Wrong

There’s not much of an opinion I’ve had about the Occupy movement prior to this last week or so, because I largely was uninformed, or just didn’t have time to give much care to something else right now. I don’t know that it’s doing anything, or that it can. I don’t know that the majority of people involved really know what they’re doing. But since last Wednesday, I’ve needed to come to a decision on what it means (or ought to mean), and what I think about it. Working on that.

However, for now, at the foot of all the opinions that I could have about it, and at my most basic thoughts about the whole situation, I just know that what was done in LA to protestors was last week was and is wrong.

 

This is an article written by Patrick Meighan, a television writer at Fox Animation Studios. He works just down the hall from my own dad.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

My Occupy LA Arrest, by Patrick Meighan

My name is Patrick Meighan, and I’m a husband, a father, a writer on the Fox animated sitcom “Family Guy”, and a member of the Unitarian Universalist Community Church of Santa Monica.

I was arrested at about 1 a.m. Wednesday morning with 291 other people at Occupy LA. I was sitting in City Hall Park with a pillow, a blanket, and a copy of Thich Nhat Hanh’s “Being Peace” when 1,400 heavily-armed LAPD officers in paramilitary SWAT gear streamed in. I was in a group of about 50 peaceful protestors who sat Indian-style, arms interlocked, around a tent (the symbolic image of the Occupy movement). The LAPD officers encircled us, weapons drawn, while we chanted “We Are Peaceful” and “We Are Nonviolent” and “Join Us.”

As we sat there, encircled, a separate team of LAPD officers used knives to slice open every personal tent in the park. They forcibly removed anyone sleeping inside, and then yanked out and destroyed any personal property inside those tents, scattering the contents across the park. They then did the same with the communal property of the Occupy LA movement. For example, I watched as the LAPD destroyed a pop-up canopy tent that, until that moment, had been serving as Occupy LA’s First Aid and Wellness tent, in which volunteer health professionals gave free medical care to absolutely anyone who requested it. As it happens, my family had personally contributed that exact canopy tent to Occupy LA, at a cost of several hundred of my family’s dollars. As I watched, the LAPD sliced that canopy tent to shreds, broke the telescoping poles into pieces and scattered the detritus across the park. Note that these were the objects described in subsequent mainstream press reports as “30 tons of garbage” that was “abandoned” by Occupy LA: personal property forcibly stolen from us, destroyed in front of our eyes and then left for maintenance workers to dispose of while we were sent to prison.

When the LAPD finally began arresting those of us interlocked around the symbolic tent, we were all ordered by the LAPD to unlink from each other (in order to facilitate the arrests). Each seated, nonviolent protester beside me who refused to cooperate by unlinking his arms had the following done to him: an LAPD officer would forcibly extend the protestor’s legs, grab his left foot, twist it all the way around and then stomp his boot on the insole, pinning the protestor’s left foot to the pavement, twisted backwards. Then the LAPD officer would grab the protestor’s right foot and twist it all the way the other direction until the non-violent protestor, in incredible agony, would shriek in pain and unlink from his neighbor.

It was horrible to watch, and apparently designed to terrorize the rest of us. At least I was sufficiently terrorized. I unlinked my arms voluntarily and informed the LAPD officers that I would go peacefully and cooperatively. I stood as instructed, and then I had my arms wrenched behind my back, and an officer hyperextended my wrists into my inner arms. It was super violent, it hurt really really bad, and he was doing it on purpose. When I involuntarily recoiled from the pain, the LAPD officer threw me face-first to the pavement. He had my hands behind my back, so I landed right on my face. The officer dropped with his knee on my back and ground my face into the pavement. It really, really hurt and my face started bleeding and I was very scared. I begged for mercy and I promised that I was honestly not resisting and would not resist.

My hands were then zipcuffed very tightly behind my back, where they turned blue. I am now suffering nerve damage in my right thumb and palm.

I was put on a paddywagon with other nonviolent protestors and taken to a parking garage in Parker Center. They forced us to kneel on the hard pavement of that parking garage for seven straight hours with our hands still tightly zipcuffed behind our backs. Some began to pass out. One man rolled to the ground and vomited for a long, long time before falling unconscious. The LAPD officers watched and did nothing.

