The Experience Driven Life

On stopping the Stop Online Piracy Act

2012-01-18T20:06:00.001-05:00

Today's concerted and highly effective protest on the Web to proposed U.S. laws that would regulate the Internet speaks less about the specifics of the ill-conceived legislation than it does of an inspiring revival by more and more people and organizations re-embracing a progressive agenda that has the power and potential to take back our democracy after decades in which corporate greed coupled with repressive ideology has succeeded in gradually curtailing our fundamental civil rights and common prosperity.

Why bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb Iran?

2012-01-16T00:01:00.000-05:00

First, there is no strategic disagreement between the US and Israel, but the notion of one provides a nice cloak for a unilateral military action against Iran, which you can expect any time now. (If you thought the Iraq War was ugly and unjustified, buckle your seat belt for this one.) Second, there is no real Iranian nuclear threat, but even if there were one what right does the US/Israel have to prevent Iran from developing a bomb? Third, since this is not about about nukes, what's it about? Well, of course US control of Middle East energy resources and curtailing Iranian influence in the region, particularly in Iraq. Fourth, shouldn't the public/Congress be debating the Iraq debacle and trying to influence the Executive to put an end now to our shameful history of imperial intervention in the region? No chance of that during an Presidential election cycle, since we're too busy deciding whether or not to replace on militaristic automaton with another.

The US produced the first nuclear weapon and used two in Japan. Open Pandora's box. Eventually an Islamic state will acquire the capability. Oh, right, Pakistan already has the bomb. Not to mention North Korea, another point in the so-called 'Axis of Evil'. So, what is it that are we fighting for again? Resources. Resources. Resources. In other words, we'll get nowhere fighting to prevent proliferation of weapons, especially being the world's chief exporter of them. What *will* get us somewhere is beginning to end the West's resource-craving militarist hegemony in the Middle East. But that is only going to happen if the West is able to free itself from its dependence on fossil fuels in the region, and in the process entertain a more enlightened, peaceful set of international priorities. Both are very long shots, but they must be taken and taken soon.

From a NYT article 1/17/2011: "Few inside the [Obama] administration see a surefire way of preventing Iran from crossing the nuclear weapons threshold... The administration is deeply reluctant to use military action..." So it's a good thing its proxy Israel is willing and able to do the dirty work with weapons made in the USA.

Six degrees of separation

2012-01-12T18:42:00.000-05:00

The renown author and commentator William F. Buckley (1925 - 2008), founder of the National Review had nine siblings, including a sister Maureen Buckley O'Reilly, who also worked at the NR. In 1964 Maureen died suddenly in her kitchen of a brain hemorrhage while feeding her baby son Bill, which left her husband Gerald O'Reilly, CEO of Richardson-Vicks, alone in the care of the boy and their other three children. To ease the burden, Gerry hired a nanny, who happened to be a nurse as well. They lived across the street from us on Wayside Lane in Scarsdale, NY.

Early one morning in 1965 when I was seven my sister Tish and I went out for a bike ride through the high school grounds opposite our house. I was sucking on a large old-fashioned sour ball when it got stuck in my throat, took me off the two wheeler, and down for the count. Sis had the smarts to high tail it back to the house to tell mom. Don’t recollect how I managed to get there, but ended up in our kitchen crying, blue in the face, and gasping for air like a fish out of water. My mom immediately called the police, but sensing that time was not working in my favor, had the foresight to ring the O'Reilly’s nanny. Within a few minutes she appeared, picked me up by the feet like sack of potatoes, and gave me a couple of good shakes sufficient to dislodge the pernicious candy, which rolled to a stop on the floor. Soon thereafter a policeman arrived and confirmed my mother’s grave premonition: had the nanny not intervened in the nick of time, I would have been history.

So, I owe my life circumstantially to another person's passing, and to there being “six degrees of separation” from a branch of the so-called first family of conservative American politics and my liberal-minded parents. Both aspects of this fateful story still resonate deeply with me, but particularly the second. Because, in the course of my life I have made some good friends with whom I nevertheless profoundly disagree on various political issues. In my book, friendship trumps politics. Well, most of the time.

So I write today simply to affirm in this age of extreme partisan discord, that we are all of the time neighbors in the human condition, right and left, upstairs and downstairs, positioned to care for and even save one another if we can, regardless of anything that may divide us.

Is it really about how you play the game?

2012-01-08T20:09:00.001-05:00

My son Frank recently joined the Tacoma Park, MD Winter Basketball League and played in his first game yesterday with a group of 3rd and 4th grade boys. They won 22-16, but in this instructional league that's just a footnote. The main emphasis is on learning the game and -- more importantly -- the value of good sportsmanship and teamwork. As the coach Chad Boggan recently wrote in an email to parents,

"Each child is expected to be respectful. Respectful to me, Coach De, fellow players, opponents, officials and those they come in contact with throughout the season. We believe it is important to develop an early understanding of sportsmanship and teamwork. Our main focus is to teach, not win. We will win as a team and lose as a team. We hope that you also share this philosophy and will discuss and emphasize these concepts with your children throughout the season."

Indeed, the code of ethics for the league explicitly states that a coach’s primary responsibility is "to develop good citizens and basketball players, and to instill a passion for the game in the players." A coach’s performance is "not measured by wins and losses, rather in what he/she teaches the players in terms of technique, sportsmanship, and fair play." He/she is expected to "place the emotional and physical well-being of participants ahead of the desire to win...accept victory with humility and defeat with grace. Be neither boastful nor bitter."

It is my opinion that this is unquestionably good ethics, and as a parent I am 100% in step with the philosophy of the league. But yet -- and here is my reason for writing today -- I am left to wonder how to reconcile the obvious dichotomy between this excellent recreational program and mainstream American sports culture, to which these kids are consistently exposed watching tv, playing video games, and attending live sporting events. That is, where winning seems to be the primary goal and "how you play the game" of little or no importance. I mean, when was the last time a professional football coach was fired for being too hard on his players after losing a game? Have you ever been to a pro hockey game where there hasn't been at least one brutal fight on the ice? And isn't the whole point of boxing for one man to beat another man unconscious?

So, as a parent I'm left with the conundrum if, and if so how to explain to my son if he asks why winning doesn't matter, given that the older he gets the more the dialog on the court, mat, rink, etc. will undoubtedly shift in emphasis from sportsmanship to gamesmanship. Especially since the values, or absence of values in most adult sports mirror behavior in other areas of life, for instance work and politics. I suppose the thing to do is present my son with an honest, albeit slightly contradictory appraisal of things, yet help to lay the foundation in his mind that he should always be a gentleman, win or lose, on and off the field.

What my father always wanted for Christmas

2011-12-25T19:42:00.002-05:00

My father was a pretty frugal man. Stoical even, though not to the point of being philosophical about it. And this was most apparent twice a year: his birthday and -- even more so -- on Christmas, when if you asked him what he wanted would always respond with the simple three words, "Peace and quiet."

To understand this reflexive response you'd have to know for starters that my father was 10 in 1929 when the stock market crashed, and 12 by the time harsh effects of the Great Depression began to weigh heavily upon the majority of Americans. His father died in '41, and being the eldest of three sons and a daughter, became the backbone of support for his mother and the rest of the family during some pretty tough times. He graduated from Harvard College the same year, where he was on full scholarship. By 1944 he was the Captain of a destroyer in the Atlantic. After the war and a stint in Germany working on that nation's reconstruction, he returned to Harvard to earn a J.D. degree. ...

What I want to emphasize here is that the formative details of my father's biography powerfully shaped his temperament and outlook for the rest of his life. He was a self-made intellectual, and extremely self-contained, yet rarely self-centered. And although he dressed in style of Brooks Brothers (consistent with an international business leader, which he ultimately became), appreciated a fine meal, and took pride in providing an excellent life for his wife and children, including owning a series of beautiful suburban homes, was never materialistic in the petty day-to-day sense. He had two life-long passions, reading and baseball, but owned very few books and watched most games on tv. The austerity of his character was best expressed, however, in his reticence of expression, rarely speaking unless questioned and then only when he had something worth imparting. As far as I recall he eschewed vulgarity (never swore), and aside from the couple of times when he was mortally ill, showed no excess of emotion to anyone.

So, what did my father mean by "peace and quiet", and how is that significant, especially on Christmas? Well, several things.

Ostensibly, being a hard-working guy, he valued above all a respite from the normal level of domestic chaos. He cherished his solitude and the chance to read (although I believe over the years he acquired a convenient immunity from background noise). But more profoundly, he relished peace and quiet in the sense of a qualitative time of calm in the otherwise raging storm of conflict and discord in the world. As an authority in foreign affairs (and member of the Council on Foreign Relations), he was deeply concerned about current events here and abroad, and in fact suffered as a result from what he sometimes referred to as Weltschmerz, or 'world-weariness'.

It's funny, but even though my dad meant the phrase 'peace and quiet' to be taken facetiously, and we all obliged in part, he nevertheless was genuinely uninterested in receiving gifts. Again, not because he was anti-materialistic; it was just that he didn't have any want or need for superfluous things. This made it practically impossible for his loved ones, including me, to give him something that he might like, for instance a thoughtfully chosen book, which -- though a reasonably likely candidate to arrest his interest -- would inevitably sit forgotten on his bedside shelf, because he hadn't on his own considered reading it. So mainly he got dull neckties and tedious black socks.

I have always admired people who get along in life with just the bare essentials, and perhaps even less, and don't much respect folks who have or need to have a lot of stuff. So I respected my dad for his frugality and remain a fan of the likes of the Dalai Lama; Richard Branson not so much. And as I see it, in a way my father embodied the Christmas spirit, by refusing to create an actionable list, and yet being a selfless conduit for all the things year-to-year that the people fortunate to reside in his orb received.

Sadly, I don't think, life being what it is, that we ever formally gave my father the one thing he really wanted for Christmas, peace and quiet, which was of course an unrealistic expectation. But at least implicitly we gave him the liberty to retreat to that good place he so treasured, and he availed himself of it.

Stopped dead in my tracks

2011-12-18T19:11:00.000-05:00

Every time I'm lucky enough to witness a flock of geese migrating in a V formation overhead, like yesterday, I stop dead in my tracks to admire the fleeting spectacle. Because there is a logic and purpose more beautiful and awe inspiring in what these creatures are doing than anything else on earth.

Truth and the end of U.S. war in Iraq

2011-12-15T14:50:00.451-05:00

Today I want to comment on this surreal historic moment when the U.S. government is trying to provide everyone with a happy ending to the war in Iraq. And make a more general point about how some of the principles we willingly accept and religiously abide by at the micro (personal/local) level of society sadly fail to bubble up to the macro (govt/national) level when they logically should.

To begin, savvy parents know that one of the most important things they can impart to their children is an instinct to tell the truth when they've done something wrong. Parents do this because they know from experience that fidelity to the truth sustains the fabric of relationships, and moreover the world as a whole is improved through honest citizenship. But also because they know that it is not always easy to tell the truth; indeed, one of the hardest things to do in life is to admit having screwed up and done something wrong. Far easier is it to prevaricate and/or pass off responsibility for the misdoing to some third party.

So too is it in a democracy with respect its elected leaders. We the people ought to be ever watchful that our representatives have a steady relationship with the truth, that they do not lie, or mince words, or obfuscate reality, and reflexively own up to any sort of failure with admirable transparency. Now, how does this analogy stand up to the events of the past week?

Well, at Fort Bragg, NC yesterday, President Obama spoke to the soldiers there, now veterans, claiming that all their fighting, dying, building, etc. has "led to this moment of success". Moreover, our Commander in Chief mused,

"we’re leaving behind a sovereign, stable and self-reliant Iraq, with a representative government that was elected by its people. We’re building a new partnership between our nations. And we are ending a war not with a final battle, but with a final march toward home. This is an extraordinary achievement, nearly nine years in the making."

Aside from the fact that the military is headed home, every aspect of this absurdly optimistic distortion of the reality on the ground in Iraq begs serious explanation. Far from being a "moment of success", the world is witnessing a humiliating retreat and the stunning failure of a decade-long effort at putative 'nation building'. In certain ways it compares to the U.S. exit from Saigon in 1975, albeit no one is fleeing pants on fire to board helicopters from besieged buildings. N.b. the U.S. tried to reach an agreement with the Iraqi government to retain a minimal presence there, but the deal breaker was no immunity from prosecution for the atrocities committed there by our military against civilians, the important history of which it has been left to be destroyed in Baghdad junkyards. In short, we disposed of one dictator (Saddam) and now another one is in his place (al-Maliki). See Premier’s Actions in Iraq Raise U.S. Concerns. We are leaving Iraq in a state of extreme instability, plagued by continued sectarian violence, a crippled infrastructure, and situated in a more volatile geo-political environment -- particularly with respect to its historic adversary Iran -- than we found it when we invaded the country for the second time in 2003. Add to that the 1.3 million refugees suffering in camps around in the country.

So where are the brave guardians of the state, like you and me, righteously correcting and admonishing our President with moral indignation to come clean with an honest account of where Iraq really stands at the end of this unjustified nightmare we created? And where is the majority of the so-called "Fourth Estate", news outlets and journalists, crying foul in the midst of this concerted effort to distort and throw history in the garbage heap?

Certainly not Secretary of Defense Leon Panetta, who at a ceremony this week at Baghdad International Airport said to the rank and file,

"You will leave with great pride -- lasting pride, secure in knowing that your sacrifice has helped the Iraqi people to cast tyranny aside and to offer hope for prosperity and peace to this country's future generations."

This rhetoric should grate upon the sensibility of all inquiring people with its rosy attitude of self-promoting closure.

Ok, it might be argued that both Obama and Panetta should not be faulted, because they were talking to soldiers who have fought in Iraq and/or Afghanistan and who need encouragement and support. The problem with this reasoning is that the President and his deputies are not speaking to any other audience, so this is the sole message being broadcast to the nation and the world.

Another relevant analogy arising from common experience occurs everywhere in our schools. When a child makes some mistakes on a test, does the teacher discard the results and report to the child that he or she has done a perfect job, or does the instructor instead return the work and attempt to explain to the student what the are correct answers and how to derive them? As a nation we have done something that merits a failing grade, and yet our leaders are seemingly unwilling to point out our errors in an effort to help us understand what we have done wrong and to avoid repeating the same mistakes in the future. Wouldn't it have been better for Obama to have said to these men, well we obviously f'd up and I'm terribly sorry and take partial responsibility for that f'up, but will do everything in my power during my remaining days in office to make amends for that f'up and see that something like this never occurs again?

So again, why do we permit our leaders to get away with providing blatant disinformation about the Iraq war? Where are the good parents and teachers among us? Where is the mass media doing diligent fact checking for us all to evaluate and debate? And, more importantly, where does this leave our democracy, if our leaders are uncensored as they spin reality into a pleasing apparitions serving only to perpetuate serial military strategies that have resulted in mind-boggling costs and heart-wrenching human misery?

To conclude I'd like to take a step back and look at the bigger picture here.

The most honorable thing a person can do is admit a mistake. Same holds for a nation. It is not an exaggeration to say that the fate of society depends on the truth being told, from the playground to the Oval Office. We are brought up not to tolerate lying and injustice in our personal lives, so why is it that we tolerate it going on the national/global stage?

The stakes for world peace could not be higher at the moment. It is not unimaginable, indeed even probable that the U.S. and Israel will enter a war with Iran. As a result of our failure to confront the truth of our dishonest, misguided policies and endeavors in the Middle East, we should brace ourselves for another ill-conceived invasion of opportunity orchestrated by the for-profit military corporate complex. Coming sooner than you might think to Fox News in all it's hyped-up, patriotic shock and awe.

