ONLINE ARGUING

“What is evident from the studies on the Backfire Effect is you can never win an argument online.”

David McRaney in “You are Now Less Dumb”

I am so relieved.  The burden that I felt was mine, the burden of convincing folks of error, has been lifted.  It had occurred to me over the past couple of years (slow learner that I am) that whenever I tried to convince people in online conversation that their stance on any number of issues was incorrect they only seemed more firm in their convictions.  Logic, reasoning, factual evidence all seemed to be lost to their brains which I assumed were shrinking to the size of a pea.  But I was wrong.  We, none of us, can be reasoned out of our basic beliefs, whether right or wrong, in online arguments.

Psychological studies are weird things and often seem a little bit perverse.  But when conducted fairly and repeatedly, with proper controls and by different groups of researchers it’s tough to argue with the results.  David McRaney, a journalist with a strong interest in psychology and research into the workings of the human mind, has produced a couple of books that bring a great deal of esoteric knowledge into the grasp of those of us who would otherwise be inclined to ignore some very important information.  His books “You are Not So Smart” and “You are Now Less Dumb” are funny, fascinating and very helpful in allowing us to see that a great deal of our thinking is so built in, so automatic and reflexive, indeed, so genetic that it’s a wonder any progress in rational thought is ever made.  I’m not going to review the studies that he points to in his wide ranging chapters.  You can do that on your own.  But one section in the second volume was particularly striking to this writer.  The chapter title is “The Backfire Effect”.  This section demonstrates that our notion that we alter our opinions and incorporate new information into our thinking after our beliefs are challenged with facts is a wrong headed idea.  In fact the research seems to show that when our deepest convictions are challenged by evidence that should sway our thinking, our beliefs in fact get stronger.  That old joke “Don’t confuse me with the facts ma’am, my mind is already made up” has more truth than we’d like to believe.

In studies conducted by psychologists from several universities around the world, and reported in reputable peer reviewed journals it was discovered that folks with strong beliefs are not so easily persuaded (especially in online discussions) to give those beliefs the old heave-ho.  So when I considered some of my online conversations with folks about any number of subjects I realized why I have no converts.  None.  Not on anything. 

When one of my online friends posted another article claiming that President Obama’s birth certificate doesn’t actually exist I did my best to explain that the thing has been seen, recorded and reported on, reliably and completely.  My friend now thinks I’m part of some secret cabal in cahoots with the president. 

Another online friend is constantly sermonizing on the health benefits of that leafy green stuff, kale.  My own research shows that kale is a prime suspect in the increase of flatulence among vegetarians and senior citizens who tried the vegetable at several meals.  But did my highly technical research impress the kale pusher?  No.  That person continues to pursue the kale lover’s agenda.

Some of my politically left-leaning friends (yes I have them) often post their views on social networking sites.  No amount of reasoning will convince them that government is evil, evil, evil.  And many of my conservatively inclined friends post views that are so far to the right that Rush Limbaugh would duck under his desk if those folks stormed his studio.  I've tried to show those people in my online comments that their views are too strong, too polarizing or, let’s face it, too damned wacky, but to no avail.  And believe me, if I, who reside somewhere to the right of G. Gordon Liddy, think those views are wacky then they surely are.  But those friends can’t be swayed away from believing they have the right to drive a locked and loaded Sherman tank in their suburban neighborhoods.  They won’t give up on the idea that the government is actually being controlled by the “mother ship” which orbits the moon, staying on the dark side at night and only sneaking out during daytime to pass messages to the Committee Responsible for Just About Everything, or COREFJAEV.  Pointing out that no such committee exists doesn't help.  Pointing out that the “mother ship” has never been detected is fruitless.  My poor misguided friends are fruitcakes and they’ll stay that way, thank you very much.

