Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Slumdog Effect?
Here we are two hours before the Oscars and once again, I'm neither hosting nor writing for it. Hosting would be unrealistic, but I wonder if writing could've been a reality had I stuck with my dream from 25 years ago...but that's a topic for another blog entry (or perhaps an entire book, not to mention a prospective lifetime of therapy).
I'm predicting Penn over Rourke for Best Actor. I think Rourke's winning the Golden Globe means the Academy will want to recognize Penn not only for his incredible portrayal of Harvey Milk, but also for his years of phenomenal performances, including Spicoli! I think Kate Winslet is a shoo-in for Best Actress, and it's not just because of her Oprah-approved natural breasts.
I'm feeling, like many experts, that Slumdog Millionaire could sweep the categories in which it's nominated, certainly: Best Film, Director, Editing, at least one of the Sound awards, score and original song. It's a brilliant movie, masterfully shot, convincingly acted, hypnotically scored. The story is compelling, with themes of looking for love and rooting for the underdog which are universal...or at least universally American.
Which leads me to wonder whether Slumdog Millionaire will do for interest in Indian culture and perhaps Indian film in America what Sideways did for wine and Pinot Noir.
Sideways served as a catalyst for interest in wine, especially Pinot Noir. Sales of Pinot and interest in wine generally--was already increasing when Sideways caught the nation's attention. But the film helped catapult wine more into the mainstream culture, and sales of Pinot in particular skyrocketed (while those of Merlot dropped off). It's amazing how, despite our having more information to make our own decisions, we still follow the lead of popular culture.
Indian culture, like wine, is on the rise in America. I just read that more than half the start-ups in Silicon Valley in the past 10 (?) years were started by Indians. Indian food, including restaurants specific regional Indian cuisines, is becoming more prevalent. I wonder if Slumdog Millionaire will help further mainstream American interest in Indian culture. It's further evidence of the rising influence of Asia in the U.S. So any glimpse we get into cultures about which we are less familiar is valuable for opening our eyes to a world beyond our own.
The parallel to increased interest in Pinot Noir would be increased interest in Indian film in the U.S. I don't necessarily think Slumdog will launch a wave of mainstream interest in Indian film. I don't believe Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon spawned significant interest in Chinese film, but it was emblematic of the rise of Chinese culture and influence in the U.S. and throughout the world.
Regardless of whether this film catalyzes a fuller interweaving of Indian culture into mainstream America, it's a masterpiece worth seeing.
I'm predicting Penn over Rourke for Best Actor. I think Rourke's winning the Golden Globe means the Academy will want to recognize Penn not only for his incredible portrayal of Harvey Milk, but also for his years of phenomenal performances, including Spicoli! I think Kate Winslet is a shoo-in for Best Actress, and it's not just because of her Oprah-approved natural breasts.
I'm feeling, like many experts, that Slumdog Millionaire could sweep the categories in which it's nominated, certainly: Best Film, Director, Editing, at least one of the Sound awards, score and original song. It's a brilliant movie, masterfully shot, convincingly acted, hypnotically scored. The story is compelling, with themes of looking for love and rooting for the underdog which are universal...or at least universally American.
Which leads me to wonder whether Slumdog Millionaire will do for interest in Indian culture and perhaps Indian film in America what Sideways did for wine and Pinot Noir.
Sideways served as a catalyst for interest in wine, especially Pinot Noir. Sales of Pinot and interest in wine generally--was already increasing when Sideways caught the nation's attention. But the film helped catapult wine more into the mainstream culture, and sales of Pinot in particular skyrocketed (while those of Merlot dropped off). It's amazing how, despite our having more information to make our own decisions, we still follow the lead of popular culture.
Indian culture, like wine, is on the rise in America. I just read that more than half the start-ups in Silicon Valley in the past 10 (?) years were started by Indians. Indian food, including restaurants specific regional Indian cuisines, is becoming more prevalent. I wonder if Slumdog Millionaire will help further mainstream American interest in Indian culture. It's further evidence of the rising influence of Asia in the U.S. So any glimpse we get into cultures about which we are less familiar is valuable for opening our eyes to a world beyond our own.
