Award-winning author William Faulkner may have been a pain-in-the-ass personally, but he always told the truth boldly as he saw it. When challenged by a young fact-finder reporter, he snapped: "Look kid, facts and truth really don't have much to do with one another."
Let me show you what he meant with some last-year facts. Half of all US workers earned less than $26,364 last year, whereas a typical household in the nation's capital earned $84,523...just 1% of Americans accounted for 22% of the $1.26 trillion spent on health care...passengers left behind a total of $409,085.56 in change when they passed through airport security...Ronald Reagan's name was invoked 221 times during the first 16 GOP debates with George W. Bush's name spoken 56 times.
The more you check the facts the more Faulkner makes sense.
And here's what he might have added. The usual reason the facts don't always convey the truth is because of the unseen hands at work in the gap between the two. There are always behind-the- scene advisers...promoters...pollsters...spin-doctors. Of course we all understand this. What we may not understand are the less obvious hands at work doctoring the product.
Example? It's sitting right there in your very own music collection. Seriously. Play any musical hit from pop to rock to Broadway, and yes even to rap. But don't just listen to the singer. Listen to the orchestration backing them up. That where the magic either happens or it doesn't. Ask any singer and they'll tell you. In the making-a-hit business, the name of the game almost always starts with [and how right the name!] the arranger....
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
OH YEAH...? SEZ YOU...!
Do you remember who said:"Just because you do not take an interest in politics doesn't mean politics won't take an interest in you." That was the ancient Greek politician and pop hero Pericles. Now 2500 years later, who can doubt him?
Lets get something straight. Politics -- like this year's campaigns -- may be tasteless; still, it's fundamentally noble. The mission of the politician is seeing to it this thing we call society holds firm and fair. Without that, nothing else will much matter.
But here's why it always gets messy in a democracy: Freedom! Just like in ancient Greece where democracy first began, we often get messed up with all this freedom of ours.
Candidates are free to say whatever cockamamie distortions and lies their hatchet-men can throw ....the media are free to dig up and twist whatever dirty little secrets they can find....fat-cats hiding behind their billion-dollar empires are free to pay for any pol who will back their empire...political parties like the Tennessee Tea Party are free to demand schoolbooks "stop repeating criticisms about our Founding Fathers intruding on the Indians and owning slaves."
Heck, Chef Paula Deen was free to pitch Southern-fried cooking when all along her own diabetes told her it was wrong. And then there's a 400-pound convicted felon free to sue New York City prisons "for suffering emotional damage because they failed to stock any clothing beyond size 6X."
So here's what it comes down to, fellow citizen. We wouldn't, we shouldn't, relinquish our freedoms. Freedoms are what America was and is all about. However, just like behind every faith there is doubt, behind every freedom there is obligation. How do you and I manage this...? Here's a simple test. Watch what happens when hurrying drivers all reach the same intersection which has no stoplight, only stop signs.
Most times most of us manage safely through. Now that's democracy working! Pericles would be proud. And you...?
Lets get something straight. Politics -- like this year's campaigns -- may be tasteless; still, it's fundamentally noble. The mission of the politician is seeing to it this thing we call society holds firm and fair. Without that, nothing else will much matter.
But here's why it always gets messy in a democracy: Freedom! Just like in ancient Greece where democracy first began, we often get messed up with all this freedom of ours.
Candidates are free to say whatever cockamamie distortions and lies their hatchet-men can throw ....the media are free to dig up and twist whatever dirty little secrets they can find....fat-cats hiding behind their billion-dollar empires are free to pay for any pol who will back their empire...political parties like the Tennessee Tea Party are free to demand schoolbooks "stop repeating criticisms about our Founding Fathers intruding on the Indians and owning slaves."
Heck, Chef Paula Deen was free to pitch Southern-fried cooking when all along her own diabetes told her it was wrong. And then there's a 400-pound convicted felon free to sue New York City prisons "for suffering emotional damage because they failed to stock any clothing beyond size 6X."
