Christmas 1, Cynic 0

It starts a few days after Labor Day weekend. The stores begin to gradually fill shelves with Christmas stuff. Toy departments start their subtle swelling. Decorations and knick-knacks find their way into the home décor areas. And my level of disdain for marketing types who use Christmas as the ultimate sales tool rises accordingly.

But as the autumn progresses my cynicism abates as I enjoy seasonal changes. Disdain shifts to chores like yard clean-up and firewood preparations. Then Halloween comes along and the marketing efforts associated with Christmas kick into high gear. Decorations are all over the place. Advertisers ram the “beat the holiday rush” message down our throats. Christmas music leaks out of tinny speakers everywhere, from home improvement stores to little lingerie shops. And once again I’m convinced that Christmas is nothing more than a shameless marketing ploy and it has been for a very long time.

As I ponder the phenomenon I see how Christmas selling has intensified as mass marketing has developed over the past fifty or sixty years. Television was the beginning. As TV networks grew so did the Christmas push. Holiday programs were produced and advertisers signed on as sponsors. We all know the shows. The Charlie Brown cartoon, Rudolph and Frosty and the Grinch and on and on began in the Cold War years and have returned every year since. My cynical nature says that these programs are only around to sell the latest toys and games. Whatever message they may hold is superseded by the crap they promote. And really, are those programs any good?

Then along came the internet. And with the internet there arrived a whole new level of mass marketing. Advertising that runs every single time we search for information pops up incessantly. If you’re looking for the symptoms of psoriasis you first must endure an ad for the new Nurse Barbie play set. If you want the latest statistics on sorghum production, you’ll get ads for toy John Deere tractors. But it’s not only there that advertisers make their pitches. Even the so called news media gets involved. Have you noticed how Black Friday sale advertising is “leaked” to the news media? They play along with the game. Stories are planted about anticipated sales, new toys on the market, Hollywood holiday film releases and buying trends. It’s all treated as real news. And it’s all tied to the Christmas season and it’s all selling something.

By Thanksgiving weekend I’m in full cynic mode. I hate the very idea of Christmas. Commercialism has displaced and destroyed whatever inherent good Christmas had in years past. Even philanthropic efforts associated with the season seem to have been hijacked by commercialism. In fact the fund raising outfits are often raking off more of the donations for administrative costs and advertising than they are giving to their cause. It’s only more food to fuel the cynical fires.

But then about two weeks before the big day I talk to my grandkids. I see the excitement in them as we decorate the house and set up the Nativity display. We talk about the animals and the Wise Men and, yes, even Jesus. We talk about gifts and traditions and how so many non-Christian ideas have been assimilated into our overall Christmas heritage. Later I hear some folks from the local Mennonite Community singing carols in the mall. Then one afternoon as I’m walking near the library a homeless guy sitting on a bench tells a passing mother with an infant in a stroller that she has a beautiful child and he adds “Please, please love your children and Merry Christmas to you.” He wasn’t looking for a handout, he was saying something important.

So my cynicism slackens. In fact it fades away almost completely. I still get irritated with the commercial push. But I see that the message is still alive. The pure love of children for parents and parents for children is one sign. The kindnesses that are done without expectation of reward are another sign. The welling up of human decency is still another. Even when the most evil things occur there is a rising of immense goodness that inexorably follows. It happens over and over again.

Once again Christmas has beaten the cynic. And that’s a good thing.  Merry Christmas to all of you good people.

Now go on and have a fine New Year.

Poet in Paradise: Impressions of A Writers" Conference - Conclusion

After a restless night worried about my poetry reading I was up and about by six in the morning. This was to be the day, finally, when the poets would take center stage at the Faulkner conference. I wanted to make a good impression so I put on my best jeans and a clean shirt. Then I got all my luggage ready for my trip home just in case the conference organizers wanted to run me out of town after my reading. I even checked out of the hotel before the day’s programs so I could make a rapid escape.

The day opened with the usual breakfast spread of croissants, fruit and so forth. Since I was so nervous I had skipped the free morning meal at my cheap hotel. But I couldn’t pass up those fresh, warm croissants. The first speaker on the agenda was a young author who talked about an early twentieth century writer named Zweig who killed himself after a successful career. It wasn’t exactly an uplifting topic but it was interesting.

Next was an author who has written a book that posits that there is an ongoing World War in which the principal combatants are China and the rest of us. The book is “World War C” and the author was funny and extremely interesting in spite of his disturbing premise. He was followed by a Norwegian poet lady who had a near death experience a few years back and who has been “channeling” poems from a spirit guide since that time. The segue from world war to spirit world poetry was a little jarring but not unusual for this conference. I only wish the poetry coming out of that spirit world was of higher quality and not so close to the world of Hallmark.

We moved deeper into real world poetry with the presentation of a paper about W. B. Yeats, one of my all time favorite Irish guys. The young PHD delivering this paper was really good and very knowledgeable about her subject. I wished that she could have gone on longer, not because there was so much more to say, but because we were getting closer and closer to the time that I’d have to stand up in front of this audience.

After a brief intermission the next panel discussion began. On the panel were three highly regarded poets, all members of the academic world, all widely published and all quite capable of ripping my work to shreds. Before the discussion started the runners-up in the poetry competition were asked to sit up front so that we could take part more fully in the proceedings. My days as an edge of the room lurker were ending. The two other runner-up poets, a woman from Maryland and a younger woman from South Carolina, seemed as nervous as I was. The discussion commenced. The subject was “Poetry as an Avenue to the Soul”. Holy cow! Deep philosophical discussions combined with poetry are a real opportunity to sound like an idiot. I resolved to keep quiet. But I shouldn’t have worried. The poets on the panel took the whole thing pretty lightly, made some very fine observations and then read some of their own work. The winner of the competition was on the panel and he did a really fine reading of three of his poems. The other two poets were equally erudite and skilled at reading their stuff. And then they were done. The first runner up, the woman from Maryland, was called to the podium. She was shaking with nervousness but she did just fine. Then it was the other young lady’s turn (ladies first) and she too was very nervous but did a really nice job. Now it was up to me.

I got up to the podium and looked around. Seated to my right and left were three poets who have all seen their work in books, anthologies, magazines (yes even the New Yorker) and broadcast on NPR. In front of me sat academics, authors, editors and a few students. So I made a little joke about how losers in New Orleans were treated much better than losers up here in the northeastern states. The people laughed and that was helpful. I started my poem and in a couple minutes I was done. There was enthusiastic applause. I floated back to my chair and collapsed in relief.

Only one more ordeal remained and that was a meeting with the contest winner and one of the other poets for a critique of my work and some advice about getting published. This meeting was in a private room and people say things in private that they may be too kind to say in public. But it turned out that these people were kind, even in a private setting. Some questions about my techniques and structures were asked which I defended pretty well. Then we had a lively discussion about publishing where I learned that I’m doing what the other guys have all done. Write stuff, enter contests, send work out to magazines and journals and watch the rejections pile up. Don’t expect to make money with poetry but do the best work possible and have a good time doing it. I was happy with that.

Now it was time to head home. I went back to my cheap hotel and waited for the airport shuttle bus. As I was sitting there I began to write, mentally, a new poem and the little articles that I’d put on my blog. The trip home wasn’t too harrowing. There was one problem with a broken airplane in Charlotte but even that didn’t dispel my good mood. My lovely wife eventually found me at the Baltimore airport and we made it home around two o’clock Monday morning. It was a fine and fabulous trip which I’m so glad I could make. My dear wife made it possible and I thank her so much.

Now, ya’ll go have a fine day.

Poet In Paradise: Impressions of A Writers' Conference - Day 3

On Saturday morning I got back to the writers’ conference site bright and early again. After I had a croissant and coffee I settled in to the workshop routine. The first session, another panel discussion, was concerned with the use of non-traditional methods in making fiction. Or something. It seemed to me that these guys were talking about using stuff like poetry, performance art techniques, dramatic devices and so forth in writing novels. But a lot of the discussion was about how writing plays was different from writing books. It was interesting in the same kind of way that watching brain surgery is interesting; I didn’t understand what the surgeons were doing, or why, but it’s pretty cool when the blood starts squirting. Of course that’s just a “figure of speech”, another bit of writer jargon.