The parallel to increased interest in Pinot Noir would be increased interest in Indian film in the U.S. I don't necessarily think Slumdog will launch a wave of mainstream interest in Indian film. I don't believe Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon spawned significant interest in Chinese film, but it was emblematic of the rise of Chinese culture and influence in the U.S. and throughout the world.
Regardless of whether this film catalyzes a fuller interweaving of Indian culture into mainstream America, it's a masterpiece worth seeing.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
A New Social Networking Site
I’m still getting used to Facebook. The ability to reconnect with everybody you’ve ever met in your entire life is both remarkable and frightening. The life-affirming, kumbaya side of me finds it exciting to catch up with people you liked but lost track of through life’s vicissitudes, or even to apologize to people you once wronged and still feel guilty about hurting. It’s gratifying to know that friends and acquaintances are doing well. There are many people who have reappeared in my life—at least virtually—who give me warm feelings and make me smile.
But there’s a reason you haven’t been in touch with some of those people….life’s too short. The really cynical side of me says it’s a stalker’s paradise, a way to sidestep restraining orders and caller ID blocking.
…which made me think about a new social networking idea: Assbook.
I’m sure there’s a porn site that’s already glommed onto this name, but my idea doesn’t go down that path. Assbook is a social network site connecting everyone you’ve had the misfortune to know at some point in your life and thought, “what an asshole!”
Here’s a list of assholes you might know… Look, 74 other people think he’s an asshole, too!
Instead of friend requests, you have “asshole designations” so you can post the names of every shithead, douche-bag, jerk-off who ever: stole your toys, wrecked your sandcastle, spit at you, spited you, smiled at you then badmouthed you when you weren’t around, snapped you with a towel in the locker room, told you you weren’t good enough, put you down in front of your friends, cut you off on the freeway and then gave you the finger for honking, didn’t hold the door for you in a downpour when your hands were full carrying their stuff, took credit for something you did well and they had nothing to do with, blamed you for something they did wrong and you had nothing to do with, promised you a raise then didn’t recommend you for a promotion, gave you bad investment advice, told you they loved you then never called again.
Let’s see what this asshole’s doing right now…
Oh look, they’re writing all over your wall…the 2009 version of spray-painting your locker in 10th grade.
Personal interests: bullying, belittling, berating, beguiling, being priggish, prickish and punkish.
Of course, they love the “poke someone” feature. It’s something they’ve been doing to people’s chests or between people’s eyes all their life.
Instead of plain old “tagging,” there’s “antag-ing,” where they antagonize people by tagging them every few minutes with all kinds of stupid shit to clutter up their Assbook page. It’s a lot like Facebook in that way.
Go ahead and leave a comment like, “I see you’re still an asshole. In this topsy-turvy world, it’s good to know some things never change.”
But there’s a reason you haven’t been in touch with some of those people….life’s too short. The really cynical side of me says it’s a stalker’s paradise, a way to sidestep restraining orders and caller ID blocking.
…which made me think about a new social networking idea: Assbook.
I’m sure there’s a porn site that’s already glommed onto this name, but my idea doesn’t go down that path. Assbook is a social network site connecting everyone you’ve had the misfortune to know at some point in your life and thought, “what an asshole!”
Here’s a list of assholes you might know… Look, 74 other people think he’s an asshole, too!
Instead of friend requests, you have “asshole designations” so you can post the names of every shithead, douche-bag, jerk-off who ever: stole your toys, wrecked your sandcastle, spit at you, spited you, smiled at you then badmouthed you when you weren’t around, snapped you with a towel in the locker room, told you you weren’t good enough, put you down in front of your friends, cut you off on the freeway and then gave you the finger for honking, didn’t hold the door for you in a downpour when your hands were full carrying their stuff, took credit for something you did well and they had nothing to do with, blamed you for something they did wrong and you had nothing to do with, promised you a raise then didn’t recommend you for a promotion, gave you bad investment advice, told you they loved you then never called again.
Let’s see what this asshole’s doing right now…
Oh look, they’re writing all over your wall…the 2009 version of spray-painting your locker in 10th grade.
