The Embarrassment of Riches - Pamela Haag
Now this was interesting. Pamela Haag has written an essay about how the wealthy are different from regular folks, the middle class, the poor. It just so happens, she has joined the wealthy class, via her husband's commodity trading work.
After the obligatory explanation of how her wealth is earned, she moves on to discuss her upbringing by Depression-era parents who were frugal yet philanthropic. They didn't trust, didn't like, wealth and, by logical extension, the wealthy were suspect, too. Yet, Mrs. Haag had a materialistic tendency as a child.
Now, with money, she finds herself changed. The wealthy don't worry about material possessions. They concern themselves with leaving a legacy, you know, building a library, adding a hospital wing, things like that.
I know I sound bitter or even hostile, but I'm not. The essay has important things to say about how the wealthy see things. She touches on how she must feign concern over such trifles as tuition or healthcare bills, mortgages and property tax rates. There I go again, feeling on the verge of hostility.
Mrs. Haag does spend a good portion of the essay describing the typical American stupidity when it comes to even the most basic economic principles. We simply don't understand how the economy works (this is why we believe Keynesian nonsense about government spending leading to prosperity, or better yet, we simply don't care as long as there's cash around.)
I spent the better part of this essay wondering how sincere this person was when they say they are trying to act middle class. I don't even know what that means. Does she not want to be in the pond with the other rich folks? Is it so painful to fit in? Really?
Her tone regarding run of the mill restaurants and business news was somewhat insulting. Most middle class Americans don't fret over every movement of the stock market. Sure, we look at it occasionally, but most of us are more concerned over sports scores and the guest lists for Ellen and Oprah. And, for goodness sake, American Idol starts next week!
Pamela Haag has troubles. I wish I could empathize, but I've got to go hit the drive-thru for some fried chicken. I have a coupon.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Mangled Forms | Woodstock Times - February 19, 2008
Mangled Forms - John Thorn
As a youngster, growing up in the Midwest, I played and loved baseball. When I left home, I did what 90% of former baseball players do, I played when I could, but I devotedly followed the game. In baseball, the fans love statistics. Without the Internet, stats simply were not at our fingertips, so we dropped serious money on books. Most fans had one of these three books: 1) The Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract, 2) The Baseball Encyclopedia, and 3) Total Baseball. The latter was edited by John Thorn, the author of this essay.
John Thorn's best book, according to me, was co-written by Pete Palmer, called The Hidden Game of Baseball. This book unveils new statistics and new ways of viewing and measuring how effective players really were and how they compare with modern (at the time of publication) players. All very fascinating and somewhat wonkish, of course, but if you love baseball, you'll know what I mean.
Mr. Thorn has a column in the Woodstock Times called Play's the Thing. He writes about sports and upstate New York. Here he takes a look at Fleischmanns, New York. The town, Griffith's Corners, was renamed for the Fleischmann brothers from Cincinnati, who built a ball field there.
Mr. Thorn reminisces about the town, where he lived as a kid, and looks at its history back at the turn of the 20th century. He speaks of the grand hotels that served as summer getaways for the big city denizens who couldn't enjoy air conditioning (because AC didn't exist.) The Catskills were cool and the air was clear in the heat of July.
The essay isn't overly touching or nostalgic. Mr. Thorn uses a Stephen Hawking opinion on what a black hole does to matter, the mangled forms of the title, as a metaphor for what arson and time have done to Fleischmanns. I understood the connection, though it was a stretch without visual evidence or words to help it resonate a bit more, but if it was meant to lure me to the Catskills, well, I might just go there.
After I swing by Cooperstown.
As a youngster, growing up in the Midwest, I played and loved baseball. When I left home, I did what 90% of former baseball players do, I played when I could, but I devotedly followed the game. In baseball, the fans love statistics. Without the Internet, stats simply were not at our fingertips, so we dropped serious money on books. Most fans had one of these three books: 1) The Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract, 2) The Baseball Encyclopedia, and 3) Total Baseball. The latter was edited by John Thorn, the author of this essay.
