Tomser's Blog

Why do a blog if you don’t take chances, reveal uncomfortable truths, risk losing your readers? Sometimes you have to go out on a limb and make confessions that may shock, may hurt, may alienate. Now is one of those times, so here goes. 

In my youth, I smoked marijuana. There, I got it out. And while I’m being brutally honest, I have to admit that there was nothing medical about it. I smoked marijuana purely because I liked how it affected me. I liked the sense of floating through the world. I liked that everything seemed a lot funnier. I even liked that it gave me the superhuman ability to eat an entire package of double-stuffed Oreos in one sitting. Let the judging begin.  

I have chosen this time to make my confession, and risk the pounding on the door in the middle of the night, because marijuana has been coopted by big business and it irks me. Why should all of those law-and-order zealots who spent years screaming about life terms for anyone caught with an ounce of weed profit now? And yet this is undoubtedly who is investing heavily in ganja, and pushing for its full legalization. It’s just not right.  

It’s especially irksome because it has been clear for the last 30 years that the drug laws have been both unfairly administered and obsolete. While all studies showed that drug use was just as prevalent for white people as for people of color, an inordinate proportion of those imprisoned for drug violations were African-Americans and Latinos. I would refer anyone interested in this disturbing history to read The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, by Michelle Alexander.  

Here is what I propose to remedy this historic wrong. We should identify all of those people who were arrested and convicted of the illegal sale and distribution of marijuana over the last 30 years and provide them with the seed money (pun intended) to begin their own legal Bhang business. My guess is that the initial reaction from most of you will be, “Oh no, another government giveaway”, but hear me out. I think grass roots generosity (another pun) would be beneficial for all. 

I contend that there is no one better positioned to crush the Maryjane market than those who have already shown the skills needed to master it. Let’s consider what it took to be a successful  reefer retailer.  

First of all, you had to establish reliable sourcing. Where were you going to get the hemp to hawk? Who could guarantee the steady flow of sinsemilla to assure success? These are difficult decisions that had to be made under adverse business conditions, like the potential for jail. 

Next the wannabe tea tycoon had to create a system of distribution. How could he or she establish their dope domain? Advertising was key. It had to be surreptitious, yet effective. Did it make sense to give out free samples/ have buy one, get one ½ off, sales events? A business strategy was essential. 

Administrative and employment options also had to be weighed. Do you want to keep staff small, or become a franchisor, with all the headaches that entails? How quickly should you grow your business? Can your supply keep up with the demand you are developing?  

Then there is pot pricing. What is the appropriate profit margin between cost and reefer rates? Are there Acapulco Gold adversaries, ready to underprice to increase market share? Does it make sense to keep prices affordable to attract new Panama Red purchasers, or should you highlight the most excellent nature of your product by charging a premium? 

What about quality control issues? This wad of weed may not be as good as the last. If you let potency lag, customers will look elsewhere. How do you assure heady hash time and time again? If quality begins to lag, do you look for a new supplier to assure dependable doobies?   

Finally, there is always accounting. How do you guarantee enough cash flow to purchase resalable reefer, keeping both suppliers and customers happy? On top of that you need to look like the well-established businessperson you are, which means that enough has to be made to finance personal grooming commensurate with your position in the community. Not a easy task. 

The productive pot producer had to exhibit all of these well-established business skills. Any flaws in the distribution chain could result in serious consequences. It is not easy to operate in that high-pressure, dog-eat-dog business environment, yet these Loco-Weed lords managed to do so, and we should acknowledge and take advantage of that expertise.      

You might argue that a flaw in this proposal is that we are funding the failures. Those who couldn’t establish the long term profitability we want to see. In other words, those who were caught. However, is one failure a criteria for cannibas cancellation? I think not. After all, apparently you can have as many as six business bankruptcies in this country and still be considered a successful entrepreneur.   

So you see, this proposal is hash heaven for everyone. Otherwise marginalized people are established in a business they know well, and for which they have the proven tools to succeed. The rest of us benefit from the roach revenue generated by a tax on their profits (estimated as up to 420 Million). It’s another marijuana miracle!!!!     

