tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64985134515676522392024-03-13T00:11:37.837-07:00Social Misfit Times"For people who scratch their heads a lot"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-15666298284902055122015-06-21T06:21:00.004-07:002015-06-21T06:21:42.210-07:00What My Father Gave Me
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Gifts can take mysterious forms</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My pleasure reading has long been biographies and other
non-fiction. Maybe since I write fiction myself, I often don’t find it
“relaxing” to see how well someone else writes. (Though I do of course read
some novels.) If you’re a true movie buff, you will have heard of a silent
film actress named Lillian Gish. Her work holds up quite well to
the test of time; she doesn’t seem corny but timeless, and has been called things like the First Lady of Cinema. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In any event, she wrote an autobiography in which she
thanked her mother for teaching her love, and her father for teaching her
insecurity. Like me, Miss Gish had a deadbeat dad who abandoned his family,
which was how and why she became an actress as a child. And she kept on acting
into her 90s, dying just shy of her 100th birthday. Still, when I first read this, I was not mature enough to
understand how insecurity can be a positive force within the self. But now I am old
enough to see how it has helped me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not advocating that people abandon their children
because it will do them good. It does them harm, sometimes quite serious harm,
and even when you make lemonade out of the lemon there is still a sense of
loss. Still, I have to say that not knowing my father since I was nine months
old is part of who I am, and the insecurity thereof has been something of a
gold mine where my creative drive is concerned. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, on this Father’s Day, for better or for worse, here is
the story of my father. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When my parents got divorced, there literally was no money,
so my mother got to take whatever there was. This included all of my father’s
family heirlooms. So even though I never knew him, we had (for example) his
childhood drawings and photo albums. I know that he grew up in a big house with
servants (witness the maid’s bell we had, though we of course had no maid). He
was his mother’s favorite, as far as I can tell. Apparently he talked
to her every day until she died in his middle age. Nothing much was told me about
his father. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though of course I am guessing, I think his mother spoiled him. He
thought everyone would accept him as she did, no matter what he did. I know now
that he also dealt with chronic depression and possibly other mental
conditions. None of this came in handy when, during the Great Depression, his
family lost all their money. He never quite adjusted to this reality, and his
poor money management skills played a major role in his downfall. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My father was a talented musician. His Master’s thesis was a classical composition still available in the University of Chicago library. He
received several other degrees, and by all accounts was highly intelligent.
I did not inherit the music gene from either of my parents (my mother was a
singer), but I have been told I have some of his mannerisms. He also was said
to have had a great deal of charisma, and when men, possibly loan sharks, came
to collect the money he owed, he could talk his way out of it—at least for the time being.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Through music, he and my mother met and got married. He set
up a music business in NYC. He did arrangements and produced record albums, mostly
kiddie stuff as far as I can tell. My mother kept singing here and there, but
with their growing family they decided to move to Florida, and take advantage
of the real estate boom. My father was to be a contractor, though sometimes he
was his only employee, and did some house building himself. He liked to bet on
horses, and perhaps gambled in other ways, too. He did not do well. So he never
paid his taxes, he won a bid from the government to build a building that
never got built, he forged checks, and ripped people off in some bogus money
deals. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother of course was not pleased by any of this,
especially when he purposefully took advantage of innocent people. Pregnant with her third
child (yours truly), they ran out of money, and shortly after I was born they
divorced. I've been told I was given ten grand by my paternal grandmother at birth, but my father spent it up to throw into the bottomless pit of debt he collected. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother had her reasons for not being president of my
father’s fan club. It was a bitter, vindictive divorce, and my mother told all three of us
kids we never wanted to see him again. Not that we <i>wouldn't</i> see him, but that we didn't even <i>want</i> to. I can remember being maybe
four years old and my mother showing me a photo. “This is your father,” she
said, “and you hate him because he’s a bad man.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think all three of us resented our mother from keeping us
from our father. And I do believe that part of her motivation was vengeance.
But now I also realize she probably was frightened for her safety and our
safety, as he had some pretty shady dealings and even did a stint in prison.
I imagine she also did not think he would be a positive influence in our lives. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Years later, when I located my father’s widow, she told me
that he always made a mess of money and still lost at the racetrack. The one
time she suggested he handle money differently he tried to strangle her. Learning this
was quite a wake-up call for me. For the first time I considered that while I
still would’ve wanted to meet him at least once, maybe in other ways I was
better off not knowing him. I also wondered if my mother feared for her
life not just because of the shady characters who came to the house but because
of my father himself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His widow spoke openly about his depression and other odd
habits. He seldom bathed, and stayed up all night playing piano
and doing crossword puzzles. The entire time she knew him he was horrifically
depressed over not seeing his children. Holidays and our birthdays were
especially trying for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She told me
she never had a non-traumatic Christmas in the many years they were married. Yet for all
his crying about missing his children, he never picked up the phone to call us.
I was curious to see how he looked in his older years, but he refused to pose
for photos. Perhaps her being a nurse helped her find the patience to stay with him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They lived in an extremely tiny home, and some of the
windows were boarded up. On his death certificate, his principle occupation was
listed as plumber. I have nothing against plumbers, who perform a necessary and well-paid service. But I doubt my father was content to be a plumber
when he started out wanting to be a great composer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In an earlier attempt to try to find him, I called someone
by his name in the Florida city he was last seen in, and a very strange man’s
voice shouted into the phone and hung up on me. Perhaps this was my father. If
so, I suppose we did have a ten-second conversation. I “met” him, so to speak.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is hard to harbor much hatred toward someone you never
knew, and since he was the excluded party that gave him a dimension of
sympathy. For most of my life I thought about him, say, a few times a year, and
wondered why he hated me so much that he disappeared. But after learning that
he missed me and my siblings, I let go of that particular form of
self-flagellation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Telling my
sister and brother that he never stopped caring for us gave me a sense of
empowerment. I honestly don’t know what to make of him, but I’m old enough to
accept that sometimes life’s riddles go unanswered, and that’s okay. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also have known many other people over the years whose
fathers were physically or emotionally absent. Sometimes I think that many people
end up with the same father, whether he was physically present or not. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My next novel, to be released in the near future, is called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Deadbeat Dad</i>. It is pure fiction and not at all the story
of my father or anyone else in my family, but I drew on the insecurity he gave
me to write the book. So thanks, Dad, for the
gift of insecurity. I hope I live as long as Miss Gish. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3a84LO9Pj_UAgwRQ_Aq45K9Vtznk3DVzIVtxrzvTsTBLZ5HBxzwqSTtoLwXjGJgJcDWi3IR2_w_wrOiqQCFGjJcHvkQuRjt43zDjpdnltlv7pAEPslMmUgyYY0OcBt0-ZwTt0BPoQ8tf5/s1600/img073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3a84LO9Pj_UAgwRQ_Aq45K9Vtznk3DVzIVtxrzvTsTBLZ5HBxzwqSTtoLwXjGJgJcDWi3IR2_w_wrOiqQCFGjJcHvkQuRjt43zDjpdnltlv7pAEPslMmUgyYY0OcBt0-ZwTt0BPoQ8tf5/s320/img073.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-82342967548136405812015-05-24T09:39:00.001-07:002015-05-24T10:54:00.598-07:00PTSD is a Family Illness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">For Uncle Paul</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the Memorial Day weekend I wish to honor my late Uncle
Paul. He enlisted in the Marines at the oldest age accepted, and was seriously wounded after landing on Iwo Jima during World War II. He won the Purple Heart and
a host of other medals that he proudly framed on his mantelpiece—and which were
routinely discarded by the wife who outlived him far too long to care, if in
fact she ever did. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He was the first of several substitute father figures I had
in my life, as my own father, like many divorced fathers, disappeared when I
was a baby. I was told my father pretended to be mentally ill to get out of
serving in WWII. His Jewishness did not compel him to serve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Uncle Paul was the only boy in his own fatherless family,
and had three younger sisters. They were quite poor, but from what I’ve heard
he used to make toys and games for them. He was their champion, had many
friends, and loved having pet dogs. And, as I experienced years later, he loved
children, though he never had any himself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like many immigrant families, ours was an extended one, so
uncles and cousins were seen frequently and were almost like parents and
siblings. Uncle Paul lived in our same town, and he frequently took us kids to
a nearby boardwalk for ice cream and balloons, or to the local root bear
drive-in for window trays of soda and hot dogs. He was one of those grown-ups
who knew how to enter the world of children, and delighted in it. He made our
few broken toys come to life and stimulated our imaginations. He knew dumb
tricks like the “broken thumb” that held me mesmerized. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember literally crying tears of joy for how happy he
made me. When the time came for my momentous kindergarten “graduation”
ceremony, I invited my mother and Uncle Paul, though my soon-to-be-stepfather
was already in the picture. I can still see my uncle in the audience, smiling
at me through the entire sordid extravaganza of six year olds attempting to sing
and dance, and not minding when I messed up routines on purpose just to be
different. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Uncle Paul was married, and he was my mother’s brother, but
I used to ask my mother if she would marry him. I guess she thought it was cute
or something, but she did not take the hint about not marrying my lemon of a
stepfather. In any case, I was somewhat on target. They had a tight bond as
brother and sister, and confided things to each other that they told no one
else. My mother’s untimely death was an additional nail in his eventual coffin.
I had just turned nine, and my grandmother asked him to tell me my mother died,
as she believed it would be better for me to hear it from a man. But he cried
and said he couldn’t do it, so my grandmother did it herself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, I wanted to be just like Uncle Paul, and so when he
exhibited the odd habit of walking back and forth in a room for hours, mumbling
to himself, I followed right behind him. My grandmother told me not to do it
because I’d pick up the habit from him. I disobeyed her, and she was right. I,
too, have been a lifelong floor pacer. Though I could not have verbalized it at
the time, I wondered how my happy, wonderful Uncle Paul could have so much on
his mind. Once, when he had an especially bad day, he picked up the telephone
and had a long conversation with the operator, unloading all his woes to an
unfamiliar voice. I guess he trusted strangers with his troubles more than he
did us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to think that Uncle Paul told us “war stories,” but
looking back they were never about combat but funny tales about K-rations or
off-color jingles about the enemy. He kept old issues of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Leatherneck</i> magazine in a trunk in his attic, as well as an old
Japanese flag that enemy solders had signed. When my older brother played with
his green plastic army men, I always thought of them as being Uncle Paul. There
also were a lot of old movies on TV back then, and some of them were WWII epics
in which the good guys bloodlessly always won. For us kids, it seemed like fun,
even though the grownups never liked to watch war movies for some reason. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While Uncle Paul was off in the Marines, his mother and
sisters did not, to my knowledge, do much for the war effort besides worry
about him and resent the Japanese for Pearl Harbor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think some relatives worked in a munitions
factory, but this was at least in part because they had to work anyway. Food
rationing was just business as usual for a poor working class family that
weathered the Great Depression. They were republicans during a war effort led
by a two democratic presidents, and anyway world events were too large for
their mental and emotional landscapes. All that mattered was Uncle Paul coming
home alive. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My grandmother could be a complex person, even an
inscrutable one, but sometimes her responses had a childlike purity about them.
And from what I gathered, she spent several years ceaselessly worrying about
her son. I was told that this was what made her hair turn gray. Even though my mother
married a German Jew who became my father, there was never much of a sense that
winning the War freed occupied nations or concentration camp
prisoners. Movies or TV shows that dealt with the holocaust were deemed
unnecessary because they were not happy things to watch. First, foremost, and
finally, the Second World War was the war that ruined Uncle Paul. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His wife, in old movie terms, was a good times gal, a
floozie. From what I gathered between the lines, she had no intention of
letting World War II cramp her style. To my family’s Old World values, such
cavorting already was a sin, but it was especially unforgivable while her
husband was overseas. Uncle Paul left behind a beloved dog that his wife
claimed ran off searching for his master, but everyone else believed she got
rid of it on purpose. She was not renowned for her honesty. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her partiality to Martinis and men over dogs and children,
combined with her eager bad temper, made her an intimidating presence for both
young and old. (Though at times, her undomesticated nature made her a better,
less judgmental listener than other relatives.) Still, she often was
characterized as ruining my Uncle’s life—his wife and WWII, quite a
combination. Let’s just say that when you saw the two of them at their zenith,
there was no need to watch <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Who’s Afraid
of Virginia Wolf? </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been told that when Uncle Paul came back from the
war, he was “never the same.” People did not know to call it PTSD back then, or
understand that it was an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">illness</i>
that does not just go away. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did tell
me that when he came home from the war his mouth was crooked. The doctor
recommended he take up singing to straighten it out, and it worked. He even
sang professionally in a choir. (Alas, I did not inherit the familial music
gene.) He could also draw and oil paint and was an all-purpose builder and
handyman. When I was little I thought he could do everything, but by
mid-childhood I started realizing he could hardly do anything. I got old enough
to see his irrational fits of rage and unwarranted cruelty for what they were,
and no longer found them thrilling to witness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Uncle Paul bought a white elephant of a big house in an
upscale neighborhood, and spent the last 25 years of his life endlessly fixing
it up, long after it supposedly was “finished.” In between carting bags of
cement, he drank quite a lot and had the largest arsenal of prescription pills
I have ever seen. (And I have seen some mighty big ones.) There were sad,
violent episodes, and the family grew wary of visiting his big house. There was
nothing in their frame of reference that told them how to deal with such
things. Political-like factions were formed that created more ill will and
destroyed any lingering sense of closeness. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet long after the extended family utterly fell apart, Uncle
Paul insisted that being close to family was the key to happiness. I suppose
his own life upheld this hypothesis, given how unhappy and bitter he became. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last time I saw Uncle Paul I barely entered his house
before he grumpily drove me to visit other relatives that supposedly were the key to
happiness. But he did not get out of the car to see them himself. In fact,
though his house faced a picturesque seascape, he began filling in the windows
so that no one could see in and he could not see out. For many years my
grandmother lived with him and his wife, but above the objections of his
siblings he routinely put Granny in an indifferent facility for the elderly,
where she died feeling abandoned and scared. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet she outlived her son by a year or two. He died of heart
failure, I think, and without a clue as to what had gone wrong. My
grandmother was not told of her son’s death, and kept insisting she needed to
be taken back “home” in order to take care of Uncle Paul. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am glad that, as it happened, I called to wish him a happy
birthday during the last year of his life, and we had the first pleasant conversation
we’d had in years. As what might politely be called a rebellious youth, I
engaged in some high theatricality myself. When he lectured me that I needed to
spend more time with the family, I’d say things like, “Well, they call your
wife a whore behind her back.” Somehow his own growing isolation from these
same people did not count. It was not in his cosmology to say, “I see why you
keep your distance, I feel the same.” Decades of PTSD had severely warped his
ability to reason, and the accompanying pill fog was too thick to penetrate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of my family did not venture far away from familiar
turf, so as Uncle Paul fell apart, small pockets of people became increasingly
isolated themselves. The older generation seemed happy only when they were
talking about olden times when they’d go to the movies or an amusement park. I
long thought it was careless of them to create such an obvious impression that
they were happier before their children were born. But I see now that their
good times actually ended when my uncle came home from the war. The 2006 film, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Flags of our Fathers</i>, made me understand
much more about those men and sometimes women who came home from the war and
said nothing that made much sense as their lives crumbled like bombed out buildings.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vdnq-6tBdRkx0QgWlkKkLR_SXqC0o9SGLGNJcbUlk2jLiEsbNeWbn2xAmSczq8dThhZ6i3b2Xv9VvZRrQJEWODN5ouV6TpCL4wBh1I83oy14FlZ8oDzgZ08Qr3fOlpNn2BhXVAX4x80Y/s1600/img069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vdnq-6tBdRkx0QgWlkKkLR_SXqC0o9SGLGNJcbUlk2jLiEsbNeWbn2xAmSczq8dThhZ6i3b2Xv9VvZRrQJEWODN5ouV6TpCL4wBh1I83oy14FlZ8oDzgZ08Qr3fOlpNn2BhXVAX4x80Y/s320/img069.jpg" width="170" /></a></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-67159906846022841742015-05-17T09:18:00.001-07:002015-05-18T13:27:32.247-07:00Hi Mom<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I am the son of Rozalia and Richard</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One week ago on Mother’s Day I did something I never did
before. I wished my mother a happy Mother’s Day. Thanks in large measure to the
gravediggers who started shoveling dirt on her casket the moment it was being
lowered into the ground, I’ve considered my mother nothing but dead since she
died. I felt like the gravediggers were slapping me across the face, but a
point was made. You’re alive or you’re dead, and my mother was the latter. Message received. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve never “talked” to my mother since she died, have seldom
dreamt of her, and until about a week ago never thought that maybe someday I’d
see her again. Like most kids, as I got older I realized my mother wasn’t
perfect. But unlike many mothers, she was not here to defend herself, so my
anger and impatience toward her won every time. I suppose first and foremost, I was
mad at her for dying. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was confined to her bed with uterine cancer from about
the time I was six, and died just after I turned nine. She was not told she had
cancer, and neither were I or my older brother. My sister knew as the eldest
child, but when I’d ask what was wrong with Mother (as we had to call her), I
was dismissed or yelled at by everyone who knew the truth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How my mother’s illness and death were handled would make a
textbook example of how <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> to
deal with such things. Like many cancer patients, her behavior grew erratic,
even irrational, as her illness progressed. At night her cries to God to let
her die woke me, and when I mentioned this to others they snapped at me as usual. She
of course also physically degenerated. I was an observant child, and this
experience gave me a lifelong sixth sense as to when someone was about to die
from illness. It’s a dubious skill I could live without.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the last week or so of her life the door to her bedroom
was closed so I could not see her. Yet on the morning of the day she was to
die, I opened her door. Various relatives called out, “Don’t go in there,” but
I already manifested the curious boldness that so often would get me in
trouble over the years. My mother turned to me and said, “Yes?” as if asking
what she could do for me. I mumbled hello before they pulled me away and whisked me
off to school. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My maternal grandmother immigrated to the U.S. from Eastern
Europe when she was only twelve years old. She kept talking about wanting to
come to the USA, so her dirt poor farming family somehow arranged it. (She came
by herself, and would see her family of origin only once more.) Granny arrived
at Ellis Island knowing but one word of English, “broom,” which came in handy.
