If there really is such a nebulous thing as the Earth having a 'Global Consciousness', that consciousness must surely be blinking red. There are far too many humans, and we are having a far too damaging impact on the Earth's precariously-balanced systems.
When plant or animal populations are stressed due to resource insufficiency, they self-regulate to reduce populations. Assume it's reasonable that the human Collective Consciousness would have that same inbred inclination.
Supposing that our collective sense is indeed that the current path is one to doom. What would our unconscious collective will desire?
Fewer people and a cooler planet.
What is the quickest, easiest way to get there? Nuclear war.
Sure, many tems of millions will die horribly (maybe even someone you know), but the unplanned geo-engineering of nuclear war just might halt the warming enough to save Miami Beach, Lower Manhattan, and Venice (well, maybe not).
It's no accident that disaster movies resonate with us, at a deep level. Maybe the Trump Presidency* is simply the vehicle our Collective Consciousness has created, to prod us to DO SOMETHING ABOUT THOSE ICE-CAPS SOON.
Furthermore, Trump blundering the world into a 'nuclear exchange' would save a lot of Republican legislators from actually having to vote for carbon-taxes and Green tax-credits. Then, once it's over, we can allocate more tens of billions of dollars to refresh the nuclear inventory.
Everybody (well, not exactly everybody) wins.
See also: Randy Newman - "Let's Drop the Big One Now"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCim7mmLWRA
Wednesday, August 09, 2017
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
what are we thinking?
Here in The Present, we experience Life moment by moment, our
perceptions always colored by our memories of The Past
(unreliable/delusional as they may be).
I'm not talking about your personal Past (undoubtedly the biggest factor in one's personal Present). I'm talking about the collective Past - what we retained from History class (for those who were awake) and from our own obsessive reading since we left formal schooling (you know who you are).
It's so easy to be smug about catastrophic mistakes made by The Dead (or, as Homer and Nixon called them, the Silent Majority). We ask ourselves 'what were they thinking?', as we ponder the blunders, whose results are so obvious and inevitable.
Examples are too numerous to mention.
I know there are an infinite number of distractions these days, but, still, it's positively shocking to me that so little is said about the events of exactly 100 years ago, when the Great War raged and millions were slaughtered. To this day, unexploded shells (many filled with still-deadly gas) surface in the gardens of rural France, along that path of misery that stretched from Switzerland to the sea.
By 1917, the pre-war world was crumbling. The Russian Empire's autocratic rulers were (unlike today's) clueless. Same with the Ottomans. Bleeding men and treasure, the French and British and Germans carried on with the same vain certainty that 'one more push' would lead to a quick victory. The Americans arrived with their 'step aside and let us take over' bravado.
What were they thinking?
We know how it ended. It's so obvious that the harsh, vindictive terms of the Treaty of Versailles would lead inevitably to economic hardship in Germany, and we know what panic does to people in times of economic hardship.
What were they thinking?
We envision Sykes and Picot drawing lines on their map of Mesopotamia, giving birth to 'Iraq' and 'Iran'. What were they thinking?
I own about a dozen DVDs; my favorite films, which I have watched many times. There are the obvious ones: Vertigo, Casablanca, Citizen Kane, Maltese Falcon, Godfather Part II, Dr. Strangelove, Cabaret, The Producers. You get the idea.
But there are two that I am especially thinking about today, in conjunction with WWI.
First, Lawrence of Arabia. Aside from the unparalled cinematography (I think I know just about every shot), what I get from the film is Lawrence's shocking progression from idealistic History nerd to a blood-smeared, violated, broken shell of a man (as the world itself was bloodied and broken when the shooting stopped).
The other is a film you probably don't know: Richard Attenborough's astonishing film from the late 60's "Oh, What a Lovely War". I first saw it in Baltimore around 1969 - I believe twice. A few years ago, I ordered the DVD and have watched it three or four times, including yesterday.
It was originally a stage production, featuring songs sung by the soldiers in World War I. The songs start out full of confidence and end up full of cynicism, hopelessness and the stark, grim reality they faced in the trenches.
The cinematography and editing are breathtaking, the dream cast includes Lawrence Oliver, John Gielgud, Ralph Richardson, John Mills, Dirk Bogard, Susanna York, Jack Hawkins (unrecognizable as the doddering Austrian emperor), and the shockingly young Maggie Smith, among other assorted Redgraves, etc. One of the best anti-war films ever made. If you'd like to BORROW my copy, let me know.
But (returning to my theme), seeing the events of 1914-1918 recapped, one can only ask how could they not have seen the coming calamity? Why didn't the world rise up and try to prevent it?
What were they thinking?
In this week's news, there's this New York Times headline: "Trump Lays Plans to Reverse Obama’s Climate Change Legacy".
Now imagine reading that in 2117.
I'm not talking about your personal Past (undoubtedly the biggest factor in one's personal Present). I'm talking about the collective Past - what we retained from History class (for those who were awake) and from our own obsessive reading since we left formal schooling (you know who you are).
It's so easy to be smug about catastrophic mistakes made by The Dead (or, as Homer and Nixon called them, the Silent Majority). We ask ourselves 'what were they thinking?', as we ponder the blunders, whose results are so obvious and inevitable.
Examples are too numerous to mention.
I know there are an infinite number of distractions these days, but, still, it's positively shocking to me that so little is said about the events of exactly 100 years ago, when the Great War raged and millions were slaughtered. To this day, unexploded shells (many filled with still-deadly gas) surface in the gardens of rural France, along that path of misery that stretched from Switzerland to the sea.
By 1917, the pre-war world was crumbling. The Russian Empire's autocratic rulers were (unlike today's) clueless. Same with the Ottomans. Bleeding men and treasure, the French and British and Germans carried on with the same vain certainty that 'one more push' would lead to a quick victory. The Americans arrived with their 'step aside and let us take over' bravado.
What were they thinking?
We know how it ended. It's so obvious that the harsh, vindictive terms of the Treaty of Versailles would lead inevitably to economic hardship in Germany, and we know what panic does to people in times of economic hardship.
What were they thinking?
We envision Sykes and Picot drawing lines on their map of Mesopotamia, giving birth to 'Iraq' and 'Iran'. What were they thinking?
I own about a dozen DVDs; my favorite films, which I have watched many times. There are the obvious ones: Vertigo, Casablanca, Citizen Kane, Maltese Falcon, Godfather Part II, Dr. Strangelove, Cabaret, The Producers. You get the idea.
But there are two that I am especially thinking about today, in conjunction with WWI.
First, Lawrence of Arabia. Aside from the unparalled cinematography (I think I know just about every shot), what I get from the film is Lawrence's shocking progression from idealistic History nerd to a blood-smeared, violated, broken shell of a man (as the world itself was bloodied and broken when the shooting stopped).
The other is a film you probably don't know: Richard Attenborough's astonishing film from the late 60's "Oh, What a Lovely War". I first saw it in Baltimore around 1969 - I believe twice. A few years ago, I ordered the DVD and have watched it three or four times, including yesterday.
It was originally a stage production, featuring songs sung by the soldiers in World War I. The songs start out full of confidence and end up full of cynicism, hopelessness and the stark, grim reality they faced in the trenches.
The cinematography and editing are breathtaking, the dream cast includes Lawrence Oliver, John Gielgud, Ralph Richardson, John Mills, Dirk Bogard, Susanna York, Jack Hawkins (unrecognizable as the doddering Austrian emperor), and the shockingly young Maggie Smith, among other assorted Redgraves, etc. One of the best anti-war films ever made. If you'd like to BORROW my copy, let me know.
But (returning to my theme), seeing the events of 1914-1918 recapped, one can only ask how could they not have seen the coming calamity? Why didn't the world rise up and try to prevent it?
What were they thinking?
In this week's news, there's this New York Times headline: "Trump Lays Plans to Reverse Obama’s Climate Change Legacy".
Now imagine reading that in 2117.
Sunday, March 26, 2017
it might as well be spring
I've been thinking a lot about Elmira, New York, my home town, and mortality, the
passing of time, and the passing of generations. I think what really
triggered these thoughts in a big way, here in my mature (sic) years,
was my Uncle Sanford's funeral, a couple of years ago. He was 100 and was buried with military honors, in the cemetery that holds Elmira's Jewish community.
After the burial, I remember walking around, both the Barcus (Reform) and Lavine (Conservative) sections. The image I cannot get out of my mind is seeing the graves of Norma and George Feinstein, and Alan and Lorraine Nathenson, parents of my best childhood friends. The obvious realization of 'grown-ups' who were vivid and present figures at one time now permanently residing, silently, in that field, was a bombshell.
I had had an earlier flash of insight many years ago, after my mother's burial. I walked up and down the rows of Shul people, and I flashed back to a long-forgotten memory, of a Simchas Torah celebration at the old shul, on Orchard Street, before it moved in the mid-50s. So, I would have been around 5 at the time.
As I strolled past the graves that afternoon, I realized that that crowd, who was there dancing around at that Simchas Torah celebration in 1955, had, over time, all gotten back together. They were all there.
But back to Sanford's funeral. As I walked over to my parents' graves, I came upon Sandy Kaplan, who lived across the street from us, and was one of the kids on our block. I knew she had died from cancer some years before, but seeing her grave put seeing the graves of my parents' friends into an entirely different perspective.
