Sunday, May 10, 2009
Nice
-Hugo St. Victor, 12th Century.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Old Guys
Monday, March 9, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Airports
D-Blog
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
So Dear Friends. . .
In order to better serve my loyal readership, I have split Home for Now into 3 different blogs, arranged by general subject matter.
Home for Now will remain as it is, as it was always meant to be, a travelogue.
Poli-Blog will be for all things Political and Policy-Oriented.
Sci-Cult-Blog will be for Science, Culture, and the Arts
In the works will be a blog dedicated to the many strange people I know.
Stay tuned. . .
D-Blog
Friday, February 6, 2009
Israel
To draw a parallel as to why the Israeli consciousness is anchored in humiliation, let us turn today to Iraq. Thomas Friedman, myself, and others have argued that part of the motivation for the civil strife and anti-Americanism in Iraq is simply a response to the humiliation the Iraqis feel at the fact of being liberated at all. What an embarrassment. To live in fear for 30 years and then to have some external power walk in and in a couple of weeks have plucked out the great terror of your lives? What were you so afraid of if the US can just roll in and do what you, the Iraqi people, wish you could have done for so long. It is a concrete symbol of your impotence.
So. To combat that feeling within, one must turn on the liberators to make them feel your pain, to show them that you are a force to be reckoned with and not some weak, backwards nation. So you fight and lash out against the very people who "saved" you for the very reason that your needing to be "saved" was so insulting.
To feel one's power as a nation one wants to *earn* nationhood. Through warfare, through exploration, through revolution- whatever. It is not something to be bestowed if it is to have its grounding in virility. The Iraqis are now - and have been for 5 years - earning their country by driving out the tyrant-savior. The war will go on until the humiliation is expunged.
Israel, then. Israel was formed by a charter, not by war. It was granted. In the Jewish religion it is Yahweh who will grant us our nation- not the British. This arbitrary land grant, in response to collective European embarrassment at the holocaust (which could have happened in any European country experiencing the kind of recession Germany experienced in the 30's), feels sketchy under the feet. After all, if land can be granted it can be un-granted too, right? No one would think of revoking the British charter to England. They earned it through settlement and warfare over centuries. The American charter was won largely through measles and smallpox but it was won nonetheless. Greece, China, Japan, Mexico- these countries all have proud traditions of manly conquest to settle their territories. But Israel was a gift out of the goodness of the world's heart. Not convincing.
In fact it would appear to be another plank in the long line of Jewish complicity with the going master-power. Jews made deals with the Romans for political protection in exchange for subservience and compliance. Similar deals were made throughout history as an exchange for being guests in others' lands. The feeling is not so disimilar today, at heart. It is a permeating humiliation.
That Israel continues to rely today on support from the US and England, the current global master and its lapdog, reeks of history. And Israel will never feel like a true home so long as Jews are still entangled in this traditional role as serf- or really worse, "guest."
So how to overcome this feeling of emasculation? Well obviously through warfare. And like the Iraqis, it is not a matter of winning, but of venting, of raging until the manhood is restored, until one effectively can tell oneself, "If I had fought this hard, I would have won the land for myself in the first place." That is what Jews, Iraqis, and all "liberated" people (including, I would say blacks and women in the US) are fighting for- to feel as if they have the power to do for themselves what others have patronizingly done for them.
This struggle can last a lifetime. It can last forever. Ultimately, history can not be unwritten in this way, and so the wound of liberation is ongoing. Perhaps over time the memory will diminish, or perhaps, as in Iraq, the continuing pressure of Israel on the US will turn US opinion against the tiny nation. Perhaps this is what Israel really wants after all, a confrontation with the master. And the pushing, like a spoiled child, for every allowance and concession is unconsciously designed to push away the smothering parent. Would Israel want war with the US? Absurd. But to be freed from US protection, it would be free to test its own strength in the world as a truly independent nation, no longer an obsequious guest of the going king-state.
The Iraqis are ahead on this one. Jews haven't resorted to terrorism since the Maccabees in Greece, but perhaps they can learn something from their Arab cousins about how to stick up for yourself. It is a tricky situation, no doubt, but the stakes are real. The land grant was won some 60 years ago, but at huge cost. But that cost, that holocaust, was the anchoring on which the state's claim to be was laid.
But mass murder and victimhood do not form a stable basis for a nation. All other peoples who suffered such a fate gave up their nationhood and were absorbed by those who won. The German war crimes were horrifying but, sadly, only really by modern standards. Such barbarity was the daily practice for pre-modern cultures, many of whom, it should be pointed out, were barbarians. The scale and perversity of the crimes was new, commensurate with the technology and population of the time. But cultures have always killed their enemies (and their scapegoats), but those enemies are never given land in exchange for losing.
And this is the strange predicament of the Jews, the cultural anachronism that did not die but waited to receive its land from Yahweh as promised in the Covenant with Abraham. Have we lived to see that covenant fulfilled? I do not know.
But to me it doesn't feel right. The restoration of power was not granted by divine exaltation but by surviving holy hell. There is a strong connection between land, territorialism, and virility. To defend land you have been given is not the same as to defend land you have fought for. It simply isn't. And I feel sad that the Israelis will spend a good deal more time thrashing around on their gift before they can really call it their home. We shall see what happens.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Of Menonites and Meteorites - a Flashback and a Detour
So something about me is that I'm a bit of a misanthrope. I love humanity, but I hate people. So I have found a good compromise for myself in being something of an anthropologist, looking at people through the lens of their groups and cultures and trying not to deal with them too personally if I can help it. Of course this is a pretty good definition of a racist, but I believe my intentions are slightly less self-interested than those of racists. I crave diversity and take the same dispassionate view of my own people as I do of 'others.' And that's just the way I am. So in my travels I have taken a peculiar interest in, though always at a distance from, American religion.
American religion scares the hell out of most people, and there's no reason it shouldn't out of me too. But for some reason, I feel good humored enough to engage my heterodoxical peers without feeling like I will wind up bound and ass-fucked on the river side like that guy in the Burt Reynolds Movie.
Nonetheless, I have a couple of stories that I usually like sharing about my experiences in America regarding the foibles of provincialism in middle USA.
The first is a simple conversation I had on one of my first visits to Salt Lake City. As many of you will know, the Mormons have a thing about genealogy. it's got something to do with knowing everybody's bloodline for the hereafter and so forth, so they do their best to track down all the birth records and match them up with folks and put it all onto the computer.
Well I have a thing for genealogy too, and while I was in the shopping mall in town I noticed they had a little darkened room with a bunch of computer terminals in the back. Standing out front was this tight little old lady who looked remarkably like Dana Carvey. I decided i would like to go in there and do my little search to get more info on my ancestors, so I approached the little old lady.
Now I was cautious. My dad had warned me as a kid that most folks don't take too kindly to Jews, so I decided to keep it on the down-low as I walked over to the woman.
"So," I said, in my most gentile-like voice, "You guys have genealogy records here, huh?"
"Yes, we do."
"Well, I'd be interested in looking up my ancestors. Is there a fee?" Damn! Blew my cover. . . But no, she didn't notice.
"No there isn't. Our software is open to the public."
"What if. . ." here goes, "What if you're not, you know, Christian?"
"Oh we have records for Catholics too."
That was it for me.
"Thank you, ma'am. I'll check back a little later." The flashbacks to Hebrew School came in a wave. . .kicked out of Sumer, kicked out of Babylon, kicked out of Greece, kicked out of Syria, kicked out of Persia, kicked out of Utah. . . Wait a minute. This was America. The Mormons are an oppressed minority, surely there's some simpatico there.
After a quick walk around the bookstore I came back to the little old lady who had not moved or changed expression for the intervening 15 minutes. It was a little like the gatekeepers and wizards in the Legend of Zelda who never seem to recognize you no matter how many times you enter their lair asking for magic.
"So do you have records for everybody?" I asked.
"We try to get records for as many people as we can."
"What if you're like. . .I don't know, Buddhist or Hindu or something, do you have records for them?"
"Well yes, everybody."
Phew, so maybe she would think I was a Hindu.
I walked in and sat down at the computer, typed in my parents' names and shazam, up came the names of my maternal grandparents- birthdays and death days with location. I was impressed. . .what else did they know about me?
Not much, apparently, just that I was some stray Hindu who walked into their shopping mall on a cool Autumn afternoon. . .
Well years before that I was driving around Arizona on highway 10. That's a pretty lonely road once you're outside Phoenix and Tucson. But somewhere out there, there's a road marker that says, "Meteor Crater site, 40 Miles." That comes to about an hour round trip off the freeway, but I wanted to see the thing, so I took the turn-off and drove along an even lonelier desert road until I got to the crater museum.
It's actually pretty spectacular there. Once you navigate past all the RVs and find a parking spot, you walk into the museum part that leads onto a deck that surrounds most of the crater. It's impressive.
The idea is that a rock came flying out of the sky at incredible speed and struck the earth, leaving this huge, well, crater in the ground. And it was still there. I was looking right at it.
Part of the museum was a little movie theater where every 15 minutes they would show a movie about how the crater was formed- a rock flew out of the sky, hit the earth and bounced a few miles in one direction. Scientists recovered the rock and it is now sitting in the middle of the museum on a pedestal for you to look at.
Well I was no fool. I knew how craters were formed. What I found most interesting about the movie was the people sitting in front of me. There was a husband in his late thirties perhaps, a wife, four sons and about five daughters, all sitting next to each other - the boys first, then the girls, in order of height (and presumably age). The father wore one of those beards like the Amish that made us pancakes at Reading Terminal Market in Philly- full beard but with the moustache shaved off. The women all wore little bonnets and aprons like little house on the prairie, each one identical.
