?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Media Musings

Today is Primary Day in Ohio, Rhode Island, Texas, and Vermont. And what I’ve noticed lately is that the media has become a third party to the campaigning. I don’t mean in the regular sense that reporters have been sharing information through various news channels about what is going on.

I mean that the media have been the subject of various talking heads’ tirades about candidate exposure. This morning, for instance, conservative Laura Ingraham commented that the media had given Barack Obama a free pass. She said that he had not been suitably vetted, so that the public could determine his true qualifications.

I’ve also heard criticism of the media’s handling of Hillary Clinton, but truthfully I’ve not heard comment about the media’s handling of John McCain. Why is this?

I have a sneaky feeling that the conservative wing of the Republican Party is setting up the media as a fall guy in case McCain loses the November election. The scenario in my head runs like this: The media favors liberals. The Democratic nominee is a liberal; therefore, logic suggests the media favors whoever is the Democratic candidate. This means the Republican candidate won’t get the press he is entitled to. So if he loses, it will be the media’s fault.

It’s clever, and — if we lived in a totalitarian society — it could be true. But, since we live in America, what could also be true, regardless of November’s winner, is that the public actually voted for or against a candidate regardless of media exposure.

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Bush’s Library

There is a hilarious article in the current issue (dated March 7) of The Chronicle of Higher Education. It asks readers to sketch their ideas for the forthcoming George W. Bush Presidential Library. All modern presidents have one, and evidently Bush’s will be at Southern Methodist University.

The only criterion for submitting an entry was that it had to be drawn on the back of an envelope. I see this as leveling the playing field, so that architects don’t have an edge. And, according to the Chronicle, “About 120 people sent in sketches that were good, bad, serious, humorous, abstract, or really angry.” That pretty much describes the electorate at this time.

One such entry revealed a couple small buildings above ground with an immense complex underneath. The key to galleries and exhibits included “The WMD Stockpile of Manufactured Evidence Library,” “The Big Oil Hall,” “The Telecommunications /Listening Surveillance Lounge, and the “The ‘We Don’t Torture’ Torture Viewing Theatre.” That’s certainly a lot to get on the back of an envelope.

Another entry took inspiration from various Egyptian temples with the apex of the complex designed to face toward Crawford, Texas, for perpetuity. This creation also included the Fema Garden Awaiting Attention, an orchard of trees dedicated to the children not left behind, and the Well of the Axis of Evil. Then there was the complex designed in the shape of a W, the non-library library, and the Colt 45 emerging from a baseball which doubles as a revolving restaurant.

My favorite submission was fashioned after an amusement park with the WMD Sky Ride, the U.S. Economy Roller Coaster, and the Katrina Water Follies. It was dubbed the Library and Fun Ranch, which makes me wonder if the creator thought libraries were not fun.

While these pokes at the president are in jest, the current proposed cost on the real thing, which apparently will be designed by Robert A. M. Stern, is in the neighborhood of $500 million dollars. Truth be told, I don’t think that’s funny at all.

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Ukrainian Eggs

Earl has a certain fascination with Ukrainian eggs. In fact, one such egg was among the very first gifts he gave me. We bought it together in an old ethnic neighborhood on Chicago’s west side. I returned the favor one year by bringing him a Ukrainian egg from New York City. Since then family members have added to our small collection.

Until about a year ago, we kept the eggs inside a little cupboard, partly for fear of breaking them. We’d had experience with such breakage, as a cleaning lady accidentally once put her thumb through one. It was the first egg Earl bought me. Keeping it safe hadn’t saved it, so I wondered why we bothered hiding them.

A couple eggs had ribbon pulled through them to enable them to be hung, so I decided to hang them in the kitchen window where we would see them daily. They have been a joy to look at ever since.

It’s true they’re now faded and not as lovely as before. It’s true that the family members who gave Earl the eggs might feel we didn’t take care of them. But what’s also true is that a day doesn’t pass that I don’t think about the tradition of Ukrainian eggs, admire their beauty, and remember the giver.

I think I’d rather have those memories than a perfect egg sitting in a cupboard.

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Get Well Soon

I have been in bed these past four days with a bronchial infection which has left me listless and grey. To pass the time, I’ve watched a lot of television, probably more than I’ve watched in the past twelve months; and I notice that daytime TV runs a certain cycle.

