Say What You Mean . . . Mean What You Say
This morning on the way to work a small, black car passed me up on the freeway. On the rear bumper of the car was a sticker that read, simply, "Meat Is Murder."
Uh, huh. The pretty young woman driving the car was obviously intent upon getting somewhere, probably school, judging from her age and the several other bumper stickers she'd affixed to the back of her car. I wished that I could pull her over and ask her about meat being murder. This is what I would have asked: "Do you really believe meat is murder?" If she said no - discussion over. But somehow I doubt that she would say no. Rather, I think she would have felt compelled to defend the inane statement made on the bumper sticker. So, let's just assume she says "Yeah, of course it is. It's killing another living creature," or some such drivel as that.
So, now that we've set the scene, what would you say to her? Would you agree? Would you try and explain why it's ok to kill other living creatures? For my part, I would just ask her this: "So, you believe that the police should march into that McDonalds down the street and arrest everyone in there eating meat as accessories to murder, and maybe the owner, manager and crew as pre-meditated murderers? Is that what you believe?"
You know, she might say, "Yeah, that's what I believe," but somehow I don't think that she'd really mean it, if push came to shove and, say, her 18-year-old brother happened to be in there among the accessories. Nor do I believe that most of the people who will tell you that "Abortion is murder," or "Fur is murder" would want their sisters or daughters or sons actually prosecuted for murder for having an abortion or for wearing fur. Some crazies would, of course, but I think even the people out there spouting these poorly conceived arguments would, for the most part, be up in arms about that - as well they should.
If you truly believe that abortion is murder, you should be willing to allow your daughter to be arrested, tried, and either imprisoned or executed for having one. If you're just willing to have her jailed for, say, five years, then abortion must be somewhere on a par with burglary. If you're only willing that she pay a fine, then abortion has fallen from murder to a misdemeanor.
I won't get into the scientific defenses of abortion here, because they always form a slippery slope as to when the act is moral and acceptable and when it isn't. Abortion is a moral choice. I do not mean by that that it is always moral to choose abortion, but that is a choice based in one's personal morality. In my mind, one may choose the first abortion and have made a morally defensible choice, but by the third - absent extraordinary circumstances - that choice should begin looking much less defensible, if only because one should avoid placing oneself in morally compromising positions. Everyone is entitled to a few mistakes on the road to maturity, but a few is a few, and they shouldn't be a few of the same one over and over again, either.
So, is meat murder? If you think so and you've ever eaten a hamburger, better turn yourself in and throw yourself upon the mercy of the court. I won't hold my breath.
More on a corrollary topic next time . . .
Hot dog! gentle reader
Monday, July 15, 2002
Why Do This?
Why would anyone anonymously publish their thoughts where just anybody can see them? I've been asking myself that for the past couple of weeks. Maybe that's the reason I haven't posted anything here in about that long. Or maybe it's just that I've been busy.
But, seriously, what's in it for me - or for any online journalist? (in the original sense of that word)
I've read some online journals that read like the babblings of a six-year-old. One wonders if the writers are somehow being satirical. I've read others that read like an extended singles ad - for someone who's not single. I've begun to think that this blogging stuff is kind of like fishing, except you're mind (or lack of same) is the bait. The question then becomes, who are you trying to catch?
I've thought about that, and I've wished that I would get replies to some of these things (no luck so far.) As long as they were intelligent, I wouldn't much care if the replies agreed with me. I suppose one just wishes for a conversation with someone other than oneself. In fact, a good fight would be quite a bit more interesting than a lovefest.
Have you noticed how the anonymity of the Internet has bred a certain kind of boor? The anonymous kind? The kind who, protected by their anonymity, will "say" things they would never have the courage to say in person? I'm not talking about expressing opinions. That might be cowardly, but it's not necessarily boorish. I mean the kind who will call perfectly polite fellow humans insulting names, or act as though they wish to fight when fighting (other than with words) is an impossibility.
Case in point: I've played a few computer games online with anonymous others. In one game, Close Combat, the community of people who play it have a rigorous standard of etiquette. Persons who violate that standard pretty quickly become pariahs, and can no longer get a game. Oddly enough, sometimes a real jerk - because he/she enjoys the game so much - will rejoin the community under a different handle and behave perfectly well after that. If I had to generalize, I would say that strategists tend to be more polite than real-time (read: fighting) gamers, but I've seen all varieties of behavior in both communities. The interesting thing is that the community really does have some power, if a person has no other outlet to enjoy the competition the community provides.
I suppose the pseudonym I've chosen here says quite a bit about why I bother to post these things that hardly anyone else will read. If I locate just one honest person - preferably with a bit of character to accompany the honesty - who knows what might happen after that?
In vino veritas, gentle reader.