Personal interests: bullying, belittling, berating, beguiling, being priggish, prickish and punkish.
Of course, they love the “poke someone” feature. It’s something they’ve been doing to people’s chests or between people’s eyes all their life.
Instead of plain old “tagging,” there’s “antag-ing,” where they antagonize people by tagging them every few minutes with all kinds of stupid shit to clutter up their Assbook page. It’s a lot like Facebook in that way.
Go ahead and leave a comment like, “I see you’re still an asshole. In this topsy-turvy world, it’s good to know some things never change.”
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The Glow of a New Day
I groggily emerged from my slumber. I knew it was the middle of the night, but I didn't want to look at the clock because once I do that, it's over, I'm up and thoughts begin to race around in my head. Maybe the coffee at dinner last night wasn't really decaf. Maybe it was the wine. Or the combination of the two. Or maybe it was the excitement of the new day dawning. Whatever the cause, I was up.
The clock reads 4:26. Grrr. Too early to get up and become more diligent with my blog. So I turn over the pillow, shift my body position and try to fall back to sleep. To no avail. I lay still and try to meditate, but I'm too antsy. I know coverage of the inauguration has begun, but I can't turn on the TV lest I wake my wife. I think about work, the economy, world events, and how my family will cope.
It's 5:13. Woke up. Got out of bed. Dragged a comb- Wait, that wasn't me. I do get out of bed and walk to the front of the house, which faces east. I see light in the sky. But why? It's only about a quarter-moon, I think. Sunrise is still two hours off. There aren't a lot of street lights. Yet there is light. Is this a sign? Am I just seeing the dawn of a new day because I want to see it? Maybe it doesn't matter.
I definitely cannot sleep now. I turn on the television. The kids rush in and join us in bed to witness the early festivities.
I watch throughout the morning, having postponed the start of my workday. I well up at the slightest provocation--a young child, an older Black woman or man, the smiles of the Obama daughters, Aretha's rendition of "My Country Tis of Thee." Half a box of tissues later, I wonder how I'm going to fulfill my role as citizen.
Then my mind drifts off to snarkiness and wonder... Was the first president Bush walking slowly with a cane because he had been helping Cheney pack up? What if the last (please, let him be the last!) president Bush forgot to provide a handicap accessible ramp and they had to wheel Cheney down the stairs...and then he went flying out of the chair over the side of the stands, like O.J. Simpson's character barreling down the aisle at the baseball stadium in Naked Gun? Could sales of Obama paraphrenalia alone bring us out of our financial doldrums? How could the Supreme Court Chief Justice screw up the 35-word oath of office? What if Mr. Obama had corrected him? Isn't that what the system of checks and balances is all about? Isn't it ironic that Roberts, who I assume is a strict constructionist, felt it was okay to deliver the spirit of the oath rather than the letter of it? Did the new president and First Lady escort the Bushes out to the helicopter to make sure they didn't linger in Washington? I was hoping that president Bush would be taken away in something that began with 'h'...but which ended in '-andcuffs'!
I'm too tired to reflect seriously and fully on the import, majesty and profundity of the day. I'll have to leave that for another day soon...
The clock reads 4:26. Grrr. Too early to get up and become more diligent with my blog. So I turn over the pillow, shift my body position and try to fall back to sleep. To no avail. I lay still and try to meditate, but I'm too antsy. I know coverage of the inauguration has begun, but I can't turn on the TV lest I wake my wife. I think about work, the economy, world events, and how my family will cope.
It's 5:13. Woke up. Got out of bed. Dragged a comb- Wait, that wasn't me. I do get out of bed and walk to the front of the house, which faces east. I see light in the sky. But why? It's only about a quarter-moon, I think. Sunrise is still two hours off. There aren't a lot of street lights. Yet there is light. Is this a sign? Am I just seeing the dawn of a new day because I want to see it? Maybe it doesn't matter.
I definitely cannot sleep now. I turn on the television. The kids rush in and join us in bed to witness the early festivities.
I watch throughout the morning, having postponed the start of my workday. I well up at the slightest provocation--a young child, an older Black woman or man, the smiles of the Obama daughters, Aretha's rendition of "My Country Tis of Thee." Half a box of tissues later, I wonder how I'm going to fulfill my role as citizen.