Based on this research about the “Backfire Effect” I've decided to stop arguing online.  When someone with liberal ideas posts some offensive cartoon I’ll just ignore it.  When folks with an anti-vaccination agenda start pushing for the repeal of public health laws, I’ll stay quiet and continue to encourage parents, in private face to face conversations, to be sure that their little urchins get the shots they so richly deserve.  When my online friend with the Amway business uses the computer to try and recruit new members for his pyramid scheme I’ll ignore him, except to send him the names of a few of the folks who are annoying me with weird political messages.  I encourage all of you to follow my example.  Except for the part about the Amway dealer.

If we all quit arguing maybe the dopey postings will go away.   Even if they don’t go away you’ll be less stressed knowing that your need to educate those posters has been scientifically proven to be ineffective and thus unnecessary.  And with all the extra free time available in your online life you can read my blogs or at least search for some good poetry.  Besides that, reducing your arguing would be a nice thing to do.  It’ll be easier for you to - have a fine day.

Graceful Aging

This business of aging has been a subject for many writers, thousands of them in fact, and I’ve contributed my fair share of blathering as well.  Doctors weigh in on the subject often with very pessimistic views.  They don’t see a remedy.  Philosophers opine about the meaning of aging and life and (yikes!) death.  Cosmetic and nutritional supplement purveyors offer false hope with products claiming to slow down or at least eliminate the obvious signs of aging. And poets, well poets observe.  Poets look at the whole process and report on how it works; some gently, some bluntly and with anger, and others with wry good humor.

I’m beginning, finally, to actually feel qualified when I write about aging.  I’m closer now to seventy than I’ve ever been.  According to actuarial charts an American man who has lived to the ripe age of sixty-seven has about another fourteen years to hang around being a pain in the butt.  Of course that’s an average and it is considerably reduced when said male is plagued with hypertension or diabetes.  It is all just guessing after all, though life gets really interesting when a person realizes that he’s looking at checking out when a couple of his grandkids might still be in high school.  Yep, interesting.

But there’s no need to feel depressed or angry or “short changed” when we’re thinking about aging.  We need to be pragmatic and realistic.  If we’re above the ground walking, or in my case – hobbling, then we’re doing better than some folks.  Not to get all mushy, but if we’re aging we’re still getting up in the morning and facing a day full of joyous surprises.  It’s true that we may also be facing debilitating problems.  But who isn’t these days? 

And we do need to look at the perks of codgerdom.  There’s the instant discount in restaurants and donut shops.  Then there’s the privilege of belonging to AARP and getting all of their “benefits”.  I do have to admit that I cancelled my AARP membership many years ago.  It seemed like the organization was lobbying for spending measures that would increase my contributions to the government so much that they would greatly overshadow any discounts or benefits gained by belonging.  And, sadly, my values were somewhat in opposition to some of those promoted by those gray headed political activists.

So, let’s see, what other perks can we find in being old folks.  Well we don’t have to make as many excuses for bodily imperfections, or windage control, or missed words in conversations, or misplaced car keys.  I could go on but I can’t remember any others.  Besides, by now you’re bored with this old guy recitation and you’re secretly surfing the net on your IPhone looking for funny videos or big bosomed women.  Those are other things I don’t worry about now that I’m a little older; the IPhone or funny videos. 

That’s it for this brilliant blog.  I’m up way past my bedtime.  And I need to pee again.  Watch for a future entry in which I’ll discuss the merits of various memory improvement exercises.  Now have a fine day.

Super Bowl Pregame Blog

In a few hours the Super Bowl game will begin, preceded by several other shows leading up to the big event.  I saw online that there will even be a pre-game interview of President Obama by Bill O’Reilly, a conservative commentator.  Every year this Super Bowl thing rolls around and I start thinking about how a football game has evolved into some quasi-holiday that includes all the trappings of our old fashioned traditional days like Thanksgiving, Christmas and Great Pumpkin Day.  There are Super Bowl sales, Super Bowl foods, special Super Bowl television commercials and even Super Bowl cocktails.  Someone told me that there are sneak previews of those Super Bowl TV commercials.  Now that is a mind boggling development.