The next panel discussion (they really favor that format here) was about how truth can be revealed in fiction. You know, fiction isn’t real so how can truth, which is real after all, exist in a made up story? I’ll be damned if I know. And the panelists couldn’t seem to come to any good explanation for why it works but only that it does. I’m being a little facetious (of course) and the discussion was actually fun and very interesting with lots of cool personal stories. One bit of advice I took away from the program was that if I write anything personal about family or friends or strangers who happen to be alive, even in poems or blogs, eventually someone will be very angry about it, so I should be prepared to deal with that anger. Dealing with the anger could even involve moving to another state which actually happened to one of the authors on the panel. So far I’m okay because I try to disguise the bad stuff with false names and other lies. So I’d say this session about truth was one of the best of the whole conference.

By one o’clock or so I was pretty well work-shopped to death. So I left the conference and wandered down to the Mississippi (I love spelling that word) to watch tourists look at the river. It kind of reminded me of when Clark Griswold visited the Grand Canyon on his way to Wally World in the “Family Vacation” movie. The men on the lovely river-walk just kind of looked out straight ahead, looked left then right and then said “Let’s go!” as they dragged their family back to the French Quarter to look at ladies in tight clothing. And by the way, what’s the deal with fishnet stockings on the streets of New Orleans? I saw more women (and a few men) wearing black lacy stockings than I’ve seen in any other city. It isn’t just the local women sporting this fashion either. Even blue haired old tourist ladies who should know better were wearing black fishnet stockings with their culottes. I even saw a couple of grandmotherly type women with fish-net knee highs. I suppose there’s no logical reason for fashion statements like that.

After pondering questions about local fashions and other esoteric matters I made my way back to my cheap hotel to get ready for Saturday night’s big gala event at the fancy conference hotel. I needed to clean up and put on my “going to funerals and weddings” suit as I looked forward to a high class meal and maybe, just maybe, a free beer or two.

At seven o’clock I walked on back to the conference hotel feeling quite natty in my crisp white shirt and tie and my suit that would make any Philadelphia lawyer proud. As I said before I only wear a suit for weddings and funerals and on those occasions I’ll try to skirt around the requirement if the dress code isn’t too rigid. Years ago I had to wear suits and ties and such as part of my daily working garb. I hated it then and, no matter how distinguished it makes me look, I hate it now. The sacrifices we make for Art are truly a burden.

The first part of the big gala was a cocktail party and the presentation of awards to the Faulkner competition winners. I entered the room set up for that part of the program and found a dazzling sight. Beautiful women in elegant dresses stood in little groups chatting and sipping wine and fruity mixed drinks. And there were men, of course, also standing around in groups drinking beer and looking uncomfortable in their party attire. Some guys were even wearing tuxedos and they looked more uncomfortable than anyone else. The tuxedo is the silliest fashion creation ever foisted upon men since chain mail armor. At least armor had a purpose. A tuxedo has no logical connection to usefulness or comfort. Sure James Bond looks good in a tux but the rest of us look like (get ready for the Frank Zappa reference) penguins in bondage. So I ordered up a beer, Bud Lite, which only set me back six bucks. No free beer here. And I took up my place at the edge of the room where I watched and eavesdropped on scintillating conversations. Most of the talk was about publishing. Questions like “Are you published yet?” “When is your book coming out?” “Did you see that poet lurking at the edge of the room?” I made up that last question. No one notices a lurking poet except another poet.

And suddenly, across the room I spotted another lurking poet. He was a little fellow, ten years or so older than me and he was wearing what looked to be the most uncomfortable tux in the room, maybe in the whole city of New Orleans. It didn’t take long for me to recognize him as the poet who won the competition this year. So I crossed the room and introduced myself. Now this fellow is a pretty famous poet, the head of the creative writing department at a major university and a scholar with an international reputation. His first words to me were “My wife made me rent this damn tuxedo and then wouldn’t even come to this party because she thinks these things are far too boring.” I was moved. We went on to discuss beer, women, traveling, fishnet stockings and poetry. The night was a success, as far as I was concerned.

After the awards were handed out and speeches were made we went up to the main ballroom for the actual dinner. By now it was nine o’clock and I was really hungry. I staked a claim to a table at the back of the room and was actually joined by four young people who turned out to be quite nice even though they weren’t poets. The dinner was fancy enough and consisted of a complicated little salad followed by a shrimp and pasta entrée. After the main course there was a dramatic program featuring Cicely Tyson, recreating her role as Miss Jane Pittman, which was in honor of the author Ernest Gaines who wrote that book. She was terrific and in just a few minutes she conveyed the amount of strength required of a person who had to come up out of slavery and live to be a hundred years old. Then we had dessert. Now doesn’t that seem a little bit incongruous to you? It did to me. It was a wonderful performance but I thought maybe they should have done something with a little lighter touch. But that’s just me and the dessert was delicious.

By eleven o’clock I was done with my dinner and feeling tired so I left the party. The next morning I was told that the gala lasted until one o’clock. That just goes to show that those high-toned artsy folks are much better at partying than this old poet.

There’s only one more part to this tale but it won’t show up for a day or two. Be patient and have a fine day.

A Poet In Paradise: Impressions of A Writers' Conference - Day 2

I got to the conference site a few minutes before eight and was able to enjoy the nice croissants and coffee set-up that was provided. This welcomed nourishment, my second breakfast of the day, was necessary fortification for the day ahead. The workshop sessions began. First on the agenda was a program about the major changes that are going on in the publishing industry. The panel consisted of three published authors, one of whom is an editor for Penguin Books, and a literary agent who specializes in helping authors who self-publish. It was a very lively and informative group. Self-publishing is definitely something a modern day poet needs to consider. In my case, without academic credentials or connections, I have very little chance (zero in fact) of being published conventionally. These panelists offered hope.

The next part of the morning activity was the presentation of a paper about religions in science fiction writing. The presenter talked about Vonnegut and a couple other writers and made some interesting points. However her paper, full of excellent and interesting content as it might have been, was read in a less than passionate way which made it a little duller than last night’s Chinese menu. She was followed by another panel discussion led by two authors who have written works of speculative fiction, as opposed to science fiction, and it was a livelier presentation. All of which proves, I guess, that speculation is better than science.

That all finished at about 11 a.m. and I went off to contemplate my 11:30 meeting with an editor from some big ass publishing company. So I went to the hotel bar and ordered a beer to help the contemplation along. Folks who know me know that I don’t usually quibble about the prices of things. But at eleven in the morning being hit with a bill of eight bucks for a glass of beer is a shock to one’s sense of right and wrong. My inclination was to put up a fuss. But, since the cost of beer distracted me from the nervousness of my imminent meeting, I remained quiet. The meeting with the young editor fellow went fine. He offered a thoughtful critique on three of my poems and a cupful of sympathy for the plight of poets in today’s literary world. He didn’t really have any fresh suggestions about the road to publication and didn’t start drooling when I showed him my full manuscript. In fact he just handed the thing back to me and wished me luck.

Instead of having a few more beers, which was what I really felt like doing, I wandered back up to Canal Street and got some Popeye’s chicken for lunch. Popeye’s seems to be the ubiquitous cuisine of Louisiana. Those places are all over and they are all busy. The food is good and hot, cheap and filling. That’s my recipe for haute cuisine. Then I went back to the hotel room to freshen up (such a feminine euphemism) and relax before my next appointment with the agent lady. To fill in the rest of the time before the meeting I built myself up into a state of high anxiety. I’m good at that.

