Today's maze of di-mystification now spreads across the world from Walter Peyton to Courtney Love; with a generous dash of Jesus and Hitler somewhere in between....!
This calls for some explanation. It starts with the way we make grand and mysterious some special people in our lives. It's our peculiar need to find pedestals on which to place them. Popes, presidents, athletes, rock singers; sometimes composers, authors, warriors, even criminals. It's one of the most empowering ways we can reach outside our own little lives in order to participate in the larger lives of those we envision as special.
Our name...? Fans, followers, believers, whatever. However, there always comes a time when we tire of our pedestal-ed icons. Our reasons....? Boredom, envy, disillusion. Yes, it's that last one that comes oozing through our psyche. And so this week's announcements were simply a matter of time. First, a sizzling tell-all book about Chicago Bears hero Walter Peyton; followed by a promised explain-all memoir by troubled rock star Courtney Love.
But lets face it, they're small stuff compared to Jesus and Hitler.
After 2000 years of mystification, Jesus of Nazareth has been di-mystified in recent decades by both Biblical scholars and Broadway producers. The scholars pore through historical records which they say suggest everything from narrative inconsistencies to outright Vatican fraud. None of which can't be challenged by other scholars. However, when "Jesus Christ Super Star" hit Broadway in 1971, the gig was up. Not by defaming the historic God-Man; simply by humanizing him to the bawdy big beat of rock. How could the average believer ever look at the di-mystified Jesus quite the same again?
A few years later, Mel Brooks took on Adolf Hitler in his Broadway hit "The Producers." Hitler -- the manic scourge of the Western world -- was suddenly knocked off his pedestal and reduced to a heel-clicking absurdity. The man who led thousands, killed millions, and almost conquered the globe, was now di-mystified into what he himself would have hated most: laughable irrelevance.
What is there about this mortal coil...? This compulsion we have to create and then collapse our icons....? Maybe it's subconsciously mystifying ourselves by granting ourselves this god-like power. I'll leave that to our clergy and psychiatrists to fathom. In the meantime, I still wrestle with another epic human habit. Our need to have the mystification of gushy boy-girl stuff in every movie. I mean, love stories, OK; but even our good-old-boy action, sci-fi, and war flicks too??
As a kid, we'd always boo the "girl scenes" in the middle of our Saturday matinees. Say, what kid wanted to see John Wayne or Superman get kissy-kissy in the middle of a movie. Ahhh, but my world's changed. Today I'm not only allowed to re-examine Jesus and laugh at Hitler...I'm expected to watch Tom Cruise, Harrison Ford, even Captain Kirk to have a girl-friend while they're saving the world.
The mystification of human love -- I guess no one's going to be kicking that off its pedestal anytime soon. And I guess I'm just as happy as you are.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
INDIANA JONES v BUDDHA IN FINDING HAPPINESS
From saints to sinners, from expectant moms to doting grandmoms, darn few things we 7 billion earthlings can agree on. Finding happiness may be one of them. The search, however, is immediately complicated, because earthlings don't always agree on how the search should proceed.
The many passionate Indiana Jones of our world understand the search in terms of some specific object. Arks, public office, power, celebrity, yachts. The passive Buddhas describe happiness differently: It's not getting what you want, but wanting what you get. If you're an Indy, it's something out there; if a contemplative, it's something in here.
For all the astonishing perils in Indy's searches, they are in the final measure mostly physical dangers. What's a few snake dens, crashing mountains, and raging Nazis when the objects of your affection are so priceless, right? Well, maybe not! When Indy and the world's other power players seize the prize and finish the day, they still go home to what they left behind. If the statistics are correct: migraines... high blood pressure...stiffening bones... assorted diseases....and the greatest curse from Paradise Lost, nagging fears.
This is where a sit-down between Indy and Buddha would be a made-for-TV special. Indy smiles with
pride: "Notice the Ark and all those other victories sitting on my mantle; see, right there next to my Oscar..." Buddha: "Yes, my son, and how do they help you sleep through the night...?" Long pause. Indy jumps up. "Say, big guy, have I ever shown you my whip....!"
There's nothing new about this yin and yang. About humanity's materialistic pride and power, side by side with its spiritualistic peace and perpetuity. Ironically, the tension between the two is found most intensely in those cultures with the most comfort and wealth. Last month the US Center for Disease Control and Prevention reported that anxiety, depression, post-traumatic stress and other disorders of the mind seriously disable 11 million people each year, with our Southeastern states faring worst. This includes 8.4 million Americans reporting suicidal thoughts each year.
