WYSITOOWYG

--What You See is the Opposite of What You Get.

Sure, I admit to double-dealing.  I’m thinking of the time I lathered praise on a colleague in a letter of recommendation, a concoction of cock-and-bull, because, I confess, his unpleasant and annoying personality was too much to endure if he kept his office near mine.  Or the time I told the phone solicitor that I couldn’t talk because I was cooking dinner (I wasn’t).  And then there was that occasion when I submitted receipts and received reimbursements for an out-of-town professional gathering I marginally attended because I wanted to enjoy the sights and delights beyond the meeting rooms and break-out sessions.  Such fabrications weigh heavily on me, as they should.  I admit to those, plus hundreds (maybe thousands) of other deceptions, lies, and improprieties.  Hey, I’m a person who tries to be a little better each day but fails as often as I succeed.  But even as I admit to lots of dishonesties, I insist that my falsifications are nothing compared to those employed by Donald Trump, the king of all liars, a serial liar, a pathological liar, the “stable genius” of the Platinum Liar’s Club.  He puts all liars to shame in “who’s the biggest liar competition.”  He doubles down on every lie.  Even his faithful followers admit that he’s a liar but accept many of the lies because they want the lies to be true.  It’s not necessarily the liar they adore; it’s the lies themselves.

Consider, while trying to shamelessly steal the presidential election, Trump fashioned the “Stop the Steal” slogan to perpetuate his big lie.  Pardon me for underscoring irony, but who’s stealing from whom?  But wait!  According to The Washington Post, Trump accumulated over 30,000 untruths during his presidency.  No shame for this consummate liar.  He doesn’t even blink when he lies.  No shame at all.

A few bald-faced lies got him banned from social media sites, so he started his own platform, “Truth Social,” which is a perfect podium for carte blanche lies.  Always start your lie with the phrase, “To tell the truth…”  Nothing better than introducing a lie by saying it’s true.  Believe me.  That’s no lie.  No shame at all.

Not only do his lies rankle, but exaggerations that cloak them add potency.  During an address to the United Nations, Trump boasted that his administration had accomplished more than any other in US history.  The assembled world leaders laughed loudly, belly laughs.  No shame at all.

       He is given to beginning his hyperbolic claims with phrases such as “Everybody knows…” or “People are saying that…” or “Believe me…”.  Here, allow me to demonstrate the strategy.

Everybody knows that Trump frequently has deeply troubling and erotic thoughts about “dating” his own daughter.  People are saying that Trump is full of bullshit unlike anyone in the public eye over the history of the world.  Believe me, Trump has suggested that the ADA (Americans Disability Act) be overturned because disabled people are losers.  See how easy it is.  You can use his template for lying any time.  Be my guest.

       Many people are saying that windmill noise causes cancer.  Believe me, Trump knew nothing about hush money payments to Stormy Daniels so she would remain silent about “servicing his sexual needs.”  Everybody knows that Mexico will pay for a 2,000- mile border wall between our countries.  By the way, believe me, at the height of the pandemic, Trump declared, “The coronavirus was under control.  Stay calm.  It will go away.”  Over a million deaths have been recorded in this country, six and a half million worldwide.  No shame at all.

       Trump makes connections with voters by linguistically playing the common man and by putting on a red baseball cap with the promise of making America great again.  He wears a blue suit, a red tie, and that MAGA baseball cap to connect with the common man and woman.  He hugs the flag.  He holds up the Bible as if it were a torch to light the way.  He is, of course, full of false promises unlike any previous US president.  Everything about him is exactly opposite of what he projects: he despises common folks because they are “losers,” he befouls the flag when he embraces it as it were a woman, he bears false witness to Christianity when he uses the Bible as a political prop, and he muddles everything sacred when he lies for no sensible reason at all.

       Believe you me!

No Wonder

After dinner, we switched on the tube to watch Sunday evening football.  The announcer repeatedly credited a player’s “physicality” as “outstanding.”  In fact, the word “physicality” repeatedly kept coming from the announcer’s mouth.  What was he talking about?  Was he using the term “physicality” as a euphemism for brute force?  Seemed likely.  What does he really mean, I wondered?  After all, we all have a physical presence, right?  No person is more physically present than any other person, I suppose.  Palpable bodies each of us, so a good guess, of course, is that the announcer meant violent contact, body against body, something like throwing one’s physical self against a brick wall.  Physicality!  Of course, football is a game that requires full force, big bodies slamming into other big bodies.  Violent clashes.  The game requires harsh behavior even though the human body is not engineered to tolerate the forcefulness that these muscular, large people wreak upon one another.  Often an injured player requires urgent attention from trainers and medical staff.  Frequently, an injury cart trundles onto the field, unfolding the dismaying scene involving a group of players taking a knee near their fallen teammate.  Some appear to be praying, because, well, the haplessly bent player has probably lost his physicality altogether, I guess.

       So, I wonder, would fans watch the game with the same interest if it were played without so much “physicality?”  Would ESPN and Fox Sports schedule games of flag football?  Two-hand touch, maybe?  Nah, that wouldn’t fill the stands with beer-buzzed fans, would it?  Fans want a war, a few motionless athletes on the battlefield are what happens in combat.

       Football zealots rise and scream when an opposing wide receiver is demolished by a valiant defensive back.  Oooh, did you see that collision?  That’s it, isn’t it?  Violence makes the game go round.  Those cringeworthy moments are a large part of the attraction.  It difficult to pass an auto wreck on the freeway without gawking. Something about savage force arouses an excitement, brings an intense primal in-the-moment surge.  Sure, we enjoy a lovely long pass, but the contact is what makes the game captivating, right?  It is not art or skill that draws us.  No, it is ferocity.

       While an NFL game is 60 minutes playing time, the actual length of the broadcast is closer to four hours when considering commercials, network promotions, and public service notices.  How much time is spent on football action, from the snap of the ball until the whistle signals the end of the play?  Sources I have found peg real time playing action between 11 and 15 minutes.  NFL games run between 70 to 100 ads per game.  We get our payoff of violence piecemeal between all the yada-yada-yada.  Add lots of blah-blah-blah from former players, coaches, and analysts who make prognostications and yuck it up ad nauseam.  Put a stopwatch on the time it takes to complete the last two minutes of a game—might fill up the best part of an hour.  Why?  Money.  Big money.  Because more violence, that’s why.  More commercial money, that’s why.  More subliminal messaging, that’s why.  We might dash to the bathroom when a break in action takes place, but no need to hurry because the sponsors will still be there when we return to the couch.  It’s a hypnotic experience viewing the same commercials maybe a dozen times before the post-game show, which will surely add nothing to the quality of our lives.

       What happens between plays and injury timeouts is mind-numbing.  Literally. Violence on the field is not half as bad as the violence you encounter once we return from the bathroom.  We have all suffered through those promotions for coming network programs, not to mention full-length movies about to open at your local megaplex.  Lots of gunplay, exploding helicopters, people leaping across the gap between high-rise buildings, knife-wielding enemies, fists to the face, flying superheroes bashing bad people, and masked murderers about to do God-knows-what to the skimpily dressed young woman who just happens to be cowering in her dark bedroom.  That’s entertainment!

Wait.  Then the newsbreak.  Scenes of the latest war flash across our mammoth flatscreen.  Bodies strewn across streets among rubble and shattered buildings.  Weeping women attending a lifeless soldier.  The announcer warns, “Viewer discretion is advised.”  What a world!

Back to the game.  Thank God!  Did you see that leg bend the wrong way when the nose tackle fell on the running back.  Wow, someone just got messed up bad.  That’ll end someone’s season.  Any more hot wings?  Maybe we should see that new movie tonight about the Green River Killer.  Sounds good.

Nah, let’s stay home and play “Mortal Kombat.”  Oh, and I just got the new edition of “Medal of Honor.”  That game is out of sight, kill counts right on the screen and lots of spurting blood and loutish profanity.

Violence in outsized proportions depicted in football, movies, television promotions, and video games creates a pathological environment for us.  That’s our sick culture, isn’t it?

No wonder. 

Individualism

It is said that Frank Lloyd Wright, eminent American architect, often chose to disobey traffic lights, blowing right through red lights because he disliked them and resented mindless authority.  On examination, Wright honored few rules other than the ones he devised.  “Individuality realized,” he said, “is the supreme attainment of the human soul, the master-master's work of art.  Individuality is sacred.”  He declined to be herded, choosing instead to be governed by his own rules.

The January 6th insurrection was a test run of American individualism clashing against the foundational canons of government.  People who place value on independence have little faith (or no faith at all) in state mandated rules and regulations.  Many of the insurgents held populist views, anti-elitist sentiments, were opposed to the Establishment, and held right-wing beliefs that they represented "common people" opposing the forces of political collectivism.  “We the People,” in this case, charged the ramparts of the overlords and the neoliberal overseers.  Something like that.  Undoubtedly, the rioters had various motivations in attacking the US Congress, but they had a shared theme in wanting to overturn the results of a recent election.  Their cheerleader, Trump himself, urged them to “fight like hell.”  If one reads Trump’s whole speech prior to the uprising, one must conclude that he was doing that “Let’s get ready to rumble” intro that Michael Buffer is famous for before bigtime prizefights.

Unlike China’s society, organized to give primacy to the collective rather than to the individual, Americans have been brought up in a culture that approves of self-reliance and autonomy from group authority.  Cultures that emphasize collectivism typically value group cohesion over individual aspirations.  Those cultures that place a higher value on independence have general misgivings about mandates overriding personal choices.  So, it should be no surprise that the MAGA crowd would storm the fortress of power, the United States Congress.  Not recognizing the irony of a mob following the direction of the herd master, a soon to become a former president of the United States, those individualists were blown by the winds of insurrection, and believed, I assume, that they were battling for their independence, their freedom, not for the dictatorial ambitions of Trump.

Accordingly, think of the attributes that compose American inspirational leaders.  Daniel Boone, Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass, Amelia Earhart, Martin Luther King, Jr., George Washington, Jackie Robinson, Benjamin Franklin, Henry David Thoreau, Sitting Bull—these names come to mind when I think of American figures who helped define our national identity.  You may add generously to the list because almost all noteworthy Americans share a streak of individualism. Each in his or her way shaped a nation that elevated individual rights, merit, achievement, and personal agency above the controlling authority of the time.  The American hero is a maverick, an underdog, and an against-all-odds fighter.  Rocky Balboa of the “Rocky” films, Indiana Jones, “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” Thelma Dickerson and Louise Sawyer, of “Thelma & Louise,” Rooster Cogburn, of “True Grit,” and Karen Silkwood, of “Silkwood” come readily to mind.

