Politics and songs

An interesting article in the Washington Post today made me wonder if its mission is to spot inconsistencies in NYT reporting (read it here). But let me bypass that for now. Further into the piece, the author turns his attention to Kerry’s campaign (this is a cite twice removed – in other words, I am citing to the Post, which, inturn, is citing to the National Review and so there is an element of mockery here):

Why does Sen. John Kerry talk incessantly about Vietnam?
Obviously, it has given him a great political advantage in past campaigns and he hopes it will do the same in his race for the White House. But there might be another reason. Perhaps more than any other presidential candidate in recent memory, Kerry seems to be living in another time, playing a movie of Vietnam over and over in his mind . . .
Is Kerry's the only campaign to play Jimi Hendrix -- specifically, 'Fire' from the 1967 album Are You Experienced? -- at rallies? Other candidates -- like John Edwards, with his theme song, John Mellencamp's 'Small Town' -- aren't exactly cutting edge, but they have chosen somewhat newer stuff.
And what about the music on Kerry's bus? Before the Iowa caucuses, Washington Post reporter Ceci Connolly described the candidate hanging out on the bus with Peter Yarrow, his old friend from Peter, Paul, and Mary. 'Pedro, sing us a song,' Kerry ordered one day. Yarrow picked up a guitar and began to play and sing -- and later waxed nostalgic about the antiwar rallies he attended way back when with Kerry and Eugene McCarthy.
Earlier, Connolly wrote, when Yarrow sang 'Puff the Magic Dragon' at an event in a private home in Ames, Iowa, 'Kerry lifted his fingers to his mouth for a quick toke on an imaginary joint. You can almost see his thick mane of silver hair returning to the shaggy brown do of those days.'
This man is living in a time warp. No wonder Kerry sees any conflict -- Gulf War I, Afghanistan, Gulf War II --as a potential Vietnam. In Kerry's world, Vietnam is running on a continuous loop on that big screen TV -- with Jimi, Kris, and Peter, Paul, and Mary singing in the background.

Oh how annoying! Can we trivilaize the man any more than this?

Dressing without care

In today’s Cap Times, columnist Doug Moe both complains that Midwesterners have to “wear” the label of having no taste (especially for clothes), at the same time that he admits to hating anything other than white socks and flexible waist-line pants (would that be on a rubber band?) and to despising any sort of neck wear. Moe suggests the following reason for why men would even contemplate putting on a tie: “men wear neckties (only) because women wear high heels – it’s a form of attire revenge that each gender practices on the other.”

So is he agreeing with the label of skuzzy tastelessness? Hard to say. And maybe the label of “good taste” should not enter into any discussion of dress or style. You can only irritate someone by proclaiming knowledge of what stands behind it since claiming to recognize good taste is already a boast: it elevates you to a level of greater insight, to having an educated palate, discriminating judgment and a good eye.

But is there nothing in the claim that Midwesterners are poor dressers? Certainly everyone would agree that overall, Wisconsinites are comfort-oriented in their dress: practical rather than extravagant. I think you could go to the best restaurant in sweat pants and no one would care. In Poland, even those on a shoestring budget take great pains to present themselves well in public. You need only ride the subway in Warsaw to see this – students and older people alike are extremely mindful of what they wear. Moe in his white socks, flexible pants and open collar shirt is basically saying “heck with it, I’ll do what I dang well please.” The kinder interpretation is that clothes are, after all, only superficial markers of anyone’s worth, proxies for an affluence in resources rather than spirit. But an “I’m not going to bother” attitude does say something else about a person, doesn’t it? Being a slob, clothes-wise or otherwise, is a request for the indulgence of others. Isn’t it a sign that you’re privileging the self over those around you?

What if

A Polish reader sent me photos from the reunion of our university class of economists. I had begun my studies in econometrics with these guys at the U of Warsaw in 1969, and I would have gotten my MA with them in 1974 had I stayed, but I barreled out halfway and moved to NY and to a new field of study – sociology (only, in the end, to capitulate to law). The photos had the effect that reunions have on people if you haven’t been tracking others’ progress. Everyone looked much the same, only 30+ years older.

It is interesting to play the “what if” game with yourself, so I indulged in a little fantasy, aided by the photos. What if I had stayed... I’d be there juggling a glass of wine (one hopes it is wine and not stronger stuff, but in Poland you never know) with them, talking about our changing careers in light of Poland’s economic reforms (my class was greatly affected by the transformations – not always in a positive way; some are struggling with keeping employed). I’d exchange stories about how my little bobus (kiddie) turned into a fine young Zygmunt or Waclaw (neither name is particularly a favorite, but I’m just spinning here), and I’d ask for a recipe for the newest version of poppy-seed cake. We’d review our winter vacations and our plans for the summer (Poles cannot be content without at least two hefty vacations, during the winter and summer, sometimes supplemented with a brief little escape, maybe for a week or so, in the fall). Most definitely we’d comment on how joining the EU will affect the environment, or the success of a local favorite shop that's struggling to stay in business. Everyone talks about the EU, and us econometricians would be right in there churnin’ numbers and keeping fingers crossed. Late at night we’d walk the city streets toward home – but wait, who is “we” and where is “home?” Here’s where the game starts being complicated. Better get back to work – so much easier and more linear.

