No, I DON'T See..

I hate our national anthem.  Actually, I hate the concept of national anthems in general.  Nationalism is just one more social disease that the human race has chosen to inflict upon the world (actually, I’m not entirely sure the human race isn’t itself a social disease…).  In the early days of the human race, I’m certain our social tendencies—the herding instinct by which we understood that there was safety in numbers—not only kept the species alive but allowed it to thrive.  It didn’t take long for us to take that instinct and kick it up a notch.  We were surviving on an acceptable level, so the focus turned toward domination. 

Well, we have thrived plenty, thank you very much.  And I think it’s safe to say we dominate the globe, and the instincts that led us to collect and defend ourselves in groups have, unfortunately, thrived apace.  But human beings, in our “our brains are too big for our thoughts” way, have taken those instincts to a very dark place.  We murder each other for pleasure.  We torture and kill others of our own species because we can.  Those who embrace such blood-thirst use it as a control mechanism over the rest of us. 

In the 21^st century, we have nations—political divisions of every scrap of land on the planet.  Theoretically, the governing bodies of those countries craft means to improve the living conditions of all the peoples living therein.  But, primarily, the nations are merely overgrown tribes.  Warring tribes that can’t seem to ever trust other tribes, and always seem to think they don’t have enough of something, so they go out and raid another tribe’s territory to get it.  And the cycle of grouping, domination and killing never stops.  No matter what “modern” name you choose to give it.

It’s a modern tradition that every nation have an anthem:  A song that declares allegiance to a particular tribe, incites tribe members to loyalty and demonstrates to all who hear that members of this tribe will “defend” it against all comers.  Quite primitive, really…like the territorial vocalizations of any animal on the planet, from laughing hyenas to screaming eagles to chest-beating gorillas.  I don’t know…shouldn’t we have outgrown that at some point?

Let’s for a moment concede that we have to have countries, and that the countries have to have national anthems.  Then can’t they be about peace and plenty?  About beauty and largesse?   Wouldn’t those be greater concepts to embrace and sing about?  Wouldn’t they be safer, given the human race’s present capacity to make itself extinct?

I’ve never been able to understand why we’ve chosen to elevate Francis Scott Keyes’ poem, crafted during a minor battle in a redundant war and set to the tune of an 18^th-century British glee-club song, over the lovely and lofty America the Beautiful.  Though the two songs were written almost 100 years apart, the US didn’t adopt a national anthem until 1931—so both songs were out there for consideration.  But Congress and the President chose this sentiment:

          “…And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air

          gave proof through the night that our flag was still there…

over this one:

          “America, America, God shed his grace on thee

          and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.”

Saying nothing about the pure war-hawkishness of the first,  it seems more invested in elevating a scrap of fabric to the level of an object of worship than in waxing emotional about the country over which it flies.  Where the second at least manages to put forth a mention of the nation itself. 

So with this backstory on my feelings about the national anthem, perhaps you can understand my reaction when I came across this Facebook post yesterday:

And my subsequent exchange of words with another commenter who did not, to put it mildly, share my feelings.   

What is it about some people that they cannot deal with opinions opposite of their own?  For that matter, what is it about some people that they can’t abide a negative word about anything they believe to be sacred?  Or, that if you speak negatively about one aspect of a complicated conglomeration of concepts—such as our nation, its government, its wars and its “beliefs”—you  have thrown the whole conglomeration under the bus and need to be horse-whipped (verbally, at least.)

Why is hating one crappy song turned into a transgression on the order of treason?

I am grateful for this exchange, though.  If for no other reason than that it clarified some things in my own mind.  Like the true “patriotism” of the concept of an “Independent Voter.” 

You’d think if someone was so attached to the concept of war, he would get the connection between those wars and one positive thing we might have won through at least one of them. 

Independence, my friend. 

Get some. 

 

Another Lovely Weekend on Our Journey to the Poor Farm

We have been experiencing ongoing "cash flow" problems.  Just when we think we can sit back and breathe for a minute, some other unexpected expense falls into our laps.  We've been feeling so pinched for funds that the husband has started buying lottery tickets again. 