In contrast, a collectivist culture emphasizes social harmony and group needs over individual rewards.  While we may view Tank Man during the Tiananmen Square protests as one who brilliantly defied authority, the Chinese view would see him as one involved in a collective demonstration.  It is not the ant but the anthill that matters.  Utopian experiments have leaned on collective aims—societies envisioned by Karl Marx or those fashioned after a kibbutz have communal goals superseding individual ones.

Our Declaration of Independence promotes the rights of an individual, and our Constitution reinforces individual liberties juxtaposed against the collective authority of government.  That can be messy, as seen by the wrong-headed and criminal attack on our Capitol, but that’s what makes us at once both exceptional and imperfect.  As we’ve been told, democracy is messy.  We are a people who want to drive rather than take a backseat.  We can do it (whatever it is) on our own.  Old Blue Eyes put it succinctly in his song, “My Way.”  Don’t tread on us.  Stand back.  For better or worse, we still have the American Dream to fulfill.

We believe in the one over the many!  Sadly, we sometimes miss acknowledging the tyranny that one tub-thumper pounds into his disciples.

Who Wants to Be a Billionaire?

Imagine attending a community banquet given in honor of a prominent citizen.  Once the emcee delivers introductory remarks, food service begins.  Soon it becomes obvious that each diner receives a baked potato and a chicken wing.  Except for the guest of honor.  He or she gets a billion baked potatoes and 75 million grilled chickens.  Okay, it is nearly impossible to visualize the amount of one billion potatoes.  Suffice it that that many spuds and chickens would fill the banquet hall and spill out the door and fill the parking lot.  That many potatoes and clucks would fill an NFL stadium to the last row in the nose-bleed section.  That many taters and chickens would feed a large portion of the world’s poor and hungry.  Put another way, a billion minutes equals about 1,900 years.

       This illustration may be silly and unfathomable, I admit.  Still, it leads to a question: why should we glorify those who upsell and gather the biggest pile of goodies while paying little or no taxes, those who have co-opted time and labor of thousands of employees, those who eat and live large only to brush crumbs from their tables?  Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the progressive congresswoman from New York, argued: “No one ever makes a billion dollars.  You take a billion dollars.”

If you have a billion dollars, you get VIP treatment wherever you go, whatever you do.  Should we care what books Bill Gates is reading?  Should we smile at the notion that Jeff Bezos requested that the bridge De Hef in Rotterdam be dismantled so he could float his 127 meters super yacht out to sea?  Billionaires, it seems, have a fondness for super yachts, vessels that support helicopters and submarines.  Is it okay for Michael Bloomberg to use his giant wealth to overthrow political enemies?  He was willing to spend, “whatever it takes” to oust Trump during the last election cycle.  Well done, Michael, but is that okay?  Certainly, an endless stream of money might influence an election outcome.  If I had billions, I guess I could choose the next president of the country if I blitzed voters with the right malarky.  We really do not have a well-crafted democracy; we have a pay-to-play system of choosing elected officials.  Should we concern ourselves with Elon Musk’s latest acquisitions and pronouncements?  He surely draws attention.  A recent poll (Emerson College on “FiveThirtyEight”) published a hypothetical 2024 presidential race between Elon Musk and Mark Cuban.  Besides money, what do those two have to offer?  The poll was a tease, I know, but why should we turn our attention to two billionaires, one not eligible because he was born outside the US to two non-citizens of this country, the other qualified as a host of a television show and an owner a basketball team.  What?  Does celebrity status wedge them into position of vying for president?  Ronald Reagan and Donald Trump demonstrated it does.  I want to say, “Give me a break.”  But I don’t qualify because billionaires are the ones who get breaks for no other reason than the bottom line on their bank accounts.

Want to spend some mad money?  Hell, yes.  You might want to buy an island.  Larry Ellison of the Oracle Corporation owns 98% of the Hawaiian island Lanai.  That’s 98% of the whole island.  The other 2% apparently is owned by the state of Hawaii.  How about purchasing a professional sports team?  A newspaper?  A private jet?  A dozen homes around the world?  Nineteen golf courses?  A private art collection that only a select few may enjoy?  A spacecraft hobby?  Goodness, yes.  Plant your flag on Mars and say, “Dibs.”  If you somehow gathered all the money, you could own everything.

       Billionaires stockpile wealth that others create.  That is how it is done.  Walmart employs over two million workers worldwide.  Sam Walton’s family became wickedly rich by using the labor of minimum wage earners.  Billionaires benefit from the labors of others.  That’s the way the economic system works.  One person at the top of the pyramid owns the whole mountain of stones.  That person does not have to stand in line.  The others down the pecking order receive increasingly smaller shares according to their rank, usually the lower the status the smaller the pay.  That’s our system.  That’s how we do it.  Any questions?

Why should we admire those at the top of the heap?  What’s to admire?  Question: is it possible to ethically have a billion dollars in a country where over half a million people are homeless?  Somewhere above 40 million people in America live below the poverty line according to the United States Census Bureau.  It is estimated that there about 725 billionaires in America.  Juxtapose that number to the roughly 40 million poor among us.  Hmm, does that sound like America?  Yup, sure does.  And most of us are proud of it.  Perhaps you haven’t said it, but you probably thought it: “Let those people get a job and pull themselves up by their bootstraps.”

For a healthy, stable society such a discrepancy between uber rich and dire poverty cannot continue.  On some level, we all know that.  In such a world is it possible to be profanely rich and ethical at the same time?  I have the answer.  Go ahead, guess.

Put aside notions of socialism and capitalism and all other isms, and simply consider societal damage when a few people corner wealth.  According to Bernie Sanders, “The top 1% now has more wealth than the entire middle class. Does that make sense to anyone?  No, I am not a socialist or a radical lefty.  I am a voice for economic survival, for the wellbeing of everyone.

I’d rather follow the lessons found in the nine Beatitudes than those found in J. Paul Getty’s book, How to Be Rich. 

Two-Party System

Inept in passing legislation, Democrats get almost nothing done in Congress.  Likewise, Republicans, for the most part, hogtie themselves by declaring fealty to the grandees of greed, and in the process get almost nothing done in Congress.  Simple math, add nothing to nothing and the bottom line is nothing.  Like enemies facing off to settle a point of honor, each firing a simultaneous fatal shot, the two political parties have decided to dispense with compromise on vital issues in favor of vanquishing their opponents, which means nothing gets done.  Deadlock.

       Complex issues become binary calculations for our dueling parties.  If you are a Democrat, you likely believe wholesale what you witness on MSNBC, the left-leaning network; if you are a Republican, you probably agree with what you hear on Fox News, the right-leaning network.  Makes things simple, doesn’t it?  No nuances.  Why sort through complications when a trusted talking-head who’s paid to understand the issues can do that for you?  Go with the flow.  After a while, you do not have to think through knotty issues.  You merely listen to the crowd, your like-minded cohort.  In many ways, pledging alliance to one party or the other is a concession that allows others to decide for you.  Thinking is hard, so why do it, eh

It is difficult for a staunch Republican to support a woman’s right to choose, as it is for a Democrat to align with anti-abortion causes.  That is, of course, unreasonable because a left leaning person may have ethical views that deem abortion unacceptable.  Likewise, the right leaning citizen may find sympathy for a woman to choose an abortion without government interference, a conclusion one may draw from the recent referendum that saw voters in Kansas reject an amendment in the state constitution that would forbid abortions.  Most issues cannot be cut in-half the way our two-party system typically concludes.  Think of the wisdom of King Solomon when he was asked to decide a dispute between two women each claiming to be the mother of a baby: “Divide the baby with a sword,” he said, “and let the matter be settled.”  As is, elected officials on Capitol Hill have decided to kill the baby rather than compromise.

       Likely, our political system is too well established to change, but it would be propitious to consider at least one additional party choice.  Perhaps even two or three more.  Libertarians and socialists have been at the bottom of the list in many political races.  They, however, are thought of as not relevant, more like hecklers at the back of the room.  Can a viable third party break the stalemate in American politics?

Multi-party parliamentary systems, such those as established in the U.K. and India, allow for varied views and issues to come forward, unlike our two-party system.  Think of it this way: rather than having two choices from the menu for dinner, you may choose one of twelve entrées.  In the United States our typical choice is this or that.  In multi-party parliamentary systems, one chooses from far-left to far-right with dozens of shades of political ideologies between the extremes.  You may match your taste to one among an array of choices.

The Green Party in America, for instance, obviously is a strong advocate for environmental protections, but as a third-party has little chance of winning elections.  If you prefer fascist leadership, you may vote for Trump.  If you want a socialist, you may vote for Bernie.  If you want an old school conservative, you may vote for Liz Cheney.  And so on.  Politics should be like an ice cream shop—lots of flavors.  To change our bicameral legislation system may be close to impossible, but wouldn’t you rather have a whole baby instead of half of a dead one?

Death of Amateur Sports

On June 21st, 2021, the Supreme Court voted unanimously to grant college athletes the benefit of education related perquisites, laptops, paid internships, and supplementary paid opportunities, effectively negating the NCAA’s master/slave relationship it had promoted since the beginning of the twentieth century.  In effect, the NCAA had been price-fixing the compensation given to their athletes.  While many coaches and management leaders of the NCAA made millions in salary (The NCAA paid its president, Mark Emmert, nearly $3 million in salary for 2021), the student athletes were limited to scholarships and meal money.  Those days are over.  Katie bar the door—because the money-grubbers and grifters are on the doorstep.

  Amateurism in the NCAA is moribund.  Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL) money is now available to the nearly half-million student athletes.  Fixers and influencers can now pass out cash like Halloween candy.  Athletes in your neighborhood will soon be on television, radio, billboards, and online pitching every imaginable service and product.  Big money augurs an infection for the college sports America loves.  Just as coaches search for talented NCAA players, those players will now pursue the best NIL offers.  A college athlete can earn big money.  Most will make little more than pocket money, but some will take in millions.  That said, soon money may tempt high school players as well.  Heck, at the risk of spreading fear, money might soon be offered to middle school kids who show great promise dribbling a ball or catching a pass.  Given transfer portals, the gazillions of dollars from television contracts, NIL money falling from the sky, the anti-trust decision just made the NCAA a pointless organization—its principal purpose will be to arrange championship tournaments.  Student athletes will soon drive brand new BMW convertibles to football practice, if they don’t already.  Product endorsements will be forthcoming from children not old enough to enter a “R” rated movie.  In theory, that may be a good thing for all those student athletes who have been exploited, but for those of us sitting in the stands, the changes are head-spinning.  And off-putting.