I was mesmerized. What a country, that these people can live like this, that I can live the way I do, and that the German tourists seated across the aisle could be there too- three different centuries of culture under one roof watching a movie, and nobody was killing each other. I was proud.
The movie ended and we all wandered out into the main room of the museum to see the big meteorite that had hit the ground out here in Arizona. The thing was mounted on its pedestal by a steel rod, and the helpful museum curator informed us that even though the rock was only about the size of a terrier, it weighed something like 4,000 pounds (I may be making that up, but it was especially dense).
At this point, the man with the beard looked over to the curator.
"This thing came from outer space?" he asked, almost scoffing.
"Yes it did," came the answer, "In 1936 at over 400 miles per hour."
The man looked back at the curator, the scoff now fully realized.
"Well, I don't believe that." And he walked away with his wife and children.
I was beside myself. I had never seen such assurance in someone's faith before, standing up to a multi-million dollar science exhibit complete with grad student curator. It's hard to describe, but I was almost in love. The sheer stubbornness to flat out reject science like that without any counterargument or discussion. I was beyond envious. I was adoring.
When I used to read books about homeschooling, I was very careful to separate the "true" homeschoolers who let their children unfold in a natural, self-directed way, from the religious nuts who brainwashed their children even worse than the schools would have. I used to read about homeschooling families that wouldn't register their children as citizens when they were born so they wouldn't have to pay taxes and could live free on the land. They wouldn't need vaccines and they would never be drafted to fight in some God-forsaken country overseas.
At the time I was convinced these people were nuts. But the more I read, the more I realized- there were a lot of people like this. And the more I read, the more I realized that they're really a lot like me. I have no faith in government, vaccines, or school. I am not interested in having my children fight in Iraq or Afghanistan. And while I don't believe the earth was created in 6 days 6000 years ago, I find the scientific explanations utterly inadequate. (With a margin of error of half a billion years, they are hardly ones to be casting stones.)
So perhaps this American, from so far away- both culturally and geographically - was really more my brother than I would have suspected him to be, perched on my 4th floor apartment on Columbus Avenue. That different people could have such different beliefs and still, in this day and age of standardized knowledge and culture, maintain their loyalty to themselves- I find miraculous. And while I'm glad I will never have a real conversation with this man, for him and his people I am still most grateful.
After all I'm a bit of a misanthrope. Hate people, love humanity. . .
Monday, September 17, 2007
On the Road again, again. . .
It’s going on 10 days now that I haven’t had a real night’s sleep. Two nights out late with Ingrun/Mikey – then up early. Two nights on the couch at TR's. Comfortable but hot. One night on Oliver’s couch at Wonder Hut, then two on his couch ad Judy’s. Then, as if by demotion, two nights on the floor at Jeb’s house in Cleveland – on my comfortable stretching mat, but the floor none the less, sleeplessness compounded by treadmill being on the floor, pound pound pound early in the morning. Finally, I thought, Motel 6, West Des Moines. Home sweet home. But alas, my room had the smell of fat housekeeper B.O. with that body powder type of fat woman smell. Not so bad except in the bathroom. Kept the window open at night to air it out, but that was the freak, early Fall day, 49 degrees, freezing, fasting, couldn’t sleep, almost got sick, body does not want to contract that much that quickly from the summer to handle the cold, especially probably won’t last too much longer, don’t hunker down for winter season yet. So didn’t sleep too well in Iowa.
It’s now 6:45 AM in Cheyenne. Motel 6 here located right by the railroad tracks. RIGHT by the railroad tracks. Don’t know how it happens that the trains never go by until after you’ve checked into your room. Maybe they’ve got some kind of system worked out with Pacific Rail or maybe it’s just the lost Murphy’s Law or in the Dead Sea Scrolls or something. By 9pm it was going every hour, whistle pressed into my stomach like the guy on the Maxell commercial. Then I found that they go the other way too and it was every half hour. By 5 thus morning it was every 20 minutes, don’t know how they have room for all those trains, but again I got no sleep.
As it turns out, I don’t need that much sleep, really- raw foodists can get by with a lot less than normal people. But for me, sleep is where I integrate what I’ve learned from the day. My brain waves can slow so that things connect more quickly without the interference of the mind, preoccupied during the day with survival and navigation. It is said that for those of us with our Suns in the 12th house that sleep time can be more real than awake time. I’m not sure if I feel that way, but I would say that it’s at least equally as productive in terms of what’s important to me now. It’s as if I can make just so many connections in my brain that need to be digested that without a full night’s sleep there’s an annoying, frustrating backlog, and I can’t get on with the day. So going without sleep is no fun, and any inherent grouchiness I have is amplified manifold without it.
I’ll sleep in the car this afternoon when I’m away from the tracks. Remind me to tell you the story of the train tracks in Flagstaff. Don’t know why but wasn’t up to a repeat of that experience, good as it was. Maybe I’ve just caught a wave of sleeplessness and I’m just riding it til it’s over and I can catch up for the whole month.
So much has happened, really, it’s a shame just to talk about sleep. Let’s see if I can hit some of the highlights.
Wonder Hut. Oliver has been going out to Long Island for some 25 years now and has invited me out to come see his cabin for the past several. Well I finally made it out and I’m thoroughly glad I did. He and Judy have found this spot in Amagansett that must be the last remaining plot of forresty wilderness on Long Island. Being there you would have no idea that just down the road, the ueber-yuppies would be chowing down at cittanuova or paying 14 dollars for a carton of blackberries at the farmer’s market. No, tucked away in a little corner of a dirt road is their little hut, decorated perfectly, the way the prissiest Bed & Breakfasts night decorate if only they weren’t so prissy. Oliver treated me to some of his famous oatmeal al dente as I sat in marvel of the many trinkets and decorations that gave Wonder Hut its indescribably charming décor. Amazing.
My Wonder Hut visit was at the tail end of a longer trip to Long Island which started at TR's place in East Hampton. Right on the Bay, quiet and tucked away from the socialites (it felt), TR's place is the perfect getaway for the slightly less rugged. We had an excellent sailing (floating, mostly) trip in the Bay in which we discovered new lands, learned about pirates, and decided it would be better to be Mayor of a small town in Northern California than to settle the new lands and become Emperor of Daveland- at least that was my conclusion. The highlight of the trip was the discussion we had at TR's apartment two days later in Greenwich Village about Southern women and tying up loose ends. Oh, and Kill Bill. More later.
So the trip out west was sort of a trip out East first, kind of like how they launched the Mars probe towards Venus first so that they can use its gravitational field to propel it towards the outer solar system. Nothing can propel you faster towards California than four days in the Hamptons (just kidding). The drive to Cleveland was pleasant. During my two days there I must have sucked down a dozen green juices from Wild Oats. Delicious. Jeb had made these freezer brownies and different raw ice creams to try. Very yummy, but they definitely increase the yeast in your system. That may be the cause of the gassiness, JB.
Met Jeb’s father, who is a remarkably kind man. He’s from New Ulm Minnesota, which is maybe a 6 point type on the map rather than a 4 point, to give you an idea of its population. We watched the President presiding and the rest of the chatterers chattering about how there’s nothing to do in Iraq, like everybody said would happen 5 years ago, except so what? Vindication is not that rewarding, and it must be hard to be Paul Krugman.
In Omaha I had a too short tea with K. at the tea place near Wild Oats (more juice there too). We had quite the time selecting from the dozens of teas at the shop. The lady there was very tolerant of our prolonged deliberating and she actually gave me a free cup of Pu-Er tea to go. Sweet. Seeing K. was wonderful. It’s been a few years, but it’s funny and pleasantly disconcerting how some things don’t change.
The rest of the drive to Cheyenne was good. Lots of mulling and fantastic insights and realizations. I don’t know if they’re hidden in the road somewhere and you collect them along the way or if the road is just the fertile soil that generates imaginal life as the ground generates all the trees and the flowers.
Fuck that train is loud. I gotta go.
I’ve been fasting for about two days now, but I’ll be passing through Salt Lake again, and I don’t know if I can resist a helping of Omar’s Taboulueh. Think I’ll make an exception. . .
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Ok, Murphy, but just this once. . .
Saeran St. Christopher's "a posse ad esse"
The first point I’d make is about politics, not science. The current round of Creationism debate is primarily political. There hasn’t been a national debate on evolution of this scope since Scopes. Why has it resurfaced now- along with the other red herring issue of the day- gay marriage? These are political hooks meant to solidify Republican hegemony. All of the serious intellectuals (and most of the adult homosexuals) in this country are stocked in the solidly Blue states of NY, CA, MA, and IL. These states have been lost to the Republicans forever, so there is no harm in letting the blowhards (pundits & professors, etc.) blow as hard as they like. Those of us on the Upper West Side will never pull the R lever no matter the candidate. However, in the 50/50 states that we now call Red States, the surest fire way to get the angry proles out to the voting booths to create that 51% majority is to wave around pictures of arrogant scientists from New York and Cambridge claiming that the middle-American religious lifestyle is bunk.
In other words, you’ve taken the bait, seeing an opportunity for self-aggrandizement and self-promotion. There really is no debate on this subject except with fairly narrow, provincial minds. You’ve fallen into the intellectual trap of believing that reason is the causal actor in life, that reason alone shall set you free. The emotional response elicited by threatening (intellectual) ideas is what moves people’s passions and moves them to act. And while the intellectuals pat their own backs for being “right” they watch the world go to hell around them with nothing but their own self-satisfaction to comfort them. The most recent result of this farce was the victory of Bush/Cheney in 2004.