Why would anyone anonymously publish their thoughts where just anybody can see them? I've been asking myself that for the past couple of weeks. Maybe that's the reason I haven't posted anything here in about that long. Or maybe it's just that I've been busy.
But, seriously, what's in it for me - or for any online journalist? (in the original sense of that word)
I've read some online journals that read like the babblings of a six-year-old. One wonders if the writers are somehow being satirical. I've read others that read like an extended singles ad - for someone who's not single. I've begun to think that this blogging stuff is kind of like fishing, except you're mind (or lack of same) is the bait. The question then becomes, who are you trying to catch?
I've thought about that, and I've wished that I would get replies to some of these things (no luck so far.) As long as they were intelligent, I wouldn't much care if the replies agreed with me. I suppose one just wishes for a conversation with someone other than oneself. In fact, a good fight would be quite a bit more interesting than a lovefest.
Have you noticed how the anonymity of the Internet has bred a certain kind of boor? The anonymous kind? The kind who, protected by their anonymity, will "say" things they would never have the courage to say in person? I'm not talking about expressing opinions. That might be cowardly, but it's not necessarily boorish. I mean the kind who will call perfectly polite fellow humans insulting names, or act as though they wish to fight when fighting (other than with words) is an impossibility.
Case in point: I've played a few computer games online with anonymous others. In one game, Close Combat, the community of people who play it have a rigorous standard of etiquette. Persons who violate that standard pretty quickly become pariahs, and can no longer get a game. Oddly enough, sometimes a real jerk - because he/she enjoys the game so much - will rejoin the community under a different handle and behave perfectly well after that. If I had to generalize, I would say that strategists tend to be more polite than real-time (read: fighting) gamers, but I've seen all varieties of behavior in both communities. The interesting thing is that the community really does have some power, if a person has no other outlet to enjoy the competition the community provides.
I suppose the pseudonym I've chosen here says quite a bit about why I bother to post these things that hardly anyone else will read. If I locate just one honest person - preferably with a bit of character to accompany the honesty - who knows what might happen after that?
In vino veritas, gentle reader.
Monday, June 24, 2002
What Will Work In Israel?
It seems as though most of the world has given up hope for peace between Israel and the Palestinians. It seems to me that we've seen, over and over, in the last ten years or so that sitting on the sidelines (in Rwanda, in the former Yugoslavia, etc.) produces more death. Are we hoping that we won't lose allies by only interfering a little bit in this conflict? We continue to pressure Israel to respect Palestinian human rights (and for the vast majority of Palestinians this is precisely the posture we should take) while groups like Hamas and the Al Aqsa Martyrs' Brigade continue to send young Palestinians into Israel to kill Israelis (and whoever else might be standing around) indiscriminately.
Have their been wrongs and overreactions committed on both sides? Certainly, but Israel does make an attempt to respond militarily, and they do continue to set out reasonable (ie: stop the suicide attacks) conditions for continuing peace talks. Is Ariel Sharon more of a hawk than previous Israeli prime ministers? Most certainly. If there had been more peace and stability within the borders of Israel prior to his election would he have been elected? Probably not.
So, it really has gone past the idea of what should we do, or what can we do that will protect our political influence. We have reached the point of considering: What will work?
Station one quarter of the U.S.'s military in Israel; establish a de-militarized zone between Israel and the newly-created Palestinian state; enforce the peace in said state with U.S. military; create a viable infrastructure (schools, utilities, non-aligned government offices, industry, etc.) in Palestine; enforce separation while promoting trade; be prepared to sustain casualties; tell the other Arab states to butt out.
Yes, I'm aware of all of the flack we'll take if we do this. On the other hand, I think we'd probably take at least 75% of that flack no matter what we do.
Argument: We need Middle-Eastern oil.
Response: Who else are they going to sell it to?
Argument: We'll increase the likelihood of terror attacks.
Response: We're told daily that the likelihood of future terror attacks is 100%. Let's get something for the risk we run, and a peaceable Israel and Palestine will eventually lessen the likelihood of terror attacks.
Argument: We would be violating both the Israelis and the Palestinians human rights.
Response: In the short run, probably, In the long run, the right not to be suddenly killed probably trumps other rights, since without that right there is no long run.
I've told a couple of friends about this idea, with varying responses. Generally, I'm told how either the Israelis, the Palestinians, or the rest of the Middle Eastern countries won't stand for it. Yes, they will. They won't like it. They'll rattle their sabers. There will be more terror attacks, but as long as we keep the peace in Palestine those attacks will end up eventually being unsponsored. Terror is here to stay, unfortunately. It is the only method of war that favors the undeveloped over the developed. It's (relatively) cheap, and although its casualties are enormous percentage-wise, they're trivial in actual numbers. That's the whole point of terrorism.