So it is time for the U.S. to adopt an new posture of restraint and civility -- not isolation and disengagement -- in the world. Especially now that we have now substantially reduced the power and effectiveness of our primary adversary Al-Qaeda by other means. Indeed, as has been the case since the beginning of the Cold War, the fate of the world depends in part on our doing the right, just thing in international affairs.

Thus I recommend that the President get back on the air and give us an honest account of the end of this war, i.e. what really happened and why we are leaving and what are the troubling nuances as we do so. And in November 2012, cast your votes for candidates who stand opposed to the status quo of opportunistic, for-profit war mongering.

We must also ask ourselves and our leaders the eternally difficult question, when if ever is it justified to resort to force to resolve the inevitable conflicts that arise between us?

The true man

2011-12-11T23:23:00.000-05:00

The true man is a figment of cultural imagination. The more a man deviates from the rigid stereotypes of his age and allows himself to cultivate a diverse and potentially contradictory set of personae, the greater the chance that he will lead a full and enlightened life, regardless of whether he may be admired or scorned by his peers.

Ikebana Scissors

2011-12-11T22:16:00.002-05:00

One of the objects that I inherited from my mother is a classic pair of Ikebana scissors, which was as far back as can I remember an essential item in her collection of gardening tools. She had a very green thumb, and traveled to Japan with my father in the 50s, so it is reasonable that she would use them often in the service of producing a stunning arrangement of flowers.

These are no ordinary scissors. They fit in the hand like an old glove, and in addition to being more powerful than their appearance suggests, are aesthetically pleasing as well, both in their effective design and symmetrical beauty. The handles are engraved on both sides with Japanese characters, which unfortunately I cannot translate, which lends them a mysterious question of origin.

I used them this evening, as I do every year around this time, to cut off the very top of the Christmas tree, so that the angel can rest there peacefully uninhibited by the ceiling. And I thought of my mother and how pleased she would be to see that this awesome oriental instrument of hers is still being put to good use. And I was reminded of how the tools we regularly use become an intimate part -- not just an extension -- of our being.

Dog Ears

2011-12-08T11:58:00.000-05:00

This bookshelf is dedicated to the memory of my father, who set a great example by reading all the time: Dog Ears

If there's a God he created the Container Store

2011-12-07T21:35:00.002-05:00

According to the account in Genesis, God took six days the create the world out of chaos. If he had had the foresight to create the Container Store on the first day, it would probably have provided him a half day Friday and a long weekend.

As proof of this, the other day my son Frank received for his birthday a Lego set with more than 600 pieces. Now, I'm a firm believer in starting out a construction project of any sort by first accounting for all the components by way of sorting. First, to verify that you have everything you need to complete the project, and second because building the thing progresses much faster and more easily if you can immediately reach for the part that you need. So, before he began, I phoned the best hobby shop in our area to inquire if they had any sort of container to help organize something like a lot of Legos. "No, but we always recommend the Container Store for that sort of thing", said the proprietor. Thus, I headed out to see what I could purchase there.

Around an hour later I had found a perfect container for the situation, namely a thin, portable plastic case with around 20 optional compartments. It was under $20 -- slightly more than I expected to pay -- but with no real alternative I was easily sold.

Back at the ranch, Frank thanked me kindly for the additional present, and by the end of the day had fully utilized it to his advantage in the progress of mastering his new construction set.

In short, I do believe that orderliness is next to Godliness.

The age of morbidity and light

2011-12-04T14:36:00.002-05:00

Any man (I speak solely for my gender) who has reached the ripe age of 50 in America, and elsewhere I imagine with slight variations, knows first hand that you begin being bombarded on all sides by various manifestations of the grim reaper. As much as you'd like to ignore it, there is a certain morbid logic to it, with which one should come to terms or else pay up later with compound interest.

It all starts with the first post-fifty annual physical, being subjected to several new forms of medical abuse. "At your age, Mr. White, we need to start keeping an eye out for this condition, and have a test done to determine if you are prone to that condition," and so on. For instance, suddenly routine is a procedure that ranks just a notch below waterboarding in terms of its power to humiliate: the prostate exam. After bending, drop trou over the exam table, the doc -- man or woman -- rams a lubricated rubber glove finger into your butt and 'palpates' the insides for up to a minute, during which time you're trying to suppress the urge to pee and scream in uncomfortable outrage. Add to this injury the insult of waiting 15 minutes for the results of a test for evidence of blood in the stool. At my last such exam, the nurse forgot I was waiting, and after 20 fairly excruciating minutes of existential anxiety I ventured out to reception to remind folks I was still on hand. Ok, passed the test with flying colors (err, no color at all). On to the mandatory colonoscopy! And btw don't forget to take your meds, check your BP, eat plenty of polyunsaturated fats, and see you in a few months for a follow-up visit.

Then there's the constant stream of 'rewards' and solicitations from the American Association of Retired Persons ("AARP"). Happy 50th birthday, Frank! You now qualify for the benefits of a being a junior senior citizen, including discounts on travel, groceries and more! Beware, the AARP knows your age and where you live. Because there's big money to be made advertising age-based discounts, and the AARP is formidable engine driving sales to baby boomers and other geriatrics poised to gobble up the nation's entitlements. (I do believe the AARP drives around in trucks Googlesque with powerful sensors that detect the telltale signs of aging, like excessive flatulence and coffee-stained teeth.) Having an AARP card has become a rite of passage for all 50 somethings. If you have one, burn it now.

If so far this is insufficient to convince you that the autumn of life has arrived, take notice of the typical reactions of younger people when they discover how old you are. Such as: "Dude, I had no idea you were that old! I would have guessed you were around 49." Or, "You're so well preserved for your age!" Thanks a lot you insensitive whippersnappers. Just you wait.

All of this punishment, together with the stark reality of having crossed the half-century divide has left me, though not inherently inclined to hypochondria, uneasy whenever an unexpected twitch or pain occurs in my body. So I wonder, is this just indigestion or the beginning of the end? And, more profoundly, questioning the quality and quantity of content that I've thus far produced between the unalterable bookends of eternal darkness.

Honestly I had some difficulty turning 50. Part of the problem was that I didn't count on any tribulation, and hadn't had a 'midlife crisis' to brag about. One needs to properly anticipate and prepare for such milestones, otherwise they'll take you by surprise and even knock you out. More specifically, a clear-headed effort should be made to assimilate the facts of ones's biological age, regardless of any well-justifiable inclination of mind to fixate on an earlier emotional/intellectual disposition. Mind you, I'm not suggesting abandonment of the essential life-affirming tendency to be "young at heart". Indeed I thoroughly dislike the word 'retired' and moreover the whole concept of retirement. But, with a little experience under my belt I strongly propose that it qualifies as something of a character flaw if one's temperament does not appropriately adjust to the undeniable physical timeline of life. There is no doubt that things go steadily down hill, physically and mentally, from 50 on. The parts simply do not work as well as they used to, and eventually break down. That's why doctors and the AAPR are all over you. So deal with it and move on.

Don't get me wrong. I'm actually happy about approaching my mid-fifties. If handled right, I'm confident that it will be richer than anything yet experienced. I have a great deal to be thankful for, mainly my wife and children, but also good friends and stimulating work and fun avocations as well. Each day still brings a challenge, and sometimes unpredictable rewards, and that is the way I want things to remain until the great sun sets.

In short, I suppose the silver lining (pardon the pun) in growing older, assuming one adequately assimilates the facts of one's mortality, is in being freed up from the chaotic aspects of youth, and -- being more grounded -- inclined to consider less of oneself and more of others, truth, and the improvement of the world.

On flying turkeys and other quirky Thanksgivings

2011-11-24T14:30:00.002-05:00

Thanksgiving is definitely my favorite holiday, being relatively non-materialistic, family/friend oriented, with no flag waving, crisp fall weather, and good food. And over the course of more than a half century I've had many fine turkey days. But, strangely and perhaps logically enough, the ones that I remember vividly, for better or worse, did not quite live up to the stereo-typically perfect day that Americans strive to produce and enjoy.

* * *

My first off Thanksgiving memory was as a child when I ate seconds, thirds, and maybe even fourths, got sick overnight, and was painfully excluded from participating in a sailing excursion the next day. Around the same period my parents invited close friends to dinner, and their son, who I later learned was autistic, poignantly dropped and shattered a glass of milk in the middle of the meal.

Much later as a college student in 1978 I found myself having dinner with a group of festive Western tourists in a Nepalese fishing lodge under the broad shadow of the Himalayas. Being the first time away from America on the last Thursday in November, I dearly missed family, but was more or less soothed by a token nod to the motherland, namely pumpkin pie for dessert. It's great to travel, but there's no place like home. There's no place like home. ...

Many years later as a graduate student in England and soon after meeting my wife Kristin, I was the sole male representative at a fine Thanksgiving Day feast in a Catholic convent with a group of Trinity College women. On the way from the oven to the table, the turkey literally took to the air down a long flight of stairs in a dramatic last ditch attempt to escape its destiny to be consumed.

The following year, still in the UK -- Thanksgiving being just another Thursday for the English -- I dined with a German friend at a French bistro in a desperate, ultimately unsatisfying attempt to emulate the form and content of the day. That was one of the most frustratingly patriotic evenings of my life.

Not long after that, my mother's last Thanksgiving, we went out for dinner with close friends in Cold Spring, NY, which to me was a hugely disappointing departure from our great cook/dine at home tradition. Moreover at the restaurant mom lost a beautiful gold Tiffany bracelet that my father had given to her one Christmas. You reap what you sow.

* * *

Recollections of these variously quirky Thanksgivings leads me to conclude that holidays generally tend to unnaturally raise expectations beyond what reality can consistently deliver. Turkeys take flight, we sometimes eat too much and break down, and in some countries you can't buy cranberries. There is a deep-seated urge to annually recreate a Norman Rockwellesque tableaux in our homes, but a holiday is never 'normal', whatever that is, and given that personal/historical circumstances are in a state of constant evolution/flux, it neither make sense to try to emulate some idealized prefab vision nor attempt to recreate a particular one in the past upon which we may have fixed our minds. People and places come and go in the course of our lives, and we may even find ourselves far-flung from home in a strange foreign venue when being together with loved ones matters most.

In short, with every passing Thanksgiving I've grown more inclined to expect the unexpected, indeed expect little and hope to be pleasantly surprised. The path to peace of mind is to adapt and be happy with whatever is on our table in the present moment.

Nothing to loose sleep over

2011-11-21T21:38:00.002-05:00

I was at a doctor's appointment the other day, and while discussing a fairly alarming symptom with the physician she tried quite earnestly to comfort me saying, "Oh, it's nothing to loose sleep over." So, I wondered, when if ever would a doctor say to a patient, "Oh, that's something to loose sleep over."

Why children thrive on adults making mistakes

2011-11-20T01:27:00.009-05:00

The other day I egregiously misused a word in a sentence, and the elder two of my three children went to town over my lexical slip of tongue/mind. Initially I felt a slight tinge of embarrassment and humiliation, but later on took comfort in realizing that children verily thrive on the mistakes of adults, especially their parents/guardians. Indeed, the errors of adults as understood and exposed and celebrated by the younger generation work doubly beneficially, both keeping adults on their toes, and children amused and encouraged by the fact that they are not really inferior after all. And, what better way is there to edify than by making mistakes?

Don't watch the American electoral circus

2011-11-16T22:35:00.002-05:00

The American electoral process has turned into a low budget three ring circus ("low budget" in the sense of what we're getting, not the price of admission). At the moment we have three extremely wealthy Republican candidates Herman Cain, Newt Gingrich, and Rick Perry in the spotlight showing off their amazing qualities, including sexual deviance, arrogance, and ignorance. The highlight of the show is when they get together to "debate", i.e. shout soundbites at each other (when they can remember them). And we're all paying the IRS and our cable companies for this seemingly endless and degrading news stream, which does nothing effective but distract us from the very urgent social and economic issues we face, both at home and abroad.

My main point in writing is that the US presidential primary process is far too extended, and instead of improving our democracy it is cheapening it with irrelevant personal theatrics. And that mainstream news outlets are profiting hugely by selling the whole mess as a cross between and soap and a sitcom. People just have to stop buying tickets to this awful show.

So, be responsible. Switch your attention to the few news sources that don't profit from regurgitating this insidious tabloidesque garbage.

Let children be children

2011-11-14T22:50:00.065-05:00

There is a memorable scene the classic Ron Howard film Parenthood (1989), which features Nathan (Rick Moranis), who plays a nerdy overachieving dad, his wife Susan (Harley Kozak), a middle school science teacher, and their sweet, precocious daughter Patty (Ivyann Schwan).

It begins with Susan on the phone with her sister Helen (Dianne Wiest) complaining about her daughter's academic performance.

Susan: "We're a little disappointed with the effort she's been giving lately towards her work. Math, French, everything's gone down. Nathan's talking to her right now. He's trying to figure out what's wrong."

(At this point the scene shifts to their home office, where Nathan is lecturing his daughter.)

Nathan: "Look, Patty, all I'm saying is, if you wanna have just an ordinary academic career and attend an ordinary university, that's your prerogative, but I must tell you I think you're selling yourself way short."

Susan: "How's it going?" (Entering the room and taking a seat next to her husband.)

Nathan: "I don't know. Sometimes I feel as though we want it more than she does."

Susan: "Patty, you know we love you. Could you just give your father that little extra effort he's looking for?"

(Camera turns to Patty pictured above.)

Patty: "Okay, Mama."

Nathan: "That's all I ask."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

What makes this scene absurd is the fact that Patty is just a six year-old girl. We laugh at it, but at the same time it drills home the unseemly fact that many parents have a tendency to program their children from an early age to follow what they consider a path to success, and sometimes like Nathan, wanting it more than their children, grossly over do it. In fact I see this a lot first hand in the over-stimulated greater Washington, DC social environment in which we live, where kids are literally sick and tired doing so much extra stuff all the time.

To which I emphatically say: the most important thing a parent/guardian can give a child is their childhood.

Of course, I want my children to be well educated, have good social skills, and be able to pursue sports and other activities that complement/enhance their physical and intellectual growth, but not at the expense of having sufficient time to experience the nectar of youth, which as adults they will never get back. That is, they should ... conquer boredom, imagine things by accident, play freely outside and to no end, fall off a bicycle and get scratched, occasionally watch a favorite TV show to excess, pick a random book and read it on their own time, climb a tall tree and stay up there until it's time for dinner, lie in a grassy field and look up at the sky on a summer's day and think about nothing, run around being absolutely loony, .... All these things and more, because that's what childhood is all about, and -- like preparing them to score decently on the SATs -- we have an obligation to see to it that they can wander and explore and experiment and be amazed to their heart's content.

In other words, I want my children to be carefree and happy-go-lucky for as long as possible, and I refuse to hijack that experience to satisfy any hyper-practical expectations of the day, including my own. And if they don't end up being Rhodes scholars or CEOs, so be it. Because when they get to adulthood, with all of its inevitable trials and tribulations, I'm certain that they'll be very well served by the foundation laid during those blissful first decades of their lives.

That's all I ask.

A stain on the national psyche

2011-11-11T21:26:00.005-05:00

Ok, I'm feeling pretty upset about Americans again.

