Wow. Okay, so first of all, I don't know how people keep up with the daily blog lifestyle. Right now I am about to forego some deadline work to make a little post here. I am making a mental note to eventually get back to talking about why seeing Modest Mouse finally pushed me into this online journaling. But for now, let's talk about The Big Stink.
The Big Stink is a story about one woman attempting to strip me of my First Amendment rights and, in the process, attempt to ruin my career, and how I fought back. But first, let me preface with two other tales of my First Amendment rights being challenged recently.
Incident One:
Since last April, I have kept, on my front lawn, a running tally of U.S. Troops Killed in Iraq. I have also added the number of Dead Iraquis. And sometimes I put up a comment or two about the Bush administration. And twice I wrote specific names of Austin soldiers who lost their lives in this travesty of a conflict.
This makeshift monument grew and grew as the numbers grew and grew, going from 610 to over 1200. It stretched across my yard. When it hit 1,000, I placed a roadblock in the middle of the walk leading to my front steps. Upon this I placed a poster board with 1,000 written in very large letters. Beneath this number I included a picture of George Bush with a Hitler moustache and the slogan: Got Death?
People stopped by the house all the time to read the signs. This reminded me of back when we let some huge anthills grow and grow and folks would stop and kneel down and watch the ants in action. I never intended the ants or the dead soldier signs to become an interactive performance art peice, but both did.
One night, in early November, while I was out of town, someone came by, planted a Bush Cheney sign in my front yard, and knocked down the memorial signs. I tore up the former and restored the latter. Then, on Thanksgiving night, someone came by, destroyed all my signs, removed them from the lawn, and threw them in the street. The lawn was naked. The first time the signs were knocked down, one neighbor came by to thank me for restoring them. Another left a card, also thanking me. The second time, when the signs were destroyed, yet another neighbor asked if I wanted to make something more permanent. I said maybe then went inside, made some more homemade signs saying, "You can destroy the signs, but you can't destroy the truth." And I started the death count again.
That very night, someone came and stole the new signs. Again my neighbor asked if I wanted something more permanent. I agreed and set off to run errands. I returned to find that he had dug a trench, poured concrete, installed a thick fencepost, reinforced this with steel pipes and rebar to prevent chainsawing, and screwed a huge piece of plywood to the front, to which he affixed, also with screws, my American for Peace sign. He also left me some space to get creative. On his suggestion, I started the Kill-O-Meter. Now when you walk by my house, you can stop and look at this billboard of death. It is an immoveable feat. My neighbor said he did it, more than anything, because he supports the First Amendment. In addition, yet ANOTHER neighbor anonymously left a beautiful photo s/he'd taken of my house at night, with my Italian Peace flag illuminated from behind by the lights inside the house. So the vandalism, all most as much as the signs themselves, have really brought the neighbors together.
Incident Two:
Okay, so let's move along here. I teach at about eighty different schools in Austin. Not really. But if you add up the workshops, the regular gigs, the book clubs, and my summer writing camp, I do move from campus to campus, often teaching at two or three places in a single day and interacting with hundreds of kids and their parents. At one campus, a parent complained to the principal about one of my (many) bumper stickers, the one that says, "Bush is a PunkAss Chump." The parent swears it's not about the political sentiment but rather the word "ass." I explained to the principal that I am well within my rights to sport this sticker and, besides, I don't even park on campus, I park on the street. What is happening to this country that the conservatives feel like they can control what they don't like and demand it be changed. I hate every Bush sign and sticker that I pass but I don't rip them down or report them to some authority to try to have them removed. FREE SPEECH IS A RIGHT.
The Big Stink:
But here comes the most amazing attempt to try to censor me. Yes, it's time to tell the tale of The Big Stink. A few months ago a public school librarian contacted me and asked me to lead a book group for kids. I agreed. I've done this before. Once you deduct the cost of the book, the time spent reading it, gas and mileage, and the hour I lead the club, I average about $5 per hour. But I do it anyway because I love when kids are passionate about reading and I get a kick out of it. Well, less than a month before the club was to begin, I was uninvited to lead it because a parent had researched the writing I do for adults and, based on this, and without researching the years of work I've done with children, complained that I was unfit as a role model for children. She told the administration if I was not removed from the club she would get very vocal and make things very unpleasant for all involved. She composed and distributed a very long letter in which she initially attempted very hard not to be libelous or slanderous.