We Americans take seriously Jefferson's words about "the right to happiness." In fact, we virtually make it our purpose in life. What's so troubling is that happiness can never quite be found and placed on a mantle. Which makes you re-think this happiness thing. Just maybe dying-with-the-most-toys may not be the best way to live after all....
The many passionate Indiana Jones of our world understand the search in terms of some specific object. Arks, public office, power, celebrity, yachts. The passive Buddhas describe happiness differently: It's not getting what you want, but wanting what you get. If you're an Indy, it's something out there; if a contemplative, it's something in here.
For all the astonishing perils in Indy's searches, they are in the final measure mostly physical dangers. What's a few snake dens, crashing mountains, and raging Nazis when the objects of your affection are so priceless, right? Well, maybe not! When Indy and the world's other power players seize the prize and finish the day, they still go home to what they left behind. If the statistics are correct: migraines... high blood pressure...stiffening bones... assorted diseases....and the greatest curse from Paradise Lost, nagging fears.
This is where a sit-down between Indy and Buddha would be a made-for-TV special. Indy smiles with
pride: "Notice the Ark and all those other victories sitting on my mantle; see, right there next to my Oscar..." Buddha: "Yes, my son, and how do they help you sleep through the night...?" Long pause. Indy jumps up. "Say, big guy, have I ever shown you my whip....!"
There's nothing new about this yin and yang. About humanity's materialistic pride and power, side by side with its spiritualistic peace and perpetuity. Ironically, the tension between the two is found most intensely in those cultures with the most comfort and wealth. Last month the US Center for Disease Control and Prevention reported that anxiety, depression, post-traumatic stress and other disorders of the mind seriously disable 11 million people each year, with our Southeastern states faring worst. This includes 8.4 million Americans reporting suicidal thoughts each year.
We Americans take seriously Jefferson's words about "the right to happiness." In fact, we virtually make it our purpose in life. What's so troubling is that happiness can never quite be found and placed on a mantle. Which makes you re-think this happiness thing. Just maybe dying-with-the-most-toys may not be the best way to live after all....
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
BE HONEST -- WHAT DOES BIG MEAN TO YOU?
"Big" is oh such a relative and imprecise little word. Sitting here retired and reflective in the very middle of the American Midwest, my keypad has a kind of eagle-eye view on how this word is currently in play in fall 2011. Much too over-used, the word needs to be understood in practice, not simply in principle. Now for those of you too busy with life to fret about lexicon, let us pause here to re-consider this ubiquitous adjective:
* Big obviously describes most everything coming out of Hollywood. Be it for the large screen or the small. In addition to our recent summer splurge of cinematic biggies, the fall television schedule is bulging with big offerings from Steven Spielberg's "Terra Nova" to Simon Cowell's "X Factor." They've spent millions on these series, and just to prove it they're charging $400,000 + for 30 second commercials. [One reels at the thought of the number of roads and bridges these dollars could be used for]. But what's really big about these productions is the question whether or not an over-sated public really wants more and more bigness. The producers are gambling on the fact that, as with all addicts, Americans need bigger and bigger doses of big to still get a jolt
* Big also describes how big numbers of these stories call for a big dose of gay & lesbian roles. Having come off two centuries of up-tight homophobia in our fair land, the entertainment world has opted for at least one gay or lesbian character in virtually every narrative. It's the latest screen requirement along with at least one urinal scene, several fireballs, and any number of car chases [the big cost in injured stunt people is, well, a necessary write-off]. Again the question is do more gay and lesbian roles help illuminate or irritate straight audiences. The producers are counting on at least a tie
* Even bigger may be the epic decision by the US Postal Service to break a 200 year tradition that only the deceased can appear on stamps. You know, the usual gang like Washington, Lincoln, Einstein, and Elvis. Just last month the Postmaster invited Americans to submit their choice from among the living. What makes this so big is that the winning faces will appear on a gazillon snail-mail items for years to come. One trembles to report that thus far Lady GaGa is in the lead
Walking on this autumnal Midwest morning, I was thinking these big thoughts. Then there it was...! Perhaps the biggest of bigs I shall see this entire day. Two young mothers strolling their infants. They meet...they smile...they exchange glares at their little bundles... they move on. Leaving this male member of the species knowing just how chillingly big a competitive maternal glare can feel.
