same signs for them.


We'd all feel a little better, feel acknowledged and maybe be a little kinder to each other. I think it could work. What do you say, wanna be a hero?


(c)2010 Laura S. Packer

Identity - You are my sunshine...

My week-long series on identity was hijacked by the cold from hell. Instead of being a blogger I became a shambling consumer of tissues and cough drops.  Yuck. While identity is a topic that continues to interest me, I'm not sure if I will post on it through the coming week. Stay tuned.

For now, however, I want to look at identity in the context of other people. So far we've looked at identity through action and identity through sensory information. Both of these are ways we tell ourselves and others who we are. Today I'm interested in how we are viewed by others.

To my parents, I am first and foremost their daughter. They will always worry about me and love me as only parents can. I will always be their little girl, no matter how old I am, how self-sufficient and how capable. 

It would be wildly inappropriate for my lover to treat me the way my parents do. Instead he sees me in a completely different light, as friend and helpmate, as sexual partner and companion through life. He sees me as an adult and someone with whom he is particularly intimate.

My friends see me as someone else entirely, while my step-daughter sees yet another person, my co-workers someone else and so on.

We don different identities with each relationship, because each person with whom we interact sees us as someone different, depending on context, the power structures and roles in that relationship, its duration and so on. With luck, the person they see us to be has some correlation with who we are inside. We need to remember that our internal definitions may be at odds with someone else's definition of us and make allowances. Or not. The song You Are My Sunshine is a chilling example of what can happen when we think someone is a person they are not.

While we can never be who someone else wants us to be, it's worth just keeping their assumptions in mind. Sometimes they let us be better than we are.  And remember, the people you know may have a different image of themselves, so be kind. If you give someone the gift of being a bigger person than they are, they just might grow into it.

So, who are you to others? Do you agree? Are you a better person in their eyes?

(c)2010 Laura S. Packer

Identity - the five senses and external assumptions

As I've been pondering identity I keep coming back to internal vs external measures of who we are. We can define ourselves by internal measures or be defined by external ones. While ultimately I believe our internal definition carries more weight and power, as well as influence over those external assumptions, we are all labeled by various factors over which we have little control. Let's start there, with how we're identified on the outside. This also touches on cultural identity labels that we can't help but internalize.

When someone looks at you they may make some assumptions about you based on what they see, hear or smell.

• Skin color
• Sex
  
• How you're dressed
• How you look at them
• The tone of your voice
• The pace of your speech
• Your accent
• Your scent - good or bad, innocuous or overwhelming
  

Writers and those in the business of shaping identities know this well. They shape a reader's initial perception of a character by describing them as ragged or well-dressed, a slow, honeyed-drawl or the clipped tones of a school marm. You probably make assumptions about someone's identity by sensory input too, based on cultural assumptions. We all do. After all, a black man is more likely to have trouble flagging down a cab than a white one.

I know that when I dress well I am treated differently than when I wear jeans and t-shirt. Is this because I feel better about myself, I am telling myself I am worth a little fuss, and so project myself differently or because our culture responds differently to a woman in a dress? Equally, I know I shy back from someone wearing heavy perfume and may not take the time to get past my initial flinch of "Ugh, so-and-so smells too much. How inconsiderate." I read inconsideration into their identity when really, they probably just love their perfume and forget that others may not.

Another way to think about this is to consider what identity you project by your dress, your carriage, your cologne, your movements. Who do you want people to think you are? What would happen if you were to change some of your identity flags? How would people react? What if you decided the flags you can't change don't matter so much and you challenged assumptions people made about you based on them? What then? What if you decided to tell a different story? To what degree are the assumptions about our identities fixed by the outside world?

(c)2010 Laura S. Packer

Action vs inaction

Two anecdotes.

1. Late last week I was at the gym, swimming laps. While I was resting in-between sets I overheard a man in the hot tub say to the other men in the hot tub, "Hey! I've got a rabbi joke for you!" It was a variant of this joke or this one, only he clearly had no idea how Judaism works, because he ended the joke with the Rabbi talking to St. Peter at the pearly gates.

I began to fume, but decided to be polite and swim a few more laps to cool down. When I finished and was again resting, the guy said to a few new arrivals in the hot tub, "Hey, I've got a rabbi joke!" and told it again. I looked at the other men in the hot tub. Some were laughing (it is a funny joke) while others looked put off.