What we need right now in the Middle East is to force the combatants into neutral corners, and make them stay there until they both feel safe enough to trust each other just a little bit. Did you notice how nice everybody was the week after September 11th? Christ, the Pakistanis just flat-out switched sides and disavowed the Taliban, because of their support of Al Quaeda. Do you think they did that because they all of a sudden started liking us? They did it because they were scared that Pakistan would become the annex to the big, all-new Afghanistan parking lot.
There is grave danger in using the kind of political and military power that the U.S. now possesses. Unfortunately, there is also grave danger in not using it. Me? I prefer to be the instigator and creator of my own fate.
Shalom, gentle reader
It seems as though most of the world has given up hope for peace between Israel and the Palestinians. It seems to me that we've seen, over and over, in the last ten years or so that sitting on the sidelines (in Rwanda, in the former Yugoslavia, etc.) produces more death. Are we hoping that we won't lose allies by only interfering a little bit in this conflict? We continue to pressure Israel to respect Palestinian human rights (and for the vast majority of Palestinians this is precisely the posture we should take) while groups like Hamas and the Al Aqsa Martyrs' Brigade continue to send young Palestinians into Israel to kill Israelis (and whoever else might be standing around) indiscriminately.
Have their been wrongs and overreactions committed on both sides? Certainly, but Israel does make an attempt to respond militarily, and they do continue to set out reasonable (ie: stop the suicide attacks) conditions for continuing peace talks. Is Ariel Sharon more of a hawk than previous Israeli prime ministers? Most certainly. If there had been more peace and stability within the borders of Israel prior to his election would he have been elected? Probably not.
So, it really has gone past the idea of what should we do, or what can we do that will protect our political influence. We have reached the point of considering: What will work?
Station one quarter of the U.S.'s military in Israel; establish a de-militarized zone between Israel and the newly-created Palestinian state; enforce the peace in said state with U.S. military; create a viable infrastructure (schools, utilities, non-aligned government offices, industry, etc.) in Palestine; enforce separation while promoting trade; be prepared to sustain casualties; tell the other Arab states to butt out.
Yes, I'm aware of all of the flack we'll take if we do this. On the other hand, I think we'd probably take at least 75% of that flack no matter what we do.
Argument: We need Middle-Eastern oil.
Response: Who else are they going to sell it to?
Argument: We'll increase the likelihood of terror attacks.
Response: We're told daily that the likelihood of future terror attacks is 100%. Let's get something for the risk we run, and a peaceable Israel and Palestine will eventually lessen the likelihood of terror attacks.
Argument: We would be violating both the Israelis and the Palestinians human rights.
Response: In the short run, probably, In the long run, the right not to be suddenly killed probably trumps other rights, since without that right there is no long run.
I've told a couple of friends about this idea, with varying responses. Generally, I'm told how either the Israelis, the Palestinians, or the rest of the Middle Eastern countries won't stand for it. Yes, they will. They won't like it. They'll rattle their sabers. There will be more terror attacks, but as long as we keep the peace in Palestine those attacks will end up eventually being unsponsored. Terror is here to stay, unfortunately. It is the only method of war that favors the undeveloped over the developed. It's (relatively) cheap, and although its casualties are enormous percentage-wise, they're trivial in actual numbers. That's the whole point of terrorism.
What we need right now in the Middle East is to force the combatants into neutral corners, and make them stay there until they both feel safe enough to trust each other just a little bit. Did you notice how nice everybody was the week after September 11th? Christ, the Pakistanis just flat-out switched sides and disavowed the Taliban, because of their support of Al Quaeda. Do you think they did that because they all of a sudden started liking us? They did it because they were scared that Pakistan would become the annex to the big, all-new Afghanistan parking lot.
There is grave danger in using the kind of political and military power that the U.S. now possesses. Unfortunately, there is also grave danger in not using it. Me? I prefer to be the instigator and creator of my own fate.
Shalom, gentle reader
Friday, June 21, 2002
Query: Is the existence of a supreme being necessary for morality?
If you read much, you've probably read somewhere (and I'm paraphrasing) "In a universe without God, all things are allowable." Why is that so? It doesn't seem to make sense, when you think about it. Is it allowable to cancel the law of gravity? Is it allowable for mammals to breathe Malt-O-Meal instead of oxygen? I mean, in the most ridiculous sense of the word "possible" it is possible for those things to occur, but the existence or non-existence of a supreme being doesn't seem to make much difference.