*With apologies to Jonathan Swift 

*Also, a shout out to Nathan McCall for his excellent memoir, Makes Me Wanna Holler, which put this idea in my head in the first place 

Are you ready to talk some football? It’s that time again. Time for the eagerly anticipated, truly splendiferous, awesomely breathtaking NFL draft, when fans gather to listen to a gaggle of has-beens and never-weres pontificate endlessly about what a bunch of 19-year-olds will do six months from now when they finally get on a football field. Millions hold their breath as a middle-aged administrator walks onto stage to read a name. This could be the one. The savior who will lead us to Super Bowl glory (once Tom Brady finally retires). Be still my beating heart. 

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It is hard to overstate the hysteria that surrounds this annual jamboree. Last year over 55 million people tuned in to listen to Mel Kiper, Jr. and his team of troglodytes go on and on about the virtues and short-comings of a herd of acne-scarred behemoths who may, but probably will not, change the course of football history. That blows the World Series, the Oscars and the Presidential debates out of the water (not that I can argue with the viewer’s choice on the debates).  

I follow the picks on the internet on draft day, and tune in, if I’m not doing anything else, to see how the Eagles will throw away their first-round pick this year (remember Danny Watkins, Marcus Smith and Freddie Mitchell?). But as much of a football fan as I am, I cannot listen to 4 hours of a testosterone filled bitch fest with no games on the horizon, let alone bury myself in the three-day marathon that encompasses all seven rounds. There has to be a limit somewhere.  

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All that being said, you have to give Kiper and the Kipettes credit. They have an incredible amount of time to fill and have amassed an endless supply of meaningless statistics to do so. For instance, did you know that Zeplin Stankowitz of Hamburger U. led the Condiment League in balls batted back in the QB’s face (3), can bench squat a full-grown gnu, and credits his grandmother, who raised him in a chicken coop, for his success, making him a perfect fit for the Arizona Cardinals? Or that Orville Schicklgruber of the Maharishi University of Management ran a 3.8 40 after someone hit him in a sensitive spot during a fumble recovery, can chug 5 beers in 30 seconds, and credits his great Aunt, who once played for the Minnesota Vixens, for his success, making him a must for the Jacksonville Jaguars? 

The absence of a live audience again this year will make the 2021 “event” even more monotonous. Frankly, the most entertaining part of the spectacle is watching the crowd react to a bad pick. The shellshocked look on the team representative’s face as the boos rain down is priceless. That was why Philadelphia was the perfect city to host the draft in 2019. Our teams may stink, but we know how to boo!!!  

I must confess that I once went to an NBA draft party thrown by the Sixers with my friends Jon and Dawson. The crowd wanted the Sixers to draft Vlade Divac, even though none of us had ever seen this Serbian play, continuously chanting his melodic, vampiric name (Vlade, Vlade!!). When the Sixers chose Kenny Payne instead, we all booed (of course), until a Sixer rep came out and tearfully assured us that Payne would be a superstar. It turned out that the crowd was right. Divac was an outstanding player for many years, and Payne a bum from day one. By the way, the Sixers never hosted a draft party again after that. I wonder why. 

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I really shouldn’t complain about the draft, or sports generally. For many of us sports remains the easiest conversation starter, and one of the least fraught with pitfalls. It is one of the few things that people with strong opinions can talk about in this crazy world and still (generally) avoid screaming at each other. Plus it is fun to endlessly speculate on what might be before being hit in the face with reality (Unless you happen to be from Tampa – curse you Alfarone). Still, the religious fervor is hard to take.    

I sincerely hope that I have not rained on anyone’s parade. If you want to sit through this annual gathering of the football clans, have at it. I will undoubtedly turn it on for the Eagles pick, unless it’s opposite the episode of Love Boat where Doc falls off the boat while giving rhumba lessons. Julie and Gopher commandeer a dinghy to go look for him while Isaac plots to take over Doc’s spacious cabin. Captain Stubing turns the ship around, putting his job in jeopardy, only to find the three of them safe and sound drinking Mai Tais with Mr. Roarke and Tattoo on Fantasy Island. Phyllis Diller and Robert Goulet guest star.   

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Julie and I recently travelled to Pittsburgh to see Cal and get away for a bit (You remember travel, don’t you? Leaving your home and going somewhere else?). While we were there, we went to the Mattress Factory, a contemporary art gallery. It sparked my ambivalence about modern art, and, frankly, representational art in general. I want to get it – to understand what the artist is conveying – but no matter how close I seem to get to grasping intent, it always seems to elude me. It’s frustrating. 