Because this week an ugly, violent, destructive riot took place on the Penn State University campus, which was sparked by the firing of the head football coach Joe Paterno over his involvement in a cover-up of serial pedophiliac rape.

The New York Times reported a number of comments from students in the midst of the riot, for instance Paul Howard, 24: "Of course we're going to riot. What do they expect when they tell us at 10 o'clock that they fired our football coach?" And Jeff Heim, 19: "We got rowdy, and we got maced. But make no mistake, the board started this riot by firing our coach. They tarnished a legend."

Take notice that these young people show no apparent awareness of the profound reasons why Paterno and, indeed, the University President was sacked so immediately. What was on their mind appears solely to have been the superficial reputation of a college-level football team and its coach.

This is not simply a sad comment on jejune myopic points of view. And it cannot be explained away by appeal to some deep psychological attachment to sacred team or paternal coach or Alma mater. Or somehow absolved by reference to an alleged propensity of today's youth to protest irrationally over something that irks them on a given day.

On the contrary, there is absolutely no excuse for the kind of chaotic, morally bereft behavior that occurred on the campus of Penn State this week.

These young adults should be locked up for an appropriate time, not simply for the violence and destruction they brought about, but more importantly for failing to read and digest a crucial chapter in the class 'Morality 101', which if it doesn't exist at Penn State should and must be a prerequisite for graduation. Namely, On Pedophilia. It's a horrific crime and covering it up a close second.

Moreover, and more to the point, if I were the parent of one of those children, I'd be utterly mortified and livid that my child was involved in such a thing. And if the law didn't step in to rectify his/her transgressions, I would by similar means.

Perhaps the main problem is that there seems to be no such parental outrage (or at least none reported). Or a lack of proactive parental guidance/vigilance sufficient to head off such egregious social behavior in their children when they get out into the world.

And, perhaps more importantly, no great collective national shame over this whole sordid incident.

Life is constant maintenance

2011-11-10T21:37:00.000-05:00

Life is constant maintenance. My mother often said this, and I've gradually discovered -- especially as a parent -- how true it is.

Nip it in the bud

2011-11-08T21:27:00.000-05:00

I now believe that 5-6 is typically the age around which lying becomes what seems to be an effective alternative to truth telling. So this is the time when adults must be especially vigilant to discipline children when they fib.

Change we can believe in

2011-11-08T19:00:00.000-05:00

It is time to demand that President Obama break ranks with various failed policies of the Bush era and embrace instead genuine progressive change.

Strength

2011-11-07T21:42:00.000-05:00

Strength of character is practically equivalent to the number of demons one has bravely confronted.

A rose will bloom. It then will fade. So does a youth.

2011-11-06T21:30:00.004-05:00

A culture becomes degraded if it fetishizes youthfulness, because that results in the marginalization of its elders and their wisdom.

Talking to my god

2011-11-03T20:18:00.000-04:00

Have a holy walkie talkie that I got on sale at Walmart and I'm talking to my god on it, but there's been no response.

What I worship

2011-10-29T18:38:00.008-04:00

When I was growing up we attended Catholic mass every Sunday and afterwards often witnessed a few of our fellow parishioners aggressively trying to get out of the parking lot, as if to mock the moral content of what they had just presumably digested.

Significantly my dad rarely joined us at church, but when he did religiously passed a portion of the time reading the weekly church bulletin cover to cover (the only reasonable printed matter within reach). I believe he was a closet atheist, or at least an intellectual who had no time for unnecessary leaps of faith. Whatever the case, in defense of his real or apparent lack of piety, my mom said at least once to us children that "your father lives his religion", which was true insofar as my father was a very good man who would have given his last dollar to a friend or family member if they needed it, and many times they did and he prevailed for them.

Furthermore, what my mom said was in effect an indirect way of informing us that my dad was excused from the routine of mass, because religion need not supplement a life full of good works, and moreover what really matters is not clocking attendance at religious rituals, but rather leaving an admirable mark of spiritual habit in the world, e.g. on any given Sunday not honking one's horn, but politely giving others the right of way.

Thus, as a result of my father's example and my mother's 'complicity' in it, and in part from my reading, education, and experience, I became a free thinker and something of a heretic. I've looked at the various organized religions from many angles, and don't see what they offer me in terms of palatable spiritual/moral guidance. What I see instead is the ideological content of these faiths chiefly in conflict with my personal belief in what is true and just and good in the world. And that religious folks do not necessarily lead richer spiritual lives as a result of undergoing sacraments and routinely attending services where they are habitually expected to supplicate themselves before their god(s) and recite various commitments and prayers. On the contrary, religion seems to give people a frequent opportunity to feel superficially good about their moral behavior, to absolve their so-called transgressions, and to uncritically accept dogma presented as articles of faith, including blatant fictions dressed as facts that serve to legitimize backward, unenlightened, and repressive social structures as well as war-mongering political agendas.

Having said all that, on a practical level a lot of good has come and continues to issue forth from religious bodies, which have well served a lot of people from the beginning of society, providing personal and economic support to the needy. But IMHO those charitable aspects would be much better served if they originated primarily from secular sources. (I image an ideal 'church-going' experience, and will write about that separately.)

So then what do I worship? Well honestly absolutely nothing. Worship is an insipid form of humiliation, whether directed at a god or sacred personage or any object whatsoever. So too is praying. We cannot will something to happen merely by muttering it to ourselves, especially if we direct our wishes to an imaginary being. But that does not leave me out in the cold spiritually. ...

What I do believe, and would be willing to die for, is the freedom to worship nothing. More to the point, I cherish the liberty of mind to identify and speak against all sort of nonsense and humbug in the world, regardless of who might be offended. And the world I would like to create is one where everyone who wishes to do so can get out of the closet and fully exercise their natural liberty of human expression without fear of being ostracized, persecuted, jailed, and the like. I also believe in the existence of love and compassion and all notions sympathetic to those two great interchangeable forces in life. I don't need religion to help me with that 'faith', but trust I'll always yield kindly in the parking lot to someone who does.

Social conscience

2011-10-20T19:51:00.001-04:00

You can lead a mind to the pool of social conscience, but you can't make it drink.

The weather

2011-10-18T22:41:00.001-04:00

The weather is a great void filler in the service of communication.

Fate

2011-10-18T21:53:00.000-04:00

"You only get one coffee break in life." ~ Anon.

Fading away

2011-10-18T21:31:00.000-04:00

The older we get the more likely we are to be forgotten.

New rule

2011-10-18T21:27:00.003-04:00

New rule: Nobody should be allowed to run for President unless they pass the Foreign Service Exam. Candidates need to be able to spell the word Afghanistan, correctly point to the state where the Revolutionary War began, know the difference between North Korea and North Carolina, and admit that foreign policy experience has nothing to do with simply living in Alaska.

The world is of our making

2011-10-18T21:23:00.000-04:00

The essence of understanding is the serial discovery that the world is of our making.

Truth is like sex

2011-10-18T21:12:00.000-04:00

Truth is like sex. You may or may not get it over time.

The mind is like a garden

2011-10-18T20:29:00.000-04:00

The mind is like a garden. It must be cultivated. Situate your life where the sun can shine on your outlook. And daily give plenty of water to your views.

Fact and fiction

2011-10-18T20:23:00.001-04:00

A fact becomes a fiction the moment you realize that it was never in fact a fact.

Life and death

2011-10-18T18:56:00.000-04:00

Life is a great game that death plays all the time.

Andrew Topping

2011-10-16T14:03:00.004-04:00

Everyone gets close to a moment in history at one point in their lives, whether or not they are aware of it. This happened to me in 1986 when taking a class in the philosophy of science at Columbia, where I met and became close friends with Andrew Topping.

Andrew, at the time 41, was living on the bleeding edge of life, sleeping in a friend's basement on the upper West Side, surviving on cocktail lounge buffets, and slightly unhygienic for want of more frequent bathing and a change of clothes. As far as I know Andrew, an ex-GI and Vietnam veteran, lived the better part of his adult life that way. He was extremely intense, intelligent, even intellectually electrifying at times. And -- despite what one might make of at least one infamous detail of his public life -- he was one of the most interesting and endearing persons I have ever known. He carried a small notebook with him, and in minuscule script was constantly jotting down his thoughts. And despite his gruff, usually disheveled appearance, he was also quite a ladies man. If Andrew spent a half hour with someone, he became part of your life. I was fascinated by his experiences, theories, and ways of thinking; but I was also wary of him, particularly when he talked in low conspiratorial terms about sinister governmental forces. I'm convinced there was a genuinely dark and unstable aspect to him, however I was never able to get enough information about him to form a complete and consistent impression.

Here are the facts.

In August of 1972, Andrew was arrested in Central Park for plotting to kill President Nixon. See http://select.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=FA0B12FA3C5B107A93C0A81783D85F468785F9&scp=1&sq=%22andrew+b+topping%22&st=p
and http://www.newspaperarchive.com/SiteMap/FreePdfPreview.aspx?img=105934591. This was front page news at the time.

One of the first things Andrew confided to me was that his wife was murdered soon after she returned from the hospital having given birth to their son.

And check this out: http://www.maebrussell.com/Mae%20Brussell%20Articles/Watergate%20Deaths.html

In this incredible article, Andrew's wife is listed as #28 among 30 Watergate witnesses who purportedly met violent deaths at the hands of the CIA.

"She died of gunshot wounds on April 6, 1972, two weeks after the Watergate break-in. Her death was declared a suicide. Andrew Topping told police that "pro-rightist forces" beyond his control caused his wife's death."

I have no clue whether there is any veracity to this theory, but at least it is generally consistent with what Andrew told me, including that he claimed to know for certain Nixon was behind the JFK assassination. He spoke of having been in prison, but never about his attempt to kill the President in '72.

I can't recall how it came to take place, but around the same time I had an interview with a reporter from the Village Voice, who sought me out to discuss Andrew. The guy had been doing some research on Andrew and warned me to keep a distance, because he was a dangerous right-wing fanatic. I didn't buy that enough to follow his advice, because to me Andrew was essentially a warm and endearing -- albeit slightly volatile -- person.

I lost touch with Andrew around 1988 and he passed away around 2006. I learned about his death by reading a heartfelt blog post from Charles Nesson. http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/nesson/2006/03/08/andrew-topping/.

I miss Andrew as well, and wonder to this day what the puzzle of his life would look like if I had all the pieces to complete it.

Going, going, gone.

2011-10-15T12:54:00.000-04:00

We appreciate things more when they become rare, and appreciate things absolutely when they're gone.

My Life So Far

2011-10-13T20:25:00.047-04:00

Life has given me so much.

I have loved and been loved.

I have given life with my wife to three children, who are the apples of our eyes.

I have had some great lasting friendships.

I have had a few great mentors.

I have acquired knowledge and -- I hope -- a little wisdom along the way.

I have doubted and been perplexed and become over time optimistically skeptical.

I have seen and heard and felt and understood some beautiful things.

I have had a few moments of fascination, joy, and ecstasy.

I have known boredom, anxiety, frustration, failure, embarrassment, humiliation, pain, and grief.

I have worked hard and played hard.

I have dreamt of impossible things, both wide awake and sound asleep.

I have tried to be fluent in a few languages.

I have felt a cool breeze on a hot summer day and numb fingers after a snowball fight.

I have tried to put my family first.

I have wallowed sentimentally in the last page of a novel, the coda of a symphony, and the credits of a movie.

I've driven a taxi to the Bronx at 1 a.m. and bungee jumped from a crane at a rock festival.

I have become humble, not only because I'm tiny in the scope of the universe, but also in my neighborhood.

I have sung anthems and marched in protest.

I have been a cheerleader and an gadfly.

I have laughed and mourned to tears.

I have lied and equivocated.

I have confessed the truth and voted my conscience.

This is my life so far.

* ** *

Unfortunately my father passed away before I even imagined asking him this very basic question: what do you think of life?

Well, I can almost imagine his response seated at the round kitchen table in Bronxville, otherwise watching a Mets game. But that's not good enough.

So, this post was intended to offer a response of my own, in case one of my children fails to ask me and ends up having the same regret some day.

Note: I regard this question to be very different from and perhaps more difficult than the more specific one, what is the meaning of life.

Class warfare

2011-10-12T21:01:00.011-04:00

Warning: skip this post if you are doing really well financially and don't give a damn about anybody else.

President Obama recently addressed a joint session of Congress to introduce an economic plan intended to create jobs and jump start the still ailing economy, arguing in part that the wealthy and corporations should be subjected to higher taxes. Later Republican leaders branded the proposal "class warfare." To which Obama responded,

“This is not class warfare. It's math. The money’s going to have to come from someplace. And if we're not willing to ask those who've done extraordinarily well to help America close the deficit ... then the logic, the math says everybody else has to do a whole lot more.”

Obama's retort was pretty much a polite way of saying the same thing. Honestly I wish he had said, You're right. This is class warfare, and we the people intend to win the war on poverty and economic inequality in our society! That is, no side stepping required. Class warfare is alive and well and thriving in lower Manhattan and Detroit and everywhere else where people are becoming aware and outraged by what has become of this country. Mr. President, please don't try to sweep class conflict under the rug by reducing it to mathematics (although of course we need math to legislate just policy), but rather elevate it to center stage in a genuine effort to bring about the kind of meaningful social change that gave us the hope and motivation to elect you in 2008.

At face value the phrase 'class warfare' may seem ugly and anti-American, but really it's just another way to express the state that groups in society time after time have found themselves with respect to other groups as they struggle for power and resources. The concept is derived loosely from the Marxist notion of class struggle, which pits Labor against Capital. Namely, on the one hand there is the proletariat or anyone who earns a living selling their labor and being paid a wage for their time, and who must work because they typically have no independent, alternative means to survive; and on the other hand the bourgeoisie or those who derive their income from the surplus value that they appropriate or 'exploit' from the workers who actually create wealth.

My point in raising a touch of Marxist theory is to provide a context for the use of the pejorative phrase 'class warfare' in the House by the GOP, who know full well that a hint of socialist rhetoric will resonate appropriately with their reactionary base, and to setup a backdrop for some comments about the steadily increasing poverty and income disparity among Americans that is everywhere visible today.

Ok, let's do the numbers.

Roughly 90% of income gains over the past decade ended up in bank accounts held by the top 10% of U.S. wage earners, and 40% of this increased wealth went to the top 1% of Americans. In other words, the top 1% of the population controls 42% of the nation’s wealth. Meanwhile the wealth of the middle class declined in the same period. More and more families are falling below the poverty line. The latest Census Bureau count shows that upwards of 50 million people (1/6 of the population) now live in poverty, defined as a family of four with an annual income of less than $22,350. Think about it. That's $1,862 a month, or ~ $60 a day, for food and shelter and everything else that a family needs to stay afloat.
The current official jobless rate in America is 9.1%. But the real unemployment rate is double that, if counting the number of part-time workers seeking full-time employment as well as those who have given up looking for work altogether.
Wages are stagnant and prices are rising, while corporate profits and savings are up. Workers are putting in longer hours and productivity has increased, while companies have cut back their staff. And the ratio of CEO pay to average workers' salaries is an incredible 400 to 1. Everyone is paying more at the pump, and Exxon Mobil recently reported a quarterly profit of $10.7 billion, up 41% from last year.
More than 50 million Americans lack healthcare insurance. And premiums are rising, so employers are paring down plans for the workers who have it.
Finally keep in mind the total cost of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, which as of this writing is approximately $1,260,749,000,000. This directly benefits corporations such as Halliburton, Bechtel, and General Dynamics, as more than 50% of the current U.S. military budget is outsourced to private contractors.

