"The blog has made Glab into a hip town crier, commenting on everything from local politics and cultural happenings to national and international events, all rendered in a colorful, intelligent, working-class vernacular that owes some of its style to Glab’s Chicago-hometown heroes Studs Terkel and Mike Royko." — David Brent Johnson in Bloom Magazine
Apparently, our foreparents, the gang scientists like to refer to as Homo Erectus, went extinct because they weren’t Rand-ians — as in followers of Ayn Rand‘s model of success. The Erectus — that’s right; the plural’s the same as the singular — weren’t hard charging, tireless, aggressive, impatient, no time for reflection or unnecessary compassion, John Galt-like heroes of achievement.
Slacker
Acc’d’g to recent research, Homo Erectus went extinct because they were too complacent to even climb the nearest hill to see what was beyond it. They weren’t prone to go looking for new territories, new sources of tools, new horizons to conquer and so, well, they just died off.
Not only that, Homo Erectus went kaput because they were incapable of dealing with the climate change that swept the world at the time they were plodding along, not pushing themselves to the extreme.
I’m willing to bet that some blogging member of a future primate species will be writing pretty much the same post with us, Home Sapiens, as the subject.
Don’t think Cindy’s simply screeching Whee! Me! The bash is really a benefit for WFHB, with the gate going to the station. BTW, WFHB’s fall fund drive begins Friday, September 7th and runs through…, well, there is no end date this time around. The big potatoes at the community radio station are bound and determined to make goal this season no matter how long it takes. And keep in mind you can donate to WFHB any day — hell, any hour of the day — simply by going to its website and clicking on the big red Donate now button.
Go Ahead; You Know You Wanna!
The second Big Talk note concerns today’s show. My guest at 5:30pm will be Vince (Carlos) Gaitani, president of the Monroe County Sheriff’s Reserve. For the life of me, I had no idea his group existed. The Sheriff’s Reserves are volunteers — fully trained, armed, fully-authroized law enforcement officers — who help the paid deputies in a pinch and who hire themselves out for crowd control at big events like Indiana University football games and so on. So, yeah, there are right now 11 badge-wearing members of the Reserve, one of whom just might be the cop in the squad car pulling you over for going 83 mph down SR 446.
Many thanks to Jan Walker for turning me on to the Sheriff’s Reserve.
Tune in at 5:30pm every Thursday for Big Talk on WFHB, 91.3 FM and come back here each Friday for a link to the podcast.
I notice the Pope has announced his opposition to the death penalty, period. The boss of the Roman Catholic Church and political head of the tiny but influential nation called The Holy See has essentially made it the entire faith’s tenet that capital punishment is an evil.
Jorge Mario Bergoglio, AKA Francis I
Well, at long goddamned last. For all the “pro-life” bluster the Christianists have spouted in the last half century, few of them have made the logical leap to recognizing the supposed sacredness of life across the board. When I hear pro life I think only of anti-abortion; that’s been the rhetoric and the activism since abortion became big news in the mid- and late-1960s. Oh sure, there’ve been a scant few priests and nuns who’ve called for a ban on state killings and war, but they’ve been such outliers that, statistically, they don’t exist.
I’m under no illusion that the world wouldn’t be better off without broken human beings like Charles Manson or John Wayne Gacy. My own opposition to the death penalty is based on a widely-shared mistrust of elected or appointed politicians and jurists to do the right thing in all cases. Look, we don’t trust our leaders to fix potholes the right way. We don’t believe they have the ability to end homelessness. They’re helpless in the face of drug addiction. And we expect them to be able to carry out executions fairly and justly?
Now, if only Francis can do something about the child molestation problem bedeviling the Church. One suggestion: How about putting an end to the boys-only club that is the priesthood.
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ET Romeos
I try to respect another’s argument or stance as much as prudence will allow. Hell, I’ve got Republican friends. And I’ve had heated debates with people on my side of the fence about how the world needs conservatives to balance off the liberals like me and them. But sometimes I just have to hear a guy out and nod non-commitally because, man, he’s not stating a thesis, he’s just crying out that he’s cracked.
Case in point: A guy comes into the bookstore early Saturday morning. Very chatty. Opens the conversation…, no, wait, let me emend that — opens the soliloquy by positing that our two-party political system is woefully inadequate in this day and age of multiple points along the poli-philo spectrum. The Republicans, said he, are the party of the stern Dad — there’s a right way and a wrong way and we all had better toe the line. The Dems, on the other hand, are the Mom party, cosseting the populace, forgiving, rescuing, accepting all manner of deviations and eccentricities.