My meeting with the literary agent went fine. She owns her own company and specializes in advising authors (usually female authors) about using non-conventional routes to publication. Her company will evaluate (or “vet” as we say in the book biz) a manuscript and then guide the thing either to an editor on her staff or help the author through the self-publishing process. She was a very nice person and was quite enthusiastic about my poems. Since her company deals only in fiction and non-fiction book length stuff written by women, she didn’t offer to take up the cause of getting me published. She did give me a couple of leads to publishers she knows and she was eager to tell me that she would write notes of reference for me. That was nice. So it was a good meeting with some nice feedback and a couple of possibilities for further contacts, as well as several suggestions about how to get started on the self-publishing route.

That was that for the day’s activities and I decided to stroll down towards the river and Jackson Square. That enabled me to experience some of the tourist ambience of New Orleans which is more than a little strange. Tourist activity in this city seems to be divided between walking around the streets drinking and that other time honored tradition of watching crazy people. A companion to the crazy people watching is listening to some very good “street” music played by crazy people. Besides that there is a sub-genre of street music played by crazy young and very dirty people. There is art on display all around Jackson Square but it’s nearly inaccessible due to the proliferation of Tarot card readers and fortune tellers. From what I could see though, the art is either darkly weird stuff on canvasses made from strange materials, or it consists of layer after layer of brightly colored acrylic or oil paint knifed onto regular canvas until the paintings are several inches thick. Even little pictures the size of a sheet of regular paper must weigh five or six pounds. Judging from the prices on these creations I do think they’re sold by their weight.

After walking around for some time I stopped in the Crescent City Brewery and Pub for a nice dinner and a tall beer. Once again the price of beer in this city made me grab for my wife’s credit card because there was no way I would pay those prices with my own money. My New Orleans style dinner consisted of Pennsylvania’s finest beer, Buffalo chicken wings and a German sausage dinner plate with Idaho potatoes and New York state sauerkraut. It was delicious. Then I made the trek back to my hotel where I settled in for the night. Another good day had come to a close.

A Poet In Paradise: My Impressions of A Writer's Conference

Last Wednesday, November 28th, I flew down to New Orleans to take part in a writers’ conference, the Faulkner Words and Music Festival, since I had been second runner-up in their poetry competition. Those people are nice enough to invite and provide a tuition free opportunity to writers who come close to winning. Their generosity is highly appreciated. The flight down was as pleasant as flying can be nowadays. We are all familiar with the process of humiliation, embarrassment and physical discomfort that is endemic in commercial air travel, so I won’t belabor that issue. But the flights were on time and no worse than being crammed into an aluminum tube, forced to sit on a cramped uncomfortable seat in the company of disease ridden co-passengers is intended to be.

The conference took place in a posh French Quarter venue, the Hotel Monteleone. It is a lovely place; old and prestigious, ornate and impressive. Of course, since I had to pay for my own lodging I didn’t stay there. No, I stayed at a place a few blocks outside the Quarter (notice how I slip into the jargon of a native of New Orleans?) on O’Keefe Avenue, the Quality Inn and Suites. I was expecting the worst. I was almost wishing for the worst. But I was disappointed to find absolutely no material for ridicule in my accommodations. The room was clean, the amenities were fine, the condition of the place overall was adequate and the breakfast was hot and free and pretty darn good. I couldn’t even find an unpleasant or incompetent employee in the four nights I stayed. They were all unfailingly pleasant and helpful. That just goes against everything I’ve come to expect when I travel to big cities.

It surprises me how non-social I’ve become over the years since I retired. Crowds, unless at a concert or some other event, are nearly repulsive. Club-like atmosphere can be repulsive. And the Faulkner – Wisdom, Words and Music Festival is a club-like event. Most of these folks know each other. Many are published authors, some regionally well known, several are widely known and this is an annual deal for them. They enter the contest every year. Often the winners come from their “membership”. And they socialize like crazy. I knew it would be a difficult week for me, socially speaking. I figured beer and my uncanny ability to lurk unnoticed around the edges of a room would help me get through the thing.

At the first luncheon program I walked out of the session after one beer in the bar. There wasn’t a struggling writer in the room or, if there was one, he or she was wearing the cloak of yuppie-dom quite nicely. Even the real youngsters in the group were somewhat pretentious in an MFA kind of way. My name tag said “Writer” in big letters. But when I added the subtext of poet as the conversation began these people suddenly acted like I was a rabid raccoon. On the other hand, in a couple of cases my mentioning of poets and poetry seemed to elicit a kind of sympathetic feeling as if I had a bad case of shingles or perhaps leprosy. It was kind of funny actually. On the first day of the conference I couldn’t find another poet. There were some around, I know, and a group of them were scheduled to be there on Sunday the final day of the event.

Now that doesn’t mean that the programs on the first day were dull or lacking in interest. On the first morning we were treated to small readings and mini-lectures by a varied and rather fascinating selection of authors. The day started with a panel involving a nice book called “Meanwhile, Back at the Café DuMonde…” by Peggy Sweeney McDonald. It was funny stuff and very good. There was even a nice jazz trumpet solo by one of the panel members. Then there were a couple of historian type authors followed by a music writer. Next came two more historians, a graphic artist and then a panel of fiction writers. Nice. Lunch was at a posh joint called Arnaude’s. As I said, I escaped that venue and had a crawfish omelet at a little café nearby.

The festival so far had been chock full of “cultcha” but I decided to skip the club meeting on Thursday night. They called it a party but that was just a ruse. It was actually a ritual involving the worship of the New Orleans Saints, disregarding their completely futile attempt to beat the Atlanta Falcons. I’m not into NFL shamanistic practices so I opted out.

Anyway, I returned to the conference site for the afternoon session on Thursday which was a workshop about the pleasures and perils of writing about dead people. I mean real dead people as opposed to zombies or ghosts or vampires. Four authors who have written non-fictional accounts of various famous or semi-famous people’s lives spoke about their books then participated in a panel discussion about that type of writing. It was interesting stuff and when I get back home I intend to get their books out of the library, if they’re available. If I bought every book I was interested in that was being sold at this conference I’d surely be a starving poet. Or, at the very least, I’d end up as a husband who got knocked around by a wife angry about credit card abuse. The session ended a little after five. Since I had opted out of the evening NFL witch-craft event I decided to try New Orleans style Chinese food. Buying Chinese food in different cities is part of my campaign to search out regional nuances in ingredients and preparations. Amazingly, after checking out that cuisine (there’s a language stretch) in many cities and towns throughout the northeast, mid-atlantic, and southern states I haven’t found any differences. None. There’s not even any difference in the photos on the menu from town to town. Anyway, after dining at the Golden Wall on Canal Street I went to my hotel room, made a phone call home and then did some reading. I even watched the TV for twenty minutes or so until I couldn’t stand the noise. More reading was then followed by a good night’s sleep.

Now have a fine day.

A Poet and a Troubadour

On Sunday, November 11th, I had the pleasure of hearing poet Janet Scott McDaniel and singer-songwriter Jim Rezak at Acorn Books in Dover, DE. Janet read several of her poems accompanied by gentle guitar rhythms from Jim and he also interspersed several of his songs into her array of poetry. It was a fine combination.

Janet’s poetry is melodious and songlike, with well crafted imagery and plenty of emotion. Her reading is very skilful, clear and well paced with just the right low key dramatic touches. Janet's poems are personal and sometimes sentimental but never maudlin. She also never falls into the trap of turning sentiment into sappiness, which is no small accomplishment. She is the author of two collections which she has self published: “The Light and Other Collected Poems” and “Parallel Dreams”. Both are available at Acorn Books and on Amazon.com.

Jim Rezak has been playing music for forty plus years but only recently started writing songs. His tunes are romantic country, harkening back to the days when country music wasn’t driven by over-produced, rock style arrangements. He has a fine voice and an easy touch with his guitar. From his first notes I was thinking of how much like country great Don Williams Jim sounds.

