Tuesday, August 31, 2010
THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL? NOT ACCORDING TO THE WALL STREET JOURNAL
Stanford University recently reported that nearly 30% of all new couples in the US found one another through online dating services and/or social media like Facebook and Twitter. That suggests the unsleeping waves of change continue to roll and wash over us at rates never before known in history...!
But then there is Jonathan Franzen.
His epic new novel, "Freedom," comes out today, and already it's being prized as a candidate for The Great American Novel. Universally reviewed with kudos, critics are saying that in readability it ranks with "Gone With The Wind," and in quality it stands on the level of "The Great Gatsby."
The storyline has been called "a monumental tragicomedy about an apparently perfect Midwestern family, destined to be read 200 years from now."
Well.
In studying the spate of glowing reviews, there was only one which seemed to hold a grudge. The "Wall Street Journal." But then, we can't be surprised. Quoth the voice of free enterprise: "The novel may win praise for its highly polished narrative realism....but actually it's an elaborate, 500-page argument that the original sin of free-market capitalism lies at the root of all the hurt Americans inflict on one another...carefully engineered to make the case that our entire culture is poisoned by an infatuation with personal freedom."
Wow.
When one's personal economic freedom is challenged by either uppity presidents or authors, it's time to slam down that Martini at the island poolside, and get on the phone to yours brokers and editors. I mean, when you "own" the American Way of Life, you sure don't want the Great American Novel taking any cheap shots...!
Monday, August 30, 2010
SEASON FOR BANNING CHRISTMAS CRECHES IN THE AIR
Ever envy someone...? Of course. It's natural, especially when that someone appears to have what we deserve. Shakespeare (one of my favorite persons to envy) said it best: "Oh, what a bitter thing it is to look into happiness through another person's eyes."
Don't know about you, but I feel this most strongly whenever I see someone of deep serene faith. People who have endured the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, yet hold comfortably fast to their faith in a loving God ready to welcome them home like a loving parent.
With the advent of modernity, questions on which philosophers and religious thinkers had been reflecting for centuries underwent an unprecedented change. With the rise of the Scientific Revolution in the 16th C came a new willingness to confront religious authority and beliefs. Sigmund Freud was among those moderns who rejected the existence of a God, and all the "man-made comforts that came with him."
Freud's uber-rival, Carl Jung, saw the landscape differently. He once said: "I do not simply believe in God. I know there is God." Which is very much the feeling I envy when I watch young Bible-believers singing their hearts out in a revival meeting or little old ladies tranquilly fingering their rosary beads in the back of a church.
However, there exists a very wide ideological expanse between Freud's position and Jung's. For lack of a more precise description, this is the modern philosophy of indulgent indifference. Part agnosticism, part existentialism, this is that expanse in which the modern West's educated classes tend to reside. "If religion is your thing, fine with me. Only don't try selling it!"
These educated classes are the ones each holiday season who put on their three-pointed Jeffersonian hat, and remind us of the "wall" between state and religion. They certainly have a point. And yet, walls usually have doors. It's those doors through whom the serene seem to pass. And -- by God! -- there's something there to envy.
In another 90 days we all get our annual opportunity to see which side of the Christmas Creche Conflict seem the most serene...
Don't know about you, but I feel this most strongly whenever I see someone of deep serene faith. People who have endured the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, yet hold comfortably fast to their faith in a loving God ready to welcome them home like a loving parent.
With the advent of modernity, questions on which philosophers and religious thinkers had been reflecting for centuries underwent an unprecedented change. With the rise of the Scientific Revolution in the 16th C came a new willingness to confront religious authority and beliefs. Sigmund Freud was among those moderns who rejected the existence of a God, and all the "man-made comforts that came with him."
Freud's uber-rival, Carl Jung, saw the landscape differently. He once said: "I do not simply believe in God. I know there is God." Which is very much the feeling I envy when I watch young Bible-believers singing their hearts out in a revival meeting or little old ladies tranquilly fingering their rosary beads in the back of a church.