Let's consider banks and credit card companies specifically. During the past decade corporations aggressively targeted consumers, including college students, with offers of accounts with high credit limits and initially minimal APRs (typically 0%). And of course Americans bought into these enticing deals. But one late payment down the road and the rate skyrocketed permanently to as high as 30% with a hefty penalty added as insult to injury. So now a broad swath of the nation has been suckered into a level of debt from which it cannot possibly surmount, short of the kind of federal assistance so far reserved for the very corporations that cunningly and ruthlessly created this whole monetary mess in the first place.

Think of it this way: a scam artist comes to your door and offers to sell a bogus product and you purchase it. At the end of the day, who is to blame and liable to be prosecuted, you or the unscrupulous salesperson?

And today, as if to rub their faces in dirt, average consumers -- those without any savings that is -- are being asked to pay $5 - $15/month just for maintaining a checking account and using a debit card. Furthermore now that the credit pendulum has swung way back in the opposite direction, times are tight and it's nearly impossible to get the loan that was offered on a silver platter just a few years ago. Thus, the average Joe is screwed and without options, both in good and bad economic times. Always.

Similarly with mortgages. During the noughts, millions of people were offered low variable rate mortgages (ARMS) with no money down, regardless of their potential ability to make payments, particularly when the rate would inevitably increase substantially. Additionally, the same folks were offered loans based on the calculated equity of their homes in the context of a wildly over-inflated housing market, i.e. encouraged -- in jargon that puts the blame on the consumer -- "to treat their homes like ATM machines." Once again, who's to blame for the debt/foreclosure crisis that America finds itself in now? The creative, risk-taking underwriter seducing you to sign a bunch of documents in your living room, or you the average want-to-prosper live-the-American-dream consumer?

And yet big banks and automobile companies are "too big to fail", and have received generous government bailouts; whereas average family X about to loose its mobile home has to suck up the misfortune. In other words, sleazy fake salesman stays in business with the government's blessing, while sucker American dreamer loses everything including self respect.

Incidentally, talk about financial 'bubbles' and their inevitable bursting strikes me as a cute way of distracting people from acknowledging the true reasons that have brought about our recent array of economic crises. The subtext: everyone and no one is responsible for a financial meltdown. We're all in it together, so no one can be held responsible for the bursting. The 'Housing Bubble' is a typical example. Individual home owners are as much to blame -- if not more so -- as the banks that tricked them into monetary ruin.

Meanwhile back at the GOP, class warfare suggests monkeying with a laissez-faire system that favors everyone equally and works full stop. Conservatives argue that if you take hard-earned money away from the wealthy, you undermine the heart of the American Dream, i.e. the notion that any person can hit the proverbial jackpot and become obscenely rich and famous in 15 minutes despite the phenomenal odds weighing against that outcome. After all, who in their right mind would strive to earn a fortune if they knew in advance that the government was bound to take the bulk of it back in taxes? Ditto corporations, which thanks to the conservative Supreme Court ruling Citizens United v FEC have recently been accorded rights of expression on a par with you and me. What possible motivation would a rich oil company have to invest in its future if taxes were raised slightly on their current astronomic profits? With less money to spend, the logic runs, businesses make less stuff and people buy less stuff and the economy grinds to a halt from lack of incentive to produce and buy stuff.

Honestly, that's exactly the way I would react if the government raised my taxes. I'd quit my job, stop supporting my family, and abandon all ambition.

Indeed, the conservative narrative in its various forms is pure hyperbole, and that is why Republicans are becoming seriously worried about Occupy Wall Street and its swiftly multiplying children demonstrations. I believe we are watching the gradual beginning of the end of a long era dominated by policies that significantly favor corporations and the wealthy at the expense of the majority of people, who these days either work for them or not at all.

Ok, what about voting in more enlightened leaders? Won't that fix things? Well, sadly, we can no longer rely on politicians to change society, because the bulk of them are listening to corporate lobbyists rather than their constituents before casting votes on legislation, and taking PAC money and other contributions from the same interests to fund their re-election campaigns. Obama is a political disaster at the moment for the simple reason that he has folded into a broken, corrupt establishment rather than fighting against it as his election campaign argued he would.

In short, capitalism has once again miserably failed the majority of Americans. And if you digest the numbers above, the analogy of a Marxist class struggle here in the States is not far off the mark. Isn't the average worker in America essentially being exploited for the financial enrichment of the very few? And isn't it reasonable for them to feel as though they exist just for the sake of their wealth creation and completely exasperated in having nowhere else to turn financially, since everyone they know is broke? If that is not an exceedingly good rationale for raising revenue on the wealthiest Americans and corporations who have raised to a science the avoidance of taxes, I don't know what is. Really, it's the very least that should be done.

But nevertheless there is cause for a tiny bit of hope today. The sleeping grassroots giant appears to have woken up in streets adjacent to the boardrooms of not-so-lofty finance, and he's not in a particularly good mood. It's time for the people to peacefully rise up once again, as they did a generation ago, and demand before quitting designated places of protest fundamental changes in a system that perpetuates obscene discrepancies in wealth, liberty, and prosperity among the classes of this great nation.

The strength of liberalism

2011-10-04T20:55:00.007-04:00

I'm fed up with hearing conservatives mock the so-called indecisiveness of liberals, who are caricatured as lacking the guts to stand up for what they believe and incapable of getting things done.

What put America on the map in the first place was political questioning and dissent that lead to one of the most dramatic revolutions in history and possibly the most noble people's constitution of all time. Liberals continue to carry that progressive torch, while conservatives think the job is done.

The eternal strength of liberalism is its open-minded spirit of doubting and indecision employed in an unrelenting effort to reform society for the good of the many; whereas the reoccurring shortcoming of conservatism is its myopic determination to reduce everything to certainty, unanimity, and the status quo, politically and economically, for the ultimate satisfaction of the few.

I am proud of America when it is striving to be better, not when it thinks it knows it is already the best. That is to say I am proud to be a liberal American.

The truth in autumn

2011-10-04T09:26:00.004-04:00

Truth is like leaves falling from a tree. As children we run around trying to catch them, as adults we stop and watch them fall.

Of mice and men

2011-10-02T22:58:00.009-04:00

Warning: this post contains graphic content that should be disturbing to anyone with a conscience.

“Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.”
God, Genesis

The other day I got a call at work from my wife who informed me that my daughter had come home upset to find a live mouse stuck in one of the glue traps we had placed strategically around the house in an effort to fight a minor infestation. So I promised to deal with it asap. Later back at the ranch, I reflexively grabbed a bag and dispensed with the unfortunate critter who was still struggling to death in a cheap disposable torture chamber. The boys wanted to see, but I said no. Which got me to thinking and researching. ...

These days if you visit any well-stocked hardware store you'll find a plethora of products designed to exterminate rodents. For instance the classic mouse trap invented in the late 1890s. This device has a heavily spring-loaded bar and trip which is typically primed with bait such as cheese or peanut butter. Usually when the unsuspecting mouse touches the trip, the bar swings down with terrific force and crushes the creature's skull, neck or spinal cord. But a percentage of times the animal is merely trapped and otherwise wounded, in which case it tries in futility to escape with the trap inextricably appended.

Glue traps are a more recent addition to the extermination market. We started using them by default when our Terminix service placed a few in the basement, and they proved very effective. But the evidence on the ground points to this being an extremely cruel method of catching animals. Namely, when a mouse gets stuck in one it tends to pull out its own hair struggling to break free, exposing raw areas of skin. They brake or even bite off their own legs, and the glue causes their eyes to become badly irritated and scarred. After three to five hours, mice begin to defecate and urinate from severe stress and fear, and become covered with their own excrement. Mice whose faces become stuck in the glue slowly suffocate. And -- at the very least -- all glue-trapped animals are subject to dehydration and starvation. It takes anywhere from three to five days for little Stuart to finally die.

But cheer up. There is a fairly recent addition to the household mouse killing arsenal from d-Con Rodent Solutions (America's #1 Brand of Mouse Killer), namely a small round plastic trap that's "Easy to Bait, Twist & Set!" And it's guaranteed to kill! But what's truly unique about this deadly no exit rotunda? Well, it's the one and only

"No View, No Touch Mouse Trap: Never see a dead mouse again! It's simple to set, and conceals the dead mouse 100%. Just dispose of the entire trap."

Honestly what every American should love about the d-Con Mouse Trap is that it's the perfect home exterminating equivalent to our current military war effort, which employs computer geeks at the CIA to remotely fly 'drones' and launch missiles from them that can obliterate people half way around the world. Never see a dead terrorist again! And dispose of the unseemly remains at sea!

Bottom line is that the products I've been discussing easily facilitate the killing. Looking at the dead animal is the hard part. Because the latter confronts us first hand with a real brutal image and our responsibility for it. Well, responsible sort of, because by purchasing a guaranteed third party solution at True Value we are in effect outsourcing the dirty, morally questionable deed to a corporation.

Anyway, this whole episode over the trapped mouse raised to mind some much more serious questions: why do some living creatures have rights and others not? And are humans consistent in their respect for life? And is there a morally justifiable way to kill any living creature?

Proviso, I am not of one mind on this subject and frankly admit that some of my practices like this are insufficiently examined and probably morally inconsistent. Indeed, this post is about my coming to terms with a habit that I had not thoroughly considered.

On the one hand, mice are dangerous and unsanitary in our homes. They carry diseases, fleas, worms. They poop and pee all over the place. They chew on everything, make nests in insulation, clothes, storage boxes, etc. I've seen just about everything that a mouse can do when it gets into a house, and none of it is constructive or pretty. And I am attentive to an instinct to protect my home and family against creatures, intelligent or not, that might bring us destruction and/or illness.

On the other hand, the mouse that we tortured and killed the other day was instinctually entering a random dwelling in search of shelter and warmth and nourishment. A mouse has no intellectual capacity to comprehend that it is trespassing and/or doing harm by its behavior, so presumably it should not be held accountable and more importantly should conceivably have some rights that protect it from being mistreated in the way human beings do detailed above.

Even though many people keep mice for pets, their rights are pretty much non-existent. In addition to killing them for trespassing, humans employ mice in biological/psychological experiments -- being mammals with a high degree of homology -- that lead to all sorts of intentional suffering and death.

Recently the pro football player Michael Vick served prison time for involvement in a dog-fighting ring. So, it's against the law to mistreat dogs but not mice? Because dogs are more intelligent, is that it?

In essence the greater the power of a creature to reason the more likely it will have rights, either legislated by its own species or by another regarding itself by some leap of faith to be the master of the universe.

Further consider this: most humans are in the majority six degrees of separation or less from all sort of cruelty to lesser creatures on earth, e.g. every time someone orders a Big Mac they are just a few steps removed from the slaughter of a cow.

Mind you, I'm not a vegetarian and am responsible for killing a few good mice in my day. But I am not proud of that, and at the very least will never permit a glue trap to be placed in my house again.

McCarthy's The Road and Parental Love

2011-09-25T14:10:00.009-04:00

Cormac McCarthy's tour de force The Road depicts a father and his young son crossing a desolate post-apocalyptic landscape. Ostensibly the novel is a harrowing epic struggle for survival against virtually impossible odds. But not far from its surface is an intense mortal conflict between the forces of good and evil.

"Goodness will find the little boy. It always has. It will again."

So the man comforts his son about another boy they encountered on the road. And as a result of his herculean efforts, the boy survives.

But ultimately the book presents a profound moral lesson about the supreme power of love, specifically the kind that a parent has for his/her child. Again the father:

"No lists of things to be done. The day providential to itself. The hour. There is no later. This is later. All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes. So, he whispered to the sleeping boy. I have you."

What makes The Road such a great book is its gut-wrenching rendition of the extent to which a parent will sacrifice him/herself unquestionably in the service of love and caring for their children. (It is important to note that McCarthy has a son who was the same age as the boy when he wrote the book.)

There are at least a handful of essential forms of love, but as a parent I want to argue partisanly that this is the strongest one. If some harm of the sort that the hero in this novel prevents from being inflicted on his son should come to one of mine, then my heart will surely be torn asunder for the rest of my days.

I'll begin to defend this by simply pointing to the fact that my children are in part my "flesh and blood". But that is actually the least of it, because I am certain that I would feel the same way about them if they were not. Indeed, the more important thing to write about is that maternal/paternal love has several layers of complexity that involves other kinds of human bonds.

For one thing, if you have a spouse/partner/relative/friend who has shared in the rearing of your child, part of your love is likely bound up in respect if not love for that other adult, as well as in an emotional attachment that has grown out of that unique personal history. And that shared history, beginning (again not necessarily) with the process of pregnancy/giving birth and ending in the current age/stage of development of your child, is certain to be an essential component of what you see when you look at your child and will compound your love. In The Road, the man has lost his wife, and that figures prominently in his will to save his son.

Another important aspect of parental love is all the time and love and commitment personally given to one's child over the course of his/her existence, from changing diapers to doing homework to attending soccer games.... This is the true meaning of the phrase, "a labor of love". Of course it is not always easy, and sometimes downright challenging, but the rewards multiply daily as you watch your child growing up and increasingly interacting with you and the world.

Having a child and being a parent is arguably one of the most fulfilling things one can do in life. Think of it like creating a work of art that is in progress for a lifetime. The caring and mentoring that goes into it is an invaluable investment of time and energy, and the returns are plentiful and perpetual. It is almost cliche to say that our children represent the future, but that is very true. They are the embodiment of our vision of what the world should look like some day. And we hope that they will perpetuate our history and knowledge and values. So it is perfectly reasonable that we make every effort to protect our children, to usher them safely into the world, to provide an environment for them in which they will thrive and prosper and find happiness.

To this picture I further add that my children have basically become over time very good friends, albeit in basically an intransitive way. That is, partly because I've been with them every day since infancy, partly because we enjoy each other's company with an appropriate sort of limited equality, and partly owing to the fact that we continue to share so much together, there has developed a bond of companionship between us that I never expected and now cherish. Indeed, it is impossible for me to imagine something coming between those very friendly relationships (but sadly I know that can happen).

Finally, if you combine all the aspects of parental love that I've considered, you have a form of love that can be powerful and profound enough to to move mountains. Thus what affected me so much by McCarthy's The Road is that I completely identified with the absolute love of the father for his son and understood perfectly his purpose to the very end.

Every thing you always wanted to know about sex

2011-09-22T22:42:00.101-04:00

Going way out on a limb today, but here goes: sex is the bomb. But if you're a human being who's reached puberty of course you already know that. Because more or less from that point in time no matter what you're thinking about you're always thinking about sex.

Note: for all prudes and naysayers, I'm just kidding, so feel free to exit the blog now. For all the rest, please continue suspending your disbelief....

Here's the deal. For most folks sex is not an easy discussion topic, either in public or in private. But given that sex literally precedes everything, perhaps we should make a better attempt to understand it as well as do it.

The problem we moderns have fully appreciating sex -- i.e. in body and in mind -- is that as a consequence of civilization it has become at once profane and sacred. We are expected to conduct it behind closed doors, but when we get there it is typically an existential ceremony of the most profound and ecstatic kind, even if ultimately it doesn't seem to rise to expectations (pun intended). Under normal circumstances (outside Vegas) we hesitate to talk about it, but an orgasm elevates us out of ourselves and into a state of transcendence and pleasure and catharsis in a way that no other psycho-physical activity is capable. And if we experience it with someone else (as opposed to solo) it sets the stage for the possibility of a profound and enduring intimacy, whether or not linked to the advent of procreation. More generally, Western civilization is paradoxically conflicted between its Judeo-Christian morals and Greco-Roman lifestyle.