She was a house servant for a time, and then worked in a factory until she
retired. For over seventy years her home was Perth Amboy, New Jersey, a good
place for blue-collar workers to find jobs. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her husband died when she was pregnant with her fifth child,
and in fact Granny would outlive three of her children. She worked a man’s
machine in the factory for extra money—in other words, an extra dollar or two
per week. Only two of her children would graduate high school (one was my
mother), while the two others still living were forced to quit school to work
in the factory. Granny herself never learned to read or write, though she
always had an opinion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My grandmother was devoutly Russian Orthodox, and like most
everyone in my family—and many Russian Americans—a lifelong conservative.
However poor she and her children were, they never took a handout. She kept a
picture of the Czar in her bedroom, and believed communism to be evil. Taking
money from the government was shameful in her eyes, and she always gave thanks
to God for all that she had—which was not always much in other people’s eyes. (When
I lived with my aunt, I was not allowed to get an after school job or eat at a friend's house, lest the
neighbors think we were poor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I likewise
got fed the riot act one day in summer, when I left the house barefoot. The
neighbors again—they’d think we were too poor to buy shoes.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like her mother before her and her sisters, my mother grew
to be an attractive young woman. And like something out of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Glass Menagerie</i>, she had many promising suitors, but chose an
exceptionally irresponsible one to marry. By the time she was pregnant with me,
she and my father were literally broke—as in, no food in the house. My father also
was in trouble with the law, and would do a stint in prison. He liked betting
on horses more than Fate enjoyed rewarding his efforts, and men with guns came
to the house looking for him. I was nine months old when my parents divorced,
and none of us kids would see our father again. (Though we learned of
his death.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother, like her siblings, felt caught between her old
world heritage and new world reality, though more than the others she erred on
the side of the old world. She even made sure her second husband was Russian,
though he proved no more dependable than his predecessor. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her fascination for all things Russian rendered me highly embarrassed
by my heritage. Like many third generation Americans, I strove to be
100% Americanized. As a kid, I wanted to live in a suburban ranch house like
the perfect TV families. I wanted Betty Crocker cakes and Thom McCan shoes like
the other kids. Granny was famous for her homemade bread and poppy seed loaves,
but I refused to eat them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the time, it must have seen only fitting that my mother
be given a Russian Orthodox funeral. Her siblings supplied the lengthy and
complex <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a capella</i> chorale. But not a
word of the funeral was in English. There were no speakers who talked about
her, nothing set aside for her children to participate in. It’s a strange
sensation to feel excluded at your mother’s funeral. But everything was done as
my grandmother wanted it. Even had it occurred to any of her surviving children
to do it differently—and it probably did not—they could not stand up to her
even when they were middle aged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should also mention that my mother’s was the second of
four funerals in a row I attended over a period of four months. They were all
Russian Orthodox affairs, which meant I also went for several evenings in a row
to the wakes for all of them. Decades before it became
fashionable, I saw dead people. Perhaps this contributed to my eventual interest in writing murder
mysteries. Certainly it contributed to a chip on my should I carry to
this day—though I’d like to believe it’s gotten smaller—as to why other people
had “normal” things like a steady home and parents. I’d live in several
different households before going off on my own at fifteen. I wore my poverty
as a badge of honor, proof of my emancipation from the past. Or so I told
myself many times over. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could write a book about all the thoughtless things my
family did in the wake of my mother’s illness and death. But this blog post is already
too long, so I’ll only mention two more. One was during her wake, when an aunt
of mine smiled and said, “Well, when are you going to kiss your mother good-by?” She
said this like someone saying, “Would you like an extra dab of mayo on your
sandwich?” Or at least that’s how I heard it. So I walked up to the open coffin
alone, and, always afraid of disobeying at the most self-destructive times,
counted <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">one-two-three</i> and forced
myself to kiss her cold dead lips. Nothing more was said about it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, several years later, the same aunt told me that my
birth was what caused my mother to get cancer and die. The American
Psychological Association owes my aunt a debt of gratitude for all the
financial support her remark set in motion over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, I got tired of feeling like damaged goods whenever I
met someone, because sooner or later they ask you about your family, and the
tale of my early years doesn’t exactly make for a surefire anecdote at parties.
I felt ashamed to have no parents, to live with other relatives or then be on
my own as a minor. I remain ashamed of my Russian heritage, and still have only
a theoretical grasp as to why people take pride in their ethnicity. I don’t
know what it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feels</i> like. I joined
several different faiths to “erase” the Orthodox from my life. I went back to
using my birth father’s surname instead of the Russian one of my stepfather,
which embarrassed me every time I heard it. Better a crook than a commie. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But last Sunday, the outpouring of support I received from
Facebook friends prompted me to come forward with all this. I hope I haven’t
bored you. Moreover, if you are facing the loss or potential loss of a loved
one, please, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">talk about it.</i> Even—or
especially—if children are involved. And as for my mother, I am starting to get
to know her for the first time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
PS: She had some minor success as a singer, but most all her
mementos were routinely discarded upon her death. I was told I could keep one
picture of her for my own, and this is the one I chose. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0FiCxe6mWGrHO_Pp0dSjHWghU7qG5FZsVSJwGQe3ouXm2rFWtm_c8KCyegBVN6z45DA3gvvQ7RDf0aT0cQ-NoaQEUT_quxgJiWlJrfui1GEJl6cP4zzVD7I7eapYi8ukY2SDDCLQcaAZ/s1600/img068+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0FiCxe6mWGrHO_Pp0dSjHWghU7qG5FZsVSJwGQe3ouXm2rFWtm_c8KCyegBVN6z45DA3gvvQ7RDf0aT0cQ-NoaQEUT_quxgJiWlJrfui1GEJl6cP4zzVD7I7eapYi8ukY2SDDCLQcaAZ/s320/img068+2.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-47951009329709663032015-04-12T07:20:00.000-07:002015-04-12T07:20:36.742-07:00Poverty: Isn’t That the Name of a New Fragrance?<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Pass the tap water, please.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did not plan to post a new blog today. I was waiting for a
time in the near future when I could tie it in with my latest novel
campaign, once it gets started. (Did someone just drop a hint?) But I saw a post on Facebook today from Gwyneth
Paltrow that I guess you could say “inspired” me share. You can also say it did something else.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I of course have never met Ms. Paltrow, and more to the
point I can live with the fact that I never shall. Insofar as her acting chops
are concerned, I liked her some years back in a film version of Jane
Austen’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Emma</i>. But after that she
became, for me, one of those stars whom I felt was overrated. She won an
Academy Award for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shakespeare in Love</i>,
a film in which she spent most of her screen time supposedly passing for a man,
and I found her utterly unconvincing as such. She was okay in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Talented Mr. Ripley</i>, but in a
smaller part Cate Blanchett acted her off the screen. Since then, she hasn’t
done anything of distinction that I am aware of. Though she bears a physical
resemblance to poet Sylvia Plath, I thought Paltrow gave a listless performance
in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sylvia</i>, as if acting the part took
time away from shopping. (I’ll bet you didn’t know I am a frustrated film
critic.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a subjective process I’m sure we all go through with
various people in the limelight. There are stars we “like” and stars we do not.
If you admire her acting, you are entitled to your opinion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For what it is worth, I also have never found her physically
beautiful. Attractive, certainly, in an ordinary, cheerleader sort of way. But
when she is called one of the world’s beautiful women I don’t get it. Sometimes
she has been compared to Grace Kelly. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder; look
below and decide for yourself. And again in my opinion, Kelly was a better and
more interesting actress. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNiZ5cqWANhzpGtMFOD14o3yjCZerOGvPZQvbHhO9tV1DDgpSCTf3vDUtgvZLgbPzTg8TDhQm43MjVlhi7N9dqd1jnA0u3cXrV-D9tkJZx7UyJMmd1XPOuKkVi7gcbQs4rUGA8pG9XNbVn/s1600/article-0-156D13BF000005DC-195_306x423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNiZ5cqWANhzpGtMFOD14o3yjCZerOGvPZQvbHhO9tV1DDgpSCTf3vDUtgvZLgbPzTg8TDhQm43MjVlhi7N9dqd1jnA0u3cXrV-D9tkJZx7UyJMmd1XPOuKkVi7gcbQs4rUGA8pG9XNbVn/s1600/article-0-156D13BF000005DC-195_306x423.jpg" height="200" width="144" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWOMRLpiPFawPqsl-ayV3meGZvu33ilCXhgISZZ40Tb1pD_bgm7xJAQnMR0T_NPlKxbJ88UVrNl3ihoQlcch8ykItLkLHAW1b1s2MMPqW26sePfH6UH1wsur5gCSJx9eRfdTVkojim1Uk/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWOMRLpiPFawPqsl-ayV3meGZvu33ilCXhgISZZ40Tb1pD_bgm7xJAQnMR0T_NPlKxbJ88UVrNl3ihoQlcch8ykItLkLHAW1b1s2MMPqW26sePfH6UH1wsur5gCSJx9eRfdTVkojim1Uk/s1600/images.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some of us are old enough to remember a concept called the
Peter Principle. It came from Laurence J. Peter, and the upshot was that if you
seem good at what you are doing, you will then be promoted to a higher position
and thereby rise to your “level of incompetence.” Peter was writing about the
business world and management, but I think it can be adapted to other arenas.
In the case of Paltrow, an attractive and somewhat talented actress (with parental show biz connections) rose to a
status that magnifies how undeserving she is to occupy her current status. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In more recent years, Paltrow has received bad press for
saying all sorts of things that make Marie Antoinette sound like a bag lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her utter lack of empathy,
understanding or even token interest in those less fortunate than herself has
provided fodder for standup comics as well as serious criticism. One presumes
that a publicity agent or some such told her she needed to change her image by
coming across as a concerned citizen, even if lowly Americans do bore her.
Turning to politics, she told us how handsome President Obama is. And now she
has turned to SNAP (i.e., food stamps) to show us how hard it can be for a poor
family to live on $29 a week for food. This I do not doubt for a moment. But
sometimes princesses live a bit too happily ever after, and her supposedly
eye-opening photo of what $29 of groceries looks like says far more about
Princess Gwyneth than it does about being poor. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2Rg-o7Q9tyk0pvChESbuWH5EWkPEHtaeJhQaEZvEI9yainOUwW2m2B1Lj-7BoJxC3uqQznWYx7RGrCt6-NuFb3gfs5qf58nuDrvqn3V-9jlvrqi3MqOJqlpZrm7Wdz-SUub6s_BjXzkd/s1600/21927_949950971711518_1509281719417842054_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2Rg-o7Q9tyk0pvChESbuWH5EWkPEHtaeJhQaEZvEI9yainOUwW2m2B1Lj-7BoJxC3uqQznWYx7RGrCt6-NuFb3gfs5qf58nuDrvqn3V-9jlvrqi3MqOJqlpZrm7Wdz-SUub6s_BjXzkd/s1600/21927_949950971711518_1509281719417842054_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh no, how can I stretch out this bunch of Kale or cilantro
(someone else said it was parsley) for a week? What will it do to my complexion? Cook with only one fresh clove
of garlic? And why does gluten-free have to cost extra? We need our vegies, and
of course we must buy them fresh. And look at these . . . these egg things, which are
not even free range. And surely you do not expect me to eat white rice instead
of brown? What would my nutritionist say?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As it happens, Yours Truly spent a number of years doing the
starving artist bit, and while I don’t know about my art I sure was good at
starving. Actually, I was poor anyway for having to live on my own as a minor.
I was very bad at cleaning toilets or emptying public trashcans, so when I became a busboy/dishwasher, I thought I had it made. I still remember
that my lowest-paying job of all time was for $1.25 an hour. So I might as well
say I was an artist. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the benefit of Ms. Paltrow and her ilk, here is how I
did my grocery shopping:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You think in terms of bulk—what can be stretched out for as
long as possible for as little money as possible. You buy big bags of potatoes,
and lots of rice, pasta, and popcorn (which you pop yourself). Drink tap water
(your main beverage) with the popcorn and it will fill up your stomach. Buy
lots of bags of dried beans, for big pots of chili. Or split pea or lentil soup
with two extra ingredients: water and salt. Pasta is bought in 16 ounce (not 12
ounce) packages, and like everything else you go for the cheapest—the supermarket
brand. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also get the supermarket brand of a
large container of oatmeal (rolled oats)—again, it's filling, especially with a
glass of powdered milk.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Speaking of which, supermarket brand macaroni and cheese is
cheaper than Kraft. Tomato paste can be thinned it out as needed. Powdered milk
tasted okay once it was in the fridge for a couple of days, and you can use it
just as powder to make pancakes; just add flour, water, and baking soda. If you
can afford oil (though the actual recipe calls for clarified butter), you can
make a huge amount of equal parts green split peas, yellow split peas, and
rice. It’s some sort of Indian appetizer as I recall, but for pennies you have
dinner for a week. Tell people you are on a macrobiotic diet. On those rare occasions you treat yourself to a candy bar (or maybe that's all you can afford),
you again buy by the ounce. Three Musketeers was the best deal in my day, even though
I didn’t like it much.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If meat is your thing, go for the cheapest hot dogs, regardless of what goes into them.