But now I have to confess something.  I won’t be watching the Super Bowl.  Nor will we have a Super Bowl meal or snack fest.  In fact until the NFL play-off season started I hadn’t even paid much attention to the football season.  This year I think I watched one quarter of one game and that was when I was visiting a relative.  When the play-offs come around I check to see who is participating and which teams advance to the finals.  When the conversation in most any gathering turns to football, as it inevitably will, I won’t be a complete dunce if I at least know a few basic facts.  If the Buffalo Bills or the Washington team that we’re not supposed to call by name was in the big game today I’d be much more interested and we might find a local pub to have a meal and watch the proceedings.  But that didn’t happen and we’ll stay home.

You see we don’t watch cable or network television in our house.  It’s been at least seven years since we disconnected cable service.  You’re probably wondering how I can be so in tune with pop culture and not have a TV.  Well, there is the internet.  But even there I’m very selective about the segments of today’s popular junk pile that I delve into.  For instance I can’t tell you which movies or film stars have Oscar nominations.  Likewise for the recording industry and the Grammys or CMA awards.  I did take note of the Del McCoury Band winning a Grammy but that’s only because I follow Bluegrass music.  When it comes to all those young actors from television and movies who are incessantly “hooking up” or breaking up I’m at a complete loss.  I don’t know the current status of Oprah’s diet nor do I follow the arrest record of Justin Bieber.  (I have never ever heard a performance by that young man, recorded or live, either)  So how important is it to be culturally connected in our modern world?

If a person is unaware (or only marginally aware) of a giant sporting event like the Super Bowl is he or she somehow deprived?  If a person can’t discuss popular films or TV shows at a family gathering is that person less interesting than the other folks who have their finger on the pulse of Beyoncé’s latest peccadillo?  I think the answer to both of those questions is no.  Self-serving answer isn’t it?  I will search out the pop-culturally disconnected because they are probably very interesting in other ways.  They may be well read.  They may have an interest in music that doesn’t all sound exactly the same.  They may know about art.  That is not to say that some people who are connected to pop-culture are devoid of other knowledge.  Nope.  There are people capable of discussing early twentieth century poets and Peyton Manning’s passing statistics.  Good for them.  They’re probably more well-rounded than I am.  So what’s my point here?

When I wonder about the importance of the Super Bowl I always end up with conflicted opinions.  It is, of course, economically important.  It’s a capitalist’s holiday, maybe even more than Christmas, in fact.  And for people who are very interested in sports it is a source of entertainment and even excitement.  For people who love loud and boisterous gatherings a Super Bowl party might be the highlight of their year.  Would I like to see as much attention paid to the problems of government and society as is paid to this game?  Sure.  Would I like to see good literature get about two percent of the attention that professional sports garners?  Yep.  But in the words of that wise philosopher Sly Stone – “Different strokes for different folks.”  And we’ll leave it at that except for one more thing - Broncos by six.

Have a Super day.

The Post Office Made Me Do It

The Post Office Made Me Do It

Should I start off a perfectly good year with complaining?  Thirteen days have gone by and I haven’t written a word about things that have been bugging the heck out of me.  But the U.S. Post Office, that bastion of reliability and good old American know how, has provided the spur that has goaded my angry horse to a stampede of vitriol.  How’s that for a metaphor?

One week ago I went to the post office with a package that I wanted to send fairly quickly to my sister up in the North Country.  So I paid the big bucks, twenty one of them, to get what is called on the receipt, 2-day Priority Service.  Today, seven days later, the package – according to the young postal clerk who had the misfortune to say “May I help the next person in line?” when I was next up – might get delivered.  This young lady told me that the “2-day” part of the deal was just a goal, something the folks at the post office strive for, not a guaranteed reality.  So I let go with a little rant about service and cost and government subsidies to a failed quasi-business.  The poor little clerk stood there and took all that unnecessary anger, apologizing whenever she could get a word in, and smiling through the whole oration.  My fellow postal customers, about fifteen or twenty of them, applauded at the end.  I think they were applauding either the young lady’s tact or the fact that I was finished.  They couldn't have been applauding my rude and boorish outburst.