Take the installation Surmatants, Mars Rising, by Andrea Stansilav. After walking through a room featuring an upside-down white horse, and whirling curtains reminiscent of a Twin Peaks set, you come to a triple movie screen showing traditionally clad dancers whirling about in front of a derelict industrial building. A beautiful, highly ornamented woman on a white horse (death?) rides slowly into the circle and all of the dancers fall down, as if they were playing ring-around-the-rosy. It was unbelievably striking.

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 Striking, yes, but what was the artist trying to tell us? It is advertised as “an elegiacally [serious reflecting for those, like me, who would have had to look that word up in the dictionary] visceral response to the COVID-19 pandemic in three acts”. Really? My best guess was a commentary on the way in which heavy industry gobbled up immigrant workers, but what do I know.  

Or take the mind-boggling Museum of All Things. This was a room rendered by Jennifer Angus which featured thousands of mounted bugs. Some created a macabre wallpaper. Some were in bell jars and narrow display drawers, where the bugs were doing all kinds of things, like reading books or holding court. In the middle was a dining room table with various stuffed creatures and more bugs enjoying an elegant meal. All quite jaw-droppingly, wonderfully, bizarre.  

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There didn’t seem to be a deeper message here, or, at least I couldn’t discern any. I think that we were supposed to just stand back in awe that someone would so painstakingly create this incredible alternative universe. And it worked. I was in awe, even though there was so much there I doubt if I took in even 1/3 of the exhibit. 

I’ve had this same reaction in conventional art museums. I stand before an acknowledged masterpiece, and, being the pretentious, intellectual wanna-be that I am, I want so badly to grasp the symbolism, analyze the brush strokes, and place the work in its historical context. Instead, my depth of analysis is usually something akin to “Me like pretty picture”.  

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I have even recently had this experience while reading. I just finished George Saunders terrific “A Swim in the Pond in the Rain”, where he has us read seven 19^th Century Russian short stories, and then after each dissects them the way that you would in a Masters level creative writing course. It was exhilarating to follow his course of thought, which brought these stories to life with great insight and humor. But it was also humbling to realize how much I missed in each of these stories, and how often I failed to grasp what was, in retrospect, the most basic points. 

And yet, about 2/3 through this book, a light came on. Wait a minute (I thought), this guy is a professional writer, who teaches writing, and has not only read these stories 50 times, but has also had numerous discussions about them with graduate students and other professionals year after year. Of course he is going to be able to miles deeper than I could possibly go in one quick read. 

The same is true for representational art. People don’t just go into their basements and throw this stuff together. They study what others have done. They consider the symbolism they are invoking. They go through trial and error to get what they want. And those that curate these exhibits have spent hours and hours honing their craft, taste and sensibilities so that they can evaluate what they are considering and separate the wheat from the chaff.  

So why should I feel bad about my inability to fully understand what these artists are doing?  Can any of them dissect a reinsurance contract? (Of course, why would they? In fact, as I occasionally asked myself in the 20 years that I did reinsurance, why would anyone in their right mind do so? Then I would think of Mark Megaw’s inspirational speech about how reinsurance made the commercial world go round and feel better about myself, for at least 10 minutes or so).             

There is no reason for any of us to believe that we can truly grasp what artists are trying to do. However, there is also no reason that we shouldn’t interact with what we see and get out of it what we can. Maybe it will be something the artist never considered (I still think that Surmatants, Mars Rising, works better as a commentary on the immigrant experience in the steel industry than it does as a COVID-19 response). Maybe it will be nothing more than “That’s cool” or, “That’s silly”. It really doesn’t matter. It’s still worth the interaction. 

Despite my frustration and ambivalence, I will continue to go to these galleries whenever I can. I will take in what I see and occasionally be transported to another world, like I was by the Museum of All Things, even if I can’t figure out why I am there. I will revel in the creativity of people whose imagination dwarfs mine. We all need something to take us out of the “real world” and art does it as well as it can be done.    

The 2021 World Happiness Report is out. I am sure you, like me, have been waiting with bated breath to find out whether we are ecstatically happy, marginally happy, in a bit of a funk, or in full Oscar the Grouch mode (actual happiness categories, in case you were wondering). It turns out we are somewhere between ecstatically happy and marginally happy (pretty darn happy?). More importantly, we are just as happy as we were last year, supposedly a testament to our resiliency.  