Yesterday afternoon, I took a break from (a little bit of) yard work and sat on our garden bench here in Portland, so far from Elmira. I noticed birds and squirrels, and passing clouds, and trees beginning to bud and flower once more. I thought of the peas and potatoes I have planted in the last couple of weeks, and the reliable rhubarb, returning year after year without much effort on my part.
I feel amazingly lucky, to have emerged in a time and place of comfort and security, to have had caring and generous parents, to have found work that I love and, of course, music. To have had the company of a woman, children, friends, and various dogs and cats. To have planted trees. To have memories. To have seen Angkor Wat at sunrise; to have heard the call to prayer in Marrakesh at sunset.
I have no fear of death. It does not make me sad that the world will go on without me. Humans are an experiment that the Earth generated, and that experiment is going bad, but it's always been a mixed bag.
For every Enlightenment there was a Spanish Inquisition. Somehow, though, we got Mozart and Chuck Berry, Leonardo and Picasso, and especially Laurel and Hardy.
No regrets.
After the burial, I remember walking around, both the Barcus (Reform) and Lavine (Conservative) sections. The image I cannot get out of my mind is seeing the graves of Norma and George Feinstein, and Alan and Lorraine Nathenson, parents of my best childhood friends. The obvious realization of 'grown-ups' who were vivid and present figures at one time now permanently residing, silently, in that field, was a bombshell.
I had had an earlier flash of insight many years ago, after my mother's burial. I walked up and down the rows of Shul people, and I flashed back to a long-forgotten memory, of a Simchas Torah celebration at the old shul, on Orchard Street, before it moved in the mid-50s. So, I would have been around 5 at the time.
As I strolled past the graves that afternoon, I realized that that crowd, who was there dancing around at that Simchas Torah celebration in 1955, had, over time, all gotten back together. They were all there.
But back to Sanford's funeral. As I walked over to my parents' graves, I came upon Sandy Kaplan, who lived across the street from us, and was one of the kids on our block. I knew she had died from cancer some years before, but seeing her grave put seeing the graves of my parents' friends into an entirely different perspective.
Yesterday afternoon, I took a break from (a little bit of) yard work and sat on our garden bench here in Portland, so far from Elmira. I noticed birds and squirrels, and passing clouds, and trees beginning to bud and flower once more. I thought of the peas and potatoes I have planted in the last couple of weeks, and the reliable rhubarb, returning year after year without much effort on my part.
I feel amazingly lucky, to have emerged in a time and place of comfort and security, to have had caring and generous parents, to have found work that I love and, of course, music. To have had the company of a woman, children, friends, and various dogs and cats. To have planted trees. To have memories. To have seen Angkor Wat at sunrise; to have heard the call to prayer in Marrakesh at sunset.
I have no fear of death. It does not make me sad that the world will go on without me. Humans are an experiment that the Earth generated, and that experiment is going bad, but it's always been a mixed bag.
For every Enlightenment there was a Spanish Inquisition. Somehow, though, we got Mozart and Chuck Berry, Leonardo and Picasso, and especially Laurel and Hardy.
No regrets.
Tuesday, March 21, 2017
do the right thing
Open Letter to Neil Gorsuch
Neil, I am writing to you about a great opportunity, for which you are uniquely qualified. I have already drafted a statement for you:
"My fellow Americans. Because I so deeply honor and respect our Constitution and our Republic's historical precedents, I am today withdrawing my name in consideration for the current open seat on the US Supreme Court.
I cannot in good conscience accept this privilege until such time that Judge Garland has had a fair hearing and vote in the US Senate. After that matter has been faithfully resolved, I would be sincerely honored to once again be considered for either the current open seat or the (let's face it) inevitable next open seat.
As one of our greatest Americans, Mark Twain, so perfectly put it: 'Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest.'
God Bless America."
Easy-peasy, Neil. You have a once-in-a-lifetime choice at this moment. You can either have your name be, for all time, placed among the greatest of patriots in the entire History of our Republic, or simply listed, in a footnote, with an asterisk.
Do the right thing.
Barry Lavine
Portland, Oregon
USA, USA, USA
Neil, I am writing to you about a great opportunity, for which you are uniquely qualified. I have already drafted a statement for you:
"My fellow Americans. Because I so deeply honor and respect our Constitution and our Republic's historical precedents, I am today withdrawing my name in consideration for the current open seat on the US Supreme Court.
I cannot in good conscience accept this privilege until such time that Judge Garland has had a fair hearing and vote in the US Senate. After that matter has been faithfully resolved, I would be sincerely honored to once again be considered for either the current open seat or the (let's face it) inevitable next open seat.
As one of our greatest Americans, Mark Twain, so perfectly put it: 'Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest.'
God Bless America."
Easy-peasy, Neil. You have a once-in-a-lifetime choice at this moment. You can either have your name be, for all time, placed among the greatest of patriots in the entire History of our Republic, or simply listed, in a footnote, with an asterisk.
Do the right thing.
Barry Lavine
Portland, Oregon
USA, USA, USA
Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/m/marktwain122044.htmlDo the
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/m/marktwain122044.htmlDo the
Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/m/marktwain122044.html
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/m/marktwain122044.html
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
I'm Beginning to See the Light
All this time, I've been thinking that there were two very separate forces at work in the Age of Trump:
1) The relatively-recent mission to destroy America by high-level cooperation with Vlad "Bad Boy" Putin to install Trump, Tillerson, Ryan, and (Wilbur) Ross, enabling the extermination of the hated State Department and the US economic engine. Bonus points for the sheer audacity of putting Perry in the Dept. of Energy and Pruitt at EPA.
2) The 85-year Republican mission to destroy the New Deal and insure that All The Money not only flows to the Absolutely Wealthy, but, in fact, gushes directly into their pockets.
Now, it appears that we have achieved synergy. The Republicans, whether they have truly realized it yet, have actually fully embraced the Russian model, where the nation's political machinery is expressly, fearlessly, and OPENLY focused on enriching the powerful (hint, you don't have to be an American to benefit), without any troubling conscience asking 'what about everybody else?'. Thievery is Good. Compassion is simulated.
Welcome to the new USA, the western subsidiary of 'Putin, Inc'. Now that that ship has sailed, let's see if the French, Dutch, and Germans are, unlike us, able to resist. Dutch election is Wednesday.
The Resistance is strong, and MSNBC still on the air, but this is a country ruled by bullshit and kool-aid, and History (with the exception of Purim's lesson) is not on our side.
Truly, we are witnessing days that will provide material to PhD candidates for centuries to come, assuming the art of writing survives.
1) The relatively-recent mission to destroy America by high-level cooperation with Vlad "Bad Boy" Putin to install Trump, Tillerson, Ryan, and (Wilbur) Ross, enabling the extermination of the hated State Department and the US economic engine. Bonus points for the sheer audacity of putting Perry in the Dept. of Energy and Pruitt at EPA.
2) The 85-year Republican mission to destroy the New Deal and insure that All The Money not only flows to the Absolutely Wealthy, but, in fact, gushes directly into their pockets.
Now, it appears that we have achieved synergy. The Republicans, whether they have truly realized it yet, have actually fully embraced the Russian model, where the nation's political machinery is expressly, fearlessly, and OPENLY focused on enriching the powerful (hint, you don't have to be an American to benefit), without any troubling conscience asking 'what about everybody else?'. Thievery is Good. Compassion is simulated.
Welcome to the new USA, the western subsidiary of 'Putin, Inc'. Now that that ship has sailed, let's see if the French, Dutch, and Germans are, unlike us, able to resist. Dutch election is Wednesday.
The Resistance is strong, and MSNBC still on the air, but this is a country ruled by bullshit and kool-aid, and History (with the exception of Purim's lesson) is not on our side.
Truly, we are witnessing days that will provide material to PhD candidates for centuries to come, assuming the art of writing survives.
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
why impeachment over Emoluments is a Dead End
There are a lot of hopes being raised about this Constitutional text being our 'Get out of Trump Free' card.
It's not going to happen.
Read the darn thing:
"No Title of Nobility shall be granted by the United States: And no Person holding any Office of Profit or Trust under them, shall, without the Consent of the Congress, accept of any present, Emolument, Office, or Title, of any kind whatever, from any King, Prince, or foreign State."
Did you notice what is stuck between commas there?
"without the Consent of the Congress"
I am not a Constitutional scholar, but does this not mean that Congress can say "we see no problems - it's OK" , and the Impeachment talk is moot? They have already shown, by their refusal to deal with Merrick Garland, their waiver of the seven-year law for Mattis, and their utter disregard for the blatant conflicts of interest among the Cabinet appointees (and Himself, too) that any rules, laws, or longstanding traditions that get in the way of Trump power shall be dismissed.
We are already sliding down that slippery slope.
The Emoluments clause is not our ace in the hole. The 25th Amendment is.
Pence is counting the days.
It's not going to happen.
Read the darn thing:
"No Title of Nobility shall be granted by the United States: And no Person holding any Office of Profit or Trust under them, shall, without the Consent of the Congress, accept of any present, Emolument, Office, or Title, of any kind whatever, from any King, Prince, or foreign State."
Did you notice what is stuck between commas there?
"without the Consent of the Congress"
I am not a Constitutional scholar, but does this not mean that Congress can say "we see no problems - it's OK" , and the Impeachment talk is moot? They have already shown, by their refusal to deal with Merrick Garland, their waiver of the seven-year law for Mattis, and their utter disregard for the blatant conflicts of interest among the Cabinet appointees (and Himself, too) that any rules, laws, or longstanding traditions that get in the way of Trump power shall be dismissed.
