Why Do We Comment on Prince Harry and Other Stories on Social Media?

 There's nothing like social media to bring out the judgmental parts of ourselves, the parts usually held in check when we actually consider Newton's law that says for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. In other words, if we make snide, cutting remarks in person, the equal reaction may be a bop on the nose or some form of future social isolation. 

Since most social media sites base what little censorship they have on a series of trigger words that are fairly easy to learn or anticipate, commentors aren't generally hampered by the rules. In fact, it's quite possible to come up with a list of current hot topics that attract passionate distractors and supporters in equal measure. And I emphasize passionate.

It took the Prince Harry brouhaha for me to register what was happening. It seemed that everyone wanted to decide who in the royal family wore the white hats and who should be hissed as the villains--sort of a participation game. But, to someone British who has only to open her mouth and be spotted as such, listening to Americans talk in these personal terms about a foreign royal family that owns most of Britain seems--well--rather bizarre. I had to wonder who was Harry to Americans that people should become deeply embroiled in discussions of his royal family responsibility, his freedom or lack of it, and his presumed betrayals (as if society's rules applied to aristocrats--these are the people with the history of killing off family members who opposed them)? 

Perhaps because I was educated in British schools, I have a very good idea how aristocrats work. They don't much value ordinary people. They use them to serve them, farm their fields, and fight the endless wars that mark British history. This means I wonder why ordinary people in America--the people who pitched tea into Boston Harbor--would be so suddenly concerned with their betters, as the aristocrats would assume themselves to be. It would hardly work the other way. Wouldn't Americans find it strange if British readers got caught up in angry debates over whether Ivanka and Jared were being suitably loyal to her father or were just in it for the money? Maybe? For me, I would think that British readers might comment on the Trumps in passing, but to have them fill pages with angry debate--well, that sounds even more bizarre.

Being a good academic with a tendency to over-think everything, I can't resist looking for a theory about passionate debates that rely on the safety of the computer screen. That means I wonder how to connect anything to anything. No Guarantees. 

But could it be that we are bored, isolated, and, perhaps, lonely? Has social media become our substitute for living: come home from work, grad a bite, turn on the computer, and go for it? Is our political life so far removed from our daily lives that we are looking for some way to feel connected to one another: after all, the group that squabbles at least is talking to one another? Are the friendships made on line our new form of community?

But just asking those questions begs another. What makes people click the button and participate? Is it because there's nowhere else that we can discuss things like politics and religion--the two areas that have most engaged our ancestors and seem the most fraught right now? Is it that we can't we talk with one another without an intermediary technology? Are we scared of one another? Do we really need foreign aristocrats as a proxy for any conversation at all? 

It's strange that this isolated privacy should be so. Silence and polity have not been America's history. Would Benjamin Franklin or Thomas Paine have avoided talking about politics when they met upstairs at the Old Tavern? Why are we so worried about having an opinion about important things? Why is it offensive to call a conspiracy theory the paranoid fantasy it is? Has our ideal of equality become the ridiculous claim that all ideas are equally good? Shouldn't we, for example, be able to say that cannibalism is not good without having someone try to claim it as freedom of religion? 

There is no way that one blog or one entry on social media is going to make much of a contribution to the discussion. But perhaps I can partly answer my own question as to why people comment on social media (me included). We are at least expressing a thought or sharing an experience. It's still a bit risky, but not usually dangerous. Social media allows us to experiment, think out loud, and get feedback. It also allows us to get a read on how others are thinking, even if one doesn't get clicks of approval (yes, I succumb to temptation and do look). 

I still find it very strange that people still click on Prince Harry, though.

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Ceasar and Owning the Libs

 I haven't written this blog since 2019. I'm not sure why I stopped. It may have been dismay over the election. But why? There were many elected who were just as self-focused and blatantly self-serving as today's politicians, yet I kept writing through the time they strutted and fretted upon their stage. It is still something of a mystery to me that something caused me to stop writing. 

As I look back, 2019 was the time when I was busy disbelieving Sarah Palin and the ragtag group that were her family. I didn't take her seriously and thought some of her behavior was just opportunism. I viewed her and those I considered her successors--Lauren Boebert and Marjorie Taylor Greene, as behaving as if they were good-time girls, laughing up a storm while peddling beers to the boys in the bar. 