So here's what it comes down to, fellow citizen. We wouldn't, we shouldn't, relinquish our freedoms. Freedoms are what America was and is all about. However, just like behind every faith there is doubt, behind every freedom there is obligation. How do you and I manage this...? Here's a simple test. Watch what happens when hurrying drivers all reach the same intersection which has no stoplight, only stop signs.
Most times most of us manage safely through. Now that's democracy working! Pericles would be proud. And you...?
Saturday, January 28, 2012
THE ONLY FABLE YOU'LL NEED BEFORE YOUR 12/21/12 MAYAN DEBACLE
Fables are funny things. Very often they tell us truths simple facts and stats cannot fully convey. Consider some of the big ones: Eden...The Red Sea...King Arthur...Valley Forge...the Kardashians. Ahhh, but this is an American election year. Thus the fables tumble out like political Topsy's.
How to find this year's grandest political fable...? As Lewis Carroll put it: "If you don't know where you're going, any road will get you there." So shall we take the nearest yellow brick road on the way to our nation's White House. As great economic and social issues lie in wait, each of the eager political seekers are wrapped in all kinds of phantasmagoric public images via the media.
Some images self-created; some created by their paid minions; still others by their worst rivals. Usually, though, not a single image represents the true man. Or his true agenda. Which, dear voter, makes for a colorful fable, but one helluva of lousy way to pick a president.
Newt...? either rolly-polly visionary or backroom viper! Romney...? business magician or mannequin from Massachusetts! Santorum...? noble Christian knight or crazy corpse-in-the-living-room zealot! Ron Paul...? Kris Kringle of our old American ways or nutty uncle from the attic! Then there's that complex otherness already in the White House...? either obstructed Messiah or Kenyan Muslim trying to make us another failed European socialist state!
Tally these phantasmagoric election year images, and the score comes out: WHAT...?? That's right, dear voter, we're traveling this yellow brick road toward an Emerald City whose Wizard we are being asked to choose from among candidates who have each been spun out of hyped cotton candy.
Will the real candidates please stand up...? Wherever you're hiding....!
How to find this year's grandest political fable...? As Lewis Carroll put it: "If you don't know where you're going, any road will get you there." So shall we take the nearest yellow brick road on the way to our nation's White House. As great economic and social issues lie in wait, each of the eager political seekers are wrapped in all kinds of phantasmagoric public images via the media.
Some images self-created; some created by their paid minions; still others by their worst rivals. Usually, though, not a single image represents the true man. Or his true agenda. Which, dear voter, makes for a colorful fable, but one helluva of lousy way to pick a president.
Newt...? either rolly-polly visionary or backroom viper! Romney...? business magician or mannequin from Massachusetts! Santorum...? noble Christian knight or crazy corpse-in-the-living-room zealot! Ron Paul...? Kris Kringle of our old American ways or nutty uncle from the attic! Then there's that complex otherness already in the White House...? either obstructed Messiah or Kenyan Muslim trying to make us another failed European socialist state!
Tally these phantasmagoric election year images, and the score comes out: WHAT...?? That's right, dear voter, we're traveling this yellow brick road toward an Emerald City whose Wizard we are being asked to choose from among candidates who have each been spun out of hyped cotton candy.
Will the real candidates please stand up...? Wherever you're hiding....!
Friday, January 27, 2012
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO SMALL IN YOUR LIFE?
Got a little flyer in my mail box yesterday. Threw it away. Usually do. Probably so do you. Why...? Because in a culture where everything is promoted as big, spectacular, the largest of its kind, well there's simply no room for little home-made flyers about local handyman services. Or some local shop that just opened in town.
Look, we've got big malls. big chains. big franchises. big international conglomerates for our needs. It's the age of McDonalds and Walmart. Little locals may be nice, but they're out of their league.
Wait a minute.
Exactly what league is that? You and I didn't form it. You and I may not even want it. You and I -- if old enough -- can still remember an age when the leagues were all fairly small. And local. Maybe not always as efficient or economical. But always more personal and handy. We knew the retailer and he or she knew us. Heck, they probably attended our church or were the cross guards for our kids on their way to school. Cozy, you know what I mean....
Until around 1950, the average American was born, lived and died within a radius of 50 miles. A car trip to the Grand Canyon or to New York City was a once-in-a-life-time-if-ever event. In contrast to today's culture in which weekend trips to London or Rome are hardly unusual.