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Researchers produce this annual bacchanal, by taking a poll in 95 countries, asking people to rate their current life satisfaction on scale of 1 to 10, with the highest rating being “the best possible life for you”. In this latest poll 58% of Americans rated their current life satisfaction at 7 or above, and approximately 67% said that they expected their life satisfaction to be an 8 or above within the next five years. That ranks us 18^th in the world, between Germany and the Czech Republic. (U.S.A., U.S.A.).    

I am not sure what to make of this. As we all know from the 2016 and 2020 elections, we can’t trust polls. Unless those polls support my point of view, and then they accurately reflect that most people agree with me. It would be easy to just dismiss this poll as another goofy survey.  (Did you know that 43% of Republicans said Olive Garden is a “quality source of authentic ethnic food”, and 41% of Democrats agree, showing how highly we all rate on the delusion scale?). However, if we take this poll at face value, what does it tell us? 

We spent the last four years being told by pundits that the United States is a nation of angry, frustrated, scared people, who think that this country is going to hell in a handbasket (I love that phrase). Is that wrong? A media invention? Are the majority of Americans Pollyannas, who think that the grass is growing just fine, and that it will get even greener soon (they obviously have not seen my lawn!!). Are we just heedless optimists ignoring the death and devastation around us (to be overly dramatic)? And how could this view of life possibly survive the pandemic? 

Actually, I think both, admittedly exaggerated opinions, can be held at the same time. The truth of the matter is that the vast majority of Americans are doing pretty well. We have become jaded to the extent of our wealth in this country, but when we sit back and reflect, it’s downright amazing. We abound in food, fresh water and secure shelter. The vast majority of us are gainfully employed. We have gotten to the point where expensive technical marvels, like cars, cell phones and computers, are not only commonplace, they are necessities. And we have the free time to indulge in things like writing silly blogs.   

With that abundance, maybe it’s not so surprising that people in this country, reflecting on their individual status, are bullish on the days ahead. Most people do not have have realistic fears that scarcity is right around the corner. They live their lives getting pretty much what they want, when they want, and more. Why shouldn’t they say “Yes, I am happy”? 

At the same time, when we look out of our bubble, life doesn’t appear so rosy. We know that there are too many people who live paycheck to paycheck, such that any unexpected expense could be a disaster. We know that our healthcare system could bankrupt anyone caught in a long-term illness. We know that violence potentially lurks around every corner (or in the next aisle). We know that for many systemic discrimination limits options. We know that major, seemingly insoluble, potential catastrophes await us, such as climate change.  

Plus, we live in a society that promotes fear. Our politicians tell us that our way of life is in jeopardy as a means to get elected, using fear of the criminal, the immigrant or the “socialist” (they’re all the same, aren’t they?). Our news sources distort any event with little regard for facts to enhance ratings. Our religious leaders tell us again and again how decadent and depraved we are as a society, and how our rejection of traditional values is leading us toward hedonistic chaos. How can anyone be happy with all of that baggage?  

Maybe what this poll really tells us is how open to suggestion we can be. Faced with the question of whether we are happy, we think of all the good things in our life, add them up, and say “Yes, I’m pretty happy”. However, if we ran an Unhappiness Report and asked people to rate their current dissatisfaction on a scale of 1 to 10, we would probably get the exact same numbers, in reverse. People would think of everything that’s wrong and say, “I’m pretty dissatisfied, and expect to be even more dissatisfied over the next five years”. 

I also don’t think that this poll tells us much about our resiliency. The last year has been difficult for many people, but most have considered it a temporary blip.  For the larger part of society there was a sense that we would be back to our old ways before we knew it, for better or worse. There has been no real fear of a permanent loss of the things that we depend on. Can we be said to have rebounded when we never really fell?  

In the end, this poll tells us little about our country. It doesn’t measure what it says it measures, and doesn’t impact how we live our lives. It may tell us something about the way that humans tend to compartmentalize, or confirm that some academics have way too much time on their hands, though I don’t think that was the goal. Ultimately, you can take this poll at face value and be amazed for five seconds at the human spirit, or dismiss it outright as smoke blowing in the wind. Your choice. As for me, I’m going to Olive Garden and have the authentic I-talian Lasagna Classico, just like my mother’s Austrian ancestors used to make. Oh, Happy Days!!!   

