Oops!
My readers informed me that Norman Lear is indeed alive. I am very happy about that. I never meant him any harm. Somewhere among Maude and Archie, I mistakenly thought he had also joined the list along with “Weezy” Jefferson.
Mr. Lear is alive and well and living in California. He owns the only copy of the Declaration of Independence to be found in private hands. The Norman Lear Center at USC is a research and public policy center devoted to multidisciplinary studies bridging entertainment, commerce, and society. He founded PFAW, People For The American Way, a liberal advocacy group.
So, why did I think otherwise? Why did I kill off Norman Lear?
Lear brought us biting social commentary. Albeit, sometimes misunderstood and misappropriated. I miss that. I am tired of bad singers becoming major talents. I am bored with sexually-driven comedy. One reality show per decade is enough. I am not interested in Tiger’s “on air” confession. I want Oprah to learn the joy of anonymous charity, but I digress.
Can you imagine missing the collision with the station wagon filled with nuns had Loretta Haggers been able to do “American Idol” instead?
I have become my father in the fact that I am constantly scouring the newspaper. My friends know that it will be the New York Times. Those who follow these “elder rantings” also are aware of my frustrations with the very vocal conservatives who seem to relentlessly attack the ideals and programs of which I feel so strongly otherwise. I get very excited when David Brooks agrees with the President. I worry that Evan Bayh has given up the fight.
Maybe I feared that the voice of the left has grown too quiet. If you compromise you ideals enough, there is nothing left to challenge the spirit.
Maybe I worry that politics is now considered a career path rather than a way to give something back to your country. If it is your “job” you worry about being re-elected. If it is your service, you do so until you are told you are no longer needed.
I wonder if the “Right-wing” would be upset if they were aware that the entire concept of Left versus Right grew out of France? Mr. Jones and Mr. Ney, any comments?
Enough with the bickering. There are people in need. Serve them!
Welcome back Norman, and thanks. Your premature death was an exaggeration.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Dinner With Alex Baldwin
No, I did not!
Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. For those who do not follow the liturgical ordering of the year in the Christian Church, Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, a time of introspection and penitence leading up to the Easter celebration.
And pray to God to have mercy upon us
As I drove to my church for an early meeting, my radio was tuned to my favorite WFMT, the classical music station in Chicago. The station tends to observe on air fundraising far more often than I observe Ash Wednesday. So yesterday, a bleak, cold, grey day in Chicago, was filled with the bantering about contributing to WFMT. For $25,000, I could have dinner with Alex Baldwin in New York City.
Wow, my ears perked up!
The dinner would take place at a fine restaurant (not named) and the recipient would be housed in a top New York Hotel (also not named.) If the New York Philharmonic was in town on the mutually agreed upon date, it would also include tickets to the performance. Now with the performance in the mix, this means that your time with Alex would be greatly diminished unless he is one of those who whispers during concerts. That, depending upon your interests, could be a plus or a minus. Not the whispering, but the amount of time with Alex.
I would assume that since it was to take place in a top-rated restaurant, there would be a good wine. Would this mean you would wind up hearing the “nitty-gritty” of “the divorce” once Alex was oiled? Would he tell all about Tina Fey?
This could be like living in a tabloid.
In the course of Ash Wednesday afternoon, I got a message from a dear friend who discovered he had lost his job: a victim of the economy. This news was disheartening. His spouse had received the same news over a year ago and was still looking for a brighter economic future. He too, would now join in the seemingly hopeless search. The day became darker and it was more than just the passing of time toward dusk.
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us
I knew that the Ash Wednesday service would provide no moments of rejoicing. It is somber. It is quiet. We gave up Alleluia last Sunday. You hear phrases about ashes and dust. You think about your mortality. It is dark outside and it is dark inside and you have friends who are hurting. You have friends who are seriously ill. There is death among the church family.
It is now more about cactus than about roses, except for the thorns.
The service began.
The ashes, derived from the burning of last year's palms waved jubilantly the week before Easter, were imposed upon my head. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Later, at home, looking into the mirror, the mark was more of a blur than a cross.
