Now follow me on this. Have you ever heard of the New Mexico Bowl, Poinsettia Bowl, Little Caesar's Pizza Bowl or the Eagle Bank Bowl....? Well, neither have I, and yet these have suddenly become legitimate yearend football events that somehow warrant scheduled network broadcasts. What's going on here...?
Spanish philosopher Ortega y Gasset explained it all in his 1931 book "The Revolt of the Masses." In it he explained (warned?) that the inevitable conclusion of modern democracy is the overthrow of the upper class by the lower class. However, the revolt would not be a bloody one in the streets, as much as an inexorable one in everyday life. More people gradually acquire more access to more of the old status symbols (fancy colleges, fancy cars, backyard pools, world cruises, a night at the opera, hi-def TVs, oh and a bowl game of their own).
Everyone applauds democracy, right? Taken to its logical conclusion, everyone then should have what everyone else has, right? As this begins to happen, the old historical distinctions between the best-and-the-brightest and the least-and-the-rowdiest blurs. Oh, the rich still get richer and the poor still get children, but the everyday socio-political gap between them narrows. Their special education, expertise and energy...? hell, forget it, because I'm just as good as they are, say the good ol' boys bellying up to the bar.
Gasset's (and my) problem is this. In the name of this populist democracy, smart becomes arrogance... wise becomes pretension... experience becomes elitism...talent turns into vanity. It follows, then, that an Obama is "aloof" while a Palin and a Beck are "real." Anyone can crash a White House dinner, get on "American Idol," have the mind-stunning right to go on network television where their self-degrading bug eating or asinine behavior can warrant an audience-approving closeup. I mean, after all anyone's as good as anyone else, right!
I am left to wonder then why we still seek out expert surgeons, experienced lawyers, trained professors, esteemed artists and gifted performer/athletes? The boys at the bar are a great bunch, but I'm not sure in the noble name of democracy I'd go to them with my most important needs. Besides, they're busy watching the Little Caesar's Pizza Bowl....!
Monday, December 7, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
FORGET THE MOVIES, TIME TRAVEL IS ALREADY HERE
Hollywood loves movies about time and space travel. And who hasn't dreamed about it? But as science-fiction becomes more science than fiction every new day, maybe it's the time and the space to realize we can already do it. Every Christmas season...!
The trick -- really, the art -- of time/space travel during this month is to permit your heart to control your head just long enough to allow magic to replace logic. Best place to try this might be strolling down the Magnificent Mile at its seasonal height...or watching faith-filled kids line up for department store Santa's...or studying the gentleness in the face of that relentless Bell Ringer...or shedding a sweet tear at a midnight service...or perhaps just in your bathrobe alone at night sitting next to your living room Tree.
These are those small shards of the interior life when your heart suddenly feels the whoosh of "travel" back to your un-examined joy at sighting what you were sure was the sleigh in the sky...tearing open your first Christmas morning gifts from the jolly old fella, with Mommy and Daddy so very young and so very close...giddily explaining to your friends how amazing Santa was to have remembered all you asked for...then years later, sharing these same moments of magic with your own newborn.
If Ebeneezer could do it with his ghosts, we can do it with our hearts. Travel in both time and space to those indelible flashbulbs of life when this was a season in which troubles were tamed, music was everywhere, love crammed the hearts of anyone you met, and somehow somewhere you just knew that the Babe of Bethlehem had forever made our little complicated lives worth living.
Well -- that's my theory of relativity. What's yours...?
The trick -- really, the art -- of time/space travel during this month is to permit your heart to control your head just long enough to allow magic to replace logic. Best place to try this might be strolling down the Magnificent Mile at its seasonal height...or watching faith-filled kids line up for department store Santa's...or studying the gentleness in the face of that relentless Bell Ringer...or shedding a sweet tear at a midnight service...or perhaps just in your bathrobe alone at night sitting next to your living room Tree.
These are those small shards of the interior life when your heart suddenly feels the whoosh of "travel" back to your un-examined joy at sighting what you were sure was the sleigh in the sky...tearing open your first Christmas morning gifts from the jolly old fella, with Mommy and Daddy so very young and so very close...giddily explaining to your friends how amazing Santa was to have remembered all you asked for...then years later, sharing these same moments of magic with your own newborn.
