My fellow Sicilian sentimentalist, Frank Capra, made a sentimental classic when he made "It's A Wonderful Life" back in 1946. Remember that opening scene? The starry heavens looking down upon a world full of anxious voices, pleading and praying for something they desperately needed.
Were the cheery-cheeked Clarence to come down now, he'd find a very different America.
Oh, we're still pleading and praying. But not so much from a society of war-weary want, as one of shelf-filled plenty. Have you ever checked your bountiful supermarkets. Dozens of cuts of meat ....scores of fresh vegetables....dozens [count them!] of different toothpastes, deodorants, shampoos and nail polish. It's a crazy consumer paradise down here.
Here's the point.
Back then, Clarence was on a mission to save a life. Today, his mission might be to save a society. A society which, despite its currant anguish and angst, is filled to over-flowing with consumer gratifications of every little and large kind. When you're neck-deep in gratifications, it's often hard to still see that beach from where you began. That national shoreline which initially defined who and what and where you were in this ocean of plenty.
Currently there are waves of discontent and outright anger. About what...? Strangely about some of the best, most humane things we've ever done as a country. You know, those government lifeguards assigned to our protection. Agencies for creating intestate highways... regulating milk and meat deliveries...screening drugs....guarding our borders....monitoring our banks...not to mention two of the most compassionate national efforts in our history: Social Security and Medicare.
I have access to both. If you don't, you too have been assured some kind of access. But here's what might drive Clarence wacky. Sinking deeper in an ocean of plenty, we're actually arguing among ourselves about the "dangers and evils" to these time-tested lifeguards. Some of us point to their flaws...their incompetence... mostly their "unsustainable costs."
Lets grant those grievances. After all, no federal lifeguard could ever be as wondrously economic and efficient as rugged-individualist me!. Still, come the next wave or tsunami in our lives and those lifeguards -- deficient, defective and un-American as they may seem -- will be the first ones we call for
Whatever they cost...
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
FOUR WAYS TO GET OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING
A recent study in Britain reached an audacious counter-intuitive conclusion. Men now spend more time in personal grooming and clothing each day than women [81 minutes to 75]. I, no metro-male, seriously doubt this. However, if the world's newest elite [AKA, statisticians] have so spoken, I suppose we're obliged to take them almost as seriously as they take themselves.
So, how best can we -- male and female alike -- greet our new day each morning? Drawing upon my own 80-year longitudinal study, I've reduced our options to my 4-Gs:
* GREGARIOUS: We can tear back the covers, bubble out of bed, and breathe deeply before our open bedroom window to greet our world and our fellow humanity with all the good cheer of a Mother Terese grafted on to a Justin Bieber. An unlikely grafting to be sure, but it does capture the annoying giddy goodyness of our world's if-I-can-dream-it-I-can-do-it legions
* GUARDED: We can peer cautiously out of the covers, squinting at the challenges of a new day, while methodically cleansing and arming ourselves for what we know are it's gladiatorial skirmishes. Fortunately we can energize ourselves with the memory of past victories, in the hope we will once more survive the arena
* GRIM: We can pull up the covers for another few minutes of cocooned safety. Deep inside those soft dark folds, we can pretend for a moment the arena will not be there this day. That our fellow combatants will uncharacteristically come out brandishing smiles not swords. You doubt it. And so it is, as in the days of ancient Rome, you will stand there and utter the same words: "We who are about to die, salute you..."
* GRATEFUL: Then there are those of us who will actually be checking the covers. To see if they're still a blanket and not a shroud. For you see, children, at a certain point in your own longitudinal study, your first emotion will be: "OMG, I'm still here. I'm still on this side of the grass!" As this reality seeps in, you gradually come to the conclusion: "I've got one more chance not to screw this up...!"
Ready...! Set...! Go....!
So, how best can we -- male and female alike -- greet our new day each morning? Drawing upon my own 80-year longitudinal study, I've reduced our options to my 4-Gs:
* GREGARIOUS: We can tear back the covers, bubble out of bed, and breathe deeply before our open bedroom window to greet our world and our fellow humanity with all the good cheer of a Mother Terese grafted on to a Justin Bieber. An unlikely grafting to be sure, but it does capture the annoying giddy goodyness of our world's if-I-can-dream-it-I-can-do-it legions
* GUARDED: We can peer cautiously out of the covers, squinting at the challenges of a new day, while methodically cleansing and arming ourselves for what we know are it's gladiatorial skirmishes. Fortunately we can energize ourselves with the memory of past victories, in the hope we will once more survive the arena
* GRIM: We can pull up the covers for another few minutes of cocooned safety. Deep inside those soft dark folds, we can pretend for a moment the arena will not be there this day. That our fellow combatants will uncharacteristically come out brandishing smiles not swords. You doubt it. And so it is, as in the days of ancient Rome, you will stand there and utter the same words: "We who are about to die, salute you..."