If you get an opportunity to hear either of these folks perform, either separately or, if you’re lucky, in a joint program you should stop in. You’ll be glad you did.

Open Season 2012: Epilogue

The election is over, the incumbent is still an incumbent and the challenger is probably trying to get some rest. Analyzers are analyzing and pundits are picking apart what the analyzers report. Meanwhile the vast majority of Americans are going about their business – going to work, looking for work, avoiding work. And of course there are the lucky few who are done with work, having completed their obligations.

As a supporter of the challenger I am, of course, disappointed. Here in my home state I was disappointed from the top to the bottom of the ballot. Not that I expected any joyous outcome here, but one does hope for an occasional spot of light. It was not to be this year.

It’s interesting to me that so many of my fellow citizens so obviously feel that the government is where we should look for progress and good ideas. My view is definitely not in line with those folks. And I suppose if we look at the popular vote count we do see that in terms of percentages, the margin of the majority is very small. In other words, in spite of the incumbent’s victory there is no clear mandate and the country is still sharply divided. How the administration addresses that division will be the key to whether or not the nation continues its decline or whether it heals and grows. The past four years have not been too exemplary in bringing people together. Maybe without the pressure of needing to be re-elected the administration will look for wider solutions to the problems of the economy and other major issues.

A lot of my fellow conservatives are in deep despair today. They are predicting doom and they are shadowed by gloom. My feelings are a little different. I believe that our system of governance, with all of its built in checks and balances, will withstand an assault of foolish actions. It will be difficult, especially if the folks in power tamper too much with the founding documents. But if they try to do too much tampering there are legal remedies in place to abrogate those efforts. And there is an opposition leadership now that is vocal and organized, ready to stop things from getting too far out of hand. So I’m still not ready to look for asylum in some other country. That’s not to say that I don’t belong in a different kind of asylum.

In conclusion there is a definite advantage to having this election over and done. And that advantage is that you won’t be pestered with any more of these long and boring political diatribes, at least not until the next election cycle.

Now go with hope and have a fine day.

OPEN SEASON: LAST CALL

On the day after tomorrow a goodly number of us will be going to the polls to cast our votes. Some may be making their vote for revenge, some for love of country and still others as a part of their party obligation. My vote will be submitted in a spirit of civic duty and personal responsibility. That doesn’t make me nobler than any of those other folks; it’s just my own frame of mind.

Today, as soon as I finish this little article, I’m going to mentally withdraw from all the political ballyhooing and just review the options and see if my current choices can be shaken. I’ve noticed on the social media that a lot of folks are making last minute pitches for various points of view, referencing all kinds of research and claims drawing on the testimony of experts and political operatives. More power to them, I suppose.

Locally my votes are going to jump around the political spectrum a bit and will be largely in favor of those who have not held office before. In our state races I’m again pushing for folks who are running against incumbents. Delaware’s party machinery is so entrenched that my favorite candidates don’t have much of a realistic chance of winning. We have a very opaque (as opposed to transparent) state government with collusion and “good old boy” dealing going on all the time and involving every issue. Very little work is done on behalf of the citizenry as the politicians work so hard for their own personal gain. That’s not so different from other states I suppose, but in a state as small as ours one would think that it would be easier to oust the self-indulgent office holders. But it isn’t. Term limits would offer a partial solution.

When it comes to our congressional delegation I’m definitely voting against incumbents. Our lone congressman and the one senator who is up for re-election both need to be removed. They are both part of that spurious network of political opportunists that are intent on keeping their careers on track while paying lip service to their constituencies. They’re either very adept at feigning sincerity or they have come to believe in their own small messianic personae. Their acts fool enough of the people often enough, but it’s high time we quit believing their baloney and send them packing.

As for the presidential election, well, I’ve heard enough and had enough. If twenty percent of the reporting on the Benghazi tragedy is correct then that alone would be enough to clinch my decision against the incumbent. But I also happen to believe that the president is a divisive leader. He’s talked about bi-partisan cooperation but has done nothing of substance to back up his talk. Of course he’ll blame the opposition but I’ve seen enough news and read enough about congressional machinations to see that much of the blockage standing in the way of reform has been solely a product of his administration. That, in addition to his bigger government policies, indiscriminate spending, religious belief disrespecting and general moves towards more interference into the private lives of citizens has sent me more and more strongly to his opponent. There’s one more thing and it’s just a personal problem I suppose. I feel that our current president is an extremely egotistical person with very little sincerity in his public pronouncements. Ego is endemic to thinking one is suitable for the office. I’m sure his opponent has a large ego. But that opponent has some real solid accomplishments to show for his years of work. The incumbent president’s record is full of only political maneuvering and campaigning. And the last four years did not add anything substantial to that record.

Okay, I’m done now. If you agree with me, go and vote to prove it. If you disagree do the same. Although it won’t bother me too much if you disagree-ers stay home. I’m just kidding. Let your voice be heard. That’s the whole point of this exercise.

Have a fine day.

Open Season: Part 4

Truth. It’s only a five letter word. And the definition in my handy dandy desk dictionary is pretty simple: 1) Being true; specifically; a) sincerity, honesty b) conformity with fact c) reality; actual existence d) correctness, accuracy 2) That which is true 3) An established fact.

In this season of political blustering, debates and airwave saturation it seems that Truth is an elusive commodity. We pay attention to a political debate between two or more candidates chasing office at any level of government. We think we hear facts. We would like to think that these candidates are honest and sincere as they cite their records or pick away at their opponents records or public statements. But the next day we go to some dot-com version of a fact checking service and find out that candidate number one didn’t quite get too close to the truth on his statistics about this or that issue. And candidate number two didn’t actually vote against a particular proposal, in fact he voted for the thing. So we start comparing the candidates based on the number of errors or lies they made. But then, to confuse things even more, we go to another dot-com fact checking site and find that, using a slightly different set of statistics and statement reviews, the error and lie score is the opposite of the first dot-com site. What the hell?

Is there no such thing as an absolute Truth any more? And if presented with an absolute Truth in a political race would anyone recognize it and change their vote accordingly? Probably not. We’ve become so convinced in our predisposed positions that we have a hard time seeing Truth in any context other than that which we are predisposed towards.

In other words, for example, if Vice President Biden says he voted against sending troops to Iraq or Afghanistan in a nationally televised debate, as he did, then his supporters accept that as fact even though the opposite is true and verified by a glance at the Congressional Record. And when his opponent Mr. Ryan states that a particular dollar amount is taken from one program and put into another (an easily verifiable fact supported by the Congressional Budget Office that happens to be true) Mr. Biden and his supporters call the statement a lie. And in all honesty I’ll bet the reverse is true for the other side when Mr. Ryan made some errors or misstated certain claims about Mr. Biden’s record. The point is we are predisposed to believe that which is in line with our own view of the political world.

This morning I looked at three different articles claiming to be fact checking in nature. In two of them Mr. Biden looked slightly worse than Mr. Ryan. In the other the errors and/or lies were about even. But when I put that information to a friend who is a dedicated Biden supporter she refused to accept it. And the reason she’s not accepting those facts is that she has a view of government that is more in line with Biden than it is with Ryan and his side. I posed a hypothetical question to her: “Would you change your vote if it was discovered that Biden was complicit in a cover-up designed to keep information about how the administration had mishandled programs directed against terrorists in northern Africa?” She said no. She indicated that the administration would probably have been acting on the intelligence available at the time. So I, being an antagonistic sort of fellow, said; “Well why were you so strongly against former President Bush when his administration claimed, based on intelligence available at the time, that we needed to go into Iraq to get rid of Saddam Hussein and his weapons programs.” “Well” she said “that was different.”