Some of the most moral - and rational - people ever to live have been non-believers. I hasten to point out the distinction between a non-believer and an atheist. A non-believer (agnostic, if you will) hears a religious person say "I firmly believe in the existence of God," to which a non-believer would say "I'm not sure I believe that," or "I really don't see sufficient evidence either to confirm or deny the existence of God, therefore I have formed no belief either way." An atheist would say, "You're wrong. There is no God." For believers this has become a distinction without a difference. An agnostic is an atheist is an agnostic, ad infinitum.
Now, of these three possible attitudes, which is the most honest? Well, the agnostic of course. Believers in God readily admit that there is no proof of God's existence. Same deal with atheists. Well, if there's no proof there's no reason to form a belief. Yeah, yeah, I've heard all the sophistry from both sides. Do you have to go visit your money in the bank to believe it's there? No, but neither am I betting the entire future of the universe and everything in it on whether or not my money's in the bank. Also, if I kept going to the bank and asking for my money and they kept telling me "You just have to have faith that your money's here," I would have some serious doubts and a demand for proof - probably in the form of total withdrawal and relocation of all my money - would ensue shortly. Atheists have an easier row to hoe, in that it is impossible to prove a negative, but the belief formed from a total lack of evidence is a pretty flimsy belief. Imagine your watching Law & Order: Sam Waterston's questioning Jerry Orbach: "Detective, what led you to believe that the accused committed this heinous crime?" "Why, that would have to have been the complete lack of evidence as to who committed the crime, sir. Based upon that, it could only have been the accused. Thank God we caught him."
Ok, that argument may have itself been sophistry, but that's only because this question invites it more than any other. The point I'm trying to make is that, if honesty is to be considered a moral value, and it is more honest to say "I am not able, based upon the available evidence, to form a belief one way or the other regarding the existence of God," then morality must be possible absent the existence of God. That statement - just because it contains the word absent - does not pre-suppose that God does not exist, it merely admits the possibility that God does not exist. Whether believers understand it or not, any admission that there is no proof of God's existence is, in and of itself, an admission of the possibility that God does not exist.
'Bet you wish I go back to talking about "the Last Waltz," huh?
Adios, gentle reader
If you read much, you've probably read somewhere (and I'm paraphrasing) "In a universe without God, all things are allowable." Why is that so? It doesn't seem to make sense, when you think about it. Is it allowable to cancel the law of gravity? Is it allowable for mammals to breathe Malt-O-Meal instead of oxygen? I mean, in the most ridiculous sense of the word "possible" it is possible for those things to occur, but the existence or non-existence of a supreme being doesn't seem to make much difference.
Some of the most moral - and rational - people ever to live have been non-believers. I hasten to point out the distinction between a non-believer and an atheist. A non-believer (agnostic, if you will) hears a religious person say "I firmly believe in the existence of God," to which a non-believer would say "I'm not sure I believe that," or "I really don't see sufficient evidence either to confirm or deny the existence of God, therefore I have formed no belief either way." An atheist would say, "You're wrong. There is no God." For believers this has become a distinction without a difference. An agnostic is an atheist is an agnostic, ad infinitum.
Now, of these three possible attitudes, which is the most honest? Well, the agnostic of course. Believers in God readily admit that there is no proof of God's existence. Same deal with atheists. Well, if there's no proof there's no reason to form a belief. Yeah, yeah, I've heard all the sophistry from both sides. Do you have to go visit your money in the bank to believe it's there? No, but neither am I betting the entire future of the universe and everything in it on whether or not my money's in the bank. Also, if I kept going to the bank and asking for my money and they kept telling me "You just have to have faith that your money's here," I would have some serious doubts and a demand for proof - probably in the form of total withdrawal and relocation of all my money - would ensue shortly. Atheists have an easier row to hoe, in that it is impossible to prove a negative, but the belief formed from a total lack of evidence is a pretty flimsy belief. Imagine your watching Law & Order: Sam Waterston's questioning Jerry Orbach: "Detective, what led you to believe that the accused committed this heinous crime?" "Why, that would have to have been the complete lack of evidence as to who committed the crime, sir. Based upon that, it could only have been the accused. Thank God we caught him."
Ok, that argument may have itself been sophistry, but that's only because this question invites it more than any other. The point I'm trying to make is that, if honesty is to be considered a moral value, and it is more honest to say "I am not able, based upon the available evidence, to form a belief one way or the other regarding the existence of God," then morality must be possible absent the existence of God. That statement - just because it contains the word absent - does not pre-suppose that God does not exist, it merely admits the possibility that God does not exist. Whether believers understand it or not, any admission that there is no proof of God's existence is, in and of itself, an admission of the possibility that God does not exist.
'Bet you wish I go back to talking about "the Last Waltz," huh?