The landscape in college sports will soon look familiar but will be fundamentally changed underneath the hood.  Just as in professional sports, big name players will reap the largest rewards.  The others, those players with the lesser talents will pick up a few hundred bucks from local businesses and sponsors.  Players will not share equally, no, but money will always be a front-and-center topic.  High-profile players will make millions of dollars.  Think gold rush.  Think homestead land rush.  Think Black Friday holiday sales.

  If you believe greed is good, then you’ll enjoy the future of college and high school sports.  Entrepreneurs, influencers, agents—all the hyenas who hang around the watering holes in wait for their prey to get refreshed—are in the mood for a financial killing.  Because fixers will pass out goodies to youngsters not yet old enough to buy a beer, chances for unethical and illegal financial arrangements are unavoidable.  Recall the scene from Animal House, the food fight; metaphorically speaking that’s the future of “amateur” sports.

TV Spots Reflect Who We Are

It is no secret that our consumer culture is badgered by grifters and dissemblers.  The hustle is continuous.  Unceasing.  “There’s a sucker born every minute,” a phrase commonly associated with PT Barnum, should be updated to “Every minute of television commercials makes suckers of us all.”

       “And now a quick word from our sponsor.”  This message comes shortly after a lengthy word from a different sponsor.  And then another sponsor.  And yet another.  The result, as we all know, is that the television program we watch is interrupted for over fifteen minutes each hour.  The trade-off is that we tolerate commercials so we can slog through our selected program, but we must pay the price of wading through those spots to receive what we believe is free television.  It’s not free, is it?  The price we pay is brain-numbing commercial manipulation, usually overloaded with deception and puffery.

“If you’ve been injured in a car accident, we can help.”  That’s the pitch, one of dozens similar appeals for you, the viewer, to contact a personal injury attorney’s office so you can get a sizable settlement from an insurance company.  The help these attorneys offer is part of a system that brings compensatory awards to those who suffer injury or to the estates of those who die, and, of course, to the lawyer’s bank account for handling the case.  You may wonder how much your case is worth?  The smiling clients (probably actors) on television claim to have settled for a quarter of a million dollars almost make one wish for an enriching car crash.  That’s our litigious system in America.  While “ambulance chasing” is unethical and illegal in most states, the business of making loads of money from the suffering of others is part of the American hustle.  Always has been. 

       “Ask your doctor if Qzjaxk is right for you.”  About 75 percent of ad money spent for television promotions comes from pharmaceutical companies.  You can probably guess why prescription drugs are so costly.  Though these commercials do not always say what illness a specific drug addresses, the spots suggest that you talk to your doctor about the medication anyway.  You’d have quite a long list of drugs to recite on your next visit to the doctor if you followed the advice from the commercials.  In some ways, a viewer may conclude, simply by being exposed to all those ads, that there is a pill or shot for all ills.  There isn’t, though, is there?  Don’t worry.  Be happy.

       “Guys, are you having trouble in the bedroom.?”  One of those frequent commercial breaks between innings of a baseball game, the ED pitch is to men who not only strike out but to those who don’t even take swings in the batter box.  Baseball, hotdogs, apple pie, and libido—that’s what America is in a nutshell.  Often these commercials are staged as an interview with a “pretend doctor” who promises homeruns and double plays.  We are eating potato chips, and the guy dressed as a doctor on television is reminding us of our reproductive shortcomings.  It’s almost too much to bear, given the home team is down five runs and haven’t gotten one hit yet.

       “You should only pay for what you need.”  You’ve heard this one.  The guy and his ostrich appear on your screen maybe twenty times in an evening of television. Ours is a car society.  So, before we get in that car wreck and need a personal injury lawyer, we must have insurance.  Certainly, a lot of money in that industry because we are, as I mentioned, a car society, and the law requires us to have insurance.  Part of the reason your yearly premiums are so high is because you are paying for something you do not need, i.e., ads on television.

       “Introducing the 2023 (car name here).”  Pay attention to these ads.  Nearly every car has that line, “Introducing the 2023 (car name here).  Ad agencies lack creativity, I guess.  The car looks surprisingly commonplace, like every other car on the road, but in this ad all heads turn, and mouths open in amazement—like the actors have never seen anything like it before—as the nondescript vehicle glides down the street.  How do I get one of those unremarkable cars?  I too want a stereotypical, non-descript automobile to park in front of my commonplace, middle-class home.

       During the baseball game, I have noticed that commercials are wedged into the game while the action is underway.  “This pitch is brought to you by Jiffy Lube.”  Sometimes the screen is split, so while the pitcher is chucking a fastball, a guy on the other half of the display is selling Cheese Wiz.

      Like submachine gunfire, these ads never stop blasting, and we are not allowed to duck.  The only way to stop being manipulated is to turn off the television.

Click.

There.

Ahh!

Sick Society

After the latest school shooting massacre, The Onion ran the following headline: “‘No Way To Prevent This,’ Says Only Nation Where This Regularly Happens.”  Everyone has an opinion, though no one has a solution, to what ails our society as we collectively endure another gut-wrenching slaughter of children by an angry and despairing young killer.  While most people want meaningful gun regulation and background checks for those buying weapons of war, no consequential legislation ever follows each recurrent butchery.  It’s on us, isn’t it?  We simply don’t own the political volition to make significant changes.  Apparently, we are locked in an endless loop of gun violence with no imaginable way out.  GOP senators and members of congress are well paid by the NRA and other pro-gun interests, and the united forces of the gun lobby vote to keep the Second Amendment as sacred as the embalmed corpse of Lenin in his tomb.  To vote for anything remotely disturbing to the right to bear arms is political death.  There you have it.  Many Republicans privately admit that something must be done to curb mass shootings, sure, but they back away from every consequential proposal because it would be political suicide for a GOPer to vote for any sort of firearm ban.  Oh, they may pass feel-good legislation that tinkers with auxiliary issues (mental health interventions, red flag warnings, and other inchoate and declawed legislation), which will do little or nothing to stem the flow of victims’ blood.  So, one wonders, what could possibly change the deadlock on gun legislation?

 

How about 100 dead each week?  There must be a limit beyond which lawmakers will finally do something meaningful.  What will it take to get the attention of the GOP lawmakers?  Perhaps a thousand slaughtered each week??  Still not enough?  Maybe if we killed ten thousand a week, we’d get serious about curbing the slaughter.  My question, then, is how many dead victims of mass shootings each week will we tolerate?  According to the Washington Post not “a single week this year (2022) has passed without a least four mass shootings.”[1]  We are just warming up.  We are picking up speed.  At some point, we must realize, finally, that the Second Amendment, like the Eighteenth Amendment (prohibition of producing, transporting, and selling intoxicating liquors), is obsolete in its application to 21st century mores.     

 

The laws that limit and track gun sales and those that require proper registration of firearms, those well-meaning statutes do little to staunch the flow of weapons meant for wartime.  Pundits underscore our negligible mental health resources as a problem; others claim our permissive society and violent video games        lead to badly adjusted youth who become twisted killers.  But, alas, at the heart of what ails us is this: too many guns are accessible in America (if 400 million guns are available in American households, someone is going to shoot someone else on a regular basis).  Combine automatic weapon accessibility with our violent culture, and Bob’s your uncle.

 

Though it would be possible to amend the Constitution, repealing the Second Amendment is as likely as Saudi Arabia going solar.  A constitutional convention could rewrite our foundational document, but that is a long process and would require three-fourths of the states to approve the new language.  Nothing is going to happen, folks.

 

What would be possible, if sizable political shifts force the GOP to permit sensible changes in gun laws, is drafting reasonable limits on weapons of war brandished in public places.  Imagine carrying an AK-47 to the Fourth of July celebration in your small town.  Are you expressing your rights as an American citizen, or scaring the hell out of all your neighbors who suddenly give you wide berth and a good place in front of the bandstand?  As things stand, it is possible to own a bazooka, a grenade launcher, a flamethrower, and a cannon if you have the appropriate licenses.

              

  One way or another, the Second Amendment needs amending.

  

[1] Updated June 3, 2022 at 12:40 p.m. EDT

Oh, Those Zany Megalomaniacs

Not long ago, Donald Trump declared in a speech to Republican donors that if he were still president he would festoon F-22 jets with insignia of Chinese flags and emblems and then “bomb the shit out of Russia.”  Excellent idea!  How could that not work?  Albeit a vulgar assertion (tsk-tsk), give the man credit for clarity.  His glib masterplan came to this: Russia would assume that China attacked Mother Russia, and those two military heavyweights would pound each other into piles of rubble while we in the United States would sit back and watch as our adversaries trade blows.  Trump may now add tactical military strategy to his curriculum vitae, proving once again that he is a Master of Diplomacy as well as the Master of the Universe.

      His high regard for North Korean leader Kim Jong-un comes, by his own admission, as envy of Kim’s complete control over all policies and citizens of North Korea, exactly what megalomaniacs desire.  Trump’s ongoing affection for dictators, monocrats, and autocrats implies that what he values in ideal governance is an anti-democratic system that removes dissenting voices, cooperation with media, opposition parties, back-bench naysayers, and protesters.  Strongmen rulers in Turkey, Philippines, Egypt, and China have all received glowing praise from our illiberal former president.  According to Trump, solely because the Saudi Arabian regime brings in a billion dollars a day, we should cozy up to them regardless of their merciless treatment (recently one-day’s harvest of a hundred beheadings) of anyone who is not an insider or member of the royal family.

  Trump likes that sort of thing.  Heads will roll.  Reportedly, he wanted to shoot BLM protesters in the legs, as well as fire missiles into Mexico to wipe out drug cartel operations.  Cooler heads among his staff dissuaded him from unconscionable acts of dominance.  All the power, all the time, all the authority to him and only him, the man who wins every contest all the time.  And if he doesn’t win, he claims that he won regardless of official results.

  Truth is, I am undecided which category Trump fits best.  Is he an egomaniac, a sociopath, a megalomanic, or a narcissist?  He certainly prizes himself above all others, and above and beyond all the -isms one imagines.  Though I am not a mental health expert, one of those self-dealing disorders must define him.  Maybe a pernicious mixture of all four.  Each category is a tightly defined dysfunction, but they all share a pretext of predominance over others.  Probably all four afflictions juice his abnormal adolescent brain.  Me first.  Me, Me, Me.  I win.  You lose.  I’m not a cheater.  You’re a cheater.  He is a certified braggart and false witness.  Whatever the state of Trump’s thinking, it is certainly not within the safe range for presiding over a PTA meeting let alone an Oval Office one.