Saturday afternoon, we felt like we had two extra dimes to rub together, so we were out making the rounds of resale shops looking for cheap cabinets to install in our laundry room.  We also had to make a stop at Kaiser, because the husband has blood clots in his legs (again) and is on heavy-duty blood thinners (again) and has to get a blood draw every day to check the progress of the blood thinners.  (Oh...and this great health insurance that they take almost ten thousand dollars a year out of his paycheck for does not even completely cover the labs anymore...there is a $20 copay for each.  That's an extra $100/week going out right there.)

So we walk back out to the truck after his Kaiser visit, get in, and...it won't start.  Out of the clear blue sky.  The engine turns over, it just isn't getting any fuel.  WTF!!?!  Get out.  Open the hood.  Basically just stare at the motor because neither of us has any idea what you might do to a diesel engine to get it going again when it craps out.

Get back in.  Turn the key.  Bam!  It starts right up.  Yay.  Or maybe not...

We decide we'd better head for home in case it decides to crap out again.  We're driving downhill on an acceleration ramp onto the freeway, hit a bump., and all of a sudden the steering wheel starts shimmying like crazy.  The truck is shaking so violently it feels like the front wheels are falling off.  Husband hits the brakes to slow down...shimmy goes away. 

"You see?  I told you it was doing that!" cries husband as he tries to release his death grip on the steering wheel. 

"THAT?!?  I drove this thing all over hell's half acre on Friday and it never did THAT.  If it had, I would have s**t myself!  This is NOT okay!"

So off we go to Les Schwab, where truck is now sitting awaiting parts for a $1300 repair to the front end. 

Yay. 

Saturday night, we were pretty wasted after all that, so we thought we would run down to Bing's and get some Chinese takeout.  At the end of our gloomy little treat, Matt hands me my fortune cookie.  I sigh..."Hey, did you remember to buy that lottery ticket?"

And then I crack open the cookie, and pull out the fortune.

"Don't worry about money.  The best things in life are free."

This happened.  I kid you not.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Safe

After struggling with warring modern technologies for hours yesterday, I finally was able to reload my iPod (which had been “lost” since last September) with different music.  The stuff I’d had on it was more or less from a different era…I hadn’t filled or changed it since before we closed the restaurant.  In those days, surrounded as I was by people young enough to be my grandchildren,  my play list tended toward the modern—which means I actually had songs on it that were less than forty years old.  Now that I truly am a retired Old Fart, my preferences have changed some.  I wouldn’t say that I’ve completely reverted to the Golden Oldies of my youth.  But I have kind of fallen back into that place of pensive instrumental “space music” (which is kind of like aural Xanax.)  And when I listen to songs with words, they have to be words with some meat to them. 

A couple of years ago, I “discovered” the genre of what I guess you would call “modern classical voice.”  Artists like Josh Groban, the Canadian Tenors, Susan Boyle, Andrea Bocelli, Il Divo…beautiful voices that sing beautiful songs that are not necessarily opera (which is, I’m afraid, one of my least favorite musical disciplines.)  I loaded up one of my Pandora stations with these artists, and I made an interesting discovery:  There are a few songs that seem to be required covers in this genre:  Amazing Grace.  Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.  And the David Foster (et al) sacred offering—The Prayer. 

 

The prayer.  It’s spectacular, musically.  After separate successful recordings of it in the 90’s by Celine Dion in English and Andrea Bocelli in Italian, it has morphed into a gorgeous duet interweaving the English and Italian lyrics.  I actually first heard the song at a Christmas concert in Portland, sung by Oregon’s 2002 Miss America, Katie Harman, and some local tenor whose name I can’t recall (or never knew…)  I thought it was quite pretty, then…and memorable enough that years later, when I started hearing it covered by every modern classical artist under the sun, I could think, “Oh, yeah…that’s the song we heard at the Living Christmas Tree (don’t ask) concert!”