Adios, gentle reader
Tuesday, June 18, 2002
The Band's Last Waltz
My son gave me the DVD of "The Last Waltz" for Father's Day. We watched it on Sunday, and I was taken with the idea that the Band somehow had the uncanny - almost mystical - ability to introduce us, as Americans (Americans of the late 60's and early 70's, at that - anarchic Americans) to our agrarian, post-Civil War, southern redneck selves. Quite odd, when you consider that most of them were Canadian. But Levon Helm . . . Levon Helm was that voice - the voice of innocent bigotry. The voice of "don't know no better." The voice of a white man whose family was probably not, at least economically speaking, much better off than many of the Southern blacks he (not Levon himself - I don't know the guy - just the kind of Southern everyman he seemed to represent) purported to be better than.
Why do I say this? Well, just think of their most successful songs and the images they bring to mind. "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" is pretty obvious, but when you hear Levon Helm singing about the Civil War its as though it just happened yesterday, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. The hurt for the land torn asunder, the lost brother, the lost peace. "The Weight," on the other hand is Black gospel. Each of the Band's singers takes a turn at a verse, and in the movie Mavis Staples and Pop Staples of the legendary Staples Singers take their own verses. Pop's verse is the flip side of Levon Helm. A "just a regular guy" black man singing about everyday sadness. Mavis, on the other hand, sounds as though God is in the room with her - and listening intently. Unfortunately for the audience at Bill Graham's Winterland, this performance was done in a studio, and wasn't heard by the attendees to the Last Waltz concert. At the end, Mavis Staples just b r e a t h e s the word: "Beautiful." She couldn't be more right. Then there's "Up on Cripple Creek," one of the sexiest songs ever written, and it sounds like it was written somewhere between 1929 and 1939 - as if Woody Guthrie could've had a grand ol' time singing around the campfire while he and some Okie's passed a jar.
When you look at the Band's personnel, its as unlikely an aggregation as you could imagine. Robbie Robertson - a drop-dead handsome Canadian with a queer cosmopolitanism about him, as well as a certain undercurrent of depravity; Rick Danko and Richard Manuel, two non-urban Canadians with a crazed look in their eyes that makes you wonder if they didn't spend one winter too many snowed in in a cabin by themselves. Garth Hudson, the American North-Easterner so innocent he made the other guys in the band pay him ten bucks a week for "music lessons" so he wouldn't have to lie to his parents (he had to have been in at least his mid-twenties at the time) about getting the money from playing in a band. And Levon Helm, the raw-boned Southerner with a vocal delivery as spare and honest as it is possible to find, and near-demonic sense of drive as a drummer.
When you see them accompanying Bob Dylan on the couple of tunes he performs in the movie, you can feel them holding back, trying not to overwhelm Dylan with their group energy. And Dylan must have known just how outclassed he was, from the standpoint of musicianship. Neil Young, on the other hand, despite his similarity to Dylan in compositional style and vocal style, seems quite comfortable with the Band and turns in one of the best performances of the concert.
But the grand prize must go to Joni Mitchell. I always wonder if it galled her to be so often identified as a "chick singer" when she could so effortlessly outclass most of the male musicians she worked with. Her performance of "Coyote" puts the Band in a place their listeners would never expect to find them - the edge of modern jazz - and they sound quite comfortable, even accomplished in a genre that certainly wasn't their meat and potatoes.
Van Morrison's performance is a revelation, as well. You can almost watch the Band's members looking around at each other and remembering what its like to play Soul music behind a really fine singer - and entertainer. Morrison works the crowd as though he's the opening act at a Chitlin' Circuit roadhouse. Like Avis, they must try harder.
If you haven't seen "the Last Waltz," no matter what your age, its worth a look. You'll see a time - one of the last times, perhaps - where passion and virtuosity met in popular music; where it was no surprise to band members that there might be times when they wouldn't eat, but that was ok; and a time where the audience viewed musicians with both a sense of awe, and a sense of fond familiarity.
Take 'er easy, gentle reader
My son gave me the DVD of "The Last Waltz" for Father's Day. We watched it on Sunday, and I was taken with the idea that the Band somehow had the uncanny - almost mystical - ability to introduce us, as Americans (Americans of the late 60's and early 70's, at that - anarchic Americans) to our agrarian, post-Civil War, southern redneck selves. Quite odd, when you consider that most of them were Canadian. But Levon Helm . . . Levon Helm was that voice - the voice of innocent bigotry. The voice of "don't know no better." The voice of a white man whose family was probably not, at least economically speaking, much better off than many of the Southern blacks he (not Levon himself - I don't know the guy - just the kind of Southern everyman he seemed to represent) purported to be better than.