We are already sliding down that slippery slope.
The Emoluments clause is not our ace in the hole. The 25th Amendment is.
Pence is counting the days.
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
are we in peak 'Depression' yet, or still 'Bargaining'?
Traditionally, it's:
You may recall that God laid out his plan to destroy Sodom, but Abraham proposes to God that the city should be saved if 50 righteous men (sorry, no women got to vote on this, times being what they were) can be located.
Over the subsequent verses, Abraham, practicing the art of the deal (sic), bargains down until he finally gets God to agree to forestall destruction if 10 can be found.
Here's the bargain I am looking for: if there is even ONE Elector in each of the States that voted for You-Know-Who, who has the moral courage to simply cast an 'Abstain' vote, that will reduce the tally to under 270 and, at least, apply an Emergency Brake on this runaway train.
We can worry about the House of Representatives (sic) after that.
So, would it be too much to ask citizens of the Trump states, who might have some doubts as to the current trajectory, to please find out where in your state your Electors are meeting on December 19th, and shout loudly enough so they can hear you? Remember, we only need to reach 1 Elector in each Red state.
Before I go, let me take another look at those Bible verses to find out what happened to Sodom....
Oh, crap.
- Denial – The first reaction is denial. In this stage individuals believe the diagnosis is somehow mistaken, and cling to a false, preferable reality.
- Anger – When the individual recognizes that denial cannot continue, they become frustrated, especially at proximate individuals. Certain psychological responses of a person undergoing this phase would be: "Why me? It's not fair!"; "How can this happen to me?"; "Who is to blame?"; "Why would this happen?".
- Bargaining – The third stage involves the hope that the individual can avoid a cause of grief. Usually, the negotiation for an extended life is made in exchange for a reformed lifestyle. People facing less serious trauma can bargain or seek compromise.
- Depression – "I'm so sad, why bother with anything?"; "I'm going to die soon, so what's the point?"; "I miss my loved one, why go on?"
During the fourth stage, the individual despairs at the recognition of their mortality. In this state, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time mournful and sullen. - Acceptance – "It's going to be okay."; "I can't fight it; I may as well prepare for it."
In this last stage, individuals embrace mortality or inevitable future, or that of a loved one, or other tragic event. People dying may precede the survivors in this state, which typically comes with a calm, retrospective view for the individual, and a stable condition of emotions.
You may recall that God laid out his plan to destroy Sodom, but Abraham proposes to God that the city should be saved if 50 righteous men (sorry, no women got to vote on this, times being what they were) can be located.
Over the subsequent verses, Abraham, practicing the art of the deal (sic), bargains down until he finally gets God to agree to forestall destruction if 10 can be found.
Here's the bargain I am looking for: if there is even ONE Elector in each of the States that voted for You-Know-Who, who has the moral courage to simply cast an 'Abstain' vote, that will reduce the tally to under 270 and, at least, apply an Emergency Brake on this runaway train.
We can worry about the House of Representatives (sic) after that.
So, would it be too much to ask citizens of the Trump states, who might have some doubts as to the current trajectory, to please find out where in your state your Electors are meeting on December 19th, and shout loudly enough so they can hear you? Remember, we only need to reach 1 Elector in each Red state.
Before I go, let me take another look at those Bible verses to find out what happened to Sodom....
Oh, crap.
Sunday, December 11, 2016
you're invited to my party
OK, it's come down to this.
Given the increasing evidence of Russian meddling, the long-recognized Russian entanglements among many of the Trump insiders, the astonishing cravenness of the Cabinet appointments (Exxon Mobile CEO as Secretary of State? Can you say 'Oil-igarchy'?), and, ultimately, the preposterous reality of the President-Elect (shudder) himself, I believe it's time for a 'what side are you on' moment.
A certain number of elected Congressfolk are well and truly alarmed at the rot that this 'election' has wrought. And exposed.
I know that the few vocal Republicans, who understand what these developments mean for the American Republic, will never cross-over to declare themselves Democrats, to counter the 'Freedom Caucus' troglodytes.
Therefore, I proclaim that it's now time for a new coalition to form (yes, it will be predominantly Democrats, excluding Joe Manchin), of statespeople who understand the abyss we are hurtling towards (gas-pedal brought to you by Exxon Mobile and Koch Industries).
I don't even care if you call it the 'Patriot Party' or some such nonsense. I don't care if you put John McCain and Lindsay Graham as its leaders. I don't care if they call it the 'New Republicans'.
All that is important is that it has enough members in both Houses (heck, I'd settle ONLY for the Senate), to constitute a movement that the Media will HAVE to explain as 'people of American principles, dedicated to stopping a runaway train'.
By the way, if this results in the disintegration of one or both of the existing Major Parties, I'm willing to live with that. Yes, I know all about the 'Law of Unintended Consequences'.
To continue on the current course, I believe, is Social Suicide.
Gaia also would say 'thanks - what took you so long?'.
Just a thought...
Given the increasing evidence of Russian meddling, the long-recognized Russian entanglements among many of the Trump insiders, the astonishing cravenness of the Cabinet appointments (Exxon Mobile CEO as Secretary of State? Can you say 'Oil-igarchy'?), and, ultimately, the preposterous reality of the President-Elect (shudder) himself, I believe it's time for a 'what side are you on' moment.
A certain number of elected Congressfolk are well and truly alarmed at the rot that this 'election' has wrought. And exposed.
I know that the few vocal Republicans, who understand what these developments mean for the American Republic, will never cross-over to declare themselves Democrats, to counter the 'Freedom Caucus' troglodytes.
Therefore, I proclaim that it's now time for a new coalition to form (yes, it will be predominantly Democrats, excluding Joe Manchin), of statespeople who understand the abyss we are hurtling towards (gas-pedal brought to you by Exxon Mobile and Koch Industries).
I don't even care if you call it the 'Patriot Party' or some such nonsense. I don't care if you put John McCain and Lindsay Graham as its leaders. I don't care if they call it the 'New Republicans'.
All that is important is that it has enough members in both Houses (heck, I'd settle ONLY for the Senate), to constitute a movement that the Media will HAVE to explain as 'people of American principles, dedicated to stopping a runaway train'.
By the way, if this results in the disintegration of one or both of the existing Major Parties, I'm willing to live with that. Yes, I know all about the 'Law of Unintended Consequences'.
To continue on the current course, I believe, is Social Suicide.
Gaia also would say 'thanks - what took you so long?'.
Just a thought...
Saturday, December 10, 2016
whole lot of Pokin' going on
For the sake of propriety, let me substitute the more-refined notion of a 'Poke in the Eye' for the common gesture of a raised middle-finger. Therefore, I trust nobody will be offended as I shorten that to 'Poke You'.
That being said...
We live in a world of 'Poke You'. At some level, this sentiment has governed human interactions forever, but I see it everywhere this season. Here are a few prime examples:
I think it was Michael Moore who summed up the now-legendary blue-collar-rust-belt vote as a giant 'Poke You' to the 'East Coast Elites'.
The joke there, is that Mr. Trump, by making clear he has no intention of jailing Hillary, deporting all Muslims, repealing the entire ACA, (in short, much of the campaign red-meat), has done a fairly significant 'Poke You' to his own electorate. (Many, sadly, are yet to realize this, but I digress.)
Similarly, His cabinet nominations are a giant 'Poke You' to the Progressives, who are aghast at who is tapped to lead Defense, Treasury, Education, HUD, Labor and, especially, the EPA. Our eyes have been well and thoroughly poked.
Now we hear that Congressional leaders knew about Russian meddling back in September, and that the President wanted this exposed in a show of bipartisan outrage, but Senator "Turtle-boy" McConnell refused to go along, giving Obama a major 'Poke You' (for which, and other services rendered, he was rewarded by his wife getting a Cabinet position). This actually doubles the essential Pokiness - well-played, sir.
But wait, there's much more. This morning I hear that, in Michigan, the Trump campaign (October rallying cry: 'the election is rigged!!') got three Republican-appointed judges to vote against two Democrat-appointed judges, to halt the vote recount. So these judges, whose mission is to essentially protect the integrity and respect for our public institutions, have, by one vote (shades of Bush v. Gore) issued a giant 'Poke You' to the entire country.
So here's my modest proposal.
Since this 'tis the season for massive 'Poke You' gestures, here's an opportunity for one that will make the history books of the future (assuming, of course, that such a phrase has any meaning). On December 19, wouldn't it be sweet if the Electoral College, on behalf of both the US Constitution AND 350 million US citizens, sends the ultimate 'Poke You' to that smug rat-fucker Vladimir Putin?
Just a thought.
That being said...
We live in a world of 'Poke You'. At some level, this sentiment has governed human interactions forever, but I see it everywhere this season. Here are a few prime examples:
I think it was Michael Moore who summed up the now-legendary blue-collar-rust-belt vote as a giant 'Poke You' to the 'East Coast Elites'.
The joke there, is that Mr. Trump, by making clear he has no intention of jailing Hillary, deporting all Muslims, repealing the entire ACA, (in short, much of the campaign red-meat), has done a fairly significant 'Poke You' to his own electorate. (Many, sadly, are yet to realize this, but I digress.)
Similarly, His cabinet nominations are a giant 'Poke You' to the Progressives, who are aghast at who is tapped to lead Defense, Treasury, Education, HUD, Labor and, especially, the EPA. Our eyes have been well and thoroughly poked.