However, there exists a very wide ideological expanse between Freud's position and Jung's. For lack of a more precise description, this is the modern philosophy of indulgent indifference. Part agnosticism, part existentialism, this is that expanse in which the modern West's educated classes tend to reside. "If religion is your thing, fine with me. Only don't try selling it!"
These educated classes are the ones each holiday season who put on their three-pointed Jeffersonian hat, and remind us of the "wall" between state and religion. They certainly have a point. And yet, walls usually have doors. It's those doors through whom the serene seem to pass. And -- by God! -- there's something there to envy.
In another 90 days we all get our annual opportunity to see which side of the Christmas Creche Conflict seem the most serene...
Sunday, August 29, 2010
IS AMERICA STILL PLAYING WITH LOADED DICE?
A good place to start any discussion is the wit, and often wisdom, of Oscar Wilde. Here are equal parts of each: "America is the only country that went from barbarism to degradation without passing through civilization!"
From the eyes of a foreign elitist, that seems about right. From the eyes of the local booster's club (eg. Moose, Elks, Shriners, VFW, executive suites,Tea Party blogs), arrogant Oscar doesn't get it. Doesn't get the deliciously complex idea that Americans take pride in their raucousness, their shirt-sleeves bravado, their sassy sense of exceptionalism.
There may be something to this.
If God really does look after drunks and fools, then just maybe our recurring national foolishness has been as much asset as debit over the generations. Consider how we blundered into a miraculous treasure trove of natural wealth on this continent...how we lucked out raping the lands from the Native American who owned it....how we caught some lucky breaks in the Revolutionary War against the Redcoats....how we were lucky enough to have some immigrants who led the world in an explosion of new ideas and inventions....and how we continue to beat the odds as we prevail over natural and national disasters generation after generation.
Thornton Wilder alluded to the good fortune of humanity when he wrote the play "By The Skin of Our Teeth." He found a stunning record of survivor-ship, including America.Take for instance our current War on Terror. No doubt there are extraordinary warriors and operatives guarding us against these enemies. And yet, let the record show a large degree of our safety & security has been due less to us than to the bumbling morons the jihadists have picked to attack us.
Whether our luck holds out in the pressure-cooker 21st C is hard to say. Only fools will say for sure. But this much can be said with confidence: Luck runs in streaks, and it's always best to know how to ride or get off them. The casino in which America is playing today is perhaps the toughest test of its many streaks.
Getting back to Wilde, he didn't know much about Polish culture; but if he had, he might have found this proverb reinforcing his squinty-eyed view of America: "A guest sees more in an hour than the host in a year."
From the eyes of a foreign elitist, that seems about right. From the eyes of the local booster's club (eg. Moose, Elks, Shriners, VFW, executive suites,Tea Party blogs), arrogant Oscar doesn't get it. Doesn't get the deliciously complex idea that Americans take pride in their raucousness, their shirt-sleeves bravado, their sassy sense of exceptionalism.
There may be something to this.
If God really does look after drunks and fools, then just maybe our recurring national foolishness has been as much asset as debit over the generations. Consider how we blundered into a miraculous treasure trove of natural wealth on this continent...how we lucked out raping the lands from the Native American who owned it....how we caught some lucky breaks in the Revolutionary War against the Redcoats....how we were lucky enough to have some immigrants who led the world in an explosion of new ideas and inventions....and how we continue to beat the odds as we prevail over natural and national disasters generation after generation.
Thornton Wilder alluded to the good fortune of humanity when he wrote the play "By The Skin of Our Teeth." He found a stunning record of survivor-ship, including America.Take for instance our current War on Terror. No doubt there are extraordinary warriors and operatives guarding us against these enemies. And yet, let the record show a large degree of our safety & security has been due less to us than to the bumbling morons the jihadists have picked to attack us.