As a simplistic rendering of the parties, an explication of the extremes of both sides, his analysis can stand w/o me jumping on him with both feet. As long as we weren’t concerned with subtlety and nuance, I didn’t feel the need to quibble with him.
After a while, he drifted toward the rear of the store where Margaret, the owner, holds sway. He bent her ear for a good 15 minutes on politics before I noticed the discussion — oops, sorry, the monologue — turned to hard science. He touched on fossil fuels and geology and archaeology and one or two other topics. One thing he said caught my ear: Those in charge, he stated, are in possession of scads of technologies that they’re not telling the rest of us about, mainly because we, the unwashed mob, wouldn’t be able to deal with the knowledge. The implication, of course, was that well-informed, sophisticated fellows like himself surely can. Immediately my mind flashed to things like invisible death rays and time travel and other scifi chestnuts.
Then he drifted off into genetics. The researchers working on mapping the human genome, he said, have found there are 62 strains of alien DNA in our genes. That is, some 62 different expeditions of beings from other planets have come to Earth, mated with proto- or fully-humans, altering our branch of the genetic tree.
Old Granddad.
Margaret, to her credit, said, “Oh, is that so?” And then she quickly added, “You know, I’ve got to get back to this project I’ve been working on.” I heard his footsteps coming back toward me. I buried my head in the New York Times book review, peering so hard at the computer screen it’s a wonder I didn’t burn holes into it. I read this headline a good half dozen times in succession:
Two New Novels Expose the Fracturing of the American Nuclear Family, From Midcentury to Today
Funny thing is that very headline or a reasonable variation thereof has run approximately 728,000 times in the NYT book section since the term nuclear family gained currency in the 1950s. (BTW, acc’d’g to Wikipedia, Merriam-Webster puts its origin at 1947 while the Oxford English Dictionary finds a reference to it in 1925. Who knew?)
Anyway, the guy took the hint and passed me by on the way to the door. I sighed, gratefully.
Funny thing is, back when he was pontificating at me he’d said the internet was both a blessing and a curse, seeing as how it is the portal to so much human knowledge as well as a cesspool of misinformation. I have to imagine this fellow found out about the 62 alien visits from — where else? — the internet.
It’s our age’s curse that few, if any, of us can distinguish between the portal and the cesspool when we’re online.
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Mad, Man
I’ve finally gotten around to reading A First-Rate Madness. Subtitled Uncovering the Links Between Leadership and Mental Illness, it was written by Nassir Ghaemi, professor of psychiatry at Tufts University. The book argues that an unusual number of notable world leaders throughout history have been, well, loco. He cites as examples — pretty much a chapter for each — the likes of Lincoln, Gen. Sherman, Gandhi, Churchill, Franklin Roosevelt, John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and others. Each of them, acc’d’g to Ghaemi, was mentally ill. Not as in, say, Charles Manson, but more along the lines of people who’d been laid low by deep clinical depression or who were bipolar yet somehow achieved a high station in life. They were highly functional even though they carried with them psychological burdens that could well have caused them to commit suicide or self-medicate their way to skid row.
For contrast, Ghaemi cites perfectly sane leaders like Neville Chamberlain or George W. Bush who lacked the depressive’s enhanced empathy or the hyperthymic personality’s willingness to take huge risks. These sane people might be perfectly fine leaders in times of peace and harmony but when the global house of cards looks about to collapse, they’re virtually helpless.
Ghaemi writes:
The best crisis leaders are either mentally ill or mentally abnormal; the worst crisis leaders are mentally healthy.
Me? I’ve always held that anyone who wants to be President of the United States has to be somewhat off her or his rocker. I mean, what sane person would want to be the human whose finger hovers over the red button that just might trigger a planet-wide nuclear inferno? Who wants to be the person who’ll never again be able to go for a quick walk in the park or run down to the convenience store for an ice cream sandwich on a whim? Who’s got the crust to say, Y’know, I wanna be in charge of 330 million people? The answer: a nut.
So, yeah, the sane Bush fils really is a few degrees off kilter — but not as awry as JFK was, what with his sexual voraciousness and his mind-altering Addison’s Disease. And not as mentally fragile as MLK, who jumped out a window in hopes of killing himself not once but twice as a teen. Sherman was crazy. Churchill was whacked out. Lincoln was as depressed as a human could get and still find a way to get out of bed in the morning.
It’s these more loony than the average loon kinds of people who’ve excelled as leaders in scary times. And then there’s the likes of A. Hitler, whose madness transcended that of Churchill or Roosevelt. His was another story entirely.