Now we hear that Congressional leaders knew about Russian meddling back in September, and that the President wanted this exposed in a show of bipartisan outrage, but Senator "Turtle-boy" McConnell refused to go along, giving Obama a major 'Poke You' (for which, and other services rendered, he was rewarded by his wife getting a Cabinet position). This actually doubles the essential Pokiness - well-played, sir.
But wait, there's much more. This morning I hear that, in Michigan, the Trump campaign (October rallying cry: 'the election is rigged!!') got three Republican-appointed judges to vote against two Democrat-appointed judges, to halt the vote recount. So these judges, whose mission is to essentially protect the integrity and respect for our public institutions, have, by one vote (shades of Bush v. Gore) issued a giant 'Poke You' to the entire country.
So here's my modest proposal.
Since this 'tis the season for massive 'Poke You' gestures, here's an opportunity for one that will make the history books of the future (assuming, of course, that such a phrase has any meaning). On December 19, wouldn't it be sweet if the Electoral College, on behalf of both the US Constitution AND 350 million US citizens, sends the ultimate 'Poke You' to that smug rat-fucker Vladimir Putin?
Just a thought.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
what went wrong?
Many years ago, when I was a young Programmer thrust into the role of 'Systems Analyst', I had the good fortune to share an office with an old guy (digression: now I'm the Old Guy) whose main working years predated computers. His profession was called things like 'Operations Research'.
He was tall, white-haired, and skinny and smoked incessantly. He didn't know computers, but he knew Systems and learned quickly. Even better, I learned a lot from him.
One of his favorite stories was when he was employed by a restaurant, to analyze why it wasn't making money. This is what he said he learned:
In the restaurant business, you can promote your place as having either a superb atmosphere, superb food, or superb (i.e. reasonable) prices. If you have one of those, you *may* succeed. If you have two of those, you will probably succeed. If you have all three of those, you *will* fail.
In the world of electing a President, you need a great candidate, a great message, and a great organization. If you have all three, you will probably succeed. If you have only two, you *may* succeed. If you have only one of those, you will fail.
The Democratic Establishment had a mature organization, but they decided on the candidate before they decided on the Message.
I was at Bernie's amazing early Portland rally (28,000 wildly cheering fans). The message was: Income Inequality and a Rigged System, over the past 4 decades, has left much of America behind. We all understood this, and approved of his remedies (overturn Citizens United, reign in military spending, build infrastructure, and, above all, care about the masses who have been victimized by globalization).
The Hillary people saw Bernie as an opponent to be quashed, not as a reflection of Popular Voter Sentiment.
Both the Progressive Crowd and the Rust Belt folks understood the damage done by decades of plant-closings and Wall Street shenanigans (i.e. Bernie's message), and the Rust Belt folks, who actually lived with the shattered lives, dreams, and opiates, simply don't see Gender inequality as the Big Issue This Year.
A Sociopath like Trump understood why Bernie was drawing the big crowds. He didn't need (or even favor) Bernie's remedies. He only needed Bernie's Message as a basis, and mixed in the usual demagogue tropes (you know what they are) to keep 'em riled.
And here we are. Just my opinion.
He was tall, white-haired, and skinny and smoked incessantly. He didn't know computers, but he knew Systems and learned quickly. Even better, I learned a lot from him.
One of his favorite stories was when he was employed by a restaurant, to analyze why it wasn't making money. This is what he said he learned:
In the restaurant business, you can promote your place as having either a superb atmosphere, superb food, or superb (i.e. reasonable) prices. If you have one of those, you *may* succeed. If you have two of those, you will probably succeed. If you have all three of those, you *will* fail.
In the world of electing a President, you need a great candidate, a great message, and a great organization. If you have all three, you will probably succeed. If you have only two, you *may* succeed. If you have only one of those, you will fail.
The Democratic Establishment had a mature organization, but they decided on the candidate before they decided on the Message.
I was at Bernie's amazing early Portland rally (28,000 wildly cheering fans). The message was: Income Inequality and a Rigged System, over the past 4 decades, has left much of America behind. We all understood this, and approved of his remedies (overturn Citizens United, reign in military spending, build infrastructure, and, above all, care about the masses who have been victimized by globalization).
The Hillary people saw Bernie as an opponent to be quashed, not as a reflection of Popular Voter Sentiment.
Both the Progressive Crowd and the Rust Belt folks understood the damage done by decades of plant-closings and Wall Street shenanigans (i.e. Bernie's message), and the Rust Belt folks, who actually lived with the shattered lives, dreams, and opiates, simply don't see Gender inequality as the Big Issue This Year.
A Sociopath like Trump understood why Bernie was drawing the big crowds. He didn't need (or even favor) Bernie's remedies. He only needed Bernie's Message as a basis, and mixed in the usual demagogue tropes (you know what they are) to keep 'em riled.
And here we are. Just my opinion.
Friday, October 28, 2016
who can say what's funny?
Reading about some of the apparent beliefs of the more extreme corners of the Trump-is-great crowd, I am reminded of something that occurred some years ago. I offer this only as a personal experience.
My son, probably then in Middle School or Junior High, had some friends who got involved in a local Civil War Re-enacter group. As a long-time student of the Civil War myself, I was interested in what went on and what the kids were being exposed to. We had a couple of local get-togethers, where the kids made cartridges for an upcoming regional event.
We went to the event, south of Portland. It was a lovely weekend, and was quite interesting seeing the 'camps', with their 19th Century crafts, clothing, and everyday items. The 'battle' had the expected artillery, rifles, battle lines, and tactics (i.e. CHARGE!!).
There was lots of smoke and noise. Can't recall which side 'won'.
At some point I was chatting with other Dads, and one of them told this joke:
Dad1: My grandfather had a terrible experience at a Concentration Camp.
Me: Yeah?
Dad1: Yep, he got drunk and fell out of the guard tower.
Me (thinking): WTF?
Other dads: Haw, haw.
We never went back to another event, so I can't claim this is indicative of the mind-set.
But it happened, and I never forgot it.
My son, probably then in Middle School or Junior High, had some friends who got involved in a local Civil War Re-enacter group. As a long-time student of the Civil War myself, I was interested in what went on and what the kids were being exposed to. We had a couple of local get-togethers, where the kids made cartridges for an upcoming regional event.
We went to the event, south of Portland. It was a lovely weekend, and was quite interesting seeing the 'camps', with their 19th Century crafts, clothing, and everyday items. The 'battle' had the expected artillery, rifles, battle lines, and tactics (i.e. CHARGE!!).
There was lots of smoke and noise. Can't recall which side 'won'.
At some point I was chatting with other Dads, and one of them told this joke:
Dad1: My grandfather had a terrible experience at a Concentration Camp.
Me: Yeah?
Dad1: Yep, he got drunk and fell out of the guard tower.
Me (thinking): WTF?
Other dads: Haw, haw.
We never went back to another event, so I can't claim this is indicative of the mind-set.
But it happened, and I never forgot it.
Tuesday, August 09, 2016
It-Drives-Me-Nuts Dept., revisited
Et tu, NPR?
On Morning Edition today, they were interviewing two economists (of different persuasions), to analyze Trump's recent 'economic policy (sic)' speech. They played the quote where he said, basically, "and we're going to eliminate the Death Tax - no workers should have to pay this, after paying taxes all their lives."
And the crowd goes wild.
The economists then had a back-and-forth, treating this nonsense (intentional or ignorant?) as a serious proposition. "Well, the Estate Tax only kicks in on estates worth many millions of dollars." "Yes, but even a small business person with two or three car dealerships would be subject to the tax." Etc. etc. etc.
Missing the point entirely.
It would not have taken that long for someone to mention that, of course, the 'Death Tax' is another right-wing dog-whistle (see also 'partial-birth abortion') designed to inflame the uninformed.
Considering that economists say that a major proportion of our fellow Americans couldn't find a way to cobble together a couple of thousand dollars in an emergency, I can pretty much guarantee that a major proportion of Trump's cheering crowds will never (well, maybe in their dreams) have an estate subject to the Estate Tax.
But, no, another opportunity was lost to insert Reality into what has become a non-Reality-based campaign. Then again, maybe I'm confusing today's NPR with the NPR of Yesteryear.
But wait, there's more.
A few minutes later, in a recap of the news, they mentioned that 'two families who lost sons in (wait for it) Benghazi have filed a wrongful death lawsuit against Hillary Clinton', then moved on.
If only they could have taken 8 seconds to add, 'of course, the lawsuit was brought by Larry Klayman, the notorious right-wing hack who has been persecuting the Clintons with spurious lawsuits for decades.'
It drives me nuts.
At least, with the Romans, the masses got BOTH bread and circuses. No bread for you!
On Morning Edition today, they were interviewing two economists (of different persuasions), to analyze Trump's recent 'economic policy (sic)' speech. They played the quote where he said, basically, "and we're going to eliminate the Death Tax - no workers should have to pay this, after paying taxes all their lives."
And the crowd goes wild.
The economists then had a back-and-forth, treating this nonsense (intentional or ignorant?) as a serious proposition. "Well, the Estate Tax only kicks in on estates worth many millions of dollars." "Yes, but even a small business person with two or three car dealerships would be subject to the tax." Etc. etc. etc.
Missing the point entirely.
It would not have taken that long for someone to mention that, of course, the 'Death Tax' is another right-wing dog-whistle (see also 'partial-birth abortion') designed to inflame the uninformed.