This is one of those songs that begs the listener to be transcended by the music and the lyrics.  And there's no question that the music has the ability to send you to a rarefied place.  But the words?  Ah...the words.  Once I got a pretty good handle on what the words were all about, I realized...they bug the shit out of me.

            I pray you'll be our eyes and watch us where we go 
           And help us to be wise in times when we don't know 
           Let this be our prayer when we lose our way

Okay...so far, not brilliant, but prayerful enough.  If the writer could have stuck with that sentiment, it would have been fine.  Sweet.  Adequate.  Maybe a good jumping-off point for something a little loftier.  But, no...the next two lines--the oft-repeated refrain, so the writers must have thought them most significant--are a crushing disappointment.

            Lead us to a place, guide us with your grace 
           To a place where we'll be...Safe.

Safe. 

Safe?

Is that really what we would beg of the Spirit of the Universe, to the accompaniment of such a powerful, soaring melody?

Indeed, is it what we would ask for at all?  Is that our best, highest destiny?  To be "safe"?

Wouldn't we rather be compassionate, or loving, or understanding, or discerning?  Shouldn't we petition the Creator for the strength and the knowledge to lead humanity to a better place?  Wouldn't we earnestly request the will to bring peace to the world or end hunger or house the homeless? 

Would we really join our voices in such a heavenly noise to meekly request that the Almighty keep us safe?

Let's face it...when we ask for safety, we're basically asking to take a pass on life.  Because life is not safe.  It's fatal. 

It's full of pits and rocks, cliffs and deserts.  It's full of pain and sadness and exhaustion and fear.  And the harder you try to make it into something...the farther you travel looking to do good or create something positive and lasting...the more of that pain and sadness and exhaustion and fear you're going to have to bear.  But the funny thing is, the harder you try, the further you go, the more moments of pure goodness, joy and beauty you're likely to encounter as well. 

To be able to come to the end of your days and say, "I did THIS!" with a satisfied smile and a nod from the Creator...makes it worth every minute of struggle.    

If the best we can ask from the Almighty is to keep us Safe, we miss all of that.

What right-minded person would pray to miss out on every drop of opportunity life has to offer?

And what uninspired deity would grant that request?

This prayer for safety brings to my mind a picture of a bunch of the faithful huddled in an underground bunker like a flock of meek little sheep, patiently waiting for God to bestow food and water and comfort upon them.  Waiting.  Sitting.  And doing not much else.  It's such a distasteful vision that I need to drive it out of my head immediately.  Who would ask for that?  Who could live like that?

Not me.

I don't want to be safe.  I want to grab life by the throat and wring every drop of power and joy and endurance and beauty out of it.  And then I want the Almighty to stretch out Its hand and call me forth to the next adventure.  

I guess I'll need to write my own song.       

Somebody Get Me Some Bread and Cheese...

 

Yesterday, I posted on Facebook that my life right now is the equivalent of a trapped animal chewing its own leg off to get free.  A tad melodramatic, but definitely gets the feeling across. 

This midwinter is becoming more tedious by the day.  No trip to Klamath this year, and no catering kitchen to get into shape for licensing.  No money for around-the-house fix-up projects.  Just day after day of swinging my legs out the side of the bed and sighing, “Well.  What should I do today?”  There are only so many loads of laundry one can wash or floors one can vacuum.  I suck at this.  Really.

I don’t know how people do this “retirement” thing.  I like to tell myself I’m not officially retired, but I’m old, and I’m not employed, so I guess that adds up to retirement.  And I really hate it.  I am absolutely NO good at filling my days with fun/useful activities. 

I started working full-time when I was 18 years old.  It’s a nearly four-decade habit that I can’t seem to break.  With all the troubles that I had working for other people, in spite of all the drama and emotional garbage I went through putting myself out there, I can’t make myself enjoy NOT having to do that.  The structure of rolling up my sleeves, wading in and getting a job done because I had to was what held up the rest of my life.  When it’s entirely up to me to choose something to keep me busy, something that really doesn’t matter whether it gets done or not,  I can’t get motivated enough to get up and apply myself to it.

