Ever wanted to take back something?
Of course you have. A sentence, a word, an action that you didn't think through? Or think about at all? We all have these moments throughout our lives. Some are bigger than others. Some can cause great hurt, after all that's why we want to take them back, isn't it?
The ones that were worst, though, were the ones that hurt others. Generally our regrets, heck I won't make any claims about humanity, generally my regrets have been things said or done that've hurt others. I don't regret the time I got hurt walking the dog, or the time I got a 2nd degree sunburn swimming. Those things just affected me, no one else got hurt. Besides in each of those cases the pain was merely physical, and physical pain is temporary.
We may want to take those painful moments back, I don't like trips to the hospital any more than anyone else, but we don't regret them. And given the choice I'd rather erase the moments that were painful that I also regret, for those are the times I hurt others.
I made just such an error. I unthinkingly said something to a friend, who I thought would take it in a different light. Instead of humor they were moved by anger. I was surprised, and then my mind worked a bit and put together the events of the day to explain what had happened. The friend in question had a very rough day. I was unaware of this when I made my comment, but as I thought about what news I'd received earlier that day I was struck with that heart-in-throat, gut-wrench of human experience.
Running errands all day I later find out that some of my friends who weren't spending their day at Logan airport had a hard day topped off by a car accident. And in this emotionally shaky situation I acted callously. Of course I was met with anger. I would have done the same thing. Wouldn't you?
So now I have to fight. But I am looking forward to it. The friendship in question is so important to me, I have no choice. I can only hope and fear and work on fixing things. When these things happen you have to fight, fight as hard as you can for the person you've hurt. For if you regret having hurt them then they are important to you. And if you want to keep it that when, then you need to realize that what you did was stupid, or mean, often both, apologize and work at it again.
It can take years. There are ones I'm still working on. There are ones I can't work on yet. And there are ones that I have given up on; the damage had run too deep for redemption. And that's the messiness of it, 'cause you can do damage that is irrevocable. Sometimes it is too late, and 'better late than never' may not apply. What wouldn't you give to take it back?
My motto, generally, is that 'you regret the things you don't do, not the things you do'. I am saddened to report that this may not be the case. It is a good philosophy for living life to the fullest, taking risks, and getting excitement from possibilities you'd otherwise not consider. But it doesn't take others into consideration, and, shit, they're what's important.
But this time I've screwed up, realized it, and now begin to fix if possible. I dearly hope that I may succeed. If not for myself then for them.
Monday, September 17, 2007
solumn 24 augustine and jazz
Since 1959 it has been possible for someone to simultaneously read Augustine's 'Confessions' while listening to 'Mingus Ah Um'. But I'm unsure if anyone has ever done it before me.
Charlie Mingus' classic album is definitely worth a listen, just as Augustine is worth a read. Combining them leads to an odd experience, however. Augustine's work is the first autobiography, and was written in the late 300's A.D. Mingus helped define modern jazz in the 50's and 60's. Both are two-hit wonders, Augustine also wrote 'The City of God' which is an important theological treatise, and Mingus also put out 'The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady', voted by Some people Some where as The Best Jazz Album Ever Period(.) I wonder if Mingus ever read Augustine.
But if you ever wish to combine religious autobiography with modern jazz listening they're a great combo. Yet I can never fully endorse reading and music listening at the same time, for one will inevitably distract from the fullness of appreciation of the other. But as my mom used to say: 'Do as I say, not as I do'. If we all followed our own common sense then the world would be, if not a much prettier place, a much more reasonable, and ergo peaceful, one.
I was once sitting in what I thought was the set for 'Blade Runner' but turned out to be the Port Authority bus station in New York City. Enclosed in the white tile walls and red neon numbers I sat reading Kant's 'Critique of Pure Reason'. The tome was the focus of an entire class, and I needed to get some reading done before I got on my bus. While sitting there an old man, Southern, came up to me and began talking to me about it. He had, apparently, gone to the college I'd wanted to go to, St. Johns, where they read the Great Books for four years.
"You and me are probably the only two people in this place that have read that book," he quipped.
"Probably."
He then gave me his business card, with his name and number, stapled to a page of an index of an anthology of music. He gave me lots of advice which I've not followed, and information which I've forgotten, such as his name and the reason for the index sheet.
Did Mingus ever read Kant? I'm almost certain he didn't. But he could have. Well, maybe with help. There are few mortals who can tackle Kant without help, goodness knows how the first readers coped to be able to help their pupils. But as time passes culture accumulates. That is the stuff of culture does, the books, the architecture, the music and art. That's also what makes us think that that we persist as time passes, for our memories seemingly accumulate. (They don't, but that's a debate for another column.)