Sorta puts the rest of the my day in perspective.
* Big obviously describes most everything coming out of Hollywood. Be it for the large screen or the small. In addition to our recent summer splurge of cinematic biggies, the fall television schedule is bulging with big offerings from Steven Spielberg's "Terra Nova" to Simon Cowell's "X Factor." They've spent millions on these series, and just to prove it they're charging $400,000 + for 30 second commercials. [One reels at the thought of the number of roads and bridges these dollars could be used for]. But what's really big about these productions is the question whether or not an over-sated public really wants more and more bigness. The producers are gambling on the fact that, as with all addicts, Americans need bigger and bigger doses of big to still get a jolt
* Big also describes how big numbers of these stories call for a big dose of gay & lesbian roles. Having come off two centuries of up-tight homophobia in our fair land, the entertainment world has opted for at least one gay or lesbian character in virtually every narrative. It's the latest screen requirement along with at least one urinal scene, several fireballs, and any number of car chases [the big cost in injured stunt people is, well, a necessary write-off]. Again the question is do more gay and lesbian roles help illuminate or irritate straight audiences. The producers are counting on at least a tie
* Even bigger may be the epic decision by the US Postal Service to break a 200 year tradition that only the deceased can appear on stamps. You know, the usual gang like Washington, Lincoln, Einstein, and Elvis. Just last month the Postmaster invited Americans to submit their choice from among the living. What makes this so big is that the winning faces will appear on a gazillon snail-mail items for years to come. One trembles to report that thus far Lady GaGa is in the lead
Walking on this autumnal Midwest morning, I was thinking these big thoughts. Then there it was...! Perhaps the biggest of bigs I shall see this entire day. Two young mothers strolling their infants. They meet...they smile...they exchange glares at their little bundles... they move on. Leaving this male member of the species knowing just how chillingly big a competitive maternal glare can feel.
Sorta puts the rest of the my day in perspective.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
THERE'S BOTH FALL & BRIMSTONE IN THE AIR
Walk outside into your waning September days and you find yourself wrapped inside a blaze of fiery colors and a bite of falling temperatures. Once again it's sweater weather in the Midwest. That glorious funeral of summer and prologue to winter. This year, however, there is more than the fragrance of wet leaves in the air. Sniff a little more. That's right, a whiff of brimstone....!
Generally there are two kinds of people out here. The Humanists, who love the earth and embrace the idea that in it all life is part of the same pantheistic whole. Namely, that the same stardust that evolved into our wondrous planet also evolved into you and me. In contrast, there are the Theists who believe this cosmic evolution had a beginning. As at the hands of a personal god.
Most Humanists speak of going-with-the-flow and embracing-the-now, for this is all there is. But for many Theists, this flow is really only part of a cosmic plan. A plan whose secrets can be found in some of the ancient scrolls, the Jews' Torah, and the Christian's Book of Revelations. All with a little of Nostradamus and Mayan calendars in the mix.
Which is why right now millions of mystics and fundamentalists smell more than autumn in our days. There is also the distinct smell of apocalyptic brimstone as our world hurtles toward its predicted end. Granted, the end has been erroneously predicted hundreds of times -- starting with the Persians, St Paul, the Popes, the shamans, and right up to last summer in California.
But if you're a true end-times believer, these were the errors of men, not of god.
Swing through the Coptic communities of Egypt, the mountain monasteries of Greece, or the network of Baptist churches in the American south. They will point to "the signs." Undoubtedly there are many signs to point to. The torrent of volcanoes, hurricanes, floods, droughts, famines. wars, and international anti-christs strutting the stage of history. Plus -- in the minds of most fundamentalist Christians -- the fact that "the Jews have at last found a home."
That last sign -- coupled with the predicted final battle between Good and Evil at Armageddon in the Middle East -- has cast a long dark shadow upon the pulpits of churches and synagogue alike. For some there is a dystopian sense of resignation in all this. For others, all the more reason to live today to the brim.
For someone like me -- somewhere in the middle -- one of my favorite predictions is that on some distant day, medical science will find a reason that allows us mere mortals the immortal glory of once more burning our autumn leaves. Don't smirk at the smallness of my prediction. Not until you too have inhaled that smoky magic filling the streets of your autumn afternoons....
Generally there are two kinds of people out here. The Humanists, who love the earth and embrace the idea that in it all life is part of the same pantheistic whole. Namely, that the same stardust that evolved into our wondrous planet also evolved into you and me. In contrast, there are the Theists who believe this cosmic evolution had a beginning. As at the hands of a personal god.