So back we go to Truth. I’m nearly convinced that Truth doesn’t matter except in one area. The area that should matter to us is the real gut feeling we get when we hear a politician speak. All humans have a certain capacity for sensing when another human is bullshitting us. We may accept that bullshit for awhile because it’s easier to get along that way. But eventually we realize the Truth and we quietly and privately act on that realization. Politicians who stay in office for a long time become skilled in the arts of deception. But if we pay attention we can see how they are more interested in keeping their office than they are in serving the interests of their constituents. And it seems that the more they smile, the more they fall back on slogans and aphorisms the more deceptive they have become. So I’m pretty sure I’m going with my instincts this year. In local contests, in the state races and in the national election I’m looking for the signs of a bullshitter. And when I see those signs I’ll vote for the other candidate. If both candidates seem to be loaded with B.S. then I’ll write someone else in. At least I’ll be acting in as honest a way as I can.

Have a fine day.



Open Season: Part III

My dear wife and I got back from ten days at the river cabin recently. Up there we have no internet, no newspapers and the radio is always tuned to the Akwesasne Reservation radio station. That station plays a variety of country music and the only politics on their news is tribal. It seems they have as many problems with tribal politics as the rest of the country does at every level. It was a good time away, full of rest, relaxation and family activities.

But now we’re back in the real world. The latest news has been checked out in newspapers at the public library and on the internet. I’ve done a little radio listening dividing my time between NPR and conservative talk. As expected, not much has changed. There were no sudden epiphanies where politicians of all stripes came to the great realization that common sense and reason should guide their actions. Nope. The same old stalemate, the same old arguments, the same old incessant campaigning with its lies and slander is going on twenty four hours a day every day. And so it goes.

There was an interesting election down in Texas recently. A conservative fellow named Ted Cruz won a run-off contest for the US Senate. He’s a supporter of the Madisonian idea that the federal government is limited in its scope by the Constitution and the fact that federal powers are enumerated and thus limited, by the ninth and tenth amendments. These amendments also state that the enumeration of certain rights does not lessen the retention of other rights by the people. Mr. Cruz got a lot of support from the dreaded Tea Party folks. You know the ones – those radical protesters and crackpots who break the law and disrupt peaceful gatherings. Oh wait. That was the Occupy Wall Street crowd, wasn’t it? Well never mind. We all know that the Tea Party people are dangerous. After all they are out there putting forth their beliefs and ideas about upholding the constitution and individual rights, supporting candidates who espouse those same ideas and generally using the American electoral system exactly the way the founders intended.

In my opinion races like the one in Texas will be more important than the big presidential contest this fall. A local candidate is more likely to be asked questions that demand real answers and not just sweeping platitudes. Local candidates, especially those who have held offices for a long time, can be more easily held accountable for their actions while in office. Incumbency could, if enough folks are energized about elections, become more of a burden than an advantage.

So if you have a set of values that you’d like to see represented in our various levels of government then find a candidate who reflects those values and support that candidate. If you believe that government is an integral part of regulating the behavior of individuals, setting limits for the success of businesses and creating a system that arbitrarily enforces quotas and equalization of incomes then there are plenty of progressive candidates out there who can use your support. Or if you’re more like the folks that would like to see less government involvement in every facet of your life, you can find candidates who think like you. And if you fall somewhere in the middle of those two positions and are willing to risk stagnation then there are plenty of career politicians ready to carry your torch.

These little articles are merely my opinions. I happen to believe that a conversation can be conducted in a kind and civil way. Passion about one issue or another should be reined in enough so that folks are treated with respect. For instance the whole big controversy about what a fellow who owns a bunch of chicken sandwich stores can and can’t believe about a particular social issue seems laden with hate and vitriol. The guy believes that there are religious proscriptions against a particular practice. He said what he believes, out loud. If we happen to disagree with him there are plenty of other stores selling chicken sandwiches for us to patronize. We can even ask our friends to go to these other stores with us. But to vilify the man and to demand that any of his stores be closed is a gross outrage. It just doesn’t make good common sense. But it sure does get a lot of people a chance to go on TV and argue about the issue. This, I guess, is often the real point these days.

Okay. Well friends, as the election gets closer I hope you’re looking into things more closely than the “sound bites” allow. Study on these things. It really is important. Now have a fine day.



Open Season: Part II

This second part of my election year opus started out as a look into the economy and the various promised approaches that each candidate has towards solutions for improving the current dangerous situation. But then I began thinking that no one office holder has enough influence to make significant changes. And then it occurred to me that the whole political process is out of whack and the economy, as big a problem as it is, is not the biggest problem we have.

So I scratched the economy article for now and I’ve decided to explore the bigger issue. And this, unfortunately, is not a joke. I’m just one moderately well informed individual in one small town in a very large country. As I listen and look around I sense that the nation is in deep trouble in a basic and essential way. It may be a collective mental illness. It may be a moral failing of massive proportions. It may be an apathetic attitude that is crippling the political process. Or it may be all of the above.

Just look at the craziness that we read about or see in the news every day. I used to think that the craziness was at normal levels (weird thing to say, I know) and that modern media was just disseminating the information more widely. But now I’m not so sure. It may be partially true that we’re more aware of the insanity but I think reporting on the incidences actually inspires more of the behavior. In fact I’m beginning to believe that there is a certain level of insanity in paying so much attention to the weirdness being reported.

When considering moral failing it would be difficult to deny the preponderance of evidence that hits us from every direction. We see case after case of people killing children. We read of child abuse of every heinous type. Normally responsible business people are committing thefts that are insidious in their scope and magnitude. Fraud is occurring at all levels of government and business. Millions of people are controlled by drugs and crimes related to addiction fill police reports. Even blatant disregard of traffic laws seems to point to societal breakdown.

Apathy is not only one part of our dilemma but it forestalls any movement to repair the breakdown. Voting statistics reflect this apathy. In the 2008 election 56.8% of the eligible voting population cast a ballot. And that was the best turnout in almost fifty years. Another measure of determining how interested folks are in important issues are periodic polls that compare answers to questions about various events in the news. I heard one recent poll result that showed that far more people were aware of Tom and Kate’s divorce than the Supreme Court decision on the Obama health care plan. A quick glance at any newspaper, online news source or television news program will show that much more time is spent on celebrity gossip than on real news.

All of this makes me very uneasy. As the election season rolls along I’ve seen more mudslinging by an incumbent candidate than I can ever recall. Even old Richard Nixon didn’t spend as much money on early attack ads as Mr. Obama and his team. Most real concerns are swept aside for pettiness and character assassination. The challenger’s side is at least focusing more on issues tied to the record of our incumbent president. But that will probably change, I’m sure.

Another facet of this election is more disturbing than in years past. It seems that facts can be disregarded as if they don’t exist or as if they mean the opposite of common sense interpretation. Are the unemployment numbers good or bad? Is the deficit increasing or decreasing? Will Obamacare cost the average taxpayer more or less than their private health plan? Will the cost of running the government, thus raising taxes, go up? Have jobs been created or are government payrolls being padded to approximate real job growth? Is the current administration trying to enact policy while abrogating the roles of other branches of the government? When we try to search out the answers to questions like this we hit a wall of confusing and conflicting statistics and opinions. It takes more than patience to find the answers. It often takes some common sense guesses to separate the fact from the fiction.

Now I’m almost done here so hang in there with me. This year we can see a clear division in the philosophy of governance between the two major parties. One side is clearly determined to bring governmental action into every facet of our public and private lives. From health issues, to parental issues, to economic issues and on and on, the progressive Democrats feel they have the obligation and the right to make policy that gets into our lives and that they believe is good and righteous. The Republican side sees the role of government in a different way. They feel that less government is better, individual responsibility should be encouraged, free markets will bring more prosperity to more people and everyone should have equal opportunity under the law.

If we have a free and open election and the people decide that the current path is one we should stay on then that’s okay. The people will have spoken and resourceful Americans will figure out how to deal with the situation. If they disagree with the outcome then they will start working towards change in the next election cycle. But if the election is choked by apathy, manipulated by media presenting only gossip and slander or distracted by ramped up reporting of irrelevant madness then we will continue on a path to national decay and dissolution.

Now try and have a fine day.