You took the bait in the typically stupid manner to which most smart people are prone – an idiotic question was posed and you couldn’t resist showing everybody how smart you were by refuting it. But the people who posed the question have no concern for intellectual rigor or who comes out on top of the debate. It’s basically a give away. What they’re concerned with is raising emotions which cause people to act and override their reason. And my friend, it is working splendidly.
No intelligent person likes being condescended to. And no one who would take your points on faith I would consider to be an intelligent person. As for the rest, you’re just fanning the flames of their resentment of intellectualism in general, further widening the (unnecessary) rift in the social fabric.
“There is no conflict between Science and Religion, however there is conflict between stupid science and stupid religion” – Abraham Maslow
My second point would be religious. The assumptions you make about the nature and intent of the universe are profoundly arrogant and at the same time revealingly simplistic. I can empathize to a point, as I remember myself as a young scientist puzzled that any fool would spend his time majoring in Theology since we had already proved that God did not exist, so what was the point? Of course I was only fourteen at the time and had never seriously investigated faith, myth, religious history, or any kind of practical numinosity. But as I matured I began doing my own research into the more sophisticated spiritual worldviews and learned of their richness, depth, wisdom, and indeed, practicality.
In hearing what I could tolerate of your lecture I was taken aback by the wideness of the assumptions you make about what religion has to offer us – that somehow the primary religious tenets are that we are “meant” to live in a perfectly harmonious world where creativity is “efficient” and hostility to life is the exception and not the rule. Ignoring the fact that serious scientists ought to examine their own assumptions exhaustively, a step which you do not seem to approach in this segment, I would condemn the emotional weakness such assumptions imply:
It is a typical intellectual conceit (and in general a male prejudice as well) that there be some kind of fixed, harmonious, Euclidian order to the world. The intellectual’s feeling of superiority over the emotionally-driven population leads him (generally) to discount the emotional experience as irrelevant, or at best primitive and unworthy of very much respect. But if one takes the emotional person’s point of view, it is the imperfections, the vicissitudes of life that create the challenge, the drama, and the experience of life itself. While the intellectual spends his time breaking life down into meaningless bits, all the while searching for “meaning,” the life experience - which may be the meaning itself - passes him by. From a psychological standpoint this tends to be due to a weakened emotional stance in the individual forcing him to use reason to attempt to control-by-making-sense-of something which is not inherently reasonable. This tail chasing is evident in the current creationist debate.
Suffering, death, the ferocity of nature, the process of creativity - these are all the subject of serious religious thought, discussion, and philosophy. In Saeran's video post, you seem to be refuting an assumption about how these subjects are understood by religious persons. Making such assumptions, of course, makes your case seem all the more obvious and yourself all the more superior. But you have chosen those assumptions just for that purpose, ignoring the rich history and exploration into the deeper psycho-spiritual underpinnings of the human experience. It is an argument against Maslow's "stupid" religion, invoking Murphy's directive to stop arguing with those people!
I am aware that the typical Creationist point of view is moronic- from a scientific point of view. And if Saeran had posted one of their rants on her site, I would be telling them that their simplistic and shallow view of religion was provoking this inflated reaction in the scientific community and that they would do well to seek out the deeper truths in their faiths rather than the fatuous "Thou Shalts" that make them all sound like Philistines. The people that promote these simplistic religious ideas are just as guilty of opportunism and self-promotion as you are, only on the other side – none of which is to the public benefit. The “sensible” Christians and the “sensitive” scientists don’t get air time on Bill O’Reilly – or even Charlie Rose. It’s only the sophomoric fringe that get the play in the public forum – and it’s for exactly the same reasons – they stir emotions, get people to act (i.e. tune in) and boost ratings – again to no great public benefit.
Just to iterate, the cleverness of this tactic politically is that while there is indeed an emotional reaction in the intellectual elite to the silliness of the creationist rhetoric, it is a reaction that is impotent to effect change, due of our political landscape. No matter how angry the folks get in Harvard Square or at Northwestern, the political outcome will not be any different than if they had all been asleep- whereas in Ohio, Indiana, Pennsylvania, Michigan, those few angry rednecks are just enough to push the conservatives over the top. And you are the one luring them on. “Stupid Design.” What better way to get a redneck out of bed on a cold Tuesday in November than calling Jesus stupid. And here we are today. "Four more years!"
A third point is this: Have you ever been to Kansas? Have you ever seriously opened your mind to what you consider to be the ridiculous? As a middle-class, prep-schooled New Yorker myself, I had what must be a similar aversion to life beyond the Hudson. But in a recent bout of courage I made my way to Kentucky – or was it Ohio? – to the new Creationist museum. I had heard the blurb on NPR which declared it to be an anti-abortion, anti-homosexual political tool and decided to see for myself – a little scientific inquiry, eh? I’ll spare you the story of my entire adventure (unless you’d like me to elaborate) and say the whole thing was really quite civilized. From a technological view it made the Museum of Natural History on the West Side look like something my uncle threw together in his basement. They used (perhaps ironically) the full power of modern scientific technology to make their case. It was indeed an impressive display.
But as for substance, when I tried to suss out exactly what they were getting at, it turned out to be a very simple point, and one that I find wholly worthy of discussion. They chose the medium of film to show a young girl asking questions about her life, who she was, what was her purpose, and why was she here – questions that most thoughtful people ask in their lives. During the film, the hipster-looking angels sweep down (accompanied by vibrating seats and surround-sound speakers) and attempt to assuage her concerns that she was here only as an accident of random genetic mutation and that her life had no meaning, purpose, or significance whatsoever.
Now this is a fair point, I’d say. Highly intelligent people have criticized the idea of random mutation as the driving force of evolution – and the nihilism that logically follows from it. In their plain little film, the creationists suggest that there are holes in much of the scientific evidence (points I’m sure you’ve addressed in your many public engagements) and that therefore the world must have been created in the way the Bible says it was. This is certainly an enormous leap in logic. But by failing to adequately address the underlying concerns of the Creationists – not the self-serving explanation of weak-minded theologians - the scientific community is missing an important issue that will never go away. This is not surprising since science has never been able to adequately address such issues of purpose and meaning, so it behooves scientists to ignore them and fight on grounds for which they are better equipped, carbon dating for instance.
It has always been my feeling that scientists have handled the question of Darwinian purposelessness by assuming for themselves the purpose of bringing reason to the ignorant. This is a sort of intellectual sleight of hand that allows them to feel a sense of purpose while at the same time denigrating the concept of purpose (as espoused by traditional religions) through reductionism and, in this case, the concept of random mutation.
By the way, I got through about 3/4 of the exhibits and didn’t see anything about abortion or ”gay marriage.”
So getting back to you, Mr. Tyson, I am not really arguing with your science. I am not really interested in your science. Science will go round and round as it always has, oblivious to what it chooses to ignore- that is irrational, unquantifiable forces that act in reality but which are excluded from scientific inquiry. I am suggesting that science is by and large besides the point. I am taking issue with your tone, your manner, and the other aspects of your presentation that deteriorate the public good to the benefit of your personal career. Science is not the only force in the universe. It is but one perspective, even though it is the dominant one in our culture. So, as a fish in water, it is hard for an intelligent person to realize that there is anything else besides it, yet there most certainly is. And that which we ignore will always come back to haunt us – in ways that not even science can predict.
I have further thoughts on this topic, but I'll leave it here for now. Would be happy to discuss further at your pleasure.
All best,
David Goodman
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Hagelberg, nice to visit, but. . .
Bloomberg and Hagel for 2008?
by David Broder
David Broder is generally a big dork. His columns are uninspired and his sense of the national “pulse” is generally misplaced. He comes off as an old guy who’s been in Washington too long and is grasping at stories. So when he took to writing about a possible political union between Chuck Hagel and Michael Bloomberg, I was pretty certain that the union would never happen.
There’s something intriguing about this kind of powerhouse third party ticket. But for me at least, the intrigue is short lived. Why would I think that? They are, after all, both highly accomplished politicians, one the technocrat business executive, one the congressional stalwart and war hero. Bloomberg’s appeal deficit in ‘the sticks’ would be balanced by Hagel’s homeliness – and vice versa. The Bloomberg fortune – as it did in New York City – would raise his candidacy largely above the fray of patronage and back-scratching that plagues the integrity of contribution-dependent candidates. He could, in other words, afford to tell the truth and act in the best interests of the people. And what better time for a third party ticket to enter the arena? We are more democratically wired than ever – between 24 hour “news” channels and the Internet. The two major parties are rife with corruption and mired in pettiness, torpor, and inertia. Wouldn’t a breath of fresh air by this quintessentially American duumvirate be just what the country needs?
You’d think, wouldn’t you?
So how come I don’t see it? How come I still see Hillary, Barack, or even Fred Thompson in the Oval before either of these two (and it’s not yet clear who would be the top and who the bottom – unless some sort of consulship might be established – a de facto version we seem to have been putting up with for the past 7 years.)?
But why?
I hate to say it, but it comes down to a single word: celebrity. Maybe two words- add charisma. These boys, despite their strong competence and integrity just don’t have either.
Anyone who’s heard Bloomberg speak can’t wait for him to stop talking and just bring out the Harlem Boys Choir. His voice is an out of tune piano to (say) John Edwards’s soothing chalumeau. Chuck Hagel is boring and though a decent man seems not appallingly bright (based mainly on Esquire profile form last year). Despite his current “maverick” stance (only compared with John Warner) he is pretty much a box thinker and reluctant to look outside it – unless an interminable war happens to jar him out of his comfort zone.
But really, Dave. How important is celebrity to the presidency? If we’ve learned anything from president Bush it’s that you actually do need brains to run the world, and that a mere handshaker isn’t enough to do the job as it should be done- especially at this moment in history.