My Temple lifelong learning class (a nice euphemism for classes for us old people) recently discussed the new child tax credit just passed by Congress. It was generally a good conversation, until one of the participants asked whether we could be sure that the people who got this credit would actually spend the money on their children. This group is pretty much what you would expect from a Philly crowd – very liberal and very socially conscious – and yet this concern was being raised. And it was clear looking at the Zoom reactions that the gentleman who made this comment was not alone in his concern. 

There are so many things wrong with this comment – perpetuation of stereotypes of the poor, blaming those with less for their financial condition, a condescending “I know better” attitude – that it’s tempting to go on a general rant in response, but that would be meaningless and dull. However, there is one aspect of this credit that I think people ignore more than any other. That is the general economic benefit we get by putting more money in the pockets of people who don’t have much. 

Ronald Reagan made popular the concept of the trickle-down economics. The argument was that if you gave the wealthy more money to spend, they would put that money back into the economy and everyone would benefit. The Reagan administration predicted that their massive tax cuts would not result in a deficit because the additional money the wealthy now had in hand would spark an economic boom more than making up for the lost tax revenue. That didn’t happen, and by the end of the 1980’s we had huge deficit and a stagnant economy. 

There was a similar rationale to the Trump administration tax cuts over the last few years, though the focus was more on what corporations would do with extra cash if we cut their rates. The hope was that they would reinvest more in research and development, and increase hiring. This too never came about, as corporations generally increased dividends and executive pay, but did not expand as hoped.   

The problem is that those already well off, whether individuals or corporations, have what they need, and more. Anything extra does not really change their spending habits. Maybe someone buys a 2021 Lexus to replace the 2019 Beemer. Maybe they buy a luxury item, like a yacht. (I understand that the market for collectibles, like baseball cards, is through the roof. Woo Hoo!!!) More likely they invest this money in the stock market where it goes to corporations, which then increase dividends and executive pay. This creates a very nice circle maintaining and expanding the wealth of the wealthy, while doing little to impact the economy generally. 

Those on the other end of the economic spectrum don’t have the luxury to sit on any money they receive. The cost of living, especially for those with children, dictates that what they get, they spend. And they spend it on basics. Food, rent, computers, clothes. A luxury buy is trading in the 2011 Camry for a 2019 Rav4. Or taking care of the house repairs that have been put off.  

The extra money these people spend also goes back to corporations. However, it isn’t just extra cash. Companies now have to respond to a higher demand for their products. They respond to those demands through increased production. Increased production means more jobs. It also leads to more research, development and advertising because the corporations have to stay ahead of their competition.  

Look, I am not an economist, and know that I am dealing in generalities. I have no data to back up this argument, though I am sure I could find it, as well as data to back up the opposite view as well. However, this strikes me as common sense. I know, I know, that’s an old-fashioned concept, and hardly a basis for making decisions. But every now and then I fool myself that I can think rationally and fall back on what seems likely. Silly me. 

I also know that I am butting my head against basic psychology. We feel more of a loss if we give something up than if we fail to get something we were expecting. Failing to get $10.00 that you hoped to get does not seem the same as opening your wallet to give someone $10.00, and yet the economic impact is the same. Similarly, giving up tax revenue does not strike us the same way as money doled out by the government, and yet ultimately, we may get more back from what we shell out.     

Even if I am right, I am not saying that economics is the be all and end all of deciding what our policies should be. There are other considerations. Such as moral concerns (talk about an old-fashioned concept) and budgetary issues. All I am saying is that we should be judging tax cuts that put more money into the pockets of the wealthy by the same criteria that we judge subsidies that put more money into the pockets of those on the lower end of the economic spectrum. They are two sides of the same coin, though the impact may differ. 

As my father would say after one of my mother’s sermons, “And thus ends the reading of the word”.     

Maybe I should let the start of baseball season go by. Too many people wax poetic about baseball as if it is more of a Zen experience than a sport. Great writers that have tackled baseball abound, such as David Halberstam, J.P. Kinsella and Doris Kearns Goodwin, and explained the lure of the game much better than I ever could. Many more mediocre authors have gone on and on about the glories of the game, it’s timelessness, it’s grandeur. Blah, blah, blah. 

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And yet, the start of baseball season hits me like no other sport. Maybe because it’s in the spring when I am looking forward to the warmer weather and longer days. Maybe it’s because it’s going to be a daily companion for the next six months (and hopefully longer). Maybe because it takes me back to languid days sitting in the South Carolina sun watching Gamecock baseball, or the thrill of emerging into Connie Mack Stadium as a kid. I really don’t know. 