First, there are the morning shows with chipper hosts who banter back and forth among themselves. Obviously, these are all morning people; and I’m not in their ranks even on my best days. Then mid-morning there are the re-runs of such stalwart hits at Bonanza (with all original cast members), Mayberry RFD, and I Love Lucy. Next are the cooking and home improvement shows where I learned to make chocolate pancakes (Yuck!) and remodel a room in three days. Late afternoon brought talk shows: Dr. Phil, Oprah, Jim Cramer the Crazy Stock Guy, and the analysts that are sure they know why the stock market closed up or down. Finally, the evening news anchors, both local and national, take center stage.

The first day I was bedridden I was mesmerized by this parade of programs. As my fingers flitted over the remote control, I wondered if I’d missed something by not watch TV regularly. But by the second and the third days, my fingers were less eager to seek the next channel. Sleep was more appealing, as was staring out my bedroom window.

I did watch last night’s Democratic Debate between Senators Clinton and Obama (mentioned in alphabetical order so as to follow political correctness) and found it fairly interesting. But when the ever-present pundits began to give their two cents, I hit the off button and rolled over thinking I’d better get well soon.

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Great Web Site

Several months ago I happened upon a web site called Arts & Letter Daily, www.aldaily.com for short. It isn’t so much a web site in its own right as it is a portal to other sites that offer provocative criticism and review of contemporary philosophy, literature, culture, history, music, and almost any other topic you can imagine.

ALDaily provides the reader a sentence or two that reflect the topic and tone one finds if one clicks the link to the entire article in question. But it’s those first sentences that hook me. Usually, they’re not taken word for word from the article, but rather condense what it’s about. And since most of these articles are quite lengthy, that’s a challenge.

“Show me a woman with a good three inches of cleavage on display, and I’ll show you a woman with little faith in her powers of conversation” is the bait to visit www.thesmartset.com and read about the fashion industry’s passion for telling women how to dress.

“Do professors indoctrinate students by expressing a political ideology in the classroom?” takes us to an article by Robin Wilson that examines the liberal/conservative pendulum on our nation’s campuses. And “If this is to be a ‘change election,’ how about changing America’s destructive drift into anti-rationalism and pig ignorance” leads us to an article titled “The Dumbing of America” by Susan Jacoby.

Once I get to the actual articles, I don’t always agree with the authors’ premises but ALDaily does make me think. It makes me think far more than any local newspaper or Sunday edition or flashy newsstand magazine. And I don’t have to subscribe to a myriad of publications to read it either.

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Changing My Mind in Austin

I watched last night’s debate between Democratic candidates Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, and then I watched the analysis that followed.

I did like that the debate didn’t really take any truly nasty turns. Real debate is based on the participants having studied their own positions and presenting them in the most convincing manner, the better to inform the audience. It’s not tirades and jabs, criticisms and caustic comments.

The after-show summed much of what I thought, although I felt the commentators made too much of Hillary Clinton’s final remarks and whether they were valedictory in nature. What I liked most, however, was an opportunity to change an opinion I’ve held for a long time about Anderson Cooper, the moderator of the analysis.

When Hurricane Katrina decimated much of New Orleans, he was on the scene. I saw him interview a young woman who had lost almost everything and was obviously distraught. Cooper seemed unaware of her state and continued to position her for the best camera angle while asking inane questions, such as “How are you feeling right now?”

Had I been that woman, Mr. Cooper might have had two black eyes. No, had I been that woman I wouldn’t have agreed to be interviewed. But this doesn’t absolve the interviewer from being insensitive.

I vowed I would never watch Anderson Cooper again . . . and I haven’t. Until last night. Granted the context was different, but I thought he conducted himself courteously, asked relevant questions, and didn’t interrupt the respondent. Maybe he’s better in a studio than on the street. Or maybe he’s learned better interviewing techniques. Either way, he got a second change to make a first impression with me.

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Words Count

I’m a writer. So it’s only logical that I support the notion that words count, that they mean something. And when political candidates make statements about staying in Iraq for one hundred years or withdrawing troops in sixty days or feeling proud for the first time as an adult, I think these words should be challenged.

However, I suspect the people who made these remarks were speaking more for effect than for accuracy. The same goes for the candidate who said, “Words are cheap.”

Words don’t exist in a vacuum; as a rule, they are spoken in some sort of context.
These statements are all part of the campaign rhetoric that is the currency used to buy votes during the various state primaries and caucuses. In a way, they’re akin to the language salespeople frequently use when they’re trying to make a deal. You probably wouldn’t buy a pricey car without doing some homework in spite of the salesperson’s comments. And it’s probably a good idea to research the background of political statements as well. Or at least, be skeptical of them.

That’s not to say political candidates or talk show hosts (Think Don Imus here) should get away with insult. It does mean, however, we should consider the context behind a statement and evaluate its worth from that point of view.