Then my mind drifts off to snarkiness and wonder... Was the first president Bush walking slowly with a cane because he had been helping Cheney pack up? What if the last (please, let him be the last!) president Bush forgot to provide a handicap accessible ramp and they had to wheel Cheney down the stairs...and then he went flying out of the chair over the side of the stands, like O.J. Simpson's character barreling down the aisle at the baseball stadium in Naked Gun? Could sales of Obama paraphrenalia alone bring us out of our financial doldrums? How could the Supreme Court Chief Justice screw up the 35-word oath of office? What if Mr. Obama had corrected him? Isn't that what the system of checks and balances is all about? Isn't it ironic that Roberts, who I assume is a strict constructionist, felt it was okay to deliver the spirit of the oath rather than the letter of it? Did the new president and First Lady escort the Bushes out to the helicopter to make sure they didn't linger in Washington? I was hoping that president Bush would be taken away in something that began with 'h'...but which ended in '-andcuffs'!
I'm too tired to reflect seriously and fully on the import, majesty and profundity of the day. I'll have to leave that for another day soon...
Sunday, January 18, 2009
GenuineWow
I haven't written in awhile but wanted to gather and write down a few thoughts. (I've had only a few since November anyway.)
I admit I finally went to Shamwow.com this weekend because that cloth seems pretty impressive, soaking everything up the way it does. But this weekend, I've also tried to soak up everything surrounding the Inauguration.
I am particularly wowed by the juxtaposition of Martin Luther King Day and the Inauguration, reminding us of the triumph of justice and freedom for all people in the U.S. The wow Barack Obama creates is genuine, and I couldn't be prouder to be an American, knowing that he is about to become our president. The patriotism I'm feeling rivals what I felt after 9/11 and after the U.S. Hockey Team upset the Soviets in the 1980 Olympic Semi-Finals. But I know that the hope I have and that all Americans have is also the hope that most people across the globe have.
The challenges we face are monumental, but Obama is a man for whom monuments could end up being named. I eagerly await this inaugural address. Though I can't quite fathom how he will top the brilliance with which he has spoken in the past, I presume this address will be one of the greatest speeches in American history. I anticipate verbal majesty that includes a compelling, JFK-esque call to action for all of us to sacrifice, for he will not be able to accomplish what he has promised without our active engagement. He has already inspired millions to reflect on our responsibilities as citizens. We will have to recalibrate our priorities and accept fewer of the 'things' that we feel have made our lives richer, and push for those things that make our lives and the lives of those around us better.
(The twisted humor side of me would love to see him freak out doubters by pulling out a Koran and begin to take his oath and then say, "I'm just messin' with ya." (I'm actually hoping that at the end of his eight (!) years, using religion as a wedge issue will be just an unpleasant remnant of the past, the way race should become, too.))
If Barack Obama, our 44th president (did I miss the comparisons with Hank Aaron also being number 44?), can help live up to even a fraction of the promises he made and the promise he represents, the world will indeed be a better place...
My prayers are for the Obamas, for the country and for all the peace-loving people of the world.
I admit I finally went to Shamwow.com this weekend because that cloth seems pretty impressive, soaking everything up the way it does. But this weekend, I've also tried to soak up everything surrounding the Inauguration.
I am particularly wowed by the juxtaposition of Martin Luther King Day and the Inauguration, reminding us of the triumph of justice and freedom for all people in the U.S. The wow Barack Obama creates is genuine, and I couldn't be prouder to be an American, knowing that he is about to become our president. The patriotism I'm feeling rivals what I felt after 9/11 and after the U.S. Hockey Team upset the Soviets in the 1980 Olympic Semi-Finals. But I know that the hope I have and that all Americans have is also the hope that most people across the globe have.