John Thorn's best book, according to me, was co-written by Pete Palmer, called The Hidden Game of Baseball. This book unveils new statistics and new ways of viewing and measuring how effective players really were and how they compare with modern (at the time of publication) players. All very fascinating and somewhat wonkish, of course, but if you love baseball, you'll know what I mean.
Mr. Thorn has a column in the Woodstock Times called Play's the Thing. He writes about sports and upstate New York. Here he takes a look at Fleischmanns, New York. The town, Griffith's Corners, was renamed for the Fleischmann brothers from Cincinnati, who built a ball field there.
Mr. Thorn reminisces about the town, where he lived as a kid, and looks at its history back at the turn of the 20th century. He speaks of the grand hotels that served as summer getaways for the big city denizens who couldn't enjoy air conditioning (because AC didn't exist.) The Catskills were cool and the air was clear in the heat of July.
The essay isn't overly touching or nostalgic. Mr. Thorn uses a Stephen Hawking opinion on what a black hole does to matter, the mangled forms of the title, as a metaphor for what arson and time have done to Fleischmanns. I understood the connection, though it was a stretch without visual evidence or words to help it resonate a bit more, but if it was meant to lure me to the Catskills, well, I might just go there.
After I swing by Cooperstown.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Forty-Six Views of My Fuji | Isotope - Fall/Winter 2008
Forty-Six Views of My Fuji - Merridawn Duckler
Before you read this essay, go here and look over the 46 woodblock prints made by Hokusai in the early 19th century. Hopefully, you will click on each image to bring up a larger version where you can see more detail. As you look, contemplate the infinite number of ways the artist could view the mountain.
Merridawn Duckler, using this simple premise, has written an essay that takes a multi-viewed look at her family, with special attention to her younger brother, Geordie. She paints a varied portrait of him over a period of years and personal interests.
Maybe, it isn't a portrait. Maybe we are looking at the literary equivalent of a woodblock print. Parts are in vivid colorful detail, other parts are distant, nearly wordless. The writing has a peculiar rhythm about it, as if Ms. Duckler were publishing some compiled notes, a lifetime of sticky pad memories.
I found myself caught up in who Geordie is ("this is no memorial" after all) and what this family must be like. They sound wonderfully strange; intelligent and odd; happy and independent, yet loving each other. I was disappointed that the essay ended. I wanted the journal through this print gallery to continue.
Accessible and experimental, this is a personal essay that you should read and then try to write for yourself.
Before you read this essay, go here and look over the 46 woodblock prints made by Hokusai in the early 19th century. Hopefully, you will click on each image to bring up a larger version where you can see more detail. As you look, contemplate the infinite number of ways the artist could view the mountain.
Merridawn Duckler, using this simple premise, has written an essay that takes a multi-viewed look at her family, with special attention to her younger brother, Geordie. She paints a varied portrait of him over a period of years and personal interests.
Maybe, it isn't a portrait. Maybe we are looking at the literary equivalent of a woodblock print. Parts are in vivid colorful detail, other parts are distant, nearly wordless. The writing has a peculiar rhythm about it, as if Ms. Duckler were publishing some compiled notes, a lifetime of sticky pad memories.
I found myself caught up in who Geordie is ("this is no memorial" after all) and what this family must be like. They sound wonderfully strange; intelligent and odd; happy and independent, yet loving each other. I was disappointed that the essay ended. I wanted the journal through this print gallery to continue.
Accessible and experimental, this is a personal essay that you should read and then try to write for yourself.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Back | Gettysburg Review - Autumn 2005
Back - Rebecca McClanahan
The "back" referred to by Rebecca McClanahan is the state of returning from an extended illness and recovery period. She makes a beautiful, yes, her prose is such, that you never come back. You are returned to the world quite changed.