But there's something new now that has brought me back to the keyboard, and I think I can see it. It's a  tawdry obsession to dominate, which the now-president elect seems to be celebrating. As far as I can see, it is a slogan that has created thousands of gladiators looking for action and dedicated to "owning the libs."

I have to admit that I'm not sure what owning the libs means. 

One picture that comes to mind is a victorious gladiator standing in the Colosseum, sword poised over a poor devil who has a wife and son somewhere. This victor holds his sword high and waits for emperor's signal. Will Ceasar give the thumbs up to mean life? Will the gladiator then pull his comrade up and let the wife and son have their family for one more day? Or will it be thumbs down to mean death? Will the woman then get the body, wipe off the sweat and dirt, and prepare the man for burial?

In those moments before the signal is given, what does the gladiator think about? Does he wonder why the emperor's ego requires him to decide whether a man lives or dies? Does he listen to the roar of an audience that feels powerful watching the death of a man already downed? Does he feel compassion for the man whom he might have shared a beer with? 

If he owned the libs at that moment, I suspect he wasn't thinking at all. He was gloating at having won. Yet what does he have to gloat about? Will the glory in the moment matter in the future? His name may be chiseled on the training area wall. But how long before his name is replaced by whoever vanquishes him? 

Today's celebrity is tomorrow's dust, a truism that applies to any civilization or culture. One day, our buildings will crumble like the Colosseum and lie festering below layers of natural vines--or, as Carl Sandburg said--beneath the grass that covers all. One day, we will be strange, even bizarre, to those who follow us. 

And when that happens, I doubt very much that "owning the libs" will stand as one of the nation's great rallying calls like "A time for Greatness" or "Morning in America."

What Happens When Our Values Change: We're Living It With Trump and It Isn't Pretty

I  get a chill when Trump goes out after John McCain, and not just because it's a pathetic sight watching a president trashing a dead senator who didn't bone spur his way out of national service. That's hypocrisy, certainly, but at least the soul he destroys is his own.

No, it's because Trump is destroying whatever lies in his path with nothing to replace it except for a dark, nihilistic burn-it-baby attitude that comes from elevating making-money into a religion. All our souls are in danger here.

Since the growth of humanism in 1600s Europe, we've been operating on the assumption that individual lives matter, that the many forms of heroism are the demonstration of the best we are capable of as a species, and that beauty and generosity matter.

These ideas are embodied in the US Constitution, the product of the 18th Century rationalism that we like to throw at the rest of the world. Even though the Constitution is not overtly religious, there has been a history of conflating it with  that other great source of ideas, the teachings of a first century, middle-Eastern sage, a man we like to quote while ignoring the path of service to our fellow man that he promotes.

This combined, jumbled, value system that we have never really sorted out, along with the ethics it calls for, is now crumbling. We are tumbling into a dark pit where making money has become the ultimate goal, and it doesn't matter how it is amassed.

It's a rather brutal philosophy, one that begs the question of whether we can live with it.

For example, if people are valued only to the extent they contribute to (or detract from) society's economic base, life by itself is not ultimately valuable unless it is making someone money. Babies are good as long as they are born healthy. Old people, the disabled, and the sick need to be helped out of existence because they cost money.  Building hospices is preferable to building hospitals (which are often religious in origin and part of the old order).

Keep going.

Health insurance should be punishingly expensive for the elderly, cheap for the children, and moderately priced for the middle-aged who, as current workers will buy the insurance and contribute to return on investment for the industry, which will therefore create jobs.

Education should be sufficient to create a workforce with basic reading and writing skills. Higher education is for an elite with the resources to pay for it since it is primarily a benefit to the individual and not the state.

It is, therefore, a waste of resources using higher education to promote social goals. Talented students will rise to the top without special assistance. The emphasis on campus should be on the professions and job preparation. New campuses should focus on teaching trades. Prestigious colleges should take the top ten percent or so of applicants without consideration for anything other than test scores because these are the most likely to make good return on investment.