The challenges we face are monumental, but Obama is a man for whom monuments could end up being named. I eagerly await this inaugural address. Though I can't quite fathom how he will top the brilliance with which he has spoken in the past, I presume this address will be one of the greatest speeches in American history. I anticipate verbal majesty that includes a compelling, JFK-esque call to action for all of us to sacrifice, for he will not be able to accomplish what he has promised without our active engagement. He has already inspired millions to reflect on our responsibilities as citizens. We will have to recalibrate our priorities and accept fewer of the 'things' that we feel have made our lives richer, and push for those things that make our lives and the lives of those around us better.
(The twisted humor side of me would love to see him freak out doubters by pulling out a Koran and begin to take his oath and then say, "I'm just messin' with ya." (I'm actually hoping that at the end of his eight (!) years, using religion as a wedge issue will be just an unpleasant remnant of the past, the way race should become, too.))
If Barack Obama, our 44th president (did I miss the comparisons with Hank Aaron also being number 44?), can help live up to even a fraction of the promises he made and the promise he represents, the world will indeed be a better place...
My prayers are for the Obamas, for the country and for all the peace-loving people of the world.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
President Bush: The War on Spinach
As has been stated by people funnier than I, comedians are sure going to miss W. Under the Freedom of Information Act, I have unearthed this gem...
President George W. Bush: “The War on Spinach” Speech, Delivered September 2006 to a national corporate farm lobby group
"My fellow Americans, and Democrats. . . We're facing an enemy the likes of which we never seen before. It's green, it's leafy, and it's bitter. It travels in bunches with other like-minded greenery, destined to poison the tummies of freedom-loving people everywhere. It lives among us, this evil enemy, often concealing its true identity in unusual dressing and claiming to be triple-washed prior to bagging.
I'm taking, of course, about spinach. In my time as president, I have witnessed the devastating impact spinach can have on salads, ruining the delicious taste of innocent and more American ingredients, like bacon, hard-boiled eggs and cheddar cheese. Along with spinach, we have identified the arrogant arugula (uh-ROO-guh-luh) and radical radicchio (ruh-DICKEY-o), with their intellectual appeal to wine-drinking liberals, as part of an axis of evil greens.
I know a little somethin’ about evil greens. My Daddy hates broccoli. Ya see, that’s green, too. I know what it’s like to be tormented by distasteful vegetables. So all you Freudian psycholumnists (sigh-COLL-um-nists) out there, yes, I am trying to prove myself to Daddy, to finish the job he was too cautious to attempt: to uproot the evil greens.
[go slightly off-mic, lean to the side for this part] Though I gotta admit, I’m a bit jealous of broccoli—it has crowns, like I should have. [wait for laughter; if none comes, continue] Get it? Like I’m the king. [wait for laughter again; if still none, then explain] You see, broccoli has crowns; that’s the part that looks like the top of a tree. It’s a joke, people. Ya know, like people think I wanna be king or somethin’, which would be kinda weird cause we fought against a king named George to become the United States in the first place. What, you don’t think I watch Schoolhouse Rock?
Now where was I? Oh yeah, spinach. Our war is a war on a specific form of greenery: the primitive, destructive, distasteful ideology of Spinacho (rhymes with 'macho')-arugo-radico-fascism (FASH-izm) [for emphasis, do that lean-forward-as-if-head-butting move like that guy who got kicked out of the 2006 World Cup].
We must be careful, however, not to think all greens are evil or that they all threaten our way of life—the Romaine-ians, for example, are an ally in the War on Spinach. . .the Islandic Endives are a good greenfolk. . .the Swiss Chard, well they're neutral. . .and my Jewish friends, the Icebergs, well lemme say to them, we support you, even if it is so we can get all ya'll over to the Promised Land so we can get moving on this whole apocalyptic fire thing that'll precede the second coming.
I say to all the heads of lettuce around the world, do not put a wedge between us. You are either with us or you are against us. If you are with us, we will leaf you alone. But, if I see shredded evidence to the contrary, we will impose the full force of the U.S. Department of Agriculture and the Cabbage Patch Kids, who are now of fighting age and have been drafted, to defeat you. We must not let the evil greens get a hold of loose leafs--we cannot take a chance on waking up to a mushroom cloud. Cause I don't like mushrooms either, especially when mixed together with spinach, arugula (uh-ROO-guh-luh) or radicchio (ruh-DICKEY-o). And, I refuse to wake up one day to hear "Kale to the Chief" when I walk into the room!