Unfortunately, Ghaemi’s book was written before the unlikely victory of President Gag in 2016 so we don’t know what the prof. might think about our current screwy leader. My take is Li’l Duce‘s madness obliterates the boundary of how daft a person can be and still run a huge government. Then again, it looks as though the US Gov’t right now is really running itself despite the March hare atop it.
What happens if and when P. Gag is faced with a real crisis? Will his psychopathy play well? I wouldn’t bet the mortgage payment on it. See, I wouldn’t want Charles Manson as my dear leader either.
I’ve got four email messages in my archive from a fellow named Hoagy.
That’s right. Hoagy, as in Hoagy Carmichael. More specifically, Hoagy Bix Carmichael, first-born of Indiana’s own legendary songwriter, radio star, movie and TV actor. Just for perspective (and for those of you not familiar with Hoagy, the Elder), the Carmichael penned song “Stardust” is one of the most recorded tunes in the entire history of singles, albums, wax cylinders, CDs, mp3s, and any other medium you’d choose to hear it on. It was one of the first 50 songs to be selected by the Library of Congress in 2004 for inclusion in its National Recording Registry.
Basically, “Stardust” is to music what any thing written by Ernest Hemingway is to literature. And — wouldn’t you know it? — Hoagy made his acting debut playing the nightclub pianist Cricket in the 1944 film version of the Hemingway short story “To Have and Have Not.”
Hoagy Bix is in town to help stage and promote the music and dance revue, “Stardust Road” A Carmichael Musical Journey,” playing at the Wells-Metz Theater through Saturday. I had him on Big Talk yesterday and my profile of him ran earlier in the day on the Limestone Post.
Hoagy Bix tells a bunch of tales of his childhood in Hollywood and what he did as an adult to keep his bearings straight as a celebrity kid. A number of his neighbors, including the likes of Christine Crawford and the Bing Crosby kids, weren’t as lucky — or perhaps smart — as he was. Listen or read to find out why.
BTW: Hoagy Bix recently had a little growth in his cheek/jaw area taken care of so he speaks with a lisp. You might have to concentrate to understand everything he says on the radio interview, but it’s worth it.
Go here for the podcast and here for the Limestone Post piece.
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My Mental Health Break
Phew! I had to look it up. It’s been forty days since I last made a non-auto post on Facebook. It’s been almost that long as well since, I suppose, I’ve made any kind of comment at all on the social medium (I can’t say exactly when my last comment was because I’m too lazy to look that up).
Yep. I’ve been staying away from FB. Intentionally. And I’ll be goddamned — I haven’t felt so relaxed since November 8, 2016.
This latest development goes a little bit hand-in-hand with a similar but not as absolute retrenchment from posting on this global communications colossus.
The way I figure it, there ain’t much to pontificate about these days if not about the whack-job that won the US presidency on a technicality that dark Tuesday nearly two years ago. And I’m sick to holy hell of pontificating about President Gag. More broadly, I’m sick to holy hell of him. Sick, too, of being bombarded with every stupid-assed thing he says and does. None of it is news anymore, folks. He could stand up behind that White House podium and call for a return to slavery and that wouldn’t be news either.
He’s the craziest son of a bitch who’s ever ascended to the leadership position of this holy land. At this point, fixating on all the sewage emanating from his face-hole is about as useful as pointing out that Charles Manson had some odd thoughts.
Obsessing over P. Gag’s latest jaw-dropping rhetorical emesis or cranky executive order or musing at length about the direction he’s taking America and the world is absolutely pointless now if you haven’t made the commitment to vote in November, if you’re not doing all you can to get your friends, family, and neighbors to vote as well.
Some 63 million people voted for this horror show two years ago. Hell anybody can make a mistake. I’ll be generous and allow that any 63 million bodies can make a mistake. The question we all have to ask ourselves is Is this a bump in the road or is this the road?\
We all know the score right now. Constantly repeating it won’t change it. We’re at a crossroads, kids, one that’ll last from now until November 3, 2020. We’ve got all the dope and info we need. If we don’t act on it during these key days and months in our country’s history, we’ll have nobody to blame but ourselves if this presidency lasts eight years.
Okay, so I’m sitting in the B-town Diner, breaking the fast. Across the aisle from me is a table full of Boy Scout leaders, four men and a woman. From what I gather, there’s a national gathering of Boy Scout types at Indiana University this week. Flocks of them are flittering about the campus, carrying compasses and charts, engaging in some sort of exercise that those of the Scout ilk like to while away the hours in. You may have seen some of them, sporting their bright orange ID tag lanyards, walking around on Kirkwood or Walnut, trying their damnedest not to look lost.