Whether our luck holds out in the pressure-cooker 21st C is hard to say. Only fools will say for sure. But this much can be said with confidence: Luck runs in streaks, and it's always best to know how to ride or get off them. The casino in which America is playing today is perhaps the toughest test of its many streaks.
Getting back to Wilde, he didn't know much about Polish culture; but if he had, he might have found this proverb reinforcing his squinty-eyed view of America: "A guest sees more in an hour than the host in a year."
Saturday, August 28, 2010
LOVING STATISTICS MEANS YOU NEVER HAVE TO SAY YOU'RE SORRY
The United State circa 2010 >> there is 1 birth every 7 seconds and 1 death every 13 seconds. Which means we're keeping ahead of the cemetery curve. But just barely...!
Instead of arguing the various theories to these statistics, lets simply consider statistics themselves. And our obsession with them. No better place to start than this morning's sports pages. Bulging with batting averages, pitching averages, fielding averages, strikeout averages; and now passing and interception averages. For anyone with an enduring affection for the magic of math -- well, loving math today means you never have to say you're sorry!
However, here's the problem.
Soon the assistance of statistics graduates into the comfort of statistics; and before you know it, educated humanity start to believe they can master large parts of their fate. For instance: DNA prospects for disease... mathematical prospects for stock market gains.... military prospects for victory....team prospects for the playoffs...oh, and the big one, actuarial prospects for death.
Some people live for food, for drink, for fun, for sex; others seem to live for the reassurance of having all their numerical ducks in a row.
As the kids would say: Whatever floats your boat! Only when you're no longer a kid, you have to grant that they [meaning Grandma & later Doris Day] were unerringly right when they sang: "Que Sera Sera." Because this surely is the 11th commandment: "What will be will be!"
This is not to deny humanity's control of its fate. We do have some. But hardly as much as our love-affair with statistical predictions might have us believe. Otherwise, the biggest team payrolls would always assure a pennant, the smartest broker would always assure a killing, and the biggest armies would always assure a victory.
Again, as the kids would say: Gotta hang loose. Be ready for anything, not just the sure thing. And if you ever need a slap-in-the-face reminder, check the obituary pages. They're always right there near the sports pages.
Instead of arguing the various theories to these statistics, lets simply consider statistics themselves. And our obsession with them. No better place to start than this morning's sports pages. Bulging with batting averages, pitching averages, fielding averages, strikeout averages; and now passing and interception averages. For anyone with an enduring affection for the magic of math -- well, loving math today means you never have to say you're sorry!
However, here's the problem.
Soon the assistance of statistics graduates into the comfort of statistics; and before you know it, educated humanity start to believe they can master large parts of their fate. For instance: DNA prospects for disease... mathematical prospects for stock market gains.... military prospects for victory....team prospects for the playoffs...oh, and the big one, actuarial prospects for death.
Some people live for food, for drink, for fun, for sex; others seem to live for the reassurance of having all their numerical ducks in a row.
As the kids would say: Whatever floats your boat! Only when you're no longer a kid, you have to grant that they [meaning Grandma & later Doris Day] were unerringly right when they sang: "Que Sera Sera." Because this surely is the 11th commandment: "What will be will be!"
This is not to deny humanity's control of its fate. We do have some. But hardly as much as our love-affair with statistical predictions might have us believe. Otherwise, the biggest team payrolls would always assure a pennant, the smartest broker would always assure a killing, and the biggest armies would always assure a victory.
Again, as the kids would say: Gotta hang loose. Be ready for anything, not just the sure thing. And if you ever need a slap-in-the-face reminder, check the obituary pages. They're always right there near the sports pages.
Friday, August 27, 2010
IS HALLMARK RIGHT WITH ALL THOSE LACEY MEMORIES ABOUT US?
We are linked by blood, and blood is memory without language. So it is that everything we are, once was; and what once was, still is. Good, then, to occasionally take time to relax the ropes on our relentless climb. There are places down below from which we've come that warrant a wistful glance or two.