* GRATEFUL: Then there are those of us who will actually be checking the covers. To see if they're still a blanket and not a shroud. For you see, children, at a certain point in your own longitudinal study, your first emotion will be: "OMG, I'm still here. I'm still on this side of the grass!" As this reality seeps in, you gradually come to the conclusion: "I've got one more chance not to screw this up...!"
Ready...! Set...! Go....!
Monday, December 5, 2011
THE BEAST IN THE PARK THE NIGHT BOCELLI AND BENNETT SAN G G
It was a great performance in NY's Central Park this month where Andrea Bocelli, Tony Bennett, and Celine Dion belted out their music for the adoring crowd. But there was a beast in that crowd ironically constructed from out of the same international humanity that made this performance so spectacular. On stage was a unique concentration of talent from Italy, Canada, Japan, and half the states in the US. A brilliant amalgamation of MUSICAL talent.
The metaphorical beast to which I refer is the equally brilliant amalgamations of FINANCIAL talent that have been formed in our time. Formed in the complex constructs of international banks, financial houses, hedge funds, monetary systems, and secretly assorted concentrations of power unlike anything in humanity's history. These financial artists come from every corner of the world, carrying portfolios so vast they rival the GNPs of half the nations of he world.
The appellation "beast" calls for some clarification.
Free enterprise economies cherish and celebrate a free marketplace in which the fittest can survive and the weakest can hopefully go away. But in time, the fittest become the fewest, and the fewest concentrate their power in ways whereby freedom is pretty much limited to those high rollers who know the game. Better yet who can game the game. It's been this way from the days of tribes to kingdoms to empires. In this respect, Darwin was dead right!
The bestiality enters our plot when these complex concentrations of financial power grow beyond the regulation -- even the understanding -- of the citizens and the governments they are supposedly servicing. To put it another way, check virtually every modern bubble and bust, war and victory, recession and depression over the last 500 years.
Some beasts should be killed. Others we try to tame and saddle. Saddle as in "regulate." However, when the beast is great enough, it can defy saddles in the name of freedom. And so it is today. For as thousands thrilled that night to Bocelli, Bennett and Dion, few among them were thinking of the beast in their lives.
The ones who were, huddled a few miles away occupying Wall Street in another of history's protests. A protest destined to become one of two tings: A footnote or a revolution. In the meantime, God bless our music more than our money....
The metaphorical beast to which I refer is the equally brilliant amalgamations of FINANCIAL talent that have been formed in our time. Formed in the complex constructs of international banks, financial houses, hedge funds, monetary systems, and secretly assorted concentrations of power unlike anything in humanity's history. These financial artists come from every corner of the world, carrying portfolios so vast they rival the GNPs of half the nations of he world.
The appellation "beast" calls for some clarification.
Free enterprise economies cherish and celebrate a free marketplace in which the fittest can survive and the weakest can hopefully go away. But in time, the fittest become the fewest, and the fewest concentrate their power in ways whereby freedom is pretty much limited to those high rollers who know the game. Better yet who can game the game. It's been this way from the days of tribes to kingdoms to empires. In this respect, Darwin was dead right!
The bestiality enters our plot when these complex concentrations of financial power grow beyond the regulation -- even the understanding -- of the citizens and the governments they are supposedly servicing. To put it another way, check virtually every modern bubble and bust, war and victory, recession and depression over the last 500 years.
Some beasts should be killed. Others we try to tame and saddle. Saddle as in "regulate." However, when the beast is great enough, it can defy saddles in the name of freedom. And so it is today. For as thousands thrilled that night to Bocelli, Bennett and Dion, few among them were thinking of the beast in their lives.
The ones who were, huddled a few miles away occupying Wall Street in another of history's protests. A protest destined to become one of two tings: A footnote or a revolution. In the meantime, God bless our music more than our money....
Sunday, December 4, 2011
THEN THERE'S THE DAY ALL THE CLOCKS STOP
From the distant days of sundials to our days of atomic clocks, we have always been a species insistent on knowing the time. Animals and farmers can sense it; the rest of us demand to control it. If there's any doubt, check the number of clocks and watches and smart-phones in your life.