  World history is befouled with examples of dangerous me-first leaders.  Caligula comes to mind.  Stalin, likely, unfeeling in his brutality and certainly self-serving.  Napoleon, you bet.  Muammar Gaddafi, a perfect fit.  Jim Jones, oh yeah.  Adolph Hitler, goes without saying.  Any leader who requires excessive admiration from others and who projects an exaggerated sense of self-worth becomes a danger to all of us.  Complicating matters, along comes Vladimir Putin, another glory-seeking leader who may be almost as self-centered as Trump but has clear advantages of brainpower that Trump lacks.

  Why am I thinking of Captain Ahab, the solipsist?  He somehow fits into this discussion.  Nothing else mattered to him but to avenge that cursed white whale, Moby Dick.  Solipsism entails the theory that the self is all that exists or that can be proven to exist.  ME-ME-ME becomes the only reality.  All else is background noise at best.  Though that is an academic definition best suited for philosophers and graduate school seminars, solipsists, as shown in Melville’s novel, pose a threat, not just to whales, but to every creature near them.  Because, well, bystanders and crew don’t have value, do they?  Who cares about extras in this drama, those stand-ins that barely exist, if at all?  We shall all kill that white whale no matter the cost.  Solipsism is a philosophy that goes beyond one’s self-centeredness.  It cancels everything except the self.  It is a pathological atrocity.

  Consider the conclusion of Moby Dick.  Ishmael is the only survivor.  The white whale has defeated Captain Ahab once again.  The solipsist wanted revenge.  Nothing else mattered.  He would have sacrificed the whole world to exact his revenge on Moby Dick.  In his tunnel vision he saw one conclusion: the death of the whale.  Everything else was off-stage noise.

  Beware!  Ahab, Putin, Trump, Kim Jong-un, these, and others like them.  They are dangerous characters.  In their eyes, you are as expendable. 

You are nothing.  An illusion.  A character in someone’s dream.

Beware!

What Did You Say to Me?

I frequently complain about insignificant matters (“this butter is too hard”) or not strongly enough about significant matters (“we shouldn’t complain, but the guy taking our cash is also handling our food and not wearing gloves”).  Often, I confess, I am unkind to others, especially when I feel belittled (“if you think I’m wrong, then you’re a nut case”).  I admit to having insecurity problems when it comes to almost everything.  To the point, I have the weakness of being offended everyday by almost anything that strikes me as unpleasant or irritating.

Being offended by everything (the whole spectrum of vexations from a mosquito buzzing near my ear to a neocon shouting hateful profanities into my other ear) is a decision, undoubtedly a bad one.  I know.  I get it.  Weakness of character and all that.  Guilty!  Indulge me, though, as I list a few recent circumstances that I found offensive.

  Second in line at the Walgreen’s checkout counter, I had been waiting three or four minutes to pay for an Easter basket for my granddaughter.  Just as I approached to the cash register, a woman charged through the front door and demanded that someone assist her in filling a propane tank outside.  The checker immediately left me standing there and dashed outside apparently to fill a propane tank.  What happened to first come first served?  Everyone in this scene was offensive, including me for standing there like an invisible milquetoast with my mouth open and not making an assertive complaint.

I know that I am exceedingly sensitive to noise.  I probably have a condition, Misophonia, that decreases my tolerance to certain trigger sounds.  For sure loud and rackety people offend me.  So, every workday morning at six o’clock, someone drives by our house blasting at least 115 decibels of engine noise.  If I am asleep when that muscle car booms past, I immediately wake.  If I am already awake when it goes by, I focus my attention on being offended by the scofflaw who cares so little for the feelings of hundreds of people whom he or she stirs from slumber each morning as he or she drives to work.  Many annoying sounds drive me over the brink: leaf blowers, finger tapping, television commercial jingles, full thump automobile bass subwoofers, a low battery chirping smoke alarm, and, of course, those backup warning beep-beep-beeps that trucks and construction vehicles use to notify us they are nearby.

By the way, have you noticed how many people chew with their mouths open?  I don’t know why, but that’s highly offensive.  Not sure, but I think these are the same people who sneeze without covering up and who make that dramatically loud ear-piercing, “AAH-Choo.”  Someone, please loan these ill-mannered people Emily Post’s book on etiquette.

     And what about that person in the grocery store who stands in firmly front of the cheese section?  Blocking the rest of us from snatching a wedge of gorgonzola, the obstructionist is usually jumbo, and additionally his or her cart is parked smack dab in front of the cheese case, blocking all other shoppers.

     Don’t get me started on those exhibitionists who drive big pickup trucks with Old Glory (sometimes two or three of them) the size of a king size mattress, flapping and whapping above the pickup bed.  It is offensive to display that sort of outsized patriotism (the suggestion here is that the showoff person is an ideal citizen and cheerleader for the rest of us) while driving a gas hog vehicle that is killing the air we breathe.  These Yee-Haws often have a “God, Guns, and Glory” bumper sticker and a coil-over strut suspension system that lends the truck that “high and mighty” presence.  The pickup I saw recently also had an offensive decal that read, “White Trucks Matter.”

     Now I don’t know about you, but when I pay for my groceries at Safeway, I don’t want to feel like an Ebenezer Scrooge just because I hesitate when to the checker wants, first thing, to know if I would like to contribute to the Korean War veterans’ emergency fund, or whatever.  I am not attending a charity fair.  I’m at the store to buy milk and cheese (if I ever negotiated a way by the human blockade at the cheese section) and maybe a loaf of bread.  It seems assaultive and exploitive to ask for a donation while the unsuspecting shopper reaches for a wallet.  Of course, the checker is doing what the store manager orders.  And the moment is propitious for a contribution because wallets are out, and the cause is just.  But really, it’s an offensive situation if you ask me.  To give freely and from the heart is a blessing; to be squeezed is just short of a curse.

     How about that neighbor who has a sensitive car alarm, as well as a penetrating house alarm, both of which sound off at least twice a week?  Because the neighbor is a decent sort, he or she pushes the right buttons or makes the appropriate phone call inside a half an hour to stop the ear-piercing tumult just as the rest of us are fleeing the neighborhood.  By now, everyone within a mile of the warning sirens knows that no emergency is in play, just another exasperating false alarm.

     How is it possible that I am offended by The Fourth of July?  Well, I am.  In our small town, the holiday is celebrated with fireworks and a parade.  Good, you say?  Not good, I claim.  Our town is overrun by out-of-towners flowing in like a burst sewer pipeline.  Litter everywhere.  Sky bombs terrifying all the dogs and cats.  Drunks staggering and puking.  Cars blocking driveways and streets.  Overworked cops trying to catch all those people lighting illegal fireworks.  Small fires in vacant lots caused by careless use of sparklers.  It’s mess.  What a horrible way to celebrate the birth of our nation.  That’s what I am thinking as I stand by our drought plagued lawn with a hose just in case.

     I could cite another dozen triggers that offend me, but in writing this I am offending myself.

     Come to think of it, people who are so easily offended are offensive.

     Maybe I’ll try kindness.  Redemption.  Forgiveness.

     You got a problem with that?

Power of Rage

      “I lose my temper, but it's all over in a minute," said the student. "So is the hydrogen bomb," I replied. "But think of the damage it produces!”   George Sweeting

            “Anger is the emotion preeminently serviceable for the display of power.”        Walter B. Cannon

      No secret that Donald Trump has a volcanic temper.  Off-gassing as often as Old Faithful blows steam and scorching fumes, he’s a natural wonder of explosive temper.  Best to stay clear of his tantrums because, well, who wants to be near a M-80 with a sparkling short fuse?  As we all know, Trump is a grifter who oversells, overvalues, and overpitches everything.  But disagree with him and he gets bigly angry.  He cannot contain his rage.  At his political rallies, his hagiographic image appears on tee shirts, both hands prominently forward, middle fingers flipped up, the caption reading, “Impeach This.”  According to him he wins every contest by a landslide, his rallies are larger than any ever held before by anyone, he deserves the Nobel Peace Prize, and he knows far more than professors, scientists, other entrepreneurs, military leaders, and countless experts in all fields.  In his view, no one in the history of the world is smarter, kinder, more honest, and more capable than he.  Disagree with him or fail to offer him the respect that he demands, you will trigger a fit of fury.  When accused of having an unbridled, out-of-control temper, he countered with the assertion that he is, in fact, a “very stable genius.”  Close advisors and many in the press believe that he uses anger to manipulate and demean those whom he dislikes and anyone who does not show sufficient obeisance.  Look out!  Bend a knee to him, or he’ll excoriate you publicly.  He’s the hammer; everyone else are nails.  Anger is a tool he employs to drive home his point, whatever that point may be.

       Anger does get attention.  When I was eight or nine, a neighborhood bully tested my patience with every encounter.  One day, he asked to see what was in my pockets.  Likely, I showed him a pitiable handful of yo-yo strings, sticks of chewing gum, a couple of marbles, and a quarter my mother had given me for a school lunch carton of milk.  The bully snatched the quarter and said that it was his unless I guessed the number he had in mind, a number between one and ten.  I started with one and worked my way up.  “Nope,” he said, “the number was eleven, so I keep the quarter.”  I don’t believe the bully had ever seen such a reaction.  I started to whimper, but then I began to scream, to spit, to swing my fists, and to reveal exactly what rage looked like.  Not only did I scare the bully, but I scared myself.  I lost my voice shrieking.  I became fearless, pummeling the bully with everything I had.  Nothing could contain me.  I wanted to deal as much violence as I could discharge.  No guiderails, no mitigation, something bestial took command of me.  I knew no danger.  I was danger.  By the way, the bully finally threw the quarter at me and said something about me having “a cow.”

       Profoundly anarchic people and babies know the strategy well.  Not getting your way?  Kick up a fuss, blow a fuse, a drama scene filled with screaming and bawling and generally upsetting everyone nearby.  That gets attention.  Anger powering tears must be acknowledged.  Can anyone ignore a screaming baby?