You can get a bit of ground beef to throw into the chili or spaghetti sauce you
make. For a time, I lived where a supermarket sold beef with soy additives for
a cheaper price, and I got that. Plus, for example, if you live near smaller
shops, you can buy day old bagels or meat that’s gone bad. Douse the meat in a
ton of cheap wine to kill bacteria, and there you are. If you splurge and buy
tuna, you buy the cheapest dark meat brand. A “sandwich” usually means an egg
salad sandwich—if you’re lucky enough to afford sandwiches.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You also have to keep in mind how much you can carry,
because you may or may not live near a bus stop, and you may or may not have
enough money to ride the bus. Living day to day, week to week, buying a
collapsible grocery cart for yourself may seem prohibitively expensive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Poor families, I imagine, do some variation of what I have
described above. Kids, yes even poor kids, can be fussy eaters, so the situation,
I’m sure, gets more complicated. (How much did <i>you</i> like to eat leftovers when you were a kid?) I sometimes had roommates, and once, when
nothing else was left in the cupboards, I made us a sumptuous graham crack
crumb lasagna (don’t ask). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not here to discuss why people are poor or how much aid
should go to the poor. I’m just saying, if you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are</i> poor, this is what it can be like. And let’s not forget that
what I lived on would be considered a feast in some parts of the world. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Plus there was, in hindsight, something positive that I
learned, because if need be I can live like that again. Which, in today’s
uncertain economy, is good to know. In general, I believe eating should not
have to cost a lot of money, and even though I can afford it I do not eat out
often and still shop looking for food items on sale, and so forth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, and there was one other thing I did. I made sure I had a
lot of friends so I could hit them up for a few bucks here and there, or raid
their refrigerators when they weren’t looking. Or sometimes, when really,
really hungry, even when they were. In addition to the moral implications of this practice,
it also meant that I rarely stood up for myself or made any waves whatsoever
out of fear of losing a precious friend. So I got used to feeling I did not
have the same right to freedom of speech as other people. In some ways, I
regret this more than anything else.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No, I have never visited the Goop website. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-52482679592628248712015-03-08T08:18:00.003-07:002015-03-08T08:18:29.574-07:00Virtual Politics
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Life is not a video
game</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As you may have read, a student government group at the
University of California, Irvine, voted to ban the American flag from being
displayed in the lobby of the student government office, and then a
higher-raking student government group vetoed the ban. Personally I have no
problem with the American flag being displayed. As long as there are
nation-states (and they do not seem to be going anywhere) there will be flags
and other symbols that connote nationalism. That’s humanity, that’s the world. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also, since this is a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">state</i>
university, at least much of its funding is coming from that big bad government
some students hate so much. And if the school is making a profit, the tuition
money these students pay goes right back to the same government. Just like
taxpayers pay for many policies and salaries they may personally wish would go
away. Perhaps as these anti-flag students get older, they will realize these
kinds of connections that zealous young people often miss. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet I bring up this incident not to take sides but rather to
take <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">no</i> side. Because what bothers me
more than whether someone is pro- or anti-U.S. policy is the increasingly
trivial way they go about expressing it. Yes, there are many injustices in our
history up to this present moment. But in my opinion taking away a flag from a
lobby is the wimpiest of symbolic gestures. In concrete terms, it changes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nothing </i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that these anti-flag people wish to change.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Part of my training as a college professor in the social
sciences was learning the importance of symbolic acts. But increasingly I get the
impression that the younger generation in particular thinks that symbolic
gestures are more than what they are. Getting rid of a flag in a lobby is seen as interchangeable with accomplishing something of merit to make the U.S. or the world a
better place. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It isn’t just about the flag, either. I have no problem with
refraining from using certain words that offend a group of people. It costs me
nothing not to use these words. But again, I think that some (not all, but
some) words one is not supposed to ever use is like some collective form of
obsessive compulsive disorder. Some folks may not know this, but if you want to
be up to date you never call, say, a female teenager a girl. She is a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">young woman</i>. In fact, “male” and
“female” should not be used, and a woman should never be called a “lady.” I
understand the ideology behind these sorts of things, having first been exposed
to it many moons ago when I was a teenager myself—and yes, in California. But
when we’re done busting people for referring to members of a particular gender
by this word and not that word, has anything been accomplished? Are we living
our lives with mutual regard for other people? Are we making personal choices
that reflect self-respect or self-loathing? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There has been concern expressed for the current generation
of young people. Some older folks worry that kids anymore spend too much time
in virtual reality via the Internet, video games, smart phones, texting, and so
forth. I am on the Internet a lot myself, and I believe the good it offers outweighs
the bad. But I wonder if some people (mostly young but not always) have come to
believe that virtual activism—don’t say this, don’t think that, don’t display
this other thing—is the same thing as actual, lived activism. Who are you giving your
money and time to? Do you dialogue only with people who agree with you? Do you
have a sense of history? That change takes time and is often difficult and
requires patience? That fighting for freedom comes at a cost, up to and
including people losing their lives? That you may have to deal with
unpleasantness from people who disagree with you? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may even, yes, be called a name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I recently read a critique of a book written thirty or more
years ago. The young critic was quite smug in noting that the book did not
mention certain terminologies or concepts that had not yet been coined. But
obviously this young person had no sense of history or perspective—and perhaps
no interest in correcting this. I once heard a student say he did not vote
because the only thing he cared about was being able to afford college. Hello,
anyone home? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While some people obsess over their mental masturbation,
literally billions of others are starving to death or dying of incurable diseases. Last
time I checked, people keep killing each other, too. Sometimes they are gunned
down in their youth, or left to rot in prisons for expressing an opinion. But I
guess that’s too icky and gross to talk about. Let’s stick to what’s safe and
abstract. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-48330966906794770152015-03-01T08:29:00.001-08:002015-03-01T08:29:51.076-08:00The Insanity of Insanity
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Times;
panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
p
{mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-margin-top-alt:auto;
margin-right:0in;
mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;
margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:Times;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">No wonder there are so many law books</span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The verdict in the Chris
Kyle/Chad Littlefield murders did not surprise me, and I feel no sympathy for
the perpetrator, Eddie Ray Routh. Murdering people trying to help you and
shooting your unaware victims in the back are among the least likely behaviors to win
public favor. Chris Kyle of course was a hero in the minds of millions. (He
lives on in people’s minds as a tragic hero or as someone whose karma caught up
with him, depending on your point of view. I’m not here to get into all of
that.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">If I understand correctly, Routh
lied about the war traumas he witnessed. Before he shot and killed his friends,
he already claimed to have PTSD, though his actual service record casts doubt
on this. Among other things, Routh apparently <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wanted</i> to have PTSD, just as he apparently wished he could have
participated in <i>more</i> bloodshed while in the service. And for no apparent
reason, he shot two friends in the back. I do not have a problem with him being
found guilty. But I have long been intrigued by how, in a legal context, we
define sanity vs. insanity. Having described Routh thus far, how sane does he
sound to you?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">As has been pointed out by
sources far wiser than me, we often call someone “crazy” when we can’t think of
any other reason for why the person did what she/he did. And when crazy doesn’t
work, we shrug and say the person then must be “evil,” because what other
explanation can there be? If you’re a fancy talker, you may say the person is a
“psychopath” or “sociopath,” though neither terminology is listed in the
current </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Diagnostic and Statistical <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Manual</span> of Mental <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Disorders
</span></span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">(DSM),<i> </i>the bible of psychiatry in the U.S. However, there is
something called Antisocial Personality Disorder that includes in its list of
symptoms a lack of remorse for one’s actions. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The DSM does not fall
from the sky. In the final analysis, it is a book composed and periodically
updated by a group of people who, one may assume, go through the same haggles
any group of people go through when trying to write something together. Word
choices and definitions change from one edition to the next. But in any case,
the DSM does not contain a definition for simple insanity vs. sanity. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">According
to expert testimony, Routh was sane at the time he shot his friends in the back
for no reason. So why did he do it? Because he’s “evil,” which according to the
dictionary means things like “morally bad, harmful, causing misfortune,
malicious and devilish.” Well, if he’s morally bad, how is it assumed he knew
right from wrong, since his worldview is off to begin with? How is causing harm
and misfortune for no reason a mark of sanity? The only reason for malice
existed in his mind. And if the devil made him do it, then maybe he needs an
exorcism?</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am not
trying to be flippant over a serious crime that has caused friends and family
of the victims immeasurable grief. Frankly, this murder case, like so many others, seems inexplicable to me. The only thing that comes to mind about Routh is that he must have had some mighty deep hangups about being a man. But then, so do other people who do not murder anyone. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">However, I am saying that our legal system seems odd
(to use a polite word) when I stop to think about it. In a legal context, you can be sane while you do
all sorts of heinous things. Sanity does not require sound moral judgment. The
most horrific and torturous murders are committed by people deemed legally
sane. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am not saying these people should not be held accountable for their
actions, or that murderers should all just be declared insane. Still, how can
someone possibly be sane if these are the things they do? And, extending the
argument, we are saying that a sane person may intentionally choose to commit
evil. In the dictionary, “sanity” means “a state of good mental balance, good
sense.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think of some awful murder you
read about, and then think if the perpetrator of it possessed “good mental
balance.”</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In a
legal context, insanity is a mental illness so severe that one cannot discern
fantasy from reality, and is dominated by psychosis or uncontrollable impulse.
I am not a psychiatrist, but it seems to me that most murders could be
explained in ways that fit these criteria (though only about one per cent of
murder cases pursue the insanity plea).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may ask: what about hit men or people who murder their spouse for
money? Well, are these people mentally fit? Do they not have issues with
reality and impulse? </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Some say
that in the final analysis, sanity is only a matter of being able to conform to
society’s dictates. John Doe stabbed his victim over one hundred times, but when
disposing of the body he obeyed the traffic lights, so he was and is sane. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Many
people think the insanity defence is a new, liberal invention, but it dates
back to ancient times. And contrary to what often is assumed, the expert
witness cannot decide the defendant’s legal responsibility, or whether the
person is wholly insane. The scope is limited to the action in question, and in
legal terms the opinions of doctors are just that—mere opinions that can be
disregarded by the jury. And if found not guilty by reason of insanity or
guilty but insane, the person likely is committed to a mental facility for life. If
prisons are not nice places, neither are state mental hospitals. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Also, a
defendant cannot be forced to plead insanity. There have been instances in
which defendants find the label of insanity more of a burden than receiving a
life sentence or the death penalty. But while expert testimony may be
permitted, the psychiatrist’s conceptualization of mental illness need not
match the legal context. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which seems to
me problematic. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
parameters of this defence, and the burden of proof required, varies
across states, and some states do not permit the insanity defence it at all. (Though
diminished capacity may still be allowed.) But those that do usually put the
burden of proof for insanity on the defence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things like mere temporary insanity, diminished capacity, intoxication, ability
to control impulse at the time of the action, may or may not apply in a given
state. But the Supreme Court has ruled that when the death penalty is on the
table, jurors must consider diminished capacity and responsibility and the time
of the incident. So I guess you can be sane enough to commit murder but at the
same time have committed it with diminished capacity. And whatever is decided,
the judge bangs the gavel and officially anyway justice has been served. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I know
it’s always easier to criticize than to offer solutions. But, speaking as a fellow
shmuck, it seems to me that our approach to the insanity plea is neither fish
nor fowl. And its moral implications—or should I say lack of moral
implications?—are troubling. In legal terms, the possession of what is called
sanity does not account for much as to who you are as a person, and can even
work against you. All that obedient behaviour was your worst mistake. </span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-81566990474785680212015-02-22T10:44:00.002-08:002015-02-23T06:20:36.989-08:00The Perfect TV Family <style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Those weren’t the
days.</i></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The man in a business suit pulls his car into the driveway,
and before he even gets out of it his children want his attention. He doesn't tell them to go away. Instead, he listens attentively
as he enters the house, where dinner is being prepared. Without changing his
clothes, he rolls up his shirtsleeves and helps his wife make dinner. Before
the meal is ready, he attends to several other issues about the household; he
multi-tasks with ease. When not at the office he is 100% committed to helping
his wife and kids. He assumes authority only to the extent that it protects his
family. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He does not yell or lose
patience or ask for alone time. He does not bully his way to authority, and he
never tries to intimidate or guilt-bate his family by being the patriarch.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a summary of an episode I happened upon of the 1950s
sitcom, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Father Knows Best</i>. This
program is one of several from TV’s so-called Golden Age that, depending on
your point of view, showed life as it used to be—and in a good way—or shows life
as it never was—and in a bad way. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s no point pretending that these shows were about
“everyone,” and possibly they were not about anyone. The families were solid middle
class WASPs, with gainfully employed fathers, housewife mothers, and children
without serious mental or physical issues. Minority ethnicities—even Jews or
Catholics—virtually did not exist. Women accepted that men were in charge. From
time to time there would be an episode in which a tomboy learned that her true
happiness came from nylons and make-up and acting stupid or weak to impress a
certain young man. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In real life, Lucille Ball and her husband, Desi Arnaz, had
to fight the network to broadcast a show about white woman married to a Cuban
bandleader. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My Three Sons</i>, for most
of its seasons, featured a single parent, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bachelor Father</i> saw John Forsythe raising his orphaned niece. Recasting necessities caused
Danny Thomas/Williams on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Make Room for
Daddy</i> to have a second wife and a stepdaughter. <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This program</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> a</i>nd <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I Love Lucy</i> were set in New York
apartments. But for the most part these shows featured intact, white, nuclear, suburban
families.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were no money problems to speak of, Lucy Ricardo’s bad
spending habits notwithstanding. No one lost a job or got divorced or had an
affair. The children didn’t talk back to their parents, drink or do drugs, or have premarital sex. There
were no unwed mothers. In fact, I saw another <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Father Knows Best</i> in which eldest daughter Betty, a high school student,
says goodnight to her date at her front door. He asks, “May I?” and she meaningfully
nods her head. He kisses her once on the cheek, and then goes back to his car.
Sitcom kids sometimes got into mischief or made mistakes (as youth are prone to
do), but nothing caused anyone serious harm. Life lessons were things like boys
standing up to bullies, or girls learning not to be selfish. Daughters had a
bad habit of bursting into tears and running off to their bedrooms, but Mom or
Dad could fit whatever troubled the girl with a few wise words. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were of course serious problems both here and abroad,
but politics did not enter into the TV family perfect universe. At the dinner
table, no one argued about Republicans vs. Democrats, the Civil Rights Movement,
the Cold War, or much of anything else.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the 50s gave way to the 60s, these shows ran their
course. People who wax nostalgic for them may forget that these programs did
not disappear by magic or a Communist plot; their ratings went down. Baby Boomers
got exposed to new ideas and new conceptualizations of “reality,” and stopped
watching or caring about these relatively trivial picture-perfect families. In
fact, I think that breaking away from these perfect sitcom families was a rite
of passage in the mid- to late 1960s. The world—not to mention one’s own
family—did not match the perfection seen on the small screen. Shows that lasted
to the end of the decade, such as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My
Three Sons</i>, went from seeming cool to reactionary. Latecomers like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Brady Bunch</i> wanted to be cool, but
if you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">were</i> cool you knew <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Brady Bunch</i> wasn’t. Only in
hindsight does a show like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Brady
Bunch</i> seem campy fun. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is not a coincidence that the most timeless of these
shows, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I Love Lucy</i>, featured less than perfect characters. However loony Lucy and
Ethel’s escapades were, and even if Ricky and Fred got the last word, this was
a show essentially about wives <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>
obeying their husbands. Lucy didn’t have a career, but she spent the run of the
series wanting one. And she’d go to any lengths to try and make her mark. A few
episodes intimate the threat of what we would now call domestic violence,
though it never occurred. Still, it is worth noting that even in the so-called
traditional 1950s people were ready to embrace a woman who rebelled against the
limitations of what society expected of her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The 60s has been characterized as a time of youthful nonconformity
and racial unrest, but popular culture frequently lagged a few years behind.
Many rock songs now considered classics did not actually top the charts when
first released. And few TV shows succeeded in capturing the temper of the
times. People of color were brought to the small screen ever so slowly and ever
so carefully. The youth culture was captured in only the most superficial of
ways, like those stick-on flowers people used to put on their cars. Marcia
Brady was a far cry from Janis Joplin, though in real life some of the young
actors who played these perfect children suffered addiction, depression,
poverty, and even suicide.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet for all that was limited or fake in these older family
shows, I think they need to be looked at as products of their time and place.
The post-World War II suburban boom was (whatever its flaws) something new and
exciting in many people’s eyes. The mere fact of living in a pristine suburb
was seen as modern. It gave the Cleavers and the Nelsons a built-in dimension of
cool. In fact, Ricky Nelson became a singing teen idol, and other TV kids (such as
Donna Reed’s) had hit records, too. Of course, television itself was a new toy in
the 1950s, so even the fact of being a TV show was in itself something special.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Additionally, I saw an interview with a former star of one
of these shows that made me think twice about some of the assumptions that are
made about them. According to this ex-child actor, the players and producers of
these programs knew that real-life families did not achieve perfection. So
these series were intended to provide good examples for people to follow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looked at from this perspective, the old family sitcoms had a
little more going on in them than we often remember. Even just the titles
sometimes seem telling. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Father Knows Best</i>
was a pun, because the original saying was that mother knows best. So while it
is possible to view this title (and the program thereof) as sexist cooptation,
it also possible to look at it as trying to provide a positive role model for
men. Robert Young (playing Jim Anderson) knew as much about his children as his
wife did, and lived for no other purpose than to embrace his role as husband
and father. He never cheated on his wife, and he never was unfair to his
children. Atypical even at the time? Yes. But maybe the show was trying to tell
men that a more caring and yes, even a bit more egalitarian world could be
theirs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Leave It to Beaver</i>
was mostly about the youngest son who gets into jams and tries to get away with
doing things he wasn’t supposed to do. But kids will be kids, and, well, leave
it to good ol’ Beaver to always make mischief. Don’t hit him or yell at him. Be
like his father, Ward, and have an understanding talk about how he can do
better next time. Likewise, despite all of her shenanigans, “I” (i.e., Ricky
Ricardo) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">love</i> Lucy. (Years later, the
same would hold true for “everyone” loving Raymond, despite Ray Romano’s way of
messing things up.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Adventures of
Ozzie and Harriet</i> gave intentional irony to the word, “adventures,” because
the show never was about anything much. (Some consider it the prequel to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Seinfeld</i>.) But with the right attitude, the
show seemed to say, ordinary life could be seen as funny, and worth the time and trouble. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Donna Reed Show</i>
was about Mom and not Dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Contrary to
legend, she never cleaned the house wearing pearls, and the show depicted how
central the woman was to the family. The father was a doctor, so he was away
from home quite a lot, and it was Donna Reed (a/k/a Donna Stone) who knew
everything that was going on, and who provided words of wisdom to her children.
Yes, she was “only” a housewife, but she was Queen of her Universe; it was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her </i>show, not his. Even if the man was
technically in charge, the show implied, it’s really the woman who makes
things happen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also, in this more innocent time, some things were accepted
that in today’s world would raise eyebrows. On an episode of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My Three Sons</i>, the youngest boy must
write a paper for school about his mother. So he writes about the old man who
cooks and cleans for the household, saying that he is his “mom” because this is
who takes care of him in a way that a mother would. It is intended to be a wholesome, heartwarming moment. When Bob
Hope guest-starred on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Make Room for Daddy</i>,
he and Danny Thomas end up in a cabin in the country where they sleep in the
same bed, and this simply is taken for granted. There are no jokes about it,
and it isn’t supposed to mean anything more. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think where these shows went wrong was that many viewers,
rather than reflect on themselves, simply felt inferior to not living up to the
ideals. Reality was much harder to pull off than it appeared on TV. Other
viewers mistakenly believed that these shows showed what their families <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">were</i> like, because the TV
wouldn’t lie. Even today, some people want us to go back to a past that never
was. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I certainly never received any understanding talks when I
got in trouble as a kid. There was no Ward Cleaver or Jim Anderson or Donna
Stone in my life, though there were a couple of Godzillas and Mommie Dearests. Maybe
I wasn’t the only kid who felt this way, which maybe explains why those cheapo
monsters movies of the day were what kids my age really wanted to watch. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-79946239919988705642015-02-15T05:59:00.001-08:002015-02-15T15:17:33.206-08:0050 Shades of Dismay<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Times;
panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
h3
{mso-style-priority:9;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-link:"Heading 3 Char";
mso-margin-top-alt:auto;
margin-right:0in;
mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;
margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
mso-outline-level:3;
font-size:13.5pt;
font-family:Times;}
span.Heading3Char
{mso-style-name:"Heading 3 Char";
mso-style-priority:9;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-locked:yes;
mso-style-link:"Heading 3";
mso-ansi-font-size:13.5pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:13.5pt;
font-family:Times;
mso-ascii-font-family:Times;
mso-hansi-font-family:Times;
mso-fareast-language:EN-US;
font-weight:bold;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Times;
panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
h3
{mso-style-priority:9;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-link:"Heading 3 Char";
mso-margin-top-alt:auto;
margin-right:0in;
mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;
margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
mso-outline-level:3;
font-size:13.5pt;
font-family:Times;}
span.Heading3Char
{mso-style-name:"Heading 3 Char";
mso-style-priority:9;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-locked:yes;
mso-style-link:"Heading 3";
mso-ansi-font-size:13.5pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:13.5pt;
font-family:Times;
mso-ascii-font-family:Times;
mso-hansi-font-family:Times;
mso-fareast-language:EN-US;
font-weight:bold;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Porn by another other name . . .</i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I have not read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">50
Shades of Gray</i>. This is no great moralistic stance on my part, I’m just
being practical. I read the plot synopsis of the book, and some reviews and blogs
about it. I visited the author’s website, and skimmed over a couple of online chapters.