Considering that economists say that a major proportion of our fellow Americans couldn't find a way to cobble together a couple of thousand dollars in an emergency, I can pretty much guarantee that a major proportion of Trump's cheering crowds will never (well, maybe in their dreams) have an estate subject to the Estate Tax.
But, no, another opportunity was lost to insert Reality into what has become a non-Reality-based campaign. Then again, maybe I'm confusing today's NPR with the NPR of Yesteryear.
But wait, there's more.
A few minutes later, in a recap of the news, they mentioned that 'two families who lost sons in (wait for it) Benghazi have filed a wrongful death lawsuit against Hillary Clinton', then moved on.
If only they could have taken 8 seconds to add, 'of course, the lawsuit was brought by Larry Klayman, the notorious right-wing hack who has been persecuting the Clintons with spurious lawsuits for decades.'
It drives me nuts.
At least, with the Romans, the masses got BOTH bread and circuses. No bread for you!
Sunday, August 07, 2016
why do we feel bad when fictional characters die?
We are watching, on Amazon, a popular TV show that had multiple seasons. We are currently many seasons in and 2 from the end (no more spoilers here!).
Last night, without warning, one of the main characters, who had been central to virtually every spisode from the beginning, was suddenly killed. I found myself feeling sad, which is, on the face of it ridiculous.
There was a one-minute warning, because the camera focused briefly on a gun, and I am well aware of the theater rule that, if you show the audience a gun, it must, sooner or later, be fired. There must be a few exceptions, but none come to mind. Anyone?
What is it about human story-telling that makes Unexpected Death such a primary archetype? I'm guessing that, in the days when we inhabited tree-tops above the savannah (or even among the fur-trappers of the 1820's), sudden Unexpected Death was not unusual, and feeds the human need for either catharsis (if we liked the character) or schadenfreude (otherwise).
I can only liken the stunned sensation I felt last night to reading about the hobbits trudging thru the Mines of Moria, and Gandalf suddenly disappearing into the abyss with the Balrog. (Gandalf, if you don't know already, reappears later, so this feeds into the Resurrection archetype, which appears to have had a equally pervasive fascination, but don't get me started).
Downton Abbey had a bunch of these, too, but, aside from Sybil, I wasn't that deeply affected.
With the TV series we are following, we feel the shock and numbness that the other characters feel, and we wonder how we can go on.
Yet, we know we will go on.
The point of all this is that, in these days, Sudden Unexpected Death does NOT touch most of our lives (at least in my particular demographic - the mileage of other humans here on Earth varies considerably). Encountering this in fiction is (Fate willing) probably the main way we will experience it. Maybe fiction is a way of letting us know that these things happen, and gives us a model for how to continue to live.
Still, I can't help feeling that, when an author kills a character, she cannot avoid thinking, with satisfaction, "this'll make 'em squirm."
I am currently re-reading 'Hamlet' (eBook) for the first time since High School. The author writes very well, but I sure hope nothing bad happens to ol' Hammie, since I am growing quite fond of him.
Last night, without warning, one of the main characters, who had been central to virtually every spisode from the beginning, was suddenly killed. I found myself feeling sad, which is, on the face of it ridiculous.
There was a one-minute warning, because the camera focused briefly on a gun, and I am well aware of the theater rule that, if you show the audience a gun, it must, sooner or later, be fired. There must be a few exceptions, but none come to mind. Anyone?
What is it about human story-telling that makes Unexpected Death such a primary archetype? I'm guessing that, in the days when we inhabited tree-tops above the savannah (or even among the fur-trappers of the 1820's), sudden Unexpected Death was not unusual, and feeds the human need for either catharsis (if we liked the character) or schadenfreude (otherwise).
I can only liken the stunned sensation I felt last night to reading about the hobbits trudging thru the Mines of Moria, and Gandalf suddenly disappearing into the abyss with the Balrog. (Gandalf, if you don't know already, reappears later, so this feeds into the Resurrection archetype, which appears to have had a equally pervasive fascination, but don't get me started).
Downton Abbey had a bunch of these, too, but, aside from Sybil, I wasn't that deeply affected.
With the TV series we are following, we feel the shock and numbness that the other characters feel, and we wonder how we can go on.
Yet, we know we will go on.
The point of all this is that, in these days, Sudden Unexpected Death does NOT touch most of our lives (at least in my particular demographic - the mileage of other humans here on Earth varies considerably). Encountering this in fiction is (Fate willing) probably the main way we will experience it. Maybe fiction is a way of letting us know that these things happen, and gives us a model for how to continue to live.
Still, I can't help feeling that, when an author kills a character, she cannot avoid thinking, with satisfaction, "this'll make 'em squirm."
I am currently re-reading 'Hamlet' (eBook) for the first time since High School. The author writes very well, but I sure hope nothing bad happens to ol' Hammie, since I am growing quite fond of him.
Monday, May 23, 2016
where have all the Gepids gone?
If you're like me, you've thought a lot over the years about the barbarian invasions into Europe, in the early centuries of the Common Era.
I'm currently reading a recent book on the history of the Silk Road(s), and came across this sentence:
"As if this were not bad enough, in the middle of the fifth century, having flushed forward a hotch-potch of tribes—Terevingian Goths, Alans, Vandals, Suevi, Gepids, Neurians, Bastarnians and others besides—the Huns themselves appeared in Europe, led by the most famous figure of late antiquity: Attila."
This is not the first time that I've seen mention of the Gepids, in similar lists. I always quickly moved on.
This time I headed over to Wikipedia, and, as always, there is just enough information there to sufficiently plug this knowledge gap. Here's the link, for those with nothing else to do:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gepids
For the rest of you, here's what you need to know today:
"The Gepids' participation in the Huns' campaigns against the Roman Empire brought them much booty, contributing to the development of a rich Gepid aristocracy."
So, they were a real deal at the time, and, apparently, Attila liked his Gepid allies.
After Attila died ("unexpectedly", which was probably to be expected), the traditional Civil War broke out and the Gepids chose the right side, which allowed them to establish a Gepid 'kingdom' (of modest size), near today's Belgrade.
Things were looking good for those Gepids, for about 100 years. You can almost hear Gepid fathers telling their wide-eyed children, "don't ever forget that you are a Gepid, and you should be damn proud."
In 552, they suffered a 'disasterous' defeat by the Lombards (the Wikipedia page for the Battle of Asfeld is pretty spare, considering how momentous it was for Gepid history), and many moved into northern Italy.
Around 630, an invading force of Byzantines "attacked a Gepid feast, capturing 30,000 Gepids". I was at the Portland Bernie rally with 28,000 happy people, so I can begin to imagine how that day was a 'disappointment'.
But I digress.
That, apparently, is one of the last reliable historical references. Their 'kingdom' (which actually has a name: "Gepedia") lives on only in Wiki-pedia - kind of ironic, don't you think? Today, http://www.gepedia.org/ seems curiously disassociated from Gepids.
What do we take from all this? If the Gepids were assimilated into the Byzantine sphere, Gepid DNA must still be part of the European stew. They are described as "white, tall and blond-haired," so obviously not in MY stew, but look around you.
Gepids walk among us, and frequently appear in commercials.
I'm currently reading a recent book on the history of the Silk Road(s), and came across this sentence:
"As if this were not bad enough, in the middle of the fifth century, having flushed forward a hotch-potch of tribes—Terevingian Goths, Alans, Vandals, Suevi, Gepids, Neurians, Bastarnians and others besides—the Huns themselves appeared in Europe, led by the most famous figure of late antiquity: Attila."
This is not the first time that I've seen mention of the Gepids, in similar lists. I always quickly moved on.
This time I headed over to Wikipedia, and, as always, there is just enough information there to sufficiently plug this knowledge gap. Here's the link, for those with nothing else to do:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gepids
For the rest of you, here's what you need to know today:
"The Gepids' participation in the Huns' campaigns against the Roman Empire brought them much booty, contributing to the development of a rich Gepid aristocracy."
So, they were a real deal at the time, and, apparently, Attila liked his Gepid allies.
After Attila died ("unexpectedly", which was probably to be expected), the traditional Civil War broke out and the Gepids chose the right side, which allowed them to establish a Gepid 'kingdom' (of modest size), near today's Belgrade.
Things were looking good for those Gepids, for about 100 years. You can almost hear Gepid fathers telling their wide-eyed children, "don't ever forget that you are a Gepid, and you should be damn proud."
In 552, they suffered a 'disasterous' defeat by the Lombards (the Wikipedia page for the Battle of Asfeld is pretty spare, considering how momentous it was for Gepid history), and many moved into northern Italy.
Around 630, an invading force of Byzantines "attacked a Gepid feast, capturing 30,000 Gepids". I was at the Portland Bernie rally with 28,000 happy people, so I can begin to imagine how that day was a 'disappointment'.
But I digress.
That, apparently, is one of the last reliable historical references. Their 'kingdom' (which actually has a name: "Gepedia") lives on only in Wiki-pedia - kind of ironic, don't you think? Today, http://www.gepedia.org/ seems curiously disassociated from Gepids.
What do we take from all this? If the Gepids were assimilated into the Byzantine sphere, Gepid DNA must still be part of the European stew. They are described as "white, tall and blond-haired," so obviously not in MY stew, but look around you.
Gepids walk among us, and frequently appear in commercials.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
the persistence of memory
For many years, I have been a volunteer, playing piano for the choir at a predominantly-Jewish assisted living facility. We do a lot of songs from the Great American Songbook, but also throw in an occasional Beatle tune (which generally mystifies the Group).