Most Humanists speak of going-with-the-flow and embracing-the-now, for this is all there is. But for many Theists, this flow is really only part of a cosmic plan. A plan whose secrets can be found in some of the ancient scrolls, the Jews' Torah, and the Christian's Book of Revelations. All with a little of Nostradamus and Mayan calendars in the mix.
Which is why right now millions of mystics and fundamentalists smell more than autumn in our days. There is also the distinct smell of apocalyptic brimstone as our world hurtles toward its predicted end. Granted, the end has been erroneously predicted hundreds of times -- starting with the Persians, St Paul, the Popes, the shamans, and right up to last summer in California.
But if you're a true end-times believer, these were the errors of men, not of god.
Swing through the Coptic communities of Egypt, the mountain monasteries of Greece, or the network of Baptist churches in the American south. They will point to "the signs." Undoubtedly there are many signs to point to. The torrent of volcanoes, hurricanes, floods, droughts, famines. wars, and international anti-christs strutting the stage of history. Plus -- in the minds of most fundamentalist Christians -- the fact that "the Jews have at last found a home."
That last sign -- coupled with the predicted final battle between Good and Evil at Armageddon in the Middle East -- has cast a long dark shadow upon the pulpits of churches and synagogue alike. For some there is a dystopian sense of resignation in all this. For others, all the more reason to live today to the brim.
For someone like me -- somewhere in the middle -- one of my favorite predictions is that on some distant day, medical science will find a reason that allows us mere mortals the immortal glory of once more burning our autumn leaves. Don't smirk at the smallness of my prediction. Not until you too have inhaled that smoky magic filling the streets of your autumn afternoons....
Monday, September 26, 2011
THE SINS OF TONY BENNETT UNCOVERED
Now let us politically-correct juries take up the inquisition of Tony Bennett. Beloved 85-year-old Anthony Di Benedetto who has sung his way into the hearts of every generation in and beyond San Francisco.
Tony inherited Frank's crown as America's trans-generational musical artist. And all was well until....yes, until the crown slipped a tad this month. In an interview with the crown-less bubble-head Howard Stern, Tony allowed himself a moment of personal honesty. Now right there was his big mistake! In show business, honesty must never come before flattery.
Tony was a decorated GI in WWII...fought in the 1944 Battle of the Bulge...has always worn his Italian-American heart on his sleeve with traditional love of flag and country. But then -- as in the doctrinely-correct Spanish Inquisition of the bloody 15th C -- he permitted a technical heresy to pass his lips.
Tony answered Stern's question about 9/11 with the thought -- simply the thought, mind you! -- that a nation like a person sometimes gets back what it puts out. THAT WAS IT! The phone calls lit up and the columnists flared to collectively mouth the Inquisitional pronouncement: Heresy!
Somehow in some convoluted way, post 9/11 Americans have decided the best way to keep-the-faith is to vocally hate anyone and anything with Islamic undertones. [Come to think of it, the Spanish Inquisition had some of the same madness in mind]. And so it is that an authentic American flag- waver quite suddenly became a political pariah to many of our professional haters. Haters whose rage against anything "un-American" has no room for anyone who ventures the thought that sometimes Americans are themselves un-American as they bestride the world in our role as super-power.
A few years back, the Dixie Chicks met the same fate. Sixty years back we had the un-American inquisitions about Hollywood and later under Joe McCarthy. Ninety years back we had the un-American inquisitions known as the Palmer Raids. One hundred-and-fifty years back we had the un-American inquisitions by the Know Nothing Party.
Well, you get the idea. When things go badly -- in a neighborhood, a city or a nation -- there will always be a few lynch mobs seeking out someone to blame. To blame -- like the heretics and witches of our dark past -- whose destruction will somehow stave off evil and save us all. Even the un-covered evil of 85-year-old singers.
Tony inherited Frank's crown as America's trans-generational musical artist. And all was well until....yes, until the crown slipped a tad this month. In an interview with the crown-less bubble-head Howard Stern, Tony allowed himself a moment of personal honesty. Now right there was his big mistake! In show business, honesty must never come before flattery.
Tony was a decorated GI in WWII...fought in the 1944 Battle of the Bulge...has always worn his Italian-American heart on his sleeve with traditional love of flag and country. But then -- as in the doctrinely-correct Spanish Inquisition of the bloody 15th C -- he permitted a technical heresy to pass his lips.
