Way back in the late-aughts when I was teaching workshops to nonprofits and writers on how to promote themselves in the brave new "web 2.0" world, I would explain that the sites with the biggest hits offered cheap snark and porn. You can't beat their numbers, I would say, and you shouldn't try. Your job is to use these new platforms to connect with readers. Remember those innocent days? By the time 2016 staggered to a close, I felt like I'd been beaten flat as a sheet of newsprint by what social media has become. Like many other people, I stepped back from social media in 2017. In fact, I stepped back from the internet. I redoubled my commitment to my writing, and I thought hard about what I want to write and why I do it. I was tired of staring at screens and wanted to do more in real life. I wanted make things people could hold in their hands. The first zine I produced in December is called Protest 101. I started contacting indie bookstores, and soon it was being sold in cities from LA to Chicago to Baltimore (see below for the full list). I proposed a workshop of the same title to Trade School LA, and taught it several times at Book Show and other venues in the leadup to the January 21 Women's March, and several times since. I stopped thinking tweet-length thoughts and I started thinking in zines. My second zine was How to Recognize Voter Suppression in its Habitat Naturel. The third in what I'm now calling The Democracy Series is a pocket guide to How to Change the World. More are in the works. Then I responded to an artist call. Protest 101, accompanied by photos of it in action, were selected to be exhibited at the Irvine (CA) Fine Art Gallery as part of their All Media 2017 show. For a limited time, you can buy a copy of the zine at the Gallery. I'm now the proud owner of a long-arm stapler, and can tell 24 lb. paper from 20 lb. by touch. I'm also spending more time face-to-face with friends. I even leave my phone at home. Sometimes. And you can buy my zines at all these wonderful indie bookstores:
Photo at the Jan 21 Women's March in Los Angeles by Alan Nakagawa
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Californians went to the polls on Tuesday - well, at least a few of them did - and I was there to help. It was the first time I'd volunteered to be a poll worker, and what I learned that day confirmed much of what I'd believed about American-style democracy, and left me in wonder that the system works as well as it does. The whole system runs on volunteers. It's fragile in ways I wouldn't have expected. During the week before the election, all the voting machines and materials are distributed to volunteers across the state, where they sit in cars and homes, waiting for election day. At the end of the day I rode to the local Registrar-Recorder's drop-off station in the passenger seat of another poll worker's car with all 73 votes from my precinct in my lap. The voting machine was in her trunk, tied down with rope; folded up voting booths were piled in her back seat. The miracle is that that system really does work. Some poll workers are in it for the money. Some poll workers were there because, like me, they believe in democracy and the importance of our right to vote. The guy I spent the whole day working next to, on the other hand, was in his early 20s and had never voted before. He made it clear it was all about the money for him. Poll workers get about $100 for a 12-hour day, plus $25 if you show up for a two hour advance training. Then again, another guy in his early 20s who ran the other precinct table is a grad student in political science and has worked the polls "ever since I was young." He spent his down time reading W. Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage. Some voters come with a single-minded mission to vote for one person in one race. A voter with two young children in tow asked me to show him how to vote, because this was his first time. As I flipped through the pages showing him all the choices and how to press down the InkaVote pen, he said, "No, I'm only here to vote for X-----." I flipped to the right page and showed him his candidate, even though I'd voted for someone else in that race. Other voters are fairly clueless. One older voter with limited English spent over half an hour in the booth. When he dropped his ballot in the box, it was rejected because he'd voted for too many people in each race. I voided that ballot and sent him back with a fresh one, along with someone to show him how to vote for only one candidate per race. Another voter spent about twenty minutes in the booth before coming back to the table and asking for a voter pamphlet. "I don't know so much about the candidates," she admitted a little sheepishly. Who's that sketchy "poll watcher" dude? A gentleman in a pin-striped shirt hung out with us most of the morning. He wore a name tag written in the first language of most voters in my precinct, which is written in a different alphabet from English. When he went over to "help" an elderly couple vote, I got the regional supervisor involved. She happened to be doing an inspection visit at the time. Most of the poll workers with me also spoke their language and could help the voters just fine. Eventually the official LA County Registrar-Recorders Guide for Poll Watchers was pulled out and read. Apparently poll watchers - even those working for political parties or individual candidates - can stand right next to voters and "help" them. A poll worker's job is a lot like a firefighter's. My polling place was inside a fire station, which I'd thought would be pretty cool. Mostly, though, the firefighters ignored us, or seemed a little irritated at our presence. They had to rearrange their trucks, and we were in the way of their crossfit equipment. Most of what they did all day looked a lot like what we were doing: hanging out maintaining the equipment while waiting for something to happen. Then there would be a sudden rush of activity. In our case it might be three voters in line at a time. In their case, it might be a traffic accident calling for the Jaws of Life®. Grownups love stickers too. Some voters took them with obvious pride. Others giggled, or looked a little embarrassed. But everyone took the "I Voted" sticker I offered them. Every single one. |
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May 2018
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