thought shards

It's one of those confetti mornings -- nothing on the front burner, but a few little tickles of color....

-- The gimme goliaths may be dancing in the aisles, but I think they might be better advised to don their Kevlar. On Friday, by an 86-vote margin, workers at a Chattanooga, Tenn., Volkswagen plant rejected representation by the United Auto Workers. It was a strange vote in which the company itself remained largely neutral. The same could not be said for outsiders (politicians among them) who saw/see union representation as a threat to mom, flag, apple pie and their pocket books. The vote is one more nail in the much-nailed union coffin, but the slippery slope towards a time when workers no longer have a voice is likewise a slope that leads, for my money, towards eventual explosive blowback and bloodshed.

-- It's probably just a function of my age and heaven knows I can recognize many of the horrors of the past, but this morning it occurs to me that anyone who wants to make a splash by announcing a homosexual persuasion had better hurry up: The time for surprise and sharp intakes of breath is running out of steam ... at least from where I sit. This morning, it's an actress named Ellen Page. A week ago, it was high-profile Missouri University defensive whiz Michael Sam who may or may not turn out to be the first openly-gay player in the National Football League. Such announcements may be a good way of raising a sagging profile ... I don't know. I do know that 'coming out' after so many years of being 'in the closet' is a courageous and sometimes pain-filled effort. But I was irritated this morning to see that Ellen Page's announcement was treated as news. "Who gives a shit?" a small voice barked... a man or woman is gay -- so what? A man or woman is straight -- so what? I can hear and even make the countervailing observations, but just at the moment -- who gives a rat-fuck? It's like some endless discussion about the five fingers of a (wo)man who has five fingers.

-- Once upon a time, there were critters along the evolutionary ladder that had no faces. It is hard, somehow, to imagine a creature with no face. It is interesting how strong the assumption of "a face" is. Would anyone be less -- or more -- without a face? If someone lacked a face, what meaning could be infused in the interjection, "Face it!"? Would anyone have a face even if s/he lacked a face? It's a strange realm.