A digression: in our current program, we are doing 'With a Little Help From My Friends', but, in the interest of gentility, substituted 'eat some pie with a little help from my friends' for 'get high with a little help from my friends'.
Where was I? Oh yes.
This experience has taught me a great deal about Old Folks, and I often get glimpses into the rich, vibrant, and varied lives that these now stooped, often-frail, mobility-or-speech-impaired singers have had.
There are several whose European accents reveal the reality of their having experienced horrors that, thankfully, I have not.
One guy in particular has made reference to the fact that he was in the Pacific, preparing for the invasion of Japan (and his statistically-likely demise), when the atomic bombs brought an end to the War.
But an entirely-new dimension of the power of memory happened last week, when one of the ladies in the group came up to me while I was warming up before the rehearsal. I was playing a Gershwin tune and, with a quivering voice, she said quietly "I still can't believe he died."
She was genuinely on the verge of tears, having been instantly transported back to July 11, 1937.
Think 'Prince'.
A digression: in our current program, we are doing 'With a Little Help From My Friends', but, in the interest of gentility, substituted 'eat some pie with a little help from my friends' for 'get high with a little help from my friends'.
Where was I? Oh yes.
This experience has taught me a great deal about Old Folks, and I often get glimpses into the rich, vibrant, and varied lives that these now stooped, often-frail, mobility-or-speech-impaired singers have had.
There are several whose European accents reveal the reality of their having experienced horrors that, thankfully, I have not.
One guy in particular has made reference to the fact that he was in the Pacific, preparing for the invasion of Japan (and his statistically-likely demise), when the atomic bombs brought an end to the War.
But an entirely-new dimension of the power of memory happened last week, when one of the ladies in the group came up to me while I was warming up before the rehearsal. I was playing a Gershwin tune and, with a quivering voice, she said quietly "I still can't believe he died."
She was genuinely on the verge of tears, having been instantly transported back to July 11, 1937.
Think 'Prince'.
Wednesday, March 09, 2016
Known Unknowns
On November 22, 1963, I was sitting in Mrs. Peachy's 4th Grade class, at Hendy Avenue School, Elmira, New York. It was a normal day until early afternoon, when The News broke.
That night, we watched, stunned, as live TV showed the casket being unloaded in DC, and I was, for some long-forgotten reason, alone in the house on Sunday, when I watched live as Jack Ruby stepped into the picture and chaos ensued.
The Kennedy assassination has been with us a long time. I always expected that some deathbed confession would have cleared it all up by now, but, as they say, questions remain.
When we were in Vietnam last November, we visited a Buddhist monastery outside of Hue, whose head monk, in the summer of 1963, had driven his little blue car (still faithfully preserved there at the monastery) to Saigon, parked outside the US embassy, poured gas on himself, and struck a match.
Our Vietnamese guide proceeded to explain to us the reason why Kennedy was killed. It went like this:
President Diem's persecution of the Buddhists (leading to many public self-immolations that summer), increased Kennedy's fear that the bad publicity over these deaths jeopardized his re-election prospects for 1964. Kennedy directed the State Department and CIA to take out Diem and his brother, Nhu (who was involved in the international heroin trade), who were both assassinated November 1, 1963. Three weeks later: Dallas.
Bottom line on this theory: Kennedy was killed by the American mafia, on behalf of the French heroin mafia, who had been partnered with Vice President Nhu. Our guide recommended to us a book describing all this: "The Deaths of the Cold War Kings". I read it, and it was pretty convincing. Case closed.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Deaths-Cold-Kings-Assassinations/dp/1587670321
Not so fast.
In another context a couple of weeks ago, another JFK assassination book came to my attention, and I just finished it: "JFK and the Unspeakable", complete with a jacket blurb from Robert Kennedy, Jr ("everyone should read this book").
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_11?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=jfk+and+the+unspeakable&sprefix=jfk+and+the%2Cstripbooks%2C222
Vietnam also played a key part in this book, but quite differently. The subject of heroin is never mentioned and, instead of Kennedy approving the Diem/Nhu assassination, he is instead portrayed as having been absolutely opposed to it. Instead, he was totally outflanked by the duplicitous hawks in the CIA and Joint Chiefs, who were fearful that Kennedy's plans to GET OUT of Vietnam (well-known but not to be released to the public until after his 1964 re-election), and find a peaceful accomodation with the Soviets (instead of escalating the Cold War), would lead to Communist world-domination.
Bottom line: Oswald was actually a patsy (as he claimed) and the CIA perpetrated a complex web of implications and impersonations that were focused on bolstering the Oswald-did-it line. Also, a prior CIA assassination plan, in Chicago on November 2nd, was aborted at the last minute, although a patsy for that planned killing had likewise been cultivated. Kennedy knew that he was a target and, throughout November, had the sense that his end was near.
Again, a totally convincing narrative - the CIA did it.
Finally, I remembered another massive JFK book that came out a couple of years ago and just got it at the library. It's "Legacy of Secrecy", by Lamar Waldron and co-authored by the impecable Thom Hartmann.
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=legacy+of+secrets+waldron&rh=n%3A283155%2Ck%3Alegacy+of+secrets+waldron
This is an imposingly-hefty book (850 pages), that claims to be the definitive word. Its conclusion: it was the Mafia. I am NOT going to spend the next couple of weeks reading it - I am burned out. However, I did consult its extensive index: not a single reference to Diem or Nhu.
What do we conclude about all this? For an answer, I only had to look at my copy of the current "London Review of Books", which has a long review of a new book called "The Murder of James I". That, for those keeping score, was in 1625.
That night, we watched, stunned, as live TV showed the casket being unloaded in DC, and I was, for some long-forgotten reason, alone in the house on Sunday, when I watched live as Jack Ruby stepped into the picture and chaos ensued.
The Kennedy assassination has been with us a long time. I always expected that some deathbed confession would have cleared it all up by now, but, as they say, questions remain.
When we were in Vietnam last November, we visited a Buddhist monastery outside of Hue, whose head monk, in the summer of 1963, had driven his little blue car (still faithfully preserved there at the monastery) to Saigon, parked outside the US embassy, poured gas on himself, and struck a match.
Our Vietnamese guide proceeded to explain to us the reason why Kennedy was killed. It went like this:
President Diem's persecution of the Buddhists (leading to many public self-immolations that summer), increased Kennedy's fear that the bad publicity over these deaths jeopardized his re-election prospects for 1964. Kennedy directed the State Department and CIA to take out Diem and his brother, Nhu (who was involved in the international heroin trade), who were both assassinated November 1, 1963. Three weeks later: Dallas.
Bottom line on this theory: Kennedy was killed by the American mafia, on behalf of the French heroin mafia, who had been partnered with Vice President Nhu. Our guide recommended to us a book describing all this: "The Deaths of the Cold War Kings". I read it, and it was pretty convincing. Case closed.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Deaths-Cold-Kings-Assassinations/dp/1587670321
Not so fast.
In another context a couple of weeks ago, another JFK assassination book came to my attention, and I just finished it: "JFK and the Unspeakable", complete with a jacket blurb from Robert Kennedy, Jr ("everyone should read this book").
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_11?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=jfk+and+the+unspeakable&sprefix=jfk+and+the%2Cstripbooks%2C222
Vietnam also played a key part in this book, but quite differently. The subject of heroin is never mentioned and, instead of Kennedy approving the Diem/Nhu assassination, he is instead portrayed as having been absolutely opposed to it. Instead, he was totally outflanked by the duplicitous hawks in the CIA and Joint Chiefs, who were fearful that Kennedy's plans to GET OUT of Vietnam (well-known but not to be released to the public until after his 1964 re-election), and find a peaceful accomodation with the Soviets (instead of escalating the Cold War), would lead to Communist world-domination.
Bottom line: Oswald was actually a patsy (as he claimed) and the CIA perpetrated a complex web of implications and impersonations that were focused on bolstering the Oswald-did-it line. Also, a prior CIA assassination plan, in Chicago on November 2nd, was aborted at the last minute, although a patsy for that planned killing had likewise been cultivated. Kennedy knew that he was a target and, throughout November, had the sense that his end was near.
Again, a totally convincing narrative - the CIA did it.
Finally, I remembered another massive JFK book that came out a couple of years ago and just got it at the library. It's "Legacy of Secrecy", by Lamar Waldron and co-authored by the impecable Thom Hartmann.
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=legacy+of+secrets+waldron&rh=n%3A283155%2Ck%3Alegacy+of+secrets+waldron
This is an imposingly-hefty book (850 pages), that claims to be the definitive word. Its conclusion: it was the Mafia. I am NOT going to spend the next couple of weeks reading it - I am burned out. However, I did consult its extensive index: not a single reference to Diem or Nhu.
What do we conclude about all this? For an answer, I only had to look at my copy of the current "London Review of Books", which has a long review of a new book called "The Murder of James I". That, for those keeping score, was in 1625.
Friday, January 29, 2016
Of interest to film geeks only (maybe)
I've been thinking about Orson Welles a lot lately.
I recently finished the eBook version of this:
http://www.amazon.com/Young-Orson-Years-Genius-Citizen/dp/0062112481/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454123215&sr=1-1&keywords=young+orson+by+patrick+mcgilligan
It covered the years between Welles' amazing pre-natal heritage (wealth and all the associated advantages) thru his early theater triumphs, culminating in the amazing creation of 'Citizen Kane' (despite what nay-sayers say, still, IMHO, the best American film of all time, as far as innovative camera movements, long takes, writing, and general film pleasure).