This is a gym with a multicultural population. Black and white people, asian people, latino people, middle eastern people and many different faiths. It's in a neighborhood that at one time had 4, count 'em, 4 synagogues. I bet he wouldn't have told jokes about women while I was there. Who knows what religion those other men were? We don't have to wear stars anymore.

I had enough. When I got out of the pool I sat in the hot tub for awhile (things got quiet once I settled in, I think having a woman there changed the dynamic) then, before I left I approached the jokester and quietly said, "Two things. It's a good joke. I've heard it with a minister, rabbi, iman and Jerry Falwell. And just so you know? Jews don't meet St. Peter at the pearly gates. We have an an express line." I walked away without looking back.

2. A couple of days later I was at an amusement park with my sweetie and a friend. At the house of mirrors we saw a little girl crying her head off. At first I thought she'd just gotten scared, but upon looking again I saw she was bleeding. A lot. She had clearly been running inside the maze and slammed into a wall. Blood was pouring out of her nose, was all over her hand and her shirt.

Her parents were no where around. There were two slightly older girls with her who looked as though they were about to burst into tears; they clearly didn't know what to do.

The amusement park attendant was just standing there. Other adults nearby were watching. No one was doing anything to help this screaming kid who kept trying using her bare hands to try to stop her nose from bleeding.

I asked my sweetheart for tissues (he always has some) and gave them to her. She knew exactly what to do, this clearly wasn't her first nose bleed. I told her she was going to be fine, told the two girls (her cousins, as it turned out) to call her parents. They said they tried but no one answered. I suggested they try again and sent our friend to get water so we could wash off the girl's hand, as she was clearly upset by seeing the blood on her palm.

She calmed down. The cousins calmed down. The other unrelated adults stood and watched or wandered away. A park EMT finally showed up and helped her just as her mother arrived, so we left. There was nothing else to do other than find a bathroom, wash my hands and enjoy the rest of the day. Which we did.

* * *

In neither of these cases was I being heroic nor doing anything that I consider out of the ordinary. I was acting in situations where I believe action is warranted. And that's what I ultimately find upsetting - I wasn't the first person there, it's likely I wasn't the first person to be distressed by what was happening, yet I was the first person to do anything.

It doesn't take much in the way of courage to act in these small ways. You can safely and easily make a difference in the world by quietly letting a bigot know it's not okay (ever hear of Stetson Kennedy and frown power? He is one of my heroes) or offering comfort to a child.

When we stand up in a civilized manner for what we believe is right, when we intervene to help the weak, we are making an impacting in that moment and modeling behavior that may inspire others to stand up for what they believe in. The current tone of incivility in American discourse serves only to make me more determined to act with kindness and integrity when I have the opportunity.

I don't know if the man who told the joke at the pool learned anything or will tell that joke again. I do know that I could have embarrassed him by chastising him loudly or embarrassed myself by yelling. I hope he will consider where he is and who might be listening before he tells it again.

I don't know if the park personnel will consider trying to comfort the next screaming child, at least offering her a napkin so she isn't covered in blood, nor do I know if other adults might consider being kind to children other than their own. I do know in that moment she needed someone to tell her she would be okay. I hope her older cousins consider being kind when they have the opportunity.

I also know I could not have remained inactive in either of those circumstances. Perhaps that makes me a busy-body. I've certainly been accused of that and worse. But overall? I'd rather act and risk offending, taking a chance that I might effect change, than choose to do nothing and let the world slide further into inaction, incivility and apathy.

(c) 2009 Laura S. Packer

Technology becomes art

OASIS (HD) - sand from yunsil heo on Vimeo.

And art creates a collective experience.

OASIS from yunsil heo on Vimeo.

Six things I can do to fight poverty

Another post for Blog Action Day. Please feel free to post your own list in comments!

1. Donate to a reputable charity. You can find a list here.
2. Use fewer resources so there is more for other people.
3. Make informed choices about the companies I purchase from.
4. Make a microloan.
5. Be less greedy, be grateful for what I have, make do with less.
   
6. Talk about it, remind others that poverty exists. Be a voice for the voiceless.
   

Your turn...



(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

And the poor boy set out on his adventure...

Today is Blog Action Day, when bloggers around the world post on one topic to raise awareness and build momentum for change. This year's topic is poverty.

Once upon a time there was a poor boy...

When I was a kid we didn't have stuff like you do today...