This is a straightforward narrative covering the time of her diagnosis of having a malignant mass in her colon--during a routine procedure--to her recovery. Mrs. McClanahan gives us plenty of corny humor along the way, keeping things light in this area of darkness.
Her sketches of her aging Midwestern mother coming to New York City and her constant partner and husband, Donald are just enough to remind us how important family is in our lives. They are a support structure that we are sometimes forced to use, and Mrs. McClanahan recognizes this and clearly loves them dearly. Her concern over her mother's trip across the street--it's really the avenue--to go to the store touches on how, even when she can hardly move, her love for her mom compels her to do so.
Where this essay really shines and is most effective, is in the interactions with, and the genuine appreciation that Mrs. McClanahan has for, the health care professionals on her case. Whether it is the male model trio of the pain team or the orderly who stops the gurney, on its way to surgery, at a window so Mrs. McClanahan can have a look at the river (for some reason this passage chokes me up every time I read it; there is something poignant and loving in such a simple gesture that makes me love people) or the nurse's aide responsible for her bath, we see how important they all are to our health and well-being.
These people do this every day of their lives. They deal with disease and death, the highs and lows of patients and families every day. We, as patients, can sometimes have little patience for them. How would we hold up in the relentless fight against disease and death? How would we behave in the face of pain and suffering as the core part of our daily work?
I would hope that I could be like the men and women who took care of Mrs. McClanahan. And I would like to think that I could write a love letter of thanks to them as beautiful as this essay.
The "back" referred to by Rebecca McClanahan is the state of returning from an extended illness and recovery period. She makes a beautiful, yes, her prose is such, that you never come back. You are returned to the world quite changed.
This is a straightforward narrative covering the time of her diagnosis of having a malignant mass in her colon--during a routine procedure--to her recovery. Mrs. McClanahan gives us plenty of corny humor along the way, keeping things light in this area of darkness.
Her sketches of her aging Midwestern mother coming to New York City and her constant partner and husband, Donald are just enough to remind us how important family is in our lives. They are a support structure that we are sometimes forced to use, and Mrs. McClanahan recognizes this and clearly loves them dearly. Her concern over her mother's trip across the street--it's really the avenue--to go to the store touches on how, even when she can hardly move, her love for her mom compels her to do so.
Where this essay really shines and is most effective, is in the interactions with, and the genuine appreciation that Mrs. McClanahan has for, the health care professionals on her case. Whether it is the male model trio of the pain team or the orderly who stops the gurney, on its way to surgery, at a window so Mrs. McClanahan can have a look at the river (for some reason this passage chokes me up every time I read it; there is something poignant and loving in such a simple gesture that makes me love people) or the nurse's aide responsible for her bath, we see how important they all are to our health and well-being.
These people do this every day of their lives. They deal with disease and death, the highs and lows of patients and families every day. We, as patients, can sometimes have little patience for them. How would we hold up in the relentless fight against disease and death? How would we behave in the face of pain and suffering as the core part of our daily work?
I would hope that I could be like the men and women who took care of Mrs. McClanahan. And I would like to think that I could write a love letter of thanks to them as beautiful as this essay.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
1964 - The Year The Sixties Began | American Heritage - October, 2006
1964 - The Year The Sixties Began - Joshua Zeitz
Joshua Zeitz confirms in this essay what many of us intuitively understood, but were unable to put our fingers on. The 1960s, that decade of activism and men's long hair and the Vietnam War, really began on January 1, 1964. Dr. Zeitz uses three events, the arrival of the Beatles, the Mississippi Freedom Summer, and the Gulf of Tonkin events that led to the escalation in Vietnam.
How do we intuitively know this? For most of us, it is probably musical. The Beatles didn't top the charts in the United States until 1964. That is a pretty clear demarcation for popular music. As Dr. Zeitz says, the music prior to the arrival of the Beatles was strictly Fifties, crooning innocent music. He recounts their arrival in New York and explains how they were the right band at the right time for a generation looking to break out from the clean cut image of their parents.