If Ebeneezer could do it with his ghosts, we can do it with our hearts. Travel in both time and space to those indelible flashbulbs of life when this was a season in which troubles were tamed, music was everywhere, love crammed the hearts of anyone you met, and somehow somewhere you just knew that the Babe of Bethlehem had forever made our little complicated lives worth living.
Well -- that's my theory of relativity. What's yours...?
Saturday, December 5, 2009
WHO REALLY OWNS YESTERDAY??
There's a report out of Istanbul that should tell every American voter a lot. The 97-year-old heir to Turkey's powerful old Ottoman Empire lived and died in Manhattan obscurity ever since the empire collapsed after WWI. But what happened this week might help us explain today's emotional grip on millions by the Palin's, Beck's, Limbaugh's, Dobbs and Southern white Republicans....!
When I traced our family history back to 11th C Constantinople (Istanbul), I was reminded of the grandeur of this magnificent city right up to the Ottomans. So I could understand the way tens of thousands greeted the funeral of this old exile. They call it "Ottomania" -- a longing for their country's glory days. Which, if we think about it, is very much what feeds the crowds today who rally to our anti-today-pro-the-Real-America populists.
Personally, I like yesterday as much as anyone, and more than most. But the trouble with yesterdays is the way you can lasso it, saddle it and ride it exactly how you wish to. So when these high-decibel critics of today's "socialist/fascist America" ride the range, they are intentionally heading for lush green valleys that never quite were!
Take the holidays. For the next few weeks we are happily immersed in the ginger-bready feel of Hallmark Cards and Currier & Ives scenes. Warm wondrous scenes to be sure! However, if your holidays don't quite match the scenes, don't despair -- it happens to everyone. Well, except our current legion of political populists who are tapping into their own version of Ottomania for the masses. You know, their passionate clarion calls for returning to the Real America where there were no drugs, no gangs, no government, no illegal immigrants, and no socialist-fascist deathers in the White House.
Hey -- you find me that America, and I'll travel there with you. Only it didn't, doesn't and won't exist.
This -- this fractured and furious America -- is the only one we have. So the sooner these glamorous range-riders turn their rage around to collectively face it and fix it, the better we'll all be.....
When I traced our family history back to 11th C Constantinople (Istanbul), I was reminded of the grandeur of this magnificent city right up to the Ottomans. So I could understand the way tens of thousands greeted the funeral of this old exile. They call it "Ottomania" -- a longing for their country's glory days. Which, if we think about it, is very much what feeds the crowds today who rally to our anti-today-pro-the-Real-America populists.
Personally, I like yesterday as much as anyone, and more than most. But the trouble with yesterdays is the way you can lasso it, saddle it and ride it exactly how you wish to. So when these high-decibel critics of today's "socialist/fascist America" ride the range, they are intentionally heading for lush green valleys that never quite were!
Take the holidays. For the next few weeks we are happily immersed in the ginger-bready feel of Hallmark Cards and Currier & Ives scenes. Warm wondrous scenes to be sure! However, if your holidays don't quite match the scenes, don't despair -- it happens to everyone. Well, except our current legion of political populists who are tapping into their own version of Ottomania for the masses. You know, their passionate clarion calls for returning to the Real America where there were no drugs, no gangs, no government, no illegal immigrants, and no socialist-fascist deathers in the White House.
Hey -- you find me that America, and I'll travel there with you. Only it didn't, doesn't and won't exist.
This -- this fractured and furious America -- is the only one we have. So the sooner these glamorous range-riders turn their rage around to collectively face it and fix it, the better we'll all be.....
Friday, December 4, 2009
CREATING TERRORISTS RIGHT IN AMERICAN WAITING ROOMS
We're told jihadist terrorists are bred in Middle Eastern slums and mosques. But I'll bet you never suspected how this same terrible rage against America can also be bred right here in America. Where...? Every day right inside every innocent-looking, coffee-brewing waiting room in the country...!