As that great philosopher Kermit the Frog once said, "It's not easy being green." He should try being president. [this one should get a laugh. . .laugh and do that trademark chimp-like shoulder shrug to emphasis that you made a funny] I know it's not easy being green. I know that. I also know it's hard work defending the American people against unwieldy vegetation, especially the edible kind. . .even if it is endorsed by our nation's heroes, like Popeye. But I look forward to doing everything in my power, to protect the precious gift of the Almighty—and of those illegal immigrants who work in the fields pickin' greens—that is, the right not to be subjected to spinach against our will and the will of the American people. Good night and G-d bless America."
President George W. Bush: “The War on Spinach” Speech, Delivered September 2006 to a national corporate farm lobby group
"My fellow Americans, and Democrats. . . We're facing an enemy the likes of which we never seen before. It's green, it's leafy, and it's bitter. It travels in bunches with other like-minded greenery, destined to poison the tummies of freedom-loving people everywhere. It lives among us, this evil enemy, often concealing its true identity in unusual dressing and claiming to be triple-washed prior to bagging.
I'm taking, of course, about spinach. In my time as president, I have witnessed the devastating impact spinach can have on salads, ruining the delicious taste of innocent and more American ingredients, like bacon, hard-boiled eggs and cheddar cheese. Along with spinach, we have identified the arrogant arugula (uh-ROO-guh-luh) and radical radicchio (ruh-DICKEY-o), with their intellectual appeal to wine-drinking liberals, as part of an axis of evil greens.
I know a little somethin’ about evil greens. My Daddy hates broccoli. Ya see, that’s green, too. I know what it’s like to be tormented by distasteful vegetables. So all you Freudian psycholumnists (sigh-COLL-um-nists) out there, yes, I am trying to prove myself to Daddy, to finish the job he was too cautious to attempt: to uproot the evil greens.
[go slightly off-mic, lean to the side for this part] Though I gotta admit, I’m a bit jealous of broccoli—it has crowns, like I should have. [wait for laughter; if none comes, continue] Get it? Like I’m the king. [wait for laughter again; if still none, then explain] You see, broccoli has crowns; that’s the part that looks like the top of a tree. It’s a joke, people. Ya know, like people think I wanna be king or somethin’, which would be kinda weird cause we fought against a king named George to become the United States in the first place. What, you don’t think I watch Schoolhouse Rock?
Now where was I? Oh yeah, spinach. Our war is a war on a specific form of greenery: the primitive, destructive, distasteful ideology of Spinacho (rhymes with 'macho')-arugo-radico-fascism (FASH-izm) [for emphasis, do that lean-forward-as-if-head-butting move like that guy who got kicked out of the 2006 World Cup].
We must be careful, however, not to think all greens are evil or that they all threaten our way of life—the Romaine-ians, for example, are an ally in the War on Spinach. . .the Islandic Endives are a good greenfolk. . .the Swiss Chard, well they're neutral. . .and my Jewish friends, the Icebergs, well lemme say to them, we support you, even if it is so we can get all ya'll over to the Promised Land so we can get moving on this whole apocalyptic fire thing that'll precede the second coming.
I say to all the heads of lettuce around the world, do not put a wedge between us. You are either with us or you are against us. If you are with us, we will leaf you alone. But, if I see shredded evidence to the contrary, we will impose the full force of the U.S. Department of Agriculture and the Cabbage Patch Kids, who are now of fighting age and have been drafted, to defeat you. We must not let the evil greens get a hold of loose leafs--we cannot take a chance on waking up to a mushroom cloud. Cause I don't like mushrooms either, especially when mixed together with spinach, arugula (uh-ROO-guh-luh) or radicchio (ruh-DICKEY-o). And, I refuse to wake up one day to hear "Kale to the Chief" when I walk into the room!