Meanwhile, in the world of current affairs, the seven world wonders were chosen. I've been plugging them for a while and now feel cheated and defeated. The final seven winners are:
Chichen Itza, Christ the Redeemer, Machu Pichu, The Colosseum, The Great Wall, Petra, and the Taj Mahal.
I'm pleased only with the final two. The first two aren't interesting: There are taller pyramids and the Redeemer statue is very modern. Machu Pichu is cool, but just a ruined city. There are many ruined cities. The Colosseum is cool, as I'm sure the Great Wall is, but they're already on the old list. So now the site is doing Natural Wonders. Will you see me participating? Doubtful.
WWMD? World Weapons of Mass Destruction or What Would Mingus Do? Your pick.
Charlie Mingus' classic album is definitely worth a listen, just as Augustine is worth a read. Combining them leads to an odd experience, however. Augustine's work is the first autobiography, and was written in the late 300's A.D. Mingus helped define modern jazz in the 50's and 60's. Both are two-hit wonders, Augustine also wrote 'The City of God' which is an important theological treatise, and Mingus also put out 'The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady', voted by Some people Some where as The Best Jazz Album Ever Period(.) I wonder if Mingus ever read Augustine.
But if you ever wish to combine religious autobiography with modern jazz listening they're a great combo. Yet I can never fully endorse reading and music listening at the same time, for one will inevitably distract from the fullness of appreciation of the other. But as my mom used to say: 'Do as I say, not as I do'. If we all followed our own common sense then the world would be, if not a much prettier place, a much more reasonable, and ergo peaceful, one.
I was once sitting in what I thought was the set for 'Blade Runner' but turned out to be the Port Authority bus station in New York City. Enclosed in the white tile walls and red neon numbers I sat reading Kant's 'Critique of Pure Reason'. The tome was the focus of an entire class, and I needed to get some reading done before I got on my bus. While sitting there an old man, Southern, came up to me and began talking to me about it. He had, apparently, gone to the college I'd wanted to go to, St. Johns, where they read the Great Books for four years.
"You and me are probably the only two people in this place that have read that book," he quipped.
"Probably."
He then gave me his business card, with his name and number, stapled to a page of an index of an anthology of music. He gave me lots of advice which I've not followed, and information which I've forgotten, such as his name and the reason for the index sheet.
Did Mingus ever read Kant? I'm almost certain he didn't. But he could have. Well, maybe with help. There are few mortals who can tackle Kant without help, goodness knows how the first readers coped to be able to help their pupils. But as time passes culture accumulates. That is the stuff of culture does, the books, the architecture, the music and art. That's also what makes us think that that we persist as time passes, for our memories seemingly accumulate. (They don't, but that's a debate for another column.)
Meanwhile, in the world of current affairs, the seven world wonders were chosen. I've been plugging them for a while and now feel cheated and defeated. The final seven winners are:
Chichen Itza, Christ the Redeemer, Machu Pichu, The Colosseum, The Great Wall, Petra, and the Taj Mahal.
I'm pleased only with the final two. The first two aren't interesting: There are taller pyramids and the Redeemer statue is very modern. Machu Pichu is cool, but just a ruined city. There are many ruined cities. The Colosseum is cool, as I'm sure the Great Wall is, but they're already on the old list. So now the site is doing Natural Wonders. Will you see me participating? Doubtful.
WWMD? World Weapons of Mass Destruction or What Would Mingus Do? Your pick.
column 23; forgetting names
Is anyone not horrible at remembering names anymore? Ever since the practice has become socially acceptable it seems that during a series of introductions everyone in the crowd will co-sympathize about their inability to recall names, or faces, or both. I know why I can't: I don't care. But that should hardly be everyone's excuse. Or if it were it wouldn't be socially acceptable.
I was standing in line the other day with a girl whom I'd met before, and undergone the full introductory process. She remembered me, but I didn't remember her. I recognized her, and after prompting dredged up the memory of meeting in the past, though not in the levels of detail she could, but the name. The name had to be given a second time.
There are, of course, more awkward 'social interactions' ('faux pas' in French) than forgetting names. Pretending to speak another language and then finding out the person you are speaking to is bilingual. That has bit me on the ass a couple of times. Just fading out and staring at a woman's breasts until called to attention. (I was going to type 'chest' but that would have rendered it a half-truth. And you know me, I'm all about the truth.) Of course I've never become affixed to a woman's marvelous milky stallions, but I know some friends of mine who have been.