But then why shouldn't we have rude and boorish outbursts once in a while?  We pay for service at the post office.  We pay, as taxpayers, to keep the institution going even though it constantly fails in its mission.  They spend millions of dollars every year telling us how much better they’re doing and how our satisfaction is their main concern.  But they still can’t deliver on their promises.  Which brings to mind that whole issue of promises broken and lies told by folks who work in the government, particularly those elected to high office.  The ones elected to lower office are probably a little less susceptible to the lying and deceiving malady since they live closer to their constituencies.  Well maybe not, if we look at the boneheads we elect in Delaware.

Friends you know I’m not the brightest fellow in the blogosphere.  And the intricacies of complex legislation are often beyond my simple understanding.  Some of my less conservative friends point out the errors in my reasoning process on a regular basis.  Some of them even use charts and statistics provided by very reputable agencies and organizations to prove their points.  I, on the other hand, have only my ability to read and to make judgments based on common sense and gut feelings.  Of course there is a wide gap between what my friends hold to be the best way to make progress in the world and what I believe to be true.  We will never fully agree.  I try to understand their viewpoints but I must admit that I struggle.

For instance I've looked at statistics regarding the new Affordable Health Care Act.  The proponents of this ambitious program cite numbers supporting early successes.  Other people cite a different set of statistics that demonstrate the high costs and early failure of the new system.  What is a simple mind supposed to do when faced with these contradictions, both made in good faith?  Or are they?  I’m afraid I looked at a whole lot of the promises made by the Proponent in Chief as he pushed, prodded, promised, promoted and badgered this program into existence.  But friends, the guy lied.  I've heard the lies.  I've heard the excuses for the lies, I've heard the backpedaling and prevarications about the lies.  I've heard the man’s minions go out and lie for him.  If we can’t believe the person most responsible for this mess then why would I believe the statistics that his side puts forth in support of his lies?  Or are both sides lying?  In that case I've got to look elsewhere for information.

Yep, I had to find some anecdotal evidence of my own.  So I listened to what my cousin’s son said about his costs going up under the new program.  Then I talked to my neighbor about how his workplace insurance is now gone and an equal replacement policy will cost him nearly four times as much this year.  Next I talked to a person I know who works for the federal government and he isn't seeing any change at all.  Then I talked to some folks who got insurance through a trade organization but the carrier is cancelling all of their policies and they've got to go to the “marketplace” to get replacements.  Every one of them will be paying much more for their policies.  In truth, I have not yet found a single instance of someone who is satisfied with the changes they've had to go through to get health insurance under this new program.  Maybe there are thousands of previously uninsured folks who now have insurance and who also get government subsidies for the premiums.  I haven’t met any.  And honestly, I’m not all that thrilled to be subsidizing, via taxes, insurance premiums for some folks while others are being treated so shabbily by this program.

Well, you all get my drift.  I won’t even go into the lies about the NSA and Benghazi and the IRS issues.  Nor will I discuss the hypocrisy of elected officials who still can’t seem to live under the laws that they write or who complain about the pain of poor people and the middle class as they enjoy government subsidized vacations around the world.  Nope.  Won’t go into all that.  And I certainly won’t point any fingers at those wealthy entertainment types that love to tell us how we need to help the downtrodden as they’re getting fitted for clothes they wear once that cost more than an average teacher’s monthly salary.  And it would never be fitting for me to complain about a Congress that completely ignores past promises to military members and cuts veterans’ benefits while giving themselves annual pay raises.  There’s so much I can’t talk about, isn't there?

Okay liberal friends, have at me.  I’m sure you’ll find much to disagree with and your arguments will be deeply rooted in esoteric philosophical ideas and ideals.  That’s good.  But honestly friends, shouldn't we start looking for people to put in office who can actually tell the truth, all the time, about everything?  I for one believe that we can handle the truth.

Sorry for this rant.  You can blame the post office.  Now have a fine day.