At 9 a.m. we were finally taken from the pavement into the station to be processed. The charge was sitting in the park after the police said not to. It’s a misdemeanor. Almost always, for a misdemeanor, the police just give you a ticket and let you go. It costs you a couple hundred dollars. Apparently, that’s what happened with most every other misdemeanor arrest in LA that day.

With us Occupy LA protestors, however, they set bail at $5,000 and booked us into jail. Almost none of the protesters could afford to bail themselves out. I’m lucky and I could afford it, except the LAPD spent all day refusing to actually *accept* the bail they set. If you were an accused murderer or a rapist in LAPD custody that day, you could bail yourself right out and be back on the street, no problem. But if you were a nonviolent Occupy LA protestor with bail money in hand, you were held long into the following morning, with absolutely no access to a lawyer.

I spent most of my day and night crammed into an eight-man jail cell, along with sixteen other Occupy LA protesters. My sleeping spot was on the floor next to the toilet.

Finally, at 2:30 the next morning, after twenty-five hours in custody, I was released on bail. But there were at least 200 Occupy LA protestors who couldn’t afford the bail. The LAPD chose to keep those peaceful, non-violent protesters in prison for two full days… the absolute legal maximum that the LAPD is allowed to detain someone on misdemeanor charges.

As a reminder, Antonio Villaraigosa has referred to all of this as “the LAPD’s finest hour.”

So that’s what happened to the 292 women and men were arrested last Wednesday. Now let’s talk about a man who was not arrested last Wednesday. He is former Citigroup CEO Charles Prince. Under Charles Prince, Citigroup was guilty of massive, coordinated securities fraud.

Citigroup spent years intentionally buying up every bad mortgage loan it could find, creating bad securities out of those bad loans and then selling shares in those bad securities to duped investors. And then they sometimes secretly bet *against* their *own* bad securities to make even more money. For one such bad Citigroup security, Citigroup executives were internally calling it, quote, “a collection of dogshit”. To investors, however, they called it, quote, “an attractive investment rigorously selected by an independent investment adviser”.

This is fraud, and it’s a felony, and the Charles Princes of the world spent several years doing it again and again: knowingly writing bad mortgages, and then packaging them into fraudulent securities which they then sold to suckers and then repeating the process. This is a big part of why your property values went up so fast. But then the bubble burst, and that’s why our economy is now shattered for a generation, and it’s also why your home is now underwater. Or at least mine is.

Anyway, if your retirement fund lost a decade’s-worth of gains overnight, this is why.

If your son’s middle school has added furlough days because the school district can’t afford to keep its doors open for a full school year, this is why.

If your daughter has come out of college with a degree only to discover that there are no jobs for her, this is why.

But back to Charles Prince. For his four years of in charge of massive, repeated fraud at Citigroup, he received fifty-three million dollars in salary and also received another ninety-four million dollars in stock holdings. What Charles Prince has *not* received is a pair of zipcuffs. The nerves in his thumb are fine. No cop has thrown Charles Prince into the pavement, face-first. Each and every peaceful, nonviolent Occupy LA protester arrested last week has has spent more time sleeping on a jail floor than every single Charles Prince on Wall Street, combined.

The more I think about that, the madder I get. What does it say about our country that nonviolent protesters are given the bottom of a police boot while those who steal hundreds of billions, do trillions worth of damage to our economy and shatter our social fabric for a generation are not only spared the zipcuffs but showered with rewards?

In any event, believe it or not, I’m really not angry that I got arrested. I chose to get arrested. And I’m not even angry that the mayor and the LAPD decided to give non-violent protestors like me a little extra shiv in jail (although I’m not especially grateful for it either).

I’m just really angry that every single Charles Prince wasn’t in jail with me.

Thank you for letting me share that anger with you today.

- Patrick Meighan

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Take A Listen (aka November Blog Fest: The Sequel: Day 21)

Today I had an excellent, excellent rehearsal with three of my wonderful actors.

My lead, Kyle (Frank) killed it, as per the usual, but today was my first block of time with Luke, who plays a bartender named Gabe. This is my second time working with him – the first was as a fellow actor in a reading of Tooth And Claw last month. This was my first interaction with him as a director, however, and he’s outrageously humble – he takes direction so well, and shows me nothing but respect. He’s unafraid to get emotional and psychological with his character, and he follows his impulses without hesitation. I’m so glad that I chose to cast him.