Baseball will never be what it was for me when I was young. I am unlikely to sit through all of a 9-inning game on TV. Too many players strike out swinging for the fences. There are too few singles hitters like Pete Rose and Ichiro for my likes. I will undoubtedly go on a regular rant about a “genius” manager pulling a pitcher because their pitch count is too high (isn’t it amazing that the magic number is 100? How convenient). I will repeat the old man’s lament “The game isn’t what it used to be”.

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And yet, all I know is that despite all of that I am really looking forward to the first pitch this afternoon. All I know is that even though logic tells me that the Phillies will be lucky to finish third in their division I am full of hope. All I know is that I will be religiously checking the box scores on a daily basis to see how my favorite players are doing (another 2 for 3, and 2 RBIs for Mike Trout). All I know is that the world feels a little different during baseball season.  Play Ball!!!

I recently read that Phil Collins, the rock star, donated his collection of Texas revolution artifacts to The Alamo. Collins is thought to have the largest private collection of such artifacts in the world. Not H.L. Hunt. Not Jerry Jones (too busy spending his money on mediocre linebackers). Not Ross Perot. His collection includes items thought to have been owned by Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett, as well as a receipt signed by Alamo commander William Barret Travis for “30 heads of beeves” (whatever they are) to feed his men. Collins’ obsession started while watching the Davy Crockett TV show as a kid. When he became rich enough to indulge this obsession, he began to amass his collection.  

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Around the same time, I was reading a memoir by the Irish actor Gabriel Byrne, “Walking with Ghosts”. He reminisces about growing in Dublin, where one of his indulgences was going to the cinema to watch American westerns. He has a vivid memory of going to a local theater where Roy Rogers appeared live on stage, with Trigger! He even remembers Rogers lassoing a kid in the front row. 

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Then last night I watched an interview with Akira Kurosawa. He talked about how much he admired Hollywood westerns, and especially the films of John Ford. That was no surprise since the influences back and forth between Westerns and Samurai films are as obvious as the screwdriver Tommy Pickles has “hidden”. (Sorry, I’ve been watching Rugrats reruns lately).  

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All of this synchronicity made me reflect on the incredible influence that the Western has had on world culture. Up until the 1970’s Westerns were considered to be the quintessential American statement of identity. A host of movies, TV shows and books depicted the American west as an unbounded frontier, where men (and I do mean men – a topic for another post) could define themselves. You either wore the white hat, and stood alone, if necessary, in support of what you believed in and those you loved (Gary Cooper, High Noon; John Wayne, Stagecoach), or you wore the black hat, and were just out for yourself, with no regard for those who stood in your way (Walter Brennan, My Darling Clementine; John Dierkes, Shane).  

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I think it was that sense of freedom from constraint, for either good or bad, that so mesmerized people worldwide for decades. Here was a place that not only was so different from the well-defined boundaries of Europe or Japan, but actually existed. A young Phil Collins could dream about going to Texas. And even though he knew that what he would find wouldn’t match the films he saw, or the books he read, there was still a sense that this wasn’t the ancient past. Traces of that Western ethos were there to be found.   

In this country we were happy to embrace that myth. Yes, we told the world, we are those rugged, independent good guys who stand tall and are always looking off to the horizon for the next challenge. Yes, there are still untamed lands for us to conquer. Yes, we will use our freedom for truth and justice, because that’s the American way.  

By the end of the 1960’s that mythos had pretty much faded, and it was reflected in the movies of that era. Those Westerns were much grittier (Once Upon a Time in the West), celebrated the “bad guys” (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid) or bemoaned the death of the old west (The Wild Bunch). Many of those Westerns were shot outside the United States, with the best being the Sergio Leone films like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Ironically (or not) one of best of those films, A Fistful of Dollars, was based on the Kurosawa Samurai film, Yojimbo. 

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By the early 1970’s the gangster film, starting with The Godfather in 1972, seems to have displaced the western as the archetypical American genre (at least until Star Wars came along). However, those gangster films never defined America the way that Westerns did. It is unlikely that little kids in London, Dublin or Tokyo were thinking “I would like to grow up, move to America, and join La Costa Nostra”.  