Holiday Writing

Holiday Writing

Usually by this time in the Christmas season I've written and mailed off an uproariously funny “family letter” to all of my close relatives, the ones who understand how truly off balance I am.  But this year my humor writing mojo seems to be in Florida with all the old folks, so that letter never happened.  Last year I posted an article on my blog site about overcoming the cynicism and commercialism that seems to rise up so strongly around Thanksgiving.  If you want to remember that bit of redemptive writing just check out the blog archive.  But this year I’m not going to try an inspirational message either.

Nope.  This year I’m going to tell you a story.  This story won’t be a retelling of “A Christmas Carol” or “Miracle on Some Street in New York City” or “Charlie Brown’s Amazingly Boring Christmas Special”.  You won’t be inspired or moved to tears of empathy.  In fact this story doesn't even take place at Christmas time.  It’s more of a late fall thing though there is a brief Christmas reference.  Watch for it.  Here’s the story.

Starter Trouble

Many years ago on an early November Saturday morning two boys, ages eleven and ten, sat in a car arguing.  The car was a ’56 Plymouth station wagon, only a year or so old though it had the distinct aromatic ambiance of Pall Mall unfiltered cigarettes.  The boys weren't smoking.  At least not at this time.

The argument so far had not reached the point of physical contact because at any moment the boys’ father would return to the car and notice any blood or bruises.  The eleven year old was putting forth the idea that it was easy to start a car but he would never do such a thing, at least not until he was a little older and had permission.  The ten year old agreed that starting a car was very easy and he would show his brother the proper technique since said brother was a real low down coward for not even taking the dare and trying to turn the key.  Dares were serious in those days.  Being accused of low down cowardice was an even more serious matter.

The two boys, let’s call the oldest one David and the younger one Daniel, had been in the car for nearly three hours.  They were passengers as their father drove around the neighborhoods near Lake Ontario not far from their home.  Their dad was earning extra money by collecting payments for magazine subscriptions that folks had bought over the phone and while he was collecting he was also trying to sell new subscriptions.  People read genuine paper copies of magazines back in those olden times, sometimes several every week.  The boys were with their father so that their mom would have a slight break and only have to worry about three kids instead of the usual household complement of five.  And, as a reward for putting up with the boredom of riding around the magazine route, the boys would get a great hamburger lunch at a local lakeside joint which was, and still is, a major treat.

But let’s get back to the argument.  David was faced with a large moral dilemma.  He had seen the car started thousands of times.  Insert the key, push one of the pedals down near the floor, turn the key and the car will start.  Simple.  However starting the car without permission would constitute a major break in the rules of life.  Their dad had said “Don’t touch anything in this car.  Ever.”  He was pretty clear about that rule.  But Daniel had played the “low down coward” card and somehow David knew he had to come up with a counter-play or completely lose face, probably for the rest of his natural life.  It was a big moment.  So David went for the stall.  He told Daniel that when they got to the Hunsacker’s house he would accept the dare because the Hunsacker’s always gave their dad a cup of coffee and talked about new subscriptions and major world affairs for at least twenty minutes.  That would be plenty of time to either kick Daniel’s butt or distract him with a reverse dare involving something less drastic than car starting.

Their Dad then came back and drove on to the next stop.  There was no one home.  So he turned onto Braddock Road and cruised up to North Street.  He stopped.  It was the Hunsacker place.  Just before he closed the door as he left the car their dad said “You guys are doing okay today.  This is the last stop.  The Charcoal Pit is only a few minutes away.  Don’t screw it up.”  David and Daniel just nodded their heads. 

Then Daniel said to David “You’re the worst kind of coward if you don’t start the car.”  He was a persistent boy when it came to rule breaking.  David couldn't find a way out of this one.  So he threw a pretty good right hook to Daniel’s neck but the punch didn't seem to work very well.  Daniel countered with a flurry of slaps which sent David’s glasses to the floor.  Punching blindly David moved in for a Davy Crockett bear hug technique but Daniel pulled a reverse and pushed his brother’s face up against the window.  They held the position for a long time.  Daniel clearly had the upper hand.  David said “Give”.  They both climbed from the back to the front seat.  David wished his father was more careful about taking the keys when leaving the car.  But he wasn't and they were dangling from the ignition switch just above the lighter. 