The scenario you and I live in right now is totally dependent on being timely. Getting the news... tracking the markets...having the latest poll results...being first to own this or sell that or have early access to the medical research. Like the frenetic rabbit in "Alice in Wonderland," we are frenetically driven by the watches we wear.
And yet.
There have been -- or surely will be -- those days when your clocks all stop. Not because they're not ticking, but because their ticking doesn't make much difference anymore. We didn't need Einstein to prove time is relative, for it's often relative not to the spin of the planet but rather to the spin of events
How many many times, time for us freezes in its tracks. When you're a child waiting for Christmas morning...a lover waiting for them to call....an applicant waiting for a reply...a patient waiting for the test results....a general waiting to hear from the front...a president pacing the Oval Office for word...a widow or widower waiting for this nightmare to be over.
I've watched and worked for those masters-of-the-universe whose decisions and victories are shaped by the way they've appropriated time to their exact purposes. Acquiring the stock, closing the deal, settling the case, getting the votes. Dazzling! I've not watched them when they are away from the levers of power, caught instead by the limits of the stopped clocks in their lives. However, they are as human as I, and so I know these things to be true.
I hear the honey-voiced songstress of my youth, Doris Day, has come out with her first album in 18 years. Among her countless song hits was the award-winning Que Sera Sera (what will be will be). My Italian Grandmother hummed that message to me years before Doris did. I didn't really get it when Grandma hummed it. Nor when Doris sang it.
That was then! This is now! By now, I hope you too have learned its timeless wisdom. After all, the time may be shorter than you're figuring.
The scenario you and I live in right now is totally dependent on being timely. Getting the news... tracking the markets...having the latest poll results...being first to own this or sell that or have early access to the medical research. Like the frenetic rabbit in "Alice in Wonderland," we are frenetically driven by the watches we wear.
And yet.
There have been -- or surely will be -- those days when your clocks all stop. Not because they're not ticking, but because their ticking doesn't make much difference anymore. We didn't need Einstein to prove time is relative, for it's often relative not to the spin of the planet but rather to the spin of events
How many many times, time for us freezes in its tracks. When you're a child waiting for Christmas morning...a lover waiting for them to call....an applicant waiting for a reply...a patient waiting for the test results....a general waiting to hear from the front...a president pacing the Oval Office for word...a widow or widower waiting for this nightmare to be over.
I've watched and worked for those masters-of-the-universe whose decisions and victories are shaped by the way they've appropriated time to their exact purposes. Acquiring the stock, closing the deal, settling the case, getting the votes. Dazzling! I've not watched them when they are away from the levers of power, caught instead by the limits of the stopped clocks in their lives. However, they are as human as I, and so I know these things to be true.
I hear the honey-voiced songstress of my youth, Doris Day, has come out with her first album in 18 years. Among her countless song hits was the award-winning Que Sera Sera (what will be will be). My Italian Grandmother hummed that message to me years before Doris did. I didn't really get it when Grandma hummed it. Nor when Doris sang it.
That was then! This is now! By now, I hope you too have learned its timeless wisdom. After all, the time may be shorter than you're figuring.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
WOULD YOU KNOW HOW TO SWIM FOR YOUR LIFE?
You've heard about the first mate on the Titanic who was last seen re-arranging the deck chairs...! Pretty good image of large swatches of our population right now. The ship may be going down, but by god they're going to go down paying attention to what counts. How they look, dress, meet for lunch, invest in the markets and get the best seats on the aisle.
I don't know how you see things from here, but when the ship's caught in a perfect storm and the crew can only argue among themselves about what to do, it's not really the best time for self indulgence. Squeezing some pleasure out of life is fine; but saving that life is even finer. And yet right now you'd think millions of us on the ship had no higher priority than ourselves (see BMWs, upscale restaurants, Facebook & Twitter chatter, home shopping channels and reality shows for self indulgent details).
Maybe it's the flight-not-fight in us like that first mate. The storm is too big and the ship too small, so maybe all we can do is what the ship orchestra did that night of terrors: Play the music until there was no more ship.
Both as individuals and as a nation we still thrill to the echoes of our frontier mythology; and surely to the roar of today's corporate and military heroes. We even say we'd follow those same paths of glory too if only some someone would lead us. But it's not clear that we -- so caught up in our own personal problems and pursuits -- would really know a hero if we saw one. Nor would really know how to make the commitment needed to follow an authentic hero.
Fast-food America to the rescue!