Well yes that’s true, but virtually none of the current candidates appear to be lacking in intelligence – at least not to the Bushic degree. And I really believe that almost all of them would make tolerable to excellent first citizens.
But these days Celebrity really is important. Because while some of us are wired to nytimes.com and CNN, more of us are wired to People Magazine and Entertainment News. Now that’s not the only reason celebrity is important, but it’s worth mentioning that Broder’s example of a successful “post-party” candidacy, reflecting America’s distaste for partisan politics, blah blah blah was none other than the Kindergarten Cop himself, Arnold Schwarzenegger. “Arnold” ran a two week campaign during the Gray Davis recall and ran away with the vote despite anybody knowing anything about him. He cornered the bone-head vote as well as the “what’s a governor” vote and went straight to Sacramento before anybody realized that this wasn't the Oscars but a political event.
Now he’s been a great governor for the state and a great leader for the country. But he has relied primarily on Star-Power to get him going and to sway the voters. His competency is almost an afterthought- and it took a few years to catch on once he realized that he couldn’t run the entire state by ballot initiatives alone. (Early on, every policy initiative was followed by a threat that if Democrats obstruct, 'I'll bring the issue directly to the voters.' This stopped working after nobody voted for his initiatives. Perhaps the he had taken for granted that the bone head constituency payed any attention once the Best Actor award had been given out.)
Furthermore, and perhaps most importantly, America desperately needs as its next Commander in Chief some kind of Symbol. There are enough people left in Washington (or they could be brought back to Washington) to run the country effectively. But the task of providing world leadership calls for charisma and celebrity as well as competence. The political road is actually fairly clear on the majority of issues – especially if you’re not a partisan ideologue. So the more important element is how s/he will connect to the world as a symbol of American regeneration after 8 years of darkness.
The Hagel-berg ticket just doesn’t reach that level of glamor. The Euros won’t warm to a whiny Jew and another redneck- to say nothing of how the Iranians might react.
The glamor issue is at the heart of the allure of the fantasy Gore-Obama ticket. In truth, Al Gore could walk into the race on Halloween, ‘08 on the “told ya so” platform and carry the whole thing. Obama too has the rock star cult organizing around him, and it’s what the people want and love. Politicians are no longer Gods incarnate (if they ever were), but celebrities are. If George Clooney ordered his fans to march on Manitoba to find Weapons of Mass Destruction, you’d better believe they would- and not just the ones living in North America.
What I’m saying is we need more than another guy in a suit right now. The packaging and future packaging of presidents is a foregone conclusion – even the human quirks Obama is so happy to exhibit streamline perfectly with his new politico ‘image.’ We can’t get away from it anymore, as long as there’s TV. So let’s go with it. Schwarzenegger has shown us that governing can be done pretty effectively and invisibly by competent guys behind the curtain. If they get out of line they can always be nudged a little by the opposition. But someone needs to be there with the million dollar smile. It may be the only thing that Americans believe in anymore.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
The Girl from Ipanema
So we’re all out at a jazz club in the Village. I’m tired, it’s late, and I hate jazz, so the likelihood of me enjoying myself is low. They’re playing standards, and I’m drifting away, and then it hits me- Sander, I’ll give you one dollar if the next song they play is not Girl from Ipanema. But you have to give me ten dollars if it is. Quick, what do you say?
Well Sander sort of agreed, and we listened attentively as they fiddled around before the next song. The tension mounted as they counted out the next tune, and although the first two notes of the song were a descending minor third, the following notes bore no relationship to Girl from Ipanema, so I pushed a dollar bill across the table to TR, defeated but not outright dejected. After all, what were the odds?
I gave it a minute just to be sure they weren’t doing some kind of extended introduction before they broke into the song, and then after a few minutes I had given in to my loss.
A little bummed, and a little poorer, I sat there – again bored, the thrill of the bet having worn off. I looked over at TR and the words just fell out of my mouth- If they play Girl from Ipanema any time from now until the end of the night (we were at the end of the first set) he would have to give me twenty dollars. If not, I’d drop one more.
Well this made the whole thing more interesting, and I eagerly awaited the next song to earn back my money.
TR, feeling the same excitement (in fact, ten fold) leaned over and said- this is how you could fund your orchestra, Dave. Just don’t write up a program and have people place bets as to what pieces you’ll perform. It’s just like standards in jazz- everybody’s heard them, and they’re probably a little tired of them. But if you wait on the edge of your seat to see if you’ll profit from the opening measures of the Reformation Symphony, you might just get a little into it.
Now I should stop and say that with my orchestra, nobody was tired of the pieces when we played them. Even when we programmed Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, veteran musicians approached me saying they had heard stuff they’d never heard before in that performance. So that’s that.
But if I were to start an orchestra in Vegas, this is exactly what I’d do.
When the musicians walked on and there were four clarinets, the odds would go up that it was Mahler and not Monteverdi, for example, so there would be a little skill and knowledge involved. And it wouldn’t matter how boring the concert was, because people wouldn’t be listening anyway except for the first four measures (which maybe is all you’d get out of them anyway). But the concert could be as boring as you please, and there would still be the thrill of expectation in the air. ‘How much would I make?’
Ugly, TR, but I’ll betcha if somebody comes across this little blog, it will pop up out there in no time. Or maybe one could set up some kind of OTB and base the orchestra in Belarus or something and simulcast to dirty hovels across the world. The possibilities are endless. Clearly.
I left the club early that night, so I’m living a bit with Schroedinger’s bet, not knowing whether I’d lost or won. But the thrill carries on nonetheless.
D
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Briefly. . .
The road trip part of this blog is winding down and what remains is not very interesting. Perhaps some day I will recount previous road adventures
from one of the dozen or more cross country excursions I've made over the past several years. But as for this one, Home for Now is now Home for Now, if you catch my drift, and the topics will move off the road a bit and more onto the bustling streets of New York City.
But have no fear, dear reader, there's lots more ahead. Mitt Romney is on his way, along with excursions into the world of mathematics, some of my favorite pictures, and trying to get my car inspection certificate from the guys out in Jamaica (no luck so far. . .).
So look forward to a change of scenery in the upcoming posts. It will be a pleasure to bring you all the latest updates from a fixed location. . .
. . .at least for now.
On the road again
I know, I know, you're thinking what's with the tabouli? I mean- it's tabouli, right? not even falafel.
And I know where you're coming from, man, but with Omar it's just different.
You see, a couple of years ago I was seeing this raw food girl and we had a little road trip of our own. We took raw food 'cooking' classes in Northern California and ad libbed a raw-food road trip that spanned from Los Angeles to Vancouver to Banff and all the way back down again, hitting nearly every raw-food joint along the way (and there are plenty). But of all the places we visited, Omar's in Salt Lake City had to be the best. He had just opened and we only heard about him by chance when the Wild Oats came up short on raw supplies and the worker there pointed us across the street to the vitamin store where Omar had his counter in the back.
The menu was small but thoughtfully prepared. Raw food people are fond of saying that "love" is one of the ingredients in their food (it's even on the label sometimes), and with Omar, honest to goodness, you can taste it. As I recall, Omar is Lebanese, and there is a middle eastern bent to the whole menu. The tabouli uses hemp seeds (or was it sprouted quinoa?) instead of the usual bulghar wheat, and instead of pita, a quartered cabbage head serves as chips to scoop up the parsley-y mixture.
I remember we ordered everything on the menu (we did that a lot) and the tabouli took us both by surprise as one of the tastiest raw food dishes we had ever had.
Everyone who has gone to college has had Middle Eastern Food. It's cheap, quick, and they're always open late. But the mossy goop that comes on your veggie platter at the generic west village falafel joint is never especially appealing. One can picture Turks, Greeks, Israelis, and Saudis all telling their children to eat their tabouli or they won't gt any dessert. Kind of like Brussels Sprouts of the Levant.
So Omar's tabouli was a nothing short of a revelation.
When I got to Salt Lake, Omar had just run out of tabouli. I was pissed, and in my best New York City Passive Aggressive said, I drove 3,000 miles for tabouli and you're out?
Well I should use that one more often, because it turns out he was actually saving a batch for some function the next day, but upon hearing my guilt trip, broke it out for me and Lauren (Thanks Mom!).
And it was worth the wait. As was the hummus and the wrap and the two kinds of dessert and the whole vibe including the creepy raw food people that hang out in the back of the shop.
After Omar's, we went by the book store to pick up a copy of The Breakfast Club which had been on the night before on TBS, mostly censored. I enjoyed the pre-pube flashback and wanted to get the unvarnished version, realizing that I had no idea what about 1/3 of the movie was about when I was 9 and that even if the whole part about the weed hadn't been cut, it wouldn't have made any difference since we didn't understand that anyway back then (Thanks Mrs. Reagan!)
We hung out with L's room mate, played some guitar, and I tried to muster a night's sleep in the punishing summer heat of their basement.
Next morning was for green juice with Lauren and Joy and then off to New Hampshire.
The trip would take about 40 hours of driving, give or take, straight down I-80 to Cleveland, then pick up I-90 towards Albany, then some weaving along US-4 in Vermont, 89 South, 91 North, then some back roads to Plymouth for the 8 o'clock show.
If you've never driven across country, there are several different strategies you can use. You can hustle, you can sight-see, you can take detours, you can check out obscure restaurants and natural wonders, etc. But no matter how you do it, 14 hours a day of driving is about what you can take - and then you'd want to chill for a day or so before doing it again.