For the first couple of years after we closed the restaurant, I was more than content to do whatever struck my fancy on any given day.  Or do nothing, if that’s what I wanted.  I was exhausted.  I needed the rest.  But not anymore.  I’m bored and fidgety and restless.  And, as a corollary to that, I realized that my inability to write is intrinsically connected to the fact that there is NOTHING going on in my life right now.  Very hard to be inspired by nothing.

The last time I was in this space, I went out and bought a restaurant....claiming that, if nothing else, it would "keep me off the streets."  Well, it did that...in spades.  God forbid I should forget all that came after and be stupid enough to make such a move again.  This time, I'm pretty sure it would be the end of me, my marriage, and everything I've ever held dear.  Augh.

I’m sure if I whined about this on Facebook or where friends would actually read, I’d get all sorts of suggestions about what I could do.  Volunteer.  Take a class.  Join a gym.  I suppose I could do one of these.  And I might yet.  But everything is kind of complicated by being out here in the damn sticks.  There are limited educational, recreational and volunteer opportunities available that are not at least a twenty-mile drive one way.  Then you have to ask whether you are willing to pay for the extra gas it’s going to take to get you to where the opportunities are.  Gas may be cheap NOW, but I’ll lay bets that the price will soar back up to $4/gallon this summer.  And you can’t really commit to something “until the price of gas goes back up.” 

Humbug.  I know I’m making excuses.  Sort of.  But it’s my blog, and I can whine if I want to.  And today, I want to.     

On Darkness and Light

At its core, art is a form of communication.  It is, in fact, a vehicle for relating feelings, emotions, realities which can be expressed in no other way.  Through the arts, human beings have the ability to depict ideas for which there is no casual outlet in our day-to-day, mundane lives.  Ideas so lofty, so beyond the ordinary, that the only way to express them is through music or painting, sculpture or dance, song or drama…  Whatever the medium, it can be used to expand the definitions of who we are and what we are capable of…to blur the boundary between the human and the divine. 

Think of what the human race could have become, if only we could channel all that artistic energy into expressing and enhancing the best and brightest aspects of the human experience. But we don’t seem to have the capacity to allow any creative endeavor to remain beautiful or transcendent, or even positive.  We cannot refrain from using our right brains to explore the depths of negativity…to express the darker side of human nature. I suppose it would be illogical to expect otherwise.  That dark energy needs to be explored…if only to determine how best to keep it in check.

I suspect there has been a tug-of-war between dark energy and light since humans first gained the capacity to communicate concepts greater than “Eat, sleep, live, die.” Time and again, great civilizations have risen and flourished, bathed in the light of knowledge and progress, only to crumble and die in the darkness of violence and ignorance.  We can't seem to help turning toward the darkness when the light leaves us nowhere to hide.    In European history, for example, the enlightenment of the Greek and Roman  civilizations descended into the darkness of the Middle Ages.  The darkness was beaten back again during the Renaissance, which propelled us into what is called the "modern era."  Today, it seems the light of the Modern Era is fading once again into the darkness of ignorance and violence--a process which, it seems, it not outside our control.    It is not as if humankind is unaware of the struggle, or of the consequences of allowing the darkness to flourish.  But we seem compelled to embrace the darkness anyway. 

Or perhaps we invite it to come close so that we can prove we have conquered it.  But we haven't, have we?  History proves time and again that we are unable to learn and retain the lessons it should be teaching us.

Here we are, in the 21^st century.  The future to which, as a child of the middle of the last century, I looked forward as an era of brotherhood and understanding, a time where concern for the environment and our fellow humans would inform all our policies and we would be poised on the edge of extending our grasp to the stars, and beyond.  Truly, there was a time at which our choices as a species seemed to be between that and self-annihilation.  And for a hot minute, it looked as if we had dodged the bullet and were headed toward Utopia.  But only for a minute…

Because though we have managed not to push the fatal button that would have erased ourselves from the universe in a final flash, we have nevertheless made a u-turn on the road to Utopia.  World War II and the events leading up to it had showcased some of the most heinous tendencies of human nature; that, and the fiery and decisive end to that global conflict had scared the bejeezus out of us.  We knew what we were capable of as a species, up to and including that we now had the ability to make ourselves extinct.  So we slid into the second half of that decade a little wiser, a little kinder, a little desperate to identify and cling to the finer, nobler aspects of human character.  Perhaps we wanted to be reminded of what made us worthy to be saved from the fate we held in our own hands.

