Ag-Gag Body Camera.

So called “Ag-Gag” laws have been passed in 8 states and a full HALF of the states in the United States have at some point attempted to pass Ag-Gag laws.

So what are Ag-Gag laws? Well I am glad you asked (because I actually know the answer to this one)!

The US 9th Circuit Court has described Ag-Gag laws as those laws which seek to criminalize the recording of the “conduct of an agricultural production facility’s operations.”

So what the hell is that about? Well I am glad you asked!

Basically these are laws designed to keep activists (henceforth referred to as DIRTY HIPPIES) from sneaking into agricultural production facilities and recording the goings on and then disseminating those recordings.

“But,” you ask, “what are the DIRTY HIPPIES doing breaking into dairies? Are they high or something? Is this a PSA about not smoking THE POT, because if it is then I have bad news for you because I am stoned like right now.”

Well no, that is not it at all.

“So what is it about then, man?” You ask this while gazing transfixed down at your hands.

Basically Ag-Gag laws exist …

“Hey,” you say, interrupting me quite rudely, “have you ever really looked at your own hands? Like really LOOKED at them?”

So Ag-Gag laws exist because …

“Really looked at them, I’m saying???”

This BTW is what you’re actually like when you’re high. Anyway, Ag-Gag laws exist so that the general public does not ever SEE the conditions in which livestock animals are bred, raised, and slaughtered.

Ask yourself, when was the last time you actually saw what a chicken farm looked like? The answer of course is that you haven’t seen one, because there are laws against anyone showing you one.

My family’s background is in agriculture and I grew up in a predominately agriculture focused region, so I know all of this. I’ve always known all of this. I’ve seen downer cows (these are cows that either due to damage, disease, or defect lose the ability to stand up) and I know what happens to them (they are slaughtered, but that was usually going to happen anyway) and so I am familiar with some of the cruelty that is built into our food systems. I think about it just about any time I eat meat. And I am no vegan.

It only recently occured to me that not everyone is me (though some of you could be trying a little harder) and so you might at this very moment be sitting down to a nice big steak with a side of scrambled eggs and a nice tall glass of milk and you MIGHT NOT EVEN KNOW that that food is made of ANIMALS!

“Animals???” You ask, still looking at your hands.

Yes, animals.

Realistically, I think that people low-key know that the large scale factory farming of meat has cruelty built into it, but I also think that people choose not to care because they do not know the scope of the cruelty, which means that people are not actually making informed decisions. And of course the reason they’re not making informed decisions is because there have been laws passed that make it illegal to inform them.

I don’t think that is great and I can’t think of another area in our civic life where such a thing would be true (except maybe Vietnam in the mid to late 1960s). Now I’m not a DIRTY HIPPIE and I’m not saying that factory farming is EVIL or anything (the cruelty has been ratcheted up because it creates efficiency in order to meet the demands of the marketplace), but I do think that the general population is being prevented from understanding this issue because of Ag-Gag laws. Don’t you want to know the real costs of things?

“No,” you say, suddenly looking up from your hands, “because you’re a DIRTY HIPPIE!” And then you pull out your badge because you’re A COP! “You’re under arrest!” You shout at me.

But you can’t arrest me because I am writing this in Arizona, which does not have any Ag-Gag laws.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” You ask while pulling off your stoner disguise and revealing your uniform underneath, “Well you didn’t take into account that I’m no by-the-book cop, I’m the prototypical rules-are-made-to-be-broken kind of Hollywood movie cop that has totally fucked up the modern police officer’s conception of what it means to be police officer!”

Then you push me to the ground and start kicking me and you’re shouting, “Dirty Harry movies completely brain fucked my entire profession!”

Just before I pass out from your kicks to my face, I notice that you’re wearing a body camera and so maybe maybe maybe, some good will one day come of all this mess.

*** Please tune in next when we discuss whether it’s better to burn alive with your loved ones in a thermonuclear first strike, or to survive the blast and starve to death in the irradiated post-apocalyptic hellscape. ***

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Today the pool at the gym looked like one of those abandoned Soviet amusement parks.

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Pinkos.

Did you know that in the early 20th Century three states passed laws that margarine had to be pink?

Margarine is an artificial butter substitute and it is white when extruded from the factory. It is dyed yellow to more closely resemble butter (which itself is often dyed yellow to more closely resemble what you think butter looks like).