Well this was the first time I'd opted to just make hours with minimal excursions. It came to about 12 hours, 3 days in a row, and then about 4 or 5 the day of the concert. There was one side trip to the vegan restaurant in Omaha (so-so) and then getting lost in Toledo for 3 hours looking for Wi-Fi and a health food store (no luck). I also got to visit with my friends Jeb and Andy for half an hour in Cleveland before making miles to the Finger Lakes region and a late night thunderstorm.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Fireworks! - or - Fireworks
By the end of the day I was still in town, so I saw the first fireworks go up. It got me thinking.
The first thing was that part of me was still actually excited to see them. The second thing was that I was bored out of my mind. After that I berated myself (only the slightest bit) for not getting more out of this unique experience, then I got bored again and wanted to go, but then I stuck around a bit to see if maybe it would get interesting, then it would almost, but I couldn't really justify the rest of the time I was spending waiting around for a few big moments, and then. . .
I remembered what it was like to be at the Symphony.
Soon I would discover many similarities between modern Fireworks and modern Classical Music performance, and this made my time there a whole lot more useful
First of all they both used to be kinda cool but are now somewhat outdated - both largely due to technology, the electric guitar and the tape recorder on the one hand, and digtitally enhanced visual effects that one sees everywhere in the movies and on TV on the other. But it was the kind of thing folks go to once or twice a year, mostly out of a sense of tradition or habit but not for genuine in-the-moment enjoyment.
As far as the actual performance, in the execution of fireworks and of a classical symphony (performed by a modern orchestra) there are even more stunning similarities: there seemed to be no dramatic 'arc' in the presentation of the fireworks - it was simply one pretty firework popping up after another one, no particular time, no particular order, no particular drive to the top, just bang bang bang, one after the other. Maybe it would be a big one, maybe it would be a little one. Maybe it would be green maybe it would be orange and yellow. Maybe there would be one, maybe there would be a bunch of little ones. Maybe it wouldn't even go off at all. Either way, there was no basic structure holding the thing together - as in an atonal composition, it could have ended at any point and the audience would be equally unsure whether or not it was really over or if they were just reloading for next round.
Similarly, in a modern day classical music performance, there is virtually no phrasing. There is no overall direction to any particular series of notes. They are executed in the most even, undifferentiated manner possible. There is no building up to a climax, nor is there any descent to a nadir. The natural pauses and breaths that separate sentences and ideas in spoken language find no place in the musical renderings. Each note is played exactly after the next with phrases and natural pauses all rammed together like a run-on sentence. The audience’s experience is therefore pretty dull. Occasionally a loud, majestic section might emerge from the orchestra which they can enjoy and participate in emotionally. But those big moments have no real context, no lead in from the preceding material—they are not part of any sort of dramatic unfolding. They’re just shots in the dark, leaving the whole piece to be experienced as just a random string of big moments. If people were permitted to talk at classical concerts (as they once were) they would ooh and aah at the same big moments they do at the fireworks display – and then they would carry on with their casseroles.
Maybe people would prefer just a condensed series of big, big fireworks, skipping past the frilly stuff- like an excerpt CD from "The Ring". But then, I suppose, people would just make bigger fireworks, making the old big ones look small – like some kind of arms race in the sky.
I am not sure I'm making myself clear on this vis a vis the musical stuff.
I am still a pretty convicted Schenkarian, and I do believe that a piece of music unfolds through time in a particular way that requires a certain respect for dramatic direction. Like a story, you have a beginning, usually stable enough, that turns into conflict, keeping your interest all the way through, then growing to a high point of tension with some sort of denoument and a coming down to round the thing out. While you might not know it from hearing a performance, musical compositions (until the early 20th century) follow a very similar template. There is a grounding in a key followed by various twists and turns away from that key, then finally a return to the key with all of the deviations resolved satisfactorily. Along the way there are mini side-plots and adventures, and if you pay close enough attention each and every phrase declaims itself in a certain way and demands its own special 'turning.' (not tuning, turning)
This is all written into the composition, but it is incumbent on the performer to 're-creatively' hear, organize, and inflect the meanings that are implied by the musical text. This happens so infrequently in modern performance that it is almost unheard (of) - it is a Rumsfeldian unknown unknown - that conservatory trained musicians don't even know that they don't know they aren't delivering the message of the piece.
If you're not understanding what I'm getting at (and it would be easier to demonstrate aurally), I can draw a parallel with speech delivery for actors. Good actors tend to deliver a line with an understanding of the context of the line, where the peak of tension and emphasis is in each sentence and how several sentences can build together to make up a complete idea. If there are several lines in a scene, a good director will build them into a climactic moment, perhaps moving the camera in for each successive line until the most intense moment. But the director will also know not to give away the goods in each scene. He knows that the overall film has an arc of its own and that the most intense photography will have to wait for the most intense moments. Without this, one would generally be bored to tears during an otherwise engaging drama. It would be flat - just the way people tend to hear symphonies- or everything would be an 'event' making the thing equally unbearable. One friend of mine described a trip to the symphony as the feeling of waves of sound running over him. While that was no doubt what he felt, I hesitate to believe that that is what Beethoven & Co. had in mind when they wrote those pieces- they had a story in mind, an arc, a building to a climax through the medium of time and sound, not the endless lapping of waves on the shore (even the shore builds towards a climax at high tide). But you are unlikely to have any such experience in the modern rendering of classical works. Just bring your swim trunks and let the waves roll by.
Or just go watch the fireworks.
I had a teacher in Conservatory who used to play with Eugene Ormandy in the Philadelphia Orchestra. When things weren't going well at rehearsal, Ormandy would say to the orchestra, "The important thing is to begin together and to end together. What happens in between- the audience will be none the wiser."
I have never liked Ormandy very much, and with a musical ethic like that, it's really no wonder. But that's about what you get with a modern performance (although these days the middle is usually together too). It's enough to play the correct sequence of pitches and rhythms and that's it. If you 're ever flipping through the TV dial and you see the TV Guide channel, you might sometimes hear what it's like to hear "actors" delivering lines (off of the teleprompter) and having absolutely no idea what they're saying. They're just phonating, randomly emphasizing certain words (usually words like "exciting" or "amazing") even if they have no importance to the meaning of the sentence. When it's in English, we can often get the meaning after the fact if all of the words are delivered (this is hardly ideal - and what, after all is art without ideals? Just spectacle). With music, though, the audience generally needs more security from the performer in terms of knowing what he/she is talking about.
To literally be carried away by the tide of the drama is what performance is all about. A master artist will be able to guide the audience through the events of the storyline, and the audience can let go and experience the meaning in an emotionally logical way - but this requires the performer know where he is going before he gets there. One can not simply sight-read word after word or note after note and hope to arrive at a greater understanding of the whole piece. Like a sherpa in the mountains, one must know the route before one can bring somebody else (the audience) along, otherwise, without this leadership, there is deep discomfort and uncertainty in the public, and they can not enjoy their experience.
This is where art becomes transportive. But not so much on the TV Guide channel, the Symphony, or the Durango Fireworks display.
For a moment I thought, maybe regionally it’s ok, like here in Durango to have a ho-hum fireworks display, kind of like having a ho-hum regional orchestra. You might be impressed for the few moments when the brass plays loud or the violins play something fast, but the rest of the time you just kind of sit there, waiting for something special to happen.
You spend a lot of time waiting. But perhaps in New York it’s better (though if the orchestra analogy remains, that’s not very likely), although really it will probably be just bigger and more expensive, still formless and devoid of feeling, direction, and passion.
Friday, July 20, 2007
A day behind, Part II - or - Another Day Behind
In the morning, Carol insisted I clean my car out completely then wash and shampoo the interior and run the whole thing through a car wash. Needless to say, I was resistant. While I haven't yet come across a complete explanation of deep messiness, I have read about many correlations between the non-linear method of keeping one's home (or vehicle) and the creative, "visual-spacial" learning personality. Something about the way the thing exists in space must connect in a way to the time in which you last used it, so that time becomes the physical act of archaeological digging rather than the abstract, seeming arbitrary, logic of the organized filing cabinet. But I'm not really sure. At the time this took place, I generally considered myself to be of the undesiring-to-be-cured segment of the messiness pop. So it was with great reluctance that I allowed Carol persuade me to dig through the piles - and puddles - that gave my car its inner distinction.
The process was painless, mostly, but at the end of it, I felt very much naked, like a prudishly trimmed French poodle. Nonetheless, I knew that much like any other bad haircut, the mess would eventually come back. With me it was about 3 or 4 days - some water bottles on the floor, coffee cups, cherry seeds in bottles and in plastic baggies, a couple of napkins, some apricot pits (some ap-flesh still attached) and soon things were feeling like home again.
But we're already ahead of the game.
I wanted to leave - and quickly - to get to my concert in New Hampshire, but my friend Lauren was up in Salt Lake City, and I thought it might be cool to see her up there (and have the tabouli at Omar's again. . .mmmm). But that would be cutting it close time-wise, and after losing a day on my radiator, I would really need to hit it.
So I woke up early and packed up the car. Took fifteen minutes, and I was ready for the road at 9 am. Just one more thing - I couldn't find my car keys. Nowhere. Haha, I thought, they're probably in my car, but I can't find them because it's too clean. But I looked and looked and looked and looked, but nowhere. I retraced my steps, I unpacked the bags, the car, the boxes, repacked, unpacked, repacked, unpacked, maybe 5 times throughout the day. The day ended around 7 pm unpacking the trunk for the umpteenth time.
But before I tell you where the keys were, I have to say that it does a number on your head when 1 and 1 don't add up. You begin looking in irrational places like rooms you haven't been in since the last time you used the keys. You start assuming somebody has stolen them out of the car, that Carol has hidden them, that a bird flew off with them. . .anything. For a moment I tried giving up on the keys and called Chrysler to get a new set made - the locksmith wouldn't do it. But it was Sunday, and Chrysler was closed, and I needed, needed, to hit the road.