How about this? Your the King of England and you get a special Papal edict to marry a woman forbidden to you and then divorce her without Papal consent and have to start your own religion. Haven't we all been there? I suppose, on reflection, that some social actions are to be more frowned upon then others. Frankly I don't care that Henry VIII did all that, since being able to marry and divorce as you wish is, in my book, a good thing. But the whole wife-killing spree that followed was bad form.
Bad form is the root of the problem for minor infractions. Bad form is what makes it okay to own a gun in all states, but fireworks only in some. Bad form is what makes former actors born here who have been Governors of California be Presidents, while those born in Austria can't. Bad form is what allows us to show children Barney but not pornography. Okay, maybe the last one one is a good example of the usefulness of the 'bad form' concept. Replace it with 'smoking cigarettes' and 'shooting up heroin'.
In other news: Flying monkeys were pretty darn scary, weren't they? They were one of the worst parts of the Wizard of Oz. Why?
My guess is the fez. The flying monkeys were dressed up as essentially organ-grinder's monkeys, with those little vests and fezs perched on the heads. For the record fezs, or fezzi in proper plural, are the most awesome and simultaneously useless hats on the face of the planet. They do not protect from sun or cold, they do not stay on the head easily, the tassel serves no noticeable purpose. And they look fabulous. I totally want one.
But in our folk-lore people wearing fezzi are not to be trusted. My sources? Indiana Jones. Remember when that shady-looking guy appears in the third film and everyone thinks 'Oh no. That bearded fez-donning fellow looks pretty shady'? But he turns out to be a good guy, right? And you thought, 'Hey! He is not shady, for though he wears a fez I recognize him as either the Professor or Gimli, depending on my cultural upbringing.' When you first saw him, however, that fez tipped you off to identify him as shady.
Perhaps it wasn't just the fez, though. Perhaps it was the fact that they were FREAKIN' FLYING MONKEYS! AAAAAAAAH!
I bet flying monkeys wouldn't kill their wives. They'll forget your name, though.
I was standing in line the other day with a girl whom I'd met before, and undergone the full introductory process. She remembered me, but I didn't remember her. I recognized her, and after prompting dredged up the memory of meeting in the past, though not in the levels of detail she could, but the name. The name had to be given a second time.
There are, of course, more awkward 'social interactions' ('faux pas' in French) than forgetting names. Pretending to speak another language and then finding out the person you are speaking to is bilingual. That has bit me on the ass a couple of times. Just fading out and staring at a woman's breasts until called to attention. (I was going to type 'chest' but that would have rendered it a half-truth. And you know me, I'm all about the truth.) Of course I've never become affixed to a woman's marvelous milky stallions, but I know some friends of mine who have been.
How about this? Your the King of England and you get a special Papal edict to marry a woman forbidden to you and then divorce her without Papal consent and have to start your own religion. Haven't we all been there? I suppose, on reflection, that some social actions are to be more frowned upon then others. Frankly I don't care that Henry VIII did all that, since being able to marry and divorce as you wish is, in my book, a good thing. But the whole wife-killing spree that followed was bad form.
Bad form is the root of the problem for minor infractions. Bad form is what makes it okay to own a gun in all states, but fireworks only in some. Bad form is what makes former actors born here who have been Governors of California be Presidents, while those born in Austria can't. Bad form is what allows us to show children Barney but not pornography. Okay, maybe the last one one is a good example of the usefulness of the 'bad form' concept. Replace it with 'smoking cigarettes' and 'shooting up heroin'.
In other news: Flying monkeys were pretty darn scary, weren't they? They were one of the worst parts of the Wizard of Oz. Why?
My guess is the fez. The flying monkeys were dressed up as essentially organ-grinder's monkeys, with those little vests and fezs perched on the heads. For the record fezs, or fezzi in proper plural, are the most awesome and simultaneously useless hats on the face of the planet. They do not protect from sun or cold, they do not stay on the head easily, the tassel serves no noticeable purpose. And they look fabulous. I totally want one.
But in our folk-lore people wearing fezzi are not to be trusted. My sources? Indiana Jones. Remember when that shady-looking guy appears in the third film and everyone thinks 'Oh no. That bearded fez-donning fellow looks pretty shady'? But he turns out to be a good guy, right? And you thought, 'Hey! He is not shady, for though he wears a fez I recognize him as either the Professor or Gimli, depending on my cultural upbringing.' When you first saw him, however, that fez tipped you off to identify him as shady.
Perhaps it wasn't just the fez, though. Perhaps it was the fact that they were FREAKIN' FLYING MONKEYS! AAAAAAAAH!
I bet flying monkeys wouldn't kill their wives. They'll forget your name, though.