Consider for instance who we once were. A hundred fifty years ago we were Tom Sawyer & Huckleberry Finn. At least we smiled at their raucous adventures. Today, they'd probably be sent to the principal's office. At the very least, diagnosed with oppositional defiant disorder (ODD) and put on meds. Our national sense of youth and daring all too often suppressed in the name of order and civility.
But a warning here...! As author George Ade puts it: "Nothing is improbable until it moves into the past tense." When the climb ahead gets tougher like it is today, we may enjoy glorifying the past at the cost of remembering its flaws. In the age of Mark Twain, America still bought and sold slaves, still barred women from the vote, still chained the mentally ill, and still had more outhouses and unpaved roads than libraries and national parks.
But now a counter-warning...! If our national past was flawed, what is one to think of our national present? Lets see, today vast millions of us think our President is a Muslim...was born in Africa....wants to create death panels for the elderly ill...is in secret alliance with Wall Street billionaires [that is, when he's not in secret alliance with the labor unions the billionaires hate]...and has already earned the decision "worst president in US history.".
In a democracy, where "the people" are the drive-shaft of the machinery of government, one can be easily terrified by such profound ignorance. As if the drive-shaft is permanently busted. And just to verify this fear, we are reminded that vast more millions of "the people" prefer movies that feature gore and glory, sex and sadism, and especially vampires and vendettas. Shifting to television, more millions of "the people" say they vote for "American Idol" contestants more than they do for president.
Small sidebar. Among America's chosen "Idols," several have been disallowed because they were charged with: Battery...killing animals...and having affairs with judge Paula Abdul. What is one to say? Idols with feet of clay? Or America's best at their worst?
Anyway, there is a large groundswell these days of "the people" who seem to have made up their mind about which America they prefer. Past America, or as the paraders chant it, "the real America." But of course there is no such place except the America we each see in our own memories. Are Tom & Huck heroes or troubled kids? Is Black Jim a repressed philosopher or ghetto vagrant? Are the riverboats plowing the Mississippi loaded with free-enterprising capitalists or poker-playing hustlers?
Your call....
Consider for instance who we once were. A hundred fifty years ago we were Tom Sawyer & Huckleberry Finn. At least we smiled at their raucous adventures. Today, they'd probably be sent to the principal's office. At the very least, diagnosed with oppositional defiant disorder (ODD) and put on meds. Our national sense of youth and daring all too often suppressed in the name of order and civility.
But a warning here...! As author George Ade puts it: "Nothing is improbable until it moves into the past tense." When the climb ahead gets tougher like it is today, we may enjoy glorifying the past at the cost of remembering its flaws. In the age of Mark Twain, America still bought and sold slaves, still barred women from the vote, still chained the mentally ill, and still had more outhouses and unpaved roads than libraries and national parks.
But now a counter-warning...! If our national past was flawed, what is one to think of our national present? Lets see, today vast millions of us think our President is a Muslim...was born in Africa....wants to create death panels for the elderly ill...is in secret alliance with Wall Street billionaires [that is, when he's not in secret alliance with the labor unions the billionaires hate]...and has already earned the decision "worst president in US history.".
In a democracy, where "the people" are the drive-shaft of the machinery of government, one can be easily terrified by such profound ignorance. As if the drive-shaft is permanently busted. And just to verify this fear, we are reminded that vast more millions of "the people" prefer movies that feature gore and glory, sex and sadism, and especially vampires and vendettas. Shifting to television, more millions of "the people" say they vote for "American Idol" contestants more than they do for president.
Small sidebar. Among America's chosen "Idols," several have been disallowed because they were charged with: Battery...killing animals...and having affairs with judge Paula Abdul. What is one to say? Idols with feet of clay? Or America's best at their worst?
Anyway, there is a large groundswell these days of "the people" who seem to have made up their mind about which America they prefer. Past America, or as the paraders chant it, "the real America." But of course there is no such place except the America we each see in our own memories. Are Tom & Huck heroes or troubled kids? Is Black Jim a repressed philosopher or ghetto vagrant? Are the riverboats plowing the Mississippi loaded with free-enterprising capitalists or poker-playing hustlers?