How many stories start out with the memory of poverty and arc through to riches and comfort? Over and over again, we tell the story of wealth obtained through luck or hard work or guile. The collective memory of want is deeply ingrained in human experience.

No matter where we are on the scale of wealth - living in a refugee camp eating gruel or one of the super rich - there is always something we hunger for, some kind of poverty that seems to haunt us. Here in America, where I am writing, many of us are lucky. We have the wealth to feed ourselves, afford clothing and shelter. Even if it isn't what we might think we want, we have enough. We have enough that obesity is an epidemic and we throw away more than many nations consume.

But poverty is still everywhere. Walk through the inner city and see the buildings falling down. Travel through the country landscape and search out the more insidious forms of rural poverty, where washing machines on porches distract us from roofs that let in the rain. Yet even this poverty is mild compared to that in other countries. Children with swollen bellies. The favelas of Rio, the slums of India, on and on and on.

Our capacity to allow our fellows to suffer is deeper than we care to admit - it's easy to change the channel, it's easy to say, "I don't have spare change this month." It's this poverty of the spirit that lets us ignore the change we can create.

When the story begins with Once Upon a Time, the poor boy always meets helpers. We are those helpers. Those of us with the resources to write and read blogs. You and me. Be the old woman on the road who offers the magic spell, the hand up. Be the companion who finds the resource the hero needs.

So imagine this:
You're hungry. You haven't had a good meal in who knows how long. You're cold and tired and just worn out. You don't have access to a computer to read this blog - or to look for a job, or for a recipe if you had enough money for food anyway. Someday you'll tell your children about how you were really poor, to comfort them when you can't feed them. It's a rotten story.

Now imagine this:
A world where no one is so poor they can't afford to feed themselves and their children. A world where stories about poor heroes are just stores. A world where richness of the spirit has created ample opportunity for all.

We can be the change the world needs. All you need to do is open your eyes, look, and be a hero for someone else's story.


(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Another Hero: Pete Seeger

Before I delve into another set of thoughts on listening (and it's coming, don't worry) I wanted to touch upon another of my heroes while he's fresh in my mind. The other night while making dinner (roasted eggplant with cilantro green sauce, seared tilapia, stuffed clams) I stumbled across an American Masters program about Pete Seeger. The food was a little saltier than I'd intended, seasoned with tears of joy for his life, sorrow that his work is still so relevant and remembrance for everything his music has meant to me.

I am so moved by this man's bravery and integrity. Not that his actions are news to me, but I am reminded of it anew. Talk about walking in hope - for peace, justice, environmental health and welfare and more. Pete has sung out for civil rights, human rights, labor, kids - he has helped shape the current progressive agenda. And he's done all of this while being a decent human being. He is relentlessly hopeful that we can be our better selves, living in kindness, compassion and with respect for all living things. That takes immense courage and inner resourcefulness - it's easy to get hopeless and forget that we have the capacity to change, grow and be kind. Pete reminds us that we can.

He invoked the First Amendment when called in front of the House Un-American Activities Committee. How's that for courage! He's named in the Supreme Court case that helped to establish precedent for conscientious objectors. Anyone who says arts and artists don't make a difference should look at this man.

Plus the man sings and encourages us to sing! I bet, regardless of whatever kind of music you like, you know some of his songs. How about this, "To every thing, turn, turn turn..." I bet you hear a melody. Or, "Where have all the flowers gone..." or... well, you know what I mean.

Heroes come in many different shapes and sizes. Pete Seeger reminds me that hope is a verb - it move us to action and feeds us. He reminds me that voices lifted together in song are stronger than those shouting in discord. He reminds me that human beings, regardless of race, color or creed have the potential for such love, such joy and such music. Thanks, Pete.

ps - the photo is from peteseeger.net, a lovely appreciation site.

(c) 2008 Laura Packer

Santa, faith and miracles

If you are under the age of, oh, 20, you may want to stop reading now. I'm going to talk about some things that you might not want to know. If you're over 20 you might want to stop anyway, because I hope to challenge some of your assumptions and shattered beliefs. Though, really, isn't that what blogging is all about?

It's the season where overweight elderly men in decidedly out-of-fashion red and white suits are all the rage. You know who I'm talking about. Mr. Claus. Santa.