So I get it. I’m something of a natural speed-reader anyway.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As for the movie, I think I’ll pass on that, too. When you
live as long as I have, you realize life is short, and there’s no point in sitting
through two hours of something that took you ten seconds to figure out. I’ve
seen hundreds of other movies and know there are only so many things that can happen.
For me, a movie preview is like a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Reader’s
Digest</i> condensed book. Unless the film has something else to offer—good
writing, exceptional acting, a favorite star—there’s no reason for me to waste
my time seeing it. I took a chance on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Silver
Linings Playbook</i>, hoping against hope that every last predictable and overdone
plot device would not transpire, so I learned my lesson for good.<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Pornography is defined as that which is purely
sexual in content, without any redeeming social, artistic or educational value.
From what I have read of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">50 Shades</i>, I
would classify it pornography. This label does not automatically connote
condemnation in my mind. But beneath some crafty plot devices, it seems to me
to be about nothing but sex. Or more to the point, orgasms. And even more to
the point, a fair amount of </span><a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=cunilingus"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">cunilingus</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, which is described with a kind of instruction manual eye for detail—and
which leads to more orgasms. So does the bondage, discipline, sadism and
masochism. All roads lead to Rome, so to speak. I do not see any social,
artistic or educational value in any of it. It’s a high-rent version of
“plumber calls on housewife to fix her pipes.”</span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I will say this for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">50
Shades</i>. The excerpts I looked over technically were not as poorly written
as critics told me to expect. If not great literature, the prose moves and
flows, and the narrator has a definite and empathic voice. If it seems “clunky”
to some readers, perhaps it is because the constant pornography comes as a never-ending
jolt, a constant stumbling block. Some readers may not be used to so much porn in
a “respectable” bestseller that ends with marriage and a family. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Also, in terms of what is this world coming to and so on, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">50 Shades</i> is not the first big
bestseller to be considered scandalous, or for that matter pronounced less than
stellar prose. Novels such a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peyton Place</i>
and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Valley of the Dolls</i> sold millions
of copies to the dismay of moralists—as well as literary critics—though today
they read as tame stuff. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fellow Baby
Boomers may recall guilty pleasure with bestselling authors such as Harold
Robbins or Irving Wallace. Even a relatively good writer like John O’Hara held
a questionable place in arts and letters, the jury split as to whether his
books were true literature or trash for snobs.<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">There often is a problem with translating novels
into film, common though the practice may be. It is hard to capture on film an
author’s universe. In a book, less is often more. From what I’ve gathered,
Christian Gray on the written page is a kind of blank slate onto which women
can impose their own interpretations and fantasy. His opaque quality is part of
his mystery and appeal. And narrator Anastasia Steele comes across as constantly
in awe for all that is happening to her. She doesn’t want all of it, but then most
if not all novels have a protagonist who does things that are unexpected or not
sought out.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">There has been some outcry about the novel
presenting a distorted image of sexual fantasy between two consenting adults.
Because much of what happens to Anastasia is nothing she consents to. She is in
fact socially isolated, manipulated and bullied. In so many words, it’s been argued
that the story is domestic violence trying to pass itself off as romance with
steamy sex.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">But as sometimes happens, the film is causing more
of a stir than the novel. Reading about something can be less jarring than
seeing it. On film, Anastasia and Christian must come across as believable
human beings with motivation for why they do what they do. Judging by the
reviews I’ve read, the film does not succeed in accomplishing this. That
Christian is rich, sometimes protective of Anastasia or is good with kids does
not account for much on the big screen. The audience knows what it sees; there
is not the same ambiguity as on the written page. And when you’re not inside
someone’s head and heart—as a reader is with a novel—even the orgasms lack
gravity. In so many words, critics are saying that the film doesn’t even work
as a piece of porn, and apparently is not even campy, so-bad-it’s-good fun. All
that is left is the abuse, which among other things does not seem to make dramatic sense.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I have read numerous feminist criticisms of the
film, and if you have not already heard there is an active boycott of the movie.
People are invited to donate $50 to their local women’s shelter instead of
buying two movie tickets, a couple of soft drinks and a tub of popcorn for that
same fifty bucks. (Plus it’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fifty</i>,
get it?) If you are so inclined and you don’t know where your nearest women’s
shelter is, you can look it up on the Internet or contact your local public
library or police department.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">As a social scientist, I am aware of how abusive
relationships are defined. Based on this, I have to agree that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">50 Shades</i> is about an abusive
relationship. There are, though, a few things not being mentioned in the
critiques I’ve read that I think also are discussion worthy.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">At the most basic level, this novel was written by a
woman, and this seems to me to be not a small elephant in the room. Had a man
written the same book, I’m sure many words would’ve been spent as to what sort
of infantile psycho pig would write such a thing.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Also, some 100 million women around the world
responded to this book favorably. Does this mean that these women are latent or
practicing sexual masochists? I would guess no. First of all, sexual fantasy,
like other forms of fantasy, usually does not translate into actual behavior. Virtually
anything can be eroticized. But I do think that a look into the BDSM world may
tell us some other things about how some women apparently feel about
themselves.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">There are numerous theories about why people turn to
S & M. Practitioners of this lifestyle often say that they like the
security they get from the lack of uncertainty. The sex roles are clearly defined;
each party knows exactly what the other wants, and the emotions that are
involved. Technically, even husband/wife missionary position involves role-play
of a sort, so more exotic sex games can be seen as an extension of this. Perhaps
there are a lot of women and yes men out there who do not know how to express or
explore sexual desire, or what should be communicated through it.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Another thing one hears from studies about S & M
is that while the master may seem in charge, it is the submissive partner who gets
most of the attention. If it is true that children sometimes disobey just to
get noticed, perhaps adults do something similar. Women who enjoy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">50 Shades</i> may not want to get whipped
and chained in real life, but they respond to the sheer <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">attention </i>Anastasia receives. She is an abused women, as opposed to
a neglected one. If one falls for the story, she is the obsession of a handsome
billionaire who seems to need mothering and who performs great oral sex. And
did I mention that he’s rich? (He also had experience as a submissive in a
previous relationship, which can make the whole thing seem “fair.”)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Folk wisdom has it that only sensitive men perform
oral sex on a woman, which <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">50 Shades</i>
exposes as ludicrous. Still, the graphically tender way in which Christian
caresses her body suggests that there are many unfulfilled women out there. As
a trade-off for this great sex, Anastasia must submit to unwelcome bondage and
pain, but according to her it is worth it. And did I mention he’s rich?</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">But in all seriousness, the critiques I have read curiously
do not dwell on or even mention the “O” word or the “C” word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As is true of virtually all pornography, the
ultimate sexual satisfaction is depicted as worth whatever bother was required
to get there. Sometimes politics makes strange bedfellows, and both radical
feminists and Christian conservatives often rant about pornography. Yet both
groups bypass this basic point about porn—people are depicted as having <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">orgasms</i>. And people watch it or read it
to likewise feel aroused.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">In the real world, people of whatever gender or
lifestyle may put themselves through all sorts of ordeals just to achieve those
fleeting seconds of sexual satisfaction. With each new generation, there is
less sentiment associated with sex, and finding it is more important to
millions of people than finding love. The many roads to sexual Shangri-La need
to become better integrated into discussions about pornography. Otherwise, well-meaning
anti-porn folks will continue to be perceived by their critics as old-fashioned,
uptight and lacking humor—people who are anti-orgasm. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">One of the frequently asked questions on the
author’s website is if there is a real Christian Gray, and if so how to meet
him. But it would seem that these women are less interested in becoming
Anastasia Steele. They think they can have the one without becoming the other.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">So maybe what we can glean from all this is that
many women feel emotionally and sexually adrift and neglected. They do not feel
that they are made love to, or that their partners have much tenderness or
understanding of a woman’s needs. Cohabitating or single, they do not have a
man’s attention, which obviously is more important to some women than others.
That the possibility persists that these problems can be solved through an
abusive relationship is highly problematic, and it also reveals something about
the misperception of many women’s lives. These misperceptions come from
Hollywood, the media, and of course men. But they also come from women themselves.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-66889389280452603102015-02-08T08:41:00.002-08:002015-02-08T13:31:24.931-08:00Misremembering My Misspeak<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Doesn't anybody just lie anymore?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back in the 70s, the term <i>Ms.</i> was coined for women, so that
they had a formal title not based on their marital status. Since "Ms." now appears in
so many legal contexts, it may come as a surprise to learn it was quite
controversial in its time. Of course some people complained about the feminist
implications, but there also were concerns about removing the letter
“I” from the title "Miss," because after all how do you have a word without a vowel?
People had to be taught to say “Mizz” as opposed to “Miss.” (The common
abbreviation “Mrs.” also does not contain a vowel, but no matter.) Some people
didn’t like the sound of “Ms.,” claiming it seemed impersonal—which I imagine was part of the intent. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But sentimentalists of the 70s did not have to bemoan for
long the loss of the word “Miss,” because parts of it began popping up in other
ways. Watergate found us dealing with people who did not lie but
who “misspoke,” which word provided fodder aplenty for comics, pundits, and
anti-Nixonites. What was the world coming to if people could not admit that
they lied but rather claimed they misspoke? It symbolized everything
bureaucratic and over-legalized in our society, not to mention it sounded flakey.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In truth, the word “misspoke” goes back centuries, according
to the Oxford Unabridged Dictionary—or as those of us in the know like to say,
the OED. Shakespeare used it, which is good enough for me. But the word rarely
was/is used until the U.S. got hold of it, where its range of meaning was
narrowed to: “to speak incorrectly, unclearly, or misleadingly.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time heals, many people today don’t even know
what Watergate was, and all sorts of folks find good reason to claim
they misspoke. Today the word is used without irony or satire. Yet, going back to the
OED definition, usage of the word can confound much more than it clarifies—which
can please the utterer just fine. Was I simply incorrect in what I said, was I
not as clear as I could have been, or was I intentionally misleading you? Saying I
misspoke means that I am pleading innocent. You may think I’m guilty, but
we’ll never know because I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">misspoke</i>.
My you-know-what is covered. No, I didn’t lie, because that would mean I did something wrong. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kissing cousin to the word “misspoke” is the word
“misremember.” This word, too, has a long pedigree according to the OED. But in
a contemporary context, one sees it cropping up as a psychological state of
being. If you don’t believe me, Google “Brian Williams memory," and see all the
postings in which it is claimed or at least considered that he honestly does
not remember what happened in his helicopter in 2003.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Gee, I thought I got shot at, but I guess I misremembered. </span>(It also has been questioned if he even
actually saw another helicopter get shot at, given where he would have been
positioned at the time.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As many of us already know, memory is by necessity selective.
We could not function if we remembered everything that happens to us even
in a single day. So in order to guide us along, our brains throw much of what occurs
into the trash bin for deletion. We also tend to remember things in ways that
make us seem good or in the right, and memory often gets foggy or even blank
when one experiences trauma. It is not uncommon for two people to recall the
same event differently, or to argue over what year something happened. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Bad” memories often are ones in which we
cannot justify why we did what we did, or why someone did what they did to us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a grad student, I heard about a study in which
people were asked to tell the story of Bambi. Many children are traumatized
when Bambi’s mother gets killed, and their young minds embellish upon what
actually happens—which is that her shooting occurs off-screen. (I remembered it
as her running for her life, and a friend recalls that she died in a
terrible fire.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So yeah, I get that Brian Williams or anyone else may not
remember how he spent Thanksgiving eleven years ago, or may recall a dispute in
a manner that presents himself as the correct party and/or the unfairly blamed
one. As we know from TV and movies—or may tragically know from our lived
experience—it can be hard to remember important details about getting robbed,
raped, or being the target of an attempted murder. People who survive serious
car accidents often cannot recall what happened. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But you know? I think that someone alert enough to make an
estimated $10 million per year can recall whether or not his helicopter got
shot at. To the best of my offhand knowledge, Williams was never in a position
from which he might have developed PTSD. And perhaps most important of all, the
accuracy of his coverage of Hurricane Katrina had already been questioned years
before the current controversy. In the case of Katrina, he claimed to have seen
things or suffered in ways that others state never happened. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe you have heard of Munchausen Syndrome, in which people
claim to have suffered trauma or illness that they did not actually experience,
in order to get sympathy and attention from others. I am not a psychologist, and
even if I were I do not meet people like Brian Williams. I have no idea what
his psychological state of being is or is not. But I do know that in the news
ratings game, it never hurts if a broadcast journalist becomes a news story
himself. Or let me qualify that—it <i>does</i> hurt when the public questions your
credibility, but not when it believes you are a hero. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People like to think that the news stories they hear or
read are true. But a great deal of selectivity may be involved in how the story
gets presented—what is emphasized or omitted, and what possible connections are
presented as fact. Recently I stumbled upon a so-called news
item in which it was claimed that singer Carrie Underwood single-handedly
destroyed the pro-choice perspective on abortion. But, reading further, I
learned that the pregnant Ms. (a/k/a Miss)
Underwood simply feels like she is singing to her yet to be born baby, and that the baby can hear her. A lovely little story about mother-child bonding, but quite afield from what
the headline promised.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But even as such, many people do not know that TV reporters
are not necessarily trained in how to be journalists. They are trained in how
to project into the camera, how to ask questions, or how to edit the copy someone
else wrote for them. They also should know how to ad lib when necessary. But they
do not always know how to write journalism or how to interview without a
list of questions prepared for them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brian Williams dropped out of college to intern with the Carter
administration. He then began reporting news on TV, working his way to from
local to national news coverage. I do not know how much actual training he has
in journalism, I only know that he, like any news anchor, must present himself
on camera as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">seeming</i> to be a good
journalist. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As other sources have pointed out, many people no longer
turn to major TV networks to find out what is happening. They may prefer cable
or online news sources. Not to mention that more than a few people choose to ignore the news. So perhaps the national network news anchor is becoming
a dinosaur anyway. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet even though what we consider to be factual news
sometimes may be less than that, and even though no one has a perfect memory,
in my humble opinion Brian Williams knows when he is lying to
self-promote. Not misspeak his misremembrance, but purposefully present himself
as a kind of Indiana Jones of news anchors. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Give me his $10 million a year, and I promise to tell the
truth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-48576326796846375082015-02-01T07:59:00.001-08:002015-02-01T07:59:09.479-08:00Depressingly Inspirational
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A new required school assignment?</i>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I ruled the world (always my favorite way to start a
sentence), all teens would be required to watch online clips from the Rock and
Roll Hall of Fame. Then they would have to watch clips of the inductees from
when they were, as we say, in their prime (i.e, young). My goal here would be
to maybe, hopefully, desperately try to convince young people for the first
time in human history that youth does not last forever. These foxy hip young
rock stars who made everyone dance are now these old people with gray (thinning) hair—if
they are lucky enough to still be alive. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would offer this lesson as proof positive that humans age.