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While we still are the largest exporter of entertainment in the world, I don’t see any aspect of that entertainment as so prominent that people across the globe look at it as emblematic of this country. We are as diverse as the hip hop music, superhero movies, cop shows and internet videos that we send across the globe. In fact, that diversity may be what defines us now.   

While the world no longer equates America with the mythical values of the old west, I’m not so sure that we have left those myths behind. Too many of us still see this country as wide-open, ours to conquer, tame and use as we see fit (e.g., the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge siege). Too many of us still see the United States as the last bastion of freedom, which gives us carte blanche to run roughshod over those who get in our way (e.g., Iraq). Too many of use still see the world in simplistic terms of good and evil, with America always wearing the write hat (e.g., Bush’s Axis of Evil speech). 

The myth of the Old West was a beautiful and stirring myth. I can’t watch True Grit or Red River without being attracted to the rugged individualism and the sense of freedom. I know why a London or Dublin boy would want to claim a part of that myth for themselves. Hopefully, people still want to sit down for a Jimmy Stewart Western marathon now and then, and enjoy those movies for the wonderful legends they spin. Just so long as we don’t confuse those fantasies with reality then, or now.     

I was all set to post my next blog entry, but after a restless night I can’t just ignore the shooting in Boulder. I know that I should be similarly disturbed by every shooting, whether it’s Asian sex workers in Atlanta, or the daily carnage on the streets of Philadelphia, but this one hit home. Maybe because I have good friends in Boulder. Maybe because it happened to people shopping in a grocery store, which is a regular part of my life. It doesn’t really matter why. This shook me. 

I could go into a screed about guns or the NRA.  I could compare our rate of mass shootings with other countries that have sensible gun control laws. I could decry our politicians who offer prayers and nothing else. But I won’t, because at this moment all of that seems futile. 

The truth of the matter is that we are who we are in this country. We have a gun culture that we have indulged to the max, and there is no turning back from that. We have to face up to the fact that shootings like this are going to be part of our lives here in the US of A for a long time to come. 

I am not saying that we shouldn’t enact gun control measures like banning private ownership of assault weapons, strengthening background checks, and eliminating check loopholes. I am saying that the proliferation of guns of increasing lethal power has already advanced to where these measures will only be a drop in the bucket. And let’s be honest, even these modest reforms are unlikely to come about in today’s political climate.  

I am by nature an optimist. I like to think the best of people, and I like to think that we can work through many of the problems we face in this world. But on this topic, I am hard pressed to see a way forward that does not include a lot more of these atrocities. That, more than anything, is what has me staring at the ceiling at 2:30 in the morning. 

I like that Seuss 

That Seuss I Like

 

I like that Seuss upon my bike 

I like that Seuss while on a hike 

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I like that Seuss up in a tree  

I like that Seuss with a skinned knee 

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I like it when they Hop on Pop 

I like Ten Apples up on Top 

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I like the Sneetches and their star 

I like that Sam and his cool car 

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I want the Fox with the Four Socks 

I want the Things and their box

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I want that Ish with his three fish 

I want the B Bird and his wish

 

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I want the Lorax and his trees 

I want that Horton and his sneeze

 

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I want the Grinch and his Christmas meaning 

I want that Cat and the fun he is gleaning

 

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The Doctor his output was extensive 

And some of his images are just offensive

 

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In World War II propaganda he did write 

And demonized the enemy with all his might

 

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Those images flowed into many a book 

Now it’s time to give them the hook

 

No government ban was this decision 

Though it was met with great derision

 

The family agreed it was for the best 

And we should care less about the rest

 

But creeps like Tucker will spread their lies 

If the Doctor was here, we’d hear his cries

 

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So hooray for Yertle and Foo-Foo the Snoo 

Hooray for Bartholomew and David Donald Doo

 

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These great characters long may they last 

The ones no more published are better off past 

• *With Profound Apologies to the Doctor
• **Parental Discretion Advised

On March 10, 2020, I sat down with my supervisor at Chubb, Josh Schwartz, to discuss Chubb’s plan for dealing with the COVID pandemic. Chubb had decided to divide employees into “A”, “B” and “C” buckets, with each tranche coming into the office on alternating days. However, since I was over 60 years old, I was to work from home. I remember thinking how bizarre this was, and that we could be out until at least (gasp) June!!!!  