I have no interest in Santa-bashing. I'm not going to explore his better-than-the-NSA security (after all, he knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake), nor will I deign to impugn his fondness for bouncing kids on his knee. I trust that he is what he seems to be, a kindly old man, a great listener, a generous soul who manages to accomplish miracles over the course of one night.

That's right, I'm suggesting that maybe, somehow, Santa is real. Sure, at some point in your life someone told you that your parents put those presents under the tree, that it was all a sham. When I found out, I cried. I felt deeply betrayed by my family, by all the people who said they were Santa, by the world. Some of the magic was gone. But the kid who told me that was wrong.

I'm tempted to go into some kind of Yes, Virginia-esque rant about how Santa lives in all of us, but I won't. Instead I'll simply suggest this. Of course Santa is real. He is believed in by hundreds of thousands of kids all around the world, and reality is highly subjective. For them, he is real, flesh and blood, no-sense-questioning-the-miracles kind of real. There are other things thousands, millions of people believe in with less evidence than Santa, that they have absolute faith in. UFOs. God. Miracles. Who am I to disuade them of their belief brings them comfort and joy while harming no one else? Who am I to say that the things they believe in aren't real? Isn't that part of what faith is about - believing in something you can't prove is real? Kind of like string theory?

Sure, Santa needs help with his miracles. We all need help with miracles. I think it's kind of miraculous that my Jewish parents went to the trouble of drinking the milk, eating the cookies and leaving me notes on Christmas (not to mention giving me gifts) so I wouldn't feel left out when the other kids got visits from Santa. Thanks, Mom and Dad. I appreciate that miracle, it was a wonder for me as a kid. And I didn't feel left out.

I think it's kind of miraculous that so many people at work gave to Toys for Tots so kids they didn't know would have something to play with this holiday season.

I think it's kind of miraculous that we're all still here in the first place.

So maybe Santa is that force in the world that reminds us to be kind to each other, that we can extend ourselves a little bit more to help each other out. That listening to one another doesn't cost anything beyond some time and patience. If Santa is kindness and listening and patience - those miraculous forces that can change lives and the world - then I'm a believer, no matter what anyone says. It's worth having faith in something.

(c) 2007 Laura S. Packer

Lights in the darkness

Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah. When I was a child, my family didn't really observe any of the Jewish holidays. As an adult I am finding they have growing importance and meaning, but because I am coming to this now, I am creating my own meaning in addition to the traditional ones.

I know, Hanukkah in America has been overblown so Jewish kids have something to feel good about while all the Christian kids have Christmas. But it is more than that. Like so many Jewish holidays, it chronicles a story of survival and the celebration is about making it through adversity with some miracles thrown in for good measure. They tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat! We've been telling that story for a long time. All humans can tell that story, regardless of ethnicity or religion.

I also believe it's no mistake that this holiday, the festival of lights, happens now, in the darkest days of the year. We light candles to give thanks for past miracles and for this moment in our lives. It's a reminder of the gifts of our lives, even in the dark, in this moment.

These messages - of survival, of hope, of determination, of memory - are captured in the photograph that heads this entry. It speaks for itself.

For the next eight nights I will light candles and tell stories of surviving adversity, whether it's about having enough oil to re-sanctify the temple, beating illness, saying goodbye, or just making it through another day. I'll make latkes. I'll consider the darkness and power of one small light in the night.

(c) 2007 Laura S. Packer

Blog Action Day

Today is Blog Action Day, when thousands of blogs all over the world post on one topic - the environment. Far be it from me to be left out of this kind of event, even if I'm late getting on board.

So here are some things I love that are happening in the environment right now:

- the scent of the woods in the autumn
- the sound of geese migrating in the evening
- the taste of cold water drunk from cupped hands by the spring
- the feel of green moss on the tree trunk against my fingers
- the sight of wide open spaces, uninhabited and clean.

When we say the word "environment" in this context we generally mean a clean, healthy place, though the word simply means the circumstances, objects, or conditions by which one is surrounded. I am writing this in a bleak environment, florescent lights, no windows and cubicle walls around me. But I know the whole world is out there, that the environment as a living, complex, interactive thing is just waiting for me to step out and be a part of it.

We are all part of the environment and are all responsible for it, so here's what I suggest. Go outside. Take a walk. Breath some of that real air in. If you are someplace where the air is pleasing count your blessings then write a letter to your local legislator to keep it that way and to improve it for someone else. If you live someplace where it is not so pleasant to breath then write a letter, make a call, knock on the door of your representative (even if you didn't vote for them, they are yours) and let them know it needs to change.