Now to the essence of sex: human beings are rational animals. We must never forget that. Meaning, we are animals first, then in various degrees rational. Sex falls squarely under the animal part, and is unequivocally natural, instinctual, and good. While engaged in it, intellect does crucially come into play, but whether less or more of it is better for sex is a complicated question that depends on gender and personality and perhaps even the type of sex. Still, as rational animals who are destined to have sex, we must do it consensually and discretely and with fidelity; but, given those conditions are met, as often as our animal nature dictates and/or our partner agrees, and with a minimum of inhibition and moral reflection.

Why we must discipline children for lying

2011-09-20T20:38:00.005-04:00

A couple of years ago, as my two sons Frank and Brendan were bathing I found a puddle of water on the floor beside the tub and a little annoyed asked how it got there.

"I don't know" was the initial joint response.

Followed by, "Sophia did it" (their sister not even in the picture).

Finally: "It just got there."

So, I called them out on the baldfaced lie, and skipping a jury trial, sentenced them to no television for the evening.

After an intense minute of dismayed silence, Frank six at the time confessed, "Dad, I did it."

Ok, why didn't you tell me that in the first place? I replied.

"Because I thought I would get in trouble."

Well, I lectured, you would not be in trouble if you had told me the truth in the first place. I just wanted to know how the water got there. But now you are both in hot water for not telling me the truth.

* * *

On first hearing, this story might seem fairly trivial, occurring in one shape or form around a million times across the globe every day. But under closer examination it reveals a simple but profoundly important question: why must we discipline our children for lying?

Here is my condensed version: because lying is the most basic form of infidelity to ourselves and the world; and infidelity of any sort is at a minimum degrading and at worst destructive.

We make the important decision to teach our children that it is wrong to lie, because we are motivated, either implicitly or explicitly, by a tendency we've hopefully acquired in life to be faithful to the truth, and because we understand that there is a innate conflict in life between the forces of honesty and dishonesty that must be reconciled in favor of truth in the minds of children at the earliest possible age by a combination of hard-won personal experience and discipline from one’s elders. I believe teachers, parents/guardians have a responsibility to “nip in the bud” the natural inclination children have to be cavalier in their relationship with the truth.

And in case that is not sufficient to defend of my point, I'll add: if you examine the spectrum beginning in personal relationships and ending in interactions between nation states, now and throughout history, you will see that for individuals to have integrity and for civilizations to be viable, the distinction between truth and falsity must be maintained and we must be effectively guided by it, from the bathroom to the boardroom to the Oval Office.

Whether learned or innate, or a combination of the two, the instinct toward truth-telling as well as the revulsion against lying, is compelled by a deeply shared principle at the core of our ethical culture, and following that instinct is genuine and absolutely essential to our common survival as a species.

Pay it forward. Please.

2011-09-17T14:29:00.010-04:00

In the film "Pay It Forward" (2000) the young protagonist Trevor McKinney is given a school assignment: come up with something to change the world and put it into action.

The socially progressive idea he conceives is that everyone should pay a favor not back but forward, i.e. if we are on the receiving end of a good deed, we should repay it to three random people, who will in turn do the same, and so on, creating a charitable pyramid. Trevor audaciously inaugurates his brain child by taking home a homeless man and caring for him....

The movie was based on the book by Catherine Ryan Hyde, who took as its premise the bumper-sticker slogan, "Think Globally, Act Locally". The essential point is that we should have the big picture in mind as we act out our daily lives, and that everything we do in life impacts not only ourselves, friends, family, coworkers, and our immediate community, but also -- whether we are aware of it or not -- the world as a whole.

I firmly believe -- by default -- that one should do unto others as one would have them do unto you. The main message of "Pay It Forward" significantly improves upon that moral imperative: that we should proactively do good deeds, for the immediate positive effect and ultimately for the benefit of the entire world.

In June the Dali Lama posted this on his Facebook page:

"Each one of us is responsible for the whole of humankind. We need to think of each other really as brothers and sisters and to be concerned for each other’s welfare. Rather than working solely to acquire wealth, we need to do something meaningful, something directed seriously towards the welfare of humanity as a whole."

To which I commented in minor disagreement,

"Each one of us is responsible *to* the whole of humankind." Meaning, that everything that we say and do in life has a potential impact on each and every person on earth, and we must be ever mindful of this. And, please, everyone keep in mind that simple acts of respect, kindness, and generosity, no matter to whom or how often, are sufficient to improve the welfare of humanity as a whole."

The point I would like to make now is similar. Individuals need to escalate their compassion, sympathy, politeness, kindness, generosity, good will, and good humor. It is not really much to ask, because it's not very difficult to do. I am not thinking about exceptional acts, but rather just ramping up the basics. Here are some examples.

- Slow down and let someone get into your lane;
- Hold a door open for a person you don't know;
- Compliment someone out of the blue;
- Try not to loose your temper;
- Offer to help whenever possible;
- Give measured praise publicly, provide constructive criticism privately;
- Give up your seat to someone who needs it;
- Practice smiling more often;
- Take a second to think about what you are about to say;
- Be patient when forced to wait;
- Treat everyone with equal respect;
- Start every day with a clean slate;
- Say thank you when it's unnecessary;
- Be friends with your neighbors;
- Be tactful and use sarcasm sparingly;
- Make eye contact with strangers and greet them;
- View the glass as half full;
- Be less connected with your phone and more engaged with the world;
- Daily imagine yourself in someone else's shoes, particularly someone who is less fortunate;
- Appreciate the humor in things, especially the difficult things;
- Do all things willing and cheerfully;
- Be humble and tolerant of people with whom you reasonably disagree;
- Keep your cool when someone tries to provoke you;
- Be honest and truthful;
- Remind your loved ones often how much you do;
- If you see something wrong, speak up about it;
- Give plenty of your time;
- Set an example by being gentle and courteous.

In short, I'm convinced that this sort of behavior is infectious and spreads out into the world exponentially.

So pay it forward. Please.

Boys don't cry

2011-09-14T21:50:00.014-04:00

Boys and men still seem to think that crying is taboo. But we're slowly evolving beyond that.

The other day Frank admitted warily that he'd been doing the unmentionable while trying to go to sleep. Because of troubles in school, and the crummy weather, etc. So I said something along the lines of, "That's fine. Crying is good for you. I cry too, watching movies for instance. If you feel like you need to cry, don't try to hold it back. It is a way of letting go of something that needs to get out of you."

What I said to my son is important, but slightly controversial. I believe it makes perfect sense biologically for the species, but not necessarily within the context of historical expectations about norms of behavior within given human cultures with respect to gender.

Classically, it is expected that men repress their emotions, whereas women typically have had much more freedom to do so. Because of their respective roles in traditional economic/political systems and the way that behavior is reinforced and propagated uniformly to the culture at large. But those roles have been gradually changing over the past century, to the point where biology is beginning to catch up and overcome rigid stereotypes. In other words, there is no innate reason why men should check themselves when there is an urge to cry or think less of other men for failing to do the same. And this is a non-trivial indication that the species is evolving emotionally in a positive direction.

So, in short, I am more inclined to comfort my son in the way I did the other day than my father would have been in his time speaking to me. And I am less inclined over the years to hide the fact that movies -- and other things great and small -- can move me to tears.

A telegram from Amritsar

2011-09-13T21:21:00.001-04:00

This is the telegram my dad received from me in Nov. '78 from the Amritsar post office in India. It was for us at the time the chicest way of acknowledging the success of my sojourn from London in a VW van. He requested that I convey the single term 'Invincible' after I crossed the Indian border.

Dad was understandably wary of my traveling through Iran/Afghanistan/Pakistan in October of '78. The Shah was about to be toppled, the Soviets to invade Kabul, and anti-American sentiment was on the rise generally in the region. I witnessed all those things at pretty close range, so he was right as usual and the transmittal was poignant and perfectly understated and all to his credit.

Why I could not touch my dead parents

2011-09-12T22:58:00.001-04:00

The last time I saw my mother and father they were in caskets. Suppose that's a sad but not uncommon thing to say. Not at the funeral, but prior to the wake, when the immediate family, primarily me and my sisters were given a moment to be with them physically and enact a personal farewell. This made me extremely nervous, but I profoundly needed it just the same. However, the one thing I could not do then was touch my mom and dad. Because I feared it irrationally, and rationally refused to have the final memory of them be tainted by something cold and unresponsive.

Today I believe I am the better for that decision, because nothing stands in the way of my remembering the animate warmth of their loving presence.

3,650 days later: on the folly of national war anniversaries

2011-09-11T20:47:00.018-04:00

Like most American adults I have a 9/11 story.

On that morning in 2001 (mind you forever a New Yorker), I was in an office building near the Farragut North Metro station in Washington, DC when the first image of a jet slamming into the World Trade Center appeared on the CNN home page with an inconclusive story. Minutes later all the news sites ground to a halt from gridlock. Not much later the foundations shook as another Kamikaze hit the Pentagon. From my boss' window a huge cloud of smoke rose from the opposite side of the Potomac. Soon we were told to evacuate, and on K St with thousands of dazed office workers, I decided to avoid the train and walked around 7 miles up 16th St with a small stream of bewildered evacuees. Ambulances were speeding by on the way to Walter Reed. And all the while I could not contact my wife. And my daughter was in daycare. Finally, I hailed a cab to expedite the remainder of the journey home to Silver Spring. Over the taxi radio the driver and I heard NPR report that the first tower had fallen....

In short, 9/11 was a surreal, horrible day. And I was one of the lucky ones. But that is not my point in writing today as we obligatorily observe 9/11 once again 3,650 days later.

What strikes me now is the sheer folly of national war anniversaries. We don't need them. In fact they are intrinsically counter-productive to what any sensible human being yearns for: the maintenance of world peace. Because, rather than healing, which happens naturally over time, such observances primarily serve needlessly to encourage people to dredge up painful memories that in turn refuel an irrational urge for revenge and retribution. And, as bad, military defeats such as 9/11 are used as a platform for governments to encourage a superficial, pernicious sort of nationalism/patriotism.

Most generally: part of the difficulty human beings have in resolving profound tribal differences is their tendency to periodically reenact their sufferings. Beat the chest. Beat the drum. Inflame the elders and young warriors. Awaken and incite the enemy. Because the gods will it once a year for all time.

Now don't get me wrong. I am not callous or indifferent about the lasting personal harm done on 9/11 by Osama bin Laden and Al-Qaeda to Americans. At an individual/organization/family level, annual remembrances are undeniably essential to the gradual recovery of the surviving victims. But at a national level, such observances tend to become not only gratuitous, but moreover implicitly or explicitly provocative of forces that seek to grow the seeds of the originating conflict. This has occurred in advance of every 9/11 anniversary, where heightened security has been required in major American cities due to credible evidence of enemy plots.

The American government used 9/11 as a direct and indirect motivation to initiate the two most prolonged and costly wars in its history. We don't need an annual event to provide warmongers with a pedestal upon which to market the notion that all the money, destruction, and killing has been and remains justified. At a time when we should be conceding lack of success or defeat and winding down those conflicts.

I am not arguing that we should forget our history. On the contrary, we must put the events of the past into increasingly improved perspective as time progresses. We should equally remember and forget responsibly. We are still at war. But the opportunities for peace are much greater today than they were 10 years ago, so we should be building on those chances rather than dwelling morbidly on the events that led us here.

Americans now have Veterans Day and 9/11 day. Enough is enough. (Meanwhile we are gradually less inclined to recognize a third war loss, 12/7, as the memory of the infamous Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor fades with the lives of those like my parents who were immediately impacted by it.) It is time to progress beyond the primitive, reflexive habit to wallow sentimentally in the wounds of the past.

I image a world where, at the very least, elders have the wisdom and moral fiber to bury the hatchet and put military defeats in the past as swiftly as possible, as opposed to annually promoting more warfare and setting up their tribes as the target for an enemy tribe who remembers in just the same hateful and vengeful way.

No, actually I imagine a world where we have properly assimilated days like 9/11 and no longer feel the urge to observe them.

The Tortoise and the Hare

2011-09-10T18:37:00.004-04:00

As a rational species we thrive on certainty, while we also tend to eschew perplexity and ambiguity. So it is excellent that we have a few challenging tales in our collective cultural library that cannot be placed into tidy conceptual categories. For instance Aesop's fable, "The Tortoise and the Hare".

The tortoise can't possibly beat the hare in a typical road race, but using psychology he apparently wins. Does that make him the superior runner or just the more clever (or devious) competitor?

Does being very good at something tend to make one conceited, overconfident, and reckless, or was that merely a symptom of the hare in this particular instance?

Is being plodding and predictable just useless, mediocre, and dull or rather something to be extolled for its stoical consistency?

Which of the two creatures would you bet on in a rematch? Of the two characters who do you admire?

As I began thinking about this story, I sided with the tortoise. Because I'm naturally/philosophically aligned with that kind of being over the other. But as my questions imply, I'm no longer so sure.

In fact now I'm pleased to say I don't know what to make of this great fable.

Thank you

2011-09-05T23:29:00.012-04:00

Most agreeable is a child, indeed the younger the better, who habitually says "thank you" whenever receiving something (best preceded by "please", which seems to arise slightly more naturally.) It's akin to a mantra in our house that you cannot say the phrase too often. So much so that we occasionally check the children for repeating it too much!
This is not just a trivial bit of etiquette.
The learned reflex to give thanks is an existential tool of the highest order. It's a conscious or reflexive representation of the fact that we reside in a humble state of symbiosis, that we need and must respect one another for what we cannot necessarily provide for ourselves, that good will should come to those that help us, and -- perhaps if we're fortunate -- such benefits may come again if we thus intone.

Speak now or forever hold your peace

2011-08-27T20:41:00.005-04:00

Was recently at a wedding and it struck me how pregnant was the silence when the preacher said, "Should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."

With these words, the community in attendance, including the bride and groom, has an opportunity to raise an objection to the proposed matrimony.

Not surprisingly, in this case, no one did. In fact, one seldom does. (A classic fictional counter-example occurs in the 1967 film The Graduate.)

Nevertheless, one has to take this profoundly existential question seriously, and one might and should object, for whatever valid reason, to the proposed union of the two people.

Like I said, a pregnant silence.

The Eye of the Beholder

2011-08-15T22:59:00.009-04:00

As a young child I watched the original showing of the Twilight Zone "The Eye of the Beholder" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JchIuly35gc), written by Rod Serling, which was among the most haunting episodes from the great b/w tv series from the 1960's. ("Nightmare at 20,000 Feet" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1pXvJpianJE), starting William Shatner, was then equally edge of the seat stuff.)

Brief synopsis: in a hospital a woman, face covered in bandages, has undergone a prolonged series of operations to make her look 'normal'. When the bandages are finally removed, she is revealed to be obviously beautiful to the tv viewers, but by contrast the faces of the doctor, nurses, and other people in the hospital are grotesquely deformed.

Simple but profound moral of the story: aesthetically we are all more or less enslaved by what our world conditions us to regard as beautiful. It is possible to break out of this conceptually, but not emotionally.

On the other hand, beauty is indeed 'skin deep', meaning even what one might regard in the moment as physical perfection is over the long haul nothing compared to the enduring attraction we naturally feel for a harmonious, loving, and joyful soul. Case in point. Have you ever had a 'crush' on someone from a distance, only to have the bubble of infatuation popped the moment the person opens their mouth to speak?