Dr. Zeitz continues his description of 1964 by focusing on Andy Goodman and his decision, at the age of 21, to help out the Civil Rights movement in Mississippi. His story is harrowing stuff and is largely forgotten today unless you are interested in the origin of the Civil Rights Act and ending of Jim Crow in the American south. Using Andy's parents in the story brings home the anguish of our personal decisions.
Then there is the incident in the Gulf of Tonkin off the coast of North Vietnam. Controversial and far-reaching in its consequences, the resolution made by Congress that gave the President a free hand in escalating the war is still part of our war culture today. There was a time when Congress had to issue a Declaration of War before the President could legally and purposefully send troops into conflict. Dr. Zeitz also sheds some light on President Johnson's quandary when it came to the rabid anti-communist feeling in the country.
Today is my birthday. I was born in 1964, the year the Sixties began happens to be the year that I began a life of my own. Usually, around a birthday, we think back on that birth year and we wonder what it was like to bring a baby into the world. My parents were oh so young, my mother was still a teenager. I don't know how these events affected them, though I did grow up with a lot of Beatles records around the house.
Joshua Zeitz confirms in this essay what many of us intuitively understood, but were unable to put our fingers on. The 1960s, that decade of activism and men's long hair and the Vietnam War, really began on January 1, 1964. Dr. Zeitz uses three events, the arrival of the Beatles, the Mississippi Freedom Summer, and the Gulf of Tonkin events that led to the escalation in Vietnam.
How do we intuitively know this? For most of us, it is probably musical. The Beatles didn't top the charts in the United States until 1964. That is a pretty clear demarcation for popular music. As Dr. Zeitz says, the music prior to the arrival of the Beatles was strictly Fifties, crooning innocent music. He recounts their arrival in New York and explains how they were the right band at the right time for a generation looking to break out from the clean cut image of their parents.
Dr. Zeitz continues his description of 1964 by focusing on Andy Goodman and his decision, at the age of 21, to help out the Civil Rights movement in Mississippi. His story is harrowing stuff and is largely forgotten today unless you are interested in the origin of the Civil Rights Act and ending of Jim Crow in the American south. Using Andy's parents in the story brings home the anguish of our personal decisions.
Then there is the incident in the Gulf of Tonkin off the coast of North Vietnam. Controversial and far-reaching in its consequences, the resolution made by Congress that gave the President a free hand in escalating the war is still part of our war culture today. There was a time when Congress had to issue a Declaration of War before the President could legally and purposefully send troops into conflict. Dr. Zeitz also sheds some light on President Johnson's quandary when it came to the rabid anti-communist feeling in the country.
Today is my birthday. I was born in 1964, the year the Sixties began happens to be the year that I began a life of my own. Usually, around a birthday, we think back on that birth year and we wonder what it was like to bring a baby into the world. My parents were oh so young, my mother was still a teenager. I don't know how these events affected them, though I did grow up with a lot of Beatles records around the house.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Books Read in 2010
This is a placeholder post where I list the books I have read during 2010 with links to any reviews or comments that I might write. Click the title for a link to Amazon, click the author for my commentary.