OPEN SEASON

The big election season has officially opened and the mudslinging, backbiting and out and out lying are in full swing. Yes, I follow this stuff. While I manage to avoid television news in all its various forms I do read some newspapers, magazines and internet articles. I try to balance things out by choosing from sources on both sides of all the questions. And I’m always trying to find the fabled unbiased source as well.

I think it’s our duty to be informed and to exercise our voting privilege. And I’m not above trying to influence folks to vote along with me. That’s called “grass roots politics”. So now and then I’ll post an opinion piece on my blog site which will hopefully be a reasoned attempt to look at an issue or a candidate. In truth, these pieces are as much for me as for my faithful readers. It helps me if I write things out as I ponder voting decisions.

Today I’m thinking about the presidential race and one particular issue that seems to have disappeared this year. This one issue spreads out into others but I’m already losing readers so I’ll try to stay focused. Let’s think about the “War on Terror” and America’s military position in the Middle East, Afghanistan and neighboring areas. During the 2008 campaign this was a big deal. Mr. Obama was making some big promises and some big claims. He claimed to be a peacemaker, a negotiator and a broker able to bring all the warring factions to the table. He claimed that he understood the issues and the people involved. He promised to reduce American presence in that area in a victorious and honorable way. And he promised to do all of this in a transparent, open way without the “usual” bullying tactics of previous American administrations. It seemed that Obama was saying that he was smart enough, wise enough and persuasive enough to end war over in that part of the world. So, let’s think about how that has worked out.

On the plus side the Obama administration has reduced American military presence in the areas mentioned. My research shows that there are about 85,000 troops in Afghanistan, a substantial reduction. It has been announced that all military forces have left Iraq, though the American embassy in Baghdad has about 10,000 troops assigned there along with about 20,000 private security personnel (military outsourcing) in the employ of the government. There are two aircraft carrier battle groups, one in the Mediterranean and another in the Indian Ocean. Each of those involves about 20,000 sailors and airmen. There are also smaller naval contingents in the Persian Gulf, the Red Sea and the Arabian Sea. So while the numbers are down overall we’re still there and the war goes on. Terrorism continues to be a threat throughout the world with atrocities being committed every day. This includes attacks and threats here in the USA.

How do the folks waging war against the United States, democracy and the other facets of the free world feel about us now, after four years of Obama’s efforts at diplomacy? Do they like us better? Do we have more allies? Have new and enlightened attitudes and leadership come to the fore as old dictatorships fell during various uprisings? And didn’t the US supply arms and advice in some of those revolutions? Are those nations that experienced the “Arab Spring” more receptive to peaceful co-existence or are they on the same radical Islamic path of imposing clerical regimes with an stifling set of twelfth century laws that dissolve eight centuries of civilized progress?

Answers to all of those questions will show that the Obama administration did no better than the previous leadership. In fact in some areas they have done worse, allowing a wider sphere of influence for the truly radical people who have no intention of getting along with western nations.

Well, my personal opinion is that the promises for hope and change in foreign relations have done nothing for the stability of the planet or for the good of America. The administration has been apologetic and ready for concessions. They have snubbed our real allies and made ineffective overtures towards our enemies. I’m not a foreign policy expert but I don’t see any successes. And when it comes to positive American influence in the economy of the world things aren’t looking any better. But that’s another issue.

In future postings I’ll try to examine other issues of interest. Meanwhile, I encourage all of you good and sincere folks to do your own research. Don’t just depend on Fox News, CNN or the big networks to inform you. Dig deeper and examine how things look measured against your own personal values. Then make your choices for candidates at all levels of government. Okay. I’m done for now.

Have a fine day.

Politics As Usual

The political world is on fire these days. Burning questions about who shoved who back in prep school. Other burning questions about the evolution of a stance on a social issue of some significance to a small portion of the population grabbed media attention for forty-eight hours or so. Yes the presidential election open season has begun. Time for sniping, time for mud slinging and time for full blown political opportunism is here and will be with us for the next six months.

Most of you folks who know me know that my political views are somewhere to the right of our president. In fact my views are probably somewhere to the right of G. Gordon Liddy. Well maybe not that far right. But I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy when it comes to hoping for civility in political discourse. And yes I am a very naïve person. As each big campaign season comes along and gets into full swing I expect the candidates and their supporters to stick to important issues, avoid cheap and tawdry distractions and to keep the rhetoric away from innuendo and un-proven personal crap. I’m always disappointed of course.

You may be wondering where I stand on certain issues. Well, maybe not. And it really doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I’d like to see real discussion of what is truly important to the well being of the nation. Let’s hear real discussion about the economy with as honest a display of factual information as can be gathered. Let’s hear about proposals for energy policy that are not couched in terms of scare tactics or feel good speeches that use hundreds of words to say nothing of substance. And maybe most importantly let’s hear how each of the candidates for every office feels about the role of government in our personal and private lives. We probably should hear about their views on education, defense, government waste, health care and a host of other things more important than the questions of same sex marriage or bullying.

Those last two issues may have some relevance to a few folks and that’s fine. But somehow I don’t believe those issues will define the future of our country as much as the truly frightening national debt levels. In fact I don’t believe they are more important than the problems of gross negligence on the part of people elected to serve in good faith who have worked so very hard to strengthen their holds on their offices while corrupting and abusing the system they should be reforming. And the number of corrupt politicians is probably the most troubling of all of our problems because until the corruption is driven out the reforming will never really start.

Crap, this blog isn’t funny at all. That’s the problem with politics these days. Outside of Joe Biden there’s nothing funny about it. So I guess it’s up to us to try and sift through all the baloney that will fill the airwaves and print media over the next months. It’ll be up to us to go to town meetings and try to ask questions that mean more than the celebrity junk the so called news professionals will ask. And it’ll be up to us to make our choices at the end of the process. Then it will be up to us to live with the results.

Have a fine day.

Good Music Done Right

What is it about hearing good music in really small venues that is so satisfying? On Saturday, April 14th, my wife and I had the pleasure of seeing a fine performance by the Manhattan Valley Ramblers at the Orchard House Café on the east side of New York City. Bluegrass in the Big Apple? Yes it does happen. And when MVR is on the bill you’ll get good solid old time picking, soulful vocal harmonies and one of the best fiddle players this listener has ever heard. John Saroyan – guitar, banjo and mandolin – and Bill Christophersen – fiddle and guitar – make up this excellent duo.

The two set program leaned heavily on songs of earlier eras. We heard covers of the Stanley Brothers, Louvin Brothers and, impressively, the Everly Brothers. There were fiddle tunes bowed with what seemed like wild abandon. And that only shows how skilled the fiddler really is. I won’t do a song by song review but here are a few titles that stood out for one reason or another. “Turkey Buzzard” “Wild Hog In the Woods” “Big Tiger Special” “Single-Footing Horse” and “Three Thin Dimes” all showcased Mr. Christophersen’s inspired fiddling. The vocal work on “Down, Down, Down” “Summertime is Past and Gone” “Devoted” “Making Believe” and a particularly fine rendition of “Childish Love” exemplified the deep feelings so evident in Bluegrass music. All of the songs selected display the respect and affection that this duo has for all the compositions.

Now back to the first rhetorical question that I posed. A small venue like the Orchard House Café provides an intimate and friendly atmosphere that is so difficult to duplicate in larger concert settings. Here the musicians can look into the eyes of the audience and gauge how the songs are being accepted or rejected. They can change their set list to alter the mood and they can engage in friendly banter with their listeners, and between themselves, which can also get folks loosened up or ready to appreciate a serious point about the origin or story behind a song. It’s a great way to hear music and the Manhattan Valley Ramblers maximized their setting.

The duo has a fine CD of their music available. The title is “Ballads and Barnburners” and I believe if you check out their website you can obtain this item. John and Bill each have their own CD’s from a few years back and they’re also very good. Go to www.manhattanvalleyramblers.com to learn more.