Why these thoughts now....? Aside from an admitted affection for cozy, these very same thoughts are tucked into today's presidential debates about the size and role of government in our lives. In such a big world it seems foolish to deny the need for a government big enough to help us navigate a big world. At the same time, it would be foolish to deny the popular wisdom: "Think globally, act locally."
The fancy name for that is: "Subsidiarity." Matters should always been managed by the smallest local authority possible. Have a problem with your water main...? Don't call the state capitol, call your local alderman. A problem with your mail...? Don't call Washington, call your local postmaster. A problem with your kid in school...? Don't call the US Department of Education, talk to the teacher.
See..? Small and local aren't just reveries for old folks. Often they're what helped old folks grow old so well.
Look, we've got big malls. big chains. big franchises. big international conglomerates for our needs. It's the age of McDonalds and Walmart. Little locals may be nice, but they're out of their league.
Wait a minute.
Exactly what league is that? You and I didn't form it. You and I may not even want it. You and I -- if old enough -- can still remember an age when the leagues were all fairly small. And local. Maybe not always as efficient or economical. But always more personal and handy. We knew the retailer and he or she knew us. Heck, they probably attended our church or were the cross guards for our kids on their way to school. Cozy, you know what I mean....
Until around 1950, the average American was born, lived and died within a radius of 50 miles. A car trip to the Grand Canyon or to New York City was a once-in-a-life-time-if-ever event. In contrast to today's culture in which weekend trips to London or Rome are hardly unusual.
Why these thoughts now....? Aside from an admitted affection for cozy, these very same thoughts are tucked into today's presidential debates about the size and role of government in our lives. In such a big world it seems foolish to deny the need for a government big enough to help us navigate a big world. At the same time, it would be foolish to deny the popular wisdom: "Think globally, act locally."
The fancy name for that is: "Subsidiarity." Matters should always been managed by the smallest local authority possible. Have a problem with your water main...? Don't call the state capitol, call your local alderman. A problem with your mail...? Don't call Washington, call your local postmaster. A problem with your kid in school...? Don't call the US Department of Education, talk to the teacher.
See..? Small and local aren't just reveries for old folks. Often they're what helped old folks grow old so well.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
I AM SPARTACUS...!
Ever meet a cop out of uniform? Or one of those goliath-like firefighters, humongous Bears linemen, bicep-ed Cubs sluggers, a member of Congress, or a Church Cardinal? Be honest, now, they all looked a lot smaller and more commonplace than they do in the papers or on the 10 o'clock news. Well, maybe not a 300 pound Bears lineman, but all the rest.
These occasional encounters are good for us. Something like noticing "that man behind the curtain." It's not to say people of stature have no real stature. They usually do. However, it's good to occasionally stand toe to toe with stature, rather than always gawking up at it.
The lesson here -- and lets face it, there are lessons everyday of our lives if only we notice them -- the lesson here is that in a democracy there is no royalty, no aristocracy, no caste system. Well, let me correct that; none by law or by inheritance. Wherever they do exist they have come by merit. In other words, their stature grows not out of accident but achievement.
Which is why we often like to think of our democracy as a form of meritocracy. Yes, we are all equal; but no, we can't deny some of us are more equal than others. Which is why we have generals and GIs...CEOs and line-workers...pilots and passengers...teachers and students...parents and kids.
Okay, that last one is not always based on merit; but speaking as a parent, it's based on necessity.
Currently the world's on Facebook & Twitter fire with billions of people-without-stature angry about those who, one way or another, have it. An ancient battle-line which has used terms like patricians & plebeians, aristocrats & peasants, and now 99% & 1%. Same battle-line, same war, same passions to either seize or to hold.
In the end, the little guys have almost always lost. Later they become heroes. Say like Spartacus. Notice though that while the movies give cinemtic stature to these little guys, it's always the big guys who are still around to make the movies.
In this election year, in every election year, we little guys once again hear big guys tell us how great the little guy is. An interesting question to pose might be this: Do either one of us really believe it?