As David settled into the driver’s seat he realized that his legs were just a little too short.  The pedal pushing part of starting was going to be a problem.  But his brother had the solution as he crawled down in front of the bench seat.  He volunteered to push the clutch and gas pedals with his hands while his big brother turned the switch.  After deciding on a countdown procedure, which was accomplished with surprising quickness, they each did their jobs.  The car coughed a little but didn't start.  David told his brother to push the gas pedal a little harder and they cranked the engine again.  Nothing but a solid grinding and clicking noise came from beneath the hood.  After seven more attempts the engine caught with a roar that startled Daniel so badly his hand slipped from the clutch pedal.  The car bucked once, jerking a few inches forward, and died off with a wheeze.  The boys scrambled for the back seat.

When their dad came out of Hunsacker’s house with a slight smile on his face and a sheaf of new subscriptions in his hand the boys relaxed.  They figured he’d start the car and never notice the sixteen inch change in its position.  He got into the car, lit a cigarette and with his usual practiced precision turned the key.  The starter clicked.  The engine didn't roar.  He tried again.  He glanced at the boys, got out of the car and went to the hood latch.  The boys could see his arms beneath the hood through a gap over the front seat.  He wiggled wires and he rested his hand for a second on a strange looking canister shaped part.

The boys froze as he slowly opened the door and looked at them.  He said “The distributor cap is pretty warm.  You guys weren't touching anything were you?”  The reply was, of course, “Nope.  Not us.  We've just been sitting here waiting.”  Denial was a staple of their young lives.  Their dad walked back to Hunsacker’s house, an angry tension in his shoulders, knocked and went in.  The boys began their litany of blame.  “It was your fault.”  “No, you made me do it.”  “Did not.”   “Did.”  Then their father’s face appeared at the window.  He opened the door and asked what the argument was all about.  “Nothing” was the simultaneous reply.  He lit another cigarette and said that a tow truck would be along shortly.  Then he said “This is going to cost a lot of money.  Christmas might just be cancelled or at least cut down to nearly nothing.  You boys will have to make some sacrifices so your sister and little brothers get at least a little something.  You won’t have a problem with that, will you boys?”  They choked out “No” in chorus.

The tow truck came but wasn't needed.  The driver and the boys’ father were able to jump start the car.  The driver was paid twenty dollars and he went on his way.  It was almost one o’clock when they reached the Charcoal Pit.  David was sent into the restaurant to get the burgers and drinks so that the car could stay running.  He was sure he’d come out to find that he’d been ratted out by his brother.  And he was.  The scolding was loud and the punishment swift.  David thought that, in spite of the pain, it actually felt pretty good to get everything settled, even if Daniel got away with his part in the crime as usual.  And though they knew they didn't deserve it, it came to pass that Christmas wasn't cancelled that year.

That’s it for the old blog site this year.  Hope you all have a very Merry Christmas (or whichever equally important Holiday you observe) and a Happy New Year.  Look for a new poem on www.bluecollarpoetrybyjimbourey.blogspot.com very soon.

Low Key Show Biz

A few nights ago in a blinding flash of inspiration (actually a dimly lit fit of insomnia) I thought I might try to write a very brief history of Bluegrass music.  So far my knowledge of the subject was stuff that I had gleaned from my crazy friends, album liner notes and occasional nuggets from Kyle Cantrell or Chris Jones.  (If you don’t recognize the names of those two fellows it’s because you aren’t a Sirius/XM subscriber tuned to channel 61)  So I vowed that when I got up the next day I’d start some serious research and from that research I would carefully craft a brief but fascinating treatise.