Let me add one more personal note here. John and Bill are two very kind, friendly and personable fellows. Get out to see them and you’ll see very quickly that these are genuine musicians, dedicated to their art and constantly working to improve their already formidable skills.

Being Different: Thank you Aimee

When I was shopping in that big box store that we're all familiar with the other day I noticed, as I usually do, lots of young people wandering aimlessly about talking on cell phones, sending text messages and having inane conversations. Watching and listening to these people causes us certified old folks to think that there's not much hope for America. We worry that the pervasive influence of a dumbed down educational system is creating a whole generation of youngsters that can only speak gibberish. But then along comes a glimmer of hope. That glimmer for me was the appearance of an essay by one of my very young cousins out in Texas. Her name is Aimee and she has graciously allowed me to reprint her essay here. Aimee is a middle school student and a very bright young lady. She is also a musician and this essay was written for a competition sponsored by the Texas Music Teachers Association. In the essay Aimee explains in a clever way some of the differences between music of different eras and along the way she teaches us a little about differences in people. She won the competition which isn't too surprising considering the quality of the writing. She's a talented kid, one that offers us old folks some pleasant reassurance. Thank you Aimee, for being different.

Being Different
by Aimee Bourey

“Normal is not an option!” Lizzie glared at me in defiance as joggers slowed down to stare at us. She stuck out in the small park with her loud voice, bright blue hair, neon green clothes, and ruby red nails dotted with little black hearts.

“What?” I sighed. We were walking through the park on our way home from school. Today I gave a speech in Social Studies titled “How Teens Try to Fit In.” Of course there were repercussions. Lizzie continued on as only she could.

“You’re so normal Lauren! Even your name is normal. Do you know how many normal girls, and possibly even some very abnormal guys, share your name? You could be the queen of normal, with your normal brunette hair, and your normal brown eyes. Is it your goal to blend in with every other person?”

Lizzie rambled on and I let my attention wander. We walked by an amphitheater and I caught a glimpse of a theater company rehearsing Peter Maxwell Davies’s Eight Songs for a Mad King. I heard Lizzie conclude her complaints, so I turned my attention back to her.

“You could at least go by India, your middle name; it’s pretty and different!”

I paused with a smile. “Well, if you think about it, you’re the normal one. Since the early 1900’s everybody has tried to be different! We’re a strange generation, where being different is pretty much normal. The music we listen to and create today would probably be unimaginable to early composers. Today composers frequently use unpleasant-sounding, dissonant chords, like sevenths, and unusual time signatures like 5/8 and 7/8. For example, Igor Stravinsky’s Firebird is written in 7/4 time.”

She looked at me with a confused smile and we walked down the amphitheater steps to watch the rehearsal. I tried to follow the horridly pitchy voices and the bizarre cacophonous orchestral music that was Eight Songs for a Mad King. Climbing chromatic scales played with a whimsical air while the vocals screeched and plunged from high notes to low growls. Dog walkers all around us tried to settle down their antsy dogs while they wondered what in the world this was.

“See?” I said. “This song is exactly what I am talking about!” This is the strange, jarring music of our era. I think that this just shows you—” Lizzie interrupted; of course.

“This just goes to show that in this era, all musicians are nut-jobs. But I see what you mean. I think. Everyone is trying to stand out nowadays. So technically I’m pretty normal!” She laughed to herself.

I kept on talking. “Contemporary composers seem to follow different rules than everybody else. They use modal scales, which most people stopped using after Bach’s time, but…well, I guess we’re just a strange kind of people. Contemporary music can also have different key signatures in the melody and harmony. That was probably not even thought of until the contemporary era.” As I went on, my voice rose in excitement. “Though this song may be a little wild even for the contemporary era, it helps give you the idea. A lot of songs almost sound like people are playing wrong notes! If you ever listen to some of Bela Bartok’s work, you’ll see what I mean, like in Six Dances in a Bulgarian Rhythm. In those songs a lot of the chords sound like mistakes, but his music is a whole lot easier to listen to than this one. ” I winced at a weird screaming part in the song.

“Well,” Lizzie said, wincing as well, “it’s nice to know that some music written in our time is listenable.” She looked around. “Hey, there’s a music store! You wanna go see if we can find some different music?” She said with a smile. I knew that she was through with calling me normal. At least for now.

Health Care

I’m a diabetic. Now hold on, don’t go all mushy with sympathy for my degeneratively diseased old self. You can direct that towards the celebrities in those medicine advertisements. No, I’m a type 2 case who fortunately doesn’t need to stab my body with insulin filled needles throughout the day. My treatment consists of frequent visits to the doctor’s office for lectures about weight loss and healthy living, watching my waistline (it seems to be easier to see all the time), walking two or three miles a day and taking a nice white pill with breakfast. Since I was already taking a couple pills for my hypertension (high blood pressure for you medically un-educated folks) one more tablet didn’t seem like a bad idea. Of course about a year ago the doctor told me some of my medicines were lowering my potassium level so he prescribed a couple of chunky pieces of that mineral to add to the pill pile. But all in all, I’m in okay shape and certainly hoping that I won’t be a burden to you all when I go on Medicare in a couple weeks.

Of course my medical insurance will still be supplied by my dear wife as she continues on her quest for more money and benefits in the world of employment. Some day we’ll be looking at those Plan B, D and other alphabetical supplements that are designed to bankrupt old people on fixed incomes. But for now we’re doing okay. In fact (And here’s what I really wanted to talk about instead of Mr. Obama’s health care utopia) I even have a service where a registered nurse calls me on the phone every six weeks or so to check on me.

This program is called DelaWell, or something similar to that. I call it the “Medical Service for People Who are too Stupid to Be Alive” feature of the insurance policy. The program is provided by our health insurance as a preventative measure for people with diabetes. The very nice nurse from the service will ask questions and pretend to listen to the answers. Then she will deliver a little lecture repeating the stuff that the doctor tells me when I go see him. These nurses assume that a diabetic patient has never read anything about the condition. They assume that we have no access to computers, libraries or the literature that litters the doctor’s waiting room or the little waiting area in the pharmacies where we get our prescriptions filled. I don’t know about other people but when I was informed that I am diabetic I did a little research. It didn’t take a whole lot of checking to see that I’d need to make some changes to my cheese steak and french fries lifestyle, which I did. Mostly.

When the nurse calls she (usually it’s a she) asks the same set of questions about weight, diet, exercise and so forth. Since she asks the same questions every time I figure I can give her the same answers, so I do. Then she asks if I’m depressed, tired, having trouble sleeping and if I’ve checked my feet. Those are all valid questions but, again, if she listened at all, or consulted her computer screen which has all the answers from almost two years of this crap, she’d see that her time would be better spent with a patient who wants to let the disease destroy his or her body. I’m not on that plan. But I suppose there are medical protocols that have to be followed. And I’m sure that these nurses, sitting in their call centers or home offices, are sincere in their desire to help people and not just make a few bucks charging the State of Delaware some exorbitant fee for their service.
Well I’ve shared enough of my personal opinions about this stuff. The phone’s ringing again. It might be somebody from DelaWell, somebody selling diabetic supplies or an estate planning telemarketer. How all these companies learned I was diabetic and on my last legs I can only guess. I’m sure a reputable health and wellness advisory service provider would never give away their client lists. No, I’m sure they’d sell it for a tidy sum.

Have a fine day. I will.

Government vs. Catholics

The news of the day has found its way into my usually unbreakable bubble of resistance against any unpleasant emanations from Washington, New York City or the West Coast. Most days, most weeks actually, I can meander through my days without any political conflict or dopey bureaucratic pronouncements marring the pleasant landscape of my life. But once in a while I look at stuff on the Yahoo! (such an appropriate name) news page which sends me into either fits of rage or spasms of disbelief. Before you know it I’m at the keyboard banging out a blog that will tick off at least eighty percent of my eight readers. And here I am again.