And what of ethics?  Well, it certainly won't be caring for one's fellow human beings. Not when cheating comes to be seen as cleverness, and fraud is merely caveat emptor. There will be no beauty left because to create it produces no jobs. Prolific choices of products cheaply made will replace the Grecian urns. There will also be no encouragement for innovations that have no obvious commercial value except for the surprise of  curiosity and learning.  There will be few literary gems written because no one will have time to read them.

Is this our world?  I can see signs of it everywhere.

One of these days, I have to hope, people are going to look back on history and lament what we have lost. But it won't be Make American Great Again, it will be Make America Decent Again.

Mr. Trump: Have You no Concept of Workmanship, Honor, Ethics, and Beauty?

OK. I hope I'm not the only one seeing that the pendulum is swinging back to an America completely different from the vulgar MAGA that awful little man in the White House envisions. He who cheats the workman. He who values nothing beyond that which enriches him. He who has created no beauty beyond its ability to generate profit--or, that bugbear of the crass--its ability to appreciate in value over time.

I can almost hear his thoughts:  "Let me tell you about that homo Da Vinci. He may be queer, but he sure delivered on return on investment. Wish I'd gotten in on the ground floor."

Somewhere around the Reagan years, corporate America decided that all Americans valued was getting material things at a cut-rate price. It didn't matter whether the cheap goods lasted or if they had beauty as long as Americans could feel that they owned the same sort of things as the wealthy. Under this rubric, owning a fake piece of Ming pottery was as good as owning an original as long as the fake was somewhat passable. And for a few dollars you could own something that looked a bit like Wedgwood china or Waterford crystal.

Actually, this remains the IKEA marketing strategy: cheap, modern-looking throw-away furnishings that look like real wood but aren't.

It didn't long, though, before thrift stores began to be clogged with the stuff.

My gosh. It turns out that the fake, cheap stuff did not feed the soul.

When I hold one of my genuine Waterford cut crystal glasses, there is a solidity that feels good in my hand. Held up to the light, light plays in prisms as the cuts create rainbows. Even someone not familiar with crystal finds themselves running their fingers down the sides of the glass. Holding the glass is an occasion.

The fake Waterford patterns, cut in glass of course, are dull. The light feels dead. The glasses and decanters feel like imposters.

The amazing thing is that once this difference is pointed out there's an ah-hah moment as the person recognizes the difference between art and drek. It's hard to go back once you see.

That's what I see happening in America.

We are led by a man without any sense of history beyond aggrandizing himself. Lincoln is good and useful as long as Trump can use the Lincoln legacy to promote himself. He quotes Kennedy to make himself appear inspiring without understanding the context of political speech. And he makes a virtue of it, as if to say if you have Donald Trump, why do you need Lincoln and Kennedy?

Sigh--I've written presidential speeches but always for presidents who had some grasp of history. As one of the assistants that you seem to burn through (I lasted five years with my president) may I ask when you are going to write your own, Sir?

Well, let me give you rule one: you can't--or shouldn't--rely on your assistants to write speeches that you will then reject three hours later in a tweet. Speech writers really hate that and you may very well find Trump memorabilia sold cut rate at Good Will.

America is telling you, Sir, that we are tired of imitations. If you can't govern, stand aside and let those more qualified rescue us from the terrible mess you are making.

Selling a House is a Revelation: Downsizing As an Act of Will

In a few days, my house is going on the market. It's time--not only for someone else to make this house their own, but also for me to get into a situation where there is family nearby. This move is proving to be its own learning curve (and I hate learning curves).

In most of the homes I've sold before, there's been some emotional component. In this case, not. That's a big difference. For one thing, I haven't been living here more than a few years, although that's been long enough to amass "stuff." But mostly, it's because after months of packing and downsizing, I've decided that I should have done it when I moved in rather than as I move out.

I suppose we all have some small shred of the hoarder in our souls. It was too easy to say (as my late partner did), "Well, it doesn't eat much," and then keep it because "there's room" and we might find a use for it someday.

Bad idea.

Bad idea is my big take-away with this house. Without the clutter, the house looks bigger, more orderly, and more able to display the things that truly matter.

The Boehm porcelain birds, for example, look regal and artistic in the china cabinet when they are no longer surrounded by things that say "Souvenir of . . .." Admittedly, the kitsch has sentimental value, but when faced with the need to pack it, I developed an entirely new philosophy: I decided I did not need to own it. I decided I could take pleasure in imagining someone else owning it (and polishing it).

