My First Protest

Sounds like it should be a thing sold by Mattel - Baby's First Protest. Or at least a T-shirt. But T-shirt or not, I just attended my first protest, which was against the Koch brothers and their financial plotting which, as I understand it, essentially stymies democracy and how it's supposed to work. Who says machine politics is dead? Its just diversified.

For those of you who missed my last post, the Koch (pronounced like Coke) brothers are billionaires who own oil refineries, Brawny paper towels, Stainmaster carpet, Lycra and other lucrative properties. They have an annual, invitation-only, secretive meeting to strategize how best to affect the political process in this country and influence elections accordingly. See Jane Mayer's fab New Yorker article for details. Koch Industries is headquartered outside of Wichita, Kansas which further begs the question: just what is wrong with Kansas, anyway?

Protest groups, operating under the assumption that the brothers and their invitees are planning how to best influence current national policy as well as the 2012 election assembled from 1:30 - 4 p.m. today practically just outside my front door. The ironic truth here is that both factions - the billionaires at the Rancho Las Palmas Resort in Rancho Mirage, California and the assortment of organizations against them - believe that they are acting in the best interests of Americans. The Koch crew, though, is acting in the interest of rich Americans. All the other organizations protesting are demonstrating for the rest of us. Really, the two groups have a basic mission in common: to keep more of what they have.

Check out BiologicalDiversity.org.

Phyllis Burgess, 72, of Palm Springs.

Interesting about this demonstration: just about everybody with an ax to grind shows up. Even a polar bear was in attendance, no doubt motivated by the Koch brothers' efforts to convince Americans that climate change is not real, but a fabrication of scientists. (Could someone please tell me why scientists would make that up? Someone?) Even a 72-year-old Palm Springs resident named Phyllis Burgess showed up with her cross to bear. Phyllis survived a Prop 8 demonstration at which she was one of few demonstrators supporting marriage for straight people only. Of course, the 9-11 conspiracy theorists were there as well.
Not to sound like Pollyana, but what I'm grateful for in all of this is that I live in a place where we can protest peacefully and not get dragged in to police custody, shot, or worry about someone looting my home while I'm at the protest. If you've been conscious for the past few days, you'll note that Egyptians have not been so fortunate in trying to oust Mubarak. And when this crowd of about 1,000 people walked across Bob Hope drive and effectively shut down traffic for the better part of an hour, the police did nothing besides continue to stand watch with their helmets and batons at the gates of the resort (oh, and on the roof, too) and, further down the road, direct traffic away from the site.

Local press was present, and here's an early posting on KPSP local news.

Greenpeace in the House - Rancho Mirage

On my morning walks, I generally see the same things and people. The old BMW with the broken window. The two old guys that grunt their way through a couple morning sets of tennis. The really overweight guy with his German shepherd dog. The lady with her half dozen little pushed-in-face dogs that look like string mops minus the handle. The Greenpeace airship across from the Rancho Mirage Library.

Uh - yeah. The Greenpeace airship. Being inflated in an empty lot (which is posted No Trespassing, by the way) across Hwy 111 from the Rancho Mirage Library, just down a couple blocks from the Bentley and Land Rover dealerships. The dirigible is emblazoned with STOP GLOBAL WARMING on one side, and KOCH BROTHERS DIRTY MONEY on the other.

According to Connor, a young man wearing a Greenpeace t-shirt and watching the proceedings, the Koch brothers are visiting the a desert resort to plot political strategies which, for the most part, directly oppose anything that the Obama administration has done or wants to do. For more info on the Koch brothers, check out this fabulous New Yorker article from August. Chilling. But we all know about the liberal press and its agenda. So these two guys who own the second largest privately held company in America (behind Cargill, that humble Minnesota gang) are just being persecuted.

A quick break-down on the bros David and Charles: They own Koch Industries, just outside of Wichita, Kan., which has holdings such as oil refineries, Dixie cups, Brawny paper towels, and Lycra, for cryin' out loud. (Someone actually OWNS Lycra? Of course they do.) They have ingratiated themselves into the NYC philanthropic scene with, well, lots of money. For a lot of different organizations. LOTS of money. And they've also sunk LOTS of money into their political agenda, largely opposing things like health care and environmental regulation and social programs. Bad for profits.