This is what brought me to unpack over and over again, fruitlessley for the entire day- that I needed to go. And though it wasn't exactly triumphant, my discovery of the key did send a slight hat tip towards my Capricornian value of perseverance. Retracing the steps I had used to re-organize the trunk, I deduced that my keys might have fallen out of my pocket while I was leaning forward to straighten my tools. But then the keys would have fallen into. . .the spare tire. I'm talking they were inside the metal hubcap on the bottom of the tire, almost invisible but for the setting sun. So there had gone my day. . .it took a little while to cool down, and I decided to spend the night rather than drive through scenic Utah in the dark. But first thing in the morning, off I went to SLC through Monticello and Moab (organic juice bar in both, by the way). A stunning ride, and I pulled in just in time for dinner.
Oomar's Tabouli. . .the best.
Junk Yard, Part II
pretty much a bust. So if an experience is worth a thousand words, then I think I've pretty much paid this one off.
The radiator was a '91, by the way, and it wasn't a Laredo. So it was the wrong radiator for my Jeep. Too small, too lightweight, but the guy would give it to me for $40 - down from $125. Not bad, but if it didn't work, I would be out for the labor, and for what? May as well buy a new one, I remember thinking. And I did.
Let me say a little about the stuttering guy. There's not too much to say, other than he was very friendly. And in order to say anything more about the stuttering guy, I really should say some more about Farmington.
Farmington, NM is in the Northwest corner of the state. It's the largest city in the four-corners area, and its population is primarily Hispanic and Native American. Anyone else in the region - who is not overtly oriental - is considered "Anglo." I have never seen a black person in Farmington. When I lived in Durango, I took exception to the word Anglo - which was used to define me who has not a drop of Anglican blood in his body. I suppose it would be the same way a Mongolian would feel about being called Japanese. Somehow I expected Americans to be ignorant of other cultures more than their own, but really I'm not even sure if this makes any sense.
Farmington is basically blue collar and very blue collar. Things are slow, there's lots of alcoholism, and I think only one strip club. Carol lives up in Aztec, the next town to the north. Aztec is a lot smaller and a lot weirder, in that way only a littler town can be. There are all the serious Jesus people, but there are also a whole mess of big time New Agers and UFO people. Until recently, they even had a UFO sighting storefront on Main Street. You could walk right in, look at photos, maps, and I think a couple of meteorites.
Well, that's gone, but there is a new herbal shop that moved up from Farmington and the Maiden & the Crone bookstore which also sells some botanicals. There's the Thai place, Rubio's (Mexican), and the Atomic Bistro which is not open very much but is the closest thing to the Columbus Avenue Bakery in Northern New Mexico.
Speaking of Atomic, that may be part of the problem. Supposedly there's some kind of nuclear experimental area near Farmington where they had some kind of underground bomb go off as part of a tourist thing. Not really sure, but it wouldn't surprise me one bit. New Mexico is every bit the weirdest state in the Union. And if it's because they're all microwaved, then that's as good an explanation as any.
So what I'm saying has a little to do with class. I have been told that I overextend myself to feel brotherly with my fellow man, regardless of education, wealth, or social caste- perhaps to a point not necessary. I often find it difficult to tell people where I'm from when I'm out of New York, because it defines me a little too narrowly - something I'm usually anxious to get out of, a definition that is. In a weird way, the problem gets even worse when I meet New Yorkers outside of New York. Where are you from? The City. Oh me too. What part? The Upper East Side, you? Oh, Far Rockaway. And all of the sudden I feel like Louis the XIV. So it's an issue, and it's one we haven't fully worked out as a culture and I haven't fully worked out as an individual.
But I had a moment, up there with the stuttering guy on the top of lot 6 as I watched him clip, unscrew, and generally yank my radiator from the deceased Chrysler. We talked briefly about where we were from and what the hell was I doing all the way the hell out here. And for a moment I saw it very clearly how I was passing through but for him this was his world - and this junkyard in particular where he seemed a tolerated guest, and yet it seemed to him as much home as anything. What must it be like for a stutterer in blue collar Farmington? Where would he find his place? Likely on the edge of the society, and that's precisely where we were. He was undertaker and exhumer all in one and he was here in his own human niche in the econo-motor world. And I stood on my class as easily as ever I have in my life. The young aristocrat from New York City out in the desert, and it was all very fine.
The part was the wrong fit for my Jeep, so the whole experience had a parenthetical quality to it. And yet it was just that, like someone opened up the wrong veil for a while so I could see behind, then closed it up like the back of a magician's trick. Just a touch of Oz here in the Land of Enchantment.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Junk Yard
Before going to Johnny's (the other one) for my new radiator, I made a real Western-style attempt to get one from the salvage yard. It's not just the hippies that recycle. The junk yard is the fungus of the automobile industry. It is a niche in the ecosystem of econo-motors where the decomposers dwell and make life out of death in secret, Haephestian ways
.
We went up to pull a radiator out of an old Jeep parked - forever - in lot 6. But there was no delicacy in the operation - no respect for the vehicle, its resale value perhaps, its dignity as an active motor being, useful to its master and wily in the ways of the road. No. This was hell, this was the flesh as grass of the Scriptures, this was the afterlife in all its guises, Purgatory, Valhalla, the River Styx, and there, off to the side was the '91 Jeep, radiator still in tact, ready to be hauled off for resurrection in my '95.
Looking at all these cars, parked and gutted, was a a really humbling experience. What could symbolize Phallic pride more than the automobile? And yet here, as if in a morgue, the libido-less vehicles lay, almost beyond shame, but more like the un-dead, uncertain of their futures on this earth. Eerie and sad, yet at the same time I felt like I was privy to something that the run of the mill bourgeoisie would never see. There are secrets the peasants know that they will never share with their masters. Religious rites, nature fairies, and ancient burial grounds that are too simple to be appreciated by the aristocrats, yet which carry immense power. Lot 6 wasn't on anybody's map. It was me, the stuttering guy, and a crowbar. Even the car we drove to Lot 6 was dead- it had been in an accident and was already half decomposed itself. There were all sorts of things missing out of the control panel, there was no key, so the stuttering guy used a screwdriver (which he kept jammed in the air conditioning vent) to start the thing. The windshield was completely smashed in, and the doors didn't work.
I know, I know, gentle reader, you're thinking - this doesn't sound too different from the car you're driving. But you'll have to believe me, this was in a whole different state. This was Charon, the boatman, himself crossing back and forth between Hades and the world of the living (sort of). This car was in no ways fit to be driven - but we weren't really driving - does a ghost ever really drive? No they just float, fearless of death or accident, across the firmament to their desired goal. And so floated we, up the hill at about 30 mph to lot 6 where my radiator awaited.
A day behind
So to backtrack, I actually did have to put in a new radiator. 3 bottles of goop total was what I needed to get my car to Johnny's Radiator (different Johnny) in Farmington. The radiator replacement would run around $350. No biggie. But because there was so much goop in there, they decided they wold need to do a backflush to get all the excess goop out of the plumbing. Again no biggie- until they broke the water pump during the back flush. It was hard to muffle the chi-ching sound behind the 'whoops,' but I'll give theme the benefit of the doubt. $300 more and no car til the morning.
By the way- a note about the word "til". I have done no research on this, but to the best of my reasoning the word "til" is an abbreviation of the word "until." Like 'til. Over the past several years, however, the spelling "till" has popped up everywhere- and I mean everywhere. This began happening around the same time Microsoft figured out how to do that underline spell check that happens while you type. On my computer (both PC and Mac), the word "til" is always underlined as misspelled. If, however, I add an additional "l", the underlining goes away, and my flashbacks to 4th grade English class subside. But what the hell is till? That doesn't make any sense. How would "until" become "till"? Is the second "l" decorative? Is it meant to be pronounced? Is it a reverse place holder for the missing "un" like the French circumflex holds the place for the Latin "s"? No. Can't be. What it can be, however, is that "til" just never got added to spell check, and the closest thing the computer could come up with as a proper spelling would be the word describing what you do to topsoil on a farm. But the people who type on laptops, don't generally work at farms. Most of them have probably never seen a farm (which is fine, I suppose, because most of what they eat comes not out of the ground but off of an animal or out of a chemical plant.). Are we really this disconnected, people? Is no one man enough to step forward and say "'til' is an abbreviation, damn it, and I don't care what no squiggly little red line indicates."
Alas, no. Till is everywhere. And the record will be changed to accommodate the cowardice of nerds everywhere, too afraid to look bad in front of Big Brother Gates, watching us through the eyes of that annoying little paper clip guy. I'm sure some day, Webster will sneak in a new definition for till - origin uncertain - like some W. signing statement - stealthy in the night, resetting the official text.
But I've had enough of it. I can stay silent no longer. Til will be til and till will be till. At least as long as I blog. And so be it.
The vehicle was ready the next morning. But I had already been thrown off schedule. Johnny (yeah, that one) had a concert in New Hampshire that was in "the middle of July" which I took to be the 18th or 19th but which was in actuality the 12th and the 13th. My plan had been to drive leisurely back to catch the show and then visit with some friends in New England. But once I found out the actual dates I needed to trim the fat, so to speak, of my drive home. Time was creeping in, and there wasn't a day to waste waiting around for my car. But waste it I did, and a new level of patience became required of me which I had never known could exist.
I am by nature a restless kind. I don't like to feel trapped, and I don't like to have my motion or options inhibited very much. This is the essence of Western American concepts of Freedom and it is one of the fundamental chords with which I resonate out here (there by now). So when the lady from the radiator shop dropped me off in downtown Farmington while they worked on my car, I was already uneasy. "About four hours," she told me. Damn. This would suck, but it would be bearable.