With this new idea in mind, I set at the mass of things with vigor, looking for things that absolutely had to be moved to the new house.  In these, I included family heirloom stuff, particularly when it had been promised to someone. Then all furniture in good shape over 50 years old, newer if not made of particle board (hats off Ikea). And things that could lead someone to say, "I remember grandma using that."

Now, I'm not saying that even these first things were all absolute keepers. I packed away the things I couldn't bear to part with (like my grandmother's wedding present, a Wedgwood and silver salad bowl). But the rest definitely could be set out for others to go through to make selections. Why wait until one is dead?  Let them have the pleasure of cleaning the stuff.

This idea applied absolutely to physical books that weighed a ton. Unless they were first edition, signed by the author who might notice if they were gone, absolutely needed for craft or profession, or likely to explode in value like comics, I figured they could be enjoyed on line.  There was one caveat though. A complete collection of  Zane Grey novels with tattered covers that really ought to have gone to charity was saved by the claim of 100% certainty that they would be read yet again. I caved on that one.

And then there was the clothing that we promise ourselves we will wear once we lose a few pounds (particularly if it still has the original tags on it). Just because it was expensive or a steal, though, didn't mean it deserved  space. Let someone else enjoy the thrill of finding it amidst racks of faded t-shirts or by rummaging through your garage sale (if you are brave enough to have one).

On the other hand, I resolved to de-China myself, unless it ought to be made in China. Like Ming pottery or jade. Charity shops are clogged with cheap imitations that people tire of. I kept the real stuff, because its appeal lasts. I felt the beauty of a good European porcelain dish bought at an estate sale. It fed my soul. It got to stay.

All bets were off with appliances and electronics. They're all made somewhere else, so I had to decide how much I used it and what shape it was in. Ripped Teflon coating was an immediate discard no matter how much the use. Burned on food stain, ditto. Out went my oversized electric frying pan. If I really needed it, I'd replace it later. I realized that an electric can opener was not a life necessity and that, in fact, I preferred the hand one I had been using for years. The food processor and blender were not negotiable, though. This is personal and preferably done in private, as when men sort their tools.

Old computer equipment, on the other hand, got recycled immediately. I reasoned that it would not be useful as a backup no matter how expensive it was originally (we had three towers each with a different floppy drive). Unless it was a museum piece, an original PC or Apple for example, I knew that Microsoft wouldn't support the older programs any more. I used to love Xywrite, but it got bought out, and I knew that the old hard drives I kept as well as the floppy discs were not going to be helpful except as discussion pieces. It was a wrench because I remembered what I had paid for the equipment (in the thousands), but if it had outlived its usefulness, it was better to reclaim the chemicals rather than have it sit in my closet.

Today I sit in a streamlined house that I could have had all along if I had only had the drive and the courage to go through the process. It's nice, but only part of the process. What comes next is equally important. I'm going to be doing this all again as I unpack. It will be interesting (to me anyway) to see how well I follow through.

There's Not an -ism that Doesn't Deserve a Good Whipping

It's funny how many auxiliary people you get to meet on Facebook when you add a "friend."  I don't post myself unless I'm hit by nostalgia about some anniversary or when I've actually done a blog or got a book out--which means seldom.

My decision to be a Facebook hermit it based largely on the fact I don't want to be bothered by rabid posts promoting someone's passionate opinions about political events, particularly when I don't agree with them.

But, add a friend, and all of a sudden you get to see the passions of their friends. It's like driving a thousand miles across country with Trump or McConnell or some other equally obnoxious politician in the back seat.

The latest example to come out of the woodwork is a friend of a friend, whom I don't know, holding forth on the evils of socialism without ever defining it. I assume I was supposed to take her word that it was just bad.

Breaking with my usual practice, I actually responded by asking her to define socialism in other terms than she just didn't like it.  The result was deafening silence. I guess the word is useful only as a label rather than a concept that has any real meaning.

This started me thinking about -isms in general.