Baby steps

2011-08-13T20:47:00.002-04:00

This week Sophia, born 1999, took her first solo Metrorail journey from suburban Silver Spring, MD downtown to DC's Farragut North station to meet her mom for an eye doctor appointment.

Well, sort of.

The journey was meticulously orchestrated from start to finish by her parents. Here's how it worked.

* Dad lent Sophia his Android phone, complete with a crash course on how to make a voice call and text message.

* Sophia's first text message to her mom:

"Test... hi its Sophia I'm just trying out dads phone we are leaving soon"

* Dad, working from home, collected the kids in the Pilot and headed for the Metro parking lot.

Sophia's second text message: "Ok we are going to the station"

Mom's reply from her iPhone: "Ok why don't you text me when you get to NY Avenue Station, just before u enter the underground segment of the journey"

At the Metro entrance, after the boys were instructed to wait patiently for a short time by the ticket machines, dad and daughter swiftly entered the transit system and took the escalator to the platform, where there was a train poised to depart. "Shady Grove, that's the right one", insisted Sophia, who'd been prepped what to look for and do at this point by mom the previous night. To which dad responded, "Have a good trip!" as she boarded, the doors closed, and the Metro headed south. Dad hurried down the opposite escalator for a reunion with the boys and the return home. Total time: ~ 20 mins.

* Sophia's first text message to her mom from the train: "kk on the train right now c u soon!"

Mom: "Hooray! Really proud of you for doing this on your own! So far so good?"

Sophia: "Yep ok I'm at rhode island leaving there right now"

Sophia a few minutes later: "Now I'm at new york ave."

Mom: "Ok, I'm walking down to Farragut North now. C u soon!

Sophia: "k"

* Sophia sees her mom and texts her from the platform at Farragut North: "Hi"

* Mom phones dad a few minutes later to say, "The package has arrived."

Epilogue

This was not exactly an easy thing to do, either for Sophia or her parents. But her parents believe that it is essential for children of a certain age, initially with hand holding of their guardians, to take "baby steps" on the way to achieving their independence in the world, despite all the troubles that have made us collectively wary of doing such things. Because, if not, what sort of powers of freedom will our children be able to call upon when they become adults?

Love is spelled info

2011-08-10T22:18:00.013-04:00

It is often said that for children 'love' is spelled 'time'. But, equally, 'love' is spelled 'info'. Love means talking to your children and responding carefully to their questions.

If you think about it, most of the interactions we have with children involve requests for information.

Dad, what does 'compromise' mean?

When are we going to get there?

Is today Saturday?

When is mom going to get home?

Not even big clams have teeth?

My point: this is the most basic level at which we communicate with children, so we must give it the great respect and energy it deserves. Meaning, take the time, make the effort to respond thoroughly to children's questions, however trivial or absurd or irrelevant or daunting they may seem at the time they are posed.

There's absolutely no better way to love and, oh, educate children.

BTW, not even big clams have teeth.

Alex Grey's 'Holy Family'

2011-08-07T22:03:00.179-04:00

The dynamic circle of man, woman, and child is the holy family of life. The body and the mind, the sexual and the spiritual are essential components of this inextricable bond. Nature stands beneath as a force of giving and taking.

Nature
A man and a woman must mate, sperm and egg must fuse, for the child to be born and life created. Nature provides for both this possibility as well as its negation. But nature remains at best indifferent and at worst hostile to both procreation and spirituality. Thus, ominously, beneath the holy family lurks the chaotic forces of disintegration, rising from the underworld, sinuous and threatening.

Child
The child is positioned top center and is most illuminated, because the eternally wise child, and that same spirit within us, is sacred and supreme. The child is the spirit of life itself, and in its heart we literally see the whole world in its purest and most inspiring form. The child points its right index finger upward towards the eternal truth, and its other hand rests on the woman for support.

Man
The man, the artist, being true to his nature, is focused outward on the world. He is naturally self-centered, but impeccably so: left hand pressed devotedly to heart and vision; whereas in the right holding a brush directed downward, a symbol for articulating, representing, and indirectly establishing the civilization that will protect and preserve the family from natural ignorance and chaos.

Woman
The woman adores the child, embraces it and is totally at one with what was created within in her womb. She is the one who immediately nurtures, loves, and protects the child. And she is more at one with the child than the man.

It happened by accident.

2011-07-30T17:18:00.003-04:00

Today the boys were horsing around in the house as usual near the precipice of MAD ("Mutually Assured Destruction"), and Brendan got hit in the eye with a Nerf Dart. As I approached the scene the initial description of events pointed to an intentional act by one of the other combatants. So naturally I began to collect the guns, but before I could confiscate all of them Brendan suddenly interjected, "No, it was an accident!" To which the others sung in like the chorus of a Greek tragedy, "That's right, it was an accident!"

In other words, true or false, Brendan has figured out that he can argue his way out of a crisis by claiming it was an act of God or Fate or just simple chance. And even though he was crying and the one who took the hit, it worked. The game resumed, but not before everyone was required to don protective eye wear and promise never to aim above torso.

In short, I'm down with this result. It's a perfectly reasonable way to resolve an unfortunate show-stopper, and I'm not going to discourage my children from using it if and when it works for the best. I'm also amazed by how the basic art of diplomacy is acquired by children and put to such swift and subtle use at so early an age.

2011-07-26T21:43:00.005-04:00

This morning I got a sticky note in the kitchen from Kristin asking me to cut Frank's nails before going to work.

K, np.

Note: I haven't done this in years, well, as long as he could remember, anyway. Usually Mom's job. Call that basic division of labor, but over time routine things like this tend to turn into hulking stereotypes, and as if to prove the point, when announcing the impending event, Frank let out a nervous giggle/guffaw: obviously Dad was out of his mind or things had taken a frighteningly comic turn for the unexpected.

Minutes later, toilet-side, brandishing my Dad's now ancient clippers, I commenced to operate upon my son's relatively small hands, miniature fingers, and even tinier nails.

Things started out well with the right hand right thumb, but Frank gradually lost confidence as we progressed to index and then pinky, not as I now reason because I injured him with my snips, but, rather, as I was not executing the work with the seasoned, delicate panache of his more practiced mother. By the time we approached the left hand, the poor lad was trembling and wincing in sheer anticipation of the pain and suffering that I was of course bound to inflict. "Frank, I'm not going to cut your finger off", I asserted only half kidding and confident, but he was not convinced or comforted.

At the end of the line I gladly pronounced, "That's good enough". Frank was visibly relieved. And, possibly maybe, I earned a few unexpected nurturing points standing in at the last minute for Mom and not drawing blood.

Some personal summer camp memories, circa 1970-3

2011-07-04T13:58:00.000-04:00

Now when I reflect on my summers at Camp Wyanoke in Wolfboro, NH, I picture a lot of rites of passage/coming of age stories. Here are some of the things that come quickly to mind.

# Surviving an overnight camping excursion on the Kancamagus Highway in a torrential rain. We got completely soaked in our tents, but not before having a great campfire dinner.

# Learning in the dining hall over the radio (or perhaps TV) that Thomas Eagleton had resigned as George McGovern's VP candidate in '72.

# Arriving at one if the AMC huts after the end of a long day’s hike, and a handful of us diehards ran to the summit and back before dinner.

# Bringing my parents down to the Winnipesaukee waterfront and insisting that they drink directly from the lake, as we did all the time in those days. I remember them obliging albeit a bit reluctantly.

# Routinely getting a little nauseous on the hilly rides to church in Wolfboro on Sunday mornings after a full breakfast.

# A very fond memory of our tent's overnight canoe/camping trip, eating s'mores for first time and telling stories by the fire.

# Being called to see Mr. Bentley two times. The first after trying to pickup some girls on the town ferry ride, and then again when I rigged a bunch of camera flash cubes to go off at night in the tent. (Got bopped on the head first with flashlight for pulling that stunt.)

# Discovering where Chicago, IL is on the map in the camp library, after my parents visited to let me know we were moving out there in a month.

The Dalai Lama and me (on Facebook)

2011-06-26T21:10:00.237-04:00

When I was in my early 20s I read a great book, Seven Years in Tibet by Heinrich Harrer, which provided me with an intimate view of the life of the 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso. While in college I attended an intimate gathering in honor of the Dalai Lama, and that left a profound impression on me as well. In 1989 he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his non-violent struggle for the liberation of Tibet, which is a symbol of his worldly accomplishments. In short, I highly respect the man's bravery, intelligence, and spirituality. So, when I discovered that he had an active Facebook page and was making regular posts to it, I jumped at the opportunity to strike up a "conversation", agreeing and sometimes not agreeing with him. Here is a running account of these posts, in chronologically descending order.

Dalai Lama (06/23/2011)
I am convinced that human nature is basically affectionate and good. If our behavior follows our kind and loving nature, immense benefits will result, not only for ourselves, but also for the society to which we belong. I generally refer to this sort of love and affection as a universal religion. Everyone needs it, believers as much as non-believers. This attitude constitutes the very basis of morality.

Frank X White
There is no innate morality in human beings, but they may very well come to respect the concepts of right and wrong, good and evil, as a result of a hard won marriage of language, experience, and education, and yes that is the basis of a universal religion. In other words, moral awareness/behavior is not something given, but rather a prize we must fight for, each and every moment of our existence.

Dalai Lama (06/21/2011)
See if paying attention to the nature of the mind early in the morning makes your mind more alert throughout the day. Your thoughts certainly will be more tranquil. The conceptual mind that runs on thinking of good things, bad things, and so forth will get a rest. A little non-conceptuality can provide a much-needed vacation.

Frank X White
Meditation (non-conceptuality) is indeed now best at the beginning of the day, because at least it sets one out initially on a pure path. But we should aim human behavior to evolve to a point where daily life itself is not inimical to contemplation at any time of day.

Dalai Lama (06/16/2011)
Compassion is of little value if it just remains an idea. It must motivate how we respond to others and be reflected in all our thoughts and actions.

Frank X White
It would seem that there is a natural lack of compassion. The word compassion is combined from the terms com- "together" + pati "to suffer". We are one insofar as we unite when there is suffering among us and help each other. But this requires an understanding and openness to suffering, and few have this wisdom in advance of the requisite experience that no one really wishes to attain. However, a lack of compassion may also be overcome by education. In other words, we can and must empathize with the suffering of others intellectually, if not through direct experience.

Dalai Lama (06/13/2011)
Because of the great differences in our ways of thinking, it is inevitable that we have different religions and faiths. Each has its own beauty. And it is much better that we live together on the basis of mutual respect and mutual admiration.

Frank X White
It is also inevitable that we may have no specific religion or faith at all, and that is beautiful as well.

Dalai Lama (06/09/2011)

Peace is not just the mere absence of violence or disturbance. It's when there is a possibility of conflict, but you deliberately avoid violence and adopt methods to solve the problem through peaceful means. That is real peace.

Frank X White

In other words, if I may: No matter what you believe in, when push comes to shove, it is not sufficient to remain on the sidelines accepting various outcomes as inevitable. Thus, if you embrace peace, and see a conflict unfolding, make a peaceful intervention to end it.

Dalai Lama (06/01/2011)

Each one of us is responsible for the whole of humankind. We need to think of each other really as brothers and sisters and to be concerned for each other’s welfare. Rather than working solely to acquire wealth, we need to do something meaningful, something directed seriously towards the welfare of humanity as a whole.

Frank X White

In minor disagreement, I would say, "each one of us is responsible *to* the whole of humankind." Meaning, that everything that we say and do in this life has a potential impact on each and every person on earth, and we must be ever mindful of this. And, please, everyone keep in mind that simple acts of respect, kindness, and generosity, no matter to whom or how often, are sufficient to improve the welfare of humanity as a whole.

Dalai Lama (05/27/2011)

Anger cannot be overcome by anger. If someone is angry with you, and you show anger in return, the result is a disaster. On the other hand, if you control your anger and show its opposite – love, compassion, tolerance and patience – not only will you remain peaceful, but the other person's anger will also diminish.

Frank X White

This is quite true and can easily be extended to belligerent behavior among nation states. Furthermore, this is why an act of revenge never brings about the resolution of a conflict but on the contrary serves to exacerbate it.

Dalai Lama (05/25/2011)

Whatever path our activity takes, if our intention is to make ourselves useful to others, there is a good chance our conduct will be useful; whereas activities generally considered to be good, such as the practice of religion, risk causing more harm than good if they are not motivated by a desire to help our fellow beings.

Frank X White
This is a very important point. An individual can be useful to others and society without the umbrella of an organization, and in fact such organizations often to do harm in the process of conforming the good intentions of individuals to an ideology and agenda that is contrary to simple, straightforward acts of generosity and kindness. Similarly, the individual should always be vigilant in making the right choices to help others.

Dalai Lama (05/20/2011)
Love, compassion and concern for others are real sources of happiness. If you have these in abundance, you will not be disturbed even by the most uncomfortable circumstances. If you nurse hatred, however, you will not be happy even in the lap of luxury. Thus, if we really want happiness, we must widen the sphere of love. This is both religious thinking and basic common sense.

Frank X White
I find it interesting how this comment weaves material circumstances into the equation, namely that being mindful of others, showing love and compassion, leads us in effect to be peacefully accepting of what we have in the world. In other words, at any give time happiness need not and should not be tied to our current physical being and circumstances, but rather to beneficial engagement with others. I would also, most respectfully, like to pose a question regarding the final sentence: does religious thinking need to be allied with common sense, and vice versa, if we wish to achieve happiness in this life?

Dalai Lama (05/12/2011)
Some people automatically associate morality and altruism with a religious vision of the world. But I believe it is a mistake to think that morality is an attribute only of religion. We can imagine two types of spirituality: one tied to religion, while the other arises spontaneously in the human heart as an expression of love for our neighbors and a desire to do them good.

Frank X White
I am a Catholic by upbringing, but an atheist by habit of intellect. When I sometimes express that I consider myself spiritual, people laugh and consider it impossible, since I do not believe in a god or gods and do not stand by a particular religious dogma. But in my heart I know they are wrong about that.

Dalai Lama (05/09/2011)
Foolish, selfish people are always thinking of themselves and the result is always negative. Wise persons think of others, helping them as much as they can, and the result is happiness. Love and compassion are beneficial both for you and others. Through your kindness to others, your mind and heart will open to peace.

Frank X White
In the quest for peace it is essential to unite foolish, selfish people with wise people. That occurs only when the latter, exercising understanding, love, and compassion, are willing and able to open their hearts to the former, as hard as that may be at times, with the goal of bringing them over to a peaceful coexistence.

Dalai Lama (05/06/2011)
When we face problems or disagreements today, we have to arrive at solutions through dialogue. Dialogue is the only appropriate method. One-sided victory is no longer acceptable. We must work to resolve conflicts in a spirit of reconciliation, always keeping others' interests in mind.

Frank X White
Yes indeed, the reasons being 1) there is no such thing as a one-sided victory, 2) the failure of dialogue always leads to violence and war, and 3) mutual reconciliation and empathy is the essence of a lasting peace.

Dalai Lama (05/02/2011)
Friends, genuine friends, are attracted by a warm heart, not money, not power. A genuine friend considers you as just another human being, as a brother or sister, and shows affection on that level, regardless of whether you are rich or poor, or in a high position; that is a genuine friend.