'Vertigo' is #2, but that's another story.
I watched my DVD of 'Kane' the other day, with the astute Peter Bogdanovitch commentary, and, as always, found it filled with amazing technical camera wizardry, plus the complex, multi-layered make-up, acting and script (what was Mankiewicz and what was Welles? - the evidence is scattered).
It really is a spectacular film. Have you seen it recently?
At any rate...
Welles' 2nd film in 'the system' was 'The Magnificent Ambersons' and I found it at the library today and just watched it for the first time in many years. What a curious film - so old-fashioned in its costumes, period, and setting. I don't understand why Welles was so drawn to the story.
Of course, this was the butchered version that RKO released, after deciding that Welles's cut was 'unsatisfactory'. The final scene is indeed laughable. Still, there are flashes of amazing cleverness in the framing, composition, and especially lighting, not to mention the astonishing performance by Agnes Moorhead (who only had a couple of scenes in 'Kane').
The main character, George Miniver (Tim Holt) is the obvious villein, smug in his self-worth and entitlement. The whole arc of the story is his 'comeuppance'. Eugene Morgan (Joseph Cotton, in a fairly absurd mustache) has made his fortune in the early automobile business, and is the sympathetic father of George's love interest (who sees him as the shallow 'affluenza' youth he is).
In a key scene, George insults Morgan by characterizing the advent of the gasoline-powered automobile as a terrible event, that will destroy a way of life (i.e. horse-and-buggy world).
Here's the thing.
In the context of 1942, when 'Ambersons' was made, George's insistence that the gasoline-powered automobile is a curse upon us was ridiculous.
In the context of 2016, it is prophetic.
Weird, eh?
I recently finished the eBook version of this:
http://www.amazon.com/Young-Orson-Years-Genius-Citizen/dp/0062112481/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454123215&sr=1-1&keywords=young+orson+by+patrick+mcgilligan
It covered the years between Welles' amazing pre-natal heritage (wealth and all the associated advantages) thru his early theater triumphs, culminating in the amazing creation of 'Citizen Kane' (despite what nay-sayers say, still, IMHO, the best American film of all time, as far as innovative camera movements, long takes, writing, and general film pleasure).
'Vertigo' is #2, but that's another story.
I watched my DVD of 'Kane' the other day, with the astute Peter Bogdanovitch commentary, and, as always, found it filled with amazing technical camera wizardry, plus the complex, multi-layered make-up, acting and script (what was Mankiewicz and what was Welles? - the evidence is scattered).
It really is a spectacular film. Have you seen it recently?
At any rate...
Welles' 2nd film in 'the system' was 'The Magnificent Ambersons' and I found it at the library today and just watched it for the first time in many years. What a curious film - so old-fashioned in its costumes, period, and setting. I don't understand why Welles was so drawn to the story.
Of course, this was the butchered version that RKO released, after deciding that Welles's cut was 'unsatisfactory'. The final scene is indeed laughable. Still, there are flashes of amazing cleverness in the framing, composition, and especially lighting, not to mention the astonishing performance by Agnes Moorhead (who only had a couple of scenes in 'Kane').
The main character, George Miniver (Tim Holt) is the obvious villein, smug in his self-worth and entitlement. The whole arc of the story is his 'comeuppance'. Eugene Morgan (Joseph Cotton, in a fairly absurd mustache) has made his fortune in the early automobile business, and is the sympathetic father of George's love interest (who sees him as the shallow 'affluenza' youth he is).
In a key scene, George insults Morgan by characterizing the advent of the gasoline-powered automobile as a terrible event, that will destroy a way of life (i.e. horse-and-buggy world).
Here's the thing.
In the context of 1942, when 'Ambersons' was made, George's insistence that the gasoline-powered automobile is a curse upon us was ridiculous.
In the context of 2016, it is prophetic.
Weird, eh?
Monday, December 07, 2015
Thank you, taxpayers of Elmira, New York
I was born in Elmira (1951) and called it my home thru High School (go, Blue Devils!).
As part of the Elmira diaspora (I only get there now and then, for the periodic family funeral), I have often felt a noticeable degree of guilt about having benefited from that peaceful, comfortable world that our parents created in the 1950s and 60s, but left when I could and never gave back.
This is my effort to recognize one small aspect of that world, that made all the difference to me.
Her name was Crystal Ewing and findagrave.com tells me she died in 1989 and is buried in Woodlawn Cemetery. She was employed by the Elmira Public Schools and her job, which was performed with enthusiasm and commitment, made all the difference in my life.
Miss Ewing (as we always called her) traveled around town to all the public Elementary schools, with a record player and a stack of records. Believe it or not, taxpayers in those days had no problem with their money going to support a regular class for their children, that was simply called 'Music Appreciation'.
Her mission was to open up for us kids, in that pre-Vietnam world of Leave It to Beaver and Ozzie and Harriet, the world of Bach, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky (I still remember how to spell it, thanks to her), and others, for no other reason than that it was the common opinion of the School Board that it would be good for us.
For me, as a beginning piano player, the depth and complexity of Fugue in G Minor was a revelation. She would play the recording and ask the class to signal each time they heard the theme. Around Christmas time, of course, the Nutcracker would appear. You get the idea.
I think we might have mocked her smiling cheerfulness a bit, but, to me, the weekly (?) hour with Miss Ewing was a great thing. I doubt many of today's kids know much about poor Franz Schubert.
She stuck with the Big Classics, which was fine - it wasn't until years later that I was ready for Mahler and Stravinsky, but I had CONTEXT when I was.
So, thank you, taxpayers of Elmira, New York, in that post-WWII world, who didn't object when someone thought it was a good idea to pay a single woman enough to enable her to have a career insuring that their kids could tell Bach from Brahms.
And thank you, Miss Ewing, for expanding my world, at exactly the right time.
Yes, this is too little, too late.
As part of the Elmira diaspora (I only get there now and then, for the periodic family funeral), I have often felt a noticeable degree of guilt about having benefited from that peaceful, comfortable world that our parents created in the 1950s and 60s, but left when I could and never gave back.
This is my effort to recognize one small aspect of that world, that made all the difference to me.
Her name was Crystal Ewing and findagrave.com tells me she died in 1989 and is buried in Woodlawn Cemetery. She was employed by the Elmira Public Schools and her job, which was performed with enthusiasm and commitment, made all the difference in my life.
Miss Ewing (as we always called her) traveled around town to all the public Elementary schools, with a record player and a stack of records. Believe it or not, taxpayers in those days had no problem with their money going to support a regular class for their children, that was simply called 'Music Appreciation'.
Her mission was to open up for us kids, in that pre-Vietnam world of Leave It to Beaver and Ozzie and Harriet, the world of Bach, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky (I still remember how to spell it, thanks to her), and others, for no other reason than that it was the common opinion of the School Board that it would be good for us.
For me, as a beginning piano player, the depth and complexity of Fugue in G Minor was a revelation. She would play the recording and ask the class to signal each time they heard the theme. Around Christmas time, of course, the Nutcracker would appear. You get the idea.
I think we might have mocked her smiling cheerfulness a bit, but, to me, the weekly (?) hour with Miss Ewing was a great thing. I doubt many of today's kids know much about poor Franz Schubert.
She stuck with the Big Classics, which was fine - it wasn't until years later that I was ready for Mahler and Stravinsky, but I had CONTEXT when I was.
So, thank you, taxpayers of Elmira, New York, in that post-WWII world, who didn't object when someone thought it was a good idea to pay a single woman enough to enable her to have a career insuring that their kids could tell Bach from Brahms.
And thank you, Miss Ewing, for expanding my world, at exactly the right time.
Yes, this is too little, too late.
Saturday, December 06, 2014
I Remember Mommies
After many centuries of my family kicking around Poland and Lithuania (and Spain, before that), my European grandparents settled in Elmira, New York, where, in the early 20th century, both my parents were born.
My brother and I came along after WWII, and it was a swell place to live and grow up. The synagogue and our little Jewish community was, without any doubt, the absolute center of our lives, with all my conscious years filled with Hebrew School and weekly attendance at services.
My father made late, irregular appearances at services. I always sensed that he regarded Jewish ritual with bemused, minimal involvement.
On the other hand, my mother's apparent belief in God was undoubtedly totally sincere and deep. There was no question that Saturday mornings (and often Friday nights) were going to be spent with Mom at the schul, where we had our usual seats.
The sequence, words, and melodies of the service were absolutely, totally imprinted in me, and I am still astonished at my continuing total familiarity with Hebrew. However, despite a sincere and deep fascination with both Jewish history and the music at services, I never quite got with the God program.
I remember Mom handing me a children's book entitled, "Let's Talk about God", and, after reading it, I think my reaction was pretty much, "you're kidding, right?" Sorry.
This is not to say that I have rejected Jewishness. On the contrary, how could my basic identity be anything other, even though my ritual participation in our Portland congregation hovers just above Absolute Zero.
A couple of weeks ago, I received a letter from my congregation, reminding me that my mother's Yahrzeit (translation: annual anniversary of a loved-one's death) was coming up, and, that her name would be read at services on December 6th. I put a note in my phone calendar at the time, and was slightly surprised when the reminder went off around 8 this morning.