       Years ago, a colleague of mine was ordered by the court to take anger management class.  He had kicked down a door and made an unpleasant scene at his estranged wife’s home.  Anger took hold of him when he imagined that his ex-wife was entertaining a gentleman caller.  So, I asked my colleague, “How’s that anger class going?”  He told me in a loud and heated voice, almost shouting, “It makes me so mad to talk about it, so let’s change the subject, okay?”  Because his tone verged on explosive, I immediately changed the subject.  See, anger usually rules until it cools.

       Anger itself, I suppose, is neither good nor bad.  It’s a normal human response.  However, if taken to the point of rage, it becomes, deservedly, one of the seven deadly sins.  Almost always, it is hurtful to the one fueling the anger.  As an example, if I spin out of control after dropping my mobile phone down two flights of stairs and consequently slam my fist into the wall, breaking a finger or two, my temper will deliver me along with my pain to Urgent Care.  But if I grow angry at someone who kicks a dog for barking too much, I can use outrage to direct the authorities to the doorstep of the abuser rather than become a violent miscreant like the dog beater.  If I channel anger appropriately, it becomes a beneficial force, something like harnessing geothermal energy to generate electricity.

       Have you noticed that politics and the SARS pandemic and climate change and sectarian schisms have increased the level of anger throughout our communities?  Easy to claim that the level of anger has reached new heights during the last few years.  For the most part, it is safe to say, that anger has been destructive.

       This is the rage age.  Smiles are hard to find in public places.  Road rage is on the upswing.  Violent crimes and shootings are trending upwards.  Everyone is offended by everything.

       Sage advice to Trump and all those like him comes from Stephen Hawking, "People won't have time for you if you are always angry or complaining.”

Bad and Getting Worse

       Just wondering what motivates that driver zipping through freeway traffic?  I’m traveling at the speed limit.  The speedy scofflaw weaves through traffic with reckless disregard for life, going so fast it is problematic to identify if the person driving is man or woman.  Is the driver suicidal?  The car, a blue BMW, zips by me at close to 100 MPH as it changes lanes again and again.  I’m told that the pandemic has seen fewer cars on the road, but the incidents of reckless driving and lethal car crashes have become a major cause for concern over the last two years.  Judging from the morning newspaper accounts, someone dies on the roads here in Pierce County nearly every day.  Why, then, has the death toll on our roadways increased to levels not seen since the 2007?

       Let me guess.  The causes of rash driving behavior are hard to unravel, but the COVID pandemic has produced considerable isolation.  That must have something to do with the frightening trend of reckless driving.  Allow a confined creature out of its cage and it will haul ass as a gesture of liberation and disobedience to those powers that have held it captive.  Emotional burdens from the pandemic over the last few years have weighed heavily on people.  According to Lifeworks, our nation’s mental health index since the pandemic plummeted, producing ominous results.  Risk of depression is 71% higher than before COVID-19.  Risk of PTSD is 33% higher than before COVID-19.  Sustained attention is 27% worse than before COVID-19.  Now, where was I?  Ah, yes, in addition, increased alcohol and drug use rose dramatically during the pandemic resulting in increased danger for everyone on the roads.  Whatever the reasons, people are crashing through the normal guardrails of a safe and orderly society.  People are speeding and increasingly taking risks on our freeways and side streets.  Because of political discords, COVID concerns, universal health mandates, growing economic ambiguities, and amplified tribalism, most everyone is anxious as well as angry.

       Insert the stressed out, angry person behind the wheel for an errand to buy a bottle of Johnnie Walker at the liquor store, and the odds go way up that something bad will happen.  Our death-defying driver can’t stand people who drive too slowly.  Worse, this fuming motorist can’t stand fools who drive too fast because our featured driver will now show just how fast is fast.  Katy bar the door.  And there you have it.  Someone please call 911.  Could be you in that smashed-to-smithereens car.  Could be anyone.  Anger personified chauffeurs too many vehicles on our highways.  

      I’m angry because everyone else is angry.  It is the latest thing.  Let anger glow and spray like a Roman candle.

       I’m angry at Trump for attempting to sabotage democracy with his self-dealing and giant-like witlessness.  I’m angry at Putin for attempting to destroy everything in his path for the sake of a Mother Russia only he envisions.  I’m angry at people who don’t wear masks and stand too close at the grocery store.  I’m angry at people who wear masks and tell everyone else that they must wear masks.  I’m angry at people who drive too fast.  I’m angry at people who drive too slowly.  I’m angry at people who make laws that restrict other people’s rights.  I’m angry at people who whine and complain about their rights being violated but do nothing to improve their lot.  I’m angry at racists, a category that especially includes everyone who says, “I’m not a racist.”  I’m angry at lawmakers who pass legislation to suppress marginal groups, LGBTQ+ people, for instance.  I’m angry at those same marginal groups for too often turning their backs and hiding from their struggles for equality.  I’m angry that people are fighting and cursing on airplanes to the degree that pilots must abort their flights.  I’m angry at airlines because they overbook flights and mismanaged operations, which in turn triggers disappointment and stress.  I want to speak to the manager because I’m angry that my meal is taking so long to arrive.  I’m angry at the butcher because I was next in line to order, but he served that pushy woman who crowded in front of me.  I’m angry at the city engineers because the traffic lights are not timed efficiently, so I must stop at every red light on my way to the butcher who will make be wait behind that unpleasant woman who crowded in front of me.  I’m angry at the neighbor who makes so much noise when he mows his lawn and blows his clippings into the street every other day.  I’m angry at everyone who doesn’t return my calls immediately.  Just like everyone else, I’m angry at the cable company for being who they are, the cable company.  I’m angry at the major religions because they continue to stir up sectarian discord.  But mostly, of course, I am angry because I am afraid, because I feel threatened, and because I am impatient. 

       Fear is usually where anger starts for me.  When vexed and angry, I am usually beset by angst, beyond which lies fear.  I might be afraid of COVID, so that unmasked fellow standing behind me, the one sniffling and clearing his throat, in the grocery checkout line makes me angry, or should I admit that I make myself angry?  I might be afraid of getting into a car crash, so I get angry and blast my horn at that stupid pickup truck in front of me that squeezes into my lane.  I am afraid that I might lose my bet that I have placed on the home team when some weasel on the visiting team hits a homerun, so I scream at the television and throw my shoe in the general direction of the dog.  Because calmness and quiet are good for health, I get angry when that guy behind me at the stoplight has his stereo subwoofer cranked up so high that the ground shakes and the vibrations from his racket shiver right up my backbone.  Don’t get me started on all those cheats and grifters who pitch their scams and frauds.  They are everywhere: on television, on radio, on your phone, in your newspaper, and online. 

       I realize that I am a martyr to every disappointment and fumble, every injustice and loss of respect.

      Finally, anger is my mistress, and I’m thinking of breaking off our relationship.            

• A Mental Stress Change score (MStressChg), which measures the level of reported mental stress, compared to the prior month.

More Money, Please

       Like Diogenes, we should hold a lantern to the political face of America to see if honesty is revealed there.  Diogenes found only rascals and scoundrels when he lifted his lamp to the citizens of Athens over 25 centuries ago.  The Greek philosopher concluded what we now must confess about our political system: it is dishonest and shameful.

       My awakening to grassroots campaign financing began when I sent three donations, ten dollars each, to candidates whom I supported during the national 2020 quadrennial elections.  At the time, I considered my paltry contributions more symbolic than substantiative, a way to participate in the American political process.  Please, I don’t want to continue that participation.  It’s worse than getting a free dinner in exchange for listening to a three-hour time-share sales pitch.  I’ll tell you why.

       A few days ago, I received half a dozen requests for donations from Democratic candidates—governors, senate and house aspirants—and from other political mucky-mucks such as former President Obama, James Carville, and Nancy Pelosi.  Elizabeth Warren begs for money nearly every single day, sometimes twice a day.  Today I received messages from Amy Klobuchar, Val Demings, and Joe Biden, each getting right to the point, which is I must send money right now.  Can’t wait any longer.  If I don’t contribute now everything is ruined.  Fascism will rule America.  Forever.  These pleas are straightforward and unceasing—as I hinted, half a dozen or more each day without shame.  Usually the request includes a deadline, “We must meet our goal by midnight, so send at least (a suggested dollar amount here, usually somewhere between 5 and 100 dollars).”  Goes without saying that their deadline is not my deadline, but they do whip up a sense of urgency.  Not only that, but they also insist that I should make contributions automatic, revolving gifts, so I don’t have to bother with details.  They will take care of everything.  Just check this box, and your gift will come right out of your credit card account monthly.  In other words, give us access to your wallet, and we’ll take care of future donations.  Except it won’t take care of future donations, will it, because other worthy candidates will have your email address and will want easy access to your wallet as well.

       Sure, I asked for it because I sent a few bucks to the campaigns of progressive candidates.  Because of my email address coupled with my contributions, I ended up on everybody’s list.  I even received a note from an elect-Trump organization saying that I had ignored their messages and further that I would be a traitor if I refuse to send money immediately.  For the life of me, I have no idea how that semiliterate buffoon’s backers got my name and email address.  Maybe one of my friends forwarded my name as a joke?  Point is, grassroots political fund-raising amounts to harassment more than a virtuous contribution to the political health of out nation.  Sure, one usually finds a small print “unsubscribe” link to click, but contact lists are universally shared, so asking off one list will do little to stem the flow of online panhandlers.

       How would you like it if everywhere you went a half-dozen beggars followed you with their hands out, all mumbling, “Spare change, pal?”

       The larger point here is simply this: from top to bottom everything is wrong with the way we fund political campaigns.  No, some billionaire should not be able to provide millions to his or her favorite candidate, but contributions are easily funneled through Super PACS that know no limits.  No, PACs should not shovel unlimited dollars to buy favor from their chosen puppet.  And no, our elected officials should not have to spend a giant share of their time soliciting money so they can stay in office only to raise more money, all the while overlooking their duties of office.  Figures doesn’t it, that if I donate $100, I’ll get a thank-you note.  If I donate a million dollars, I’ll get a whole lot more.

       Strikingly, raising money for candidates is an enormous part of what is wrong with our democracy.  The wealthiest people in the country want their representatives in government to do their bidding, which is, one way or another, to serve the self-interest of the would-be donor.  Congresspersons and senators are essentially marionettes saying the lines and performing their rehearsed duties for the self-dealing one who funds their campaign.  That is wrong.  The grocery clerk, police officer, and small shop owner have little say in the matter.  Though the middle class goes mostly unserved in our political order, big money interests keep unfulfilled promises coming each election cycle.  We never learn, do we?  What we want is not figured into the equation.  In short, special interests trump the common good.  That’s American politics right now.  That’s the American way.