And then there was the couple-work. Sam (Marissa) and Kyle ran through “The Fourth Scene: Awkward Coffee”, and GUH. Kyle sold his hurt and bitterness like whoa, and we blocked their parting hug at the end of the scene. The stage directions read like so:

[They stand at the same time, and go to say to goodbye, but once again aren't sure how to do it. Eventually, they share an awkward hug, and then the hug becomes warm. MARISSA is the one who pulls back first. She is holding back tears. She waves and exits quickly left. FRANK watches her, and waves belatedly.]

They hugged, and Frank sank into it with such grief, and I could see Marissa’s eyes over his shoulder shining with tears, and good lord, I started crying.

Overall, a great rehearsal.

We moved on to running through the big love song, What Love Sounds Like, and after running through once, I told em “Great. Now do it again, and you’re kissing this time.” So they did. It was lovely. So I made ‘em do it four more times.

I recorded the last two runs before calling it a day.

You can listen to it here: What Love Sounds Like (Live in Rehearsal).

Enjoy.

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GISHWHES (aka November Blog Fest: The Sequel: Day 20)

So I’m doin’ this thing.

It’s called GISHWHES (the Greatest International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen), created by the oh-so-eccentric Misha Collins, actor, baker, candlestick maker, best known for his time as Castiel on the greatest show ever, Supernatural. Yeah, THAT guy.

I’m on a team of ten with my boyfriend, a couple chicks from Poland, a few folks from Sweden, and some dude out of St. Louis. The winning team gets a paid trip to Rome to have dinner with Misha. All of the submissions are thing you have to take a picture or video of, and we have a week to do it.

The list is over 200 items long, with things like:

Karate chop the Bruce Lee statue in Hong Kong. (10 points)

Dance the cueca with a llama. (16 points)

A chair that serves as both a chair and a shark killer with instructional manual next to it. (21 points)

The real direct phone number of Peewee Herman. (41 points)

As you know, chewing gum is illegal in Singapore. But, if you are in a boat in the Port of Singapore, you can do whatever you want. Chew an entire pack of gum at once while on a boat with the Singapore skyline behind you. (12 points)

Read a poem from one of the trzej wieszcze to innocent bystanders in front of Renaissance City Hall. (11 points)

A toilet plunger covered in real gold leaf. (33 points)

Someone tapping out in Morse code: “This Hunt has destroyed my family.” (9 points)

A church choir singing “eye of the tiger” in a church. (32 points)

Show video footage of Oprah reading a book that you wrote. (79 points)

Bring order to chaos. (8 points)

Fill hundreds of balloons with helium, tie them to a decorated Christmas tree and watch the tree float away. Tree must be a real pine tree (not faux) and must be at least 5 feet tall. The video must show the tree floating off and should be 40 seconds long. (217 points)

A one-minute instructional video explaining how the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) operates. The instruction must be given by two 5 year olds using props and a graph. (30 points)

It’s crazy. I just submitted a video of me reciting 12 lines of Dr. Seuss in less than 20 seconds while wearing business attire. Yep.

I just wanted you all to know what kind of nerd I am. This kind.

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I Hear Lists Are In (aka November Blog Fest: The Sequel: Day 18)

So I’ve seen a few list-posts this month, from the likes of Andrew and Matt, and I think I wanna take a one-night ride on that train, so here are a few lists for today….

Songs I Sang (Loudly) Today In Public Places

Hit Me Baby One More Time (yes, by Britney Spears), in the hallways of the Haupert Union Building on campus

Goin’ Back To Hogwarts (from A Very Potter Musical), in the computer science lab

Missing You (from A Very Potter Musical), in the computer science lab

Little Lion Man (by Mumford & Sons), while working at Touchstone Theatre

Crystal Ball (by P!nk), by request at the Children’s Home of Easton

I Didn’t Say I Was Powerful, I Said I Was a Wizard (by Chiodos), on Main Street

Bulls Make Money, Bears Make Money, Pigs Get Slaughtered (by Chiodos), on Main Street