But it became harder. Downtown Farmington is pretty slow. It's one of those stalled re-vitalization programs for American cities' downtowns, and the only real signs of modernization are the coffee shop where I spent 80% of my day and the pub where I didn't spend any. I walked up and down Main St. and Broadway looking for someone to help me fix my bracelet. No luck, but it killed some time. I had an unpleasant phone conversation after about 45 minutes of waiting, and it fouled the rest of my day (actually the rest of my week). So I was pacing around downtown Farmington, in a really bad mood with no freedom. Sucked.
The four hour mark came and went and still I had heard no word (that rhymes). So I called to check in. Be ready in a half hour. 20 minutes later I get the call - broke the water pump - can you finish it tonight - no probably not - I really need my car, man - ok, try calling back at 5:30 - ok. . .5:20 call - nope, can't get it done, come back by 9am - shit, thanks.
Called Carol and she picked me up. Crappy, crappy day, but she was very sweet. Suggested going out for sushi (in Farmington?), but wasn't up for it. Don't eat when you're upset, is my motto, and waiting around grumpy in 3-digit heat had gotten me pretty upset. Now I was a day behind in getting back to NH for the concert.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Sam Brownback- and so much more
So I’m in Iowa today, and in Iowa there are only two things to talk about- corn and primary season. Well, the corn is everywhere, so there isn’t much need to discuss it, so that leaves Primary Season. It turns out that on the radio they play little snippets of all the major Presidential Candidates’ speeches so that the Iowa Caucus, who I’m told take their responsibilities as first voting state quite seriously, can get a real sense of what each candidate is about.
Today it was Sam Brownback, Republican Senator from Kansas. He launched into his plan for an alternative flat tax- that is, a regular, predictable tax, progressive, I believe, by income. This tax would lay alongside the old tax system which citizens could continue to use if they chose to. Brownback pointed out that in the old system, the rich pay much fewer taxes because of loop holes and deductions.
Now generally I could give a shit about tax policy. I guess I still look at it like they did in the old Boss days in New York- it’s basically a bribe you give the government to keep them off your back. But as I get older, or I should say as I have more political power than I did when I took my class on Urban History in the 9th grade, I have become more philosophical about taxes, though no less bored by them. As a trained classical musician, and as the sitting Chairman of the Board of my own 501(c)3 Non-Profit organization, however, Brownback’s passing scorn of ‘deductions’ caught my ear- but not in the way you might think.
Despite running my own non-profit, I am not particularly in favor of the concept of the tax-exempt status for certain organizations that ostensibly “serve the public.” That is the magic phrase that qualifies one as a non-profit organization- that one serve the public. Thus, Schools, Hospitals, Arts Organizations, Religious Organizations, and Environmental Organizations are all exempt from paying taxes and are able to receive tax-exempt donations (and in fact are often required to) from the public. So as a church owner, you pay no property tax on your church lot. As a school teacher, you pay no taxes on the erasers you buy for your classroom- or the chairs, video equipment, computers, microscopes, pencil sharpeners, dowels and construction paper, hockey equipment, or toilet paper. And as a Symphony Orchestra, you can solicit donations with the promise that all contributions will be tax-deductible. Also you get a discounted postal rate.
The government, then, passively assumes a percentage of the operating costs that you would normally have to pay were you any other “for-profit” organization- whether that organization made an actual profit or not. It is a form of subsidy to pay for things which the government considers to be a “public good.”
I have always taken issue with this concept, particularly regarding the arts. Is there a way that anyone could articulate – articulate – in which the public benefits more from hearing the Franck D minor Symphony more than from hearing “Oops, I Did It Again” live in concert at the Colloseum? I can’t think of one. The argument which I would expect to hear (though it holds only a few droplets of water) is that somehow the Franck Symphony is “better “ for you or is more “culturally” meritorious. Ignoring that those are standards impossible to define, we could also mention that the same Orchestra that performed the Franck also performed pop concerts at Tanglewood that summer featuring excerpts from Cats and an arrangement of a Frank Sinatra Song. Getting harder to discern cultural superiority here- especially when you move from Britney to Sgt. Pepper.
In the arts what non-profit really refers to is the fact that no one really wants to hear/see the music/opera/ballet/18th Century Baroque Sculpture exhibit. Or at least not in the numbers that would offset the incredible labor intensity required to put them on. What does it cost to put on an Opera, say at the Met? Let’s say about $150 - $200 per service for each player in the orchestra (conservatively). That’s 80 players, so $16,000 per rehearsal times six rehearsals plus 6 performances a week. Plus all the stage guys, plus all the lighting guys, plus all the costume guys, plus all the costumes, plus all the ushers, plus all the ticket takers, plus all the chorus members, plus the sets themselves, plus moving the sets, plus the truckers, plus the soloists ($25k per night maybe each), plus the conductor, plus plus plus plus. These quickly amount to about a half a million to one and a half million a night. They sell such and such number of tickets per night and that takes a bite out of their operating costs.
But even the most popular orchestra in the country doesn’t offset its costs by ticket sales alone. Their real bank comes from contributions. Big ones- from people and organizations who can’t wait to let it be known how classy and cultured they are. And this is the real issue for classical music as a non-profit- and the reason why the art will never develop so long as it remains protected from normal taxation: The people and institutions who give money to these organizations do not do so out of pure magnanimity (yes, Mr. Smith, you were right here too). Yes they do get the little tax break, but for most of them the more important gain is the social prestige of donating to something so sophisticated, so bettering as the Symphony- which could not survive but for their own noblesse. No, the masses alone would not support such treasures, so it is incumbent on the elite to subsidize it on behalf of the general public.
So despite the classical music industry’s professed desire to bring in young people, to bring in the general public, to make concerts more accessible, the hand that’s really feeding them benefits from them being elitist, snobby, and superior to the masses. If orchestras went ahead and delivered concerts that were appealing to regular people, then there would be no incentive for the Gottrocks’s of the world to donate to them- there would be no prestige, no cultural kudos. So the classical music industry is chasing its tail- and too often catching it- with large donations to create patronizing programs to ‘educate’ the public as to why the performances they don’t like are good for them. Perhaps they should take a lesson from the spinach lobby to see how much Americans like being told what’s good for them. I still haven’t seen a McBrussel Sprout platter behind the Golden Arches, and I don’t expect I will.
But what if we did away with non-profit status for the orchestras? What if we let them fend for themselves- give the people something they would want or just give up the ghost and move to Germany where the culture commands that people like what they are supposed to and not ask too many questions. Well we had an instance of this with my orchestra, The Wild Ginger Philharmonic back in the 90s. Let’s just say that people loved our concerts. There were people who disliked them too- but these people hated them - passionately (a reaction that would please any artist) - they didn’t just walk away without noticing or fall asleep. We had blue haired old ladies and blue haired college students and everyone in between standing in the aisles to hear us play. To one of our concerts a devoted fan invited none other than Brooke Astor, hoping to land us a fat check to get the endowment going. After the first piece he leaned over to Ms. Astor and said, “How can you give money to the New York Philharmonic after hearing something like this?” And that was the end of Wild Ginger’s relationship with Brooke Astor. She walked right out and never returned. We didn’t have to market to people or convince them that it would make them do better on their SATs. They came of their own volition, cheered with real heart, and made financial contributions from their own pocketbooks. But there was no reward of social status for their participation- only a great fucking time.
So for a while I have been considering the real value of non-profit-hood to the world of Classical Music. And while I had played with the idea, it was not until I heard Sam Brownback’s sound byte that I began seriously thinking about whether the same truths (as I saw them) were relevant to the other non-profit status beneficiaries.
So forgive the preamble, as I realize that I have not yet even posed my question regarding Mr. B’s tax policy- my question is- would there remain in his system any mechanism for tax-exempt status at all? Could people still get any deductions in his flat tax system, or would that be it? That’s my question. Right-wingers are notorious for their support for pulling funding for PBS, NPR, and the NEA. Would they really consider a wholesale removal of the concept of non-profit status in America?
Brownback himself is an ordained minister of some sort, so he is certainly involved with a certain sector of the non-profit world- the church. But anyone who follows modern-day Christianity knows that there is no shortage of funds flowing into the religion, and that the rise of the mega-church and televangelist has transformed the experience of Christianity from anything it had resembled previously- and in a completely American style (innovative, efficient, and without any style). In fact many of the modern churches are run on an entirely corporate model, based on giving the people what they want. You want meaning, purpose, direction, a way to raise your kids and keep them out of trouble? Buy God. And the membership is enormous. No hell and brimstone here, just community, emotional support, lots of music, and the occasional rapturous experience. Not bad for a few hundred bucks in membership dues- taxed or otherwise.
So perhaps Mr. Brownback feels the same way about ol’ time Religion that I feel about ol’ time Classical Music. I would not be surprised.
But religion was not my point of inquiry regarding exemption from tax exemption. It was one of my other favorite subjects, education.
Columbia University has an endowment in the billions. They are the largest owner of real estate in Manhattan. They’re doing fine. Yet not one penny of their real estate is taxed, nor are the capital gains from their investments. So they have benefited enormously from non-profit status. Were they taxed like a normal company, their liability would likely be 100s of millions of dollars a year. But instead it’s nothing.
Like other schools, they get the bulk of their capital from two sources- tuition and public or private contributions.
There are a few problems with this. First of all, the existence of tuition makes attending Columbia University an impossibility for millions of intelligent Americans- not to speak of third world internationals whose education might even be considered more important for global peace and prosperity.