       Though I wasn’t a big Bernie fan, I like what he said about the unfair American economic and political systems, rigged against all but the powerful and wealthy: “Enough is enough.”

Celebs

Scrolling through Yahoo, I came across plenty of fetching articles, titles such as, “Selena Gomez Posing on the Beach in a Polka Dot Bikini.”  How about this teaser?  “Victoria Beckham’s Totally Toned Legs Upstage David in a New Vacation IG Pic.”  Woo Hoo!  Hard to pass on such powerful click-bait, “Nina Dobrev Flashes Her Ultra-Toned Abs as She Rocks a Bikini in A New IG Video.”  Holey Moley! Took me a while to connect to the NYT for some substantive news that did not involve celebrities and their non-story twaddle, mostly risqué, sexually inviting trifles.  Why should anyone care whether Bill Gates wears boxers or whitey-tighties?  And if you do, what does that say about you?

      According to one source, Dwayne Johnson (The Rock) is the most famous person in the world.  Seriously?  Let that sink in.  An actor who makes action films and who gained fame as a WWE wrestler, a flexing body builder, and a lead character in movies in which he shoots, fists, and plows people down like a bowler knocking over duckpins, is more famous than Donald Trump, an ex-president and craven celebrity, who is less intelligent than The Rock but, hey, he was President of the USA.  And Trump, as we all know, was and is a celeb, as well as a “semiliterate psychopath,” so described by George Conway on a recent CNN broadcast.  Going down the list of significant celebrities shames all adoring fans; apparently, our interests have much ado about nothing.

Another tabulation elevates Adele to the number one celebrity of 2021.  Admittedly, she has talent and is worthy of acclaim, I suppose.  But looking down the list, one finds predominantly actors, pop stars, television personalities, disgraced politicians, a few sport stars, and rappers—the usual faces people like to OD on because, as fans, mainlining celebs’ inconsequential doings eases the failures and pains infecting fans’ humdrum lives.  Who are these people?  Not one civil rights leader, not one teacher, not one spiritual figure, not one scientist, not one poet, not one fine artist, not one ethicist.  In other words, not one figure beyond the fatuous world of who’s-dating-whom, all surface features, such as so-and-so’s new hair style.

       Obsessed with Kim Kardashian’s butt? Can’t get enough of Bennifer getting back together?  Chances are you’re an idiot — at least according to Hungarian academics. (New York Post article on January 5th 2022).  Yes, that’s right, according to their findings, people with low wattage thinking power make up the majority of those preoccupied with celebrities.  Who would have guessed?

       Is it important to you that Kim Kardashian and Pete Davidson were spotted holding hands after date night in L.A.?  Where can I find that thumbs-up emoji?

      Can you believe it?  Amy Schumer recently congratulated SAG nominees, after she nominated her breasts: They're 'Members' of 'Sag Community,' she quipped.

      Do you really want to see Kris Jenner’s tattoos?  Take your time to answer that question.

      If you are like most sensible people, you don’t give a hoot about any of that claptrap.  Still, people complain about excessive media coverage of celebrities even as they scour social media sites for the latest pictures of Britney Spear’s personal trainer.  Why?  Why should we care?  For what it is worth, my guess is that if we care about the latest news concerning Kristen Bell who claims that Dax Shepard no longer has a big toenail, then we have a drastic vacancy in our lives.  Who doesn’t huh?  I don’t know if avid celebrity fans are mutton-headed.  That seems like a harsh judgement.  No, I’m simply saying that people who waste their lives thinking about celebrities are, well, wasting their lives.

      And I, too, have wasted precious time searching for some dope on Paris Hilton, and then I found what she said about a recent trip.  "No, no, I didn’t go to England, I went to London."  Yep, she is a dope.

      Browsing through quotations from celebs, I came across this gem from Kanye West, "I actually don't like thinking. I think people think I like to think a lot. And I don't. I do not like to think at all."

      That says it all.

Not Again

Yep, that’s right, do-gooders are again pulling books from shelves and telling inquiring minds and the rest of us what is safe to read and what will harm us if we reject their advice and think inappropriate thoughts inflamed by verboten books.  It happens every generation, priggish, well-meaning zealots dictating the standard of morality that we must ratify.

       You may have read a few of the banned books commonly found on the decency assessors’ lists.  Captain Underpants, the Bible, Two Boys Kissing, and, of course, The Catcher in the Rye, the usual suspects.  These titles as well as hundreds more were found lacking and subsequently removed from bookshelves.  The customary objections surfaced in several categories: offensive language, sexually explicit content, blasphemous subject matter, and graphic violence.  Most of all, however, books were banned because people need to be protected from impure and unpleasant thinking.  In the dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451, books were banned to save people from thinking too much, which would certainly lead to conflict and degrade the general happiness of society.  Don’t worry.  Be happy.

       For years, I taught English at a local college.  Each year our librarians sponsored a banned book reading in conjunction with other libraries all over the country.  A dozen students and a few faculty would take turns reading passages from books banned by one or another holier-than-thou school board or public functionary.  Entities prohibiting certain books were either in the state of Washington or in adjacent states.  Readers stood on a make-shift stage near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Waughop, each volunteer taking a turn at the microphone reading passages from banned books.  Usually, a few dozen students on their way to class or heading for a study carrel would stop to listen as we read selections from Satanic Verses, Catch 22, American Psycho, In Cold Blood, The Adventures Huckleberry Finn, Of Mice and Men, To Kill a Mockingbird, among others.  In this way, we thumbed our noses at the craps who engineered chastity belts for our brains.  We read excerpts from poems and children’s books, and sacred texts—all on one list or another, material banned from schools or libraries.  “Sorry, lads and lassies, you may not read forbidden literature.  What were you thinking?”

       Practically applied, of course, banned books are easily acquired, aren’t they? Sure, many school boards have policies that remove certain titles from the classroom and from reading rooms, but one can always go to a bookstore somewhere nearby, or online, and procure a vile book.  Insist that Johnny not read the Harry Potter series probably works as an incentive for Johnny to read every disturbing word of all seven volumes.  Seek and you shall find, eh.  But still the attack on freedom of expression rankles.  It should, anyway.

       And before we conclude that these prohibitions are concocted only by right-wing politicians and family-values Republican absolutists, think again.  We find those who want the rest of us to adhere to their wisdom on both sides of the political divide, the insufferable self-righteous right as well as the sanctimonious and censorious left.

       The progressive left, as you may know, has a thing about groupthink, insisting that offensive statues, flags, and portraits be removed from public places.  Too, they demand that all racial epithets in The Adventures Huckleberry Finn and every inferred belittlement of all minority groups be stricken from the record.  Point taken, certainly, but the interdictions can, as the cliché accurately describes, “throw the baby out with the bathwater.”  Of course, if one uses a word or two found on the politically incorrect list (ugly, blackballed, forefathers, Merry Christmas, actress, manhole, fat, skinny, Oriental, poor, and too many more dealing with race, gender, religion, appearance, and so on), then one will be immediately censored or at least corrected.  To sharpen an already pointed injustice, the highfalutin left insists it is time to repair the errata of the past.  Correct thinking only, please.  As if that were possible.  Many WOKE folks demand that certain voices from the right be banned from presenting lectures on campuses for fear of violence, not to mention the dread of radical right ideas being voiced in public.  Let’s keep all awkwardness off campus, please.  The proper way is my way or the highway.

       Shut up!  No, you shut up!  Shut up!  You shut up first!

       Recently, many voices from populist rightwing groups have been gagged by left-leaning social media platforms on grounds that the righties disseminate dangerous and inaccurate information.  No doubt they do.  But to shut them up is another way of claiming that the dumb-sheep public can’t handle lies and outrageous theories.  And because Twitter, Instagram, Facebook (Meta), and other platforms are owned privately, the defense of censoring the righties falls on tech companies that avow they can do whatever the heck they want to do.  So there.  Take it or leave it!

       While there are legitimate reasons to suppress communication that is solely meant to harm or slander, in the main the greater damage, though, comes from herding the populace into submissive behavior, incapable of critical thinking or contrary views.  Why do you suppose dictators make it a crime to criticize them?

       Our country has suffered from a political schism for some time.  Each side of the divide has taken measures to assure that those on the other side of the gap be censored.  Republicans want to censor Democrats who want to talk about Critical Race Theory.  Lefties want to stifle Righties who encourage citizens to protest government authority over vaccine and mask mandates.  Righties want to harness a woman’s right to choose an abortion.  Left-wingers want to curb right-wingers’ unrestrained populism.  Republicans want to place constraints on who and where one may vote.  Democrats want to legislate political correctness in everything from choosing the proper pronouns to defending human decency as they see it.  Christian Nationalists want mainstream church and state integration, excluding non-Christian religions.  Those in opposition to the Christian Nationalists want to keep all religion out of the public square.

       You’re totally evil.  No, you’re evil.  Oh, yeah!  Yeah! 

       Shut up!  No, you shut up!  Shut up!  You shut up first!      

Zombies

        Is it depraved, while playing a video game, to kill reanimated corpses?  How about pretending to kill virtual, realistic figures (not zombies)?  It’s fun—BLAM, POW, BLAST!—to kill a zombie, or better yet, to slaughter a whole mob of those shambling, stupid buggers who stagger toward you with outstretched arms and with the intention to feed on human flesh.  They totter across the screen coming straight for you, so what choice do you have but to re-kill the post-apocalyptic horde?  It is a blood fest to enjoy, isn’t it?  It is like kicking a dead horse, which might seem reprehensible, but, after all, no further harm can be done to the horse.  They (zombies) are already dead, and to quote John Donne, “Death, thou shalt die.”  But sadly, the metaphysical poet and cleric never had the pleasure of confronting a zombie via an Xbox video game.  If he had, ethical concerns would have surely kept him—my guess—from pulling the trigger.  Brilliant fellow, Donne would have understood the sticky semantics difference between killing and death.  And we should, too.

       What is the amusement in shooting things, slaughtering things, obliterating moving targets or stationary ones for that matter?  We Americans like to shoot stuff.  We’ll take target practice for entertainment—BLAM, POW, BLAST—and after plugging a row of beer cans, we’ll reload and holster our roscoe just in case we need to shoot someone who gets all up in our face.  You never know, do you?  Go ahead, crackpot, make my day.