OK, so the waves are growing higher, but what about this for an idea. Why not bigger burgers? That's not a joke. At least so reports my Alma Mater Northwestern University. "Studies show the reason fast-food chains are lately selling so many gargantuan burgers, fries, and sodas is that supersizing is an easy way for some people to feel powerful and important." Professor Derek Rucker puts it this way: "Jumbo portions may be a relatively cheap way for people who feel helpless to get a momentary catharsis."
Catharses in times of crisis? Well, it's happened before. In fact all through history on other troubled ships of state. The passengers suddenly living faster, laughing louder and eating more even in the eye of the storm. Only....? Only could it be that in our case fast-food America is serving us bigger portions of comfort food just when we may need to stay lean and strong for the swim ahead...?
I don't know how you see things from here, but when the ship's caught in a perfect storm and the crew can only argue among themselves about what to do, it's not really the best time for self indulgence. Squeezing some pleasure out of life is fine; but saving that life is even finer. And yet right now you'd think millions of us on the ship had no higher priority than ourselves (see BMWs, upscale restaurants, Facebook & Twitter chatter, home shopping channels and reality shows for self indulgent details).
Maybe it's the flight-not-fight in us like that first mate. The storm is too big and the ship too small, so maybe all we can do is what the ship orchestra did that night of terrors: Play the music until there was no more ship.
Both as individuals and as a nation we still thrill to the echoes of our frontier mythology; and surely to the roar of today's corporate and military heroes. We even say we'd follow those same paths of glory too if only some someone would lead us. But it's not clear that we -- so caught up in our own personal problems and pursuits -- would really know a hero if we saw one. Nor would really know how to make the commitment needed to follow an authentic hero.
Fast-food America to the rescue!
OK, so the waves are growing higher, but what about this for an idea. Why not bigger burgers? That's not a joke. At least so reports my Alma Mater Northwestern University. "Studies show the reason fast-food chains are lately selling so many gargantuan burgers, fries, and sodas is that supersizing is an easy way for some people to feel powerful and important." Professor Derek Rucker puts it this way: "Jumbo portions may be a relatively cheap way for people who feel helpless to get a momentary catharsis."
Catharses in times of crisis? Well, it's happened before. In fact all through history on other troubled ships of state. The passengers suddenly living faster, laughing louder and eating more even in the eye of the storm. Only....? Only could it be that in our case fast-food America is serving us bigger portions of comfort food just when we may need to stay lean and strong for the swim ahead...?
Friday, December 2, 2011
WHEN DO YOU PULL THE PLUG?
It's the best time of year to figure out exactly how young or old you really are. When you're young, the holidays are a wonder...when you're old, they're a job...when you're really old, they're a dread.
The dread comes in various dark flavors. Too much pressure, too few days, too many memories, too little time left in your life. My, how you'd like to feel the giggly Christmas Tree feelings you once did, for you remember Decembers as a tasty menu of emotional treats all month long. And just to prove that's not a silly memory, you can still see it and hear it in the little ones around you.
And why not!
They needn't bother reading the latest Medicare legislation, wondering how it will affect them. Nor do they have to study the latest reports on why "keeping everyone alive is an unsustainable national expense." Unlike health plans in other countries, Medicare is not permitted to factor in the price of the medical services. Only the benefits of the health services. [Talk about "evil big government" daring to interfere with our lives by being so damn humane!]
Humane or absurd, this fact has now become the eye of the budget storm over Medicare. Approximately 45 million Americans are covered at a cost to taxpayers of almost $500 billion every year. The math is simple, folks. If you're over 65, you're anxious to protect it. If you're under, well you pretty much see Medicare as your-burden-at-their-benefit!
So you can tally and tidy up all the statistics you want, but what determine your vote will not be the pure numbers. It will be your current age. Young...? Disease and death have no meaning. Old...? Those are someone else's problems you're paying for. Really old...? Now it's no longer a political debate, it's a life-and-death debate.
Health centers are jammed with young bodies sweating hard to stay young. Hospitals are jammed with older bodies striving to stay alive. In the meantime, "evil big government" has provided the best bridge between these two goals. Now then....who among us wants to throw the first stone?
The dread comes in various dark flavors. Too much pressure, too few days, too many memories, too little time left in your life. My, how you'd like to feel the giggly Christmas Tree feelings you once did, for you remember Decembers as a tasty menu of emotional treats all month long. And just to prove that's not a silly memory, you can still see it and hear it in the little ones around you.
And why not!