Column 22; cooking
For me cooking is neither spiritual nor therapy. It is enjoyable, and I fancy myself a decent chef. Beyond that the praises of fine food, or food as art, are just so much fluff.
I used to think cooking was an art, though. I remember the day when I realized that it wasn't, reading Plato. I forget which dialogue it was in, but Plato's usual mouth-piece, Socrates, argues that the arts are those endeavors undertaken for the betterment of humanity. However the best cooks are often creating dishes that are not for our betterment, but in fact detract from our health and well-being. (Sure the pumpkin, panceta and goat cheese raviolis in white truffle oil were delicious, and the dessert of devil's food cake was to die for, but the calories may actually prove that sentiment correct.)
There goes my future as a career chef. I'd been told that a future studying at the CIA wouldn't be impractical. (That's the Culinary Institute of America, not the super-shifty sect of Government. Although it would be amusing to see chefs in dark glasses and suits using machetes to fillet counter-operatives. I would start such a school, and call the graduates my Minions of Terror. But more on them below.)
It was not a leap to say that I was the house chef for my family since the age of 14 or so. I do so love to cook, and had a great time creating and trying out concoctions this last semester when I had to cook for myself. But when it comes to careers mine has to be one that is beneficial to humanity.
Perhaps I could join the healthy chef bandwagon. I'm not sure what instrument I'd play, but I can sing, and that should count. A ground-breaking study has shown that organic may not be healthier. That is, it may not be healthier for you, personally. Without a doubt it is still better for the environment to eat your food unaltered, free of herbicides and pesticides. The day people start to think otherwise I'll be standing on a soap box in Central Park quoting Rachel Carson and handing out free copies of 'Silent Spring' in airports.
On the other hand, there's been much speculation as to my future careers. I figure this is not unusual for most children. My parents were realists, and so I didn't think I'd been an astronaut or brain surgeon. The three main contestants were: Chef, Writer, Priest.
Serious doubts have caused me to abandon the first one. I'm not really sure I've given up on the middle one. As for the third, well, I gave up on that a while ago. But one never knows. Perhaps I shall become a born-again christian rival of Wolfgang Puck and will write a great novel. Not likely, but you never know. Some people find their calling late, Howling Wolf was in his 40's when he began recording, and John Cleese was going to become a barrister.
For the record, my ambition was to become ruler of the Earth.
I looked about and said, 'Hey, this is no good. I better fix it.' As the case may be two people have sworn oaths that if they hear wind of my rise to power they will stop at nothing short of sacrificing their lives to prevent me from coming to power. But the Mayorship of San Francisco would be pretty cool. Maybe Governor of California? From there it's only a hop, skip, and jump to the Presidency of the United States. After that: UN. After that: Abolish the UN and set up my own world government. After that: Unleash my Minions of Terror and rule the world. I could have a world-wide despotic reign accomplished by the time I'm 60, if I hurry.
Alas, I did not prepare for such things. While I was sitting around thinking up delightful ways to harmonize Gorgonzola and peanut butter others have made the same pact I did, to save the world on their own. And I applaud them all. Except Josh B. I vow to stop Josh B. from ruling the world. Just as he did for me.
I used to think cooking was an art, though. I remember the day when I realized that it wasn't, reading Plato. I forget which dialogue it was in, but Plato's usual mouth-piece, Socrates, argues that the arts are those endeavors undertaken for the betterment of humanity. However the best cooks are often creating dishes that are not for our betterment, but in fact detract from our health and well-being. (Sure the pumpkin, panceta and goat cheese raviolis in white truffle oil were delicious, and the dessert of devil's food cake was to die for, but the calories may actually prove that sentiment correct.)
There goes my future as a career chef. I'd been told that a future studying at the CIA wouldn't be impractical. (That's the Culinary Institute of America, not the super-shifty sect of Government. Although it would be amusing to see chefs in dark glasses and suits using machetes to fillet counter-operatives. I would start such a school, and call the graduates my Minions of Terror. But more on them below.)
It was not a leap to say that I was the house chef for my family since the age of 14 or so. I do so love to cook, and had a great time creating and trying out concoctions this last semester when I had to cook for myself. But when it comes to careers mine has to be one that is beneficial to humanity.
Perhaps I could join the healthy chef bandwagon. I'm not sure what instrument I'd play, but I can sing, and that should count. A ground-breaking study has shown that organic may not be healthier. That is, it may not be healthier for you, personally. Without a doubt it is still better for the environment to eat your food unaltered, free of herbicides and pesticides. The day people start to think otherwise I'll be standing on a soap box in Central Park quoting Rachel Carson and handing out free copies of 'Silent Spring' in airports.