Climbing Uphill (from The Last Five Years), in the Arena Theatre

Ginny’s Song (from A Very Potter Musical), at Wendy’s

Granger Danger (from A Very Potter Musical – I see you judging me. Shutup.), at Wendy’s

People I Auditoned For Frankly Today

Luke

Valerie

Khera

Thom-with-an-H

Rose

Melanie

Rachel

Brittany

Jerone (aka my sassy gay friend)

Kayla

Things I Craved Today

Chinese Food

White Wine

Peanut Butter

Burritos

Sushi

Coffee

Pomegranate

Kumquats

Grapes

Salsa

Things That Made Me Freeze In My Tracks And Gasp And/Or Cry Out Today

This

Supernatural spoilers

Hitting my arm on a door knob

Realizing that the theatre door was open after I’d been belting Climbing Uphill for five minutes

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Protected: Writing Is Hard (aka November Blog Fest: The Sequel: Day 16)

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The People I Know Say Funny Things (aka The November Blog: The Sequel: Day 15)

So my dad and I had a conversation tonight about our respective industries.

He mentioned that a recent episode he’d directed had aired last week – one he’d worked on almost a year and a half ago. Surprised, I asked him, Is that was normal – I was under the impression that the delay from final cut to airtime was only a few months. He told me that it was, Actually more like a year, sometimes longer.

GROSS.

When I do a show, we choose it, mount, produce, perform and strike it in three to six weeks, eight max. Instant gratification.

Psh, said my dad, such an Americanized industry!

Scoff!, said I, American? Theatre is hardly a true industry in America. For real theatrical industry, you have to go to Europe, where theatre continues to grow beyond the spectacle and commercial-dependence of Broadway – Prague, Romania, Serbia, Slovenia, Denmark! Even Germany, or the Netherlands.

Tffff!, said my dad. And I quote: Czech, Romania, Sloenia, Netherlands, Germany = weak!

….

To which I replied: You just dissed like, five countries in one sentence, complete with misspellings. Now a half-German/half-Czech hitman is going to come for you. At night. In the off-season.

My dad just rolled his eyes (most likely) and typed back: Psh! I’m an American. Bring it!

The end.

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Singing The Same Song (aka November Blog Fest: The Sequel: Day 15)

Apparently, love sounds like aliens.

Today, we began music rehearsals for Frankly, the musical I wrote over the course of the last year or two and am directing for performance in February. The leading role of Frank Liston is played by my good friend, favorite actor and muse, Kyle Goodbred. His leading lady, Marissa (or just Rissa, depending on the line), is played by Samantha Beard, also my good friend, housemate, soul-clone and let’s-sing-loudly-in-the-car buddy. General auditions to cast the other 36 roles (good lord O_O) take place this coming Wednesday and Thursday, but my leads have been rehearsing for almost a week now.

We began with the last two songs of the show (screw continuity), because they’re both duets, and Kyle pretty much knows the whole show anyway because he was in the workshop production last year, but Sam is brand new and needs time with the music most. Today, we learned What Love Sounds Like, the big heart-warming moment where Frank and Marissa share a splendid, long, I-love-you-and-I’m-havin’-your-baby kind of kiss. As I told the actors last week: “It’s big, it’s beautiful, and it lasts for like, eight bars. You will fake tongue.”

It’s a really simple song in theory, but super difficult to perform well. Two notes juggle in the background on a marimba while a piano, viola, violin, and violoncello essentially repeat variations on the same four-chord progression over an over. The singers exchange melody lines, and then harmonize over each other in various parts. A soprano saxophone does it’s thing every now and then. There’s a moment where Sam can’t take a breath through the notes for a solid 7 bars, and one where Kyle can’t take a breath for a 8. And the kiss, too. I wrote it that way because I’m mean and crazy, and it just sounded right. My rationale is that, if I can do it, then (and only then) I’m allowed to expect it from my actors – I’ve sung it through countless times. It’s definitely doable, it’s just really freakin’ hard.

I’ll post a midi file and a recorded bit of rehearsal later this week. It’s really a lovely moment for the characters.