As that great philosopher Kermit the Frog once said, "It's not easy being green." He should try being president. [this one should get a laugh. . .laugh and do that trademark chimp-like shoulder shrug to emphasis that you made a funny] I know it's not easy being green. I know that. I also know it's hard work defending the American people against unwieldy vegetation, especially the edible kind. . .even if it is endorsed by our nation's heroes, like Popeye. But I look forward to doing everything in my power, to protect the precious gift of the Almighty—and of those illegal immigrants who work in the fields pickin' greens—that is, the right not to be subjected to spinach against our will and the will of the American people. Good night and G-d bless America."
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
In Honor of Our Vets
...no, not the ones who take care of our furry little friends, though they're honorable, too. I'm referring to our military veterans on this Veterans Day.
At a time when our nation's military actions have been undermined by torture and other breaches of military codes and international law sanctioned by the highest echelons of our government, we nevertheless owe an incalculable debt of gratitude--offered with a large dose of humility--to the women and men who have put their lives on the line, many making the ultimate sacrifice, to protect our freedoms and way of life.
I know such praise can come across as platitudinous, especially when our servicemen and -women have too often been used as Machiavellian props (agitprops?) to further political ends, but I mean it sincerely. While I like to think I do good deeds, that puts me on par with Clifford the Big Red Dog. I have never had to risk my life for what I hold dear. I truly honor the service and sacrifice our veterans have made for all of us.
This holiday has had extra meaning for me since 1991 because of one veteran in particular. I know that I knew Vietnam vets when I was growing up, but I didn't know then who they were, and they certainly did not speak of the horrors they suffered. It was not until my first week of law school, when I met a vet, that I truly appreciated the significance of this holiday.
We were in the same section first year, which meant we had all the same classes. In our Legal Reasoning and Writing class (was that the name of it?), we all introduced ourselves and had to say one thing about what we had done prior to law school. I talked about performing stand-up comedy. He had just returned from the first Iraq War (the legitimate one), where he was a supplies officer in the Marines, stationed in Saudi Arabia. While I had been working on my impression of the first President Bush (the legitimate one), my friend was serving under him, working to remove a dictator from a sovereign nation he had invaded. (That would be 'he' Saddam, not 'he' my friend, for those of you trolling the Web for misplaced modifiers or confusing relative pronouns or whatever the grammatical term is--it's too late for me to look that one up.)
After the introductions in class, I approached him and asked what it was like to be over there. I had talked before with Holocaust survivors and partisans who fought the Nazis, but they were two generations older than I, so I related with them differently. But here was a peer, just a few years older than I, who fought a war. I found out he was a Naval Academy grad (and a Midshipman hockey player), and I found him to be proud yet humble about his service in Desert Storm.
I was humbled myself, but not particularly proud in this realm. I had been in Dessert Storm, a pastry-eating competition, but nowhere near the military, unless you count a family trip to Gettysburg when I was little. I was fortunate to come of age at a time when there was no conscription, that we lived in a country whose ideas were so powerful they could impel people to volunteer to defend them. I never even seriously entertained--I guess entertained is the wrong word--the idea of enlisting in the military. I could probably have used my poor eyesight as a legitimate excuse not to be on the battlefield. But then what about my then scrawny musculature combined with my jelly belly? Surely, I could've had my ass whipped into shape if I had had the discipline or sense of duty to enlist. But my wise-ass nature wouldn't have gotten me very far in the armed forces. Woody Allen jokes rush to mind when I think about me in the military: "In case of war, I'm a hostage" and "When asked if I was one of those draft card burners, I replied, 'No, I never registered.'" (I actually do remember completing a Selective Service card, re-registering every time I moved, but I also happily remember no longer having to keep my card active when I turned 30.)
We quickly found that, despite this contrast in military experience (him having it and me not), we had so much in common--both from back east, our brains imbued with the same reservoir of pop culture references, sports fans, similar types of parents (though his Catholic and mine Jewish), intellectual curiosity, subscribers to communitarian political philosophy, ribald senses of humor, and an appreciation for menschiness. Never did he make me feel bad--like less of a man or less of an American--for not serving in the military.
I respect and revere him for so many reasons. He answered a call to serve, served with honor and dignity, and then proceeded with the next chapter in his life, one of which I feel blessed to be a part. He has been there for me over our 17-year friendship. We will be lifelong friends. We have shared some of life's most serious moments as well as some of its lightest. I look up to him as a big brother (but not the Orwellian kind) and have learned a lot from him. One of the most important lessons is the halo effect my knowing him has had on how I view veterans in general. Our friendship will forever make me pause, reflect and value the people we honor on this day.