These occasional encounters are good for us. Something like noticing "that man behind the curtain." It's not to say people of stature have no real stature. They usually do. However, it's good to occasionally stand toe to toe with stature, rather than always gawking up at it.
The lesson here -- and lets face it, there are lessons everyday of our lives if only we notice them -- the lesson here is that in a democracy there is no royalty, no aristocracy, no caste system. Well, let me correct that; none by law or by inheritance. Wherever they do exist they have come by merit. In other words, their stature grows not out of accident but achievement.
Which is why we often like to think of our democracy as a form of meritocracy. Yes, we are all equal; but no, we can't deny some of us are more equal than others. Which is why we have generals and GIs...CEOs and line-workers...pilots and passengers...teachers and students...parents and kids.
Okay, that last one is not always based on merit; but speaking as a parent, it's based on necessity.
Currently the world's on Facebook & Twitter fire with billions of people-without-stature angry about those who, one way or another, have it. An ancient battle-line which has used terms like patricians & plebeians, aristocrats & peasants, and now 99% & 1%. Same battle-line, same war, same passions to either seize or to hold.
In the end, the little guys have almost always lost. Later they become heroes. Say like Spartacus. Notice though that while the movies give cinemtic stature to these little guys, it's always the big guys who are still around to make the movies.
In this election year, in every election year, we little guys once again hear big guys tell us how great the little guy is. An interesting question to pose might be this: Do either one of us really believe it?
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
WHEN THE BIRDS LEAVE AND DON'T RETURN
I'm sure you'll understand. It's all part of the delicious rhythms of my morning routine.
Turn on my coffee maker, slip into my least ratty looking bathrobe, and venture forth onto my driveway for the papers. [Yes, papers, for even with all the flashy screens and scrolls at my disposal, my generation has an emotional attachment to anything you can fold]. But this time I notice something different. Something quite terrible.
There are no birds singing. Anywhere. The sun is still in the sky, the drone from nearby O'Hare Field continues, but nary a sparrow, wren or crow. I don't know about you, but I notice the birds. Their warbling and wrangling among our Oaks and Maples is like the scenery to my morning drama out here. A play without scenery feels incomplete. So does a morning without birds.
Yes, yes, I know all about them flying South in winter, but some of them should already be back by now. My God...! What if they never come back...? The neighbors find my bath-robed study of the sky a little peculiar. But then, they often find me peculiar. This sudden obsession freezes me in place with a question that often haunts me. Maybe you too. "What if things never go back to before...??"
So much is taken for granted. Eyes and limbs to experience our world; taste and smell to enjoy our food; family and friends to know what love is; schools and careers to discover what purpose means. But really, how often do we put these things out on the table look at? That's like asking how often do we count the breaths we take in a day.
We don't. And that, fellow breathers, is why I stand here in my driveway searching the skies for my morning birds. Once you finally realize something is missing in your life, at last that's when you feel their actual worth. Their enduring and indispensable worth to you.
And yes, you can feel this even standing here in a ratty looking bathrobe....
Turn on my coffee maker, slip into my least ratty looking bathrobe, and venture forth onto my driveway for the papers. [Yes, papers, for even with all the flashy screens and scrolls at my disposal, my generation has an emotional attachment to anything you can fold]. But this time I notice something different. Something quite terrible.
There are no birds singing. Anywhere. The sun is still in the sky, the drone from nearby O'Hare Field continues, but nary a sparrow, wren or crow. I don't know about you, but I notice the birds. Their warbling and wrangling among our Oaks and Maples is like the scenery to my morning drama out here. A play without scenery feels incomplete. So does a morning without birds.
Yes, yes, I know all about them flying South in winter, but some of them should already be back by now. My God...! What if they never come back...? The neighbors find my bath-robed study of the sky a little peculiar. But then, they often find me peculiar. This sudden obsession freezes me in place with a question that often haunts me. Maybe you too. "What if things never go back to before...??"
So much is taken for granted. Eyes and limbs to experience our world; taste and smell to enjoy our food; family and friends to know what love is; schools and careers to discover what purpose means. But really, how often do we put these things out on the table look at? That's like asking how often do we count the breaths we take in a day.