I just spent four enraging hours trapped inside one of them, waiting for my car to be repaired in a local dealership. Just like thousands of other waiting rooms -- in doctor's offices, clinics, ER's -- you're literally compelled to sit there sipping their cold coffee and staring at their hot television. Physically unable to escape its insane and inane babbling, you sit transfixed by a cacophony of scenes that could make anyone hate America
First, those never-take-a-breath newscasters glutting the airwaves with frenzied reports from campus killers to gang attacks to the latest smarmy sex trysts. All cutesy tagged at the end with one of those darling human-interest stories that are somehow supposed to leave you with a smile after the last 29 minutes of teeth-grinding crisis...!
Next, one of those soaps oozing its sugary plot line into every trapped pore of you body. You know, those heart-rending traumas with the bosomy, big-haired ingenues and bulky, bare-chested hunks. Somehow these insipid sagas are supposed to be projecting young America at its best...!
You're also likely to get stuck with one of those yelping game shows where otherwise grown adults break into baboonish rituals as they act out their lust for money. Somehow these greedy oafs are supposed to reflect well on the American character of success....!
And while you sink deeper into your seat-of-no-escape, you're bombarded with the inevitable barrage of TV commercials in which -- whether they're pitching toothpaste or tuck-pointing -- everyone is constantly and relentlessly smiling at you. Somehow their grinning, instant-solution assurances are supposed to speak to the American spirit of optimism...!
I don't know about you, but at the end of my hours of imprisonment, I gotta admit -- this version of America could drive me to violence too. Not angry bombs, but angry letters like this one. Better this than smashing all those television sets. Then again, smashing sounds good...
I just spent four enraging hours trapped inside one of them, waiting for my car to be repaired in a local dealership. Just like thousands of other waiting rooms -- in doctor's offices, clinics, ER's -- you're literally compelled to sit there sipping their cold coffee and staring at their hot television. Physically unable to escape its insane and inane babbling, you sit transfixed by a cacophony of scenes that could make anyone hate America
First, those never-take-a-breath newscasters glutting the airwaves with frenzied reports from campus killers to gang attacks to the latest smarmy sex trysts. All cutesy tagged at the end with one of those darling human-interest stories that are somehow supposed to leave you with a smile after the last 29 minutes of teeth-grinding crisis...!
Next, one of those soaps oozing its sugary plot line into every trapped pore of you body. You know, those heart-rending traumas with the bosomy, big-haired ingenues and bulky, bare-chested hunks. Somehow these insipid sagas are supposed to be projecting young America at its best...!
You're also likely to get stuck with one of those yelping game shows where otherwise grown adults break into baboonish rituals as they act out their lust for money. Somehow these greedy oafs are supposed to reflect well on the American character of success....!
And while you sink deeper into your seat-of-no-escape, you're bombarded with the inevitable barrage of TV commercials in which -- whether they're pitching toothpaste or tuck-pointing -- everyone is constantly and relentlessly smiling at you. Somehow their grinning, instant-solution assurances are supposed to speak to the American spirit of optimism...!
I don't know about you, but at the end of my hours of imprisonment, I gotta admit -- this version of America could drive me to violence too. Not angry bombs, but angry letters like this one. Better this than smashing all those television sets. Then again, smashing sounds good...
Thursday, December 3, 2009
SO WHAT'S REALLY FIT TO PRINT?
Lately I've noticed how the Sun Times comics sections are getting more serious, and your serious sections are getting more comical. Maybe the place to be is somewhere right in the middle. If the media can locate that, then -- New Media or Old Media -- they just might find a whole new definition for journalism...!
Take your comics. In an obvious effort to be more thoughtful, some cartoonists are becoming more pretentious. Now if you have to re-read a comic strip to get its point, it's lost its point. The art of humor is to strike its blow quickly; like a rapier, not a broadsword.
On the other hand, the news section is not only getting more comical, it's becoming downright absurd. I mean, how in the name of all the editors in all the gin joints in all the world have Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan, Sarah Palin and the latest smarmy "other woman" become news? Gossip, yes. Scandal, of course. But news? Give me a break!
The real world's on fire, so professional journalism really needs to get a grip. If your cartoonists can just remember their job is to bring a needed smile, and your reporters can just remember their job is to bring some needed facts. After that, we can all read the supermarket junk magazines for some needed therapy. You know -- reading their nonsense and being able to say to your libido: "Thank God that's not me...!"