And this was reflected in our art—particularly the two most recent additions to the portfolio of artistic media: movies and television.  The 40’s and 50’s were the middle of the “golden age of Hollywood,” where the studios and the censors collaborated to release a steady stream of good old fashioned entertainment, creating a world where there was no cussing, little sex, and violence limited to fist fights and bloodless handgun exchanges.  Television followed closely in the footsteps of its older cousin, bringing us heart-warming situation comedies, westerns, variety shows, cartoons, and some attempts at classical drama or science fiction—all under the watchful eye of those same censors dedicated to pumping into our living rooms nothing that would make Mom and Dad blush or Junior pipe up with a four-letter-word during dinner with Grandma.

But of course, we couldn’t leave it at that, could we?  Once we really got a feel for these new artistic media, we couldn’t limit them to the “fantasies” of morality plays and happy endings.  We decided that we were using our new media in a lopsidedly positive way…that we could not respect the art until it was fleshed out with exploration of the dark side of human nature.  Only then would film and video be venerable as complete art forms, communicating the whole of human experience.

What we always seem to forget is that the dark side is so seductive.  Perhaps because it is intrinsically connected to our baser instincts.  The human experience improves when we control our more animalistic tendencies--territorialism, tribalism, fear of change and fear of "other"--that always seem to express themselves in violence against our fellow human beings.  But we no sooner contrive policies that employ our tremendous brains to rise above our negative instincts, than we begin to rebel against them...because being our selfish, violent, xenophobic selves feels so good.  So comfortable.  

So what is the harm in crafting a film or a television show about serial killers, or sexual deviants, or drug addicts or dysfunctional relationships?  These are all part of the human experience, are they not?  Do we not want to be honest with ourselves about the modern human condition?  Of course we do.  If only we could keep those depictions of the dark side of human nature from jumping off the screen and becoming templates for our everyday lives. 

Do not delude yourself into thinking this is not exactly what happens.  In some way, the fact that we see a behavior on the screen translates to our huge, advanced brains as validation of the behavior.  Perhaps we don't see a movie like Fatal Attraction and decide it's ok to go and immediately have an affair with somebody you picked up in an elevator, but it puts the idea out there as a possibility...as something that someone might do.  Perhaps you won't sit through a season of Breaking Bad and decide that the life of a school teacher turned  meth cook looks pretty damned attractive.  You might never have even considered such behavior...until it was presented to you in bigger-than-life living color in the comfort of your living room. 

See enough depictions of bad behavior and it loses its abhorrence.  It becomes natural and very nearly acceptable.  Just "naughty," instead of "unthinkable."  There's no such thing as, "People don't do that!" because they ARE doing it--right there on the screen.  The door to the dark side has been opened a crack, and its powerful magnetic force draws us inexorably toward it. 

What is the answer?  Is there a way to counteract the intellectual and moral decay we are pumping into our brains daily through the garbage that any person/faction/entity is free to release on film, television and the internet?  Censorship?  Government control?  I wish I knew.  And it scares the hell out of me that I don't.

What I do know is that our visual media have an effect on us that we do not universally understand.  If research has been done on the issue, the results thereof have hardly become common knowledge.  And I doubt if they ever could, given that the outlet for the publication of said results is most likely controlled by those who might be damaged (financially) if the word got out. 

So the next time you indulge in viewing a story onscreen that plumbs the depths of negative human behavior and are tempted to call it "art," or allow it to take shelter under the umbrella of "free speech,"  consider the fine line between art/free speech and behavior modification.  Intentionally or un-, our behavior is being shaped by what we see on screens large and small, which seem to be everywhere you turn, these days.  Consider how we might better use these "artistic" media to improve the human condition, rather than degrade it. 

If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them...