Naturally, my first impulse was to guiltily delete the reminder, but I got dressed and made it to Saturday morning services today, and it was totally and uncannily familiar. My mother has been gone now for several years, but, as I was driving downtown, I remembered that this week is also the one-year anniversary of Sylvia, my mother-in-law, leaving this world, at 102.
Their death-dates are separated by four days. A hospice nurse told us, "there's something about 'two weeks after Thanksgiving'".
So, when it came time to say Kaddish, I was filled with the memories of Two Mommies, and I now know that this sense will, for the rest of my life, always be an event of early December.
Here's Sylvia, Thanksgiving 2013, two weeks before she died.
And here's a 1987 photo of my mother, Dorothy Barcus Lavine, happily holding her grandson Benjamin (who I named after HER father, Ben Barcus).
My brother and I came along after WWII, and it was a swell place to live and grow up. The synagogue and our little Jewish community was, without any doubt, the absolute center of our lives, with all my conscious years filled with Hebrew School and weekly attendance at services.
My father made late, irregular appearances at services. I always sensed that he regarded Jewish ritual with bemused, minimal involvement.
On the other hand, my mother's apparent belief in God was undoubtedly totally sincere and deep. There was no question that Saturday mornings (and often Friday nights) were going to be spent with Mom at the schul, where we had our usual seats.
The sequence, words, and melodies of the service were absolutely, totally imprinted in me, and I am still astonished at my continuing total familiarity with Hebrew. However, despite a sincere and deep fascination with both Jewish history and the music at services, I never quite got with the God program.
I remember Mom handing me a children's book entitled, "Let's Talk about God", and, after reading it, I think my reaction was pretty much, "you're kidding, right?" Sorry.
This is not to say that I have rejected Jewishness. On the contrary, how could my basic identity be anything other, even though my ritual participation in our Portland congregation hovers just above Absolute Zero.
A couple of weeks ago, I received a letter from my congregation, reminding me that my mother's Yahrzeit (translation: annual anniversary of a loved-one's death) was coming up, and, that her name would be read at services on December 6th. I put a note in my phone calendar at the time, and was slightly surprised when the reminder went off around 8 this morning.
Naturally, my first impulse was to guiltily delete the reminder, but I got dressed and made it to Saturday morning services today, and it was totally and uncannily familiar. My mother has been gone now for several years, but, as I was driving downtown, I remembered that this week is also the one-year anniversary of Sylvia, my mother-in-law, leaving this world, at 102.
Their death-dates are separated by four days. A hospice nurse told us, "there's something about 'two weeks after Thanksgiving'".
So, when it came time to say Kaddish, I was filled with the memories of Two Mommies, and I now know that this sense will, for the rest of my life, always be an event of early December.
Here's Sylvia, Thanksgiving 2013, two weeks before she died.
And here's a 1987 photo of my mother, Dorothy Barcus Lavine, happily holding her grandson Benjamin (who I named after HER father, Ben Barcus).
Monday, November 24, 2014
August 1962
I grew up in a little town in Upstate New York. The recent photos from Buffalo reminded me of epic snow-storms of my childhood, staring out the window at the delicately-carved canyons created by the wind howling around the corner of our warm, secure house.
Every morning, my mother would listen to the 'CBS World News Roundup' on the radio, as we ate breakfast. I vivdly remember the one magical morning, when Richard (C.) Hottelet announced that 'this morning, the coldest place in the country is Elmira, New York', before moving onto the next story. We glowed with the sense of being, for a brief moment, nationally recognized.
But I digress.
The flip-side to the brutal winters was the endless, humid, firefly-filled summer. Our best friends had a house on Keuka Lake, and many weeks were spent there - just the Moms and kids. The Dads continued working, of course - we never thought about them, just trusted that they would appear on weekends.
The world of adults rarely had any impact on the daily swimming, boating, and explorations that filled our days. This is appropriate - meals and calamine lotion just appeared, as needed.
Every once in a while, we got a glimpse of a world beyond the lake. One summer, the original cast recording of 'West Side Story' showed up, and we played it over and over, amazed at both the music and Anita's inflection as she snarled 'A boy like that, who keeled your brother..'.
Among the abundant child-centered memories, I can only bring-up two where the adults were front and center.
One weekend, several of our parents' friends came out, to spend an afternoon at the lake. I had some long-forgotten reason to intrude on the adults. They were all sitting down by the water, no doubt laughing along with my own entertaining father, who was endlessly cracking jokes and smoking the Parliaments that would eventually murder him.
I approached and noticed one man sitting there who looked vaguely familiar, but, then again, not. I sort of knew the face, but who was this slightly-chubby man, in the sun-glasses, colorful shirt, and bermuda shorts, chuckling along with the others?
A pause, and a Revelation.
It was our Rabbi, James I. Gordon, who I had never seen outside of the dark-suit, solemn-intonation, divinely-infused world of our Conservative schul. The world expanded at that moment.
A footnote: Decades later, after I had moved to Portland, Oregon, I happened to see a VERY young Rabbi Gordon in an old photograph. Turns out that, before he went to Elmira, one of his first posts was out here. At that moment, he and I were strangely linked, both having made a transfer between Portland and Elmira, at different times, in opposite directions, for entirely different reasons.
I digressed again.
The next memory has me in the water, looking up at the dock, where adults were sitting in the sun. They were quietly talking and one of them held up the newspaper, whose very large headline said 'MM DEAD'.
I was 10 at that time, and, now, at 63, it's easy for me to imagine folks of that generation getting conversational fodder out of the question 'do you remember when you heard that Marilyn Monroe died?'.
1962 was the time of their middle-age: kids, work, friends, the daily news.
Last summer, the family gathered in Elmira for three busy days, for the funeral of my 101 year-old uncle. After the burial (full military honors), I walked around the cemetery and visited my parents, all four grandparents, and several of our family friends, many of whom were at Keuka Lake the day Marilyn died.
My only memory of that day is that headline.
I no doubt went back to enjoying the water and looking forward to dinner, not knowing what I now know: that Soviet missles were heading towards Cuba, that Lyndon Johnson would be the next President, that John, Paul and George had just replaced Pete with Ringo, and that, more than fifty years later, I would understand the inevitability of my time becoming the quaint, innocent past.
It's only natural to look back at earlier times and wonder 'what the heck were they thinking?'. Imagine the incredulity of our descendants, when they do the same.
Every morning, my mother would listen to the 'CBS World News Roundup' on the radio, as we ate breakfast. I vivdly remember the one magical morning, when Richard (C.) Hottelet announced that 'this morning, the coldest place in the country is Elmira, New York', before moving onto the next story. We glowed with the sense of being, for a brief moment, nationally recognized.
But I digress.
The flip-side to the brutal winters was the endless, humid, firefly-filled summer. Our best friends had a house on Keuka Lake, and many weeks were spent there - just the Moms and kids. The Dads continued working, of course - we never thought about them, just trusted that they would appear on weekends.
The world of adults rarely had any impact on the daily swimming, boating, and explorations that filled our days. This is appropriate - meals and calamine lotion just appeared, as needed.
Every once in a while, we got a glimpse of a world beyond the lake. One summer, the original cast recording of 'West Side Story' showed up, and we played it over and over, amazed at both the music and Anita's inflection as she snarled 'A boy like that, who keeled your brother..'.
Among the abundant child-centered memories, I can only bring-up two where the adults were front and center.
One weekend, several of our parents' friends came out, to spend an afternoon at the lake. I had some long-forgotten reason to intrude on the adults. They were all sitting down by the water, no doubt laughing along with my own entertaining father, who was endlessly cracking jokes and smoking the Parliaments that would eventually murder him.
I approached and noticed one man sitting there who looked vaguely familiar, but, then again, not. I sort of knew the face, but who was this slightly-chubby man, in the sun-glasses, colorful shirt, and bermuda shorts, chuckling along with the others?
A pause, and a Revelation.
It was our Rabbi, James I. Gordon, who I had never seen outside of the dark-suit, solemn-intonation, divinely-infused world of our Conservative schul. The world expanded at that moment.
A footnote: Decades later, after I had moved to Portland, Oregon, I happened to see a VERY young Rabbi Gordon in an old photograph. Turns out that, before he went to Elmira, one of his first posts was out here. At that moment, he and I were strangely linked, both having made a transfer between Portland and Elmira, at different times, in opposite directions, for entirely different reasons.
I digressed again.
The next memory has me in the water, looking up at the dock, where adults were sitting in the sun. They were quietly talking and one of them held up the newspaper, whose very large headline said 'MM DEAD'.
I was 10 at that time, and, now, at 63, it's easy for me to imagine folks of that generation getting conversational fodder out of the question 'do you remember when you heard that Marilyn Monroe died?'.
1962 was the time of their middle-age: kids, work, friends, the daily news.
Last summer, the family gathered in Elmira for three busy days, for the funeral of my 101 year-old uncle. After the burial (full military honors), I walked around the cemetery and visited my parents, all four grandparents, and several of our family friends, many of whom were at Keuka Lake the day Marilyn died.
My only memory of that day is that headline.
I no doubt went back to enjoying the water and looking forward to dinner, not knowing what I now know: that Soviet missles were heading towards Cuba, that Lyndon Johnson would be the next President, that John, Paul and George had just replaced Pete with Ringo, and that, more than fifty years later, I would understand the inevitability of my time becoming the quaint, innocent past.
It's only natural to look back at earlier times and wonder 'what the heck were they thinking?'. Imagine the incredulity of our descendants, when they do the same.
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