One of the funny things about this song is that it’s one of only two moments in the show where the actors sing about singing. The first comes in Frank’s drunken solo voicemail to Marissa, Tullamore Dew, where he sings “The end’s near, let me say that I know I was wrong/we’ll all die, and I know that you won’t hear this song”.

In What Love, the chorus goes something like this: what love sounds like/what love sounds like/your voice in time/with mine sounds like/love/love/like love.

The ironic part is that the chord progression sounds really freakin similar to the five note thing used to talk to aliens in Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind. It’s actually really different when you hear them side by side, but something about the intervals say “aliens” sometimes. During previews a year ago, when I played through the music for my boss, he mentioned it, and I told him he was crazy. Now, I hear it all the time, but people never notice unless I ask them to listen for it. Then they always say the same thing:”So love sounds like….aliens?”

I always say the same thing back.

No. :/ Love sounds like two people realizing that they’ve been singing the same song the whole time.

But yeah, okay, it might sound a little bit like aliens, too.

I’ll post the sound bytes later this week, and you can let me know what you guys think.

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Words With Frank II: The EN in RICH (aka November Blog Fest: The Sequel: late Day 11)

Frank came back, and I’m still winning.

I played CHEFS. Then he played TACO. So I played VAGINA. Shutup. He played something else unimpressive, and I played RICH. He tried to block my using a triple word score with READ. I played VISE and got it anyway. He played MEAN. I put an E-N on RICH to block the last triple word score. Now he’s disheartened, and went to find food before tackling his sad little Q. I’m still in the lab, doing homework before rehearsal.

I have a K, a U, an R, an I, and O, and another E I think. I’m going to destroy him.

*confident*

TBC

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Words With Frank (aka November Blog Fest: The Sequel: late Day 12)

I’m playing Words With Friends with my buddy Frank in the computer science lab right now. He just played “LIVER”. So I played “DELIVER” and got the triple word score. Then he played “DELIVERING” and used the other triple word score.

It’s a cutthroat, neck and neck game.

Frank has a Q, a definite problem for him. If I can block that last triple word score, prevent him from landing anything there, then I’ll be wide open to play my double R’s for CURRENT or CURRY or something. I just hope he doesn’t put down-

Crap. I just took a peek. He has three options for sullying my chances. ELF, EELS, or GLEE. All three could block me from the triple word score. Crap.

But he’s taking forever. He clearly doesn’t see any of them. There is still hope.

Frank is ditching his econ class to play this game. I feel no guilt.

Frank trying to play a word.

His thinking cogs are turning inside his brain, but he can't see what's right in front of him.

He’s taking forever. I’m gonna go grab food. Grilled cheese and chicken rice soup.

I get back into the lab and Frank is gone.

Dangit. Now I won’t win until tomorrow.

 

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Less Than Ten Days (aka November Blog Fest: The Sequel: Day 13)

This is going to be a fairly short post.

I’ve fallen behind. I didn’t blog for the latter half of this whole week. I had to start production and rehearsals for my musical, I had a world premiere of a jazz opera to get out of the way, then the strike of the set for that show, and a cast party at my boss’s house with some legit to quit punch and a small dog named Bernie who is completely blind and ran into my legs about twenty times over the course of the night in an adorably sad way. I had too many things that just went far too late, and it resulted in me crawling into my bed in the wee hours of the morning to crash, not blog.

Also, I missed Supernatural, and Bones. It’s been a long week.

Hopefully, this next week will be a bit easier. I’ve got a lot of writing to do, and a lot of rehearsal to run. I’ve got auditions on Wednesday and Thursday, where I need to find 35 people to cast, including two children and a small dog. I’ve got work on Tuesday and Thursday, classes on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, music rehearsals on Monday, Tuesday, and Friday, and a bunch of other things I can’t remember right now.

But I’ve got less than ten days until I land in Cali, and can tackle-hug my boyfriend in an airport. I’ve got less than ten days before I can see the sun, and smell palm trees and the salt water of my parents’ jacuzzi. I’ve got ten days before I can relax on a couch, eat salsa and turkey and more salsa, and watch some mindless television.

Right now, I don’t know how I’m going to get the work I need to get done before then finished. But I know that when November 23rd gets here, I’m going to be supremely happy about it. God help me, I need to make it there.

Pray for me.

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