If you care to know more about this gathering, go here.
Anyway, the group at the table across the aisle. One guy dominated the conversation. No exaggeration. No lie. This guy was the Type A of the chat world. He expounded at length…, nay, ad nauseum, about every single topic up for discussion. He was the world’s expert on everything. Not only did he pontificate at great length on every subject he raised, the microsecond another person would bring something up, he’d break in and deliver a speech thereon.
I wanted to scream Shut up! at him within 14 seconds of sitting down.
As I say, there were occasional peeps from the others at the table — that is, except for the woman. I ordered my two over med. w/ hash browns, rye toast and sausage patties (the traditional Big Mike AM repast) and downed it all, in addition to doing two New York Times crosswords and several Herald Times sudokus, and only after that half-hour span, did the group across the aisle begin to stand up. Even then, Mr. Conversation Dominator continued to blab.
Yet not once had I heard a single syllable emanate from the woman’s mouth. I kept glancing at her throughout, wondering if her face’d betray a sense of frustration or resentment. But no, she wore the map of passivity, the look that women throughout the ages have perfected as they’ve withstood the blustery gales of men who know all things.
But, lo and behold, as the group was just about to make its move toward the exit, the woman at last spoke. I hadn’t followed the particulars of the exchange leading up to that point but when I heard her voice, I was drawn in. She said, “Oh yeah, I found that in my….” And — whaddya know? — the Type A talker immediately cut in and drowned her out. All she was doing was reinforcing what the previous speaker had said yet that dominant guy, that obsessive opiner, had to — had to — step all over her and make his voice heard.
Now, this was an egregious example of men keeping women quiet — and women not saying Hey buddy, whyntcha STFU for a half second. Of course, for a woman to say that, she’d damned well better be prepared to suffer the consequences. It’d take a woman with the combined guts of Sheryl Sandberg, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Xena, Warrior Princess, to do that but, hell, you can’t win a war without heroes. The thing is, this kind of thing goes on every day, all day long, in offices, gyms, restaurants, homes, and diners. Men talk; women listen.
I look forward to the day when we’ll be able to look back and say, Can you believe people used to act like that?
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Latte, Lager & Lectures
I hear whispers that the next Science Cafe will be held, later this month, at the original Hopscotch at Dodds and the B-Line Trail. Bloomington’s Science Cafe has migrated through the years from the late, lamented Rachael’s Cafe to Finch’s on Kirkwood and, lately, to Bear’s Place.
This latest move is a natural — Hopscotch recently expanded its hours, closing now at 10pm. The java emporium is also serving beer now.
My only quibble with this development is now there’s no reason on Earth for me ever to leave Hopscotch. In fact, my coffeehouse pal, Dr. Alex, the cannabinoid researcher as well as the mover and shaker behind Science Cafe, told me this AM it looks like he and I will soon be roommates, inasmuch as we’ll both be living at the place anon.
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Body Talk
Here’s the link to the podcast of yesterday’s Big Talk with my guest, artist, feminist, and academician Filiz Çiçek. A native of Turkey, Çiçek is curating the Every Body Art exhibit opening tonight at the Thomas Gallery on North College Avenue. The exhibit ties in with this month’s Bloomington Pridefest, our town’s celebration of all things LGBTQ.
Every Body Art features works in various media reflecting the artists’ conceptions of their own body images and genders, as well as commenting on our society’s imposed definitions and restrictions on same.
The opening begins at 5:30pm. The show runs through August 31st.
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Bigger, Better?
Speaking of the NYT, did you catch the front-pager about Apple becoming the first company to be valued at over a trillion dollars?
Now, that’s a landmark in economic history. Hell, it’s a landmark in our holy land’s history, considering big business and these United States are, essentially, two different ways of saying the same thing. And, believe me, it ain’t a landmark worth celebrating.
I’m of the crowd that detests enormity. Bigger is not better. You know what’s big? Hydrogen bombs. Monopolies. Transnational corporations. Tyrannies. Colonial powers. Empires. None of which are particularly admirable or constructive.
In fact, the NYT article cites economists who are jittery over the emergence of a 21st Century brand of uber-corp. Those experts say:
…[T]he rise of so-called superstar firms is contributing to the lackluster wage growth, shrinking middle class and rising income inequality in the United States.
Companies like Apple, some of whom also are approaching a trillion-dollar valuation exert undue social, cultural, and political influence over the rest of us. And, believe me, the things these mega-outfits want aren’t things that will do you or me one goddamned bit of good.