By the way, the photographs of the Greenpeace airship were taken from my patio. The thing literally cast a shadow on me as I was trotting home to grab my camera. They'll be buzzing the valley for the weekend during this meeting of the big money minds. Common Cause will be here, too, staging a rally at The River parking lot (right out my front door!) on Sunday, January 30 from 1:30 - 3:30 p.m. to "uncloak the Kochs" and the huge money that they've pumped into the system so far. Hey ... you think these are the guys behind the whole 2010 election thing? (Gee, ya think?)

After the Rains

I live in the desert. Specifically, the Mojave Desert, which is one of the hottest and driest placed in North America. Here in the Coachella Valley (think Death Valley – with golf courses) we can count on anywhere from two to four inches of rain a year. Considering that a desert is classified as any place that gets less than 10 inches per year, we are over achievers in the dry department.

When I moved to Palm Desert in January 2005, just about every resident here bemoaned the weather. It rained. On and off for most of January and part of February, it rained. It was beautiful – 50 to 60 degrees, soft, warm, soaking rain. I loved it. Coming from Kansas City where they were reveling in ice storms and random snow dumps, I was in heaven. Clouds hung low over the San Bernadino’s. Snow crowned San Gorgonio Pass. No matter where I went, mountains shifted with the shadows. Driving down Hwy 111 in Rancho Mirage, I watched the mountains become fuzzy green.

Then, of course, I encountered summer. Algae blooms and fish die-offs at the Salton Sea. Wildfires up by Pioneer Town. Temperatures topping out around 120 degrees. Like I said, Death Valley.

Somewhere around that time, the honeymoon was over with the desert and me. I came to dislike it. Hot. Relentless sun. No shade. No good running routes because every development was gated. And arrogant Californians. I can’t recall how many times I had this conversation:

“Kimbel is a recent transplant to the desert,” said by my former best friend who introduced me to my now ex-husband.

“Ooh – where are you from, Kimbel?” I would be asked by a friend of said former best friend, usually someone who had retired here. There is, after all, a preponderance of those over 55.

“The Midwest.” I had learned to generalize after the first couple times.

“Where in the Midwest?” Still polite. Sort of.

“Kansas City, Missouri.”

Whether instant or preceded by a beat of silence, the reply was essentially always the same.

“Thank God you’re out of there.”

Once, a partner in my ex-husband’s firm ’fessed up to being from Kansas City.

“Oh, so you grew up there.” I felt surge of hope and possible camaraderie.

“God no. My dad got out of there when I was two. Best thing he ever did for us.” He smirked.

“Oh. So you don’t remember it.”

“No.”

“And you’ve never visited?”

“God no.”

I paused a millisecond.

‘Then you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

It seemed that these Californians were rude, egotistical, blinded by their Mojave surroundings and the lifestyle everyone out here seems to have. I began to truly dislike the desert. Add to that the fact that my then-husband detested traveling at any time let alone the summer, and seemed ecstatic in one-hundred-teen temps, I began to feel as though I had been taken hostage. When I left the marriage about a year and a half ago, freedom was like a Coke and a smile. Thank God I could get out of here.

And get out I did. This summer I traveled for a few months (as many of you read on this blog) and loved it. Driving, doing cheap-yet-clean motels, sometimes doing nice hotels, kamping at KOA, all that. I was essentially scouting for a new home. Along the way, I fell in love with Montana, especially Missoula.

When I returned this September (I won’t say “autumn,” because I still don’t discern actual seasons here) it was still more than 100 degrees, miserably humid, and stayed that way into October. (Note to self …) Depression set in. After a few weeks of feeling resentful about not living in Montana with a well-read yet studly cowboy on his ranch complete with Quarter Horses, it occurred to me that I had better get on with it. I am here, and here I am.

So the next few entries will be all about the Coachella Valley and its environs – the natural environment, attractions, good food, favorite things. They say that you can’t really write about a place until you leave it. I’m going to try it the other way first.

All that said, I’m posting a few photographs of the recent rains that closed highways in the L.A. area, flooded portions of the UC, Riverside main campus (caused power outages here and there, too) and made the Whitewater wash behind the condos where I live look sort of like the river it used to be. Next, hiking with Lucy.