Tony answered Stern's question about 9/11 with the thought -- simply the thought, mind you! -- that a nation like a person sometimes gets back what it puts out. THAT WAS IT! The phone calls lit up and the columnists flared to collectively mouth the Inquisitional pronouncement: Heresy!
Somehow in some convoluted way, post 9/11 Americans have decided the best way to keep-the-faith is to vocally hate anyone and anything with Islamic undertones. [Come to think of it, the Spanish Inquisition had some of the same madness in mind]. And so it is that an authentic American flag- waver quite suddenly became a political pariah to many of our professional haters. Haters whose rage against anything "un-American" has no room for anyone who ventures the thought that sometimes Americans are themselves un-American as they bestride the world in our role as super-power.
A few years back, the Dixie Chicks met the same fate. Sixty years back we had the un-American inquisitions about Hollywood and later under Joe McCarthy. Ninety years back we had the un-American inquisitions known as the Palmer Raids. One hundred-and-fifty years back we had the un-American inquisitions by the Know Nothing Party.
Well, you get the idea. When things go badly -- in a neighborhood, a city or a nation -- there will always be a few lynch mobs seeking out someone to blame. To blame -- like the heretics and witches of our dark past -- whose destruction will somehow stave off evil and save us all. Even the un-covered evil of 85-year-old singers.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
DRUGS, SAT SCORES, AND HILLARY
Some people simply have to put a number on everything. Statisticians, forecasters, pundits, and assorted obsessive-compulsives. Somehow it gives them the feeling of being in control. They're like the difference between that wildly free spirit Zorba The Greek and his prim and proper English boss. [If that movie is too long ago, think Mike Tyson having dinner with Bill Gates].
Take these four sets of stats:
* the average SAT scores for the graduating class of 2011 is the lowest in almost 50 years
* the number of meth and cocaine users has dropped almost 50% in the last 5 years
* the number of cell phone users who prefer texting to talking is now up more than 50%
* the number of Americans who think Hillary Clinton is our best political leader is more than 60%
In the statistician's obsessive pursuit for meaning in a sometimes meaningless world, he or she could reach one of several conclusions. Dumber but more drug-free young people love texting and Hillary ...or they're dumber because of less drugs...or they text because they don't remember how to talk...or today's feminists have made Hillary as their movement's figurehead.
Or none of the above....!
In an existential culture, today's existentialist youth may simply dismiss stats as outdated crutches on which their parents' world sought to pick their way through an irrational universe. THEY tried to channel the flow; WE simply go with the flow. As one wag put it: "Using stats is something like Pat Robertson insisting satellites fall from the sky because God thinks they're gay!"
It's like the fish who swim the oceans. When you're in something that deep, there's no use trying to figure out what it is you're in. You're in what you're in because that's all there is to be in. Oh, there may be one thing Americans can start figuring out in today's ocean of existence: The new federally mandated compact fluorescent light bulb. Goodbye forever friendly, soft-glow incandescent lighting. We've loved you ever since Tom Edison, but now some highly educated statisticians have calculated you're bad for the economy and maybe even my health.
Yeah right -- just like my Twinkies, Snickers, Mom's all-butter pies, and burning leaves in fall. Maybe our slipping SAT score grads are realizing the downside of being what my generation is: Over-educated!
Take these four sets of stats:
* the average SAT scores for the graduating class of 2011 is the lowest in almost 50 years
* the number of meth and cocaine users has dropped almost 50% in the last 5 years
* the number of cell phone users who prefer texting to talking is now up more than 50%
* the number of Americans who think Hillary Clinton is our best political leader is more than 60%
In the statistician's obsessive pursuit for meaning in a sometimes meaningless world, he or she could reach one of several conclusions. Dumber but more drug-free young people love texting and Hillary ...or they're dumber because of less drugs...or they text because they don't remember how to talk...or today's feminists have made Hillary as their movement's figurehead.
Or none of the above....!
In an existential culture, today's existentialist youth may simply dismiss stats as outdated crutches on which their parents' world sought to pick their way through an irrational universe. THEY tried to channel the flow; WE simply go with the flow. As one wag put it: "Using stats is something like Pat Robertson insisting satellites fall from the sky because God thinks they're gay!"