The Kiss - Kathryn Harrison (1997)
On Writing
- Stephen King (2000)
Paper Lion
- George Plimpton (1966)
A Country Year
- Sue Hubbell (1986)
Death at an Early Age
- Jonathan Kozol (1967)
Roots - Alex Haley (1976)
The Liar's Club - Mary Karr (1995)
Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance - Robert M. Pirsig (1974)
Hiroshima - John Hersey (1946)
Darkness Visible - William Styron (1990)
All Over But the Shoutin' - Rick Bragg (1997)
In Cold Blood - Truman Capote (1965)
The Year of Magical Thinking - Joan Didion (2005)
The Kiss - Kathryn Harrison (1997)
On Writing
- Stephen King (2000)Paper Lion
- George Plimpton (1966)A Country Year
- Sue Hubbell (1986)Death at an Early Age
- Jonathan Kozol (1967)Roots - Alex Haley (1976)
The Liar's Club - Mary Karr (1995)
Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance - Robert M. Pirsig (1974)
Hiroshima - John Hersey (1946)
Darkness Visible - William Styron (1990)
All Over But the Shoutin' - Rick Bragg (1997)
In Cold Blood - Truman Capote (1965)
The Year of Magical Thinking - Joan Didion (2005)
On the Limits of Self-Improvement, Parts I, II, & III | Vanity Fair - Oct 07; Dec 07; Sep 08
On the Limits of Self-Improvement - Christopher Hitchens. Links to Part II & III are contained in Part I.
It's resolution time, kids. So here is a three-part essay (though not really lengthy) from Mr. Hitchens, regarding his attempt at a makeover. It is accompanied by some hilarious photographs, so make sure to look over the slide show for each part.
Hitch (can I be that familiar? After the shower photos and the Brazilian wax, yes, I think I've earned it) is, at the time of the first part, a 59 year old British expatriate. Note that I said British. Improving his teeth is a prominent and successful part of his transformation. He is ripe for change.
Aren't we all? Don't resolutions reflect our lack of self-worth? Something about us needs improving, whether within or without. We make resolutions to improve ourselves in the classic categories: physical, mental, emotional, social, spiritual, or financial. If you can think of a category beyond these that your resolution(s) fit into, please let me know.
This isn't a New Year's essay, but it has all the makings of one. Hitch needs to improve his skin, physique, dentition, and, mostly, his anti-life habits. Hitch smokes too much. Hitch imbibes too much. Hitch eats too much. And he and exercise were never formally introduced.
I was expecting, based on the title of the essay, something a bit more thoughtful regarding what we really can and can't change about ourselves. I thought we were going to get some pithy lessons about life.
Instead, we get an enjoyable breezy read filled with humor and self-deprecation about Hitch's experiences in self-improvement. The third part, though, takes a turn. Hitch finally addresses his smoking habit and touches on his emotional state afterwards. It feels far more real and personal, and a bit more universal, at this point.
It was the teeth that made the final difference. Viva la dentistry!
Happy New Year!
It's resolution time, kids. So here is a three-part essay (though not really lengthy) from Mr. Hitchens, regarding his attempt at a makeover. It is accompanied by some hilarious photographs, so make sure to look over the slide show for each part.
Hitch (can I be that familiar? After the shower photos and the Brazilian wax, yes, I think I've earned it) is, at the time of the first part, a 59 year old British expatriate. Note that I said British. Improving his teeth is a prominent and successful part of his transformation. He is ripe for change.
Aren't we all? Don't resolutions reflect our lack of self-worth? Something about us needs improving, whether within or without. We make resolutions to improve ourselves in the classic categories: physical, mental, emotional, social, spiritual, or financial. If you can think of a category beyond these that your resolution(s) fit into, please let me know.
This isn't a New Year's essay, but it has all the makings of one. Hitch needs to improve his skin, physique, dentition, and, mostly, his anti-life habits. Hitch smokes too much. Hitch imbibes too much. Hitch eats too much. And he and exercise were never formally introduced.
I was expecting, based on the title of the essay, something a bit more thoughtful regarding what we really can and can't change about ourselves. I thought we were going to get some pithy lessons about life.
Instead, we get an enjoyable breezy read filled with humor and self-deprecation about Hitch's experiences in self-improvement. The third part, though, takes a turn. Hitch finally addresses his smoking habit and touches on his emotional state afterwards. It feels far more real and personal, and a bit more universal, at this point.
It was the teeth that made the final difference. Viva la dentistry!
Happy New Year!
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