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Nature on Display

Recently, I decided to put up a bird feeder outside my office window, partly to feed the hungry birds and partly to amuse myself with their comings and goings. Now, ten days into the mission, I’ve determined several rules for feeding hungry birds in winter.

First, never assume their appetites are sated. When you hear the phrase, “She (or He) eats like a bird,” it is not complimentary. Birds are chowhounds; they eat until the food is gone, which is different from eating until they are full.

Birds are also territorial. I haven’t gotten it quite figured out but there is a hierarchy among them that seems to do with size. The bigger the bird, the more apt it is to command the feeder while the littler birds wait their turns.

They also feed at regular times. From 10 AM to about 4 PM, the feeder is the local gathering place. But outside of those hours, nobody goes near it. I’m not sure why.

I’ve had to contend with squirrels too. They think the food is for them, but I feel strongly that the bread I put out is for them while the birdseed is for my feathered friends. I’ve had to become aggressive in keeping a couple squirrels away from the bird feeder. They have figured out how to jump to the windowsill and then onto the feeder where they gorge themselves as much as any bird.

What works is to screech at them from behind my office window while waving my arms like a monster. I think there is something about the decibel in the screech that sends them packing. They stay away for a day or so but then return to try again. Suffice to say I’m ready with my screechy tones.

It’s a pleasant diversion, helping animals survive in winter. It is devoid of political consequence, doesn’t require sending troops anywhere, and isn’t about spin and delegates. It’s simply about helping out.

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Short Story

According to “Smith” — an online storytelling community that encouraged reading, writing, and sharing — “legend has it that Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in only six words. His response? “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

It got me thinking about what I might write; so driving to my piano lesson I conjured the following stories:

“Pawn shop. Tiny diamond. He proposed.”

“Headlines blared: Abductee found alive! Miracle.”

“Teenagers drinking. Driving. Crash. One survivor.”

And in honor of the day: “Valentine’s Day. She broke my heart.”

Trolling the Internet, I found that the November 2006 “Wired” offered many six-words stories. I’m glad I didn’t read any before creating my own, as I think some are much better. Here, with the author identified, is a sampling:

K.I.A. Baghdad, Aged 18 – Closed Casket
– Richard K. Morgan

Epitaph: He shouldn’t have fed it.
– Brian Herbert

Bush told the truth. Hell froze.
– William Gibson

Dinosaurs return. Want their oil back.
– David Brin

Bang postponed. Not Big enough. Reboot.
– David Brin

Metrosexuals notwithstanding, quiche still lacks something.
– David Brin

Death postponed. Metastasized cells got organized.
– David Brin

Will this do (lazy writer asked)?
– Ken MacLeod

Clones demand rights: second Emancipation Proclamation.
– Paul Di Filippo

Commas, see, add, like, nada, okay?
– Gregory Maguire

Weeping, Bush misheard Cheney’s deathbed advice.
– Gregory Maguire

Corpse parts missing. Doctor buys yacht.
– Margaret Atwood

Starlet sex scandal. Giant squid involved.
– Margaret Atwood

Time traveler’s thought: “What’s the password?”
– Steven Meretzky

Parallel universe. Bush, destitute, joins army.
– Steven Meretzky

And finally, one last attempt on my part: ADD version — Wind separates Rhett, Scarlett.

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Jesus Christ Superstar

Last night some friends, Earl, and I went to see the touring production of “Jesus Christ Superstar,” a rock musical from the 1970s that revolves around the last few days of Christ’s life. We all know how the story ends, but that isn’t the real reason I came away dissatisfied.

Plainly put, the lead character of Jesus didn’t act the part as much as he merely walked through it. And this is sad, because it was Ted Neely, one of the originators of the role and the one chosen to play it on the big screen, who starred (I use the word loosely) in this production. He was wooden, prone to the same arm gestures over and over, clearly off key, and almost an embarrassment to the rest of the cast, even if he did come alive in the scene where he ejects the sellers from the temple.

I was so taken with his lack of “performance” that I dialed him up on Google®, and learned I am not alone in my opinion. The man is my age — sixty-three for the record — and has made a career of playing Christ for 36 years. It’s belaboring the obvious to note he’s been playing Christ longer than Christ played himself.

I read several reviews of Neely’s work and must admit that some people felt we should cut him slack. They are the ones who, admittedly, went to see Neely playing Christ in the show. They were more interested in the man’s longevity than in seeing a refreshing take on the lead. I can see this point of view, but even if I had gone to see Ted Neely reprise his famous role, I still wish he had shown up to do it.

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