For example, she likened me to Erica Jong and Philip Roth, citing that all three of us MIGHT be good writers but NONE of us are suited to speak to children. Before long, however, the letter writer could not control her rage and began leveling accusations that were absurd, calling me a man-hater, saying if I were a man I'd be a misogynist, and that I get away with my behavior by masking it in sarcasm. Two specific points that amused me greatly were these:
The letter writer went to my web site, saw a parody wedding announcement-- CLEARLY a parody-- and in her letter warning other parents of the Dangers of Spike, cited the fact that I had GONE TO CANADA AND MARRIED MY CAREER. Actually, for the record, marrying one's career has not even been embraced by those liberal freak canucks yet. That was a joke. My apologies to those of you who feel tricked and thought I actually did wed my career. In fact, we continue to live in sin and, I cannot lie, I am screwed very very often by said career.
The letter writer also noted that all one need to do to recognize my perversity is to visit my online novel, www.thebelljar.net (Aside: if you take this advice and can spare a few bucks, please make a donation. Thanks. My career and I are saving up for a honeymoon ON MARS!!) She said that just the first two words would suffice in revealing me for the morally inferior human that I am. (For the record, those first two words are: Donkey Cock.) She provided a link to this chapter. She then noted that, if this were not evidence enough, there was more to be found. She went on to cite several incidents of sex in my book. I'm pleased that she enjoyed these moments enough to search thoroughly for all of them. I'm happy for her, too, that scrolling down only requires one hand.
Anyway, so my initial reaction upon being uninvited was to say, fine, whatever, I pity the kids of the parents who would persecute me. I mean, I don't read them excerpts from my adult books. Duh. I discuss young adult literature with them. And it's not worth it financially. But then one of my lawyer friends pointed out how easily I was giving up and letting this one woman, with so much smutty-Spike-reading time on her hands-- excuse me, her HAND-- get me kicked out.
So I asked to be reinvited. Now, I don't know what got said to whom. All I know is, at 2:18 yesterday a reporter contacted me and informed me that the Communications department of AISD had informed her that I was about to be re-invited. And that's what happened. The principal called. I was reinvited. And I accepted. Meanwhile, there will be a second book club for students whose parents hate me. And also, because I chose to beat the letter writer and make a big stink about myself first by contacting several local and national reporters, tens if not hundreds of thousands of people are aware that this school is allowing Spike the Scandalous Writer lead their children.
I do wonder, among this group, how many claim to worship the King of Compassion, Jesus Christ, a man who did not throw stones, did not judge, suggested others judge not, and embraced all sorts of freaks especially his right hand ho, Mary M. (Please, excuse me a moment while I burst out into a rousing rendition of "I Don't Know How to Love Him," a song which I specifically chose to sing one night when I attended Dyke-oke (lesbian kareoke) but the audience did not appear to find nearly as funny as I did,)
Where was I? Modest Mouse. Oh wait, no. I was being persecuted. What did U2 say-- I am not afraid of anything in this world, there's nothing you can throw at me that I haven't already heard... Yeah, that. I love that the letter writer filled her letter with what apparently she deemed to be scandalous allegations-- did you know Spike's marriage ended in a restraining order? did you know Spike had an abortion? Did you know Spike had a drinking problem? Uh, hello? Earth to uptight mom? A newborn with its arms tied behind its back using a headstick could access this information on Google in under three seconds. Spike doesn't keep secrets. That's Spike's secret to keeping the right pissed off without EVEN TRYING. Spike just says what her life is like. It scares the hell out of people. (Hey, doesn't that give her work a Christian bent then?)
Ah, but then parents might argue-- and the letter writer made a claim along these lines-- that kids might rush home, access Spike's web site, read about Donkey Cock, and thus have their lives Forever Ruined. My question: are you letting your fourth grader surf the web unattended and without filters? And you call yourself a Christian?
Let me end this rant now. I will post in a separate entry the article that ran on the front page of today's Austin American Statesman.