And I did.  At least I started the research.  Using the ever present Google and Wikipedia I began to dig in.  Then I went to our local library and found a couple of biographies of the big names in the business and scanned through them looking for the juicy stuff that might spice up the story.  There was some seamy material but somewhere along the way most of the giants of Bluegrass got squared away and went on to lead productive and not terribly gossip worthy lives.  Almost all of those giants came from humble beginnings and steadily worked at becoming masters of their craft so that they could make music, usually about their humble beginnings.  Or love.  Or faith.  Or work.  Or music.

So that sent me off on another tangent (I’m easily sent off) thinking about what a dull corner of show business Bluegrass occupies.  In other parts of the world of entertainment the big stars can’t seem to get their dirty little secrets out in public fast enough.  Magazines, tabloid papers and TV “news” shows are all about the scandals of singers, actors and politicians.  Talk shows are quick to book the slimiest characters on the circuit.  That reminds me of a line from an article by William Zinsser – “Then talk shows were born and shame went out the window.”  Now that’s a true fact and I believe that Bluegrass artists still understand what it is to have a sense of shame.

There I was with a pile of notes about Bill Monroe, Ralph Stanley, the Louvin Brothers, the Carter family, Ricky Skaggs and many more.  I had stuff about the little record companies and the promoters and festivals.  There were stories about how people from outside the Bluegrass world came inside and scammed some artists and left them high and dry.  But most of my notes were like this.

“Born on a farm in (fill in the blank).  Learned how to play from a grandfather, parent, aunt, uncle.  When he/she heard (fill in another blank) he/she was inspired to try and make a living in Bluegrass.  Struggled for a time, built up recognition, made some records, gradually survived and eventually made a decent living.”

Story after story goes like that.  Of course not all of the big names came from a farm.  But there aren’t many who popped up out of New York City or Los Angeles.  And there are very, very few Bluegrass artists, past or present, who suddenly arrived at the top of the heap.  There is no “Star Making Machine” in the Bluegrass business.  Fan bases are built at a glacial pace, one listener at a time.  And that, I believe, is a large part of the appeal of this music.  It is built so firmly on friendship and honesty that it just feels good to follow and to be involved in, even if being involved is just sitting on a lawn chair at some rural festival.

I’m still going to write that history some day in the future.  I’ve got a lot more to learn before I can do justice to the subject though.  Meanwhile I’m going to see if I can find a concert or show nearby.  It’s time for another shot of that Bluegrass music.

Have a fine day.

 

Modern Culture

It’s high time we considered “culture” (pronounced by some high-falutin’ folks as “cull-cha”) as something more than great novels, symphonies or art museums full of stuff made by dead or dying artists.  And as we begin this discussion I’ll admit that I’ve been less than open-minded in what I consider part of the great melting pot that is modern culture.  In fact I’m a bit of a snob.

The dictionary has a long list of definitions of culture.  For the sake of this little article we’ll use this one from “The American Century Dictionary”:  1a) Intellectual and artistic achievement or expression 1b) Refined appreciation of the arts, etc.  Pretty simple.

In fact the simplicity of that definition opens up the cultural world to include what I’ve always considered to be pretty crappy stuff.  If the arts are literature, music and visual creations then we must consider stuff like comic books, rap and splashing paint randomly on canvas as culturally viable.  Dang.  Of course the definition does open with the words “intellectual” in part 1a and “refined” in 1b.  So maybe we can pare down the volume of material that is truly cultural by using those two razors.

Let’s start with music.  Music is arguably the most widespread cultural pursuit.  People who wouldn’t open a book, even if the title was “There’s Money Taped to Every Page”, still will listen to music.  Many will make up tunes in their head and hum them as they jog along through their lives.  There is a thing called the “Music Industry” and it is sub-divided into dozens of genres or types.  A person’s individual taste, which is formed over a lifetime, will dictate the types of music he or she prefers and considers high on the cultural scale.  Some people have a narrow taste in music while others are open to several types.  I prefer Bluegrass, Beethoven and Mozart, Big Band, Sixties Rock and Folk, Older Country and Melodic Jazz.  One friend of mine will only listen to Bach, Beethoven and Brahms.  He thinks anything written after those guys croaked is anti-cultural.  Another guy that I know is completely obsessed with Heavy Metal, especially Metallica.  But, and here’s the big point of this thing, it’s all part of our culture.  Just because we don’t like a certain kind of music doesn’t mean that music is without value.