Frank X White
This is because a true friendship is based on an equality between two people, which results from a mutual state of indifference to the material and immaterial things that commonly stand between people and differentiate their lives. In such a friendship -- indeed one might say there is really none at all otherwise -- one person neither desires something from the other nor wishes to impose him or herself on the other for some gain or advantage. What remains is just mutual respect, caring and the joy of sharing experience together.

Dalai Lama (04/27/2011)
Our visit to this planet is short, so we should use our time meaningfully, which we can do by helping others wherever possible. And if we cannot help others, at least we should try not to create pain and suffering for them.

Frank X White
So, the meaning of life at least in part is whenever possible helping not harming others.

Dalai Lama (04/20/2011)
Improved technology, population growth and globalization have made today’s world increasingly interdependent. Therefore, putting your own country’s interests first, at the expense of others, can have serious consequences. What we need to do is to think of humanity as a whole and develop a sense of concern on a global level. I refer to this as having a sense of “universal responsibility”.

Frank X White
Really what we ought to begin doing as individuals and nation states is looking at the globe as having no man-made borders. The planet and its resources are by nature meant to be shared, not owned by one person or country at the expense of another. This land is your land, this land is my land, from New York to Lhasa.

Dalai Lama (04/18/2011)
It is important to reflect on the kindness of others. Every aspect of our present well-being is due to others' hard work. The buildings we live and work in, the roads we travel, the clothes we wear, and the food we eat, are all provided by others. None of them would exist but for the kindness of so many people unknown to us.

Frank X White
Humanity is one interconnected family, but the links between us are not all direct or immediate. In fact most of the links are indirect and mediated by the objects of our material experience. I am not sure that kindness is always inherent in those connections, but sympathy and compassion for others is definitely augmented when we appreciate such local/global economic relationships.

Scratched vinyl

2011-06-26T19:32:00.014-04:00

This music list is dedicated to the memory of my mother Louise Gedanic White and NY Philharmonic partner, who introduced me to music, and John Spencer Camp Professor of Music Richard K.Winslow at Wesleyan University, Middletown, CT, who taught me how to listen to it.

Bela Bartók (composer extraordinaire)

The list: http://www.youtube.com/my_playlists?p=9C9433093E0A4B63

100 films that have moved me

2011-06-26T19:29:00.006-04:00

Dedicated to the memory of Joanne Collings, friend, constant reader, and movie reviewer.

http://www.imdb.com/mymovies/list?l=47153424

A brief meditation on Father's Day

2011-06-19T19:32:00.002-04:00

Across the course of time and the globe, if you give it some consideration, there has probably never been one honestly shared generic father's day vignette, as much as stereotypical greeting card jargon would have you believe. Instead there has been a multiplicity of paternal experiences, the number and diversity of which defies imagination.

Conveniently enough, having experienced 12 such occasions to date, I concur with my own analysis; that is, each one has been completely different from the others. Because, for one thing, I am frankly making up this whole thing as I go along, flying high by the seat of my pants, heart-palpitatingly exuberant as I enjoy learning the know how on stage with no rehearsal. And because at first there was just Sophia, then came Frank, and finally Brendan, and with the appearance of each new character the script of my life with Kristin has been written and then rewritten and now edited each and every day.

Being a father has many rewards, but it is sometimes hard, as in both similar and different ways it is hard to be a mother. I work hard, and work hard to be a 'good father', but lose some sleep wondering what that good thing means or how to do it properly as the history of the family unpredictably unfolds.

Nevertheless, despite a few ongoing doubts and struggles, all of the time I smile inside when I hear the word 'Dad', because I am so fortunate to be the object of that expression, meaning to have the opportunity to be a father and be loved by my children, and, more importantly, to be able to love them, unconditionally, in return.

The meaning of life

2011-05-13T21:34:00.010-04:00

Strive as you will to know the meaning of life, it is present each and every moment for the taking.

Thoughts on my mother

2011-05-08T21:58:00.009-04:00

My mother passed away in 1994, but she's still with me in spirit almost as immediately as when she was living. So this mother's day I am reminded of what a great and contradictory force she was in my life.

Parents, and mothers in particular, play what seem like paradoxical roles with respect to their children. On the one hand, they're responsible for creation and nurturing, for providing growth and knowledge, and ultimately for the independence of their offspring. On the other hand, if they do their job properly, they're simultaneously the ultimate powers of deconstruction, punishing and correcting their children with fierce honesty when straying from norms and expectations, and in effect never letting go of that god-like role so long as they are living.

Consistent with this framework, recollections of life with my mom oscillate between polar extremes. Two examples server to illustrate it.

My dad died in 1986, and following that my sisters and I supported my mother in various ways as we were able. Being NY based, I stayed with her in Bronxville until leaving for England in the fall of 1987. She was perfectly supportive of my efforts to pursue a degree overseas, and to that effect I'll never forget the tearful moment when she sent me off in a Newark Airport terminal. Emotional, but entirely "stiff upper lip" given she was returning to an empty house. That was the kind of woman she was. Totally supportive of her children when it mattered, as well as strong and independent almost to a fault.

One of the last times I spent time quality time with Louise was when she was in hospital recovering from surgery not long before she died. In conversation, I stupidly mentioned that my wife Kristin and I would be willing to take care of her if -- in so many words I can't recall exactly which -- she became dependent in her illness. To this she shot back, slings and arrows of my outrageous misfortune, that it was totally inappropriate for me to suggest such a thing. I left and sulked the rest of the day and night and then returned to her room the next day, displaying signs that I'd been completely demoralized. Think she recognized that she had been too harsh on me (in fact she hadn't), and thus the situation was more or less diffused. But it was emblematic of her ability to cut me down at the knees and leave me morally incapacitated. She was in the right. I was in the wrong. And she had every right to treat me like the child I will always be in her eyes. I hated it at the time, but as always came to see it as her duty and right to correct my shortcomings and misconduct. And without having suffered through that, as well as all the countless uplifting times with her, I would definitely be half the person I am today.

And the killing goes on...

2011-05-03T19:46:00.014-04:00

War, bloodshed, and killing never makes me feel happy, never makes me feel more secure, never makes me feel proud. And, especially since lines are blurred in the course of a seemingly endless war, I am no longer certain when justice has been done or even how to define it. (But I am certain that justice is not served by assassinations.)

So now -- if anything -- I am ashamed to be human. Not ashamed to be a citizen of a nation, because that means so many things. But rather ashamed to be a member of beings who presume to associate themselves with lofty ethical principles and religious doctrines, and then flatly contradict those ideals with callous and violent deeds each and every day. For the sake of such things as land, resources, ideology, and revenge.

And I believe that we should all be ashamed to be human, until the day when the greed and hatred and violence and warfare among us ends.

Undoubtedly some will respond that there are cases when we must act this way, because we are clearly in the right, are doing good, while the others are in the wrong, doing evil. To which I say, that by the rules of this endless game and the cycle of its consequences all supposed moral advantages are permanently suspended.

This is not moral relativism that I advocate, but passionate pacifism.

Meltdown

2011-03-14T21:16:00.003-04:00

Technology is a double-edged sword, and the sharp, exposed edge threatens us all.

Love and Death

2011-01-15T18:06:00.001-05:00

Death, not hate, is the antithesis of love, because death obliterates the transitiveness of love in an instant and thereby cripples, if not negates it altogether.

What I mean by this is that love requires a subject and an object, and between two human beings genuine love is reciprocal. When death robs love of that reciprocity the genuine transitive bond that might have existed is broken. At that point in time, if it remains in a surviving subject, love begins to become petrified. It may remain strong, or even grow in conceptual and/or emotional intensity, but it always lacks at this stage the animation inherent in a dynamic developing relationship.

Moreover, in death love can by no means become the apotheosis of itself. To be sure, it tends to ripen and mature over time, but as a manifestation of the hardening potentiality of stasis; it becomes iconic and sometimes even monumental, but is never productive, giving back life, in the way that it would before death crossed its path. And unfortunately, it often falls into a state of decay.

Finally, in death love takes up residence in the unconscious and frequently surfaces in dreams with all its complexities and imperfections highlighted therein. And as a result of this retreat, it becomes intrinsically a-historical and quixotic.

The warrior and the moon

2010-09-21T00:20:00.001-04:00

A warrior once inquired of a devoutly peaceful man, if a person threatened to murder you and your wife and your children for some reason, material or otherwise, what would you do? After he thought it over for a while, the peaceful man asked the warrior to look at the moon when it got dark that night.

The next day, the warrior returned and said he had seen the moon, but his question remained as strong as it was the day before.

So the peaceful man said, now that you have the moon clearly in your mind, how long do you think it has been in the sky? The warrior could not exactly say. Longer than you have lived, asked the peaceful man? Yes, said the warrior. Longer than any creature great or small has ever lived? Yes, responded the warrior again. Well then, said the peaceful man, you are now of a mind to understand what I would do for myself and my family if so threatened.

The peaceful man continued. I own no weapon and harbor no specific anger, but as long as I have a voice I would say to that person, the universe is infinitely old and indifferent to men, yet I am not like the universe. I am willing and able to understand any wants or grievances that you may have, so please tell me what those are. In the meantime you are welcome to any and all of my possessions; those matter nothing to me. But if you intend to take my family, you must take me first, because they are more precious than my own life. Yet I will not resist you, because we are all one with respect to the universe and will only survive if we coexist in peace. So I ask you to be at one with us if you can find that in your heart.

The warrior listened as the peaceful man grew quiet and said, as he lay down his arms, "Good man, thank you, for now I think I have seen the moon."

Calling on all free thinkers

2010-09-19T00:43:00.002-04:00

Responsible free thinkers have an obligation to be outspokenly opposed to all forms of humbug, for instance the belief that gods exist.

Peace is the true way

2010-09-18T23:24:00.000-04:00

Peace begins with acceptance that it is viable and indeed the true way. If one begins otherwise, then mistrust and hatred and violence inevitably becomes the way. So, choose peace no matter what happens. And if you do, and the world nevertheless does not conform, then at least you can end each day satisfied that you have contributed to peace.

Respect your elders?

2010-08-20T22:07:00.002-04:00

Is the phrase "respect your elders" something archaic, or as a society have we lost our practical and moral bearings so radically that it carries no weight or what's worse no longer makes sense?

What I learned from my mother: remember you're a White

2010-08-16T19:48:00.004-04:00

My mother, at the end of the day, was a sophisticated Smith College graduate and shrewd professional. But deep down she was a woman who grew up in Dayton, OH during the Great Depression and as a result possessed a sturdy, frugal set of ethical principles that she lived by -- although maybe not so self-consciously -- each and every day she was a parent.

One such edifying gem was something she invariably imparted to her children whenever we were about to embark upon a meaningful social occasion. Simply put, "Remember you're a White."

Practically, this was a reminder to abide in public situations by our oft-reinforced family etiquette as well as an admonishment not let ourselves be subverted by another code of behavior. But as a child it was also a sort of spiritual booster. Meaning, real or imagined, that our family was something to bank on, that we could go proudly into the world believing we were part of something unique and sacred.

So, to this day my mother's injunction reminds me -- and I suspect the same is true for my sisters Gretchen and Tish -- that I have a special identity bound up with my family and its history, and that awareness helps me stand tall, insular, and proud.

My kindom for a book!

2010-08-16T00:11:00.002-04:00

Call me old school, but if there's a fire in the house I might go down with the ship...and my humble library.

The hubris of men and their civilizations

2010-08-15T17:45:00.002-04:00

Like the mistaken view we have of our own lives, men act as if their civilizations are going to last forever.

Catching Fireflies

2010-08-15T17:40:00.002-04:00

Had a conversation with my four-year-old son the other day pushing him in a buggy while jogging at dusk.

Brendan, do you see the fireflies?

Yeah, can I catch one?

No, I don't approve of that.

Why?

Well, imagine if a creature much bigger than you grabbed you up in its hand and put you in a bottle in a dark room to watch you glow. Would you like that?

No.

Fear

2010-08-15T17:33:00.001-04:00

To overcome anything we must first stop fearing it.

Religious tolerance

2010-08-12T22:16:00.001-04:00

A society should tolerate religious expression if it does not run counter to its core ethics. By that token, every society should take a hard look at what its religious spokespersons are saying, particularly about other religions.

Whispering

2010-08-12T22:05:00.003-04:00

What would life be like if speaking out loud was considered offensive and whispering the preferred mode of expression?

Baby steps

2010-08-07T10:05:00.000-04:00

There is an ironic recurring phenomenon for parents, who find aspects of child rearing difficult and trying. Namely, the day they find themselves beyond one set of issues and on to the next, there arises a sense of nostalgia, even loss for the simplicity of the tribulation now fading into the past. Parents want their children to move on, desire for them to grow up and develop and eventually leap out of the nest, but when they take those baby steps there is usually an uneasy mixture of joy and regret.

Bicycle Freedom

2010-08-01T20:23:00.000-04:00

When about my son's age like him I started riding a bike.

When people enumerate life's important rites of passage they often fail to list this truly great one.

To the point this weekend he and I and his younger brother spent time together as he learned to get from A to B on 2 new wheels.

There really isn't a lot in terms of textbook knowledge that one can impart on the subject: spit balling it I said it's really an intuitive thing. Dad, what does that mean? Well, once you get it you get it, and it doesn't take long. It's about momentum and balance, knowing how to turn and stop, and when you're experienced you can do cool things like wheelies and riding "no hands". But the main point I wanted to make to him (aside from being damn careful) is that having a bike gives one the freedom within reason to go where and when you want to -- anyway that was the case when I was a kid growing up in the '60s and '70s. I think he got that as the most subtle part of the initiation. I hope he can take full advantage of the opportunity.

To sow or reap?

2010-07-28T20:36:00.000-04:00

Most writers are routinely antagonized by the question, to sow or reap? Meaning, write or read? Because there can be no sowing without reaping; but at some point one's reaping is enough to begin sowing, and beyond that is procrastination of one sort or another.

Life is like a lemon that can be squeezed

2010-07-23T20:14:00.002-04:00

What you take of life is what gives it meaning.

If you take nothing of it, if you think nothing of it, there is no meaningful life.

It's like squeezing juice from a lemon.

It you don't squeeze it, no juice will come out.

If you wait too long, the lemon will dry up.

When you squeeze it seeds may pop out.

If you squeeze it early you will be rewarded copiously.

So, no matter what you do, squeeze your lemon.

Say what you can if you will

2010-07-21T20:41:00.000-04:00

It is very hard to imagine not being able to say what you can when you will. But one day everyone becomes silent. So, live for the day and be sure to say what you can if you will.

Materialism and the fetish of collecting

2010-07-04T20:13:00.004-04:00

At the heart of materialism and materialist cultures is a vapid and untenable collecting fetish.

This is an obsession that can never be satiated, because the various collections, as well as the desire to increase them, are never fulfilled.

And it is not just material things that are acquired to no end. Indeed, the very concept of knowledge and spirituality is perverted in this state of mind by the driving notion that there is no limit to achievement. What is known is never sufficient and faith is a revolving door with no exit wherein the subject chases after false hopes instantiated by incredible myths.

What I want for my children

2010-07-04T19:45:00.001-04:00

I want for my children nothing other than that they possess a sense of humor.

What is really worth not expressing

2010-06-23T20:39:00.001-04:00

I was marveling at the sky last night at sunset on the heels of a thunderstorm, a veritable three ring circus -- phenomenal clouds of varying types and textures and colors, intermittent lightning, and a singular waning moon -- and realized I could never in a million years properly represent that magnificent dynamic spectacle in words or images of any kind.