Why do I say this? Well, just think of their most successful songs and the images they bring to mind. "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" is pretty obvious, but when you hear Levon Helm singing about the Civil War its as though it just happened yesterday, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. The hurt for the land torn asunder, the lost brother, the lost peace. "The Weight," on the other hand is Black gospel. Each of the Band's singers takes a turn at a verse, and in the movie Mavis Staples and Pop Staples of the legendary Staples Singers take their own verses. Pop's verse is the flip side of Levon Helm. A "just a regular guy" black man singing about everyday sadness. Mavis, on the other hand, sounds as though God is in the room with her - and listening intently. Unfortunately for the audience at Bill Graham's Winterland, this performance was done in a studio, and wasn't heard by the attendees to the Last Waltz concert. At the end, Mavis Staples just b r e a t h e s the word: "Beautiful." She couldn't be more right. Then there's "Up on Cripple Creek," one of the sexiest songs ever written, and it sounds like it was written somewhere between 1929 and 1939 - as if Woody Guthrie could've had a grand ol' time singing around the campfire while he and some Okie's passed a jar.
When you look at the Band's personnel, its as unlikely an aggregation as you could imagine. Robbie Robertson - a drop-dead handsome Canadian with a queer cosmopolitanism about him, as well as a certain undercurrent of depravity; Rick Danko and Richard Manuel, two non-urban Canadians with a crazed look in their eyes that makes you wonder if they didn't spend one winter too many snowed in in a cabin by themselves. Garth Hudson, the American North-Easterner so innocent he made the other guys in the band pay him ten bucks a week for "music lessons" so he wouldn't have to lie to his parents (he had to have been in at least his mid-twenties at the time) about getting the money from playing in a band. And Levon Helm, the raw-boned Southerner with a vocal delivery as spare and honest as it is possible to find, and near-demonic sense of drive as a drummer.
When you see them accompanying Bob Dylan on the couple of tunes he performs in the movie, you can feel them holding back, trying not to overwhelm Dylan with their group energy. And Dylan must have known just how outclassed he was, from the standpoint of musicianship. Neil Young, on the other hand, despite his similarity to Dylan in compositional style and vocal style, seems quite comfortable with the Band and turns in one of the best performances of the concert.
But the grand prize must go to Joni Mitchell. I always wonder if it galled her to be so often identified as a "chick singer" when she could so effortlessly outclass most of the male musicians she worked with. Her performance of "Coyote" puts the Band in a place their listeners would never expect to find them - the edge of modern jazz - and they sound quite comfortable, even accomplished in a genre that certainly wasn't their meat and potatoes.
Van Morrison's performance is a revelation, as well. You can almost watch the Band's members looking around at each other and remembering what its like to play Soul music behind a really fine singer - and entertainer. Morrison works the crowd as though he's the opening act at a Chitlin' Circuit roadhouse. Like Avis, they must try harder.
If you haven't seen "the Last Waltz," no matter what your age, its worth a look. You'll see a time - one of the last times, perhaps - where passion and virtuosity met in popular music; where it was no surprise to band members that there might be times when they wouldn't eat, but that was ok; and a time where the audience viewed musicians with both a sense of awe, and a sense of fond familiarity.
Take 'er easy, gentle reader
Friday, June 14, 2002
A Broken Clockwork Orange
I've always felt that one thing that's kept me from writing seriously is that one needs to forget about who might get hurt by what one writes, and I've always had trouble doing that. Do I really want my Mom to know what I think of her? Did I really want whichever woman I was with to know how much I thought about other women? Do I really want to look back twenty years later and see just how full of shit I was?
Well, obviously, the answer has been "no" to all of those questions. But now, at the dawn of the 21st century, we can practice as much gratuitous textual masturbation as we like, in relative anonymity. What a world. Gee, I'm glad I live here. Another blow for our right to live responsibility-free lives. On the other hand, it feels a bit cowardly to publish this stuff and not invite comment. So, discretion being the better part of valor, I've decided I'll just resort to having the best of both worlds and use a pseudonym.
I watched a video biography of Stanley Kubrick the other day, and since he made so few movies it was possible to address each of them individually. Hence, there was a section just about "A Clockwork Orange." The movie was taken, of course, from Anthony Burgess's book. So, it was Burgess who "vidied" that horrid future world. The question must now be asked, however, "Is the present world better or worse than the creepily-imagined future of the book?"
Apparently, immediately after the movie was released in Britain, hundreds of crimes were attributed to people emulating what they'd seen in the movie. So much so that Kubrick - who lived in Britain - successfully lobbied the studio to withdraw the movie's release in Britain - while it was still number one in attendance.