Next, the bulk of public contributors make donations for the same reason as for classical music- the prestige of donating to something somebody deems to be important. (I will concede right away that there is an enormous amount of important research being conducted at universities. My point here is that it is not up to a democratic process to decide what makes these things important, and any academic can tell you there are tremendous amounts of waste in the Uni way of doing things. Fun or not, those are dollars that could be spent in other, more productive ways. But they won’t be, because there’s not as much prestige in many of those other ways. This is a longer discussion that aims at core problems with research and the scientific method. For another day.)
As for private donations, of the graduated who give back- and here let’s drop down a tier to a less prestigious College, say Sarah Lawrence- those graduate donors who are worth cultivating by the development office (and thus those who may have some influence in the school) will be only the most successful graduated, say 5 – 10 % of alums making significant contributions in the millions of dollars. So the monetary votes of those SLC grads working at Starbucks simply will not count- and with no cost to the school or impact on its curriculum, values, or methods. Only the rich’s voice will be heard, and presumably their voice will favor that which is already in place (with some tweaks), because that is what brought them to their state of richness The Starbucks barista might be angry and embittered, resenting the school that taught him nothing about life, but he would be in no position to do anything about it. Were he to bang on the door of the dean’s office, they would simply call security and have him escorted out. The people for whom the curriculum worked would have the red carpet rolled out with the credit card machine waiting at the other end.
[NB: this point could be argued extensively, but it is not central to my case, and so I will leave it as is- food for thought).
Before I go on, let me state for the record that I waste little love on academic institutions in general and that I find the modern approach to education deeply, deeply flawed. It would be my hope that if my proposal to drastically reduce the voting age were to move forward, kids would soon enough realize that compulsory schooling of the sort we have now is not in their interest, and they would lobby to strike down laws mandating attendance in schools as well as laws prohibiting child labor (with some protections and provisions- of course). Free from the compulsion to attend school, serious, effective, and nurturing models of learning would be created spontaneously by those to whom education is most important- the young people themselves. But this is for another posting as well.
Back to the point.
My first impulse, then, would be that eliminating non-profit status for schools would be a good thing. But then who would pay for education? Would only those institutions with legacy funds be able to continue operations? That would be unfair to say the least, and it would contribute to real academic stagnation- not that there is that much competition between schools (another symptom of protectionist-ed fields)- the competition is dumped rather on the prospective students, vying for status and acceptance by institutions relying, again, largely on prestige to recommend them- a system I find perplexing and problematic.
It is worth repeating what one author, James Herndon, said about institutions: An institution’s first, and usually unstated, goal is self-perpetuation. Whatever is in their mission statement comes after that one. All the lofty goals of improving society, etc., come after paying the rent, the faculty, and the bureaucracy that runs it. Forgive the cynicism here (I’m quoting a cynical author), but few Americans can afford to work productively for an institution that has a sunset clause built into its mission. People have tended to want to keep their jobs as long as possible, at least if they are expected to commit real effort and energy to them.
So it is not hard to see how this arrangement can easily conspire against the interests of the students, the ones whose interests the institution ostensibly serves. The best teachers, after all, are the ones who make themselves obsolete- they convey their information, they teach the students how to learn for themselves, and like so many male arachnids, their task completed, they simply expire. Since most professors don’t want to expire, there is a natural power struggle built into the teaching relationship (a parallel exists in any inter-generational relationship, including parent-child) in which there is an incentive in the teacher to prevent the student from achieving intellectual independence, as such independence would render the teacher obsolete=powerless=dead. Whether this is enacted overtly (as in music conservatories) or more subtly (as I expect would be the case in liberal arts schools), it is a fact of human nature that must be dealt with in a society.
(Indian culture tends to deal with this religiously, as teachers see themselves as vessels for information flowing from the gods, their reward is a certain amount of prestige and social deference. But in America, we have no such thing- or only very little of it. We don’t want societally granted prestige- we want money, with which we can buy prestige on our own.)
So how to we generate a system of education that is genuinely student centered?
Easy. And no need for tax breaks, at least not for the schools.
Higher education (let’s start with that) would be absolutely free of charge to students.
But there would be a contract. Upon graduation, or shortly after, a small percentage (say ½ a percent) of the student’s annual income (salary) would go to back to the school until retirement, say 70 years of age
This system would inextricably link the life interests of the student with the financial interest of the schools.
In the current system, once the student forks over his tuition, the school is under no obligation to do much of anything. They can teach Ping-Pong for 4 years and call that an education (or Art History, perhaps). But under the new system, schools would have to think seriously about the entire life future of the student- starting with the basics: If the student drops dead at 35 by eating too many Big Macs, the school has just lost 35 years of income. Therefore basic life skills would factor heavily into the initial curriculum. 4 or 5 failed marriages can drain the coffers pretty quickly too and cause bankruptcy. How about general life skills about building relationships- and not just the fruity new age kinds. Schools would have to do research (on their own dime) to find ways of getting along that really work for people, and they would have to find ways to teach those ways effectively to their students.
And then the whole manner of teaching changes- how things are taught, what is deemed important is no longer ‘deemed’ but is discovered- if reading Chaucer adds enough to one’s quality of life that it allows for more productivity and more income, then Medieval English would be a good investment. Otherwise, not so much. Note: I am a firm believer in the value of leisure, reflection, and learning for learning’s sake. Presumably the proportional value of this would be factored in to a school’s calculus.
A school that taught the students nothing useful would receive nothing useful (i.e. dollars) in return and would fold. A school like Juilliard that graduated hundreds of Starbucks baristas would be entirely bankrupt, unable to function. If they wanted to raise money, they would have to demonstrate the worthiness of their mission- and do so without the tax-break incentive to donors.
The same would go for research institutions. Research is indeed valuable to society, and factored into that ought to be a certain amount of inefficiently spent time. But this money can be raised separately from the education funds. Generally student research is a form of slave labor, pardoned by the prestige and sophistication of the work they are doing and the institutions that permit it. So another system would need to be in place.
Eventually, schools would be competing amongst themselves for the best high school students (if such a thing still exists), very much the way the virtually-for-profit football wing of the school already does.
Prospective students would also think seriously about whether or not college was a useful option for them. Could they learn as much on their own without being indentured to Harvard for the rest of their lives? Right now there is virtually no choice for a promising 18 year old than to spend $100,000 to be taught by graduate assistants for 4 years. Why not turn the tables and empower the student- on whose fortunes the collective depends far more than the institutions themselves.
Economic prejudice would also end with this system, as less well to do families would have the same opportunities as wealthier families. This would also contribute positively to racial and cultural integration. Business works best when it is color blind, and this would indeed be a business relationship.
Another positive effect of this system would be that high school “education” would be less concerned with ‘getting into college” than real life excellence and utility. Again, de-schooling the culture would have a significant positive effect on all of this.
Also, instead of a fixed percentage being given back to the school, other arrangements could be made: perhaps a Medical student could defer back payments until he was 35 but pay a slightly higher percentage. There could also be some sort of buy-out arrangement for the ultra rich. Presumably a four year college education is not worth ½ a percent of a CEO pulling seven figures each year. Some sort of figure could be agreed on in advance to release the student from his obligation to the school.
The flip side would also need to be taken into account. There are many (and ought to be many) who pursue a career out of love for their field with the predetermination that they will live a modest life. I personally believe that this thinking is unnecessarily limiting, and that even someone who enjoys sea horse biology can still find a way to become wealthy given the right frame of mind. So I leave this to others to ponder. Perhaps remnant specialized, not-yet-profitable centers could be in place to accommodate such people. Or some cut of the 1/2 percent would be used as a kind of ‘tax’ to even the playing field for those choosing less profitable professions.
Now, could the system be corrupted? The short answer is- very likely. Research could be distorted to push students towards excessive financial achievement at the expense of personal happiness. Financial gain is hardly the only measure of life success, and there would need to be some system in place to assure that quality of life be valued appropriately (although this has generally been an issue skirted by American Institutions “What defines Quality of Life, anyway?”). Again, in the long term, schools found to be abusing the education of their students would see a drastic drop in attendance (remember, they’re competing for students, not the other way around), and any temporary gain would not be worthwhile. A smart school would therefore set up effective checks on the power of its administrators.
I believe that the teachers’ salaries should be directly tied to the school’s annual financial gains. So that each teacher receives a certain percentage of the school’s annual earnings. The difficulty with this is that teachers would not realize the rewards of their effort until 20 – 40 years after those efforts, so some alternate system would need to be put in place. Perhaps the teachers could be paid an estimated rate and in twenty or thirty years be required to give a refund – not to go below a certain amount – or be given extra funds if their students turned out to be especially successful. This would be a little more complicated, but if there were certain guarantees, then it might work. Perhaps a better system could be worked out.
If this system seems too restrictive – in the sense that it views education as simply a means for making money in the narrow free-market view of the world – then perhaps some 20 % of the education would be required to be reserved for. . .Art History, Chaucer, whatever. The money to pay for it might even be able to be collected from the students themselves or through some kind of donation system. But a strict cap would have to be placed on what percentage of the budget could be used for school-reimbursed time.
The other non-academic aspects of College life could be outsourced so that the students participate as real workers in research facilities or as part of a volunteer book club, chess club, fencing team, etc. The truth is only people with adequate money will be able to devote serious time to these other activities anyway. So it will be the rich who can afford them and the rich who would be able to send their kids to liberal arts college, where they would have done these activities otherwise, anyway. Those who make adequate money through the new system will be able, later in life, to pursue ‘extracurricular activities’ with more freedom, having become wealthy themselves.
That’s the start of the plan, anyway. There is no doubt much to be argued about, but this should get the ball rolling on a discussion.
So thank you, Mr. Brownback for causing me to contemplate the value of non-profithood for those outside my own industry. I probably won’t vote for you, but your candidacy has already been of service to my imagination.