On the other hand, there's been much speculation as to my future careers. I figure this is not unusual for most children. My parents were realists, and so I didn't think I'd been an astronaut or brain surgeon. The three main contestants were: Chef, Writer, Priest.
Serious doubts have caused me to abandon the first one. I'm not really sure I've given up on the middle one. As for the third, well, I gave up on that a while ago. But one never knows. Perhaps I shall become a born-again christian rival of Wolfgang Puck and will write a great novel. Not likely, but you never know. Some people find their calling late, Howling Wolf was in his 40's when he began recording, and John Cleese was going to become a barrister.
For the record, my ambition was to become ruler of the Earth.
I looked about and said, 'Hey, this is no good. I better fix it.' As the case may be two people have sworn oaths that if they hear wind of my rise to power they will stop at nothing short of sacrificing their lives to prevent me from coming to power. But the Mayorship of San Francisco would be pretty cool. Maybe Governor of California? From there it's only a hop, skip, and jump to the Presidency of the United States. After that: UN. After that: Abolish the UN and set up my own world government. After that: Unleash my Minions of Terror and rule the world. I could have a world-wide despotic reign accomplished by the time I'm 60, if I hurry.
Alas, I did not prepare for such things. While I was sitting around thinking up delightful ways to harmonize Gorgonzola and peanut butter others have made the same pact I did, to save the world on their own. And I applaud them all. Except Josh B. I vow to stop Josh B. from ruling the world. Just as he did for me.
Column 21
"Omit Needless Words! Omit Needless Words! Omit Needless Words!"
From E.B. White's recollection this was an episode provided in class by professor William Strunk, the author of 'The Elements of Style', which White latter expanded and republished. I always found the episode amusing for the simple irony of requesting to 'omit needless words' three times. Surely only stating the maxim once would be sufficient to prove it's own point.
Speaking of maxims, a book recommendation: The Maxims by La Rochefoucauld. There is a nice edition out there by Oxford press. The author, of the court of Louis the Something Ornate, says the following about his work: 'The reader's best policy is to assume that none of these maxims is directed at him, and that he is the sole exception...After that, I guarantee that he will be the first to subscribe to them.' The subtitle/warning/theme at the beginning is 'Our virtues are, most often, only vices in disguise.'
Yet the work reads true, which is unnerving. And so the man is correct in stating that what are somehow enlightened by reading the work and assuming that the maxims do not apply to us. Of course this is not what he intended, since he makes a point of pointing out that all humanity is at fault here; it would be easy to say that the work is pessimistic. Which is again troubling, since it is not. The work is not one of doom and cautionary or forewarning heedance. It's not Thomas Hobbes' view that humanity is destined to a life that is nasty, brutish, and short. Instead it is an attempt to accurately display humanity's traits as the products of selfishness.
It's also only 40 pages. And once you've read it you can prescribe it to others in a glow of enlightened self-righteousness, as I've done.
Prescription is an unusual thing, and can have some funny attributes. The philosophy of Nietszche is a pleasant middle-finger that pretty much commands: Don't follow my philosophy. But in not following his philosophy we are roped into obeying his command. Are there any winners? A way out? Sure: Don't read Nietszche. If I did believe in God it would be because of Nietszche. The man was a chauvinist philosopher who thought women were inferior and who died from syphilis-induced insanity. The karmic irony is too sweet. But I suppose karma is of the Indian tradition, so there goes God.
Thomas Hobbes, already mentioned, gave us the problem that everything we do is selfish. But if this is the case you can never argue against it, for it may always be the case that looming somewhere in the back of your mind is a selfish desire. And of course it may also be true that somewhere lurking on Mars are little blue men, whose technology has so far surpassed us that we cannot detect them. Can't prove it, but then again, you can't not prove it.
Ditto God. For things which I can neither prove nor disprove I chose to pass over in silence. A friend of mine states that he is an Igtheist. Igtheism is the idea that we cannot have a meaningful discussion about God until we define God. Of course for Christians this will always prove an impossibility, and so the Igtheists, I should imagine, never need fear having to take up the discussion. The problem is again another catch-22. By choosing not to confirm a belief in God you are casting a ballot declaring that you have no belief in God. You cannot chose to not chose. Either you are or you aren't, and by saying you don't want to participate you automatically get lumped with the aren'ts.
And that's why I like Strunk and White. Prescriptive, but easy to follow and non-contradictory. And a boon to high school teachers everywhere.
But his own Maxims state that 'The refusal of praise is actually the wish to be praised twice.' So by praising him I'm avoiding this vice. Right? Right?