Your call....
Thursday, August 26, 2010
MAGIC IN THE MIDWEST - IF YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND IT
Meeting places are very special places in our lives...!
For instance there's our eyes...our smiles...our lips...our thoughts. Then there are farm stands. That's right, farm stands. Those little crate & barrel edifices are the meeting places between city and country, urbanite and farmer. the world of glass & steel and the world of earth & harvests.
Speaking for myself, I've loved farm stands since the first day Dad stopped at one with me back in 1938. Back before the War. Back when America still seemed simple and uncomplicated. Oh, the Depression was still hanging on, but Dad liked to travel the back roads if Illinois where he could briefly escape the turmoil to pick some wonderfully fresh lettuce, and corn, and especially tomatoes. His mother came from Sicily where you make just about everything with big, plump tomatoes. Like she would always say: "God didn't make them a mistake..."
Farm stands today stand in a far more complicated and hurried world; still, they seem to have the same sweet
smells of God's green earth. They are still an unhurried meeting place between busy city-dweller and patient farmer-family. And yes, there still are snug family farms in the Midwest if you know how to find them. Dad always did.
It begins the moment you stop and park. You find yourself easing -- not rushing -- out of the car and ambling over to smell the produce. The folks behind the stand are usually in their 60s or 70s. You know, when you start having the time to do lyrical things like this. They are spectacularly proud of their crops. The great leafy heads of pale-green lettuce, the tasseled cobs of fresh-plucked corn, the neat pyramids of squash and radishes and cucumbers, plus of course those arrogantly red fat tomatoes insisting you hold them in your hand to really experience their great worth.
The earthen fragrances here are so rich and uncompromising, you just know you're in a slightly different place than any other in the whole wide world. And you love it. You really really love it. To the point you kinda hate getting back into your car, because cars are city and farm stands are magic!
Dad died many many years ago. Mom too. That make me an orphan, and frankly I hate it. Maybe you know what I mean?
But those unpretentiously majestic farm stands still stand. All down the byroads of the Midwest. Still a grand meeting place where you can meet the earth. Meet the slow. And in some inexplicable ways, meet Mom and Dad one more time.
For instance there's our eyes...our smiles...our lips...our thoughts. Then there are farm stands. That's right, farm stands. Those little crate & barrel edifices are the meeting places between city and country, urbanite and farmer. the world of glass & steel and the world of earth & harvests.
Speaking for myself, I've loved farm stands since the first day Dad stopped at one with me back in 1938. Back before the War. Back when America still seemed simple and uncomplicated. Oh, the Depression was still hanging on, but Dad liked to travel the back roads if Illinois where he could briefly escape the turmoil to pick some wonderfully fresh lettuce, and corn, and especially tomatoes. His mother came from Sicily where you make just about everything with big, plump tomatoes. Like she would always say: "God didn't make them a mistake..."
Farm stands today stand in a far more complicated and hurried world; still, they seem to have the same sweet
smells of God's green earth. They are still an unhurried meeting place between busy city-dweller and patient farmer-family. And yes, there still are snug family farms in the Midwest if you know how to find them. Dad always did.
It begins the moment you stop and park. You find yourself easing -- not rushing -- out of the car and ambling over to smell the produce. The folks behind the stand are usually in their 60s or 70s. You know, when you start having the time to do lyrical things like this. They are spectacularly proud of their crops. The great leafy heads of pale-green lettuce, the tasseled cobs of fresh-plucked corn, the neat pyramids of squash and radishes and cucumbers, plus of course those arrogantly red fat tomatoes insisting you hold them in your hand to really experience their great worth.
The earthen fragrances here are so rich and uncompromising, you just know you're in a slightly different place than any other in the whole wide world. And you love it. You really really love it. To the point you kinda hate getting back into your car, because cars are city and farm stands are magic!