       Okay, now let’s get real. It’s not proper to kill things, even those already dead, even if merely in the fictitious world of video gaming.  It is, however, proper to subscribe to a moral standard that does not look to science or psychological studies for evidence of violent behavior arising from prolonged first-person shooter video games.  One does not need to prove something is harmful to claim something is morally off-putting.  Shall we agree that we are a thuggish and psychoneurotic society?  Admittedly, the whole zombie slaughter trope is about self-defense, I guess, but we are the ones turning on the machine so we can claim we had to stand our ground while madly pulling the trigger.  “Die, suckers!”  Is there a link between violence in gaming and real violence on real streets?  The science on that question provides murky conclusions, but one conclusion is certain: overt violence in video games causes more aggression and fighting among youngsters who frequently spend time playing first-person shooter games according to a 2014 study in the Journal of the American Medical Association.

       It cannot be lost on a thoughtful audience that infamous school mass murderers (Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold at Columbine High School, Adam Lanza at Sandy Hook Elementary, and Nikolas Cruz at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School) all were avid first-person shooter devotees.  Let’s just say that violence, real or imagined, begets violence, shall we? 

       Speaking of psychological studies, an article in Molecular Psychiatry (August 2017) posited evidence that heavy users of first-person shooter games such as Call to Dutyand Medal of Honor may suffer from shrinkage in the brain region called the hippocampus, the part of the brain that is associated with stress regulation and memory.

       It may be a stretch to claim that every time one pulls the trigger in a first-person shooter video game a moral choice, or an ethical one, is made, but that view is not unreasonable, is it?  Is it ethical to kill Zombies?  What is the existential and moral status of a zombie?  Is it in our nature to kill, virtually or otherwise, creatures that are not human and that pose a pending threat to us?  What in our nature exults in killing?  Is it simply human nature

       Speaking of human nature, I am reminded of a scene in the film, The African Queen, in which Charlie Allnut, skipper of the boat, asks Rose Sayer, his passenger, why she is being so mean in scolding him over his drinking problem.  Sheepishly, Charlie says, “A man takes a drop too much once in a while, it's only human nature.”  Rose replies, “Nature, Mr. Allnut, is what we are put in this world to rise above.”

I Want Your Money

Imagine someone stalks you, someone whispering in your ear all day long, someone whom you cannot get away from no matter how hard you try.  Such brazen pestering and hectoring, as a matter of fact, is real.  You suffer from it every day.  You are shadowed even now as you read this.  And there is nothing you can do about it. 

       A leading marketing firm has estimated that an average person is exposed to somewhere between 3000 to 10000 ads per day, which include. but not limited to, ads online, on television, on billboards, over the radio, in newspapers and flyers, in direct mail, through annoying voice mail messages, on vans, on banners towed by light aircraft, on tee shirts, on buildings, on shopping carts—solicitations found everywhere one turns.  Promotions, sales pitches, lies, lies, and more lies.  No escape.  Some marketing people are even working on ways to project messages onto the canvas of the night sky.  Imagine, a warm summer night and you want to lie on the lawn and see the Big Dipper only to find a projected advert for Copenhagen snuff, “the dip that makes you see stars” crowding out the heavens.  To marketers, nothing is sacred except, of course, the bait and switch.  We are awash in commercialization, a societal system that litters everything everywhere with appeals to buy, buy, give, give, donate, donate, ad infinitum.  Hey, Buddy, have I got a deal for you!  What do I have to do to get you into this car?  Tonight is our pledge drive deadline, and your generous gift will be matched by folks just like you.  Surely you can spare mere pennies each week to fight childhood cancer.  Take our survey (which is a transparent deception to sell you something) and join the thousands who support the future of America.  Just try to stay clear of all marketing or sales appeals for one day.  Try it.  Perhaps if you took a trek deep into the rain forest and left digital devices in your car at the trailhead you would have a chance to be free of the rubbish that clutters your life.  For a day or two.  But who does that?  And then you must go back to what we call civilization, all that discourteous, rude flapdoodle that implores us to buy, or give, or sign up for a free trial, or come on by for a test drive.  Run don’t walk or you’ll miss out.  Do it now.  You can’t afford to delay.  How can you pass up this deal? 

       The market is inescapable, the non-profit and big-profit bazar, the I-Want-Your-Money barkers giving you that insistent come-hither look.  They are everywhere.  Consumerism is an enormous part of our sociopolitical American way of life.  The mall is America.  Everywhere you look the hustle is on.  Even in our places of worship, especially those that espouse the prosperity gospel, the crass belief that God wants his followers to have plenty of money and to give lots of it to the clergy who deliver those tithing pitches in their preaching.  Come on.  God wants your money, too.

       Our entertainment venues have become platforms for selling stuff.  After paying fifteen bucks’ admission for a movie you have been waiting to see, you are subjected to twenty minutes of pre-movie commercials, many of which are designed to make mouths water and give all movie-goers good reason to head to the refreshment stand to buy a twelve-dollar popcorn tub.  And a six-dollar soda.  Stadia are named after products and services.  Race cars are billboards on the move.  A typical football game provides about 50 minutes of television commercials, not to mention all the virtual ad placements inserted onto playing fields and backdrops by the conjuring of digital technology.  While listening to a baseball game, you may hear the announcer say, “The next pitch is brought to you by the good people at Bad Boy Bail and Bonds,” or, “Now coming in as a pinch hitter is Ichiro Suzuki who trusts the integrity of Japan’s leading financial services team with all his portfolio needs.”  Our favorite soccer team around here is the Seattle Sounders FC, but on the players’ jerseys all you see displayed is “Zulily,” whatever the hell that is.  I’m pretty sure the day is coming when parents will sell naming rights of their children.  “This is my granddaughter, Bank of America.  We call her BOA for short.”  “How do you do?  Have you met my wife, Chevrolet, Chevy for short?”  Ah, the possibilities!  Were I to live long enough, I’d like to sell my naming rights to “I’m a Sucker,” a Tootsie Pop reference.

       I have always liked the idea of commercial-free radio and television.  No such thing.  PBS and NPR feature a cavalcade of fund drives begging for your money.  Not only that, but they slip in paid-for announcements called sponsorships, not commercials.  Big difference, eh?  PBS and NPR even have the audacity to suggest that you include them in your last will and testament.  Not only do they want your tax-deductible gift and a donation of that car you rarely drive, but they also want you to make it an automatic monthly payment, preferably withdrawn directly from of your bank account.  Don’t you support good programming?  Come on, man.  What’s your credit card number?

       Just now as I was writing the above paragraph, I received two phone calls, one from an imposter pretending to be an Amazon fraud official (do I need to point out the irony here?), and another from a man who started the conversation by saying, “Hello, Grandpa.”  The call came from a correction facility, and the inmate on the other end of the line was about to ask me to wire money for bail, or some other implausible reason.  Some senior folks might fall for these cons, especially those who may have a grandson prone to committing felonies.  Or, more likely, an elderly person touched with a mild case of dementia, one who cannot quite recall the names of his grandchildren, or even if he has any grandchildren.

       How did all this scamming and spamming and begging and hounding become so entrenched into our way of life?  Can we combat all the money-grabbing?  Can we somehow keep those circling hyenas from pouncing?  You bet we can.  Just send me $75.00, and I’ll reveal the secret to avoid scams forever. 

       But wait, there’s more….

Ban K-12 Tackle Football

       No, I am not a contrarian, but I am leaning into a hurricane strength wind with my suggestion that tackle football be banned in K-12 school systems, yes even in Texas.  You should see the tight-lipped, wide-eyed looks I get when I blurt out that proposition.  My standing among, well, nearly everyone, plummets to persona non grata.  Might as well be a Buddhist at a Baptist tent revival.  So be it.  I don’t care. Banning America’s favorite blood sport would raise eyebrows, as well as people’s distain for the troublemakers who urged the foolish game be shuttered.  But that’s my proposition: ban the game for America’s youth because it is a pernicious sport.  Its chief attraction is violence—"rock’em, sock’em, go team go”—which popcorn-munching, soda-sipping spectators love.  The game is a territorial struggle, an internecine war, and a metaphor for how to succeed.  On a college and professional level, it has one purpose and only one purpose: to make money.  Lots of money.  Billions of dollars.  That’s why the game is irreplaceable to the team owners and television executives, not to mention the thousands of businesses that feed off college and NFL football frenzy.  On a K-12 level, tackle football offers recognition and a threshold to the competitive adult world, a chance to be a winner.

       Sadly, football culture often teaches Vince Lombardi’s bunkum manifesto: “Show me a good loser, and I’ll show you a loser.”  Really, Vince?  And, if that is not bad enough, “Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.”  Boy, Vince, that sort of talk might find a welcome audience at a salespersons’ convention, but it is specious advice in other contexts, especially given to young people facing choices that will determine their futures.  In my view, what’s important is not so much treating everything in life as a win-lose contest, a binary outcome.  Of the nearly 33,000 participants in this year’s New York City Marathon only a couple of runners were winners.  Are we to believe that the remainder are losers and should be ashamed of themselves?  Should we admire a poor loser?  You know the guy who whines and claims the fix was on, the loser who refuses to accept losing.  Remember Woody Hayes striking a Clemson player on the sidelines, a foolish moment of anger that cost the legendary coach his job and reputation?  All because he was feeling a huge surge of being a loser.  Nothing to admire there, is there?  I don’t admire poor loser Trump for buying a lifetime subscription to Lombardi’s junk philosophy via Norman Vincent Peale’s cult distortion of Christianity.  Beyond teaching the art of being a bad sport, too many football coaches espouse that don’t-be-a-sissy locker room talk, be-a-man-and-shake-it-off entreaty, which finally adds nothing to a young person’s character but long-term aches and pains, chronic even lethal health issues.

       When our local high school hosts a Friday night football game, the event draws the Steilacoom community together: parents, neighbors, pep band, cheer squad, teachers, school board members, local police, business owners, Rotary folks, and a few casual supporters who have nothing better to do before the weekend sets in.  Over the years, I have served as a spotter and assistant for the stadium P.A. announcer, an old friend, so he could get an accurate account of the names and numbers of the players as they crashed into each other.  Whether the home team wins or loses, the evening usually proves diverting, a welcome break from the weekday grind.