What, you may well ask, has this to do with the matter at hand at the beginning of this post? In the first instance, not much. But then it does make a certain sense in a stream-of-consciousness kind of way. I bemoan (while celebrating) one more way of dodging personal responsibility, and then I think of the group of toughs in "A Clockwork Orange," who are pros at responsibility dodging. Then, I wonder if this world is better or worse than that world. Then, I remember that Kubrick committed what today would be an unheard of act of altruism, not to mention unheard of artistic humility, based upon his fear that his work was either having a negative societal impact, or was at least perceived to be having such an effect. (Whew! Heavy weather in the stream of consciousness today.)
Oh, and about that question as to whether today's world is better or worse than Burgess's imagined future world? The answer is, of course, "Yes."
Das vidanya, gentle reader.
I've always felt that one thing that's kept me from writing seriously is that one needs to forget about who might get hurt by what one writes, and I've always had trouble doing that. Do I really want my Mom to know what I think of her? Did I really want whichever woman I was with to know how much I thought about other women? Do I really want to look back twenty years later and see just how full of shit I was?
Well, obviously, the answer has been "no" to all of those questions. But now, at the dawn of the 21st century, we can practice as much gratuitous textual masturbation as we like, in relative anonymity. What a world. Gee, I'm glad I live here. Another blow for our right to live responsibility-free lives. On the other hand, it feels a bit cowardly to publish this stuff and not invite comment. So, discretion being the better part of valor, I've decided I'll just resort to having the best of both worlds and use a pseudonym.
I watched a video biography of Stanley Kubrick the other day, and since he made so few movies it was possible to address each of them individually. Hence, there was a section just about "A Clockwork Orange." The movie was taken, of course, from Anthony Burgess's book. So, it was Burgess who "vidied" that horrid future world. The question must now be asked, however, "Is the present world better or worse than the creepily-imagined future of the book?"
Apparently, immediately after the movie was released in Britain, hundreds of crimes were attributed to people emulating what they'd seen in the movie. So much so that Kubrick - who lived in Britain - successfully lobbied the studio to withdraw the movie's release in Britain - while it was still number one in attendance.
What, you may well ask, has this to do with the matter at hand at the beginning of this post? In the first instance, not much. But then it does make a certain sense in a stream-of-consciousness kind of way. I bemoan (while celebrating) one more way of dodging personal responsibility, and then I think of the group of toughs in "A Clockwork Orange," who are pros at responsibility dodging. Then, I wonder if this world is better or worse than that world. Then, I remember that Kubrick committed what today would be an unheard of act of altruism, not to mention unheard of artistic humility, based upon his fear that his work was either having a negative societal impact, or was at least perceived to be having such an effect. (Whew! Heavy weather in the stream of consciousness today.)
Oh, and about that question as to whether today's world is better or worse than Burgess's imagined future world? The answer is, of course, "Yes."
Das vidanya, gentle reader.
Thursday, June 13, 2002
Meet Vampira
I heard this woman's taped diary on NPR the other day. Her brother had been killed in the Oklahoma City bombing. Somehow, the whole deal seemed like the best thing that ever happened to her - becoming a professional mourner and "terror victim's advocate," or whatever she was selling. She entered a lottery to be a witness at Timothy McVey's execution. She talked about how excited she was to have "won" the opportunity to watch McVey die.
After she's watched the execution, we hear this breathless tape of her saying she hasn't much time, because she's "off to the media area to give interviews." Talk about yer' cold-blooded, eh? She also talks about seeing this "little puff" come out of McVey's mouth after he's already unconscious, hoping that she's gotten to see "his last breath." Jeez, if she was watching the whole time she must know she got to see him take his last breath! The guy was alive when she walked in and dead when she left the room, after all.
Then, in the "post September 11th" segment, we get to hear her having dinner with some survivors of people killed in the World Trade Center attacks. One of them is talking about how the compensation for the survivors is supposed to be "somewhere around 1.65 mil." This is what she wanted us to hear from visiting with other survivors? I think she was pissed that the OKC people didn't get anything, or as much, whatever.
She reminded me of my sister. She enjoys being center-stage at the after-tragedy festivities too.
See ya'
I heard this woman's taped diary on NPR the other day. Her brother had been killed in the Oklahoma City bombing. Somehow, the whole deal seemed like the best thing that ever happened to her - becoming a professional mourner and "terror victim's advocate," or whatever she was selling. She entered a lottery to be a witness at Timothy McVey's execution. She talked about how excited she was to have "won" the opportunity to watch McVey die.
After she's watched the execution, we hear this breathless tape of her saying she hasn't much time, because she's "off to the media area to give interviews." Talk about yer' cold-blooded, eh? She also talks about seeing this "little puff" come out of McVey's mouth after he's already unconscious, hoping that she's gotten to see "his last breath." Jeez, if she was watching the whole time she must know she got to see him take his last breath! The guy was alive when she walked in and dead when she left the room, after all.