We don't. And that, fellow breathers, is why I stand here in my driveway searching the skies for my morning birds. Once you finally realize something is missing in your life, at last that's when you feel their actual worth. Their enduring and indispensable worth to you.
And yes, you can feel this even standing here in a ratty looking bathrobe....
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
FACE IT -- TODAY'S BLOGGERS & NON BLOGGERS HATE ONE ANOTHER
Okay, hate may be a pretty strong word. But when you scan the bloody epic of our history, the score clearly favors hate over reason. About 50 to 1. Why is this...?
Take today's bloggers. A galloping-growth industry whose 13-39 age group has become a global sub-culture capable of swinging elections and overthrowing entire regimes. From their desktop screens to their everywhere-in-the-world smartphones, they are blogging, tweeting and emailing in staggering multi-billion numbers each day. Doing it with the penache of those who feel sure they have reached the promised land.
Those who've been left behind [often chose to stay behind] deny any regrets. It is their conviction -- perhaps desperate hope -- the way-we-were is the way-to-be. After all, the age of writing and printing has been with us for sacred centuries, while these bratty newcomers are mostly just setting fire to those long, proud traditions. Look, Aristotle, Jesus and Shakespeare didn't need blogs, tweets and silly abbreviations! Another passing fad like the Telegraph, Pony Express and BetaMax!
We all know some of these admirable literary holdouts. Give me my book and my pen; my library and my archives! To be sure, there is nothing wrong with tradition, with the way-we-were, with those shoulders upon which today's kids can stand. Being of a certain age, I too sing anthems to my childhood world. I respect every wisp of joy and genius from that earlier time. Only the ancient Greeks warned long long ago: "No man can jump into the same river twice."
The river of time rushes on without stopping. Whenever we chose to jump in -- even if from the same shore we call ours -- the river we're jumping into is no longer the same as it was a moment ago. Frankly, this is the reason I hate getting all those Consumer Reports in the mail. Every issue is another hit list of products I have held sacred. Campbell Soups...Butter...Bayer Aspirin...Olive Oil... even my Italian Endive and Risotto have each been dissected or dismissed in the light of changing facts.
In confronting this forever-dawning new world, I have a choice. Either change my ways or cancel my subscription. Right now I'm watching that damn river roar past my shore, and I shake my head. More than likely, I'll send you my decision by email....
Take today's bloggers. A galloping-growth industry whose 13-39 age group has become a global sub-culture capable of swinging elections and overthrowing entire regimes. From their desktop screens to their everywhere-in-the-world smartphones, they are blogging, tweeting and emailing in staggering multi-billion numbers each day. Doing it with the penache of those who feel sure they have reached the promised land.
Those who've been left behind [often chose to stay behind] deny any regrets. It is their conviction -- perhaps desperate hope -- the way-we-were is the way-to-be. After all, the age of writing and printing has been with us for sacred centuries, while these bratty newcomers are mostly just setting fire to those long, proud traditions. Look, Aristotle, Jesus and Shakespeare didn't need blogs, tweets and silly abbreviations! Another passing fad like the Telegraph, Pony Express and BetaMax!
We all know some of these admirable literary holdouts. Give me my book and my pen; my library and my archives! To be sure, there is nothing wrong with tradition, with the way-we-were, with those shoulders upon which today's kids can stand. Being of a certain age, I too sing anthems to my childhood world. I respect every wisp of joy and genius from that earlier time. Only the ancient Greeks warned long long ago: "No man can jump into the same river twice."
The river of time rushes on without stopping. Whenever we chose to jump in -- even if from the same shore we call ours -- the river we're jumping into is no longer the same as it was a moment ago. Frankly, this is the reason I hate getting all those Consumer Reports in the mail. Every issue is another hit list of products I have held sacred. Campbell Soups...Butter...Bayer Aspirin...Olive Oil... even my Italian Endive and Risotto have each been dissected or dismissed in the light of changing facts.
In confronting this forever-dawning new world, I have a choice. Either change my ways or cancel my subscription. Right now I'm watching that damn river roar past my shore, and I shake my head. More than likely, I'll send you my decision by email....
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