At a time when our nation's military actions have been undermined by torture and other breaches of military codes and international law sanctioned by the highest echelons of our government, we nevertheless owe an incalculable debt of gratitude--offered with a large dose of humility--to the women and men who have put their lives on the line, many making the ultimate sacrifice, to protect our freedoms and way of life.
I know such praise can come across as platitudinous, especially when our servicemen and -women have too often been used as Machiavellian props (agitprops?) to further political ends, but I mean it sincerely. While I like to think I do good deeds, that puts me on par with Clifford the Big Red Dog. I have never had to risk my life for what I hold dear. I truly honor the service and sacrifice our veterans have made for all of us.
This holiday has had extra meaning for me since 1991 because of one veteran in particular. I know that I knew Vietnam vets when I was growing up, but I didn't know then who they were, and they certainly did not speak of the horrors they suffered. It was not until my first week of law school, when I met a vet, that I truly appreciated the significance of this holiday.
We were in the same section first year, which meant we had all the same classes. In our Legal Reasoning and Writing class (was that the name of it?), we all introduced ourselves and had to say one thing about what we had done prior to law school. I talked about performing stand-up comedy. He had just returned from the first Iraq War (the legitimate one), where he was a supplies officer in the Marines, stationed in Saudi Arabia. While I had been working on my impression of the first President Bush (the legitimate one), my friend was serving under him, working to remove a dictator from a sovereign nation he had invaded. (That would be 'he' Saddam, not 'he' my friend, for those of you trolling the Web for misplaced modifiers or confusing relative pronouns or whatever the grammatical term is--it's too late for me to look that one up.)
After the introductions in class, I approached him and asked what it was like to be over there. I had talked before with Holocaust survivors and partisans who fought the Nazis, but they were two generations older than I, so I related with them differently. But here was a peer, just a few years older than I, who fought a war. I found out he was a Naval Academy grad (and a Midshipman hockey player), and I found him to be proud yet humble about his service in Desert Storm.
I was humbled myself, but not particularly proud in this realm. I had been in Dessert Storm, a pastry-eating competition, but nowhere near the military, unless you count a family trip to Gettysburg when I was little. I was fortunate to come of age at a time when there was no conscription, that we lived in a country whose ideas were so powerful they could impel people to volunteer to defend them. I never even seriously entertained--I guess entertained is the wrong word--the idea of enlisting in the military. I could probably have used my poor eyesight as a legitimate excuse not to be on the battlefield. But then what about my then scrawny musculature combined with my jelly belly? Surely, I could've had my ass whipped into shape if I had had the discipline or sense of duty to enlist. But my wise-ass nature wouldn't have gotten me very far in the armed forces. Woody Allen jokes rush to mind when I think about me in the military: "In case of war, I'm a hostage" and "When asked if I was one of those draft card burners, I replied, 'No, I never registered.'" (I actually do remember completing a Selective Service card, re-registering every time I moved, but I also happily remember no longer having to keep my card active when I turned 30.)
We quickly found that, despite this contrast in military experience (him having it and me not), we had so much in common--both from back east, our brains imbued with the same reservoir of pop culture references, sports fans, similar types of parents (though his Catholic and mine Jewish), intellectual curiosity, subscribers to communitarian political philosophy, ribald senses of humor, and an appreciation for menschiness. Never did he make me feel bad--like less of a man or less of an American--for not serving in the military.
I respect and revere him for so many reasons. He answered a call to serve, served with honor and dignity, and then proceeded with the next chapter in his life, one of which I feel blessed to be a part. He has been there for me over our 17-year friendship. We will be lifelong friends. We have shared some of life's most serious moments as well as some of its lightest. I look up to him as a big brother (but not the Orwellian kind) and have learned a lot from him. One of the most important lessons is the halo effect my knowing him has had on how I view veterans in general. Our friendship will forever make me pause, reflect and value the people we honor on this day.
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