From E.B. White's recollection this was an episode provided in class by professor William Strunk, the author of 'The Elements of Style', which White latter expanded and republished. I always found the episode amusing for the simple irony of requesting to 'omit needless words' three times. Surely only stating the maxim once would be sufficient to prove it's own point.
Speaking of maxims, a book recommendation: The Maxims by La Rochefoucauld. There is a nice edition out there by Oxford press. The author, of the court of Louis the Something Ornate, says the following about his work: 'The reader's best policy is to assume that none of these maxims is directed at him, and that he is the sole exception...After that, I guarantee that he will be the first to subscribe to them.' The subtitle/warning/theme at the beginning is 'Our virtues are, most often, only vices in disguise.'
Yet the work reads true, which is unnerving. And so the man is correct in stating that what are somehow enlightened by reading the work and assuming that the maxims do not apply to us. Of course this is not what he intended, since he makes a point of pointing out that all humanity is at fault here; it would be easy to say that the work is pessimistic. Which is again troubling, since it is not. The work is not one of doom and cautionary or forewarning heedance. It's not Thomas Hobbes' view that humanity is destined to a life that is nasty, brutish, and short. Instead it is an attempt to accurately display humanity's traits as the products of selfishness.
It's also only 40 pages. And once you've read it you can prescribe it to others in a glow of enlightened self-righteousness, as I've done.
Prescription is an unusual thing, and can have some funny attributes. The philosophy of Nietszche is a pleasant middle-finger that pretty much commands: Don't follow my philosophy. But in not following his philosophy we are roped into obeying his command. Are there any winners? A way out? Sure: Don't read Nietszche. If I did believe in God it would be because of Nietszche. The man was a chauvinist philosopher who thought women were inferior and who died from syphilis-induced insanity. The karmic irony is too sweet. But I suppose karma is of the Indian tradition, so there goes God.
Thomas Hobbes, already mentioned, gave us the problem that everything we do is selfish. But if this is the case you can never argue against it, for it may always be the case that looming somewhere in the back of your mind is a selfish desire. And of course it may also be true that somewhere lurking on Mars are little blue men, whose technology has so far surpassed us that we cannot detect them. Can't prove it, but then again, you can't not prove it.
Ditto God. For things which I can neither prove nor disprove I chose to pass over in silence. A friend of mine states that he is an Igtheist. Igtheism is the idea that we cannot have a meaningful discussion about God until we define God. Of course for Christians this will always prove an impossibility, and so the Igtheists, I should imagine, never need fear having to take up the discussion. The problem is again another catch-22. By choosing not to confirm a belief in God you are casting a ballot declaring that you have no belief in God. You cannot chose to not chose. Either you are or you aren't, and by saying you don't want to participate you automatically get lumped with the aren'ts.
And that's why I like Strunk and White. Prescriptive, but easy to follow and non-contradictory. And a boon to high school teachers everywhere.
But his own Maxims state that 'The refusal of praise is actually the wish to be praised twice.' So by praising him I'm avoiding this vice. Right? Right?
column 20;
So I've been following the news recently. Some highlights:
First off there have been car bombings in Glasgow and London. Considering that I was in London less than a month ago it does come as a bit of a surprise. The one's in London didn't go off, luckily, but a burning car was driven into Glasgow Airport and another detonated at a nearby hospital.
Of course this has lead to an increase in airport security in the U.S. JFK Airport Security was most likely on edge when a terminal was evacuated to call in the bomb squad. Offending item: cologne. While the British Government is on Critical Alert so goes the U.S. This comes only a few days before the 4th of July, which may be a part of it.
In other news: Putin and George are meeting for talks. I am not alone in thinking that Putin is starting to border on Bond Villain. Indeed, many news sources and editorials are awash with the idea of things as radical as a new Cold War being started by the leader of the world's largest country and historical US rival. This brings to mind the unintentionally comic essay by Francis Fukuyama entitled 'The End of History?' It was published in 1989, as the Cold War was conceivably coming to an end. I'll just quote some lines that well summarize his views:
"What we may be witnessing is not just the end of the Cold War, or the passing of a particular period of postwar history, but the end of history as such: that is, the end point of mankind's ideological evolution and the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government."
Well, he was wrong. The article has become infamous for being wrong, as predictive politics often is. After all, in 1987 no one would have guessed that within two years the Soviet Union would collapse, just as in that year no one would guess that Nelson Mandela, still a prisoner, would be president of South Africa in 1994. History brings surprises. It morphs and the deeds of individuals and unexpected occurrences will always throw wrenches into the 'march of History' ideology.