Except Rap.  Rap is out.  No, I’m kidding.  Rap is in.  Reggae is in, even the stuff played on steel drums.  So we’ve settled, by the flawless logical method of me making the decisions here, that musical culture includes any type where the artist or writer makes an intellectual effort and garners an audience that has a refined approach to the appreciation of that form.  Even those songs that Barney the purple dinosaur sings have some cultural relevance.  Sad, isn’t it?

Now on to literature we go with our newly discovered opened minds.  Literature should probably be approached in the same way as music.  There are all kinds of literature:  classical, romance fiction, detective and mystery fiction, thrillers, horror, gothic; non-fiction, magazines, short stories, newspapers; cooking books, self-help, inspirational, religious.  (Did you see all those colons, semi-colons and commas in that sentence?)  You see what I’m getting at here, right?  You have to decide for yourself the parameters of how high or how low on the cultural scale your preferred form of literature should be.  If you think James Patterson ranks up there with Shakespeare, well that’s your decision.  Just be advised that some folks will take exception to your choices.  They may even call you a mindless twit.  But don’t let it bother you.  I’m sure people called Shakespeare a mindless twit at one time or another.  But not Stephen King.  Nobody calls him names. 

Of course I’m sure we can all agree on one major fact.  The highest of the literary arts, the form of literature that sits at the tippy-top spot on the cultural scale is Poetry.  And not just any poetry, no, it must be the good stuff.  And if you want some recommendations to beef up your own cultural standing I’ll be happy to oblige.  Just contact me.  There will be no further discussion on literature.

Now we move on to the visual arts.  There are a bunch of visual arts and they include, but are probably not limited to – painting, drawing, photography, film, television, sculpture, pottery, making little villages out of popsicle sticks, dance (which combines music and motion), graphic art and graffiti.  It is especially important that we keep the “intellectual” and “refined” guidelines in mind when it comes to visual art.  Coloring inside the lines most likely does not constitute an artistic accomplishment.  It’s a good thing and should be rewarded with refrigerator placement but it isn’t art.  Television is a very tough art form to judge.  Some folks might think that the Jerry Springer Show is art.  It’s not.  Others might think that “Dancing with the Stars” is art.  Since it has dancing as a part of the show it can be considered art.  At least it could until they brought Bill Nye the Science Guy onto the set.  Then it slid into just being silly.  Now I honestly shouldn’t be making these judgments about TV since I almost never watch that art form.  For good information on where TV shows place on the cultural scale you should probably check with TV Guide, People Magazine or some other high-class publication like that.

Other kinds of visual art are easier to rate on the cultural scale.  If a piece of art looks like it has some intellectual basis and can be appreciated by at least a handful of folks then it just might have some cultural standing.  If a piece of art looks like a piece of crap that some wacko put together just to get a reaction then, sadly, it may be art.  That doesn’t mean you have to look at it or if you accidentally get a peek you have to like the thing.  Nope.  Art critics will disagree about the cultural value of the stuff.  Just find out which critic hates the same thing you hate and in artistic discussions agree with him or her.  That’s called having an informed opinion and it’s all the rage in cultural circles.

Well I’ve got over a thousand words on “culture” now.  I hope I’ve brought some understanding to all you good folks.  I made my big point a few paragraphs back.  In case you forgot already the big point is that “culture” is a very large and varied thing.   It’s worth studying.  It’s worth finding some cultural things to appreciate because they will help you grow intellectually and maybe even spiritually.  But if you don’t like something that is considered high on the cultural scale don’t feel that you’re less of a person.  Just be sure you approach your cultural decisions with intellect and refinement.

Now go do something artistic and have a fine day.