Yes, they indeed do, despite all the media hype and cosmetic surgery bills,
everyone gets old. Not only that, you will not be an exception. You will not
sit back and eat chocolate forever as you watch everyone around you grow old
while you stay the same. Profound stuff. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re as young as you feel?” Well yeah, kinda sorta. But
my lower back may beg to differ, as well as that increasing ache in my right
shoulder. I brought these matters up to my doctor, who gave it to me straight:
I am getting older.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Only a few weeks ago I wrote in this very blog about denial
of aging amongst Baby Boomers. But as so often happens in my life, no sooner
did I see a problem in others than did I see that I had the same problem. Such humbling
insights sometimes are called gifts. Gee, thanks, Santa. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite a strong identification with the youth culture of my
era, I’ve always had a sense that I’d be happier the older I got. I recall
being frustrated that I wasn’t in the popular crowd in seventh grade (or was it
eighth?) because I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knew</i> that this
particular social arrangement would not last forever. Who was or was not
popular would have nothing to do with “real life.” (Marriage, kids, etc.) But
premature wisdom, like so many other premature things (I am thinking of one in
particular) can be a burden. Envying others for a quality that you
simultaneously know doesn’t matter is not exactly a self-esteem builder. Not
only are you unpopular, but you know you are stupid for wanting to be
popular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In any event, my teen years were happier than me pre-teen
years, my twenties were happier than my teens, and so on. And I’d like to
believe anyway that time also has improved my character, though those of you
with evidence to the contrary will be paid off as always to maintain your
silence. (Your checks are already in the mail.) By “happy,” I don’t just mean technically
anti-depressed, but feeling a sense of purpose, that life makes sense, I gained
from my challenges, and all that type of stuff.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We live in an era in which nothing is supposed to faze us
much. One should vote and have opinions, but at the same time take nothing
going on in the world—or our lives—too seriously. Stop and smell the gladiolas,
or however it goes. Unhappiness, depression, existential crises . . . all these
things do indeed suck when you’re going through them. But it’s pretty hard to
walk along the path of life without stepping in some you-know-what from time to
time. And this is without getting into things like losing a loved one, or having serious physical or mental conditions. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sometimes show my students a video about the press
coverage in the wake of 9/11. Many hundreds of people trapped in the World
Trade Center had to decide whether they preferred dying from fire or from
hurling themselves out the window. But this unimaginable horror was not
featured in the media. Instead we chose to call it a day of heroism, a day of
coming together as a nation. I do not doubt that some of this was strategic—it
is politic for a nation under attack to present itself as stronger than its attacker.
But I think some of it, too, was just that we do not enjoy pondering tragedy.
Or maybe what I mean to say is of course no one wants to dwell on tragedy, but
we have lost our ability to handle it as it inevitably comes along. If it is
“too depressing” to come to terms with our own mortality, vulnerability, and
impermanence, what are we supposed to do instead? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just saw a play in which there was a line that went
something like: If nothing were painful, nothing would matter to us. Pain often
is how we know something—or someone—was important in our lives. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So yeah, it is at best bittersweet for me to look at these
young rock and rollers and then see them in their retirement years, even when
they seem to be wise, contented people who appreciate being honored. It pains
me because it reminds me of my own mortality, and my own youthful follies that
I have long since discarded (i.e., precious time wasted over nonsense). For
many years I could listen to the music from my hedonistic youth and feel swept
up in the memory of the, uh, party or whatever you’d call it. But it is getting
to where I don’t want to hear certain oldies. The gap between the moment of
youth and now has become too wide. I barely recognize the kid who rocked out to
that song.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fall semesters I teach a class for first-year college students
in critical thinking—how to think more deeply and look beyond the surface of
key social issues. But I may just add the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in my list
of assignments. I’d like to know how tomorrow’s leaders feel about their own
mortality, and if they can comprehend that life is too short. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-39869626059428350902015-01-25T07:52:00.001-08:002015-01-27T15:21:16.101-08:00It's Only a Movie<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s called acting for
a reason</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am an extremely non-violent person. When people post allegedly funny videos of others doing
stupid stunts from which they get hurt, I don’t see the humor. Even
successful daredevil stunts make me squirm. It seems stupid to
me to take such risks, especially if you’re not even getting paid for it. When
I heard of one person who was rendered paralyzed from a trampoline, I
crossed it off my list of things I would try. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should mention that about 15 years ago I learned that I’d
been walking around all my life with a hole in my hip, which I then got fixed.
So who knows? Maybe on some unconscious level my body had been telling me to be
careful all those years. I have done a fair amount of backpacking in various
regions of the country, and am lucky I never fell on my hip in the middle of
nowhere. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was never more alert than the few times I handled a gun.
The main reason I do not keep a firearm in the house is that I am afraid it
will go off my accident. I say a short prayer before I drive a car, even if it’s just around
the corner, and offer cosmic thanks when I arrive safely. I never lose sight of
the fact that a car can be a dangerous weapon if not handled correctly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When there’s an ad on TV to help abused animals, I change
the channel because I cannot bear to watch it. Even seeing posts for an animal
that needs a home breaks my heart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Given all this, I cannot even begin to comprehend what
soldiers go through fighting a war. I am not alarmed by the high rates of PTSD;
if anything, I am surprised they are not higher. Sometimes when I start to feel
sorry for myself, I think about the men and women in active duty.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the other hand . . .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do not confuse fact with fiction. I can watch the goriest
movies or TV shows without ever looking away, and marvel at the artistry that sometimes
goes into creating these scenes. From a safe distance, the moral and emotional
complexities of war, crime, and murder fascinate me. As a novelist, I like to
include this type of stuff in my books because I think it makes for more
interesting characters. It is a compelling means for observing the endless mystery
of the human condition. (Though the biggest complaint I get is over my use of
profanity. AlI can say is I’ve lived all over the country, and the “F” word and
“S” word are alive and well. It’s how people talk.) Like many other people, I
find a good murder mystery to be cozy and fun.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A novel, film or TV show doesn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have to</i> contain violence for me to find it interesting, though a miniscule
dose of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Little House on the Prairie</i>
goes a long way with me. But I liked, for example, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Revolutionary Road</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">August: Osage
County</i> for depicting a different form of violence in humankind. I also am a big fan of
many of the old black and white films, in which an actor's intensity and not
special effects gives us something riveting to look at. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I first heard about the new movie, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">American Sniper</i>, my gut level reaction was: “So in other words, it has
dramatic weight and substance.” I realize it is based on a true story, and,
having not yet seen it, cannot comment on how it depicts Middle Easterners
among other things. I read just this morning that Clint Eastwood feels he made
an anti-war statement with this film by conveying a sense of what warfare is
like, and what happens to the people involved in it. I also read Michael
Moore’s clarification of what he meant in making a distinction between a
soldier and a sniper. On balance, these and other comments make me look forward
to seeing the movie and deciding for myself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To put this issue in an historical context: Back in 1941,
the film, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sergeant York</i> won an Oscar
for Gary Cooper. For those who no longer learn history in school, the real Sergeant
Alvin York was a celebrated U.S. soldier of World War I who accomplished significant feats—which yes, included killing other people. He was a
Christian pacifist taught to oppose war. After wrestling with his conscience he
decided to serve—and kill. A highly decorated soldier from World War II was
Audie Murphy, who starred in his own life story and had some success as a film
actor. Honoring warriors through artistic media is nothing new. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The point I wish to make here, though, is that I find it
interesting (actually, that’s a neutral way of putting it) that many people
seem to object to a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">movie</i> much more
than they objected to the actual events that inspired it. The things that Bradley
Cooper as Chris Kyle says and does in the film would seem to approximate things
Kyle said and did in real life. As I write this, there are people saying and
doing similar things. Considering how many people claim to believe that the
wars in the Middle East were/are wrong, there has been relatively little
freedom of speech exercised to offer this opinion. As opposed to, say, the
Vietnam War, people generally appear content to support these wars with their
tax dollars, pay lip service to their anti-war stance, and worry instead if
they are eating enough quinoa. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In 1988, there was a large outcry over the film, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Last Temptation of Christ</i>, yet since
1953 the novel it was based on appeared in bookstores and libraries with no one
seeming to mind (though since the film this situation has changed). I know many
people who say they don’t mind reading about violence, but they don’t like
seeing it in movies. Well, you know, you can’t always have your cake and eat
it, too. It is my humble opinion that what is wrong with the U.S. is not that a
movie got made about a sniper, but that people seem to think this movie is a
bigger deal than the reality it is based on. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-23148199907773777082015-01-18T06:29:00.001-08:002015-01-18T06:29:10.174-08:00Enter Laughing
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
span.blue
{mso-style-name:blue;
mso-style-unhide:no;}
span.green
{mso-style-name:green;
mso-style-unhide:no;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
span.blue
{mso-style-name:blue;
mso-style-unhide:no;}
span.green
{mso-style-name:green;
mso-style-unhide:no;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Funny
people can be unhappy</span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">People remember Robin Williams as funny. In truth,
he played an impressive range of characters, both comedic and serious. A number
of his films dealt with suicide, murder and death, and his movies did not
always end happily. Yet he is known first and foremost for making people laugh.
True, he was a great stand-up comic, and he often horsed around in interviews.
Yet if you watch him being “himself” on TV, you will see that he had candid
moments, too, in which he shared something about his inner conflicts. But
people tended not to acknowledge the serious side of Robin Williams. We tuned
out when he talked about his personal struggles, and waited impatiently for his
next zinger. He was there to make people laugh, and like all show biz troupers,
he gave the audience what it wanted. So he usually made sure to throw in some
funny dialects or nutty puns. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Though his career lasted thirty-two years beyond <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mork and Mindy</i>, this first TV sitcom
essentially defined his public persona. No matter what part he played, for many
people he still was Mork from Ork, the zany weirdo from another planet. Though
the TV show led to a film career that included an Academy Award, he never quite
reinvented himself as a public personality.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was a slight, brief acquaintance of Robin
Williams. The man I met was unassuming, kind, and sincere. He was low-key and
did not brag. While he was not dour he also was not particularly goofy. Over
the years, I was happy for his well-deserved success, but I never quite
believed in the Clown with a Thousand Accents that he became in the public’s
mind. I knew that a real, complex person lived inside the madcap persona. When
I learned of his death I was saddened for him and for his loved ones. But I
never believed that anyone could be as maniacally happy as the public expected
him to be. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have no reason to think Robin Williams remembered
casually meeting me. I made no impression on his life whatsoever. Unlike him, I
was not adored by millions, and I hardly become an A-list star—or for that
matter, any kind of celebrity. Kathy Griffin used to joke about being on the
D-List, but I am on the Z-list. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yet in light of his untimely death, I realized we
had at least one thing in common. The goofball Robin Williams that many
people assumed was the sum total of Robin Williams was a role I, in own way,
knew all too well. I lived my own variation of it since childhood. I think the
reason I always was slightly perturbed by his nutty persona was that it
reminded me of myself. I may not have been a movie star, but I knew how to make
‘em laugh. I still struggle to feel I have cosmic “permission” to be unhappy,
angry, or petulant—or even to disagree with inconsequential remarks. Just last
night I had a dream in which someone wanted more money than I could afford for
something, yet I was afraid to say no.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If I were to visit a children’s classroom, I could spot myself right away. There will be a boy who never takes anything
seriously. While the rest of the class is singing a song or learning long
division, he is hiding his face behind a book to conceal his laughter. Probably
he has at least one co-conspirator, a fellow hysterical laugher. In and out of
school they make mischief. They bypass norms and social boundaries (perhaps even
break the law) just because everything seems so gosh-darn stupid and futile.
They may have a streak of cruelty, as I did, and make fun of other people. But
everything seems just so ridiculous. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yet as much as I laughed, I seldom laughed at things you were supposed to laugh at,
such as jokes or comedy shows. To this day, I watch a stand-up comic with
skepticism, daring her or him to make me laugh, as opposed to mildly smile for
my tepid amusement.</span></div>
<br />
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I got kicked out of glee club in sixth grade for
laughing uncontrollably (though I have no idea why) at the word, “snowman.” Antiquated
tra-la-la classroom songs were a goldmine of laughs. Pompous school assemblies
were also likely to leave me in sidesplitting hysterics. Or for that matter,
schoolwork itself, especially when someone gave a dumb answer. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As a teen, I often was assumed to be high when I
wasn’t. I just couldn’t stop chortling. In my twenties, I spent a Christmas
stuck on a snowed-in train. While other passengers complained, I of course found
it hilarious. In a way, that’s what I did for much of my life. I was stuck on a
train that didn’t move, and all I could think of to do was laugh. As a college
professor, I occasionally see my younger self in a student who feels compelled
to finish every statement with a slight ha-ha. I was into my forties before I felt
guilty for much of what I laughed at.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My hysterical laughter was just that, hysteria. I seldom thought I was happy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There is an actual condition called <span class="green">P</span><span class="blue">seudo</span><span class="green">B</span><span class="blue">ulbar </span><span class="green">A</span><span class="blue">ffect or </span><span class="green">PBA, in which people laugh and/or cry uncontrollably. I do not seem
to have this, or at least not now. PBA usually is associated with brain
injuries or other conditions I do not have. To some extent, kids simply laugh a
lot, and maybe some for whatever reason laugh more than others. And I suppose
uncontrollable laughter is preferable to uncontrollable crying. Still, my
actual life was not much of a comedy. At a young age I got exposed to divorce,
death, poverty and abuse—things I would deal with later in life once I stopped
laughing. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Perhaps the most self-defeating thing about my
hysterical laughter was it bled seamlessly into an older, supposedly always
cheerful countenance. For many years I was known as someone who never seemed
troubled by anything. No one had to consider my feelings or help me through my
problems because everyone knew I always was “fine.” In dour work environments,
I became “famous” for injecting humor into the atmosphere by acting silly or
coming up with quick one-liners. I had a way of teasing people without
offending them—or at least I told myself this was the case. At office holiday
parties, the boss sometimes asked me to make funny remarks to liven things up. There
are people who knew me as someone who was never serious. I have been told
throughout my life that I should’ve been a comedian. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In more recent years, as I have gotten in touch
with how I actually feel, there has been some hell to pay. Relatively late in
life, I stopped laughing for the sake of laughing. I got upset, I got angry. Could it be that I’m a human being like everyone else? What a concept. And what
a long way I have come since fifth grade, when the teacher told the class I
came from Planet X and everyone seemed to believe it. No way—I’m an earthling
if there ever was one. There is no Planet X anymore than there is a Planet Ork.
</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-39359041429954820062015-01-11T07:49:00.002-08:002015-01-12T09:21:58.633-08:00Paul Who?<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Time marches on</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In case you’ve been wondering where I’ve been for the past
month or so, I’ve been taking an extended holiday at the blue waters of South
Beach. Actually, that’s not true. I took advantage of the holiday season to
nurse The Cough That Never Goes Away. It is down to a dull roar, so I thought
I’d check in and see what was going on in the universe beyond the four corners
of my bed. Happy New Year, by the way. My 2014 was rather like all fifty years
of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Days of Our Lives</i> rolled into one,
so I figure I can handle anything that 2015 throws at me. Or should I say
throws up at me? (Sorry, I can be quite sophomoric.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, let’s see . . . it seems a lot of people (I assume
mostly baby boomers) flipped out over some Kanye West fans never having heard of Paul
McCartney. How, people rhetorically asked, could anyone not know who Paul
McCartney is?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Call me lucky for being a college professor, but I get
reminded constantly that time marches on. My first-year class last semester
pretty much was born in 1996. For me, the year 2000 feels like yesterday. But
it’s been fifteen years, long enough to produce a high school student. For my
students last semester, 2000 perhaps is dimly remembered at best—a “long time ago.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For folks who came of age in the 60s and early 70s, our parents
and their Glen Miller or Duke Ellington records seemed to have crawled out of
the Stone Age. Could the same species that rocked out to “Light My Fire” or “Cloud
Nine” also have jitterbugged to “Take the ‘A’ Train” or “String of Pearls?” Yet
this was a time gap of twenty or so years. By contrast, the Beatles hit the
U.S. over fifty years ago. Yep, that’s right, a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">longer</i> time gap than young baby boomers had to deal with in terms
of popular culture. In fact, at least twice as long. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure, Paul McCartney went on to have more hits after the
Beatles split up, but he is seventy-two, and as one would expect from a
seventy-two-year-old, he has not dominated the charts for a while. “When I’m
Sixty-Four,” indeed, which seemed impossibly old during the Summer of Love.
Surely such a fate did not await eternally young us. Yet Sir Paul, as he is
formally known, is a grandfather. In fact, his teenaged grandson has been
spotted making the rounds at London hotspots. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It seems that some generations have more trouble adjusting
to aging than others. One factor here is that the Baby Boomers, like the
Flaming Youth of the 1920s, were very, very into being young. Youth was branded
onto our souls. We saw ourselves in relation to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>being the older generation. We wore the scars of the Generation Gap like army medals. Everything we liked, believed in, or did, seemed connected to our
youth. We had little respect for or interest in the times that our elders dealt
with, such as World War II or the Great Depression. For our parents, growing up meant finding some sense of personal identity and
liberation despite the harsh forces of fate. For Baby Boomers, growing up often
was looked upon as something that would never happen, or if it did happen it
would be worse than death. When, at the end of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peter Pan</i>, Peter tragically declared, “Wendy, you’ve grown up,” he
might as well have said, “Wendy, you’re dead,” as far as we were concerned. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The conflicts of white youth of course did not match those
of youth of color, but “youth,” “young person,” and “young folk” were important
buzzwords across ethnicities, all but inspiring the burning of incense. Some of
our elders clung to their older cultural values, but many graciously stepped
aside to let The Young <span class="MsoPageNumber"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">People of Today solve what heretofore
seemed irresolvable: war, racism, poverty. Fifty or so years later, these challenges are still before us.