You would think that with all of the SciFi that I read I would have had a better idea as to what was coming. However, at that time there were only pockets of cases. As of March 10, according to Johns Hopkins, there were 760 confirmed coronavirus cases in the United States and 23 attributed deaths. In a country of 328 million that was a drop in the bucket. Plus, we had seen global pandemics before (SARS, Ebola, swine flu) that had not impacted life here in the good old U.S. of A. My mind simply could not comprehend that this would continue through the year and into the next. 

Many things have changed over the last year, not the least of which is the loss of the naivete with which I entered into this mess. Intellectually I knew that something like this could happen, and yet in my gut I didn’t believe that it would. There was no reason for that misplaced optimism. Our vulnerability was as clear as the ice floating in my bourbon, but I was too wrapped up with the daily taste of life to notice it (I am taking an on-line course that suggests I should use more similes – not sure I’m sold). 

That being said, can I really complain about this past year? Some people close to me have lost loved ones, and that is incredibly sad, but my immediate family has been relatively healthy. Quarantining has not been an issue. I live in a big house with every comfort I could want. My kids have been able to move forward with their lives, though maybe not quite as they expected. Julie has had more than her share of challenges with the choir, but in some weird way that makes their accomplishments (the National Anthem at the DNC, the Christmas Day opening on the Today show, backing vocals for the Demi Lovato video at the Biden inauguration, among others) that much more special.  

In fact, I have started to believe that I have gotten a bit too comfortable. One of the first things I learned when I started working from home last March, is how much I need a routine, so I quickly established times that I would get up, sign on to my computer, and shut it off for the day. Even after I stopped working, I settled into a routine, though not as strict, and I haven’t really deviated from it in the last six months.  

There are definitely things that I miss – getting together with friends, going into the City for a play or dinner at a nice restaurant, going to a movie, or a Sixers game – but I can’t say that I feel that my life has been particularly diminished. To some extent I am more in touch with people than when I was commuting into the office (love the weekly Law School Zoom). I really don’t mind watching movies or sporting events on TV. And while I have not had what I could call a great meal in months, I am eating better on a daily basis than I have in a long time.  

Maybe it’s because we have had some nicer weather recently, but it has struck me what a trap this is. It is too easy to settle into a lifestyle that has few challenges, few surprises and few events that will take me out of my comfort zone. I could float along like this for quite some time, pandemic or no pandemic. I could become Nicholas Cage, being offered another mediocre movie, and saying sure, why not (another simile – my on-line teacher would be so proud).  

I am very aware that this is a first world problem, and a privileged first world problem at that. Most people are not as lucky as I am. It is hard for me to fathom how people with multiple school age (or younger) children are getting through this, let alone people who live in cramped quarters, or in bad domestic situations. It’s why I try not and judge too harshly those people who feel the need to go out in the world, even if it’s not the best pandemic choice (unless they aren’t wearing a mask).  

Still, it is my problem. I need this pandemic to end, not only physically, but mentally. I need to move on from this nest and back into a wider world. I need to reject any idea of this being a “new normal” (how I hate that phrase), and see this as just a temporary shift onto a bizarre, sidetrack before emerging back on the main path of life. 

I do think that some of these changes will be permanent (to the extent anything is permanent). Masks will be a lot more common, especially on public transportation. Some people will go back into their offices, but many will not, and who knows how that will change cities. Sporting events will fill up again quickly (except maybe for the Phillies, though that has little to do with COVID), but I am not so sure about movie theaters. We will go back to restaurants, because who can resist a good meal, but we won’t be as sanguine about sitting cheek to jowl with someone chomping away on ribs. In fact, I think we will be leerier of crowds generally, viewing the shoulder-to-shoulder experience as being something a bit more sinister than inconvenient. 

Hopefully there will be some positive changes coming out of this as well. Maybe we will continue to use technology to truly stay in touch with people, and not just for annual birthday greetings and snarky comments. Maybe we will finally face up to the fact that wide access to quality health care is good for everyone. Maybe we will plan ahead so we are better prepared next time (because there will be a next time). Maybe that planning will make sure that the more vulnerable among us don’t get hit so hard. Maybe…Maybe…      

In the meantime, it’s time to step out in the cool spring air and think again about the broader world that’s out there. It’s time to think about the plethora of possibilities once the vaccine has been distributed, and we can mingle. It’s time to put the false comforts of the quarantine behind us, and look forward to a more fulfilling future. Happy Anniversary…and Good Riddance!!!