They needn't bother reading the latest Medicare legislation, wondering how it will affect them. Nor do they have to study the latest reports on why "keeping everyone alive is an unsustainable national expense." Unlike health plans in other countries, Medicare is not permitted to factor in the price of the medical services. Only the benefits of the health services. [Talk about "evil big government" daring to interfere with our lives by being so damn humane!]
Humane or absurd, this fact has now become the eye of the budget storm over Medicare. Approximately 45 million Americans are covered at a cost to taxpayers of almost $500 billion every year. The math is simple, folks. If you're over 65, you're anxious to protect it. If you're under, well you pretty much see Medicare as your-burden-at-their-benefit!
So you can tally and tidy up all the statistics you want, but what determine your vote will not be the pure numbers. It will be your current age. Young...? Disease and death have no meaning. Old...? Those are someone else's problems you're paying for. Really old...? Now it's no longer a political debate, it's a life-and-death debate.
Health centers are jammed with young bodies sweating hard to stay young. Hospitals are jammed with older bodies striving to stay alive. In the meantime, "evil big government" has provided the best bridge between these two goals. Now then....who among us wants to throw the first stone?
Thursday, December 1, 2011
THE BIGGEST MAGIC IN YOUR LIFE IS SOETHING SMALL AND SOFT
First of all, not everyone believes in magic. Magic is seeing something that's not there; mystery is not seeing something that is there. Perhaps, then, I should call my subject: Mystery. The mystery of our nighttime pillow.
OK, I realize of all the great and grand objects in your world, your pillow seems fairly insignificant. But I protest. Firm or plump, feather or down, that small, taken-for-granted pillow waiting on your bed right now represents a cunning invitation into an entire web of felicitous possibilities.
If you're like me -- that's not necessarily a recommendation, you understand! -- when I got up this morning I reminded my pillows I'd be seeing them again in about 16 hours. Why such affection? such anticipation? I gratefully grant each dawning day is an invitation all its own. But think about it. It can only invite us to a confined world of routine. Washing...breakfasting... commuting ... working ... returning...a few hours of after-dinner diversions...then start the whole thing all over again.
This is absolutely not to demean our daily lives, family and friends. I mean this is it, folks, this is what life is...! However, doesn't everyone dream a little about what life COULD BE...? Daydreams or night dreams, the mind races with extraordinary possibilities. Breakthrough innovations, dramatic cures, soaring artistic creations, crowd cheering athletic feats, plus all the accompanying celebrity.
To the cynic -- Walter Mitty rubbish. To the romantic -- Awards Ceremony visions. Either way, our pillow is our path. That modest magic carpet upon which our minds can travel and soar to the highest of heights and the dearest of dreams. Not only forward into the future but backward among the accumulated delights of our child-hoods and green-years. The mind, you see, is a spectacular computer storing and projecting a thousand thousand scenarios. Each an energy source that can fuel our lives as they hurtle us onward.
So.
From one pillow aficionado to another, my recommendation is you show yours a little more respect this night. Magic, mystery, or simply mental magnitude, it's one of your freest and finest gifts.
OK, I realize of all the great and grand objects in your world, your pillow seems fairly insignificant. But I protest. Firm or plump, feather or down, that small, taken-for-granted pillow waiting on your bed right now represents a cunning invitation into an entire web of felicitous possibilities.
If you're like me -- that's not necessarily a recommendation, you understand! -- when I got up this morning I reminded my pillows I'd be seeing them again in about 16 hours. Why such affection? such anticipation? I gratefully grant each dawning day is an invitation all its own. But think about it. It can only invite us to a confined world of routine. Washing...breakfasting... commuting ... working ... returning...a few hours of after-dinner diversions...then start the whole thing all over again.
This is absolutely not to demean our daily lives, family and friends. I mean this is it, folks, this is what life is...! However, doesn't everyone dream a little about what life COULD BE...? Daydreams or night dreams, the mind races with extraordinary possibilities. Breakthrough innovations, dramatic cures, soaring artistic creations, crowd cheering athletic feats, plus all the accompanying celebrity.
To the cynic -- Walter Mitty rubbish. To the romantic -- Awards Ceremony visions. Either way, our pillow is our path. That modest magic carpet upon which our minds can travel and soar to the highest of heights and the dearest of dreams. Not only forward into the future but backward among the accumulated delights of our child-hoods and green-years. The mind, you see, is a spectacular computer storing and projecting a thousand thousand scenarios. Each an energy source that can fuel our lives as they hurtle us onward.
So.
From one pillow aficionado to another, my recommendation is you show yours a little more respect this night. Magic, mystery, or simply mental magnitude, it's one of your freest and finest gifts.
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