So, I am compelled to go out on a limb and shout: experience life truly, meaning don't interrupt it trying to share it with anyone else!

Fatherhood

2010-06-20T10:57:00.002-04:00

Well, this is my 10th father's day, but suppose the duration of parenthood has less to do with the essence of it than the quality of the time spent with your children. No doubt the years add some depth, and maybe a little wisdom, but there is always something new around the next corner that a parent can never anticipate as their children grow up.

On thing I've discovered is how one's children bring life full circle. Flesh and blood being so tight, you begin to see your life repeating itself, or at least it seems that way, and that leads to some not so insignificant moments of revelation. Begin a parent is a gradual process of remembering that we were once just like our children, and that we are still developing as human beings as well.

One of my favorite images is a tree of life: children climbing up their parents and parents climbing down their children. It is a transitive and symbiotic relationship, and probably one of the the richest and most dynamic that life can offer.

More specifically, my three children just being themselves have seemingly conspired to make me a better man, but I'm not sure they've succeeded. Nevertheless they have definitely prevailed insofar as:

- I love them more than I ever expected I could love, and value their welfare, happiness, etc. more than anything of the sort related to myself;
- I have been humbled over and over in the face of the truth and honesty of these beings who have not yet been compromised by the partiality and restraint and tendency to prevarication that go hand in hand with maturity and adulthood;
- They make me laugh and smile and sometimes angry and tearful, but never indifferent or passive; and
- They give me hope with a capital H because I see the future unfolding in them before my eyes each and every day.

Life is short

2010-06-07T21:14:00.000-04:00

Life is just gradual enough to trick us into believing it is not actually very short.

Strength in being all too human

2010-05-20T21:23:00.002-04:00

To know your weaknesses, to know your limits, to know where and when in any given situation you are likely to fail, and to acknowledge that you are human; that is knowledge, that is wisdom, that is power.

The Light

2010-05-20T20:45:00.001-04:00

The closer the light behind you the greater the shadow.

Many bombs, many coffins

2010-05-10T19:56:00.013-04:00

I recently re-watched Peter Davis's 1974 documentary Hearts and Minds and was, in particular, struck by this powerful scene. So decided to annotate it with some relevant facts. Because Americans need to be aware/reminded of what its government did in South Vietnam, ostensibly defending that country from the North Vietnamese.

Note: I intentionally omitted Mui Duc Giang's final comments,

"And we can't talk about it. We can't talk about it because we are afraid of the government."

A politically important comment, but separate from what I view as the the main point of the clip, namely what the US military did to Vietnamese civilians, including children, during the War.

On the Beauty in Children (for Mother's Day)

2010-05-09T12:45:00.003-04:00

There is some beauty in all living things. Meaning each has at least one characteristic that we perceive in experience, which provides pleasure, meaning, and/or satisfaction.

I hold that children are especially beautiful, primarily owing to their nascence; whereas children are coming into being, adults are going out of it. Children can hardly contain their unadulterated spontaneity. And we view in their being at almost every moment a stunning incompleteness, a positively endearing imperfection that promises so much for our future and theirs.

Eyjafjallajökull

2010-04-19T20:22:00.001-04:00

Occasionally a phenomenon throws our lives into chaos and, even more rarely, the thing is impossible to pronounce.

This and That

2010-04-18T22:50:00.009-04:00

Some of the pairs that I respect at 52 yrs

sun
moon

light
dark

joy
sorrow

thin
fat

common
extraordinary

hot
cold

peace
war

wisdom
ignorance

adamant
indifferent

hard
soft

stormy
calm

rich
poor

bold
timid

strong
weak

polite
rude

happy
sad

wet
dry

beautiful
ugly

particular
general

gentle
violent

masculine
feminine

young
old

short
long

rough
smooth

home
abroad

soft
loud

cause
effect

black
white

beginning
end

life
death

simple
complex

big
small

sweet
bitter

left
right

fast
slow

good
bad

yin
yang

The Reorchestration Assignment

2010-03-06T19:38:00.010-05:00

The Assignment: reproduce to scale a photograph of a master painting
The Tools: scissors, glue
The Materials: magazines, paper
The Instructions: recreate the image of the assigned painting (8 ½" x 11") using only solid colored cut-out pieces of magazine print and glue

Orchestrate tr.v.
1.      To compose or arrange (music) for performance by an orchestra.
2.      To arrange or control the elements of, as to achieve a desired overall effect: orchestrated a successful political campaign.

John Almquist was a fine artist and a gifted teacher, as a consequence of being both genuinely artistic and dedicated to teaching. But that was hardly transparent to his students, because John was neither flamboyant nor noticeably pedagogical in style. He “blended in”, worked hard, and was admired in a quiet but nevertheless profound way by many a teenager, including me.

John was also quite innovative in the classroom; and a truly creative legacy of his was the “Reorchestration” assignment. Those who had the good fortune to study under “Almy”, as he was affectionately known, and complete this monumental artistic task know what I mean; however, I’d like to take a brief excursion into the reorchestration concept and execution in some detail. I hope that my memory and analysis are capable of shedding some light on what was a significant rite of passage for many of us at the North Shore Country Day School.

Definition and Background

As a means to define reorchestration, explain how we approached it, and the effect that meeting this challenge had on our intellectual, creative, and moral development at the time, it is important to present some aspects of the context.

First, it’s safe to wager that very few of John’s pupils were adequately prepared for such a complex, profound, and utterly daunting task. That was certainly an intentional part of the problem as well as the solution, i.e. we brought to the effort a naiveté or innocence that in the end bolstered to varying degrees our creative powers. John set us off with nothing but a classic image and a set of rather sparse “rules of the game”. Of course, as is well known, there were rather Spartan limits placed on the materials that we could bring to the table; that and a highschoolesque Sisyphusian tenacity was all we had at our disposal – no artistic map or compass was provided to help navigate our way, and to the best of my recollection the majority of us keep the project strictly to ourselves during its execution.

Second, John seemed to have acquired a priori in his mind a clear and distinct image of each and every one of us before making these very personal assignments. To that effect, it came well into the year when he had had sufficient time to get acquainted with our work. This guided him in choosing an art reproduction appropriate to each personality (artistic inclination). Note: in using the term ‘appropriate’, I speak for myself and my recollection of the images that were chosen for my classmates. John may not have been consistent in this over the years. ‘Appropriate’ may also have meant different things to different folks: John was comfortable enough with us to be at once playful and serious as an instructor; and, although always respectful, he was certainly capable and likely inclined towards a challenging curve ball or ironic twist.

More personally, John had a slightly mocking yet perfectly appropriate nickname for me: “Formal Frank”. ‘Formal’, because -- undeniably -- I invariably crafted artwork that was both highly conceptual and restrained by mathematical forms. Looking back, to say the least, I also displayed at the time and arguably to this day a certain formality in my overall social gestalt. In any event, no one was uncomfortable with the appellation, and moreover it fit perfectly well with my reorchestration painting, namely one created by the German-American master Lyonel Feininger (1871-1956). For anyone who has read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, that’s the painting called “The Church of the Minorites”, which according to the author Robert M. Pirsig is “a kind of Gothic cathedral, created from semiabstract lines and planes and colors and shades. [that] seemed to reflect his mind's vision of the Church of Reason…”. The enormously influential Zen was first published in 1974, around the time we were in class with John. No idea but it's possible that Almy chose the Feininger work out of familiarity with the book.

In both definition and execution, the reorchestration was as much our project as it was John’s; the loose guidelines allowed us considerable leeway. As such, individually we all helped define the idea over time. In fact, John’s reorchestration assignment is a genuinely artistic concept, in that it exists mainly in the works that exemplify it, namely through each and every one of our laboriously contrived mosaics composed of small to minute pieces of colored magazine paper fashioned with Elmer’s Glue.

The phenomenology of execution

To fully appreciate the depth and complexity of the problem we confronted, it’s necessary to explore the nitty-gritty of the situation.

For those of you who have never “reorchestrated”, imagine if you will initially regarding an 8 ½" x 11" photographic reproduction of a famous painting with the intent to reproduce it on a same size piece of paper. The knee-jerk reaction is blithely to assume that it would be a “piece of cake”. Hold on and consider the specific details of the assignment: all you have in your toolkit is scissors, glue and all the image-laden trade magazines you can lay your hands on, either hanging around the house, pilfered from friends and relatives, or garnered in desperation at the 11th hour from a local newsstand. Then try to conceive the raw difficulty of reengineering a Picasso or Rembrandt or Van Gogh by mapping it with little bits of magazine copy. Each piece of paper would become for us a single stroke of the painter’s brush. In this way we became one with the mind of the artist as he was creating the original.

Next, take into consideration that the original medium was oil and canvas. As an experiment, the next time you’re in the Art Institute or the Metropolitan or any other well-established art museum, take a look at a great oil painting from the usual browsing distance; then move as close to the it as you can (without arousing suspicion) and examine the work one square inch or less at a time. Immediately, you should discover a whole new microcosm of colors and textures and shapes, the multitude of places where the artist labored from moment to moment, bringing section after section into being. This view will look nothing like the full grand picture, it will not inspire or fill you with aesthetic awe; but it will offer you genuine insight into the manner in which the artist actually created the painting, the quality and quantity of the brush strokes, the use and transition of colors, the movements among parts great and small, as well as broad transitions between the various sections of the work. In short, you may achieve an understanding of the artist’s style, i.e. his or her way of doing little things in a repetitive way, which at the end of the day situates the painting in a phase of the artist’s career and perhaps even in a period of art history. And at this point, you may also be in a position to adequately appreciate the painstaking thought and ultra-delicate handiwork required to imitate with any alternative medium that entire organic composition. Ours was no careless jaunt through the wing of a museum.

The logistics

Finding the bulk of colored paper was not very hard; however, there were invariably a few sections that were next to impossible to locate, and so we became overnight a class of fanatical magazine pilferers. Some parts of the Feininger painting over which I slaved were highly intricate and convoluted. Add to that the many shades and hues of a small number of core colors involved, in my case primarily brown. No small number of magazines were going to yield that kind of chromatic diversity. In that sense, this was also an extreme exercise in patience and resourcefulness, ingenuity and imagination. We would not be daunted.

If you take a cursory look through the average trade magazine with an eye to this sort of endeavor, you will likely find a great number of images to work with; however, a more discriminating examination will uncover that on average there is merely a one-to-one ratio between a very small piece of your putative collage and what can be extracted from a given page. Compound that problem by the fact that you’re dealing with, give or take, several hundred to a thousand pieces per reorchestration.

I discovered many of the rare and exotic colors that I needed in a selection of fashion monthlies on sale at a Wilmette drug store and other assorted purveyors of periodicals. Still other printed bands in the rainbow I was able to bag at a busy newsstand in south Evanston, to which I cycled a considerable distance and in which I spent hours perusing rack after rack of various and sundry printed matter. In the end, there was one bloody minuscule section of the painting I could not reproduce (or so it seemed), and it held me up a long time because I wanted to get the thing just right. It was probably not a very unique color, and if we were using paints it would have been a trivial thing to recreate. But that was the problem – we didn’t have an easy way to put things together, to exactly imitate parts of the original. Instead, to the best of our ability, we had to forge from a clumsy and disparate source something that merely approximated the original. As a result, the reorchestrations were not only fairly decent reflections of masterpieces; they were also pretty good artworks of our own design and in which we could take some pride.

My guess is that we all cursed John at some point during this struggle, and if I did it was at that low point. But when I finally chanced upon that enigmatic pigmentation buried in the far reaches of my mom’s subscription to Harper’s Bazaar, I was saved and truly ecstatic.

The Outcome

What did we learn from all of this hunting and gathering followed by tedious cutting and pasting? On the surface, it might seem that all we gained was the art of conspicuous appropriation coupled with egregious forgery. Well, that’s arguable. But we also achieved some pretty profound knowledge, in varying doses. What I learned can be categorized on a number of levels.

1)     A humble appreciation for the brilliance and technique of an artist. No way on earth I’ll ever be able to create something as subtle and beautiful as that cubist rendition of a cathedral. Through emulation (not thievery or plagiarism), one inevitably earns an appreciation for that which is emulated. And, with that much concentration and labor spent reorchestrating a single painting, the resulting sympathy was profound.

2)     A special and long-lasting familiarity with a particular masterpiece and the ability to instantly recognize and acknowledge another work by the artist Feininger. (So much so that I briefly and vainly imaged that I could create another painting in the same style.) This included, among other things, intimacy with his use of colors and textures; the flow and transitions within the subject matter; admiration for the work as a coherent whole, being the synthesis of the various microcosmic parts; and finally several late-night epiphanies from seeing subtleties of meaning that I would otherwise have overlooked.

3)     A sharp view to a school of artistic practice (Cubism) under which the work fell. I have been a loyal fan of that period ever since.

4)     The simple satisfaction of having completed such a complex, gargantuan task requiring so much time, thought, and resilience.

5)     Marvel at the fact that one could create something so worthy from such humble materials.

6)     The pure relief and then joy of putting the final pieces of the reorchestration in place, and then being able to regard the two images side by side -- the staid original next to my just out of the oven, not so shabby imitation with all its unique imperfections.

In short, few would dispute that this was a transcendent assignment, one inspired by the gods. John Almquist instructed us to study a painting, one that was somehow appropriate to our personality, in a way that under ordinary circumstances we would likely never have. In effect, we obtained an extraordinary glimpse into the essence of a masterpiece, the artist and a genre, however momentary and varied and fleeting that may have been for each of us. And in the end, despite the trials and tribulations, we were all improved and broadened by the experience.

For that fine gift we are forever grateful to you, Almy.

The ideal workplace

2010-01-29T22:32:00.002-05:00

Finance journals routinely run stories about what companies rank the highest as ideal places at which to work. Forbes most recently:

Forbes Best Companies

So what constitutes an ideal work situation?

Benefits, benefits, benefits.

For instance: on-site child care and fitness facilities, significant subsidization of health care costs, liberal leave policies, basic loyalty (few or no layoffs during an economic downturn), and intellectual perks such as allowing engineers to spend a percentage of their time working on pet projects (Google).

Ok, what does this say about the capitalist system?

To begin, so few workplaces rank highly in this precious hierarchy that landing such a position is tantamount to winning the lottery. More importantly, and consistent with the very slim odds of gaining such decent employment, is the ethics that it betrays: the average worker desperately wants the decent benefits that so few are able to obtain.

Up in the air

2010-01-25T23:10:00.001-05:00

***Warning, post may contain spoiler***

Up In the Air, my favorite scene: when Ryan Bingham (Clooney) and Alex Goran (Farmiga) arrive at his sister Julie's rehearsal dinner in rural Wisconsin and present a snapshot of a cut-out of she and her fiancee in front of the Lambert Int'l Airport in St. Louis. Bingham has gone to some effort to produce this, so he thinks it will go over well, but Julie nonchalantly asks him to put it on the wall with all the other pics that guests had been solicited to take in destinations around the world where the couple could not afford to spend their honeymoon. The scene says so much about how simple things can have such profoundly different meanings to people, particularly when they are related but not really connected. And in the end it serves as a metaphor for Bingham's personal transformation.

Let's create an army of peacekeepers and rescue workers

2010-01-13T21:55:00.006-05:00

I imagine the United States setting a new standard as global exporter of rescue workers. Is there any better way to promote peace and disarm those who regard the U.S. as an enemy of the oppressed?

But for this is to happen the U.S. will first have to substitute its habit of warmongering for aidmongering, and institute a surge in first responders not combat troops.