Dad died many many years ago. Mom too. That make me an orphan, and frankly I hate it. Maybe you know what I mean?
But those unpretentiously majestic farm stands still stand. All down the byroads of the Midwest. Still a grand meeting place where you can meet the earth. Meet the slow. And in some inexplicable ways, meet Mom and Dad one more time.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
HISTORY OF AMERICA IN ONE S.O.S.
All right, everyone knows the ship-of-state is listing, maybe even sinking. The SOS has been sent out. Now what? How are the people on this ship responding?
You'd think in only one logical way -- everyone working shoulder to shoulder to save the ship. Instead, here in the fading summer of 2010, most everyone is arguing toe to toe. Crazy....? Yeah, you could say that. Lets take a quick look:
* In 1st class there is a smug calm, because they believe they have the money to get the first life-boats. As for those other passengers, well just remember the old Darwinian battle cry: "When you've got it, keep it!"
* If you are one of the celebrities on board, you have your public to think of. So get out your best wardrobe, put on your best for-the-little-people smile, and remember such classic role models as Paris Hilton, Lady Ga Ga and Tiger Woods!
* If you are among the bankers on board, you pretty much do what you always do: Blame "unforeseen circumstances." Then at that precise moment, you yell out: "Kill the captain and throw his crew overboard!"
* If you are in 2nd class through steerage, you turn to other alternatives. Huddling close together and praying still has appeal. The easiest thing to do, of course, is listen to the apocalyptic voices among you, and rage with them at the conspiratorial forces of fate. Say like that conspiratorial captain, if the bankers haven't already killed him!
* If you are among the young, you likely strip to the waist in readiness. Angry that you may never reach your life's port, but still confident your fate is still in your own hands!
* If you are a member of the band, you remember what they did on the Titanic. They remained at their posts and played "Nearer My God to Thee." Only modern music has pretty much forgotten sentimental old melodies, so you strike up a roaring new Rap piece. No one can understand the lyrics, but what the hell, we're sinking anyway!
Now if in real life this ship-of-state actually survives and limps into port, chances are everyone on board will do three things: Find someone to blame...take a big chunk of the credit for getting here...and then in time book passage on the same kind of ship taking the very same kind of route.
Are we crazy...? No, we're just humanity...!
You'd think in only one logical way -- everyone working shoulder to shoulder to save the ship. Instead, here in the fading summer of 2010, most everyone is arguing toe to toe. Crazy....? Yeah, you could say that. Lets take a quick look:
* In 1st class there is a smug calm, because they believe they have the money to get the first life-boats. As for those other passengers, well just remember the old Darwinian battle cry: "When you've got it, keep it!"
* If you are one of the celebrities on board, you have your public to think of. So get out your best wardrobe, put on your best for-the-little-people smile, and remember such classic role models as Paris Hilton, Lady Ga Ga and Tiger Woods!
* If you are among the bankers on board, you pretty much do what you always do: Blame "unforeseen circumstances." Then at that precise moment, you yell out: "Kill the captain and throw his crew overboard!"
* If you are in 2nd class through steerage, you turn to other alternatives. Huddling close together and praying still has appeal. The easiest thing to do, of course, is listen to the apocalyptic voices among you, and rage with them at the conspiratorial forces of fate. Say like that conspiratorial captain, if the bankers haven't already killed him!
* If you are among the young, you likely strip to the waist in readiness. Angry that you may never reach your life's port, but still confident your fate is still in your own hands!
* If you are a member of the band, you remember what they did on the Titanic. They remained at their posts and played "Nearer My God to Thee." Only modern music has pretty much forgotten sentimental old melodies, so you strike up a roaring new Rap piece. No one can understand the lyrics, but what the hell, we're sinking anyway!
Now if in real life this ship-of-state actually survives and limps into port, chances are everyone on board will do three things: Find someone to blame...take a big chunk of the credit for getting here...and then in time book passage on the same kind of ship taking the very same kind of route.
Are we crazy...? No, we're just humanity...!
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