Is this symbolic? Has my faith become blurred?
Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.
I recall many years ago making a promise to myself to never become jaded in my expectations for the best in all I was involved; to never give up hope. Life is more than taxes and rabid conservatives. Life is more than Democrats and Republicans. Life is greater than all this.
Ash Wednesday is a reminder of mortality and at the same time a promise of light.
So, Alex, I will pass on the dinner. I will use that meal to spend time with those who form the world I most treasure. I will try to listen. I will try to learn. I will try to support. I will try to be complete.
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.
Ash Wednesday, T. S. Eliot
Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. For those who do not follow the liturgical ordering of the year in the Christian Church, Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, a time of introspection and penitence leading up to the Easter celebration.
And pray to God to have mercy upon us
As I drove to my church for an early meeting, my radio was tuned to my favorite WFMT, the classical music station in Chicago. The station tends to observe on air fundraising far more often than I observe Ash Wednesday. So yesterday, a bleak, cold, grey day in Chicago, was filled with the bantering about contributing to WFMT. For $25,000, I could have dinner with Alex Baldwin in New York City.
Wow, my ears perked up!
The dinner would take place at a fine restaurant (not named) and the recipient would be housed in a top New York Hotel (also not named.) If the New York Philharmonic was in town on the mutually agreed upon date, it would also include tickets to the performance. Now with the performance in the mix, this means that your time with Alex would be greatly diminished unless he is one of those who whispers during concerts. That, depending upon your interests, could be a plus or a minus. Not the whispering, but the amount of time with Alex.
I would assume that since it was to take place in a top-rated restaurant, there would be a good wine. Would this mean you would wind up hearing the “nitty-gritty” of “the divorce” once Alex was oiled? Would he tell all about Tina Fey?
This could be like living in a tabloid.
In the course of Ash Wednesday afternoon, I got a message from a dear friend who discovered he had lost his job: a victim of the economy. This news was disheartening. His spouse had received the same news over a year ago and was still looking for a brighter economic future. He too, would now join in the seemingly hopeless search. The day became darker and it was more than just the passing of time toward dusk.
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us
I knew that the Ash Wednesday service would provide no moments of rejoicing. It is somber. It is quiet. We gave up Alleluia last Sunday. You hear phrases about ashes and dust. You think about your mortality. It is dark outside and it is dark inside and you have friends who are hurting. You have friends who are seriously ill. There is death among the church family.
It is now more about cactus than about roses, except for the thorns.
The service began.
The ashes, derived from the burning of last year's palms waved jubilantly the week before Easter, were imposed upon my head. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Later, at home, looking into the mirror, the mark was more of a blur than a cross.
Is this symbolic? Has my faith become blurred?
Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.
I recall many years ago making a promise to myself to never become jaded in my expectations for the best in all I was involved; to never give up hope. Life is more than taxes and rabid conservatives. Life is more than Democrats and Republicans. Life is greater than all this.
Ash Wednesday is a reminder of mortality and at the same time a promise of light.
So, Alex, I will pass on the dinner. I will use that meal to spend time with those who form the world I most treasure. I will try to listen. I will try to learn. I will try to support. I will try to be complete.
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.
Ash Wednesday, T. S. Eliot
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
His Finest Hour
Henry Bamford Parkes in his book, “The American Experience,” observes that our nation accomplished its existence not through the recognition of the reality of things but rather through a “state of the mind.” His argument was that had the early settlers given in to the harshness of their state of being they would have given up the struggle to be. Instead, they continued to toil for the evolution of this country because of their vision, ‘their state of the mind.”
Recently, while waiting to discuss a potential real estate matter with my banker in Alabama, I sat outside the office able to hear the conversation taking place inside. The door was open so I was not eavesdropping. The gentleman who was there to discuss the purchase of a vehicle – a man of over 50, I would guess – had moved his remarks from the financing of the new wheels to a recent trip he had made to Washington, DC. My ears perked up when I heard him mention that “this was the finest and greatest thing I have ever done.”