We are surrounded by them: Catholicism, Protestantism, Fascism, Communism, Capitalism, Feudalism, Statism, Militarism, and Oligarchism, and on an on. An -ism is a cultural and/or economic structure that tends to become, in the words of the Catholic theologian, Paul Tillich, an "ultimate concern." In other words, the structure is capable of becoming a religion, if it isn't already. It shapes how people think, how they behave, how they live, what they value, and ultimately what they are willing to die for.

The fact is, though, that there isn't any one of them that is not dangerous. Every one of them needs to be modified, regulated, and shaped into something useful. Left to their own devices, every one of them becomes abusive, repressive, and corrupt.

I have never understood the insane desire to impose a "perfect" -ism. The role of any government is to modulate to make the "perfect union." Pure religion leads to bigotry and inquisitions. Pure Capitalism leads to dog eat dog where the rich devour the poor. Pure communism leads to political and economic control and squelches creativity. Pure oligarchism leads to the control of everything by a small, wealthy elite.

And what about socialism? Socialism basically argues that certain parts of community life, those essential services, like medical coverage, provision of utilities, education, care of the land, the military and national guard, and care of the young and the elderly, are in the national interest and are best operated as non-profit and community owned, paid for by taxes.

No one is calling for the government to take over everything and restrict personal freedom--that's communism.

Yes, socialism has a down side. It can promote a lack of ambition and self-preservation. That's why it too needs to be regulated. But I don't see anything wrong, myself, with the government taking the broadest possible view of what makes for a level playing field in society and what is needed for the future survival of the nation and a decent standard of living. But, for that, we actually need wise, far-seeing politicians.

Given our political climate and the endemic greed, hell will freeze before we are ready for those conversations.

But just for starters, could we please pay some attention to the words they use.

Bohemian Rhapsody and the Critics

It's a rare occasion when I comment on movies. In fact, I don't think I ever have before. In the case of Bohemian Rhapsody, I am prepared to make an exception. Not because of the movie itself but because of what the critical reception says about critics and criticism.

I use the word "reception" very loosely because the critics, or those who fancy themselves serious critics, did not receive it well at all.

From what I can gather, the critics wanted to see a salacious expose of what they assumed to be Freddie Mercury's sex life. Instead of XXX, they got PG13, however, and they were pissed. They wanted what Bill Maher called "the suck dick" parts. When they didn't get them, they tried to overlook the film, including Rami Mallik's stellar performance, by predicting that the other nominated films were more obvious choices for Oscars.

Clearly, Queen fans did not agree. They turned the movie in a money-making juggernaut, indicating that there was only so much personal detail they wanted to know.

It was hardly surprising that the critics should be demanding the "details" because they did so even when Freddie was alive. As he kept pointing out to them, he was a musician and his private life was private. They behaved as if he was withholding information to which they had a complete right.

Well, if that's what the critics wanted, they'll have to wait for another movie made with a different purpose, and I can guarantee them that very few of Freddy's fans will go see it. The fans went to Bohemian Rhapsody to participate again in the songs that defined their age. Freddie's sexuality wasn't the key then or now. Somehow, he was more than whom he slept with.

Bohemian Rhapsody is Freddie Mercury and Queen seen from the point of view of the band itself. Band members were not part of his free-flung life outside the band. They had wives and families to occupy them, so there is no necessary reason they would want to explore his lifestyle. They acknowledge it, since Freddie made no particular effort to hide who he was, but they don't dwell on it because the story is the music, the tours, and Live Aid. These are the very things that Freddie himself asked the critics to focus on.

What the fans wanted was a recreation of a time and a particular set of people who played iconic music. This they got in spades. Rami Mallik simply became Freddie. This is only the second time that I've seen the melding of actor and character. The only other actor who convinced me like that was George C Scott becoming General Patton.

Despite the critics, this movie has stirred interest again in a band that was active in the 70s and 80s. I was not a Queen  fan at the time. My age was folk music. But after seeing the film, I went out and bought the Platinum Collection of the Best of Queen. I'm quite sure I'm not the only one.

So, critics, from time to time people rebel against you. Please try not to choke on the popcorn as you offer your sneers about things and people that have become icons and are likely to go into history books.

PS: I have advanced degrees in English literature but have read very few Nobel Prize winning authors with anything other than angst. Sometimes critical judgment can be so lofty the writing just doesn't touch the heart.