Then, in the "post September 11th" segment, we get to hear her having dinner with some survivors of people killed in the World Trade Center attacks. One of them is talking about how the compensation for the survivors is supposed to be "somewhere around 1.65 mil." This is what she wanted us to hear from visiting with other survivors? I think she was pissed that the OKC people didn't get anything, or as much, whatever.
She reminded me of my sister. She enjoys being center-stage at the after-tragedy festivities too.
See ya'
So May It Secretly Begin
I e-mailed an old girlfriend a couple of weeks ago. I found her at Classmates.com (not a plug - just a fact.) We corresponded, and it turned out that she had moved back to our hometown (where I still reside) a year or so ago. She remembered me fondly as her first love, despite the unfortunate circumstances surrounding our breakup, or maybe because of them. It was her father that forced her to stop seeing me - hippy scum that I was back then. Maybe she remembered me so fondly because neither of us had chosen to end it.
She came out to hear my band. Everybody I knew seemed to show up that one night, including my present significant other. She'd been planning to come with her male cousin, but he cancelled at the last minute. After our first set I saw her sitting alone at a table. It had been 32 years since we'd seen each other. She still looks great. I don't. Luckily, she'd loved me for my mind back then. I ended up inviting her to sit with everyone else. I told those who asked how we'd re-connected that she'd e-mailed me. I didn't say "first," so its more of a misdirection than a lie (yeah, right.)
Anyway, we've e-mailed back and forth a few times; talked on the phone for about an hour one day - that was great, just as though we'd taken up right where we left off, except she told me that she was disappointed about my use of the word "fuck," which she likened to "waddling in the garbage." What a weird term, right? I didn't tell her that that closely resembles the manner in which I like to fuck. I did tell her that its just another word, and that in my chosen profession the ultimate compliment is to be called "a motherfucker," so I've gotten used to it. She's a very gentle person, so I'll try not to offend her while I try to expand her linguistic horizons somewhat. After all, "fuck" is the best word for fucking ever invented - at least in English.
That reminds me of a joke - its a guy joke - it goes like this:
Q: What's the definition of "making love?"
A: That's what your girlfriend's doing while you're fucking her.
Crude, but mainly true.
Well, gentle reader, that's it for my first aside. Feel free to comment upon the above. Almost all criticisms of me, my character, my attitudes toward women, men, politics, inanimate objects, or anything else will be closely scrutinized, but inevitably rejected because, well, because generally I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks of me. You're certainly entitled to your microscopically informed opinion about me, but, hey, you're entitled to drink rat poison as well, and I don't have anything to do with that either - probably.
Hasta la vista.
I e-mailed an old girlfriend a couple of weeks ago. I found her at Classmates.com (not a plug - just a fact.) We corresponded, and it turned out that she had moved back to our hometown (where I still reside) a year or so ago. She remembered me fondly as her first love, despite the unfortunate circumstances surrounding our breakup, or maybe because of them. It was her father that forced her to stop seeing me - hippy scum that I was back then. Maybe she remembered me so fondly because neither of us had chosen to end it.
She came out to hear my band. Everybody I knew seemed to show up that one night, including my present significant other. She'd been planning to come with her male cousin, but he cancelled at the last minute. After our first set I saw her sitting alone at a table. It had been 32 years since we'd seen each other. She still looks great. I don't. Luckily, she'd loved me for my mind back then. I ended up inviting her to sit with everyone else. I told those who asked how we'd re-connected that she'd e-mailed me. I didn't say "first," so its more of a misdirection than a lie (yeah, right.)
Anyway, we've e-mailed back and forth a few times; talked on the phone for about an hour one day - that was great, just as though we'd taken up right where we left off, except she told me that she was disappointed about my use of the word "fuck," which she likened to "waddling in the garbage." What a weird term, right? I didn't tell her that that closely resembles the manner in which I like to fuck. I did tell her that its just another word, and that in my chosen profession the ultimate compliment is to be called "a motherfucker," so I've gotten used to it. She's a very gentle person, so I'll try not to offend her while I try to expand her linguistic horizons somewhat. After all, "fuck" is the best word for fucking ever invented - at least in English.
That reminds me of a joke - its a guy joke - it goes like this:
Q: What's the definition of "making love?"
A: That's what your girlfriend's doing while you're fucking her.
Crude, but mainly true.
Well, gentle reader, that's it for my first aside. Feel free to comment upon the above. Almost all criticisms of me, my character, my attitudes toward women, men, politics, inanimate objects, or anything else will be closely scrutinized, but inevitably rejected because, well, because generally I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks of me. You're certainly entitled to your microscopically informed opinion about me, but, hey, you're entitled to drink rat poison as well, and I don't have anything to do with that either - probably.
Hasta la vista.
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