Fukuyama was in prestigious company. Marx, and more importantly Hegel, were both proponents of 'the march of History'. It's a notion that drove the mindset of the Western 'long 19th century', lasting from 1789-1914. Between these years Europe was fuelled by amazing developments and a drive to constantly improve and perfect. Why this took place may be credited to 'the March of History' and GWF Hegel. Hegel, writing in the first years of this period, was the most admired philosopher in the West until the long 19th century ended. The basic formula, as is generally understood, is that History progresses when concepts come into contact with one another, and get eliminated. Like National League sports: 16, 8, 4, 2, champ. So in Hegel's world we are forever moving towards perfection, that is the culmination of history. 1989, perhaps fortunately, wasn't it.
The other prong of Hegel is the maxim 'That which is rational is real, and that which is real is rational'. Look back to that date when the long 19th century ended. What happened to defeat Hegelian optimism was the very irrational, but all-too-real outbreak of World War I. And so Hegel was abandoned, nearly overnight.
Are this week's developments the beginning of the end, or another bump in the road, or just the product of loonies in Government and loonies in Scotland? Stay tuned!
First off there have been car bombings in Glasgow and London. Considering that I was in London less than a month ago it does come as a bit of a surprise. The one's in London didn't go off, luckily, but a burning car was driven into Glasgow Airport and another detonated at a nearby hospital.
Of course this has lead to an increase in airport security in the U.S. JFK Airport Security was most likely on edge when a terminal was evacuated to call in the bomb squad. Offending item: cologne. While the British Government is on Critical Alert so goes the U.S. This comes only a few days before the 4th of July, which may be a part of it.
In other news: Putin and George are meeting for talks. I am not alone in thinking that Putin is starting to border on Bond Villain. Indeed, many news sources and editorials are awash with the idea of things as radical as a new Cold War being started by the leader of the world's largest country and historical US rival. This brings to mind the unintentionally comic essay by Francis Fukuyama entitled 'The End of History?' It was published in 1989, as the Cold War was conceivably coming to an end. I'll just quote some lines that well summarize his views:
"What we may be witnessing is not just the end of the Cold War, or the passing of a particular period of postwar history, but the end of history as such: that is, the end point of mankind's ideological evolution and the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government."
Well, he was wrong. The article has become infamous for being wrong, as predictive politics often is. After all, in 1987 no one would have guessed that within two years the Soviet Union would collapse, just as in that year no one would guess that Nelson Mandela, still a prisoner, would be president of South Africa in 1994. History brings surprises. It morphs and the deeds of individuals and unexpected occurrences will always throw wrenches into the 'march of History' ideology.
Fukuyama was in prestigious company. Marx, and more importantly Hegel, were both proponents of 'the march of History'. It's a notion that drove the mindset of the Western 'long 19th century', lasting from 1789-1914. Between these years Europe was fuelled by amazing developments and a drive to constantly improve and perfect. Why this took place may be credited to 'the March of History' and GWF Hegel. Hegel, writing in the first years of this period, was the most admired philosopher in the West until the long 19th century ended. The basic formula, as is generally understood, is that History progresses when concepts come into contact with one another, and get eliminated. Like National League sports: 16, 8, 4, 2, champ. So in Hegel's world we are forever moving towards perfection, that is the culmination of history. 1989, perhaps fortunately, wasn't it.
The other prong of Hegel is the maxim 'That which is rational is real, and that which is real is rational'. Look back to that date when the long 19th century ended. What happened to defeat Hegelian optimism was the very irrational, but all-too-real outbreak of World War I. And so Hegel was abandoned, nearly overnight.
Are this week's developments the beginning of the end, or another bump in the road, or just the product of loonies in Government and loonies in Scotland? Stay tuned!
column 19; wonders
To begin at the beginning. A long time ago, never mind how many years ago oh my Best Beloved, there was a place called Oldupai. Oldupai was filled with all sorts of beasts in a great basin, and all sorts of plants grew there. One of those beasties was an ape, and it was known by the other beasts as Thinky. Thinky was a special ape because he had a highly developed telecephelon and an opposable thumb.
So perhaps I shouldn't be a children's writer. But Oldupai is a real place, in Tanzania, and it's where we humans started out. It's a nice gorge, good location, plenty to do, nice place to raise a species. It's also a World Heritage site.
UNESCO, (that is the United Nations Entirely Sizable Conservation Octopus) maintains a series of places on the planet that are important. Some are important for their natural uniqueness, some for human uniqueness, and some few are for both. They're up to 848 monuments and sites that are set aside as the most important and significant places on the planet. Today they decided which batch of monuments is going on the list.