It's like the fish who swim the oceans. When you're in something that deep, there's no use trying to figure out what it is you're in. You're in what you're in because that's all there is to be in. Oh, there may be one thing Americans can start figuring out in today's ocean of existence: The new federally mandated compact fluorescent light bulb. Goodbye forever friendly, soft-glow incandescent lighting. We've loved you ever since Tom Edison, but now some highly educated statisticians have calculated you're bad for the economy and maybe even my health.
Yeah right -- just like my Twinkies, Snickers, Mom's all-butter pies, and burning leaves in fall. Maybe our slipping SAT score grads are realizing the downside of being what my generation is: Over-educated!
Saturday, September 24, 2011
WHICH INMATES ARE NOW RUNNING THE ASYLUM?
All right, lets get serious for a moment.
In a crazy age of meaningless-soundbites, gotcha-politics, paparazzi-news, and "Jersey Shore"....well, you're reminded of the class bullies in grammar school and the class clowns in high school. Except back then they were sent to the principal's office. Today they're running the school!
To really get serious, there's that most serious of anthropologists Margaret Mead: "Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else." When you read it twice you're seriously humbled into wondering just how different or better you are than the crazies out there.
Lets begin with politics. Yes, it's our quadrennial crazy season. With 55 million Americans depending on 40% of their income from their Social Security checks, we have candidates putting the program in a grab bag of iffy alternatives. With the Pentagon standing by its decision to end don't-ask-don't-tell, we have service-less boys bellying up to the bars in D.C. yapping about how it won't work just like integrating the services wasn't supposed to work. With icebergs melting and freaky weather becoming the new norm, we have vested interests still suggesting we wait a few generations just-to-be-sure.
In a free society, people have the right to be wrong. But not to insist every wrong is right. Fortunately the Illinois appeals court came to that conclusion this summer in dismissing a suit by two adult children against their mother for -- get this -- "bad mothering."
But not to worry -- such occasional sanity will not totally overcome the crazy. Consider self-described Feminist Jessica Bennett in TheDailyBeast.com repressively arguing that "women in the work place possess erotic capital that they should consider a necessary evil if they want to win that promotion." What a great boost to the good-old-boys who will be treated to a season of "The Playboy Club," "Whitney," "2 Broke Girls," and "Pan Am." While "Mad Men" shines a light on the repressive ways women in the workplace were seen 50 years ago, these newcomers are more willing to laugh it off. You know the standard boys-will-be-boys.
Now look. We're all a little crazy. Especially behind closed doors. But once you've achieved some public status -- in government, in law, in television -- can't you keep the crazy in your soul to your private moments. Say like that occasional primal scream we all bellow into our pillow....?
In a crazy age of meaningless-soundbites, gotcha-politics, paparazzi-news, and "Jersey Shore"....well, you're reminded of the class bullies in grammar school and the class clowns in high school. Except back then they were sent to the principal's office. Today they're running the school!
To really get serious, there's that most serious of anthropologists Margaret Mead: "Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else." When you read it twice you're seriously humbled into wondering just how different or better you are than the crazies out there.
Lets begin with politics. Yes, it's our quadrennial crazy season. With 55 million Americans depending on 40% of their income from their Social Security checks, we have candidates putting the program in a grab bag of iffy alternatives. With the Pentagon standing by its decision to end don't-ask-don't-tell, we have service-less boys bellying up to the bars in D.C. yapping about how it won't work just like integrating the services wasn't supposed to work. With icebergs melting and freaky weather becoming the new norm, we have vested interests still suggesting we wait a few generations just-to-be-sure.
In a free society, people have the right to be wrong. But not to insist every wrong is right. Fortunately the Illinois appeals court came to that conclusion this summer in dismissing a suit by two adult children against their mother for -- get this -- "bad mothering."
But not to worry -- such occasional sanity will not totally overcome the crazy. Consider self-described Feminist Jessica Bennett in TheDailyBeast.com repressively arguing that "women in the work place possess erotic capital that they should consider a necessary evil if they want to win that promotion." What a great boost to the good-old-boys who will be treated to a season of "The Playboy Club," "Whitney," "2 Broke Girls," and "Pan Am." While "Mad Men" shines a light on the repressive ways women in the workplace were seen 50 years ago, these newcomers are more willing to laugh it off. You know the standard boys-will-be-boys.
Now look. We're all a little crazy. Especially behind closed doors. But once you've achieved some public status -- in government, in law, in television -- can't you keep the crazy in your soul to your private moments. Say like that occasional primal scream we all bellow into our pillow....?
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