Genuine social change is much harder than we realized because we were <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">young</i>—we were not mature enough to see
how complex the seemingly simple truly was. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoPageNumber"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Some of us became more conservative in
politics and/or lifestyle, some of us got lost in the riot of the times and
were trampled to death. But many of us took on the identity of a kind of
honorary youth. Musically, Glen Miller was father away from the Beatles than
the Beatles were from Coldplay. As the old song said, rock and roll is here to
stay. Youth culture music in recent decades largely has been a recycling or
remixing of genres that are thirty to sixty-something years old. The break-up of the
Beatles or the Supremes still is discussed as if it just happened, when in fact
these events occurred almost half a century ago. So pop culture (and we could
even include some politics here) makes it possible to kinda sorta still seem
young. One is not fifty years old. One is twenty-thirty years old. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoPageNumber"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Like many Baby Boomers, much of my life
was lived in a state of unhappiness. I should have changed my name to Arnie Angst. Occasionally
someone would say, “You’re young, you should be enjoying life,” but I knew
better. Or so I thought. In more recent times life suddenly has become too
short. My biggest regret is having squandered my youth on an Ingmar
Bergman-like existential crisis that seemed to never end. When I partied I was
miserable. When I went backpacking in Big Sur I was miserable. When I saw
legendary rock performers in concert I was miserable. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoPageNumber"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Youth, as has been said many times, is
wasted on the young. If you are twenty-five, in only twenty-five more years you
will be fifty, and you will look back at those past twenty-five years as though
only five minutes have passed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoPageNumber"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yet somehow it’s all come together for
me, and I am starting to feel that maybe I don’t even regret my misspent youth.
I simply feel gratitude for having been given the gift of life. I guess that
makes me a grownup. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoPageNumber"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So, returning to the question: How
could someone not know who Paul McCartney was? I offer the following responses:
Because Paul McCartney became less of a presence in the music scene before they
were born, because there remain cultural and ethnic divides in our society,
because younger generations seek to claim their own reality just as Baby
Boomers did, and because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knowing</i> who
Paul McCartney is may well be becoming a liability, rather like knowing who Mary Pickford
is. (Mary who?) Why don’t they know who Paul McCartney is? Well, why should
they? The onus is put on the youth culture rather than face the simple fact:
dude, you’re old.</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-22617311633390316252014-11-30T07:49:00.002-08:002014-11-30T11:46:01.100-08:00I Dunno<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"New York";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-alt:"Times New Roman";
mso-font-charset:77;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"New York";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-alt:"Times New Roman";
mso-font-charset:77;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:none;
font-size:12.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:"New York","serif";
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Are you smarter than you
think?</span></i>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Every
day on the Internet, I receive advice. Some of it comes in the form of thinly
disguised ads telling me how to get rid of my pot belly in 30 seconds, or the
secret food of the ancients that will make me immune to all forms of illness.
In fact, I am told quite a lot about what I should eat. Once in a single day I
received a post that said I should drink only raw cow’s milk, another post that
said I should drink only soymilk, and a third post that said soy was bad for
me, and I should drink only almond milk. I have been told obesity kills, and
that obese people live longer. Fat, carbs, calories, protein, starches, greens
or yellows turn out to be good or bad according to some new study. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">There
are other kinds of advice I read each day as well: I should only care what a
few people think. I should only care what I think. I should not think at all,
but let my heart guide me. I should succeed. I should not worry about success.
I should be happy. Even if I am unhappy I should be happy. Other posts—which I
frankly am more likely to appreciate at this stage of my life—give me license
to screw up and be imperfect. I
squandered my youth on self-flagellation, trying and of course failing to be
“perfect,” whatever that was supposed to mean. Now in my autumn years I am
learning simply how to be human. Like many supposedly smart people, I am a slow learner. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">All
my advice posts come from kind people sharing something to
help others. Thank you, Internet friends, for seeing me through rough times.
But collectively these posts suggest that we need an awful lot of
encouragement, and are so uncertain about life we welcome any little bit of
wisdom that gets us through another day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Many
people still remember Grace Kelly, the beautiful and iconic Oscar-winning
actress who went on to become Princess Grace of Monaco. Thousands of words were
spent calling her a real-life Cinderella, the princess who lived in a pink
castle by the sea. A charmed life? Well, maybe in some ways. Yet when Barbara
Walters asked her if she was happy, she paused and only allowed that she had a certain peace
of mind, or words to that effect. Her answer was qualified; she did not give a
simple “yes” to happiness.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
so-called fairy tale princess does not live happily ever after. Neither, it
would seem, do you or I. When someone pisses us off, lo and behold we get
angry. Sad news makes us sad. Yes, worrying solves nothing, yet no matter how
much we say this to ourselves we worry anyway. Our ability to change moods
appropriate to the circumstance before us means we are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">human</i>. It was naïve (to use a polite word for it) to think that
through willpower I could alter my DNA. Somehow, self-loathing is separated by
the thinnest of lines from self-aggrandizement. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">When
I was younger, whenever I was happy I thought I’d never be unhappy again. I
thought I would and could reach a point where nothing threatened my ironclad
happiness. And “ironclad” my idea of happiness certainly was. How glad I am now
that I did not become that person! Who wants to be made of iron except Iron
Man? (When I was unhappy I likewise thought I’d never feel happy again, but
that’s a story for another day.) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It
is no accident that there were no self-help books or shrinks until fairly
recently in human history. We are the offspring of the times we live in. And many of the assets of today's world also are liabilities: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">°Uncertainty: There are so many ideas floating
around (and even more because of the Internet) that it gets harder and harder
to know what to believe, or even who we want to be when we grow up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">°Impatience: Although our complex social world
confuses us, we are supposed to solve our problems instantly. We have Instant
food and instant texting, so why not instant happiness? Ever get mad at your
“slow” computer for taking 20 seconds to upload? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">°Medicine: You may wonder what this word is doing
here. Medicine is a good thing, right? But we live in what’s been called a
medicalized society. This means that anything we do not like about ourselves or
others can be viewed as a condition that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can
be cured</i>. This in turn implies that self- perfection is possible. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Life”
does not occur merely in the abstract—it is shaped by the surroundings in which
it is lived. At times we get frustrated when the answers we are seeking elude
us. Yet even believing that radical change is possible is a luxury in terms of
human history—or for that matter the world today. Certainly there are a great
many disadvantaged people in our society, but globally speaking ours is a fat
nation. For example, we use up to one-fourth of the world’s total energy
resources, yet we make up far less than one-fourth of the world’s total
population—about one-half of one percent, to be exact. How’s that for affluent?
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Affluence
compels us to ask questions of ourselves that people in other times and places
generally did not or do not have the surplus energy—or the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i>—to ask. And we have the technology at our fingertips to ask
away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
haven’t even mentioned the range of political posts I receive on the internet. Apparently
many of us derive a sense of security from believing we know exactly how to fix
everything in our country and in our world. God bless freedom of speech. But
are the complexities of collective human endeavor as easy to fix as we often like
to think they are? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">We
think that if So-and-So is elected, there will be peace, economic stability, or
whatever you think we need the most. Yet in a way, such thinking reflects the
uncertainty, impatience and medical model we apply to ourselves. We assume our
nation <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can</i> be fixed, and that we know
what being fixed will look like. In effect, we impatiently await the invention
of the giant pill that makes everything right in all ways on all levels. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Believing
in instant answers where Homo sapiens are concerned is a bit like instant other
things: instant coffee, instant pudding, instant mashed potatoes. Don’t you
prefer the real thing? And we already have it. They call it life. The recipe is
ongoing, both learned and invented as we go along. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">As I get older, I am more
inclined to agree with Socrates, who said, "I know that I am intelligent, because I know that I know nothing." </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-1031119314325273332014-11-23T10:06:00.002-08:002014-11-24T20:00:33.808-08:00The Red Light Bulb<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beauty may be staring
you in the face</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I come from a poor family. Not poor by global standards, or
even by the standards of some people in the U.S. But for a white kid coming of
age in the U.S. in the latter part of the 20<sup>th</sup> Century, I was poor. Years
later as a social scientist, I learned about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">relative deprivation</i>, which means that given your expectations
based on others in your environment, you can be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">relatively </i>poor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While other kids in school lived in entire houses and had
their own bedrooms, I lived with my family in a series of overcrowded
apartments that always needed more repairs than they were given. Looking back,
many of the arguments and strained relationships we had might never have
happened if we simply had a less claustrophobic living space. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did not get an
allowance, and Christmas gifts were often relatively few in number and practical. Things that were everyday items for other kids were special treats for me. I only had one birthday party while growing up. Instead, a birthday meant something like going out for a hamburger. Money given to
me by visiting relatives was always put in the bank, though at one point a grownup withdrew money from my small savings account to pay the bills. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had one pair of shoes. Most of my clothes were
hand-me-downs and slightly out of style. I had only one Halloween costume, inherited from my older brother and worn by me each year until it was too small. We listened to the
radio rather than buy 49 cent 45s. For overnight trips, we used shopping bags to carry our things instead of suitcases. Public
transportation was often the “preferred” mode of travel. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My ongoing request for a goldfish was denied. At the gullible age of four or five, I was told that a fly in the kitchen was my pet. I thought I’d never hear the end of
it when they spent ten dollars on clarinet lessons that I ended up quitting. "Money down the drain," they sadly called it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Going to the movies was an unusual treat that only happened
a couple of times a year, and never involved the whole family. In the summer,
the only traveling was to the homes of other relatives. Maybe once every few
years we’d go to an amusement park for the afternoon. The women
in my family can be seen in photos wearing the same “best” dress to any number of occasions over time. A major
social event was the wedding of a cousin, for which my aunt excitedly sewed the
dresses for herself and her sister.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was growing up, my mother—and later my aunt—always worked
outside the home. Unlike the other (white) kids, there was no mom in the
kitchen with cookies and milk when I came home from school. The hard-working
women in my family were plainspoken, did not employ so-called feminine whiles to
get their way, and did not defer to men without a fight. Instead they simply
said what they wanted, and didn’t take crap from anyone. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My family was also extremely self-conscious about its
relative poverty. I was not allowed to have an after-school job because the
neighbors would think we were poor. I also was not allowed to eat at friends’
houses for the same reason (though I regularly broke this rule and never told
my family). When a friend’s parents wanted to take me with them to the movies,
I was told I had to come home, because I should not “impose” on these other
people. Once in the summer I went outside barefoot, and was yelled at because what would the neighbors think?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet while they often said they did not want people to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">think</i> they were poor, my elders never
actually owned up to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">being</i> poor. They
never said they couldn’t afford something. In fact, they said nasty things
about people who did act “poor”—people who used margarine, bought dark meat
tuna, or had what my family considered to be poor taste in clothing and
furniture. When, at around age 12, I complained we always had meat loaf and
never steak, I was told meat loaf was much more interesting than boring old
steak. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew I didn’t have as much as other kids, yet my family
often was much more snobbish than these other households. The result was that
I, like numerous other family members of my generation, spent a lifetime never
quite understanding what money was, and unable to figure out if I liked it or
hated it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But there was something good in growing up poor without
quite knowing it. I often didn’t know the difference between what signaled the
absence or presence of wealth, so I never was in awe of the affluent people whom
I occasionally happened upon. I never believed having more money should give you
more license in how you treated others. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also never thought that beauty could only be found in
mansions. In my teen years out west, I discovered the beauty of the natural
world. But even before then I found beauty in mean factory towns. Until the age
of six, we lived in a typically overcrowded walk-up flat that faced a dirt backyard.
Hearing the neighbors above and below us became a standard aspect of my life. As an adult I’ve felt insecure when where I was living was too
quiet—when I did not hear some reassuring sounds during the day coming from
neighbors through the wall. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At night, across the dirt backyard, there was a window in
another flat that always had a red light bulb turned on. I used to look at that
red light and think it was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Over the years
when I’ve needed to calm down or cheer myself up, I have often recalled that
simple red light bulb in the dark. In<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a
way that is difficult to explain, it has been the seed of much of what I write
about in novels and poems. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We later moved to another apartment in a different factory
town, and for whatever reason I (and other people) enjoyed looking out the entryway
window. It faced the modest house next door, and across the street was a
billboard—nothing much to look at, I suppose, yet somehow it lent itself to
daydreams. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of my all time favorite quotes comes from Chekhov: “<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Don't tell me the moon is
shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” Many people probably
cannot see how broken glass reflecting light at night can be beautiful. But I
used to love to walk to the sooty, abandoned railroad tracks and see just that.
I am
glad and proud that going hungry and doing without informed my youth. I am
pleased to find beauty in broken glass. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Of course, looking up at the moon itself doesn’t cost anything. But anyone can
do that. </span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-86843430417289983152014-11-16T06:15:00.001-08:002014-11-16T12:35:53.826-08:00Miss America and Me<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A
matter of semantics</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When I was a little kid, my family always watched Miss America. We
tended to be introverts, and on top of that we were poor. So we never all went
to the movies, or even ate out often. I looked forward to annual TV events that
briefly brought the whole family together. But little did any of us realize
that one year the pageant would be a life-changing moment for me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It was the Q & A segment, in which the top contenders for the crown
had to prove to the judges that they were not just another swimsuit in high
heels. This particular year, instead of being asked about achieving world
peace, each finalist had to pick a word from a glittery board. As I recall, the
words were lofty personality traits like dedication or intelligence. Each young
woman would select a word and explain why this was a quality she thought was
important to possess. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">They were making rather predictably uplifting choices when a relative of
mine said, “Whoever picks humiliation will win.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This seemed odd to me. Wasn’t humiliation a
bad thing? Who wanted to be humiliated? It made you feel sad and picked on. It even
made you cry. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Well, one of the finalists picked humiliation, and sure enough, she won.
It puzzled me so that I kept thinking about it— as in, thinking about it for
the rest of my life. How could humiliation be good for you?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Working from the assumption that it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i>—after
all, she won, didn’t she?—I came up with quite an assortment of ideas.
Humiliation kept you humble. It made you more sensitive to others. It was a
necessary pain, a rite of passage into adulthood. Until you experienced
humiliation, I decided, you could not truly grow as a person. There was no fire
in the belly without it. The soul thrived on the exquisite beauty of suffering.
Look at Dostoyevsky. Look at </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Dickinson or Van Gogh. Look at Miss America. </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Thus, I did little if anything to protect myself from humiliation. When ridiculed
in front of the class, I sucked it right up. I was reminded of my inadequacies
countless times by family, bosses and people who saw me as some form of
competition. I never defended myself. With each stinging wound, some inner part
of me decided I was becoming a better person. Stronger and more empathetic. Closer
to God, if you will. The way to grow was to be cut down to size. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Not surprisingly, I was attracted to outspoken people and group
environments that were highly critical. I did not have to look far: my own
family was so bitchy it should have been a puppy farm. But with some exceptions
I sought out those who were bound to find me lacking. I thought everyone in the
world knew more than I did and had every right to tear me apart. When people
were kind, I’d test them, acting out my many faults so that eventually they’d
drop me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When I saw other people somehow making progress in life without being
constantly hurt and humiliated, I alternated between jealousy and pity. I
thought they had no right to be successful without suffering enough, but I also
believed they were missing out. In the larger scheme of things, I was the lucky
one. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Decades went by.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Not long ago, I happened upon the notorious Miss America clip for the
first time since I was little. It turned out that the winning word was not
“humiliation” (shame, mortification, loss of dignity) but “humility” (modesty,
humbleness, unpretentiousness). I heard it or remembered it wrong for most of
my life. Was it just childhood word confusion, or was my self-esteem already so
precarious that though I heard “humility” I had to translate it into
“humiliation?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I asked a shrink of my acquaintance if people benefitted from
humiliation. The shrink said, “No, never. People don’t learn by being
humiliated, they just get depressed and frightened. It makes them not want to
listen to the person humiliating them.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Well, I’m not like that,” I said. “Some of the most important things
I’ve been told in life have been harsh and hurtful.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“You aren’t like most people,” replied the shrink, which as I think of
it was quite tactful of her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Oh, so this is how human beings are. You’re not supposed to think it’s
normal to be constantly put down. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Oops, I just wasted my life. Or had I? What was I to make of my lifetime
of humiliation that I thought was so good for me? For always being willing, if
not seeking, to lose. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I remember a spelling bee in
grade school that was down to me and another kid. I missed the word, and he got
it right. Rather than say the other kid won first place and I won second, the
teacher pointed at us and said, respectively, “Okay, so you won and you lost.”
It was a very “me” kind of thing to happen. I later wondered if I missed the
word on purpose, so that I could lose yet again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But looking back now, I know I
was given a greater gift than the kid who won. He always won everything. How
boring. I doubt he remembers it. Yet here I am now writing about it, sharing it
with the world. Over the years, it’s become a funny story. I’ve used it to
cheer people up who feel put down. I’m glad I didn’t win the otherwise forgettable
spelling bee.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’m not a linguist, but Oxford
English Dictionary is online, so I looked up both words. Interestingly, though
both have Latin roots, “humility” has an older European etymology than
“humiliation,” which suggests that people sought or experienced humility for a
few hundred years before they recognized the ability to humiliate. But for
quite some time the words were considered related; the state of humility was
arrived at through humiliation. Thus, for all the ways I bungled it up, there
was a kernel of truth in my philosophy of humiliation. I merely was born
several centuries too late. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I feel fortunate that my latest novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Identity Thief</i>, is, according to online reviews, being enjoyed by
those who read it. But a couple of people have said they hated it. Someone did
not approve of my use of strong language, to which I can only say something
that sounds somewhat like “thank you” but is something else. Someone else
didn’t like the characters, and indeed no one in this crime saga of deceit,
blackmail, and murder deserves the Nobel Peace Prize. Naturally, the few bad
reviews occupy my thoughts more than the many good ones.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">But I am able to laugh at myself, and even wrote a little funny poem
about bad reviews. If everyone liked the novel I’d have a smidgen less self
knowledge and had one less opportunity to be creative. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Humility, humiliation, whatever it is . . . It has taught me well. But
to keep myself from sounding immodest, arrogant, and pretentious, maybe I’d
best quit while I’m ahead. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-21637471703767893542014-11-09T05:28:00.001-08:002014-11-09T06:21:17.532-08:00The Broccoli Theory<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What we see should not
be all we get</i>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In case you are among the fortunate few who read my first
post, “The Doritos Theory,” please know that your dedicated blogger has not
gone vegan on you. Still, what, you may ask with breathless anticipation, is
the Broccoli Theory? Stay with me, and it will all make sense.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been said that numbers never lie. But numbers certainly
can be exploited to lend credibility to a particular agenda. Let’s take the sad
problem of homelessness. According to HUD’s 2013 Annual Homeless Report to
Congress, 610,042 persons are homeless on a given night. On the one hand, you
can say, “Over half a million people are homeless on any night in the U.S.”