Days of wine and marriages

An odd way to begin a new month, a new week, and a new morning: to write a blog post about a story from last month’s Wine Spectator.

It all, however, makes sense. I have been up since dawn clearing the stack of accumulated bills and magazines from February in what has become a monthly ritual (first day of each month) of bill-paying, grumbling about paper waste and junk mail, and in general, snarling at every window-envelope that crosses my path. I am almost done with the stack and am celebrating with a quick post on an article I paused to read a minute ago.

The article is about Gavin Newsome, obviously written before Mr. Newsome put himself on the map by permitting gay marriages in the city where he is mayor (SF). My Berkeley-residing mother had already alerted me to the fact that he is an ambitious individual (somehow when she says this it always sounds like a pejorative). The WS article, similarly, is not blind to Newsome’s ambitions. It starts out with the following:

Garvin Newsome seems to have it all—a successful business centered around wine, restaurants and resorts; good looks, charm and sophistication; a wife who is a former model turned city prosecutor; a politically connected father [later on we find out that his dad is a retired state appeals court judge]; and a billionaire family friend and financial backer [that would be Billy Getty, son of billionaire philanthropist, Gordon Getty]. Now, at age 36, he is also the new mayor of SF and a rising star in the Democratic Party. Newsome…says he always tries to set ‘big, hairy [??], audacious goals’ for his business and for himself. ‘I don’t want to have a modest goal and then reach for it,’ says the entrepreneur, whose innovative businesses include a fine dining restaurant that sells wine at retail prices [this is unheard of: our trio of top-of-the line restaurants in Madison marks up at 2 -3 times the retail price, which always makes me ill] and a winery that puts screw caps on a $100 plus cabernet [way to go! Cork spoilage is the single biggest reason why nice bottles of wine sometimes taste like bird bath water; even when the wine survives an imperfect cork, it may still be in some way affected by it. A good way to satisfy yourself that this is true is to blind-taste wine from many bottles coming from the same case, same cellar, same barrel—they wont all taste the same; how can that be? Obviously cork impact].

Stories of this type of energetic enthusiasm for bold reform are rare. Newsome’s ambitions appear to be targeting even higher goals for the future. Can he sustain his fervor for affecting change? He says of himself that he “lives in exclamation points!” How refreshing. I’m such a fan of this type of passion and zest. Surrounding yourself with images of (and contacts with, if you're lucky) people who live “in exclamation points," as opposed to between anti-smiley faces such as this :( , has to be the healthiest way to proceed and create (whatever it is that you are destined to create).

Reflecting on the Academy Awards

A reader who has been amused with my Award obsession for a while now suggested that I perhaps should consider switching my focus to the “Independent Spirit Awards” (aired late Saturday night). I must truthfully admit that I had never heard of these awards (possibly because I tuned out at the mere sound of the words “Independent Spirit” in the media, thinking these to be signifiers of some military action in a distant region of the planet). Okay, assuming that these are authentic awards, what is it that sets them apart from the rest? My friend writes that the Independent Spirit Awards were more entertaining in a less formal way, with recognition going to a greater variety of films. And what were the results? Who even showd up? My pal says: “Lost in Translation dominated, and Charlize, looking incredible in jeans and a white blazer, won. Those two darling girls from In America were there.” It does sound like a better version of what I succumb to each year.

It almost made me want to give up on the Academies in the future, but not entirely. For one thing, if you have been watching something regularly since 1976, without a break, it would have to be a pretty miserable experience for you to give it up now. Also, you know that the world (or 1 billion pop, which is a good part of the viewing public) is watching and so you are tracking not only the winners but the possible reaction of those watching the winners.

But it is frustrating when you do tune in and you find that all dresses look alike, all speeches sound alike, and there are NO SURPRISES (except that Sean Penn showed up; A+ for his comment, too). Many will write tomorrow that these were the most boring of all the Oscar shows. Not true for me– I did NOT drift off, there were no long production numbers, and Billy was tame but not sleep-inducing.

Maybe it is more of a milestone than anything else: it’s March (or this year: almost March), we’re almost done with winter, and there is hope: that someone will say something that will change the world in a positive way, that someone will be recognized for a talent that is truly remarkable, that there will be something there to amuse us on that big gray box called the TV.

So, one realized hope out of three isn’t bad, right? And there’s next year to look forward to. Only someone else will have to slaughter the lobsters (see post below). It’s just getting to be too brutal for me.

Things that a blogger can be grateful for:

...That a small handful of Academy Award recipients had the drive to include in their message of thanks something/someone other than names of unknown to us people (sincere thanks to moms is a good things, as are messages questioning the existence of WMD);

...That the balance of support v. protest against some of the content of this blog today was kept level at 1:1 (at least this is a guess – I am assuming there was silent support, since people don’t typically write unless they have objections);

...That it is now officially March, a month that portends of good things to come, thereby negating all the bad omens associated with February.