I was expecting him to speak of seeing the monuments to the development of our nation and to the great people who had been instrumental in this endeavor. I thought perhaps he might mention the awe of viewing the copy of the Declaration of Independence. Instead, he clarified the moment with the explanation that he had attended the Tea Party March in September 2009.
His finest moment.
I wanted to rush out and find something more profound for this man’s finest hour, but then remembered my sister’s constant mantra: “not everyone thinks like you.”
I also remembered the late Norman Lear.
You will recall that Lear created “Archie Bunker” (the idea borrowed from a British sitcom) to poke at the sensibility of the American mind by presenting a character so “out there” as to remind us all of our narrowness and bigotry. However, instead of being rebuked, there was a groundswell of folks who held Archie as “just like me.” They loved this man because he shared their same vision. As late as 2008, the Archie Bunker label was being used to describe a block of voters in the elections in that year.
Our country loves the anti-intellectual. We love our “folksy” types.
I recall a great cartoon, which portrayed both George Bush and John Kerry appearing before the crowd at a Nascar racing event. Bush remarked something to the order of “how y’all doing?” John Kerry said “Greetings, race car aficionados!” Well, you know the results of that election.
In the early 1960s, Richard Hofstadter wrote “Anti-intellectualism in American Life.” It was written after the defeat of Adlai Stevenson, a man who refused to “dumb-down” his discourse for a more popular appeal. In truth, there were other factors at play in the elections of that period. But Hofstadter’s look at three aspects of our culture: religion, commerce, and democracy to understand the role of distrust of intellectualism at play has great validity.
The conservative movement, most especially the “tea partiers” play on the fears and distrusts of intellectual thought. The current administration is portrayed as thinking about the process but doing nothing. I personally would rather have a reasoned Nobel Laureate in the cabinet working through a problem than a good old boy from down home reacting from unreasoned emotion. Unreasoned approaches have landed us in quite a mess.
Sarah, you know, the one from Wasilla who coined the healthcare “death panels”, recently spoke before the Tea Party Convention at Opry Land. In assailing the current administration, she asked, "How's that hope-y, change-y stuff workin' out for you?" This while encouraging the audience to revolt! (Isn’t that change?) She even took a jab at the President’s use of a teleprompter. Yet, she was caught checking “crib notes” written on her hand to stay on track.
“Sarah Palin writes notes on her hand just like I do when I go to the Piggly-Wiggly.” People identify with this. Will “Cliffsnotes” become our finest hour?
Palin’s track was attack. She offered no ideas. Where are the solutions? Where is the vision? We are becoming a nation of fear and negative thought and I am frankly worried.
And the attacks? They are like a limbo pole: “how low can you go?” Consider this:
Some in the media recently characterized President Obama as “elitist” for wanting a “spicy, Dijon mustard” (made by Kraft in Illinois) on his hamburger. Were these the same people who insisted that certain staples on the burger plate be referred to as “Freedom Fries?” No, that was conservative members of our congress trying to one-up a reasoned approach by France to the idiocy of the Iraq War. French toast soon followed.
For the record, an earlier, well-respected, highly intelligent President, Thomas Jefferson, first referred to potatoes cooked “in the French manner.”
So where is the real America?
The statue in the New York harbor, a gift from France to commemorate the first centennial of our country, was created by Auguste Bartholi and called “Liberty Enlightening the World.” It is not merely Liberty “lighting” the world, but “enlightening” which bears the responsibility to furnish knowledge and insight. It is not about “me and mine” but about “ours.”
Shall we take the position of liberty as a protector or Liberty an enabler? In our finest hours, it has always been the latter.
Will our sense of “enlightenment” be only a “state of the mind” while fear and selfishness become our reality?
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses …”
Recently, while waiting to discuss a potential real estate matter with my banker in Alabama, I sat outside the office able to hear the conversation taking place inside. The door was open so I was not eavesdropping. The gentleman who was there to discuss the purchase of a vehicle – a man of over 50, I would guess – had moved his remarks from the financing of the new wheels to a recent trip he had made to Washington, DC. My ears perked up when I heard him mention that “this was the finest and greatest thing I have ever done.”