This makes the problem sound quite serious. However, since there are about
300,000,000 people in our nation, this means that .002 percent of our
population is homeless on a given night. Or, flipping the coin over, 99.998
percent of the population is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>
homeless. This makes it sound like less of a problem, doesn’t it?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Speaking of percentages, maybe you saw the recent viral
video of the woman who walks down the street in Manhattan for 10 hours and allegedly
receives 100 or more harassing remarks from men. This would equal at least 10
such remarks per hour. I am not a woman so I do not know how it feels to hear
unwanted remarks in the context of gendered dynamics. Women’s comments on the
video have ranged from “right on” to “right off.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A two-minute clip of this 10-hour trek has been circulating
the Internet. Two minutes of ten hours is .001 percent of the total film time,
which means that 99.999 percent of the film is not being circulated. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like anyone else who has not seen all 10 hours of footage, I
am asked to assume that these numbers are true, and that nothing was staged. We
also are asked to believe that the territory she covered on foot—and the
locations do vary—makes for a representative sample of the male population. So
far, we have learned from Salon.com and other sources that the comments made by
white men were edited out. Perhaps most telling of all, we also have learned
that a marketing firm oversaw the editing of the video.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About 30 subtitled remarks appear on the screen, though
sometimes the same man makes more than one statement. The video moves fast, but
I counted about 20 offending men in the clip. Given the subtitles, I am
guessing that each <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">remark</i> was added
to the total. If instead the number of harassing men were counted, it would
average something more like six or so remarks per hour. Also not taken into
account are the number of men she passes by who say nothing.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though certainly this is a subjective process, I counted
about 12 of the 30 remarks as sexual in nature. If this is more or less
representative of the entire 10 hours of film, more like 40 sexual remarks were
made over the 10 hour period, or about four an hour instead of 10 an hour. This
may well be four an hour too many, but I find something a little too
convenient, too Madison Avenue slick, in the total being around 100 in 10
hours.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Indeed, one is expected to assume that all the remarks were
meant to be sexual. At one point, a young man of color says, “God bless you,
have a good day, alright?” We then are shown that he walked alongside her for
two, then four, then five minutes total. This cumulative editing trick makes
the behavior seem that much more invasive. But since the young man’s face has
been blurred, we don’t really know if he was looking at her or if he just
happened to be keeping pace with her. (In his fleeting seconds of screen time,
he usually seems to be looking straight ahead.) Even if he did sometimes look
at her, we do not know why. Maybe he was wondering if he should tell her about
Jesus, or any number of other things. Yet we are asked to empathize with the
fear and loathing experienced by a white woman when a man of color is walking
near her. In this video clip, someone saying, “Good evening,” is the same as
someone saying, “Hey baby.” “God bless you” is a sexual come-on. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Other people, including men, have created their own videos
of walking down the street in Manhattan and enduring the remarks of strangers.
Indeed, having lived in both Manhattan and Queens as an adult and child
respectively, I can attest firsthand that virtually anyone is approached by any
number of strangers who call out many kinds of remarks—some kind, some crazy,
some bullying, and yes even to men or boys some sexual. Conversely, when I lived in San
Francisco and Portland it was quite common for strangers on the street to be
platonically friendly and say hello to each other. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In sum, I feel this video is less about the very real
problem of women being unsafe in our society and more about the creation of a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">product</i>. It is a skillfully edited artifact
intended to present as “documentary” one point of view and one point of view
only—that of the client paying the marketing firm to create and promote the video.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It seems to me that one problem in our society is how naïve
we are—how easily we take what is presented to us as “truth.” But in actuality
film is edited, and a published photograph is selected from hundreds of shots
that were taken. Any time a story is told verbally or on paper, selectivity
plays a role. Seldom does anyone tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like the disgust we are expected to feel for a white woman
who must endure a black man walking near her for five minutes, we could, for
example, learn that someone died choking on a piece of broccoli. We could acquire
a sobering photo of the corpse, and post it with the caption: “This person died
eating broccoli.” Or maybe: “Think twice before you eat broccoli.” If the
person was a child, so much the better. Above the angelic young face we could
say, “Two weeks later this child was dead from eating broccoli,” or “Broccoli
kills the young.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps you have seen or heard of an ad run only once in the
1964 presidential campaign, though it has been credited with causing Lyndon
Johnson’s landslide victory over Barry Goldwater. Sometimes called the “daisy
girl ad,” it features a child innocently (mis)counting the petals of a flower,
and then we are shown a mushroom cloud of atomic hatred. Following a pacifistic
quote from President Johnson, we are told that the stakes are too high to vote
for anyone else. A little girl and her flower and then an atom bomb—how’s that
for manipulation? But substantively, what did it have to do with President
Johnson, who is still remembered for his unpopular escalation of the war in
Vietnam?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just because something alleges to address serious issues
does not mean it does so honestly. Call me weird, but I believe honesty matters
more than intent. We—meaning myself, too—have to think more about what we are
shown, and ask more questions about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Otherwise, we can end up thinking anything is true, including that
broccoli kills. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-68909459956280860602014-11-02T08:55:00.000-08:002014-11-02T08:55:37.238-08:00Happiness is Being Unhappy
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The paradox of
not-nice stuff</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In real life, I’m a total fraidy-cat when it comes to
physical injury. Sometimes an online friends posts a video clip of someone
getting hurt—often by having done something stupid—and I never find it funny.
It just makes me wince. I can’t stop thinking about how much it must have hurt.
If I hear that one person out of a million suffered serious injury (not to
mention death) for having participated in a sport or daredevil stunt, I add
this activity to my list of things I will not do. I avoid watching ski jumping
or trampoline gymnastics for my fear that something might happen to the athlete. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the other hand, there is my writing. I remember the first
time I tried to compose something meant to be a story. I was probably eight
years old. It was about how in a duel someone got stabbed in the eye, and the
blood and ooze that came out as the eyeball shriveled. I proudly showed it to
my mother, who for some reason was less than enthused. “Write about something
nice,” she advised, handing me back the piece of paper with a slight shudder.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyone who knows me knows the best way to get me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> to do something is to suggest that I
do it. The term, “reverse psychology,” should be carved on my tombstone. All of
my fiction over the years has contained at least one murder if not several, with
characters who often are not the nicest people in the world. If something nice
does happen, I make every effort to un-nice-ify it. I add a healthy dash of
vinegar, if not a gallon. Sometimes I even try to make these not-nice things
funny. If you have read my fiction, you can blame my mother. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a reader, I can handle stories, poems and non-fiction on
the creepiest, most depressing, biggest downer subject matter. So I guess you
can say I give as good as I get. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When it comes to movies or TV shows, I never turn away. I
can munch my popcorn and slurp my Coke through the goriest of gore. Even true
crime shows are distant enough for me to enjoy. I think to myself: “Wow, a new
documentary on Al Capone—what fun!” I am not flippant towards programs about
genocide or other forms of sadistic torture. And some real-life murderers or
highly disturbed people do upset me. Yet I am drawn to knowing about these
things and not avoiding them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The biggest exception is anything to do with the torture or killing
of animals. I have an easier time watching a hundred thugs get machine-gunned
to death than seeing one dog get accidentally stepped on. I’ll swat a fly, but
if a bee flies into the room I carefully pick it up by the wings and release it
to the outdoors. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know some people say that violence in movies, TV shows, or
even songs make people—especially children—more violent. And as a social
scientist myself, who am I to discredit studies and experiments that have shown
this to be the case? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet I have wondered: If exposure to violence de-sensitizes
people to violence, why would the same not be true about exposure to niceness?
What if every TV show was like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Touched by
an Angel</i> or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman</i>?
Would we start to shrug at kindness, just as we do at violence? Would we
devalue goodness even more than we already do?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if every movie was like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary Poppins</i>? In fact, even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary
Poppins</i> is not like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary Poppins</i>.
It’s actually a sad story in many ways. I cried at the bittersweet ending when
I saw it as a kid. (And okay, I got a little misty-eyed when I watched it as an
adult, too. Are you happy now?) Disney makes many films with unsettling
overtones, and even its classic animation features are not all sweetness and
light. For all of its “wholesomeness,” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Sound of Music</i> ends with the Nazis muscling in to Austria. The appeal of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Forrest Gump</i> escapes me, but apparently it
is considered a feel good, wholesome movie, even though it includes such
pleasantries as the Vietnam War. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For that matter, there is a new genre of Christian fiction
in which the murder mystery and horror story are interwoven with religion. I know
little about these books. But it would seem that pretty much everyone agrees
that a spoonful of sugar is quite enough, thanks just the same.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if there were no sad songs to listen to the next time
your heart breaks or you get yelled at by your boss? What if you saw <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Romeo and Juliet</i>, and it ended with the
parents blessing the marriage? Or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hamlet </i>makes
peace with his uncle, or Hannibal Lecter says he was only kidding? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Somehow, we need to touch base with the tragic, the scary,
the disturbing. And judging by popular tastes, we need to do so at least as
much as we visit Pleasantville. If all the negativity, violence and unfairness
were removed from the Bible, it would be a much slimmer volume. My dog loves to
be petted, but he also loves to be chased and play tug of war with his treats.
Maybe we humans are not so different. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-66468217135763230442014-10-26T07:04:00.001-07:002014-10-26T07:24:58.776-07:00My 13 Do's and Don'ts<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">3D people have 3D
needs</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I seem to be an unusual person. Well, duh, you’re probably
thinking. But seriously, I do not seem to have the same standards other people
do for liking someone. Or for that matter, not liking someone. To give you an
idea, in order to be my friend here are 13 lucky things you do not have to
worry about:<br />
<br />
°I don’t care if you’re a red state or blue state person.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care if you’re politically correct.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care what you eat or drink.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care what shape your body is in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care how much formal education you have.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care if you take meds to maintain your mental
balance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care if you’re into health foods or if you work
out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care if you recycle the wire twists that come with
loaves of bread. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care if you have or want to have a lot of money.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care if you’re poor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care if you’re religious or not, or what religion
you are.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care if you’ve screwed up royally. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°I don’t care what color your skin is, how you define your
gender, or what goes on between consenting adults.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In fact, you can vote the same as me, live a similar
lifestyle, be of the same economic class, weigh or look the same as me, believe
the same way spiritually, or have the same health philosophy, and you still
will not be my friend if you are any or all of these 13 things:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You have never had an original thought.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You claim to believe certain things only because you think
you have to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You never think to treat people the same way you like to be
treated.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You argue with pretzel logic rather than admit I may have a
point.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You think how consenting adults conduct their personal
lives is any of your business.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You think that gossiping accomplishes something.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You refuse to listen to or associate with people who think
differently than you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You think you have nothing more to learn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You claim never to get angry or depressed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You think there always is a simple answer to the world’s
problems.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You have no sense of humor about yourself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You think you know exactly what God’s will is at all times.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
°You have hardly ever suffered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In other words, unless you have a nasty habit of committing
violent crimes, there’s a good chance I’ll enjoy your companionship as long as
you are your own person. Someone with an inner life who puts sincere thought
into the things you say, do and believe. If you learn to be a better person
from the curve balls life throws your way, you can teach me a lot. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have known people who are functionally illiterate who meet
my criteria, and people with fancy college degrees who do not. I have known
drug addicts who meet my criteria, and health food fetishists who do not. I
have known both conservatives and liberals who do and do not meet my criteria. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I find that over time I make fewer new friends. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-19616576175131415342014-10-19T11:29:00.002-07:002014-10-19T11:33:10.606-07:00Lucky Me<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Freedom comes with
baggage</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was a kid, the grownups looked like they just
survived World War III when they came home from work. All they could talk about
was what a pain in elbow (or some other body part) So-and-So was, who said or
did what unforgivably offensive thing, and on and on. Often I was the nearest
target for venting frustration, so my feelings got hurt and family life
suffered. Yet I also would be told repeatedly: “Don’t end up like me. Go to
college and make something of yourself. Don’t end up feeling like you’ve wasted
your life.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had difficulty understanding these lectures. Like most
young people I thought I’d be young forever. Concepts such as “have to” or
“should” didn’t mean much to me. Plus it’s hard to take to heart advice that
comes from someone who just yelled at you over nothing much. But the thing I
truly did not understand—although I wouldn’t have known how to say it—was why
so many people seemed trapped and unhappy in the so-called land of the free. I
thought it had something to do with growing up, so, like Peter Pan, I’d stay
young forever. End of problem.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, Fate had other ideas. I grew up and went to college.
In fact, I went to college so much I got a Ph.D. Certainly I’ve made something
of myself, though the noun that most aptly captures what I’ve become would vary
widely, depending on whom you asked. (And this is, after all, a G-rated blog.) As
for wasting my life, most of the time I’m too busy to worry about it, which I
suppose means my life is not lived for naught. Sometimes I come home in a bad
mood, which is an ever-humbling experience. I am reminded how hard it is to act happy when
your day has been like one endless root canal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All things considered, I like being a college professor. I
don’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">love</i> it. If I won the Powerball
Jackpot I’d be out the door in nothing flat. But, as I predicted would be the
case, I like it very much. Though I love writing fiction, I purposefully did
not major in English, as I thought it would spoil my pleasure in writing. I didn’t
want my livelihood to depend on my <i><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">raison d'être, </span></i>as that would be too much
pressure. So I stuck with the social sciences because they made sense, they got
me thinking, and, well . . . I liked them. A wise person told me once that I
would be happier with two careers, and that seems to be true. My inner egghead
and artiste called a truce a long time ago. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There have been moments when I’ve hated being a prof. But
the storm clouds pass and most of the time I remain grateful for the
opportunity, especially when I consider how difficult it is to get a
tenure-track job in today’s world. And I am tenured and a full professor. Given
all the screw-ups I have committed, I sometimes marvel that I did at least one
thing right. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Besides, the things I don’t like about being a college
professor are not about being a college professor. Nor, for that matter, are
they about how democratic and free our nation actually is or is not. They are
things that would come up no matter what I did for a living, and in many forms
of government. In more or less order of importance, the things that cause me
problems at work are: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1) Other people. We say our society does not have arranged
marriages, but in a way we do. Because you often are stuck working side by side
for years and years with people you would not have chosen to know. Even if I
were an independently wealthy author, writing a book takes a village. There are
agents and editors and publicity people and proofreaders and cover artists.
There is no such thing as a conflict-free career, probably because there is no
such thing as a conflict-free human being.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2) Bureaucracy. Rules, red tape, you have to do this, you
can’t do that . . . it’s everywhere. And again, even bestselling authors have
to follow standardized procedures and contract fine print, not to mention laws
and policies. Social structure turns everyone into a pretzel of some sort. You
have to work within limits of time, place, expectation, legality, and any
number of other things. The aspects that most appeal to you about what you do
for a living may present themselves only sporadically at best. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3) Other people. (See Point Number One.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a college prof, I currently am teaching the next
generation of leaders—the people I will depend on to keep my life safe and
prosperous when I retire. They seem much wiser than I was at their age. They
seem to already know that life involves compromise. And even more important, they seem to
know that that’s okay.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent much of my life thinking that if I did something I
didn’t want to do, I was a failure, because true freedom meant never having to
conform to the expectations of others. I did not realize that non-conformity
could become its own kind of conformity, especially when millions of other people
are non-conforming in the same way. I also did not realize that bureaucracy is
unavoidable. Everyone follows at least some of the rules most of the time. Most
of all, I did not know how relatively spoiled and privileged I was even
to harbor such fantasies. Most people who have ever lived, and most people alive
in the world today, decide little if anything for themselves. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In short, life comes with a Catch-22: To do what you want to
do, you have to spend a lot of time <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>
doing what you want to do. And if at least some of the time you are doing
something you like and/or love, you are, in a global sense, one of the
privileged few.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-29476793352616072322014-10-11T10:49:00.000-07:002014-10-11T10:49:11.522-07:00Mike The Milkman
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Being different can
make a difference</i>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was a little kid we had a milkman. To those of you
too young to know what a “milkman” was, once upon a time milk and other dairy
products were delivered to your home. The milk came in glass bottles that you
returned to the milkman when they were empty. No one talked about recycling or
saving natural resources. It was just the way things were done. You kept your
empties outside your door, and you may have had a metal box for storing the
latest delivery. Nobody stole someone else’s milk. It just wasn’t something you
did. The milk was pasteurized but not homogenized. The cream at the top of the
bottle was used for coffee. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, our metal box didn’t get used much, because my
grandmother was always home, and our milkman was Mike. He was our friend. He’d
knock on the door of our rundown railroad flat, and my grandmother would invite
him in for a cup of percolated coffee. Mike wore a big smile, and he seemed
friendlier than other grownups somehow. When I’d see him at the door I always
thought he was there just to see me. I never had to work at getting his
attention. As a special treat, I’d dunk a cookie in his cup of coffee, which
was heavy with sugar and cream. (In hindsight, I wonder if he truly preferred
his coffee that way, or if he lightened and sweetened it for my inevitable
dunk.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d show him whatever I was playing with, and he’d
commiserate with my grandmother (whom he always addressed as Mrs.) on body
aches or rising costs or whatever it was that grownups talked about. Sometimes,
I suppose when one of them shared bad news, Mike stared out the window, baffled
yet philosophical in a way that hardworking, uncomplaining people often are. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had surgery when I was four or five, and my mother came
down with an acute case of overprotectiveness. She wanted me to stay indoors
far longer than the doctor required. My grandmother, whom we called Granny,
thought this ridiculous, so when my mother left for work she’d coax me to play
outside. However, my mother learned about this, and told me that no matter what
Granny said I was not to leave the house. Looking back, I realize the conflict
between them was about much more than this one issue. But at the time I simply was
confused by these mixed messages from grownups.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, Granny knew that the one person I’d listen to was
Mike. I don’t recall verbalizing how much I loved him, but Granny must have
seen the obvious. I can still see Mike looking right at me, saying how much fun
it was to run around and play outdoors in the fresh air. As always, it seemed
like he stopped everything to talk to me—that nothing mattered more.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s hard to remember exactly, but I think over the next few
days Mike’s words of wisdom sunk in, and I started playing outside. I already
was a secretive, mischievous child who did any number of things I wasn’t
supposed to do. But it was always me against everyone else. This was different.