And what I’ve been reading today has to do with the battle between the Obama administration and the Catholic Church. What the heck is the president thinking about by picking this fight? I’m not talking about the moral issues. I’m not talking about the Affordable Health Care act. I’m not even talking about how dweeby Harry Reid sounds when he talks. No, I’m talking about nuns. And to a lesser degree I’m talking about other kinds of clergy.

I went to Catholic schools for a few years. It’s true that when I went to those schools things were tougher. Fear was part of the curriculum. A lot of that has been toned down over the years but I’ve got a feeling that if you rile those folks up too much then there’s no telling what can happen. The nuns might get back into those ninja looking outfits they used to wear. New strings of beads may appear and they may be made out of heavy ball bearings that could crack a skull before you could offer up a “Hail Mary”.

And if the male clergy starts wearing cassocks again you never know what they’ll be carrying under those skirts. Sawed off shotguns or even assault rifles would be easy to hide.

Back in my school days the nuns could intimidate with stares and glares. In the lunchroom I saw those brown metal trays (plastic ones hadn’t been invented yet) smacked on the heads of unruly boys with speed and accuracy. Even our parents knew enough to fear the authority of the Church.

It’s been a long time since Catholics have lined up behind the hierarchy and set off on a crusade. But Mr. Obama has rattled a lot of cages with his latest silly idea. I read some of the stuff his press secretary was spouting off today. It seems, and maybe I’m simplifying things just a little, that the administration really does think that religious folks who don’t believe in abortion are ignorant dullards. And maybe they do believe that a large percentage of Catholics don’t care at all about the Church tenets regarding that issue. But there’s a crowd of folks who do care and there are a lot of members of other churches that see a constitutional problem with the policies that are being pushed into practice. Those government geniuses better watch out. The knuckle beating rulers are coming out of storage and they’ll have sharp edges this time.

Now have a fine day and leave me alone.

Mental Maps

A friend of mine referenced (On Facebook which I’ll mention later on) a recent article in the New York Times about some research that indicates that using GPS systems may cause folks to lose their ability to find their way around on their own. In the words of my grandson – well duh! The more I read about research projects like this the more I think the funding agencies should just send me a subject and a whole bunch of cash and I’ll just tell them what the research results will look like.

For a short time I used the GPS system that came with the car we bought. I cancelled the service when the trial period was up and not just because it was too expensive to continue. No, I cancelled it because it was messing up my own impeccable sense of direction. On one trip my wife and I were traveling through Philadelphia. I know my way around that town but I was using the GPS to see if that massive computer system would find a shorter, quicker way to our destination. Not only did the thing send us on a longer, slower route than the one I had planned in my head but it also sent us into an area that was torn up with construction and populated by unsavory characters that scared my wife into dialing a 9 and a 1 on her cell phone. That way she’d be only a single digit away from alerting the police to trouble. As soon as I stopped depending on the electronic map gadget I got out of the dangerous territory and on our way to our destination in no time at all.

Many of my friends and family members rely on their GPS machines all the time. They won’t go to the grocery store a mile away without turning the things on. Of course, some of my friends and relatives had trouble getting to the grocery store before the GPS was invented. They always seemed to have to stop in at one bar or another to get directions. But even the ones that could find their way would probably have trouble now if their electronic directional nannies broke down.

The same friend of mine who pointed out the GPS research article wondered if an electronic mapping guide couldn’t be invented for working your way through other complicated parts of life. He suggested some sort of positioning guide for marriages, careers or raising kids. Perhaps a wrist watch type instrument could be worn that would warn a husband to keep his mouth shut when the wife asks him if he thinks she’s putting on weight. Or maybe parents could have the same kind of device talking them through the minefield of sex education with their little puberty bound offspring. Come to think of it, those might be a lot more useful than the one that tells you to turn left in one mile.

But I really don’t think more electronics would be better. In fact so much of the interaction between humans is digital that it almost seems unnatural having a face to face conversation. Facebook, Twitter and all those other substitutes for real talking are getting more and more pervasive every year. Now, I admit that I do use Facebook. And I also admit that it has been a good way to re-connect with family and friends and it has also brought some fine new friends into my life. But I don’t text. I don’t tweet. In fact I’d be embarrassed to even say that I tweeted. It just sounds so dang silly. If you listen to people (usually young folks) who depend on text devices as they engage in regular conversation they sound uncomfortable and oddly disjointed. They seem to have lost the ability to use adjectives and adverbs. And their nouns and verbs are short and punctuated by lapses of intelligible sounds. But maybe I’m just a codger and I wouldn’t understand those youngsters even if they weren’t addicted to abbreviations on glowing screens.

But let me go back to GPS device for a minute. If we become so dependent on those things then what will happen if there’s a major crash of the internet or the national electrical grids? Thousands of senior citizens won’t be able to find their way back home from Florida in spring time. There’ll be huge traffic jams all over the place. Wives will be screaming at husbands as wrong turns are made over and over again. Marriages will fail right and left. (Sorry) But I have a suggestion that can help folks keep their internal mapping abilities sharp. If you’re planning a trip, short or long, take a look at a paper map, jot down a directional note or two and go. Leave the GPS off, or, better yet leave it at home. Then tell everyone about your accomplishment (assuming you made it to your destination) which will make them very envious and ready to out do you on their next journey. In no time at all folks will be in competition every time they travel. IQ scores will rise. SAT scores will be higher than ever as young people try to outsmart their elders. Politicians might even get smarter and figure a way out of the messes we’re in.

Okay, this is where I should probably put in a summary and a nice little encouraging message. But since all of you people are giving up on GPS machines you’re smart enough to fill in this space yourselves.

Now, go find your own way to a fine day.

Good Guys

Yesterday I had a very pleasant phone conversation with a good guy. I met this fellow online through our mutual fandom for the Gibson Brothers bluegrass group. We had exchanged notes, read each others blogs and shared our enthusiasm for our favorite musical group. All of that led to a phone call which bodes well for a burgeoning friendship.

After the conversation ended I thought about how very fortunate I am in having friends, family and acquaintances who are good guys. It almost goes without saying that good guys can be girls. But it is better that I put that clarification on the page. If I started a “good guy list” of folks I know and have known on the next line of this essay I’d end up with several pages of names and probably still miss a few important people due to my aging memory.

Here’s my own personal definition of a good guy: a person who is kind, thinks of others before him(or her)self, strives to be positive, laughs easily, is humble, takes care of responsibilities, tries to lead a moral life and is thoughtfully aware of what is going on in the world.

You can see that it’s not easy being a good guy. But I’ve know an awful lot of them. When I start thinking about how messed up the world is, how much just plain badness exists, I think about some of the good guys on my list. Sometimes I’ll give one a call or send a note asking for a little advice or encouragement. In no time at all things look better and I’ve usually learned something useful in the process.

I won’t embarrass my new friend by putting his name here. Well, maybe I will later. But first let me tell you a little bit about him. He’s a fine musician, a writer and a pediatric physician. His work is mostly with children who are very, very ill and he provides what we now call palliative care and pain management. Those are medical words for one of the toughest jobs in health care. This fellow is a family man with a wife and a couple of youngsters. He has a passion for good bluegrass and old time music that he expresses with very good singing and picking. He plays this music in one of the most unlikely markets, New York City. But with his bandmate he spreads the joy of bluegrass all around those proverbial concrete canyons. In addition to all this my friend writes blogs about music with a positive and entertaining style. He’s knowledgeable about and invariably supportive of artists in the bluegrass field. So now I’ve decided to divulge his name because I think he deserves a little recognition and a wider audience. The good guy I’ve been talking about is John Saroyan of the Manhattan Valley Ramblers from, obviously, New York City. Check out his writing at jimsrootsandblues.com. That site also has the Manhattan Valley Ramblers performance dates on the calendar.

So my “good guy list” is a little longer now. It can never be too long, of course. Hope to see everyone on it someday soon. Now, have a fine day.