       Well, not always.  There is that ambulance parked at the end of the field.  Too often, play will stop so an injured player can receive medical care, and then we hold our collective breath as the trainers and EMTs huddle around the fallen youngster.  After years of watching young people suffer injuries, some life-changing, my taste for football has soured.  Face it.  Tackle football is injurious.  It can be lethal.  A common scene: a player is down and being attended by a huddle of trainers and medical people.  Then forming a wide circle around the injured player, all the other players taking a knee, some praying, others looking blankly off into space.  Even though tackle football is the reigning king of the American sports world, it should not be part of K-12 sports programs.  Moreover, college and NFL game rules should be altered in a way to save players’ from devasting brain injuries.  Dr. Ann McKee, a neuropathologist at the Boston University School of Medicine, studied the brains of 202 American football players. Through autopsies, she and her colleagues found that, of the 111 brains belonging to players in the National Football League, 110 of them showed CTE — more than 99 percent.[1]

       Yes, I know, if encouraged by parents, kids will play football and learn valuable lessons in teamwork, friendship, and discipline.  But let’s face it, those lessons can be a part of many other sports.  Given good coaching, tackle football for young people may offer valuable lessons, but more and more, parents are opting out of youth tackle football programs for their children because known risks eclipse presumed benefits.

       Jon Gruden’s recent departure as a football coach encapsulates the malaise of NFL football.  He knew his Xs and Os all right but brought an ugly old school brand of racist tropes, anti-gay affronts, and hyperbolic smash-mouth football blather into his role as head coach.  I’m sure he is not half as bad a person as the media have portrayed him (who hasn’t written regretful, off-the-cuff emails?), but his way of doing things is not the tonic professional football needs.

       On a K-12 level, football needs to become close to a non-injurious sport.  Flag football comes to mind.  On a college level, tackle football needs to be greatly altered to protect players, and perhaps advances in safety gear may curb serious injuries.  On a professional level, tackle football will continue to ruin lives until the day the captains of the industry realize that it must change radically or just fade away. 

       As is, the game dings players’ brains.  Heads are not battering rams.  During youth and adolescence when brains are developing, repeated knocks to the head mean trouble.  On that conclusion, the experts agree.

[1] (Chan)

Power of Poetry

         "The man that hath no music in himself,
         Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
         Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils."

                        --Merchant of Venice. Lorenzo

     Claiming that secular music and beard-trimming are forbidden according to precepts of Islam, the Taliban’s virtue and vice squads recently renewed their tendentious order banning public music in the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan.  They also put barbers on notice that it is forbidden to snip facial hairs on all male citizens (women’s facial hair may be groomed according to custom).  In the past, musicians were beaten or imprisoned for making music, and thousands of musical instruments were destroyed by the moral guardians of Taliban’s law.  To beat back the corrosive influences from American and other invasive cultures, the Public Order Police now make ready to uphold the harshly ascetic, ultra-conservative tenets of social and public behavior.

      By banning music, an artistic fraternal twin of poetry, a consequential measure of well-being is denied to the human spirit.  Like burning books, censoring poetry and music is a destructive and supercilious act, diminishing every living soul.  Part of the human experience has always been the making of music and poetry, and, in so doing, we pass the threshold of the ordinary and enter the extraordinary.  Even so, creative expressions are as natural as breathing.  Though the men in town may have long, unruly, and magnificent beards, without music or poetry, we fall far short of our capacities.  Music and poetry are conjoined, as much a part of humanity as is a beating heart.

      Leaving Afghan barbers and musicians for another time, another quibble, my focus here is poetry.  Poetry in its musical form originated as a song or a chant or an oral history or a performance reenacting a successful hunt.  Written expressions were engraved on cave walls, on rock faces, or on runestones.  These expressions were and still are palpable efforts to record the libretto in us, our story, our necessary artistry, our poetry.

      Inherent in us is poetic thought.  Remember the songs and stories we shared during our preschool days?  Children’s poetry brings a child to the threshold of education by using phonemic awareness and cognitive contexts.  The whimsical images and rhymes in Mother Goose introduced many children, including me, to Humpty Dumpty, Little Bo-Peep, Old Mother Hubbard, Jack and Jill, among other fanciful characters.  From these ditties, a child begins to explore the provinces of creativity and the power of language, which engender love for reading and learning. And so foundational building blocks of education are laid.

      The value of poetry is seldom spotlighted, especially in America.  Now more than ever, however, considering sectarian turmoil, political discords, and climate changes that forecast a melting world, poetry can be a force that brings an understanding of our roles and an appreciation of the complex emotions across the spectrum of humanity.  Not to overstate the value of poetry, but I believe that its merits bring human expression to an apex, the voice of humanity rising above the din.  That voice exposes the inner beauty and the unprepossessing landscape of human beings, the stewards of all we know of this world.  Rumi, the 13th century Persian poet, encapsulated this thought when he insisted: “Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.”

      Poetry is not an abstract puzzle that has some meaning only a few brilliant critics can unwrap.  No, it is a celebration of who we are, a description of our world, an expression that is difficult to express, and an affirmation of who we are and what we may become.  Rather than distorting our understanding, poetry renders clarity, sometimes in life-changing ways.        

      Dylan Thomas weighed the contribution poetry makes, summing follows: “A good poem is a contribution to reality.  The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it.  A good poem helps to change the shape of the universe, helps to extend everyone’s knowledge of himself and the world around him.”

      Hear, hear!

Homelessness

Recently I had a wisdom tooth extracted, a procedure that should have been done thirty years ago, but rather than follow my dentist’s treatment advice, I postponed the uprooting because…I don’t know why.  I guess it is easier not to do something than to do something.  That molar’s nerve died a decade ago, but the tooth didn’t cause discomfort, so it was easier to procrastinate than to do what was advised.  The dentist warned: “It will eventually cause an abscess if it doesn’t come out.”  With that context in mind, the adage, “Delay is the deadliest form of denial”[1] is germane.  What, me worry?  The doctor ordered that the decayed tooth come out before it caused serious infection and pain, but I kept brushing that unpleasantness aside.

       Now think about homelessness as a festering condition.  Rather than address the problem with an enduring solution, civic leaders have hemmed and hawed over how to supervise the unhoused and placate those who whine about the unpleasantness fouling their neighborhoods, remedies that resemble a Whack-A-Mole arcade game.  Homeless folks pop up in one park or open space and are summarily removed and sent to another spot.  All the while, social workers contact the dispossessed and make temporary arrangements to adjust broken lives.  A day or two later, nothing has changed.  Problems remain, sure, because underlying conditions remain unaddressed.  Stands to reason, then, that the more we delay in healing this public disorder, the more suffering and harm will take place.  In my community, at least, homelessness has increased noticeably, demonstrated by a growing number of people sleeping on sidewalks and living in dilapidated cars, conspicuously more broken-down RVs housing people who have nowhere to go, and an increased number of folks pushing shopping carts piled high with all they own.  Standing at the entrances and exits to every other shopping center is a down-and-out person holding a cardboard sign that appeals, in one way or another, for aid: “Hungry, Anything Will Help,” or “Veteran, No Home, No Job, God Bless.”

       As is, too many people live in pop-up tents on vacant lots, in doorways, or under overpasses.  Community organizers try to patch the problems: often by sending the displaced to a shelter as an interim solution, usually a one-and-done accommodation.  But, finally, with no lasting solution at hand, the plight associated with homeless people becomes more of an unceasing muddle.  Civic leaders call meetings and propose stopgap fixes, which equates to something like the anachronistic medical treatment of bloodletting.  Town and county governments form study groups and solicit information and grants.  Press releases posted, commissions formed, and solutions sought, but what arrives is blah, blah, blah, and then more blah.  Lives languish among the homeless population; crime and hopelessness flourish where large numbers of homeless people congregate.  Long term, homeless people suffer, but the greater community also experiences hardships as businesses and collective society stagnate.  Mental health issues spread, as well as domestic abuse and addiction in dwellings for the homeless similar to Hooverville shantytowns during the Great Depression.

       While our country is not alone in having an enormous homelessness problem, we have few excuses for inaction.  Why, one wonders, does the wealthiest country in the world allow the ongoing hardships of homelessness to continue?  How can we stomach giving huge tax breaks to the propertied-rich while turning away from those impoverished souls sleeping in doorways and under bridges?  You may receive a 100 percent tax deduction when buying that private jet plane you’ve had your eye on, but you get abject poverty if you hit a patch of bad luck and lose your job, your house, your health.  Over a half-million people are unhoused in our country, and that count rises daily.  Without interventions, people on the streets will die from exposure to harsh weather, to crime, and to untreated disease.  If Charles Dickens were alive and writing novels, oh what sad stories he would tell.

       The recent legislation aimed at restoring our nation’s infrastructure promises to kickstart our economy and provide refreshed highways and foundational improvements across the country.  What’s missing is a component that will address our social structure, something that will repair the circumstances damaging our down-and-out citizens.  The remedy to end the cycle of misery suffered by the homeless population is not complicated.  It costs money and a sizeable investment in empathy.  It can be done if we choose to provide a safe space for each person. And a job for those willing to pay their own way.

       The fix is expensive, yes, but the solution is simple: start by housing each homeless person.  Provide a platform for those people to address those problems that left them with no place to go.  Sadly, those underlining problems are complex and not solved by placing them in an apartment or small living quarters.  But the foundation to fix the problem begins with a place to live, not a night shelter or a charity bed.

       Experiments in Finland (Housing First) have proven successful.  Finland is the only European country to reduce the homeless population dramatically.  In offering people a home with no strings attached, of course, homelessness disappears.  Duh!  But, of course, there is a cost.  What would it take to fix the problem?  Twenty billion dollars?  More?

       Whatever the cost, let’s pay it.  We must invest in human capital.  “People before profit” is a line from a local credit union.  Sure, let’s fix the roads, the bridges, and power supplies, but in the remodeling of America, let’s provide a solution to our people problem.

       It can be done quickly and effectively.  In February of 2020, China built a 640,00 square foot hospital with 1000 beds, 30 intensive care rooms—all done in under ten days from the first spadefuls of turned dirt to doors open for business.  This feat, in Wuhan, China at the onset of the COVID pandemic, happened because China faced a crisis, a need to house thousands of patients.  Using prefab construction, the crisis was met with immediate action.  Ten days!

       Something like that can be done here in America.  Why not?  Innovations in prefab building can cut construction time from months to weeks.  Even the promising field of 3D printing might facilitate raising structures quickly to house the homeless. 

       The catchall phrase of President Biden’s latest initiative is “Build Back Better.”  Shall we build a better place for all of our citizens?

"Northcote Parkinson Quotes." BrainyQuote.com. BrainyMedia Inc, 2021. 19 August 2021. https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/c_northcote_parkinson_159773

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