It was a mini rite of passage. The matter of my existing in the world beyond my
family became an official problem. For the first but hardly the last time in my
life, I was expected to choose between two mutually exclusive sides. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was six my mother remarried, and we moved away. Granny
did not approve of the marriage, and on a certain level, it was as though my
mother and grandmother got a divorce. I recall being disappointed when we
started buying our milk in a carton at the supermarket. I have no idea what
happened to Mike, but I like to think he missed me and thought of me as I
missed and thought of him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Years later, I mentioned Mike to an older relative, and I
found out that Mike was a hunchback. I realized that I found him so easy to
talk to because the curvature in his spine put his head closer to my little kid
level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yes, he truly was a warm,
nice guy. But it’s that effortless eye contact I remember the most. Maybe part
of what made us close was that I didn’t see him the way other people did. I just
knew he was accessible in a way other grownups weren’t. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Talking to me about the adventures of the great outdoors had
to have been, at best, a melancholy moment for him, but he never let it show. I
wonder if he lived alone and if he had family or friends besides us. I wonder
if he spent much of his life being made fun of. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He was only the milkman and I saw him for probably about ten
minutes a week as a young child. Yet he permanently touched my life. Mike
played a role in my learning how to make decisions, and he taught me that being
different didn’t mean being inferior to other people. Different can be better.
Of course, I realize the latter lesson only in retrospect. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the time, he was just my pal Mike. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-16300310052031049532014-10-05T08:01:00.002-07:002014-10-05T08:01:57.128-07:00Finking and Theeling
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Can you sort out your thoughts from your feelings?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If palmistry is your thing, it’s simple: there’s a heart
line and a mind line, and whichever is longer makes you more of a feeling or a
thinking person, respectively. For what it's worth, my mind lines are much
longer on both hands, an interesting coincidence since all of my life I've
been criticized for thinking too much and not feeling enough. Back when
encounter groups were “in,” I could not have been more “out.” Like someone
needing remedial training, I endured embarrassingly futile efforts to make my
anger more angry, my sorrow more sad, before giving up on the whole thing.
Flipping the coin over, even as a child I often was the only person in the room
not laughing, or not feeling the happy vibe. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since I am every bit as dull a person as the above description indicates, I will not
spend much more time talking about myself. Suffice to say that I actually have
spent a great deal of my life laughing, but what tickles my funny bone is a bit
off the beaten path. For example, stand-up comics or comedy films seldom make
me laugh or even want to smile. But animals make me laugh, as do harmless
mishaps or odd events, along with sarcasm at its most sardonic. And people who
know me know I am no stranger to tragedy, and obviously these events have left
their mark. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do believe though that people who find it easy to “feel
their feelings” often are people who have never had to deal with much. Because
if you’ve been through something truly awful you probably prefer not to dwell
on it. And it would seem that only certain feelings count as feelings. Being
happy or sad over things that do not directly affect the self tend not to be
considered part of one’s emotional landscape. Reactions to a news story, an
election, a sports event, or who won the Oscar tend not be counted as feelings,
even when powerful emotions are present. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also, less than sunshiny feelings tend to be considered
false. You didn’t mean what you said when you were angry—or so you say. But by
what criteria is that angry self somehow less an authentic part of you than
your non-angry self? Maybe when you were angry you said what you really meant,
while your “nice” self is an act. On the TV show, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">House</i>, the curmudgeony, drug-addled title character was advised to
get in touch with his pain over a broken relationship, so he drove his car into
his ex’s house. Not an action I recommend, but surely he was feeling his
feelings. They were sentiments intended to cause harm to another and had many
negative consequences, but that does not make them any less real. Scholars such
as Peter N. Stearns have noted that for all the ways our society seems
increasingly permissive, we allow ourselves fewer emotional expressions than in
the past. Even when no one is harmed, a particular emotional display may be
labeled inappropriate for its deviation from the rigid status quo norm.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something happens to trigger an emotional reaction, but how
much of it gets expressed, the way it gets expressed, and how it is labeled is
relative to time and place. In the omnipresent debate over healthcare, I heard
a political figure accused of not truly caring about the issue because this
person seemed angry when talking about it. Another instance of anger being
denied a seat at the table of emotions. But even within ourselves, we might
think in the moment we are expressing love but then look back and decide we
were expressing fear—or jealousy or any number of other things. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also, we often confuse feeling with thinking, and
vice-versa. Our government and criminal justice system frequently are
criticized for behaving in a rational way that does not take into account
people’s emotions. We forget that justice is supposed to be blind, or that the
government doesn’t exist to be “nice.” How a jury <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feels</i> about a defendant is not supposed to impact its
deliberations. Nowhere is it written in the Constitution that the government
has no choice but to be charitable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Much of the confusion about thinking versus feeling stems
from the erroneous assumption that these two experiences are polar opposites.
In truth, studies have shown that there is an emotional component in what we
believe to be true, and likewise our thoughts can prefigure our emotional
responses. We do not really think and feel. It is more that we fink and theel. Finking,
newly defined herein, is when we believe we have made a wholly rational
assessment but in fact reached this conclusion from a place of
emotionally-driven assumptions. For example, if you don’t like someone, ever
notice a tendency to disagree with what that person says, even if you have to
cherry pick to disagree? (Or for that matter to agree, if you like the person.)
Theeling is when our thoughts have made us feel certain ways. If you assume
certain types of people are good or bad, you will experience warmth or disdain for
such a person should you meet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet somehow it is easier for us not to go there. We prefer
to keep things simple, and unquestioningly assume our emotional responses are a
gut-level truth uncolored by our often limited or biased thoughts. And likewise, that our
opinions are wholly rational and have nothing to do with our emotional needs. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel—or rather, I theel worried that this is a major
problem in the world today. It isn’t always the decisions or verdicts
themselves, but the erroneous conviction that we have arrived at this point
through a simple and pure process, uncluttered by our many intellectual and emotional inconsistencies. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before you
say I’m wrong, fink about it for awhile.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-67503151116129454622014-09-28T11:45:00.000-07:002014-09-28T13:52:32.143-07:00I Remember Brunch<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>In one of my classes recently, a student timidly raised his
hand. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Professor, what was ‘brunch?’” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Ah yes,” I replied, wisely stroking my beard. “Brunch. Twixt
breakfast and lunch there was brunch. How well I remember it. Brunch, you see,
was a way people got drunk on Sunday morning, and it was considered perfectly
respectable.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“How could that be?” asked the student.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“The world was different back then. People didn’t worry so
much.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“But how did it work?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Well, on Friday nights you went out and got schnockered.
You spent Saturday morning and afternoon dealing with your hangover as best you
could. There were all sorts of folk remedies. Coca-Cola with vanilla ice cream.
Spicy chili with raw onions. Junk food. Black coffee. Alka-Seltzer. Worcestershire
with a raw egg. Aspirin, of course. But the most historically significant folk
remedy proved to be tomato juice.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Why was that?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Because,” I answered patiently, “a group of government scientists were
working on a cure for the hangover, and one day someone cried, ‘Eureka,’ which
means, ‘I have found it.’ Tomato juice, you see, is an ingredient in the Bloody
Mary. And sure enough, if you drank a Bloody Mary on top of a hangover, the
hangover went away. Like magic. It was believed that the Worcestershire combined with the
fresh-ground pepper was what did it. Though some claimed it was the celery
stalk. In fact, two or three Blood Marys helped even more.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“What does all this have to do with
brunch?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Patience is a virtue, Young Person. I
am about to explain. One way or another, you got yourself ready for Saturday
night. Friday night was sort of like winter break at school, while Saturday
night was summer vacation, so to speak. By Sunday morning you were in no shape
to deal with anything. So you got together with some friends or whomever and
went to brunch.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“And this was in the late morning?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Usually. Supposedly. But it could be
mid-Sunday morning. In fact, it was not uncommon for people to pass out before
noon on Sunday. But sometimes, too, it happened in early afternoon, by the
time everyone got themselves together.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Would you eat anything?”<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Oh, of course. It was a meal, after
all. People ordered fancy omelets with themes, like the Mexican Omelet, the Texas
Omelet, or the Tex-Mex Omelet.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Were there egg white omelets?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Certainly not. People had it rough
back then. You had to work hard just to keep a roof over your head. No one even
heard of egg white omelets. You might as well ask if there were music videos.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“So besides the omelets what was the
big deal?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“The omelets came with home fries and
maybe refried beans with lots of hot sauce. And of course, toast. You never
ordered white bread toast, as it wasn’t as nutritious as whole grain. Oh, and I
almost forgot. To drink, you asked for ice water—probably a pitcher for the
table—and a Bloody Mary. As was already explained, a second or third Bloody Mary
may have been in order. Usually someone had to ‘break the ice,’ so to speak.
Like maybe the first person ordered orange juice, and then the second person
would also order orange juice, and then say, ‘No, wait a second—I think I’ll
try a bloody Mary.’ Then the first person would say, ‘You know, that sounds
good. Please change my orange juice to a Bloody Mary.’”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Screwdrivers are made with orange
juice. Did anyone ever order one of those instead?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Not often. Something about the Bloody
Mary seemed more breakfast-like. Screwdrivers were considered uncouth for first
thing in the morning or afternoon or whenever it was. They implied one had a
drinking problem.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Did you ever drink anything else?”<br />
<br />
“Sometimes just to be different people might order champagne cocktails, which
also seemed brunch-like somehow.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Did they help with hangovers, too?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Indeed. Again, it was said to be the </span>Worcestershire
that did it. Since champagne cocktails were lighter, you needed four
or five of them. Or even six.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“How long did brunch last?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Usually a few hours. By the time it
was over, everyone was ready to go home and nap for the rest of the day.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Did people wake up with hangovers?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yes, on Sunday evening people awoke
feeling terrible. But then it was considered proper to drink something else.
Like straight whiskey with a beer chaser.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“What about Monday morning?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“What <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">about</i> it? People just plowed their way through it as best they
could. It was considered a character building experience to have to go to work
after a three-day drinking binge. Or as it was sometimes called, a lost
weekend. You kids anymore—you don’t know how hard we had it back then. Xanax
and Prozac hadn’t even been invented.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“‘Character building’—what does that
mean?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Becoming a stronger person.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Huh. You don’t say. Were there cars?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yes, and also TV. But there was no
cable, so you only got to pick from three main channels, plus some local
networks.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“How did people survive?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“It was hard, Young Person. It was
hard.”</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6498513451567652239.post-3955795771372693182014-09-21T05:37:00.000-07:002014-09-21T05:37:58.992-07:00The Doritos Theory
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Arial;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-fareast-language:JA;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is social anxiety
disorder the new normal? </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Speaking of boredom, I recently watched an episode of “Love
American Style,” a cloyingly listless program from the early 70s that featured tepid
vignettes about tepid relationships. It must have succeeded because it gave its
audience permission to be lethargic. I know I was. Life, thy name is Doritos. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, the episode I happened upon featured a young Diane
Keaton. She and a man had been corresponding through letters, and finally meet in
person. The intimacy of their correspondence vanishes when face to face. So she
hits upon the idea to go into a different room, whereby they may slip notes to
each other under the door. The End. Keaton lent the story a sweetness that made
it more enjoyable than it should have been, and I could see why she became a
star.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But beyond the fair Ms. Keaton’s destiny meeting with my
approval, I realized this tale prefigured our current state of high tech communication.
What the couple was begging the universe for was email. And, of course,
texting, chat rooms, home pages . . . oh, and I guess blogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To show you how old I am, I remember when email first came
out. At a university computer lab I would see these two people sending messages
back and forth, even though they were sitting next to each other. “How
pathetic,” I thought. “I’ll never learn how to do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i>.” Yeah, right. Just as I’d never get a VCR (remember those?)
or a smart phone, or various other curiosities. Why even talk to someone on the
phone—let alone in person—when you can just send them a message? Listening to
college students talk to each other, I often hear them say things like, “You
won’t believe what happened. I’ll text you about it later.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes of course the students are in a hurry,
but even if they had time to talk, it would appear they’d rather text. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t like texting—I have big, clumsy hands—but otherwise
I have been as seduced as anyone else by our high tech world. I even have
emailed someone sitting next to me. Likewise, it is easier to buy things online,
or look up information through a search engine rather than go to an actual
library. I can publish a book without having to “do lunch” with my editor. Anyone
remember gas station attendants? Bank tellers? We can check out our own
groceries so that we do not have to interact with a checkout clerk, and the
fast food industry is becoming evermore fast—more automated. We are all too
busy, too preoccupied, to bother with each other. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We hear a lot about how technology is ruining our ability to
communicate; people do not know how to talk to each other anymore, and so
forth. I would add a friendly amendment here: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in the pre-Internet universe, people did not
necessarily communicate well, or at all. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in many ways, the Internet makes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">more</i> communication possible. Still,
millions of people day by day communicate as much as possible through
technological means rather than face to face, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">even when face to face is possible.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This posting is actually quite political, so I suppose I
should get to the point. On Facebook (see, Internet?) I have made friends with
people from a wide spectrum of political beliefs. So on a daily basis, I read
both left- and right-wing calls for dramatic social change. Sometimes the word
“revolution” is used. On the one hand, the Internet makes possible more
political dialogue and exchange of information. I often sign online petitions.
But when it comes to social change, the Internet has its limits. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even the briefest glance through human history shows us that
major social upheaval is not pretty. Revolution, for better or for worse,
includes violence. The folks in control don’t just say, “You’re right, please
take our power away.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And though my
crystal ball may prove to be fuzzy, I do not think virtual bloodshed will
replace the real thing. To control a society, you have to control the forces of
coercion, i.e., police and the military. We may send drones into battle, but
it’s people that get blown up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Social change of a revolutionary scale would require us
getting off our duffs. We’d have to meet not just to organize, but also to form
necessary strong bonds with each other. Otherwise, there is no incentive to
make sacrifices for a greater good.That means no TV tonight, no chat rooms or
Facebook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And whether one is left or
right of center, or even in the dead center (note the word “dead”), I simply
cannot envision masses of people doing this. We are not willing to sacrifice
our Doritos in front of the boob tube, let alone put our lives on the line.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Karl Marx predicted world communism. In a nutshell, he said
that workers would increasingly be replaced by machines, so more and more
people would be out of work. And when no one could buy what the machines
produced, capitalism would topple, workers would unite, and so on. So far this
has not happened. Maybe that makes you happy, or maybe that makes you sad. But
one of the things Marx had no way of knowing was how much we would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">love</i> our machines. They are our best friends.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Machines replacing humans in the work force? We all allow
this to be the case about a million times a day. Whenever we use our computers,
smart phones, or even now our watches to do something that used to require
human interaction, we are making more jobs obsolete. We ask our leaders to
“create more jobs,” without stopping to consider exactly what it is that out of
work people should be paid to do. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, is everyone ready to throw their smart phone in the
trash? No, I didn’t think so. Religion is not the opiate of the masses, technology
is. In fact, one of the things that can seem “weird” about religion is the
thought of being part of a community. Spend time with people when I can be by
myself? How crazy is that?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Machines do not only take away from the work force, although
this of course is nothing to take lightly. They also are eating away at our basic
need to bond with others of our species.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And if people cannot even be bothered to say hi to a checkout clerk, how
can they be expected to make real sacrifices for the greater public good? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pass the Doritos, please. And be quiet, my twelfth-favorite
show is on. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16286303182345267901noreply@blogger.com0