Of course the first batch was the most prestigious. The Great Wall of China, the Pyramids, the Taj Mahal, all those good things. As time went on things got less and less impressive. But this year there are two gems: The Sydney Opera House and the Red Fort. Of course everyone knows the Sydney Opera House, it's that concrete armadillo monster overturned on the harbor skyline. The Red Fort, in India, was the capital fort since 1648 in Dehli by the Mughals, and withstood the Persians and Brits.
I get excited by these developments. Since 1997 I've been advocating people to vote for the New Seven Wonders: a program that is designed to, by popular consent, chose the wonders of the world. You remember the story: there were seven wonders of the world, of which only one now remains: The Pyramids. As the saying goes 'Man fears time, but time fears the Pyramids'. The problem with the list was that is was very Aegean-centric, since two were Egyptian, two Turkish, two Greek and one Persian. So the Medieval folks made another list, new wonders, more tourist dollars. All of those are still around, incidentally, except the Porcelain Tower of Nanjing. That, of course, was struck by lightening in 1801 and subsequently destroyed by war and general lack of conservation. The city of Nnajing has decided to rebuild the tower, though.
And you didn't even know there was a Porcelain Tower.
But the list didn't end there. Oh no! Modern architects came up with their own seven wonders, the feats of modern engineering. These aren't nearly as much fun to look at, though. The Chunnel is just kinda dark, the Itaipu Dam in Brazil is, you know, a dam. The Protection Works in the Netherlands are undoubtedly handy, and much needed in other places in the world, like, say, certain southern bayou states, but are also, alas, not very pretty. The only pretty one on the list is the Golden Gate Bridge. So there.
But now you can decide. Go online. Vote for 7 out of the 21 contestants. The contestants are from all over, Mali to Chile to Australia. (None of the modern wonders are on the list, incidentally. Proving the point once again that looks mean everything.) You have a week. Of course only seven will be chosen, and UNESCO has over 800, but you know. Symbolism. Symbolism and Principle. Two very dangerous things. But very useful, when speaking about Humanity and Civilization.
So perhaps I shouldn't be a children's writer. But Oldupai is a real place, in Tanzania, and it's where we humans started out. It's a nice gorge, good location, plenty to do, nice place to raise a species. It's also a World Heritage site.
UNESCO, (that is the United Nations Entirely Sizable Conservation Octopus) maintains a series of places on the planet that are important. Some are important for their natural uniqueness, some for human uniqueness, and some few are for both. They're up to 848 monuments and sites that are set aside as the most important and significant places on the planet. Today they decided which batch of monuments is going on the list.
Of course the first batch was the most prestigious. The Great Wall of China, the Pyramids, the Taj Mahal, all those good things. As time went on things got less and less impressive. But this year there are two gems: The Sydney Opera House and the Red Fort. Of course everyone knows the Sydney Opera House, it's that concrete armadillo monster overturned on the harbor skyline. The Red Fort, in India, was the capital fort since 1648 in Dehli by the Mughals, and withstood the Persians and Brits.
I get excited by these developments. Since 1997 I've been advocating people to vote for the New Seven Wonders: a program that is designed to, by popular consent, chose the wonders of the world. You remember the story: there were seven wonders of the world, of which only one now remains: The Pyramids. As the saying goes 'Man fears time, but time fears the Pyramids'. The problem with the list was that is was very Aegean-centric, since two were Egyptian, two Turkish, two Greek and one Persian. So the Medieval folks made another list, new wonders, more tourist dollars. All of those are still around, incidentally, except the Porcelain Tower of Nanjing. That, of course, was struck by lightening in 1801 and subsequently destroyed by war and general lack of conservation. The city of Nnajing has decided to rebuild the tower, though.
And you didn't even know there was a Porcelain Tower.
But the list didn't end there. Oh no! Modern architects came up with their own seven wonders, the feats of modern engineering. These aren't nearly as much fun to look at, though. The Chunnel is just kinda dark, the Itaipu Dam in Brazil is, you know, a dam. The Protection Works in the Netherlands are undoubtedly handy, and much needed in other places in the world, like, say, certain southern bayou states, but are also, alas, not very pretty. The only pretty one on the list is the Golden Gate Bridge. So there.
But now you can decide. Go online. Vote for 7 out of the 21 contestants. The contestants are from all over, Mali to Chile to Australia. (None of the modern wonders are on the list, incidentally. Proving the point once again that looks mean everything.) You have a week. Of course only seven will be chosen, and UNESCO has over 800, but you know. Symbolism. Symbolism and Principle. Two very dangerous things. But very useful, when speaking about Humanity and Civilization.
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