I was expecting him to speak of seeing the monuments to the development of our nation and to the great people who had been instrumental in this endeavor. I thought perhaps he might mention the awe of viewing the copy of the Declaration of Independence. Instead, he clarified the moment with the explanation that he had attended the Tea Party March in September 2009.
His finest moment.
I wanted to rush out and find something more profound for this man’s finest hour, but then remembered my sister’s constant mantra: “not everyone thinks like you.”
I also remembered the late Norman Lear.
You will recall that Lear created “Archie Bunker” (the idea borrowed from a British sitcom) to poke at the sensibility of the American mind by presenting a character so “out there” as to remind us all of our narrowness and bigotry. However, instead of being rebuked, there was a groundswell of folks who held Archie as “just like me.” They loved this man because he shared their same vision. As late as 2008, the Archie Bunker label was being used to describe a block of voters in the elections in that year.
Our country loves the anti-intellectual. We love our “folksy” types.
I recall a great cartoon, which portrayed both George Bush and John Kerry appearing before the crowd at a Nascar racing event. Bush remarked something to the order of “how y’all doing?” John Kerry said “Greetings, race car aficionados!” Well, you know the results of that election.
In the early 1960s, Richard Hofstadter wrote “Anti-intellectualism in American Life.” It was written after the defeat of Adlai Stevenson, a man who refused to “dumb-down” his discourse for a more popular appeal. In truth, there were other factors at play in the elections of that period. But Hofstadter’s look at three aspects of our culture: religion, commerce, and democracy to understand the role of distrust of intellectualism at play has great validity.
The conservative movement, most especially the “tea partiers” play on the fears and distrusts of intellectual thought. The current administration is portrayed as thinking about the process but doing nothing. I personally would rather have a reasoned Nobel Laureate in the cabinet working through a problem than a good old boy from down home reacting from unreasoned emotion. Unreasoned approaches have landed us in quite a mess.
Sarah, you know, the one from Wasilla who coined the healthcare “death panels”, recently spoke before the Tea Party Convention at Opry Land. In assailing the current administration, she asked, "How's that hope-y, change-y stuff workin' out for you?" This while encouraging the audience to revolt! (Isn’t that change?) She even took a jab at the President’s use of a teleprompter. Yet, she was caught checking “crib notes” written on her hand to stay on track.
“Sarah Palin writes notes on her hand just like I do when I go to the Piggly-Wiggly.” People identify with this. Will “Cliffsnotes” become our finest hour?
Palin’s track was attack. She offered no ideas. Where are the solutions? Where is the vision? We are becoming a nation of fear and negative thought and I am frankly worried.
And the attacks? They are like a limbo pole: “how low can you go?” Consider this:
Some in the media recently characterized President Obama as “elitist” for wanting a “spicy, Dijon mustard” (made by Kraft in Illinois) on his hamburger. Were these the same people who insisted that certain staples on the burger plate be referred to as “Freedom Fries?” No, that was conservative members of our congress trying to one-up a reasoned approach by France to the idiocy of the Iraq War. French toast soon followed.
For the record, an earlier, well-respected, highly intelligent President, Thomas Jefferson, first referred to potatoes cooked “in the French manner.”
So where is the real America?
The statue in the New York harbor, a gift from France to commemorate the first centennial of our country, was created by Auguste Bartholi and called “Liberty Enlightening the World.” It is not merely Liberty “lighting” the world, but “enlightening” which bears the responsibility to furnish knowledge and insight. It is not about “me and mine” but about “ours.”
Shall we take the position of liberty as a protector or Liberty an enabler? In our finest hours, it has always been the latter.
Will our sense of “enlightenment” be only a “state of the mind” while fear and selfishness become our reality?
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses …”
Time Away
Sorry for the time away, but I was down South dealing with stuff. Hopefully, I will have time now to answer the muse responsibly.
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