Take your comics. In an obvious effort to be more thoughtful, some cartoonists are becoming more pretentious. Now if you have to re-read a comic strip to get its point, it's lost its point. The art of humor is to strike its blow quickly; like a rapier, not a broadsword.
On the other hand, the news section is not only getting more comical, it's becoming downright absurd. I mean, how in the name of all the editors in all the gin joints in all the world have Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan, Sarah Palin and the latest smarmy "other woman" become news? Gossip, yes. Scandal, of course. But news? Give me a break!
The real world's on fire, so professional journalism really needs to get a grip. If your cartoonists can just remember their job is to bring a needed smile, and your reporters can just remember their job is to bring some needed facts. After that, we can all read the supermarket junk magazines for some needed therapy. You know -- reading their nonsense and being able to say to your libido: "Thank God that's not me...!"
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
CLOSING RANKS OR CLOSING DOWN?
President Obama's Afghanistan plan can be debated -- and it will; he can be compared to FDR -- and he will. (SunTimes Dec 2). But here's where both the debate and the comparison end. When FDR called Americans to close ranks on December 8, 1941, we did. Today our ranks are so rankled, we have weakened our chances for any sort of victory.
The critics say our economy and unemployed can't bear the strain (in 1941 our economy was just as fragile and our unemployment was 20%, double today's). The critics say our sour politics and public mood can't bear the strain (in 1941 Republicans hated FDR just as much as they seem to Obama), The critics say our people are weary from eight years of war (in 1941 Americans were not only weary but exhausted from 12 years of the Great Depression).
None of this proves Obama's risky plan is moral or smart or viable. But it is to say the critics need a better cop-out for not closing ranks behind a commander-in-chief who has no love for war. There was a pop song right after Pearl Harbor December 7, 1941: "We Did it Before and We Can Do it Again."
The difference is FDR's call was the day after we were attacked. Obama's call is 3000 days later. Americans have always been known for being long on courage but short on memory...!
The critics say our economy and unemployed can't bear the strain (in 1941 our economy was just as fragile and our unemployment was 20%, double today's). The critics say our sour politics and public mood can't bear the strain (in 1941 Republicans hated FDR just as much as they seem to Obama), The critics say our people are weary from eight years of war (in 1941 Americans were not only weary but exhausted from 12 years of the Great Depression).
None of this proves Obama's risky plan is moral or smart or viable. But it is to say the critics need a better cop-out for not closing ranks behind a commander-in-chief who has no love for war. There was a pop song right after Pearl Harbor December 7, 1941: "We Did it Before and We Can Do it Again."
The difference is FDR's call was the day after we were attacked. Obama's call is 3000 days later. Americans have always been known for being long on courage but short on memory...!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
HOLDING A TIGER BY THE TALE
This current jungle of opinions about Tiger Wood's silence tells us more about the tiger-chasers than the tiger. Lets face it -- this is not a sports story as much as a psychology story. And we're the patients...!
Water cooler gags and barbershop stories betray the usual neurosis of gossip. But neurosis leans toward downright psychosis when the major media and their jungle-hunter reporters fan out in all directions for the dirty little details they just know have to be hiding out there.
Different reports are now trickling back from the hunt and into the garish racks of checkout magazines. However, whatever conclusions we prefer to draw, lets remember that it's what lurks inside our minds and not his that constitutes the real story. This relentless story of little people desperately needing to feel larger if only they can bag a big one. You know, be the first to reach the wounded prey, and sniff their way to 15-minutes of fame.
Water cooler gags and barbershop stories betray the usual neurosis of gossip. But neurosis leans toward downright psychosis when the major media and their jungle-hunter reporters fan out in all directions for the dirty little details they just know have to be hiding out there.
Different reports are now trickling back from the hunt and into the garish racks of checkout magazines. However, whatever conclusions we prefer to draw, lets remember that it's what lurks inside our minds and not his that constitutes the real story. This relentless story of little people desperately needing to feel larger if only they can bag a big one. You know, be the first to reach the wounded prey, and sniff their way to 15-minutes of fame.
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