And own up to doing what you can, every day. I keep this list pinned to my wall. I don't follow it religiously, but it makes me stop and think.

10 Simple Things to Start with Today

1. Turn off lights and other electrical appliances when not needed.
2. Do things manually instead of electrically, like open cans by hand.
3. Use fans instead of air conditioners.
4. In winter, wear a sweater instead of turning up your thermostat.
5. Use less water.
6. Whenever possible, use public transport, or ride your bike or walk. You'll meet interesting people and feel better too!
7. Use recycled paper products; recycle paper when you're done with it.
8. Support local farmers.
9. Use cloth bags when you shop or bring your own.
10. Think before you use and live joyfully!

Try it, you just might change the world!

(c) 2007 Laura S. Packer

Why zombies?

When I was a little girl I had a recurring nightmare in which a slow, shambling creature would chase me with deadly intent. No matter where I hid, no matter what I did, it kept coming. I could not escape, and sooner or later it would get me, though I would usually wake before I could feel its cold, clammy hands rending me limb from limb. The fact that in this dream the creature was a mummy (inspired no doubt by the Universal Mummy films) doesn’t diminish the horror nor does it negate the striking similarity between this nightmare monster and the zombies we’re seeing everywhere. The shamble. The rot. The inexorable nature of the beast.

The cannibalistic dead have been around for a long time, referenced in the epic of Gilgamesh when Ishtar, enraged by Gilgamesh’ refusal of her advances, threatens to “…let the dead go up to eat the living!” They’ve waxed and waned in popularity since. Zombies first appeared in popular film in White Zombie, released in 1932 and starring Bela Lugosi. Zombies as we think of them were defined by George Romero in his Dawn of the Dead and subsequent sequels. And these days they are everywhere.

So what is it about zombies? What are we so obsessed with them?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, as have lots of other people. Philosophers love zombies, because it allows for different kinds of speculation about human behavior (a human being without full consciousness allows for thought experiments against the concepts of identity and the mind).

Frankly, I think this philosophical discussion is just what film makers and social activists are engaging in, only with more gore and humor. They are exploring, and we are exploring with them, what happens when masses of people stop thinking and simply react, driven by basic, consuming needs. Zombies consume mindlessly and their need to consume is contagious. They spread fear. They are the ultimate expression of group-think without independent motivation or action beyond consume.

Let’s see, what other entities are consuming mindlessly, promoting mindless consumption, and are using fear as their weapon against those that don’t want to consume? I’ll leave that as a rhetorical question, because several entities fit that bill to one degree or another, and they all are ubiquitous, surrounding us every day and urging us to join them, stand with them, watch them, vote for them, etc.

I suspect our obsession with zombies also rises from a desire to belong. If you’re a zombie, you don’t have to think, you just shamble along with everyone else. It’s not like being a werewolf, where you have that whole lone wolf issue to contend with. If you’re a zombie you can go outside during the day or night, not like those elitist vampires. If you’re a zombie you’re part of the group. And you’re already dead, so it doesn’t matter if someone kills you. Your whole mission is to make more zombies, not hide any annoying secrets (can you imagine how much werewolves spend on clothes?) or deal with politics (the way vampires have to). It’s a simpler, more inclusive way of life. Or death.

And zombies are safe to fantasize about. They capture our fears about group think and brain washing, not to mention cannibalism and contagion, but we’re pretty sure we’d be able to beat them if they really showed up. We’re smarter than zombies right? We can use them for social commentary (nothing like shambling down the street or through a mall with a political sign accompanied by other zombies to make a point) but it’s commentary done with humor and fake blood, so it’s not too threatening to the powers that be. But bystanders see the zombies and read the signs.

Zombies are an excellent nightmare for the early 21^st century. Fearful, inexorable, contagious, and visible. They are not terrorists but the fear terrorists seek to create. They are not our government but the control our government is trying to invoke. They are not our media, but the way our media sponsors try to drive us to behave. They are the perfect metaphor for these creeping, inevitable times.

But just in case: To kill a zombie you must destroy its brain. Fire won’t work, a bullet to any other part of the body won’t work. Destroy its brain and if you have the time, burn the body. If all else fails, run and don’t look back.

(c) 2007 Laura S. Packer