The milk and butter lobby (“BIG BUTTER”, as I and I alone refer to them) got laws passed in 32 states that regulated and restricted the dying of margarine (read: not yellow). Only South Dakota, Vermont, and New Hampshire required that it be pink because obviously their state legislatures were filled with old timey Tammany Hall types who were as hilarious as they were sadistic.

Eventually the Supreme Court got involved and in their famous case, “I Can’t Believe It’s a Supreme Court Caliber Case v. Can You Even Fucking Believe This Is a Supreme Court Case” ruled that BIG BUTTER needed to stop wasting the Supreme Court’s MFing time.

Despite the SCOTUS ruling, the state of Wisconsin kept its anti-margarine dying laws on the books until 1967 because … let me check my notes. Oh yes .... because no one actually gives a shit what color the margarine is in Wisconsin. Like literally, I bet that after the Supreme Court ruling there was a meeting at the FBI that went something like this:

INT. J EDGAR HOOVER’S OFFICE. DAY.

FBI AGENT

So we have been hearing rumors that Wisconsin still doesn’t have yellow margarine, despite the Supreme Court ruling. Should we send some people up there to …

J. EDGAR HOOVER

Get the fuck out of my office.

FBI AGENT

But I just …

J. EDGAR HOOVER

No, seriously. Fuck you.

FBI AGENT

But the Supreme Court …

J. EDGAR HOOVER

My next meeting after this is about actual fucking Soviet spies. KGB assassins and shit. And you’re bringing me this broke ass, weak tea non-yellow margarine bullshit? And anyway, isn’t Wisconsin in Canada? How gives a seagull’s fuck in winter about Canadian butter. Are you embarrassed right now you asshole? Because you should be.

FBI AGENT

I’m … going to go now.

J. EDGAR HOOVER

Goddam right you are! Jerk.

END SCENE

I don’t have transcripts for any of that, but I have put in a FOIA request, just in case.

*** Please tune in next week when we examine legislation regulating what percentage of your toothpaste can be accidental insect parts. ***

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Iceberg, Ahoy!

Today I have been thinking a lot about Sarah Ruhl’s book 100 Essays I Don't Have Time to Write: On Umbrellas and Sword Fights, Parades and Dogs, Fire Alarms, Children, and Theater.

As the title indicates, the book is a series of micro-essays. It is a charming and interesting book. Some of the essays are almost poetry in and of themselves. This is one of my favorites:

11. An essay in praise of smallness

I admire minimalism.

It reminds me of a pretty little iceberg.

I have been thinking about that book because I am in a creative rut right now. In many ways this is less about my creative life than it is about my actual life. For better or worse, I have never been one of those writers who thrives in adversity. Sadly, I am one of those writers who thrives when I’m busy. Some of my most productive writing periods have been when I had non-writing and/or non-academic jobs, working 60+ hours a week and dealing with all kinds of other junk. I’m good at writing when it is a haven. I am bad at writing when my day is wide open. And oh man let me tell you, my life is waaaaay too wide open right now.

I’ve been trying to find a writing project just to get my fingers typing. I wonder if there might be something interested in playing around with what is called “flash nonfiction” because I know nothing about flash nonfiction. I guess I know that it is short and true. Maybe that would be a good name for a project.

This is likely not going to be good writing, but it isn’t supposed to be. If I have learned anything about writing in the nearly four decades I have been alive, it is that most writing isn’t good and a great deal of it shouldn’t even be done with goodness in mind.

And then I remembered that I have this whole website where I can post writing no matter how bad it is! WHAT A WONDERFUL COINCIDENCE!

If you’ll excuse me, now I need to go Google “flash nonfiction” to see what it is. Ig nothing else, I have been reading a lot of nonfiction lately, so at the very least I can start cataloguing interesting information. I don’t know. I know that I just need to be writing more because I am getting a little stir crazy out here in the desert with nothing to do.

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Am I crazy or is this basically saying, “You do all the work to make a podcast episode and then we’ll assemble it in such a way that it appears as if we made it without you”??? If that doesn’t make you want to run right out and sign up, it pays $300 for a 15-18 minute episode.

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From Cadillac Desert by Marc Reisner. I feel seen!

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Lately I’ve been doing fartlek runs (stop laughing, it’s a Swedish word) to get back in shape, so my time always blows. That being said, I ran my first ever half marathon today. For no good reason! #fartlek

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